Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining.

Thick clouds hung low over the city like a shroud. The Hero of Warriors stood silently, watching as fat raindrops fell heavy from the sky, scaring people from their park benches and sending them running towards awnings and homes, leaving him the lone and lonely witness to the maelstrom.

Rain splashed against his billowing scarf, dribbled down the hilt of the Master Sword, drummed on top of his unmoving head.

Link could feel the soft pressure of the rain as it fell, each drop chilling him to the bone, and looked on dispassionately as the courtyard cleared.

Link hated the rain.

He hated how it drove everyone away.

He hated how with every drop that fell the icy cold in his bones only grew worse.

He hated how everything turned grey.

Hylia, he hated how everything turned grey.

He had been standing guard in the courtyard for… a while now. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been. He was privy to the world around him but unable to join in all the moments he witnessed. With every secret kiss, every whispered conversation, every sidelong glance in his direction, the gaping pit in his chest grew and grew until it felt like he had no chest, merely a thin coating of skin hiding away a hollow void where his heart should be.

With nothing better to do, he cast his thoughts back to the War of Eras for the thousandth time. To the companions he had gained and lost in the battles and trenches, in the sieges and invasions. People from mere acquaintances to those as close as any blood family.

His former Captain, killed by monsters in the first wave.

The men he’d led, whittled down by ambush, battle, and the illnesses that swept the trenches.

Mask and the Sailor. His brothers.

Proxi.

Poor, poor Proxi.

Link couldn’t bring himself to pray much anymore. His words felt hollow no matter how hard he tried to mean them and he could never quite shake the feeling that he was speaking into an empty room. He wanted to believe in the protection of Hylia. He wanted to feel as assured of her Grace as he once had. He just… it was hard to be faithful when all he could feel was the icy cold rain and a gaping pit in his chest.

Still. Just this once, he hoped that she would listen to his pleas and make an exception for her favourite toys. Just this once, he prayed to Hylia to let his brothers rest.

As he finished his silent prayer, thunder rumbled in the distance. An answer, he hoped. A promise.

The rain continued to fall.

Chapter Text

It was raining, and Sky was exhausted.

Okay, sure, it was currently before nine in the morning and therefore ‘exhausted’ was his default state, but still. The portal had landed them in this new era at the ungoddessly hour of five in the morning and they had spent the entire time since then searching every inch of this miserable, damp city for their new Hero.

And Sky didn’t like to be negative. He really didn’t! This journey had shown him the most wondrous, incredible sights. The Surface was more remarkable and vast than he could ever have imagined, with an unbelievable number of unique and varied cultures all carving out a niche in the land that he would soon call home. Every era that he visited was a new marvel, a new wonder to explore, and he could hardly believe that the small village he and his friends were slowly building back in his own time would one day grow into something like this, a city so vast that he had yet to even have sight of its limits-

But the fact remained that it was pouring with rain, this city was grey and dismal, and they had yet to find any sign of their new Link.

Because both Time and Wind were adamant that there was a new Hero to find. This was no mere era in-between that they had landed in, not this time. The two of them had been here before and, if they were to be believed (and yes, perhaps Wind was prone to exaggeration but Time would never lie about this), they knew the local Hero intimately.

Time, of course, was characteristically tight-lipped about how exactly he knew this Link, saying only that it wasn’t his tale to tell. The telltale half-smile tugging at his lips, though, was enough for Sky to know that whatever history he’d had with this Hero, the Old Man was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement at the thought of meeting him again.

Wind, meanwhile, beamed in that devious, excitable way of his and launched into a sprawling tale of a war across time, of heroes and villains from across the eras dragged together into an almighty battle. Many of the names he mentioned, Sky did not recognise, but more than a few were shockingly, achingly familiar.

Time and Wind had met Fi? Spoken with Fi? The thought was almost inconceivable. Could it really be possible?

But one look at the other Heroes’ faces said that they were thinking the same thing. Twilight and Legend in particular looked dumbstruck at the list of names that the Sailor rattled off, and for a moment didn’t seem to have a single thing to say as Wind continued his story, apparently oblivious to his brothers’ shock.

“Sailor.” Time said at last, just as the youngest Hero began to tell a particularly entertaining story about their new Hero; something about a chicken, a wagon, and a lot of brandy. Time put a heavy, admonishing hand on the boy’s shoulder, cutting him off. “Let’s leave some stories for the Captain to tell himself, hmm?”

Wind rolled his eyes, clearly reluctant to abandon his tale, but then grinned and agreed. And oh, there was something about that grin that made Sky feel more than a little sorry for this new Hero - The Captain, they called him. Sky had no doubt that as soon as they found him, the poor man would be made to recount every single one of Wind’s embarrassing stories.

Maybe they could warn him…

“So he’s a soldier, then?” Legend asked, swiping irritably at the rain that had soaked his hair through, now running off in rivers down his forehead and into his eyes as a slimy mixture of water and road grime. It had… been a while since they’d been in a town.

Sky’s stomach clenched. He knew that the Veteran didn’t exactly have the highest opinion of knights or guards or armies. He didn’t know the full story, but he knew that there had to have been some sort of incident in Legend’s past to make him distrust them with such a passion; Sky himself had taken ages to get through his brother’s defences, to persuade him that being a knight didn’t automatically make him an enemy. Even now, he was half convinced that Legend only trusted him because knights in Skyloft were so very different to knights in the veteran’s own era

Time clearly picked up the barb in his tone as well, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly as he turned to Legend.

“He’s a good man.” he said, his voice deceptively light. Anyone else might have thought that he was merely passing comment, but Sky had been travelling with Time for a few weeks at this point. The old man, calm and patient as he was, was getting dangerously close to anger.

Legend shrugged. “Never said he wasn’t.” he said, although they all knew what his tone had suggested.

Sky looked down and shuffled his feet awkwardly, watching as his boots sent ripples through the puddles between the cobblestones. He knew that Time was getting irritated with how long it was taking to find their ninth brother. The rest of the Chain had managed to wander into each other more or less by accident within five minutes of landing in their respective eras, but no matter who they asked here, they were met with the same blank stares and shaking heads. Or, worse than that, the people of this horrid town curled their lips and spat harsh words, telling the Chain to stop making fools of themselves before hurrying on.

There was a Hero here. There had to be. And yet no matter where the Chain went, they could find neither hide nor hair of him anywhere. It was as if he had simply vanished.

…Sky really hoped that the guy had just retired to the country. Gone on a holiday. Something nice. Time and Wind had said they had known him in a war, and Hylia, Sky hoped that the man had been able to retire since then. That he had been able to enjoy the peace that he had won for his country.

Beside him, he saw Twilight put a consoling hand on Time’s arm.

“He’s prob’ly just gone inside.” the Rancher murmured. His Ordonian accent was thick and honeyed, and even on a dismal day like this Sky found the sound soothing. “Only we’d be dumb enough to be out in this weather.”

Time jerked politely but firmly away from his grip. “He’s a Captain of the army and a Hero of Courage.” he ground out. “He doesn’t exactly flee from rainstorms.” his voice could have been ice, for all the warmth it held.

Twi blinked in shock at his rejected hand and then flushed lightly, instead sticking it in his pocket. Wind, perhaps in an attempt to lighten the mood, cackled.

“Yeah he would.” he scoffed. “If he thought it would wreck his hair, he’d be gone faster than a fart in a gale. Then he stopped, looking over at something and breaking into a grin. “Hey, guys, look!” he jogged over to a huge set of stone steps, ignoring (or perhaps revelling in) how he splashed rainwater through his boots as he went. “This is him!”

Sky looked around with a jolt, expecting to see their new brother waiting for them on the street corner. He realised belatedly that no one was there, and could hear his brothers murmuring around him.

Frowning, he followed his youngest brother over to the bottom of the steps. At either side of the stone bannister’s base was a small plinth, elegantly carved with crawling vines and budding flowers. Standing atop each plinth was a statuette which framed the railings, guarding against the evils of moss and weathering. On the left was a woman in a flowing gown and a sturdy breastplate, wearing a crown and wielding a sword. On the right was a warrior in a stiff tunic and mail, sword drawn and at the ready, a scarf billowing in the nonexistent wind.

Neither statue was… particularly well carved. Their faces were little more than haphazardly sculpted blobs and their limbs were just slightly too out of proportion to be able to call it an artistic decision. A fine depiction of mannerism this was not: it was just bad.

Sky forced a polite smile. If the Sailor said that this was their missing brother, then he would believe him. But honestly, he wasn’t really sure how he could tell.

Legend grimaced. “Whoever sculpted that should be shot.” he commented. “Graven asscracks of the Sages, is that supposed to be a face? How can you tell it’s even him?”

Wind grinned. “He’s got the scarf!” he crowed and then pulled a scrap of blue fabric from his pack. “See! We got our own versions too. Mine’s a bandana. Where’s yours, Time?”

They all turned towards their oldest brother, who was already halfway across the courtyard. He turned back to look at them, his mouth pulled into a tight line, his jaw set. He hummed, clearly only half paying attention to the conversation.

“In my pack. It was a sash.” he looked around the courtyard and shook his head, raindrops flying off the ends of his hair. “Come on, we’re wasting time out here. Let’s try closer to the castle.”

He stalked off, and the lack of a joke or a smile appending his comment was a testament to his ever-fouling mood. Time cut an imposing figure on first glance but had gone out of his way, as he got to know his brothers, to be softer than he appeared in spite of his tall stature and the angry scar across his face.

Today he was every bit the harsh warrior that Sky had seen on the battlefield, rain lashing off his cold armour, expression grim, eye sharp and focused. It wasn’t an expression that any of them were used to seeing on the old man’s face, grim and stern. Time wasn’t just the de facto leader of the Chain; he was their big brother, their father figure, their beloved Old Man with a gentle smile and a kind word for everyone. Sky had never seen him this serious outside of battle.

Still, he could understand it. From what Wind was saying, the three of them - Wind, Time, and this Captain of theirs - had been close as brothers during this war that they talked about.

In the past few months of travelling together and picking up new members of the Chain they had met each new Link within the first hour of landing in their respective era. Sure, some of their meetings had been… more eventful than others (Sky still had fond memories of trying to persuade Four that they weren’t a cult and of the Chain giving delighted belly rubs to the cute wolf they had just met, only for it to turn into a very embarrassed hylian halfway through). But they had always met.

They had been in this world for over three hours now and the morning was drawing on, although with the dark clouds and driving rain overhead it was somewhat hard to tell. Wind claimed that the inclement weather was more or less a constant of this era, but even so it felt… unnatural. There was no escaping the growing sense of wrongness, pervasive no matter where they turned. They had been here for hours, and yet the closest they had come to the Hero of this era was a bad statue.

“Hey!” Wind shouted with glee, apparently impervious to the strained mood as he followed after Time. “Look! It’s us!”

Huh? Sky followed him again, this time to a frieze decorating the side of a wall. Okay, seriously: what was it about this era and statues? Sky liked a bit of decoration as much as the next person, but this was ridiculous. What was next? Gold leaf on their railings? Special little carvings on their toilet seats?

The frieze was better than the sculptures on the steps, at least.

Slightly.

Sort of.

One of the figures was clearly the same as the one by the steps, the scarf carved about its neck proved that. It stood over two smaller figures, shepherding them like a father with his sons.

Wind was pointing to the children at the Hero’s side. One, the taller of the two, Sky supposed, bore a passing resemblance to Wind. It had hair. A tunic. Legs. Honestly, it wasn’t a great likeness, but it did seem to have a pendant on him similar to the one about the sailor’s neck now, so perhaps it was supposed to be him.

The other figure - well, from how Wind was talking, he clearly thought that it was supposed to be Time. But Time was a man fully grown - more than that, he was a big man. He stood well over six feet tall, towering over almost everyone they met, and was sturdily built in his gleaming plate armour.

The figure in the frieze was. Well. It was a child. Tiny in comparison to the figure in the scarf, clutching something that… looked slightly like a rabbit? Maybe a rabbit mask?

It couldn’t have looked less like Time if it tried.

“Damn, Old Man.” Twilight’s thick accent drawled out. “Ya weren’t kiddin’ when ya said ya were a kid back in the war.”

Time spun around and this time he actively glared at his successor. Twilight blinked and faltered, unused to being the source of such ire from the man he idolized.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes, Rancher?” He snapped. “Would you all hurry up? We can have a good sight-see when we find our brother.”

He turned and stalked off, and Twilight ran after him spouting apologises. Sky winced. Time was not the kind of person who lost his temper easily and he valued patience and kindness above brute strength. No doubt the old man would regret his words later, but for now it was possibly better to let him stew until he thought himself calm.

Sky followed behind at a more sedate pace, letting his nearest brother fall into step with him. Who- ah, it was Hyrule. The traveller was soaked to the skin, his roughspun tunic and cloak long since having given up on any sort of protection and instead clinging to him like a second skin, his sodden hair plastered to his forehead. Skinny as he was, he looked more like a drowned remlit than a hylian, but Sky figured that it would be impolite to point out. Besides, he doubted somehow that he looked very much better.

Instead he offered his smaller brother a smile.

“Okay?” he asked, testing out the unfamiliar sign as he caught Four hanging back to interpret.

Hyrule shrugged, pulling a face. “This place feels weird.” He said by way of the Smith. “Like we’re being watched. Don’t you feel it?”

Sky hummed. He didn’t, but he supposed that it made sense that Hyrule did. The traveller had lived his whole life in the woods and caves, only flitting in and out of towns when absolutely necessary. He wasn’t used to built up areas, and especially not vast cities like this. Even with the streets empty as all the inhabitants fled the weather, the hundreds of dark windows could easily feel like watching eyes.

That, and all the statues. Hylia, Sky had never seen so many statues.

“Not really.” He admitted, shaking his head and watching the Smithy’s hands move in time with his words. “But I get it.”

Sky had felt something similar when he had first gone down to the Surface. He was used to the bustling town in Skyloft, and suddenly being somewhere so big and empty, he had been convinced that he was constantly being watched, that someone was always following him.

Of course, this had turned out to be true in his case, in the form of a particularly pushy demon with a freaky tongue and no respect for personal space.

But still. The point stood. Unfamiliar places were weird.

Hyrule shuddered, pulling his sodden cloak tighter around his shoulders as if this would somehow give him some extra warmth.

“It’s sending my magic haywire.” He signed, fingers barely visible outside the drooping fabric as Four faithfully interpreted. “All I can feel is eyes.”

Sky hummed in sympathy, moving closer to his brother so that their arms brushed. “I’m sure we’ll find him soon.” He said, knowing that he wouldn’t have to clarify who ‘he’ was. There was only one reason that they were still out in this storm and it was their mysterious, absent brother. “Then we can all get inside and warm up. We’ll all feel better in fresh clothes with a cup of tea.”

Hyrule’s shoulders shook as he and Four both giggled, and ahead of them, Time turned around with another shout.

“Are you three coming or not?” He called, and Sky smiled.

“Sorry!” He called back. “We’re coming now!”

They jogged after Time, finally catching up to the rest of the group as they made their way down yet another empty, soggy street. Nearby, Legend and Four paused to look at yet another statue of the scarf wearing hero. This one had a hand outstretched as if reaching out to a friend, a doting smile on his carved face.

Even to Sky, who admittedly had a higher tolerance for sentimentality than the others, it seemed a little maudlin.

“That must be the fifth statue of Pretty Boy we’ve passed in an hour.” Legend grumbled, hands flashing out irritably as he signed his words alongside his speech. “Either that or every noble in this damn city just got really into scarves recently.”

Sky snorted. This particular statue had a more flamboyant scarf than most, billowing out behind the figure like a cape in some unseen breeze. Really, it was a marvel that the whole thing didn’t topple over.

“I mean at least he should be able to identify.” Four pointed out. “Random person, no idea what he looks like - because damn, none of these sculptors can decide on a face for him - but an absolutely massive scarf!”

“Wanna bet?” Came Wild’s rough voice as he sidled up behind his brothers. “What are the chances we meet this guy and he’s not wearing a scarf. Literally wore it once and everyone got obsessed?”

“Oh you are so on.” Came Twilight’s reply as the rancher followed close behind him. “Fifty rupees says he’s wearin’ the scarf when we find him.”

“A hundred says he isn’t and he hates the damn thing.” Wild sniped back.

Twilight grinned, spat in his hand, and held it out. “Done.”

Wild returned the gesture, spit and all. Sky grimaced.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting.” He said, but he was laughing as he did. “Come on, it looks like there’s a courtyard through here that we haven’t checked out.”

“Good shout.” Legend agreed, taking the lead and heading through the nearby alley towards the open space. He paused, turning around to face his brothers again. “Wouldn’t want the old man to get his panties in a twist again.” he paused, waving to make sure he had the traveller’s attention, signing as he spoke. “Coming, Rulie?”

-

Link noticed movement.

Out of the corner of his eye, eight heavily armed warriors appeared out of the storm and strolled right into his line of sight.

They’d entered his courtyard, each drenched and crabby in their own right, but too far out of his field of vision for him to make out the details. Idly, Link wondered why the group hadn’t fled inside with the rain pouring down, but was too grateful for the company to care overmuch.

Two of the warriors walked into his field of view, one small and brightly dressed, the other with sodden pink hair and violet eyes that were currently glaring at Link with distaste. He looked him in the eye and scoffed, his hands flickering in sign as he spoke. “Aaaaaand it's the pretty boy again. Lolia, does he ever stop posing?”

Well, that was a bit rude. It wasn’t like Link had any choice in the matter.

A vague blob beside the fighter slowly morphed into another Hylian, but whatever his retort was, Link was only able to catch bits of it as he couldn’t quite make out the sign from where he stood. Whatever it was, though, it clearly was some sort of grave insult to the first boy

“Wh-HEY!” The warrior, who had spun around when his accuser tapped his shoulder for attention, the drenched blue cap on his head spinning too far and smacking him in the face with a wet SLAP. He was now spluttering indignantly, attempting to fight both the hat and whatever accusation had been thrown his way, failing spectacularly at both. The perpetrator, a scruffy young boy with brown hair that better fit the description of “half-drowned rat” more than “Hylian” at the moment, giggled loudly at his compatriat’s misfortune.

Link wished he could too.

Another few of the group who had not been paying attention came up and grinned at the look of rage on the hat-fighter’s face.

“What the hell crawled up his ass and died?” he asked, his voice thick in a languid drawl. A country boy, perhaps? Maybe a small-town sheriff here for training?

The short one turned to face them. “Rulie was taking the piss out of Legend. Legend didn’t like being punched in the face with the truth.”

Hat-fighter– no, Legend – his reputation and dignity ruined, won his ferocious battle with his hat and leapt at the kid looking for seconds. Half-Drowned Rat was quicker though, leading the sodden boy on a mad dash through the courtyard as their unseen companions whooped and cheered the boy — Hyrule, apparently — to victory.

What odd names. Hyrule, Legend, what was next, Sky? Wild?

Sailor? Mask?

Link mentally shook himself out of his reverie. No, those two were long gone. Sent back home by Lana once the War concluded, much to their dismay and his heartbreak relief.

Even now, he still kept the Keaton Mask on his hip and the Joy Pendant around his neck, gifts from the sniffling Heroes before they went through their portals to their own times. As hard as it was to see them go, Link was glad they had gone home. They had lives to live after all, and as much as he hated to say it, he didn’t want to see them right now.

He didn’t want them to see him like this.

“BOYS!” Came a bellow from behind where Link stood guard, and a man in plate armor came striding into his field of vision. Even soaked, he carried an aura of authority that screamed ‘leader!’ to the Hero. Legend stiffened and elbowed Hyrule in the ribs, pointing to the new player as he began upbraiding the two, his hands moved furiously in tune, going on about “authority” and “responsibility” and “setting a good example” to the point where even Link thought it was excessive. From his admittedly limited point of view, it just seemed like a bit of fun in the rain.

The armored man, however, seemed to disagree. Ferociously.

“---And don’t think I haven’t noticed you making bets, Wild! And Twilight, our brothers are not playthings for you to gamble on! You’re Heroes, for Hylia’s sake! Show some respect!” The man finished, rounding on the others and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Ripping down the right side of the man’s face and through his right eye was a scar, permanently sealing it shut. But that wasn’t what Link was staring at. No, he was staring at the Fierce Deity’s brilliantly blue V on his forehead and the crimson slashes under his closed eye.

Oh, Mask…

The man— Mask, his beloved little brother, how could you possibly be here? — seemed to have cowed the other members of his group– did he say Heroes?-- into submission. Link could hear nothing but the rain as Mask stewed. Half Drowned Hyrule shuffled his feet and looked down silently, while Hatbane-Legend looked irate but wisely opted to keep his mouth shut.

Link knew from experience how much fire Mask had when upset, and also knew it was best to let that rage cool down by itself.

If he could move from his post, he probably would have done the same thing.

Mask pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out heavily. Ah, there it was. He just needed a few moments to calm down, just as Link had suspected. Goddesses, that much held true, at least.

“...I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Another member stepped forward. “It has been. For all of us.” He said, and his voice was soft. Comforting. This newest addition looked even more bedraggled than Hyrule, a white cape round his shoulders sheeting water onto the cobbles and his eyes ringed by the deepest bags Link had ever seen. Hylia’s Triforce-shaped nipple rings, did this boy ever sleep? He looked over at Link through sopping hair, smiling softly up to where he stood. “You knew him, right? What was he like?”

“Is.” Corrected Mask. “What is he like.”

Raincape said nothing. Link winced inwardly.

Mask sighed. “He’s… he’s a wonderful man. He was born and raised in poverty, but when war came calling and the sword chose him he did his best to keep up. Even trying to parent two unruly heroes he had a sense of humor about the whole thing. You could tell how he was feeling depending on how many puns he said. They were like the world’s dumbest coping mechanism.”

Link wanted to snort. Of course that’s what Mask remembered most. His stupid puns. He’d only started using them because they jarred both Mask and the Sailor out of whatever horrible thoughts they’d been having in order to groan at him.

“He’s got a huge heart. He had space to care about me, Wind, his men, his Zelda, even the owners of the shops he frequented. He’d love being with us, though I think we’d drive him up the wall.”

Raincape put an arm over his shoulders. Mask sagged beneath the touch and began to sniffle.

“He’d have been right over there making bets with Wild and Twi.” He croaked.

Another figure rushed to Mask’s side. Link’s nonexistent breath caught.

Sailor?

Still a kid? Even when Mask was an adult?

What in Hylia’s name happened?

The pirate’s bravado was gone. He threw himself into his formerly-little brother’s arms, not even trying to hide his sobs. Mask laughed wetly.

“If only he could see me now, trying to fill his shoes. He’d probably give me hell as payback for me doing the same to him all those years ago.”

Hylia… the Captain thought. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. It really was Mask, and he was so very, very grown up. Link could barely contain his pride at the man his brother had become.

The Sailor sniffled against Mask’s armor, knuckling away tears he knew the young pirate he’d known would have done his best to hide in the War.

“Cut the shit, Old Man,” he said, though his voice was wobbly. “he’d probably get all sobby seeing you actually stepping up for once. You know how big a sap he was.”

Mask choked out a laugh. It sounded more like a sob. “That he was.”

He looked up at Link. “Look, Wind, he found a good spot for our keepsakes. Probably gave the carver hell to have ‘em be included.”

Link was fiercely aware of the mask and pendant on himself. He had fought to keep them with him, but not in the way the two thought.

Nothing in this situation was how they thought.

I’m here! He tried to call. I’m alive! I’m not gone! Help me!

His cries fell on deaf ears, just like they had the many, many hundreds of times he had tried before.

The rest of the group came into view. Or at least he thought that was the rest of them. He didn’t see any more blurry figures in the background, so it was likely.

Bedraggled and exhausted looking, they clustered around Mask and Sailor, offering words of comfort. Some of them looked up at Link, taking note of the mask and pendant that Mask had mentioned. Hyrule went to join them, but Legend stepped closer to Link with a frown, disappearing below his line of sight.

“Odd.” He heard. “There’s a plaque on this one.”

Ah, the plaque. Link vividly remembered it being installed on his plinth, a private ceremony Zelda didn’t even bother giving a speech at. Her voice reading the words inscribed on it mingling with the tones of Legend reciting it.

“Memorial Statue of the Hero of Warriors, missing and presumed dead.”

“Gone, but not forgotten.”

Not gone.

Not missing.

Not dead.

A living statue is so much worse than death.

Legend’s declaration seemed to break Mask. He sank to his knees with a devastated expression, bringing the Sailor down with him. Behind him, the sodden group of men and boys had turned pale, their eyes wide and horrified as a murmur of horror rippled through their number. Most of them seemed unsure of what to do, how to respond in the face of his brothers’ grief, but Legend rushed back to the group, grunting as Hyrule wrapped his arms around his torso and buried his head in his shoulder.

A heavily scarred boy whimpered and the taller one with the wolf pelt reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Near the back, Raincape was slowly shaking his head in horror, looking as if he was about to be sick while the short one clung to his hand.

As their companions reacted, Mask and the Sailor clung to each other, sobbing, heedless of anything else going on around them.

Link had thought that being forced to stand here, day after day until the rain finally eroded him away was the worst kind of torture.

He was wrong.

The worst kind of torture was watching his baby brothers mourn his death, while he could do nothing but watch.

Chapter Text

It was unbelievable. Unfathomable. The brother, the shared soul that they had come to this world to find was dead, reduced to nothing more than a set of rotting bones, lost somewhere in the dirt, his grave unmarked, unloved, and unmourned.

None of them knew what to do. How they were supposed to react. How they were supposed to ever move on.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

This man - this brother - had been one of them. That he was going to join their group and become a part of their family had been a foregone conclusion. But now he was gone, ripped out of their lives before his presence had even been allowed to take root. His absence was palpable, the phantom pain of a missing limb, and yet most of them had never even seen his face.

It… it didn’t feel real.

They were too late to save him, and they didn’t even know what from.

None of the Links were very good at losing control like this. Of course, they had all failed at some point in their journeys. But in those cases there had always been the chance of getting back up and fixing whatever mistakes they had made or righting their wrongs. But here, now? They had nothing. It had happened some nebulous time in the past and they hadn’t even been there to help him.

The Hero of Warriors was dead, and there was nothing left that they could do.

Time and Wind were inconsolable. They clung to the carved stone as they sobbed, and if they noticed their sodden clothes weighing them down then they did not seem to care. Instead they clutched each other’s hands, keening their grief into the unfeeling sky as the storm lashed down on their faces, raindrops indistinguishable from their tears.

The rest of the Chain had not known this man personally. Their grief was not the grief of two brothers who had faced a war at his side, but it was still grief. Quiet and cold and empty, leaving them standing in mute horror as their minds raced, refusing to accept the terrible, horrible truth.

They were all Heroes, yes. But for all that they had saved their own worlds, often more than once, none of them had been hero enough to save one of their own.

The rain thundered against the hood of Wild’s cloak, soaking it to saturation and then seeping through to run icy rivers down his neck. With every drop that fell, it was as if he could hear Time’s words rattling through his skull.

“He’d have been right over there making bets with Wild and Twi.”

Was that the kind of man this Captain had been? Someone that Wild would have called a friend? What, he wondered, would’ve been his favourite pastime on down days in camp, when they all took a day off to breathe? And what about when they were on the road? Would he have been as big a mother cucco as Twilight or Sky? Or more hands off with leadership like Legend or himself? Did he secretly hate that scarf? What was his worst pun? What food did he like the best? What was the brandy story?

That he would be able to ask all of his questions had been a given just ten minutes ago. He had known that the answers would reveal themselves in the days and weeks that followed their new brother joining the Chain, either from his own mouth or from his actions, how he interacted with them all. Now, though, the answers were gone. Wiped away. All of those possibilities vanished into the ether.

Just like the man they were tied to.

The rain continued to pour, uncaring of the eight men and boys standing heartbroken in the open plaza. A fitting tribute, Wild supposed. Like the whole world was in mourning for her Hero.

He wasn’t sure how long they all stood there, the rain growing colder and colder on their skin. Time might have known, he supposed - but then, maybe not. For once, Wild suspected, the old man’s innate sense of time may have abandoned him. But he wasn’t going to ask. Not here. Not now. Not when it was blatantly clear that Time’s life was crashing down around his ears.

A passing breeze caught on their sodden clothes, and Wild shivered. He immediately berated himself for it, feeling terrible. After all, what was a little cold and water when one of their own was dead?

But there was no escaping the fact that his scars had grown tight and were starting to itch painfully in the cold. He had no doubt that Sky’s arm, laced as it was in thick lightning scars, was starting to ache, that Legend’s worn and arthritic joints would be turning on him, but both continued to hold their silent vigil. Neither complained, and he doubted that either of them even really considered it, and neither would Wild.

He snorted, humourlessly. The very thought felt almost absurd, and certainly wrong.

A self-sacrificing lot to the end, weren’t they?

Maybe that was what happened to the Captain, too. Too much of a bleeding heart to look away from injustice, was that it? Too willing to give too much of himself to his cause, leaving none for his own needs.

Well, look what that got him. A hundred statues left out in the rain and not even a grave to show for it.

Wild felt a twinge of guilt, deep in his gut, even though he knew it was unfounded. He had cheated death so many times, had become so used to the feeling of resurrection that it was almost a joke at this point. A minor inconvenience, a stinging bite from an insect that would fade in minutes.

Looking up at the statue, though, felt like a cosmic joke. Why was he always the one to survive? Why was it that he was placed in the Shrine while thousands died for his sins? Why was it that Rauru and Zelda had to give their lives just to give him a shot at killing Ganondorf?

Why had no one been there to bring this Link back?

Why did he always end up losing everyone?

A few feet away, someone gave a delicate sneeze. Wild blinked, the sound pulling him from his spiralling. He looked around to see Hyrule, flushed red in the face as he covered his nose and was already beginning to sign his apologies. The sound seemed to jolt through Time, too. The old man blinked slowly and shook his head, seeming to slowly come back to his senses, prying himself out of his own misery just enough to function.

His eye landed on Hyrule, red cheeked and now delicately blowing his nose on the handkerchief that Legend had passed him.

“We-” Time’s breath caught in his throat and he took a shuddering breath. He swallowed heavily. “We should get inside.”

With the rain only growing heavier overhead, no one much wanted to argue, but Hyrule looked mortified as Legend interpreted for him, unable to read the words on Time’s rain-chilled lips.

“No no!” he signed. “Stay! I’m fine, really!”

Yeah, no one really believed that one. Especially not when he winced at his own lie, his fairy blood making it itch on his fingers. Legend raised a soggy eyebrow and gave the traveller a flat look as he began to rummage through his pack, pulling out his flame rod and thrusting it over to him.

“Hold this.” he said, speaking clearly as he didn’t currently have the hands to sign. “You need it more than me.”

Hyrule gave him a similarly flat look in return, but the point was moot. Now that they had addressed it, none of them could keep the cold out much longer and were all beginning to visibly shiver. The Chain began to shift where they stood, Time and Wind scrubbing fruitlessly at the tears on their cheeks (and if a few more slipped out as they did so, no one would ever have dreamed of mentioning it).

In silence, Sky unstrapped the Master Sword from his back and carefully untied his sailcloth from where it clung to his shoulders, draping it over Time’s pauldrons. Though it had already been soaked through, the old man took clear comfort in its weight and its significance, pulling it up higher onto his armor, offering a corner of it to the Sailor. Wind didn’t even pretend to resent the offer, huddling in close to Time and burying his face in his side as the cape was draped around his shoulders.

Time cleared his throat, though it did nothing to cut through the hoarseness of his voice.

“There - there’s an inn near here. It’s clean and… and the owner is kind. They have a few big rooms, we should all be able to fit.” He croaked, and then chuckled mirthlessly. “If- If it’s the same owner, at least. Wouldn’t be surprised if he retired. Moved away. He was always talking about going into baking when the War ended. He-”

All at once Time cut himself off, choking back a sob. The others looked away, exchanging glances but waiting in silence. Time was their dauntless leader, he was unflappable and stalwart and to see him like this - it was a lot. But they all politely averted their gazes, waiting for him to rally himself. It was the least they could do as he struggled not to lose himself to tears once more, his knuckles white as he balled his hands into fists.

“He’d always save the Captain a sticky bun for whenever he’d drop by.” Time said at last, his voice rough. “Used to - used to sneak them out to him when he was a kid, apparently.”

Wind looked haggard underneath his piece of the sailcloth as he poked his face out to look at them, his voice little more than a whisper.

“He did the same for us, too.” he said softly. “Whenever the Captain’d try to get on our case about eating vegetables and stuff.”

“Usually me.” Time laughed softly and then sniffed, knuckling the tears from his face. He looked around at his brother and sighed, shaking his head. “Hylia above. Four, you’re shivering, and Hyrule - come on. Let’s get out of this rain. The inn’s this way - why do none of us own an umbrella?”

-

It was a relief for them all to find that the inn, once they made it inside, was in fact still open and was just as welcoming as Time had promised. They all crowded into the reception to find it warm and comfortable, the wood-panelled walls polished to a shine and reflecting the flickering light from the roaring fireplace. Soft armchairs and sofas were arranged in small clusters around the edges of the room, and it took very little encouragement for the coldest among them to make a bee-line to the seats by the fire.

Wild was amongst them, removing his arm as discreetly as he could under his cloak and sighing as the heat eased the tightness in his scars. Sky sat down beside him, massaging the scars on his sword-hand, and they both watched in faint amusement as Legend dragged a clearly still embarrassed Hyrule over to join them.

Up at the front desk, it was clear that the owner was not being the same man that Time and Wind remembered. Wild leaned forwards, absently rubbing his stump as he tried to listen to the conversation that Time and Wind were having. They asked a question, and the man at the desk smiled, turning around and calling into the back.

Moments later an older man appeared, stooped and balding and with a grin on his face as he rushed to the front counter.

“Did I hear my worst customers are back?” he beamed, wiping flour-dusted hands off his similarly white-stained apron. So he had become a baker after all.

But his warm smile fell as his eyes landed on the pair at the desk, at the ragged group that were crowded around the reception area. They made quite the sight, all of their eyes still red and puffy from crying and their faces pale and grief stricken.

The old owner’s expression slowly dropped, growing ever more somber as he picked out more and more evidence of their grief.

“Oh.” He said, his voice a low, resigned sigh. “So you’ve heard about the Captain.”

His eyes flicked up to Time, picking out the colourful markings on his face that marked him at the very least as an acolyte of the Fierce Deity, who Wind had told them had been a regular fixture during the war. He took in Time’s slashed eye for a moment before saying “You’re not here for a social call, are you?”

Time shook his head, but seemed unable to do more than bite his lip and look away, struggling to hold back his tears.

Sky, ever the saint, took the lead. He stood from his seat by the fire and stepped up to the front desk, catching and squeezing Time’s arm as he spoke.

“I wish we were, sir. I know it’s short notice, but do you have space for all of us for a few nights? And perhaps some food?”

The old man’s expression softened and he looked over at the man behind the counter.

“My son runs my inn now,” he explained. “I like to stay in my patisserie… but I’m sure we have space for my favourite guests?”

The younger man smiled, scratching his beard.

“As it happens.” he said. “The Kakariko O'Hannaghans wrote this morning; they won't be able to attend the ball after all. Which leaves our largest suite free. It can host ten, is that enough? Or would you prefer separate rooms?”

“Together.” Twilight said immediately. “If- If you please.”

“I can pay.” Wild said, his voice hoarse and crackling from where he stood by the fire. “Money’s no issue.”

The old man looked back at Time and then down at Wind, clinging to his side. He softened. “I’m sure we can work something out.” he said softly. “For old time’s sake.”

“Of course.” his son added. “Let me get you your keys, and I’ll come up with you to help make up the fire. Whatever you need.”

Hylia, they all appreciated that. None of them had missed how Legend stumbled as they moved to follow him up the stairs, nor how Hyrule was instantly at his side and fussing as they clomped along. Despite how early it was in the day, they were all cold and tired and badly shaken, and would take whatever comforts that they could get.

The manager also arranged for meals to be brought up to their room, as it was immediately obvious that even this early in the day none of them would be in a fit state to come down to eat in the dining hall come lunchtime. Even Wild, who’d normally be up in arms about not cooking, could only nod mutely as they were promised that a platter of assorted pasties and pot pies would be brought up sometime in the day.

The room was as plush and comfortable as the rest of the inn, taking up the entire top floor and spanning multiple bedrooms, a living room, and even a fully plumbed bathroom with hot and cold running water. Clearly, this era was used to opulence unheard of in Wild’s Hyrule. Had his own era been like this before the Calamity? Could he have just… gone into an inn in his own Castle Town and had a hot bath at his leisure? He had no idea. It seemed too fantastical to be true.

Wild shivered and took off his cloak. This set of rooms was beautiful, but it was entirely lost on them. It was all any of them could do to strip off their clothes, letting themselves warm in the heat from the fire. The sodden fabric had already begun to chafe against their icy skin and it was a relief to change into their sleepwear, still blessedly dry in their packs. Normally, Wild would have been thanking every deity that crossed his mind that the storage magic (and yes, okay, Sheikah technology in the case of his slate) on everyone’s bags that kept the rain out. Now, though, he couldn’t muster up anything more than a few slow blinks as he wrung the rain from his hair and crumpled into the first bed he came across. Ahhh, it was stuffed with goose feathers. Well, at least his back would be happy.

Meanwhile, Twilight and Hyrule had to bodily stop Time and Wind from just crawling into another of the massive beds as they were, soaked and muddy clothes and armour and everything. Even then, they stood there in hollow silence as Twilight helped Time out of his armour and Wind slowly peeled his tunic from his skin. It was heart wrenching to watch, their unflappable and kind leader and the ever-cheerful little brother so overwhelmed with grief that they could barely function.

Changed into clean, dry clothes, Twi guided them to the largest bedroom of the suite and into the bed. They continued to cling to each other, as if each was terrified that the other would vanish into thin air if they let go. From his position in bed, Wild could see Twilight gently closing the door on them with a haunted, hollow look in his eyes.

“Bed.” he said softly, “All of us. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Wild nodded, curling back under the bedsheets. There were three bedrooms, and even with one taken by Wind and Time, the two remaining beds were large enough that it would be no problem to find space for the remaining six, especially as so many of them were… perhaps a little shorter than the average hylian. None of them complained at Twi’s suggestion, and it wasn’t long before Wild felt the familiar pressure of his brothers crawling under the sheets beside him.

It wasn’t yet ten in the morning, but they all felt exhausted. They all curled up, numb in a way that had nothing to do with the cold and the rain, and mourned the brother who had been lost before they ever had the chance to find him.

-

They didn’t leave the room again that day. None of them could bring themselves to face the world outside, still pouring out constant rain as day wore on. Somewhere around noon, the former owner’s son came in, carrying a tray laden with the promised lunch spread. As the Link declared ‘most composed’ and ‘least likely to cause a scene’ of them all, Four was sent to fetch it from the door. And if he could ask for any information on the fallen Hero while he was up there, then all the better.

“Wish I could tell you more, mate,” the owner’s son replied when he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “One day he was here and the next… the next day he just wasn’t. First people that noticed he was missing were the soup kitchen when he didn’t show up for his shift. They raised the alarm as soon as they could, f’course. After that, search parties tore through all of Castle Town. Even raided our larder three or four times like they thought we’d have him trussed up in the back like a hog.

“The search kept getting bigger, but nothin’ ever came of it. ‘Round about six months ago they gave up looking and put the plaque up on that statue in the courtyard. Everyone and their dog believes some rumor or another about what happened to him. Lots of folks say the memories of the war got too much, an’ he wouldn’t be the first soldier who went that way. Others reckon he was clearing out a monster camp and got careless or just plain unlucky.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Me, I don’t know. But whatever it was that got our Captain, it wasn’t natural. That I can tell you for free.”

He left shortly after this pronouncement, and Four thanked him and brought the food to his brothers.

None of them had really moved since they’d all curled up in bed, save for when Twilight vanished into Time and Wind’s room an hour later. When Four went to call everyone to their meal, he had found Wolfie sprawled across the covers with Wind clutching him like a particularly large stuffed animal and sobbing into his fur.

That… yeah. He stepped out again, resolving not to disturb them but to set some food aside instead. The rest of them wandered into the living room to eat. The food certainly looked delicious, but if Four was being honest, it tasted like little more than ash in their mouths. None of them were really in any state to properly appreciate it, not with everything that had happened.

After lunch, the rest of the Chain abandoned the third bedroom and instead all piled into the second bed in a miserable cuddle pile. Normally Four might have put up at least a token protest and he could see from Legend’s expression that he wanted to, but Hyrule gave them such effective puppy-dog eyes as he dragged them both over that neither of them said a thing.

So the day passed, all of them clinging onto one another, the interruptions to the silence of their own whirling thoughts being when the innkeeper brought more food or the occasional call of nature. The night was much the same, with all of them sleeping uneasily in their cuddle pile, waking fitfully through the night. The temptation to split lurked in the back of Four’s mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, even if only to give his emotional side the presence and care he needed. It woke him up half a dozen times through the night and the only reason that he didn’t creep out of the pile and into the third bed was that both Hyrule and Legend had latched onto him and wouldn’t let go for love nor money.

The next morning though, despite their night of restless, disturbed sleep, none of them could bear to stay inside a moment longer. They were Heroes, used to movement and action, and even if they couldn’t save their brother, they could try and find out what had happened to him.

Or at least, Four thought dimly, they could find out what kind of man he had been. He’d never get a chance to know him in the same way as he had his brothers - both shared-spirit and color-coded - but Wind and Time so clearly loved the man they called Captain. If he’d been a public figure then surely there must be some way of finding out more about him? The old owner’s son had said he helped at a soup kitchen - was that the kind of man he had been? Someone who got involved?

Hylia, Four wished that he had met the man. From everything he’d learned, he seemed good.

Also, it sounded like he might have been one of the few sane members of the Chain.

Four smiled, just a little. With brothers like this, he could have used a breath of sanity.

Still. The Chain - one Link shorter than they should have been - managed to slouch their way out of the room, only pausing twice to give Time and Wind a moment’s respite. Time had foregone his plate armour and he somehow looked smaller walking in just his tunic and shirt.

They all crowded down to the dining hall for a breakfast which they thought might have been nice - porridge and bacon and eggs and honey - but honestly none of them tasted it. All of them looked more drab than they normally did, changing into their spare tunics as the clothes from the day before were still dripping dry in their suite.

It was a long, quiet meal. No one much felt like speaking, so the only sound at their table was the metal of their spoons against their bowls as they picked at their food. At the very least, Four thought, none of them seemed to have actually fallen ill after their spell in the rain, and even Hyrule’s hadn’t sneezed since they had gotten inside, which seemed like nothing short of a minor miracle.

At last, Wind set down his spoon, his bowl still half full and his bacon untouched. Normally, by now the sailor would have finished his own breakfast and been making moves on whoever nearby was slowest - usually Sky - but not today. Instead, he was pale and drawn, and his passion for food apparently well and truly doused.

“The Captain came from the east end of town.” he whispered, his voice still hoarse after a night spent crying. “Flea End. He- he wanted to make it nice. After the War. He wanted to help.”

Time nodded, setting down his own spoon. His food was largely untouched.

“Flea End is a poor area.” he explained quietly. “We visited a few times. The Captain was proud of where he came from, could see beauty in it even if high society just thought it was a slum. He had so many plans to build it up. Create jobs. Safer housing. Clean water. Laws to protect the residents.”

He paused, looking down at his tea, and then hummed. “We… could do worse than to go down there. Visit. Ask around. If anyone knows anything, it’d be them. And, well,” Time shrugged. “They might know more if a friend asks them.”

Four hummed. If this Hero really was that invested in the place he had grown up in, then it made sense that the people of his community would know him. That they might be able to tell the Chain - what? More about who he had been as a person? More about what had happened to him?

Four found himself nodding along.

“So,” he said. “Flea End?” it didn’t sound like the most appealing place in the world, but if his lost brother had treasured the place then Four wanted to see it. He wanted to treasure it too.

Time and Wind exchanged a glance and nodded

“He-” Wind cleared his throat, fiddling with his napkin. “He really wanted to make things better. To help. If he- if he didn’t get to do that… maybe there’s something we can do.” As he looked up, Four could almost see a spark in his eyes again.

It hurt a lot more than it had any right to.

Four understood the urge to help. To try and fix things. He honestly did. He was a Hero, after all, it was in his nature to want to help people. And… if this was something that the Captain had wanted to do, then Four would never dream of saying that they shouldn’t help. That they shouldn’t try to honour his memory by carrying out even a little of the work that he had never been able to.

But he knew full well that it wasn’t always that easy to do good. Poverty wasn’t something that could be fixed in a day and there were many, many factors feeding into it.

Four looked around and could see, where Legend was interpreting the conversation for Hyrule, that the traveller had grimaced and was likely thinking something similar. His own world was only just beginning to recover from Ganon’s influence and Hyrule had often told them about the disparity between rich and poor, the leeches who hoarded vital resources like fresh water away from the masses, and the long, arduous battles that he and his Zeldas were fighting to build a world that was fairer for everyone.

Hyrule, like all of them, knew that there was more to saving the world than killing the Big Bad. Still, a small smile spread across his face as Legend finished and he idly gnawed on his lip, signing something that Four didn’t quite catch. Legend turned to face the rest of the table.

“Rulie says he thinks that’s a really sweet idea.” he said. “He’ll help however he can.”

Four couldn’t help but smile. Yeah. Yeah, you know what? Maybe they couldn’t fix things. But they might be able to make a small difference, and that would be better than nothing.

-

Outside, the torrential rain had lightened to a faint drizzle and a few weak rays of sunlight had managed to struggle their way through the clouds. A few people had actually braved the streets, though it was still soggy enough that any passers-by were few and far between. Their children, however, seemed to think that it was an excellent day for impromptu baths, jumping into the puddles with no small amount of glee. Four couldn’t help but laugh at the sight - even though he had to dodge out of the way to avoid the splash zone of a particularly enthusiastic eight year old. He caught a few of the Chain glancing over at Wind, too, knowing his penchant for sharing muddy love with anyone nearby, but the Sailor quietly plodded along with his head down and his hand in Time’s.

Four wanted to try and convince the Sailor to try it anyway, but there was no time to stay and watch the people come and go. They had a job to do, a place to be, and something told him that now maybe wasn’t the time.

Flea End was a half hour walk away through the increasingly twisting city streets, and unlike the finely built centre there were no tree-lined boulevards for them to shelter in as they walked. Time quickly led them to a local tailor’s, claiming that during the wet season, heavy rain like the day before was less a matter of ‘if’ so much as it was a ‘when’. They all got new, tightly woven woollen cloaks, courtesy of Wild’s seemingly endless diamond stash, that wicked off the drizzle and kept them warm against the chill of the day.

Four really wasn’t sure what to expect when Time told them they were about to cross into their brother’s old neighbourhood. Somewhere dismal and run down, with empty streets and shuttered, dark windows.

But when they crossed into what a nearby signpost called ‘Ruta Street’, Four was amazed by how… well. There was no other word for it. How alive Flea End was. Despite the ever-present rain, the local market vendors were out and busy, their stalls reinforced against the weather with bright, waxed tarpaulins. They sold everything from clothes pegs to secondhand furniture to bundles of fresh fruit and vegetables, and half the neighbourhood had turned out to buy from them. Nearby, the scent of food cooking cut through the chill of the day, and at another stall, steam from a bubbling pot of mulled wine mingled in with the early morning mist, filling the air with the aromas of citrus and spices.

They began to walk down the street, and while it was clearly not a wealthy area - unlike the few people that they had seen in the main town, not a single person that Four passed was wearing clothes that were not mended or let out or otherwise visibly worn, and more than a few had the hollow look to their cheeks that only came with real hunger - it was clearly not abandoned.

The buildings on either side of the street were old, ramshackle tenements, rundown and clearly too tired to stay standing and too dilapidated to provide any real sort of shelter. And yes, Four could see with a feeling of horror in his chest that they were clearly all still inhabited, packed full of too many people to possibly be safe. But at the same time, more than half of them were covered in scaffolding, and Four could see where repairs were being done on an industrial scale to make the buildings safe again. Every so often he could see where a building, too far gone to be salvageable, had been torn away altogether and a new build had been put up, modern and sturdy and solid.

As they walked further down the street they came up to a large building, its boarded up windows painted with bright and cheerful colours, pots of fresh flowers set on the neatly swept front steps. Four squinted at the sign painted in careful letterwing overhead, but couldn’t parse through the alphabet. He turned, and found Time smiling up at it fondly, and - were those tears in his eye?

“Old Man?” he prompted gently.

Time - Time smiled. Just a little, just a twitch of his quivering lips, but a smile nonetheless.

“Flea End Community Hospital.” he read, his voice soft and disbelieving as he knuckled the tears from his eyes. “He did it. He really did it.”

Four stared. The building, while old, was vast, and Four could see that same scaffolding from before wrapping around it like a vast exoskeleton, protecting it as it was repaired and made into something new. A place of healing. Something for the whole community.

“Look!”

Four turned at Wind’s cry and found that he had run over to a slightly smaller building in the hospital’s shadow, the scent of cooking and the feeling of warmth radiating from its open door. The same flower pots sat at either side and Four could hear laughter coming from within.

Smiling wider, Time walked over and read the sign by the door.

“Flea End Community Centre and Kitchen.” he said, and glanced back at the Chain. His face - there was a look of raw sentimentality and pride on his face that they had rarely seen before, the sheer feeling of love for their lost brother shining through his grief like a beacon. He looked proud. “He always said he wanted to make sure no one would go hungry - that there was a safe place to go-” his voice cracked and he bit his lip, clearly afraid to continue for fear of bursting into tears.

But as ever, Sky came to his rescue, stepping forwards and gently squeezing his arm.

“He did it.” he agreed, joining in Time’s smile. “He did it and you should be proud. So how about we go in, then?” he reached down to drape his other arm around the Sailor’s shoulders. “Shall we go and see what he built?”

“Yes!” Wind said immediately, almost cutting him off before he had even finished speaking and already straining to hurry forwards.

Time nodded, his eye glistening in the watery sunlight.

“Yes.” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Yes, that would be good.”

Chapter Text

Upon entering the Community Centre, the first thing that hit them was the smell of cooking, of rich spices and roasting vegetables. To one side, Wind could see a row of tables holding massive tureens of soup and stew, along with vast trays of bread rolls, hand pies, and pots upon pots of tea, all handed out to a steady stream of people by a group of smiling volunteers.

Long rows of tables filled up a vast section of the room, with space for well over a hundred people to sit and eat at once, with yet more clusters of sofas and smaller tables to the side. As the Chain walked in, they could see another room leading off from this, home to dozens of people bent over cutting boards and spices and yet more tureens of soup. Their clothes ranged from ratty to extravagant, and yet all were carrying on their task with a dedication that was almost loving.

…Wind couldn’t help but wonder if this was the soup kitchen that his brother had been supposed to work in, the day that he went missing. It seemed like a wonderful place to spend the day, cheerful banter flying between peasant and noble without regard for station and often pausing for someone to taste their dish and usher a crowd in to share its flavors with them.

On the other side of the dining hall, Wind could hear a constant, contented murmur emanating through another archway. Craning his next, he could see children of all ages playing loudly on one side of a brightly colored hall, and on the other side was a collection of very old people, each and every one of them holding yarn or string and some assorted needle, be it sewing or knitting or crochet hook. It seemed they were all in animated conversation, yarn flying through hooks and thread into fabric as they all gossiped like Granny always did with Auntie Lulu. A group of younger people sat among them, hanging onto every one of the elders’ words and learning how to knit at their sides. Sometimes one of the younger people would slip a stitch or make a mistake, and the elders immediately stepped in to help with a smile on their face and a friendly pat on the back.

With all eight of the Chain gawping like beached fish it didn’t take long for a volunteer to spot them as not being part of the normal throng that came in and out of the centre. Eloise was a middle aged woman with greying dark hair and a roughspun shawl, and was happy to show them around, especially when they told her that while they may not be in the city long, they wanted to volunteer their services where they could.

She was even more enthusiastic when Time, staring around at the rooms set aside for veterans’ therapy, mentioned quietly that they had met ‘Captain Link’ during the war. If there had been any doubt who Flea End’s benefactor had been before, there was none now. Eloise’s eyes widened in delight and she waxed lyrical about all of the good that he had done, the school that he had established only a little ways down the street, the hospital next door and its programme to train new healers, the dozens of community initiatives that were based in the centre-

And then her eyes fell on Wind, his hood now pulled down and his hair dry and fluffy underneath, if a little mussed. He looked back up at her, knowing full well that he hadn’t changed much since he was last here, trying hard not to fidget.

“Oh.” she breathed, and it was clear that she recognised him. “It- it’s you.”

Wind flushed and glanced up at Time - but no, it was clear that he was the only one who had been recognised. Which was fair - as far as he could tell it had only been a few years since the war. There was no reason for them to think that Time, a fully grown adult, might have anything to do with the tiny Mask.

He looked back at the volunteer and took a deep breath.

“It- it’s me.” he nodded at last, raising his hand in a feeble wave. “Hi.”

Eloise smiled, the lines around her eyes soft as she knelt down to be eye level. “Your brother was a good man.” she said, her voice heartbreakingly tender. “You should be proud.”

It… it was too much. Wind could feel his lower lip start to shake and knew that everyone could see him starting to cry like a baby, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Before he could break and start blubbering in the middle of everyone he charged Eloise, wrapping her into as bone crushing a hug as he could manage, grabbing Time by the hand as he went and dragging him in too. He could hear Sky hissing at the others to look away as he clutched both brother and volunteer, but just for a moment he couldn’t care less about prying eyes.

Someone had seen Link.

Not Captain Link, not Link the Hero, but his big brother. The one who carried candy for kids, who’d give out his rations if he found someone starving, who Wind loved so much that for months when he’d come back home he’d ended up sniping at the empty air before realizing there was no one to give an exasperated hair ruffle back.

Ever since arriving here, it was the closest he’d been to having him back.

After the tour was done (and they had been given handmade handkerchiefs to dry their tears from the Yarn Gang in the community room), they all agreed that they would help out where they could and meet back at the central kitchen for lunch.

Time put his Golden Gauntlets to work, hauling materials around that normally took five men to lift as easily as he’d heft a bag of corn back on the Ranch. Hyrule, upon being told that one of the rooms was being used by the hospital to help with a vaccination programme, immediately grabbed Legend’s hands and dashed off down the hall (And yes, he then had to be dragged back up the hall because he had gone the wrong direction, but he had the spirit!).

Wild, of course headed straight for the kitchen while Sky whispered something in Twi’s ear and the two of them snuck into a quiet room, only to re-emerge and make their way back downstairs with the story that Twi was a (very large) therapy dog here to offer his support.

Where Twilight had gotten the vest from, Wind hoped to never know.

Four dithered for a moment before turning and following Legend and Hyrule towards the vaccine clinic. However, it seemed that though he was a Hero of Courage who hunted down monsters and had seen more than his fair share of gore and violence, the sight of the syringes had him feeling so faint that he was forced to flee to the kitchens to join Wild in making lunch. On any other day, Wind would have never let Four live it down.

This wasn’t any other day, though.

Wind wasn’t honestly sure where to go. Time offered to let him help with moving things around, but he’d left his power bracelets back at the inn and figured that he wanted to explore a little more. Absently, he followed Four and Wild to the kitchen, wondering if he could help out there.

It was made in an interesting configuration, with fresh ingredients freely available for all to take, but with multiple different stovetops in different locations instead of one large hub. This, the old man chopping carrots next to Wild explained, allowed for the workers to share making the communal lunch, but also for people to come in who didn’t have cooking materials at home to make food for their families in the center. However, the old man noted with a wince, it had been a while since they’d had the funding to commission a blacksmith to sharpen the knives.

Wind couldn’t help but smile a little as Four’s expression lit up. The smith excused himself from chopping duty and he quickly collected the knives he’d been working with, setting to work then and there. It didn’t take long for him to bully Wild into pulling out his full-sized sharpening stone – much to the delight of the onlookers – and he quickly acquired a pile of knives to be honed to a razor’s edge. Just as quick as they were pulled off the stone and wiped, they disappeared into an eager hand and another knife was placed on the pile.

Wind smiled. But he didn’t feel super useful, standing here just cutting vegetables. Or… he guessed that he did. He knew that he was helping and stuff, even if he was just showing off the skills Granny had hammered into his skull.

But… there was something else that he wanted to do and he’d need some time alone to do it.

He made an excuse and drifted out of the kitchen, barely even registering the concerned looks from the champion and smithy. Everywhere in the center was busy and teeming with life, but it wasn’t the living that Wind was after.

When they suggested coming down to Flea End today, Wind had - selfishly, perhaps, but for good reason! - had a secret plan other than carrying out his brother’s work.

Ever since his second journey, he’d had the gift - or. Well. Ability was probably a better way of putting it - of being able to see the dead. If he was nitpicky about it, it was all souls, really. It was just that with the living it was really hard to see the difference between someone’s spirit and their body, as they usually looked exactly the same, like one identical image overlaying another. A soul was as bright and colourful as the body it inhabited, and with the living he could never really tell where one ended and another began.

It was only with the dead that it ever became really noticeable. When a soul no longer had a body, when it became a ghost, that was when Wind really tended to notice them. A not insignificant part of him had hoped that if he came to Flea End, to his brother’s home and the place that he cared so much about, that maybe he might find him here. Maybe Wind might be able to find him, to ask him what happened.

To say goodbye.

Wind had been watching every single street corner and alleyway since he arrived in Flea End, but there had been no sign of the Captain. He’d even been doing his best to loudly think ‘I’m here! Come and find me!’ just in case he was nearby, but so far it had been no use. The few ghosts that had drifted by, drawn by his calls, had seen immediately that he wasn’t someone they knew and left.

And even here there was still no sign of his brother.

Wind wound his way through the corridors of the Community Centre, trying to find an unoccupied room. He knew that he probably should have been glad that there were so many different activities going on, that it meant that his brother’s project was working out, but it made it real hard to get any privacy.

Finally, though, he found an empty room and slipped inside, settling down in the nicest chair he could find. He screwed up his eyes and sent out as many ‘Hi Hello Come And Find Me!’ thoughts as he could, as loud and as widespread as he could manage. If the Captain was in Flea End, he’d hear him.

And frankly, Wind couldn’t imagine that he would haunt anywhere but Flea End. He didn’t ever really like the castle, with the insincere nobles in the royal court and the nonsensical rules of- what was it? Eti-? Ettile-? Bleh. if the nobles wanted him to remember the word, they shouldn’t have made it so hard to remember. Yes, the Captain got on well with his fellow soldiers, but he had more class than to spend his afterlife haunting a damn barracks.

If he was a ghost, then he’d be here. And was definitely a ghost. He had to be. He’d promised.

Something flickered at the corner of his eye and he looked up to see two ghosts floating through the wall. They looked over and, not recognising him, made to go, but he leapt to his feet.

“Wait!” he cried, flushing red as his voice came out as more of a squeak than a dignified call. He cleared his throat as the ghosts paused, halfway through the wall. “I- I was actually wondering if I could talk to you?”

The ghosts exchanged a glance and shrugged, drifting over towards his seat. It was a man and a… witch? The man may have died recently, judging by his clothes, but the witch was nearly transparent with age. Whoever she had been in life, she clearly was fine with hanging around in death and had been doing so for a long time. Wind could barely see the red on the underside of her hat, although her shock of blue hair had somehow survived the ages.

“How can we help you?” The man asked, tilting his head. The woman promptly smacked him upside the head and leaned over his shoulder as he tried to dodge, unintentionally making himself the perfect armrest.

Actually, it looked pretty intentional.

“What’s up, short stack?” she asked. The grin on her face declared trouble, but at this rate Wind wasn’t especially choosy as to who he asked.

“Um.” Wind asked, suddenly bashful. Ghosts tended to have an… intensity in how they looked at you. Especially the older ones. They were no longer part of mortal world and the social rules were different. If you had their focus then it was undivided - not to mention that ghosts didn’t need to blink, which was creepy to the extreme.

Wind forced himself not to squirm under their gazes

“Thank you for answering my call.” he said slowly, because it was always good to start out polite with the undead. “I- um. I’m looking for my brother. He should be around here somewhere.”

“Is he dead?” the woman asked bluntly. Now it was the man’s turn to swat her arm, hissing “be nice!” as she stuck her tongue out at the retort. And then blew a raspberry. Because she was clearly a mature centuries-old ghost.

Wind shivered at the question. “Y-yes.” he whispered, his voice breaking, hating himself for admitting it. He took a shuddering breath, glad when the ghosts gave him space. “He- he was the Hero. Captain Link.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgement as the man brightened, kneeling down beside where Wind was sitting as the witch slipped off with a yelp.

“Hang on a sec, I- oh! I know you!” he gasped. “You’re the kid! The small hero! Sailor, right? I saw you once! Always wondered what happened to you. ‘Course, then I got myself killed, so I had other things to worry about.” he grinned, gesturing to a faint bloodstain on the left of his tunic.

Wind nodded faintly. “That- that was me.” he confirmed. “I- I went back home to my family. But now I’ve come back, but- but the Captain’s dead and I can’t find him anywhere!”

He hated how his voice cracked on the last line.

The ghosts exchanged glances and the woman hummed, pursing her lips and drifting around him in a circle.

“I’d heard about that.” she said at last. “That the scarf-wearing priss went missing. Haven’t you found him yet? Town’s not that big. Bunch of heroes like yourself, I bet even you can figure it out.”

The man elbowed her in the side, his expression uncomfortable. “Everyone was buzzing with it.” he agreed. “But… I’m sorry kid. I haven’t seen him. No one has. He must have moved on.”

The witch nodded. “Word travels fast among the undead.” she shrugged. “And I’m kind of a big deal, he’d have been falling all over himself to see me if he was here. But he’s not. So uh. He’s probably cooling his heels somewhere as a not-ghost.”

“Wherever he is now, he’s found rest.” The man clarified.

Wind felt his mouth run dry. If he hadn’t been sitting down, he would have had to from how hard his head began to spin.

No. No.

He knew that he should be glad, that this meant that his brother had found peace in death, that he didn’t have unfinished business forcing him to stay on earth as a spirit. He should have been happy for him, should have found it at least a small comfort among all the pain.

But he didn’t.

It was selfish and stupid but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t accept it. The Captain wouldn’t have just left him! He couldn’t explain it to these two ghosts, strangers who didn’t know him, didn’t know how much the Captain loved him! He’d promised, back in the war. He’d promised not to leave the Sailor alone, that if he was slain he’d come back as a ghost and ‘haunt your annoying little ass, Sailor!’ keep him company. That he wouldn’t leave him alone.

And he knew that it wasn’t practical. Wasn’t reasonable. He knew that this hadn’t been a real promise - a worthless platitude made in wartime - and ever since Wind had returned to his own era it wouldn’t have made sense for him to stay behind as a ghost. After all, Wind had lived centuries before him, it wasn’t as if he could go back through time to haunt him. At least before they’d been thrown onto this worthless adventure, where he had seven brothers and not the one he’d wanted.

But… but even despite the logic of it. Despite the fact that it was good that his brother had found peace, Wind couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t. The Captain wouldn’t have left him alone, he promised. He really did!

He felt tears well up in his eyes as he shook his head. All this time he’d been holding onto the hope that he’d see his brother again. That even if he was dead, he wasn’t gone. He’d be a ghost, lingering in his old home, and Wind could see him again. Tell him about everything that’s happened, share the new stories of Mask as a trophy husband being kissed silly by Egg Girl, even gossip about all his new brothers and even convince him to join up from the beyond.

But now his brother was gone. He couldn’t tell his grave, just that stupid statue with that stupid plaque and that STUPID paint job that made it look just like the real thing.

“He-” he whispered, unable to stop the tears from welling up. “But he promised.”

“Oh, son.” The man said, reaching out to tuck his hair behind his ear as the woman behind him looked away uncomfortably. His hand phased uselessly through Wind’s head and he shivered violently, the sensation like ice against his flesh. “I’m sorry. But he’s at rest now. Sleeping. He doesn’t have to fight anymore.”

Wind shuddered again, but bit his tongue before he could say anything else. There was no point trying to explain it, not when he himself knew that it wasn’t fair. That if anyone deserved to rest, it was his brother.

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“D-do” he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks as he took a deep breath. “Do you know what h-happened to him, then?” He asked, for once not caring how small his voice sounded. “Y-you said that ghosts like to gossip?”

He winced, hoping that he hadn’t sounded rude. But the witch chuckled softly, drifting closer to him.

“We do, yeah.” She admitted. “But only about our fellow undead. Whatever happened to him… happened in life, if you get my drift.” And unexplainably, she dipped him a wink.

“And even at that.” The man added, pointedly ignoring the gesture. “There’s been precious little talk. However he died, no ghost saw it. I’m sorry, son.”

Wind nodded miserably. So that was that, then. His brother was gone, at peace, his soul at rest. He knew he should be happy for him, and maybe later he would be, but here and now it just hurt.

“Th-thank you.” He whispered, trying to blink the tears from his eyes and finding himself unsuccessful.

The ghosts straightened and the woman smiled softly, her waspish facade breaking, just a little.

“I don’t like to. You know. Praise the deeds of the living.” She told him. “But your brother was a damn good man. In building this place he found room for a soul speaker, one who can guide the dead to their final rest. Before that, this neighbourhood was swarming with the dead. Most of them miserable. Trapped. Not everyone’s as cool as me and likes to linger. For most it’s all ‘unfinished business’ and ‘unrelenting misery’. Believe me, kiddo. Hero-Man’s better off where he is than as a ghost.”

The man nodded. “Before he found the Speaker, he had a constant entourage. The men he’d lost, and some that blamed him for their own deaths. It was a never ending brawl around him, and he was none the wiser. It was only then that the crowd began to thin, to the point where he could actually get some space.

“Well-” the witch snorted. “-he didn’t exactly notice the difference. We did, though, and wasn’t it a shock when we saw him alone for the first time since the War?”

The man shook his head. “If anyone would’ve known what happened to him, it would’ve been them. I’m really sorry, kid.”

Wind nodded mutely in response. He knew that, really. After all, he had been the one to first suggest a ghost therapist to his brother. Someone who could act as a medium, to help the undead move on. It was something that he had encountered out on the Great Sea, and sometimes he had thought that if he ever had to stop being a pirate, then maybe he might… set up an office somewhere. See if he could help.

“Are-” he asked, clearing his throat. “Are you going there now? To the Speaker?”

The ghosts chuckled, and the witch answered. “Not me. But Geoffrey wants to go. I was just… keeping him company on the way. Tagging along. You know. Making a nuisance of myself.”

“Mm, five years is enough for me.” he laughed. “I’m not built for this like you are, Irene.”

Irene laughed. “I still have so much to see.” she said, grinning. Then she looked back down at Wind. “Shove Greenie for me, little Medium.” she said. “See you later.”

She shot him some finger guns, waved, and then the ghosts drifted away. Wind was alone once more.

…he felt very small, sitting in this room on his own.

Wind shook his head and clenched his fists, knuckling away his tears. No. No, he refused. He would not sit here and feel small, feel alone. Not when he had his brothers around him. Not when he was sitting in a building that his big brother had set up, a building filled with the express purpose of community.

So the Captain was gone. Gone and moved on, at rest. The knowledge of this hurt more than he could even begin to comprehend as he felt his big brother’s absence leave its empty, burning hole in his heart from the same spot it had sat since yesterday.

But… but the Captain was still alive. Maybe not in body, maybe not in soul, but in spirit. He was alive in the place he had built here, in the good that it was doing.

Wind sniffed loudly and stood, making his way towards the door. He was in this place now, so he might as well see it all properly. Get to know the Captain’s legacy.

He managed a watery smile and drifted down the corridor, searching for the rest of his brothers, to see what they were up to and help out where he could.

-

So the morning went, with Wind moving from brother to brother, watching and helping as all of the Links paid tribute to a brother they had never known.

Each of the Chain, going about their different tasks, learned tidbit after tidbit after tidbit about the Link everyone called Captain. In the kitchen, Wild and Four heard all about his love of sticky buns from the cooks, while Time heard about his loathing of the looping stitch from the Yarn Gang.

Hyrule giggled when he learned from the vaccination team that the Captain was just as squeamish as Four when it came to shots. The older children begrudgingly told them about the Captain’s uncanny skill with a hacky sack, and Wild bribed the younger ones with honey candy to spill all about how Link’s favorite color was purple and how he’d let them braid his hair and put makeup on his face one rainy afternoon. Time had even tracked down the Captain’s Granny Lulu to the Yarn Gang, and while the loss of her grandson and the lack of closure was clearly too great a grief for her to easily talk about, he’d spent over an hour listening to her warble about how her Link had missed them both when he and the Sailor had left and how he’d pushed all of his pain into building something they would be proud of.

“He’d be so proud of you, dearie.” she crooned, patting Time’s cheek. “And I’m sure that wherever he is now, he’s delighted that you’ve found even more boys to call your brothers.”

He was loved. That much was certain. Every single person they spoke to had a story to tell of him, and every one of them had the same slump as their story ended. There was no Captain left to make stories about, after all.

He was loved. And he was lost.

By the time the Chain met up for lunch, they all had stories of how the Hero of Warriors had fought for the people of his neighbourhood. Legend had made a snide remark (although there was no heat in it) that maybe he should’ve been the Hero of Community Service, which had managed to get a teary smile out of the old man.

“I think he’d have loved that.” Time had whispered, reaching out to ruffle Wind’s hair. “So much.”

Wind gave a token grumble and pushed him lightly away, but he was smiling. The Captain would have loved that title, would have loved everything about this place. He sat back in his seat, looking around as he nibbled at his lunch.

He wasn’t exactly hungry, his stomach still twisted with shock and grief. But after their morning spent helping out there never really was any question that they would be eating at the community centre kitchen. Wind’s heart had swollen when he saw that they were serving beef, bean, and barley stew, which had always been the Captain’s favourite on a cold, rainy day.

And then he had almost burst out laughing. Because next to the stew pot was a massive pile of samosas, which, yes, the Captain also loved, but they didn’t exactly go with the stew.

Still, he piled his plate high with them. Even if he couldn’t eat them all now, the way his stomach was twisting he might be a little peckish later and he could always use a snack when Wild was busy.

He found himself sitting beside Hyrule, who was beaming from ear to ear. One of the medics helping with the vaccination programme had also been Deaf, and when Wind had gone in to see how it was going he had found the two conversing in rapid-fire sign, faster even than Legend could keep up with.

Now he sat grinning as he ate, occasionally setting down his spoon to sign a little more of what he’d learned. Most of it was about the various medical programmes that were run out of the centre, the vaccination drives and the lung clinics and the maternity classes. Hyrule spoke about them with a sort of reverence, an awe that such a thing could actually be organised.

Wind was willing to bet that the traveller was dreaming of a day when maybe something similar could be built in his own era.

His face grew solemn as he signed, though, his fingers hesitant. He glanced around to see who was watching - Wind and Four and Legend, the others lost in their own conversations. He sighed.

“Doctor said he doesn’t know how long this can last, though.” he said. “Building belongs to the centre - but it is old. Falling apart. The Captain - the Hero - our brother - was setting up funding to get a new one. Big enough. Sturdy. Modern. But… he has been gone a year, and the funding never happened. So they make do. This place is not perfect… but they make do.”

Wind stared. And then looked around. Really looked.

The room they were in was brightly painted in cheerful colours, fresh flowers on every table. But… it was clear when he looked beyond the decor, the building was on its last legs. The walls were cracked and sagging, more than half the windows boarded up, their glass panes long since shattered. The floor might have once been attractively tiled, but now it was broken and repaired so many times that it was hard to tell what the pattern might have ever been. Even the ceiling above them creaked and groaned with every footstep on the floor above.

The building was old. And not in a way that was quaint and charming, in a way that was ‘unstable’ and ‘a danger to life and limb’. Wind had a sneaking suspicion that the only thing keeping the building standing was the Captain, keeping it safe from beyond the grave even as he’d been trying to breathe new life into it.

But it was failing. His big brother’s legacy, everything his brother stood for, all of it crashing down around his ears.

Oshus, was he not allowed to have anything left of his brother? No Captain, no ghost, not even a legacy?

A few seats away, Time sat picking at his stew and samosas. They all knew how he had the most ravenous appetite of them all, able to demolish an entire wheel of Lon Lon cheese if Malon didn’t chase him away from the cheesebarn after a day of work. He’d always been the one bothering Wild for snacks in the few short weeks they had known, and the one who Wind suspected had been the cause of his dried mangos vanishing mysteriously from his bag, just like they did back in the War.

But now, their fearless and ever-starving leader couldn’t bring himself to finish his meal. And yes, okay, there were a lot of visible vegetables in both servings, but picky as their brother was, he had never had problems with samosas before.

The fact was, even though Wind was making good progress on his lunch, none of them were really eating at full capacity. Even after their morning spent seeing the good that their brother had done, how even in death he was still very much alive in this community, it was hard to be comforted. Omnipresent as the Captain called Link seemed to be, he was still irrevocably, unchangeably dead.

Wind sighed and minutely pushed his bowl away from him. His stomach had twisted and clenched closed again, and suddenly he couldn’t bear to eat any more of his brother’s favourite food.

He stowed the samosas in Wilds slate for later, ignoring his brother’s worried eyebrow raise, and together the rest of the Chain finished up their meal. There had never been any question that they would continue to help out afterwards, and with the news that the building was in disrepair and funding was short their determination was only doubled.

…Wind suspected, somehow, that more than a few of Wild’s diamonds had found their way into the donation box before the day was out. Some way or other, they’d find a way to protect this community.

They would keep their brother’s project alive somehow.

After all, they’d been too late to save his body. They owed it to him to save the memory of his soul.

-

The previous night may have been long and restless with grief, but after their day spent in action, in helping and volunteering and doing something, the Chain all but collapsed into their rented beds.

They still felt the loss of their brother as a gaping maw in their midst even as they bedded down in their beds. Not three and three and three, but three and three and two. It would take some time before they could even begin to come to terms with losing a brother before they had a chance to meet him. But they were tired. They were hurt. And after this long day spent doing their best to honour his memory, it felt good to curl up together in their beds and find some rest.

For most of them, exhaustion had made their sleep deep and dreamless.

Not so for the Chosen Hero.

Sky often slept deeply. It was something that he often was teased about by his brothers. He could sleep anywhere, at any time, and more often than not, he dreamed.

Often they were nightmares. Like the rest of his brothers, he had seen terrible things in his journeys and while they no longer haunted his every waking moment, they were never far away when he closed his eyes.

Sometimes they were just dreams, though, plain and simple and gentle. Sky liked those times, enjoyed the escape of a dream of flying through the sky with Crimson or resting on soft grass beside his beloved Sun.

Sometimes, though, they were something else altogether.

Sometimes they were True Dreams.

Sky woke up in a plane made of endless blue, stretching in a strange, unreal haze as far as the eye could see. He breathed in and out, unnaturally calm in the way that signalled that this was no ordinary rest. Looking down, he discovered he was standing on a surface of still water, dark and reflective. His own face looked back at him, his reflection silvery and unreal, as if all of his color had been drained away, leaving a stone effigy behind. As he stared it looked less like him, less like the figure of a person. It turned more angular, inscribed with ancient runes, the shape of a triforce.

He blinked, and he was looking back at his own stony reflection. The sight was enough for a shiver to ripple down his spine as he looked away. He was not in a Silent Realm, but he was somewhere similar. Needless to say, even with the unnatural peace, the thought did not stir positive feelings.

Well, there was no avoiding it. He was here for a reason, and he’d long since learned that there was no doubt trying to avoid the inevitable. If he didn’t begin to walk, something would always drive him forward whether he liked it or not. Each step produced no noise, and while the water rippled, it was barely visible, falling still again only inches from his foot.

He walked, and he wasn’t sure for how long. Time is fluid in dreams, and it could have been for minutes or it could have been for hours. The landscape remained the same, blue and hazy and utterly silent for most of his journey.

Then, finally, far and away from where he started, something changed. Distantly he saw pillars of bluish gray stone half-hidden in the mist, broken and crumbling but seemingly massive after so long of nothingness.

A heading. finally.

The pillars loomed large out of the mist, four in differing states of decay. They may have once been part of a larger structure, but any further evidence of it was long since gone. All else that remained was an indistinct figure in the centre of the ruins, half obscured by mist and haze.

Sky moved closer and realised, with a hollow pang in his chest, that it was the statue. The one from the courtyard, with the plaque underneath it.

The statue of his lost brother stood above him in silent repose. His stone hands clasped a stone Master Sword’s hilt in front of him, and his face was calm. Impassive.

As if he were arranged for a coffin.

Sky looked up at it. It looked exactly as it had in the waking world; plain grey stone carved in exquisite detail, not stylised or fantastical. Just a man.

A drop of water ran down the statue’s carved face and all at once Sky realised that just like in the waking world, it was raining. Raindrops bounced off of the statue in sheets and splashed onto the ground, although for all that he could feel it seeping into his clothes, it didn’t bother Sky. Something about the rain felt vague and indistinct, like it wasn’t quite real.

It was a dream, after all. Things work differently in dreams.

Around him the sound of the rain was silvery and low, but after so long in the silence of the rest of this realm, it may as well have been a roar. And there, between the sound of the drizzle, was something else. Something… altogether more alive.

Is someone there? a voice whispered, muffled and unearthly as it wove between the raindrops. Save me! I'm not dead! Find me! Set me free!

Sky frowned, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at the statue.

Help me!

The statue was cold, motionless rock. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, less mortal and more like the rustling of a breeze on a street. And yet all of a sudden, somehow, though he didn’t understand it, Sky was certain that it was coming from the statue.

He wet his lips, opening his mouth to respond, to ask the voice ‘save you from what? Find you where? How?’

And then at that exact moment, Hyrule snored. Loudly.

Sky jolted awake and found himself in the dark bedroom, wrapped safe and warm in the bed with his brothers. In the fireplace the remains of a fire crackled quietly, and against the windowpane a low drizzle pattered. He hummed, shaking off the remnants of his nightmare. The memory of it was already fading from his mind, but the feeling is still lodged deep in his heart. Something urgent. Fearful.

Desperate.

Sky was no stranger to prophetic dreams, but important while such things may be, they are still dreams.

And dreams are easily forgotten.

If a prophecy is what this was, then he has already forgotten what it was trying to tell him.

Help me… a voice calls one last desperate time, but it is too weak. Too distant. Caught by the storm outside and turned into nothing but a gust of wind, unheard by its target.

Sky shuddered and rolled over.

For the rest of the night, his sleep was dreamless.

Chapter Text

Whatever respite the Chain had been given the day before from the downpour, it had clearly run out. Rain lashed the windowpanes and rattled against the roof, drowning out the crackling of the fire in the grate and providing a backdrop to the otherwise silent morning. Everyone had taken a page from Sky’s book, huddling up under the covers together until well past their usual waking hour.

One by one, they all stumbled, groggy and exhausted, out of their bedrooms and into the communal living area. Not one of them regretted volunteering the previous day or any of the work that they had done, but they all felt as if they’d gone ten rounds with a lynel rather than helped out at a charity.

They collectively thanked whatever benevolent guardian had inspired the innkeepers to leave a tray of supplies for making a hot drink on their small kitchenette’s counter. Sure, Wild had the appropriate things in his slate, but it was so much easier to just have it all available and waiting.

After about half an hour they all had managed to make it at least vaguely upright, even if only to immediately collapse into sofas and armchairs (or, in Wild’s case, a hot bath). If there was one thing that they were in agreement on, it was that they needed a hot drink and a chance to wake up before they stumbled down for breakfast.

The rain’s dismal atmosphere had leached into the room, making it grey and gloomy both outside and in. They were all still mourning the loss of their would-be brother. Time and Wind were both pale and the bags under their red eyes spoke of another night full of tears. But… there was something there. A brightness that had not been amongst them the morning before, just beginning to creep through the shadows.

Wind and Time, as ever, sat curled together on a sofa with Wolfie draped across their laps. Time sipped a mug of warm milk and Wind had a glass of fruit juice, courtesy of Wild’s endless supply of food and drink. From where he lay, Twilight could see that Sky was halfway through his second cup of triple espresso, glaring sleepily at the downpour on the window. Four sat with his head on the table, waiting for the inn’s fancy drip coffeemaker to finish dribbling, looking uncannily like a man dying of thirst.

Hyrule, meanwhile, had dragged his blanket out with him and was sitting bundled in it, sipping a massive, milky, sweetened concoction so full of honey and sugar that to call it coffee probably wasn’t terribly accurate. One hand snaked out of his blanket pile and held onto Legend’s, who sat beside him. If asked, they both would surely say that it was purely a matter of practicality: that Legend’s arthritic joints were hurting and Hyrule was feeding him healing magic. And sure, this may have been true in part, but what neither would admit but everyone around them knew to be true was that they also needed the company. The companionship.

Two brothers, holding hands, reminding each other that they were all right. That they were both still alive.

Sky yawned, raking a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Legend’s favorite term for him was ‘bird-brain’, and with the bedhead he’d managed to raise throughout the night he had given them a spectacular home to roost.

“I had such a weird dream last night.” he mumbled into his coffee, barely concealing another yawn. “Dunno what it was about though.”

Legend scoffed into his own cup. “Join the fuckin’ club.” he grumbled. "Lemme guess: you dreamed about the damn rain."

A few titters rang out as everyone glanced at the windows, the world outside mottled by the constant sheet of rain on the glass.

Sky frowned, furrowing his brow "I.... maybe? I think I might've?"

Over on his perch, Twilight couldn’t help but whuff a laugh. As if any of them had dreamt about anything but the rain all night. It was drumming down on the roof, less like it was tiled in fashionable shingles and more like a thin layer of tin. Like skeletons fuckin’ on a hot tin roof, he wanted to say.

Thankfully for Wind’s ears, he had more muzzle than mouth at the moment.

“No fuckin’ shit.” Legend scoffed. “My damn soul is soggy. Can’t escape from it.”

“Eh,” Four grunted, turning his face to the rest of the Chain. “I dreamed about Hyrule’s snoring.”

Hyrule, surprisingly, didn’t rise to the bait with flying birds like Twi expected. But then, a quick glance over showed that the traveller was slumped in his chair and drooling slightly, having fallen back asleep. At least he wasn’t snoring again. How someone so small could be that loud was beyond him.

Sky took another sip of coffee, and Twi wanted to grimace. He drank the stuff black, and the rancher had never understood how anyone could do that. Though, to be fair, apparently the chosen hero had only recently learned about the existence of dairy.

Thinking about it… yeah, it probably did seem pretty weird.

“I dunno.” Sky mused. “I don’t remember much. I was about rain. And… maybe that statue? The memorial one in the square? Or maybe another one. Something like that.”

From where Twilight lay he could see Legend wince, throwing Sky a commiserating look. “Fuckin eh, they’re everywhere aren’t they? Creepy as hell, all of em standing around staring right into your soul.”

“And why’d they have to paint them.” Wind murmured from where he was snuggled into Time.

Twi rolled his eyes towards Wind to give him a befuddled look as someone - Sky, it sounded like - made a sound of confusion.

“There were painted ones?” he asked. “I must have missed that.”

“How?” Wind demanded. “The memorial one you dreamed about. It’s painted!”

Legend snorted. “I think you’ve been dreaming too, Sailor. Thing’s plain stone.”

Wind made a frustrated sound, but when he saw that no one else was going to back him up he fell silent, face screwed up in annoyance. Twi huffed in amusement and nuzzled at his little brother. He didn’t blame the kid for his confusion; with everything that had happened, he was pretty sure they’d all had some weird dreams the past few nights.

Legend sighed again, sitting back in his seat. “Still. Wonder what the Captain thought about ‘em, since they’re all his face. The statues, I mean.”

“Hated them.” Time said immediately, and Twi startled, feeling the rumble of his brother’s voice through his chest. The Old Man cleared his throat. “He… didn’t like attention. People wanted statues even when we knew him and he refused to pose for them.”

“On– on his journey,” Wind piped up, his voice small and tired. “There was… there was a witch. She… she had a lot of– of statues of him. He- it really– it really freaked him out.”

Twi looked up and caught Time wincing, clearly in the midst of remembering something deeply unpleasant. Seemed like there was more to that story, but it wasn’t one that they wanted to tell here and now. With another whuff, he set his head back down on Time’s chest, momentarily closing his eyes in bliss as he felt a calloused hand start to rub between his ears.

Sky nodded. “Guess it’s just all getting to me.” he said quietly.

Yeah, Twilight figure that was fair. Everything that had happened since arriving had been a lot to take in.

Over at the table, Four’s coffee was finally ready. He grumbled as he sipped at it, releasing a jaw-cracking yawn as he did.

“So.” he grumbled. “What’s the plan today then? More helping?”

Twi may not have been at his most vigilant, doing his best impression of a weighted throw blanket, but he didn’t miss how both Sky and Legend tried and failed to suppress a wince. Which made sense, and he refused to suppress the whine that came out of him at the thought of helping again. He was tired, and if he was feeling worn out, then the Veteran and Chosen Hero would be feeling even worse.

They’d only been travelling together for a little while, but they knew each other well enough to know where everyone needed a little extra support. The Veteran’s arthritis flared up in the rain, and after a long day of helping his joints were probably screaming. Sky came from a literal magic island in the sky and had trouble with the air down on the earth’s surface. He just didn’t have the same stamina as the rest of them and likely would need to rest for the day. Wild was probably having a hard time too, considering that it wasn’t even noon and he was already in the bath.

Twilight couldn't help but snort, remembering how he’d first met the champion. He’d been thrown into Wild’s Hyrule unable to transform out of his wolf form and with a new gremlin of a Hero to keep alive. Wild had never let himself rest in those days, even when the Faron rains came down so cold and heavy that his scars had tightened and pulled and split if he so much as twitched wrong. To see the same little goblin actually taking the time to care for himself, even if it slowed them down, made Twilight prouder than words could express.

Not that he’d ever tell Wild that. Who was he, his dad?

But yes. Right. Four had asked a question. What were they going to do today? He lifted his head to see who would say something first, but needn’t have bothered. Across the room, the bathroom door slammed open and Wild stepped out, arm off, hair in a topknot, and his dignity only protected by a single towel clutched around his waist.

“Breakfast.” he announced. “Breakfast first. Plans later. Never make a decision on an empty stomach.”

Fair enough. No sooner had he spoken, though, than Legend leapt to his feet with an alarming cracking of his joints and shoved his way into the bathroom past him.

In his cocoon of blankets, Hyrule jolted awake with an irritated squeak. He glared in Legend’s direction and then his eyes focused on Wild, basically naked and dripping wet. To his credit, the Traveller didn’t bat an eye, only reached over to set his empty mug back on the table. He waved for attention.

“Nearly food time?” he signed. “You should probably wear clothes. Town people are funny about that.”

Wild grinned and gave a thumbs up alongside a “Fuckin’ prudes.”

Or.

Well.

That’s what Twilight assumed Wild was going to say.

Instead, when the champion gave that thumbs up, he used the one arm he had.

The one holding up his towel.

And then.

The towel.

Slipped.

“OH SHI-”

With a howl, Twilight launched himself up. Whether to cover Wind’s eyes or to protect everyone else, he didn’t know, just that he had to do something now. Thankfully, his mentor was faster, throwing one of the throw pillows on the couch with a garbled yell and terrifying accuracy.

In an instant, Wild went from nearly naked to barely un-naked to on the floor, clutching the throw pillow as he wheezed three octaves higher than normal.

There was another crash from across the room and the bathroom door flew open again, this time showing Legend in hot pink rabbit-patterned underpants and wielding a knife, because apparently that’s what normal people were bringing into the bath these days.

There was a snort from the armchairs, and Twi turned around in time to see Hyrule catch the veteran’s eye and sign. “It’s all fine, we just nearly saw Little Wild.”

“HEY!” Wild shouted from the floor, having apparently also caught his quip, but his protest didn’t exactly help his case. Twi didn’t miss how his voice sounded more soprano than alto at the moment.

But more importantly, both Time and Wind were giggling. It had taken a dumb, stupid dick joke to do it, but finally they were both smiling,

“R-remember-” Wind said, nudging Time. “Remember when the Captain kept trying not to curse ’round us? Even when the idiot got nad-nailed?”

Time snorted. Then burst out into giggles. “Didn’t he– didn’t he call the guy that nailed him the Whangadoodle Whacker?”

With a long-suffering moan, Twilight slithered off the couch as the two cackled louder than Skull Kids on a full moon. He rolled his eyes and shifted back into a hylian, stretching as he turned to face them. No matter how he crossed his arms or sent them a judgemental look, it was still nice to see the two of them looking brighter.

“Or- Or when he stubbed his toe in front of the whole platoon?!” Wind wheezed. “I thought he’d die then and there when he managed to turn ‘fuck’ into ‘fornication’!”

“I still don’t know how he thought that was better.” Time cackled. “I swear by the time the War ended everyone was using that!”

Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, just like they had been for two days. This time, though-

This time those tears were happy.

It was good to hear him laugh again, and the laughter continued as they all began to move back to their rooms and get dressed. Even as they all traipsed down the stairs to the breakfast room, they were still giggling as they tried to remember all of their lost brother’s terrible attempts at self-censorship.

“SON OF A BI-Aaaaaaaumblebee!”

“SHIIIII- take mushrooms are real fu- uuunilly nice!”

“HYLIA’S TI-imber frame house!”

“You CO- OOLUMN OF A MISBEGOTTEN TEMPLE!”

Time laughed as they arrived at their table. “That one didn’t even make sense.” he chuckled.

For a while it was almost like a normal day, them all laughing as they breakfasted together. The rest of the Chain joined in on the conversation, coming up with other ‘soft’ swears that the Captain may have liked. They may not have been able to have the whole man, but maybe this little piece of him they could carry on in his honor.

…and perhaps when he got home, he would have a whole armoury of new curses to make Rusl cringe harder than the time Mayor Bo drank a barrel of Ordon Ale and danced the Hokey Pokey.

Time chuckled again as he spread some jam on his toast.

“We got really mad at him about the censoring, at first.” he said, shaking his head. “Thought he was treating us like babies. Then we overheard him in a meeting, yelling at some fancy types. I spent years as a ten year old, getting up to mischief I had no right getting into, and even I hadn’t heard some of those words before.

“I guess… he was just looking out for us. In his own way.”

Wind smiled. “Course, we used those words right back at him next chance we got. The look on his face!” he nudged Time. “Remember how red he turned when Arch told him how we heard them?”

“Ha!” Time slapped his leg. “She was so smug! For once she wasn’t the one who taught us the bad words.”

Twilight hummed, listening as the two continued to chat. He’d heard them mention this ‘Arch’ before, but wasn’t sure who she was. The Captain’s Arch-Enemy? That didn’t sound right. They seemed to like her, after all.

“I wonder what happened to her.” Time sighed, as the innkeeper came to their table with a plate of bacon (which, yes, Twilight fully intended to eat as much of as he could). “Maybe we should look her up?”

“Who’s that then?” the innkeeper asked, setting the platter down in the middle of the table. “Old friend?”

Time offered him a soft smile, serving himself quickly before Twi could steal all the bacon take his own portion.

“First Lieutenant Olivia Arch. Or she was back in the War. She could have been promoted since, wouldn’t put it past her to try and outrank the Captain just to lord it over him.”

“She was in the Godschild Company?” Wind offered. “If you know it?”

The innkeeper sighed, his expression dropping as he nodded.

“I know her. We all do. Good soldier, that one.” he tried for a small smile to the table, but Twi could feel his stomach twist at the look on his face. “She led the searches for your friend. Haven’t seen her much around the city in a while, though.”

Moving to refill their coffee cups, he continued. “She used to come in here every week, too. Buy a sticky bun to leave at that statue in the centre of town. Damn sap. Nice girl.”

He shrugged, setting the coffee pot on the table and shaking his head. “Maybe she retired. Went to the country and got away from all the mess round here. Sacred spirits know she deserves a rest. Maybe she’s still searching for the Captain, seeing if he’s away from the city. Hope she’s doing well, wherever she is. Ah, excuse me-”

Another guest was calling the innkeeper and he had to leave them to go and serve them. Twi saw the look that passed between Time and Wind as he went, and when he caught the old man’s eye, Time sighed heavily.

“Arch-” he broke off, shaking his head. “She’s– she’s not the kind of person who would stop searching. Not without a royal order.”

Twilight nodded, feeling that knot in his gut give another twist. Either someone very high up had ordered an end to the search for the lost Link…

Or yet another old friend of his brothers had gone missing without a trace.

Their earlier cheer evaporated faster than snow in a desert at the thought. While their questions might be answered if they could speak to the princess, it had been immediately clear that this would not be possible. Hyrule Castle stood proud over every street of the city, and while the national banner flew from its topmost spire, the royal standard was absent. Princess Zelda was not currently in the city.

There had to be something they could do.

…Right?

Time and Wind had both gone quiet. Twi couldn’t fault them, especially if this Arch was as close as he thought. “Is there somewhere we could go?” He tried. “Somewhere she lived so we can ask her? Or- or someone who knows her?”

Time inhaled. “I-”

“Oh!” The innkeeper was back, digging around in his apron pocket. “My apologies, gentlemen, I almost forgot! Message came for you this morning.”

He set an envelope of a thick, expensive paper on the table before moving on to serve another guest. Twilight grabbed it, looking at the flowing cursive on the front and then pulling a face when he could make neither head nor tail of it.

“Anyone here speak fancy?” he asked, tossing it down again.

“Legend.” Four immediately quipped. “You’re up.”

Legend’s head whipped towards Four so quickly Twilight swore he’d heard an audible crack. “Oh bite me, you shortarse.” he sniped. “Your best friend’s the damn princess.”

“And you shared a womb with yours, so read it.”

“Uh huh, and did you think they started teaching reading before birth? I didn’t go to any fancy school, nerd, get reading!”

Wild rolled his eyes at both of them. “You’re all idiots, you know.” He drawled as he swiped the envelope. His smile quickly fell, though, as he saw the looping font emblazoned over the front of the envelope.

“Oh. Damn, this is fancy. Yeah, Legend, get reading.”

At this rate Legend wouldn’t have looked out of place at an apple picking contest. Not as a picker, of course, but he was doing a great impression of a red delicious. Snarling enough to give Ganon himself a run for his money, he snatched it right out of Wild’s hands and squinted.

“...did everyone here forget we’ve all got different languages?”

“Oh, for - give it here.” Wind rolled his eyes as he snatched the envelope from their hands. “You’re a bunch of uncultured whelps, y’know that?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to throw it down too, but to his surprise the sailor only glanced at the name on the front before ripping it open and beginning to read.

To the most Honorable Hero and Associated Company, responsible for recent aid given to our Dearly Departed Hero's exceedingly charitable society.

You are most cordially invited to the Hero of Warriors Remembrance Masquerade Ball on this Saturday the 19th, to share stories and information about the esteemed Hero's life and tragic disappearance.

Arrive no later than compline and no earlier than vespers to ensure smooth entry

Please ensure that your attire is appropriate for so solemn and weighty an occasion

I remain, good sirs, your obedient servant,

Baron Evinal Vocavit Fallax, Lord of the Aegis Estate.”

Silence followed the Sailor’s words. Of everyone here, he could read Fancy Talk?

“Evinal…” Time hummed. “Did we know him?”

Wind shrugged. “Sounds like some stuck up boohockey to me.”

“Word.” Twi found himself agreeing. He couldn’t say that he’d ever spent much time in the company of barons, but this guy sounded obnoxious. “This… party thing… so it’s tomorrow? Should we go?”

Legend, who had been interpreting for Hyrule, turned to them all. “I don’t like it.” he said, and then the traveller rapped on the table for attention.

“It says he heard we were at the community centre?” he clarified. “And he wants to meet us? Just like that?”

“Sketchy.” Wind pronounced, tossing the letter back on the table. “Typical rich people, throwing a party to talk about someone who’s missing-”

“Wait-” Time cut in. “Look!”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to him as he snatched the letter from the table. It looked like fancy paper covered in ink, nothing fancy, but as Time unfolded it once more, everyone noticed the short line of blue on the back of the invitation.

Flipping it over, he read:

“There are eyes everywhere. Tell no one of this letter. Not everyone wishes this information to be public.”

He looked up at his brothers, his eye bright and hopeful for the first time in days.

“They may all be a bunch of toffs.” he allowed. “But it looks like someone wants to help. And I’m not passing that up.”

-

The lighter atmosphere may have gone as they traipsed back to their room, but for once none of them minded. Finally, they had a heading! Finally, they might be able to learn something! All they had to do was go to some hoity-toity ball and rub elbows with some hoity-toity nobles until this Evinal guy could offer some info.

Which. Ugh.

Wind was no stranger to this era. He’d lived and fought here for over a year, and he’d gone to way too many balls to not know what ‘appropriate dress’ was. In this case, it meant his worst nemesis. Petticoats.

Back during the War, they had been forced into the torture rooms known as the Seamstress’ Wing for every ridiculous event they could imagine, shoveled unceremoniously into clothes so itchy and fitted that Wind wasn’t sure he could even breathe right in them, much less fight.

At least he’d only been dressed by Celestina once. The woman had a thing for dressing people in loincloths and… very little else. Although, at least when the Captain laughed himself stupid about the red nappy she’d put him in, he’d let Wind wear his regular clothes for the rest of the evening.

This time, though, the castle’s doors and the seamstresses inside were barred to them. No one would recognize Time, of course, and Wind had a sneaking suspicion that even if they did, his criminal record would keep him out.

Which was totally unfair! It wasn’t his fault everyone in the castle had a stick shoved so far up their ass they couldn’t handle a few cuccos in their bedrooms! Jeez!

Instead, they all returned to the tailor they had bought the cloaks from, allowing themselves to be fussed over in the hopes of finding information at the ball.

Well. Some of them allowed themselves to be fussed over. Hyrule looked horrified at the thought of a stranger getting close and measuring his body, but Legend easily stepped in and said they’d use his measurements, given that they were vaguely the same size. Wild, still achey despite his bath, stayed in the inn with the excuse that he had more than enough clothes to play dress up with in his slate.

Frankly, Wind wished that he could have stayed behind too. He’d never been a fan of the waiting involved in being measured for clothes, and with so many brothers to get through they’d be here for ages.

He groaned, shifting from foot to foot and struggling to resist the urge to fiddle with the spools of brightly coloured thread or bolts of cloth. He’d been measured first and was just waiting. The tailor’s shop was small and stuffy and Wind felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get outside soon, get some air and clear his head.

“I’m going for a walk.” he said at last, hopping down from the cabinet he had been sitting on and hurrying towards the door.

“Absolutely not.” Time’s voice was low and stern, and Wind froze with his hand on the doorknob.

He turned to see the Old Man staring at him, his expression closed. Stern. Unyielding.

“Time.” Wind said, returning his hands to his sides. “Mask. I gotta get out of here. C’mon. I’m as much a Hero as the rest of you, and you wouldn’t stop Hyrule from going. Or Legend. Or - or you didn’t stop Wild from staying back alone!”

Time said nothing, only continued to stare him down, his eye narrowed and hard. Wind could feel the others shifting uncomfortably, suitably intimidated by their leader’s gaze.

But Wind wasn’t the others. He’d known Time for a long time and could read him like a book. He didn’t see the cold, unflappable exterior that the old man tried so hard to project. He saw fear. Trauma. He saw the lines of his body coiled tight like a spring.

Wind set his stance, crossing his arms.

“I’m going. I’m taking my pendant with me. If something happens, I call Wild. Truce?” He snapped. He wasn’t a kid, he didn’t need coddling! But then he softened, looking up at his little-big brother. When he spoke again, it was more quietly this time. “I– I need this. I need… yeah.”

Time’s expression faltered. Softened. Much as Wind knew Mask, Time knew the Sailor. He knew how hard it was for him to admit weakness, even to his brothers.

“...Keep your pendant close.” He said eventually, his voice tight. “Call if you see anything wrong, even if it’s a raindrop that splashed too hard.”

And then he knelt, reaching out and pulling Wind into a hug.

“I do trust you, Sailor.” he murmured. “More than anyone. Just… be careful for me, yeah? And come back safe.”

Wind clutched him back, hoping dearly that burying his head in his brother’s shoulder would hide the unexpected tears that had leapt into his eyes. He was a Hero of Courage, he didn’t cry over stupid words! He wouldn’t!

“Jeez, Mask.” he mumbled back, trying desperately to hide the tremble in his voice. “You’re even more of a crybaby now than you were in the War.” He pulled back slightly, staring his baby brother down as he shoveled every piece of stupid emotion away.“You better do the same, yeah? No losing the other damn eye while I’m gone.”

“Shuddup, Sailor.” Time teased, drawing back and ruffling his hair. He smiled wetly as he jerked his head to the door. “Go on. Get your ass out of here.”

Wind sniggered and stepped back. He didn’t say anything, but cheerfully flipped his brother the bird as he turned and dashed out the door, pulling up his hood against the downpour.

He kept up his goofy little grin as he jogged down the street, but as he turned the corner, out of sight of the shop, as he stepped into that main, grey, miserable square, he felt his shoulders slump. The smile slid from his face and he gripped the edges of his cloak so tight that his knuckles turned white.

The square was empty and grey. A few sodden flowers in tired beds. Black wrought iron benches, empty and dripping with rain. Slick cobblestones, uneven with age and interspersed with puddles.

And there, in the centre, was a statue of a dead man.

Wind couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. It looked so real with that paint job - how could Sky have ever thought it was plain grey? The others must have been thinking of a different statue. Even the Captain’s face was so horribly lifelike. He looked like he was about to turn over to Wind and chew him out about leaving Mask alone, or lecture him about not pulling pranks on the nobles, or grovel to some assorted noble for some ridiculous little fuckup he wasn’t even responsible for.

He grit his teeth and walked over to the statue. Stared up at it. Glared up at it.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he spat.

The statue, predictably, did nothing. Wind could feel the skin crawling on his neck at its cold, blank gaze. Probably the rain getting through his cloak.

“Huh.” he scoffed, curling his lip. “Just a lump of rock. Stupid statue. Standing there. Looking like him. You ain’t fooling anyone. And that paint job is stupid! Everyone knows you’re not him already! So stop pretending!”

-

Another time, another place. During the War of Eras, a younger Wind, known then as the Sailor, cried something similar, raging in fury at the man standing in front of him.

“You keep acting like your my da! But you’re not! You’ll never be my da, you’re not even my real brother! Stop pretending like we’re a family!”

Even as he said it, the Sailor’s stomach had twisted with guilt. He knew that he wasn’t really angry at the Captain. He was stressed and afraid and angry at a thousand different things, but not him. Not really.

But they had just come from yet another meeting with a bunch of snobby nobles where the Captain had put on a fancy accent and talked over him and Mask without even asking what they wanted. Just waved his hand and laughed at jokes that weren’t funny and made decisions about their lives. Of course, the two boys would stay living in his apartments, nono, not to worry, the Captain would look after their wellbeing.

The Sailor had been so tired and stressed that being spoken over had been a step too far. He’d been determined to give his own two rupees and when he had, the Captain had marched him out of the room.

It had been enraging and humiliating and now, back in their shared apartments, it was all pouring out, both from the meeting that afternoon and from before that, when-

He balled his hands into fists, glaring up as the Captain stared him down. It was infuriating, how perfect he always looked, so tall, so clean, so shiny. More like a statue than a person.

“Kid-” he began to say.

“NO!” the Sailor shouted. “I’m not a kid, and you aren’t my brother!”

-

The courtyard echoed with Wind’s shout, ‘you aren’t my brother’ echoing against the empty walls, but only the raindrops were there to hear. He stared up at the statue, its expression still and serene. It was nothing like how the Captain - the real Captain - had looked at him the first time he’d said that.

Back then, the Captain’s carefully maintained facade had finally cracked, like the shell of a gull’s egg under clumsy fingers.

-

The Captain’s expression had crumbled in that moment, hurt flashing in his eyes.

“I-I am sorry, Sailor.” he’d mumbled. “Truly.”

He always used his own voice around the boys. The one with contractions and tone and a paint-peeling townie accent, the one that the nobles and the royal advisors had forced him out of using in public. But that was gone, now. In its place was one rife with formality. The perfect Hero’s voice that could do no wrong.

“If… if you wish to move to the barracks, it is your right. I cannot stop you. I will not.”

The words were like oil to the Sailor’s burning fire of rage. Why couldn’t the Captain see it wasn’t about the barracks?! Why couldn’t he see the real problem?!

“That’s not the fucking point and you know it.” he’d hissed, rage making him see red for a moment as he reached out and shoved the Captain. “You just stand there in your stupid scarf and talk in your stupid accents! It’s like you don’t have a damn clue who you are! Make up your damn mind, Captain!”

He had known that it was a low blow even as he said it, but he was too angry and self-righteous to care and it was too late to take it back. The Captain staggered back as if he had been struck, eyes wide.

“I-”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re just trying to protect us!” the Sailor shouted, cutting off the older Hero before he could speak. “I don’t need protection! I’m a fucking Hero! And I’m a more experienced Hero than you!”

His hands were curled into fists at his side and he was breathing heavily. He was going too far. He should stop. He knew that he should stop.

But he couldn’t.

“You’re the one who’s always getting hurt!” he yelled, refusing to acknowledge how his voice wavered as he did. “You’re the one who’s been taking the hits we can fucking dodge!”

The Captain stared at him, and all of a sudden he looked a lot less perfect. Less tall and looming. Less like a statue. He just… he just looked like a person.

“What fucking happens when you do something you can’t recover from?” Wind accused, gathering every ounce of rage still flowing in his body to stop himself from bursting into tears. “What then, huh? What happens when you’re dead?!”

The Captain took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a moment, and for just that moment, the Sailor was certain that it was to hide tears.

“I-” he said, speaking slowly, unable to hide how his voice wavered. “I’m scared, Sailor.”

“Of what?” the Sailor snapped. “Of looking less than perfect?! Of not getting to shove us around every chance you get?!”

“OF LOSING YOU!” The Captain roared. He seemed almost terrified of his own outburst as he staggered back, shocked by the strength of his own emotions.

He rallied quickly. “I know you’re strong in battle! You’re competent! You know what you’re doing, both of you! You could best me in any fight! But you’ve been through this twice already. You’ve paid your dues! This whole pile of shit is my mess and you never should have been dragged into it! I won’t let you get hurt because of me!”

The Sailor’s rage only flared right back up at that, his righteous anger burning between his ribs like a flame.

“IT’S A BIT FUCKING LATE FOR THAT, NOW, ISN’T IT?!” he roared right back. “YOU FUCKED UP SOMEHOW AND NOW YOUR OWN FUCKING EGO WON’T EVEN LET US HELP FIX IT!”

He wanted to kick something. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t stop himself, he just kept going.

“You’re the fucking Hero here!” the Sailor screamed. “You’re the one who’s important! Out of the three of us, it’s you who we can’t let fucking die!” he raked his hands into his own hair and pulled, letting out a wordless scream of frustration.

-

Wind kicked one of the dripping benches set about the statue.

“FUCK!”

Whether his scream was from his stubbed toe or the sheer, unadulterated rage and grief that was running through his veins, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he was getting angrier and angrier and he couldn’t stop it all from spilling out.

“What did I fucking say?!” he howled at the statue, throwing himself forwards at the iron bench and squeezing the back as hard as he could. The slick metal dug into his hands, icy cold in the rain. “I told you you couldn’t fucking die! You bastard! Why do you always have to take the fucking hits?!”

-

“You bastard! You always try and take the fucking hits! Did you never fucking think that maybe, just maybe, there might be some people out there who’d be upset if you croaked? Eh?”

He shoved the Captain again and he staggered back, unprepared. But the Sailor wasn’t done yet, far from it. He grabbed a fistful of the Captain’s tunic and began to wind up for a punch.

“You’re not the expendable one!” he shouted. “You’re not done with your stupid fucking adventure! We are!”

The Captain fell to his knees, though the Sailor did not relax his stance, did not uncurl his fist, every muscle primed for a fight.

The older Hero looked the younger dead in the eyes.

“You are not expendable.” The Captain snarled. His voice was steady, low and fierce. “They’ll tell you that you are, Sailor. Fucking Hylia will tell you you’re expendable now that she’s done toying with you. And I know I’m overbearing and I know you hate it. But Sailor - I would fight the goddess herself if it means you get through this safe. And I don’t care if that makes me a bad person or a shitty hero. You don’t have to like me. But I would do anything for you.”

The Sailor threw the punch.

-

Crunch!

Wind’s hand exploded in pain as he howled, flinching away from the unharmed pedestal. He gave the statue a furious glare, shaking his hand and then clutching his red fingers to his chest. Hyrule was going to give him hell for that later, but he didn’t care about that right now. He didn’t care about anything but his own rage and grief.

“You left me, Captain!” he screamed at the statue. “You left Mask! You fucking promised us you’d stick around, so where the fuck are you? Huh?! Why are you the asshole who went and got yourself killed?!”

He glared up at the statue. Damn it all, it was so lifelike. He wished to every damn spirit and deity he knew of that it wasn’t. He kept expecting it to move, to say something, to do something, anything.

Of course, it was a statue. So it didn’t.

“Why is it that you talked such a big fucking game about how you’d fight the goddess for us when you couldn’t even fight for yourself?!”

And he scrambled up onto the pedestal and swung his fist again, wishing that the statue would brace for his punch like the real Captain had, all those years ago.

-

The Sailor had swung and the Captain had braced himself. He fought by the boy’s side, he knew how mean a punch he could throw. But when the hit made contact, it was feeble. Weak. Pounding on the Captain’s chest without any strength behind it.

He could feel his face crumpling, tears leaping to his eyes. His hand was still balled into a fist, pummelling weakly against the Captain, punctuating each word with a soft thud.

“Then – stop – fucking – scaring – me!”

The Captain clung to him as they both crumpled to the floor together, half fighting, half clinging desperately to one another. The Sailor could feel his cheeks flushing in embarrassment and hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You- you’re always getting hurt!” he choked out, sniffling. “And- and you- you act like it’s nothing! You didn’t- you didn’t wake up for three days, Link! And- and then you just ignored it!”

And there was the crux of the matter. Not the nobles. Not the sleeping situation. Not being spoken over. But the Captain himself.

They had been in battle earlier that week and the Captain had taken a hit, one aimed for the Sailor. It had probably saved his life, but the Captain had been badly wounded. Even when he was rushed back to a medics’ tent and treated by a small army of fairies, he hadn’t woken up for three days. Mask and the Sailor were both kept far and away from him, despite their repeated best efforts, fighting tooth and nail to enter and give comfort to their big brother to the point where Impa herself threatened to throw them in the dungeons.

“He’s not going to get better if you’re in there screwing up his recovery!” she’d snapped, the hardass General voice in full swing. “All you’re doing is making things worse for him and yourselves!”

Until that morning. But when the Sailor and Mask were finally told he was awake and allowed to go and see him, he was already up and dressed, talking to an assortment of nobles who didn’t even care about him and acting like nothing had happened.

The Sailor could feel hands in his hair, smoothing it back, warm arms wrapping around him, holding him tight in a fierce hug. The Captain chuckled softly, wetly. He sounded like he was crying too.

“I’m not very good at this, am I, Sailor?” he murmured, only half joking. And then he sniffled, bringing one hand down from his little brother’s hair to rub his back. “I- I love you too.”

-

In the here and now, there was no warm embrace. No gentle touch. Just a lonely, shivering boy, sobbing in the rain. He pounded weakly on the statue’s chest with his uninjured hand, resting his head against its dripping wet chest.

“I- I never said it back.” he whispered. “Did I? Woulda been so fuckin easy, but nooooo. Just had to let my fucking pride get in the way.”

Wind looked up at the statue’s face. The Sailor looked up at his brother’s face.

“I love you too, Big Brother.”

The Captain stared ahead, unmoving.

No. The statue stared ahead, unmoving.

A hollow, empty replacement for the missing shred of his soul.

Wind hiccoughed and slid down, sitting on the pedestal, leaning against the statue’s carved legs as he cried.

“Why didn’t you f-fucking stay?” he whimpered. “You- you could’ve- you could’ve joined us if you stayed.” he was crying, hot tears spilling down his icy, rain-damp face. His broken hand ached as he clutched it to his chest, but he barely registered the pain. All he could think of was his brother.

“You would’ve taken the piss out of Mask, now he’s all grown up.” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “And I b-bet you woulda snagged Rulie into your little brother collection too. Woulda given him one of your ‘I’ll fight destiny for you and win’ speeches. Probably woulda made him a little quilt and everything, you sap.”

He sniffled again, snuggling in closer even though he knew that the leg he was leaning against was only cold stone. “Fuck, you know the nice blanket Wild has? Turns out it’s a special one the Sheikah made for him after he died the first time. Asshole’s died in front of us, too, you know. Ripped clean in half and somehow still kicking.

“...I guess you don’t know, actually. Hah, that must sound weird to you. People dying and coming back. Sheikah making blankets. Can you imagine General Impa sewing? Heh heh heh, turns out there’s a lot of Impas across time. In Twi’s era she’s a crazy cat lady, and over in Wild’s era she’s got this sister…”

It was just mindless chatter. He didn’t even really know what he was saying. But there was something about sitting there in the rain, tears still fresh on his cheeks and talking to this cold effigy as if somehow his dead brother could hear him, that was comforting. That made it feel as if he was less achingly alone.

He squeezed against the leg of the statue as he finished his story, knuckling the tears from his eyes. He’d have to go soon, have to find his brothers before they started to worry. But before he did, he rested his head against the cold stone, not caring that he was getting his hair soaked.

“We’ll find out what happened, Link.” he whispered. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Time wasn’t quite sure what had happened in the hour Wind had vanished, but when he’d reappeared clutching a broken hand and refusing to make eye contact, it was safe to say that the old man had exploded.

“What were you thinking?!” He snarled as the traveler lunged across the seamstress’s shop, hands already glowing with healing magic. “I told you to call if anything happened! I gave you that time because you told me you needed it! And you come back like this?! For fuck’s sake, Sailor!”

He’d told Wind to stay safe! He’d told Wind to call for anything! And the Sailor had blown him off! He’d blown him off and gotten hurt! He’d gotten hurt and Time hadn’t been there to help him.

“I expected better from you.” he hissed, leaning in close. “You know what He’d say if he caught wind of this. He went off alone too, and look where that left him!”

Wind flinched. Throughout the whole tirade he hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t made eye contact, hadn’t acted anything like the Sailor that Time knew. Just stood there with his head down and took it. At some point, Hyrule had seized his hand and was slowly, methodically setting each finger and setting to work on the painful process of healing them, but Wind didn’t even react.

Time fell to his knees, taking his little brother’s shoulders as behind him the rest of the Chain moved further into the shop, giving them some modicum of privacy.

“What happened, Sailor?” he begged.

Wind glanced at Hyrule, but the traveller was too busy mending his hand to pay attention to what he said. He shrugged, flicking his eyes briefly to meet Time’s and then looking away again.

“Got mad.” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “Took it out on a wall.”

Time heaved a sigh and rested his head on the Sailor’s chest. Fuck. Well, at least it hadn’t been an actual fight. Teenage angst he understood. He could deal with that.

“Did it make you feel better?” he asked, looking up again and searching his brother’s face.

The Sailor shrugged again and Hyrule poked him, probably annoyed that he kept moving when he was trying to heal.

“Not really.” he mumbled, then took a shuddering breath. “M- m’sorry, Mask.”

Time sighed and pulled him into a hug, careful not to jostle where Hyrule was working. “Don’t scare me like that again, kid.” he whispered.

He could feel Wind’s remaining hand slowly raise, wrapping around Time’s back and clutching a fistful of tunic. He said nothing, only began to tremble as Time felt a wet spot seep into his shoulder where the Sailor had rested his head, shaking in silent sobs.

Time said nothing, only readjusting his grip to better support his littlest brother as Hyrule finished his work. The rest of the Chain had slowly come creeping back from the back of the shop where they had been politely pretending not to listen. Time glanced up and gave them a tight smile as they approached, standing as he saw the seamstress coming over, her hands on her hips.

“On you go, dearies, get your boy home now.” she chided, not ungently. “Come back tomorrow; I’ve got work to do and faffing about here won’t make my sewing machine move any faster!”

Legend sidled up to Time as they headed towards the door, pointedly looking anywhere but at his face as he pressed a set of power bracelets into his hand.

“Stop getting senile and forgetting your gauntlets, Old Man.” He mumbled. “I’m not carrying his lardass.”

Still sniffling, Wind used his freshly healed hand to show the Veteran exactly what he thought of that comment. Time couldn’t help but give a small snort as he raised a hand to let Legend slip the bracelets on, scooping up the Sailor as the vet threw his cloak over the pair of them.

‘Didn’t do feelings’, Time’s foot.

Still, going to the seamstress hadn’t just been a sartorial trip. No one had been able to give them any further information on where the Captain had gone, but it was made clear that there wasn’t a single person who believed that his disappearance had been an accident.

“He was a brave boy, that Link was.” she’d said, pins sticking out of her mouth as she held up a bolt of fabric to check it against Time’s arm. “But I don't believe for a minute he was killed by a monster, my duck! Not someone like him. He wouldn't have gone like that. Not in a million years.”

It… wasn’t reassuring. But it was something. And something was better than nothing.

And now here they were, a day later, standing outside the stately manor of Baron Evinal Vocavit Fallax. All of them were fussing with the new clothing they’d been trussed up in and waiting to be announced. Hyrule was particularly twitchy, pulling at his collar and fussing with his lacy cuffs as he intermittently shot furious glares over at Wind. The Sailor, for his part, was staunchly ignoring the looks and grumbling as he pulled at his tunic, cursing under his breath loudly enough that he was getting pointed looks from Sky, Twilight, and even Time himself.

There was nothing else for it - they’d learn nothing standing out here. Time to go inside and mingle.

“The Eight Honorable Heroes of the Flea End Community Center!” A voice called. Out of the corner of his eye, Time could see Four raise an eyebrow, but he herded them along nonetheless. As they entered the room proper, though, none of them could hold back a gasp.

It was so, so, so…

Tacky.

There was green and blue draped everywhere, in dyed plumes of ostrich feathers and garlands of some of the ugliest flowers that Time had ever seen. The walls were painted a sickly shade of yellow that clashed horrendously with the ball’s colors, and even the drinks were dyed a violent blue, with green macarons and leafy vegetables proudly displayed in place of the usual ballroom fare. Time was fairly certain that Wild was going to have a fit if this was all the nibbles they were offered.

In the main ballroom, sweet music wound through the air, conversation intermixing with the clinking of glasses, and it seemed that of all the people in attendance only the eight surviving Heroes were upset about the reason for the gala. Time pulled at the collar of his tunic, sighing again at the borrowed fabric itching against his neck as he felt his own general unease echoed by the rest of the Chain.

He was glad, at least, that this was a masquerade ball and his face was covered, because it meant that no one could see the disgusted curl of his lip as he looked around. Frankly, standing here and taking in his surroundings, Time didn’t think that anyone at this ‘Memorial Ball’ was remembering much of anything. Well, aside from possibly remembering how much they all loved themselves.

He had forgotten quite how awful these events were. Honestly, he had a sudden newfound respect for the Captain for going to so many of these things and for dealing with two pre-teen boys in the process, both of whom would have rather been anywhere than at a stuffy noble ball.

He smiled a little under his mask, thinking back to the last ball he’d had to attend at the Captain’s side, all those years ago.

-

Mask stood, shifting uncomfortably in the tunic that the Captain had forced him into, scowling with a ferocity that he normally reserved for when he had to fight his most hated enemies. Ganon, for example. The Moon. And now, apparently, social events.

“This is stupid.”

He looked around at the grumbling from the Captain’s other side and suppressed a giggle. The Sailor, wearing an identical tunic and an equally furious expression, stared out at the horde of nobles dressed with outfits so frilled and flouncy they looked less like people so much as they did a group of sentient doilies.

Naturally, he completely agreed with his brother and told him as much, sending the Sailor into a fit of giggles.

Link hurriedly shushed them both as one of the puffed-up cuccos made her way over to the trio, her dress both simultaneously swamping everything around her while also leaving nothing to the imagination. If Mask hadn’t already been an adult and unfortunately seen people in much, much worse outfits, he would have lost it then and there. Even so, he noticed the Captain subtly shifting his body to shield his and the Sailor’s “tender” eyes from the sight.

“Ooh, what delightful children you have there, Captain!” The woman crooned. Mask winced, noting how her violently pink lipstick was bleeding into the powdered wrinkles around her lips. “I didn’t take you for a family man, yet it seems you’ve been rather busy!”

Well that was a bold start if ever Mask had seen one. He thought that even if their status as Heroes wasn’t widely known, everyone knew that he and the Sailor were the Captain’s brothers. This woman either thought she was being funny or was really stupid.

…Mask suspected that it was the latter.

“I daresay they seem delightfully well behaved for their age!” she continued, apparently any sense of self-preservation totally lost in the face of their twin glares. “Have you been good for your father, dearie?” she cooed at the Sailor, who seemed to be debating quite how much trouble he would get in if he got blood on his fancy new tunic.

The Captain, however, spotted the impending disaster and quickly stepped in, subtly moving his scarf in such a way it flopped onto the pirate’s face. It effectively cut off the death-glare that the Sailor had been busy with, instead sending him spluttering against the fabric.

The Captain looked at the woman and gave her what they recognised as his best ‘I don’t like you but I have to be nice to you so I guess I’m just sort of stuck here’ smile, putting a warning hand on Mask’s shoulder.

“Oh, you know how boys their age are. Just the most delightful little scamps. Rambunctious little... angels.” Link gave both children, now huddled together next to him and away from the Scarf of Evil, an amused side-eye.

The woman paused a moment, her insincere smile still affixed firmly in place. She had clearly picked up that she had made some sort of social faux pas, but couldn’t quite figure out what. Mask valiantly tried and failed to hold back a snort.

“Well,” she said at last. “it seems that I must go and pay my respects to the host. My congratulations to your wife, Captain.” and she managed to get out as she left as quickly as decorum allowed.

Mask began to giggle. “How much do you wanna bet she called him Captain ‘cause she doesn't remember his name?” He whispered to the Sailor.

“I’ll bet you twenty she just wanted to be seen talking to me.” the Captain responded, still politely watching the crowd but with a ghost of a real smile on his face. “Hero and all that. Probably wanted to regale me with stories of her ‘efforts’ for the war.”

“Hear of all her moinkshit, more like.” the Sailor whispered back to Mask.

Both little and large heroes had to choke back their laughter, and the Captain absolutely cheated by using his scarf as a cover. Like a proper big brother, he successfully subdued his giggles and retaliated by grabbing the Sailor in a headlock. The Sailor squawked and struggled as Mask dodged the Captain’s other arm, laughing as he took cover over by the buffet table and cackled at his brother’s suffering-

-

Mask opened his eyes with a start. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them, but when the scene before him didn’t change, he turned around to go and elbow the Captain in his ribs like he always did.

Oh, right.

The Captain wasn’t behind him.

Instead, Wind was pressed into his side, softly sniffling as Time once remembered where he was.

The Captain was gone. He was not standing next to Time like he should be; instead the only trace of him in these halls was in the gaudy blue and green decorations and the tapestries of him in various heroic poses hanging on the walls.

The guests danced on, heedless to his pain.

Time took a moment, allowing half a second to collect himself before turning to give orders. Act now, cry later, as the Captain always said. Don’t let the enemy see weakness.

Mourn the dead when you know you won’t join them.

“Pair up and spread out,” He said softly. “Try to get some information on the Captain if you can. If you can’t, then don’t cause a scene. There’s eight of us now, I want there to be eight of us at the end of the evening.”

‘I want there to be nine of us’ hung unspoken over his words. But there was no sense wishing for the impossible.

The group behind him split off into pairs. Sky and Twilight left first, then Legend and Wild, Hyrule and Four, and Wind stubbornly stuck with Time. Time would never admit it out loud, but the feeling of having his formerly big brother beside him gave him more comfort than he could possibly say. Peering at the swirling mass of the crowd, he watched as the others blended into the scenery and began their hunt.

The theme for this gala may have been ‘Link’, but the dress code seemed to be ‘peacocks’, more than anything. Green and blue were a prominent pairing in the members of high society, long trains of vaguely eye-patterned fabric dragging behind the more sedentary women while the men and younger ladies sported bright blue feathered cloaks and shawls over green doublets and ball gowns.

Time and Wind, in a mark of respect to their lost brother, were both sporting the matching scarves they had been made back during the War of Eras. Wind’s bandana still looked fresh and new compared to the faded blue of Time’s now much too short scarf, but he’d refused to consider a replacement for the occasion. It had been a gift, after all, from one brother to another.

Masks were affixed to the faces of everyone including the Chain, providing a degree of anonymity that Time silently thanked the goddess for. He knew it was doubtful that anyone would recognize him after the decades that spent away from here, but it at least kept Wind from being recognized. Not to mention the fact that anyone remembering the Fierce Deity would notice his markings straightaway and could quite easily draw a connection between Time and the god that had been as much a fixture of the War as any Hero had been.

The host hadn’t yet arrived, so Time leisurely meandered over to the buffet table. The masks made it a little difficult for guests to partake, but plenty of people had shifted them just enough out of the way to nibble at the few not-green snacks as they chatted. The topics of conversation were mostly mundane or irrelevant; who was shameless enough to actually dress as the Captain, who was wearing the latest fashions, preparations for an upcoming hunting tournament. Time stifled a yawn. Nothing here was of interest.

“----oh, and don’t forget Link, of course!”

Time’s snapped to attention. Did someone just say Link?

“Yes, I’m curious how those boys of his are faring. Losing their big brother must have been quite a shock, I’m sure.” The voice belonged to an elderly woman, seemingly gossiping to her also elderly friend.

“Oh my, the poor dears!” The other hummed. “They were so devoted to him, too. Blood or not, they were a family.”

“I wonder where they went after the war.” the first woman mused. “I don’t believe I’ve seen them since, but hopefully they’re finally making the most of their childhood. I just hope someone kind took them in after the Captain vanished.”

“Oh Agatha,” the second woman gushed. “I’m sure they’re well. Truly.”

“I hope so.” Agatha sighed. “I really do hope so.”

Well, this was the closest he had gotten to any actual talk about the Captain, so Time pushed his way through the crowd and towards the pair. He was right - they were two elderly ladies in ballgowns and masks that were elegant and clearly expensive in their simplicity.

“Pardon my intrusion, ladies,” he said, bowing politely. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” He asked, smiling pleasantly in his best imitation of the Captain’s ‘You have my full attention and I am going to sweet talk my way into information’ expression.

The effect was… rather lost due to the mask on his face, but the bow appeared to have helped ease relations as the two quickly warmed up enough to welcome Time into their conversation.

“You’re one of those nice boys who was helping out in Flea End, aren’t you?” Agatha said, holding out a hand to shake. “Elizabeth and I volunteer there a few days a week, you were all that anyone could talk about in the Centre this morning!”

“Ah, really?” Time asked pleasantly, genuinely flustered by the compliment. “Well, we were only trying to lend a hand where we could. I knew the Captain back in the war, you see.” It was the same story that he had used back in the Community Centre and was as good an explanation as any for his curiosity. “But I’m afraid my brothers and I have been abroad since the war ended so we’re a little behind on what’s happened to the Captain.”

Behind their masks, Elizabeth and Agatha’s eyes flicked over Time and then to Wind at his side. Would the people of the Community Centre have shared that one of their helpers had been the Hero of Winds? Well, even if they had, the Sailor was well disguised in his mask. His identity was safe here.

Elizabeth peered back at Time and sighed sadly. Or at least, her mask did.

“Ah, well, welcome back. I’m sorry that it couldn’t be under better circumstances! It was always a regret of ours that we didn’t get to know the Captain well until after the war, but we did see him occasionally at balls before that. The poor dear seemed so overworked, it was always a privilege to be graced with his presence. He was the true picture of noblesse oblige!”

Time suppressed a snort. The Captain had always detested these parties, but his Zelda had bullied him into attending in hopes of raising funds from stingy nobles. But, well, as far as nobles went, these two women didn’t seem too bad. If they were telling the truth about volunteering at the Community Centre then they were better than the vast majority of the aristocrats Time had met in the past.

“I must say, I do wish I’d known the Captain better during the War.” Elizabeth continued. “He was always a good man. Remember, Agatha, how he took those two boys in? He could just as easily have left them to be thrown into an orphanage, but the man had the patience and the kindness of a saint! Oh…. what were their names? The castle was fine with everyone seeing the boys, but they were awfully tight lipped about what they were called… though I’m sure Link told me once. Oh, I just can’t recall! I daresay a younger me would have remembered them instantly!”

“Oh, Liz.” Agatha consoled her. “As if time could degrade that keen mind of yours!If you cannot remember their names then you simply must not have heard them, and that’s that!”

Time stared, his breath catching in his throat as he felt Wind squeeze closer to his leg. Were… were they talking about them? Or… or was it just coincidence? It was fine if they weren’t, the Captain was a kindhearted man, after all. It would have been just like him to take in a pair of war-orphans after the fighting was done. It was fine. It was a good thing, Time would never begrudge some children a chance at family. He wasn’t jealous. Really.

“Those names,” Time heard himself interjecting before he could stop himself. “Would they perhaps have been Mask and Sailor?”

It was fine. Of course it was fine. The Captain deserved to make a family for himself; after all, he and Wind had left. It was selfish, really, of Time to hope that the ladies were still talking about him. It was fine.

Really.

Elizabeth gasped. “Oh, yes! Those were their names!”

Agatha nodded along with her. “You know, I remember them too. The little darlings hung onto Captain Link’s every move during these parties, the most well behaved little angels I’ve ever seen! I daresay, they were nothing like Count Ravidoli’s young son; absolutely atrocious manners! Threw the buffet table over when another young heir refused to duel him! Completely unacceptable behavior, don’t you think? Nothing like you, I’d imagine!”

The (perhaps slightly drunk) dowager had turned her attention to Wind and made a move to pinch his cheek, but due to the mask on his face she only managed to jiggle it about a bit. Wind’s fists, which had curled tight into Time’s doublet with the fear that they had been replaced, had begun to unfurl - only to tighten twice as much with the old lady’s clumsy affection.

Time somehow managed to suppress a particularly amused snicker, instead favoring a bland but unnoticeable smile behind his own mask. Wind’s jealousy was understandable - and Time would be a hypocrite if he’d said otherwise, given his own fears - but he didn’t want his brother tearing rips in his coat. Despite himself, he did rather like it.

And it was a rental.

However, Time was the adult in the situation. And as such, he needed to act with all the maturity of his years.

“Ah, I can assure you, he’s is quite unlike that ruffian!” Time laughed lightly. And. Well. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t going to act with all of the maturity of his years. Maybe he’d have a little fun, too. Just this once. “He’s a joy to raise, always does what he’s asked when I ask it! And wonderfully well-educated, too! I daresay I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him speak even the slightest swear in my life! He begged me to come along, don’t you know! Was ever so excited to be among the presence of other nobles!”

Time felt a sharp pain in his hip and very pointedly did not look down. If his hip was the casualty of Wind thinking about anything but his grief for the Captain for a moment, that was a price he was willing to pay.

The two old women, for their part, cooed appropriately over Wind. Time was certain that his little brother’s face had turned murderous behind the mask.

“Of course,” Agatha continued, her eyes sparkling with a smile, “Once the War ended, the two children stopped appearing with our dear Captain. With everything that had happened with those dreadful portals, we all just assumed that perhaps they, too, had been from other times and had returned home. It didn’t seem polite to ask when I barely knew the man. Then, when we did get to know him I thought that I might bring it up, but, unfortunately, before I had the chance the poor soul had already vanished.”

And there it was. Time’s opportunity to pry. “Vanished? This is what I just don’t understand. How on earth could someone as visible as the Captain vanish?”

“And that’s the question, isn’t it dearie?” Elizabeth patted the cheek of Time’s mask. Yep, he definitely could smell a whiff of brandy about her too. “Some say he wanted respite from the fame of heroics. After all, looking at your own face in statuary all the time may be exhilarating for the likes of us, but the Captain was a modest man. I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted some privacy.”

Agatha shook her head. “It’s just so unlike him. We worked with him so closely after the war, he had so many plans - well. You yourself saw how much work he put into Flea End. I simply cannot believe that he would just… disappear without a single word like that.”

That sounded about right. The Captain had been an honourable, reliable man. He’d talked excitedly to Mask and the Sailor during the late nights in his tent, detailing all his grand plans to improve the quality of life for his home district once the War ended. He made plans and he stuck to them, and if he didn’t there was always a reason. An explanation. Time knew from experience the only thing that could stop the Captain from achieving his goals was an order from his Zelda or his own death.

Time hoped with all of his heart that it was the former. But he knew, deep inside, that it was the latter.

“So the Captain simply vanished? No note, no orders somewhere, not even a message to the Princess?”

“I’m afraid not, pet.” Elizabeth spoke, giving him a sympathetic look. “Or at least, nothing we have been privy to. Hylia knows, it was never in his character to just vanish. We can only but pray that wherever he is now, he’s at peace.”

“We’d hoped he was just staying away from town for a few days.” Agatha added. “Given how he hated being around when new statues were being unveiled. Modest to the end, that boy. But even then, we knew that he would have told someon-”

“Agatha! Elizabeth!” a voice boomed out from behind Time, interrupting their conversation and making Wind jolt at his side. “How simply lovely to see you!”

An old man stepped into view on Time’s right, frail and weathered with age and walking with the most gaudy golden cane that Time had ever seen, the distinct scent of mothballs following him as he walked.

Despite the pleasant smile on his unmasked face, Time couldn’t bring himself to like the man. Not when his green overcoat and blue cravat were clearly supposed to be a play on the Captain’s old uniform. It just felt… tasteless. Unsavoury.

“I do declare, both of you look wonderfully fetching tonight! Those particular colors truly make you shine like stars!” The old man continued, seeming for all the world like he hadn’t noticed Time and Wind literally standing right there. The two ladies tittered, although there was something false to the sound.

“Oh, Lord Evinal!” Elizabeth drawled, and someone less astute might have missed the exasperated glance she exchanged with Agatha.

“Thank you so much for inviting us to such a sumptuous gala!” Agatha continued. “It truly is a sad occasion, but perhaps we can honor the Captain’s memory with a little joy. I’m afraid I must apologize for my husband’s absence; he’s come down with an atrocious cold from all this rain. He’s been ever so excited to hear of your archiving works on our beloved Hero.”

“And speaking of the Hero,” Time cut in, glancing down at Wind. “I do believe I was instructed to meet with you, my Lord. We received your letter yesterday morning…?”

Evinal turned sharply. His uncovered face, previously simpering towards the two old ladies, briefly flashed with irritation before he registered Time’s words and fell into a pleased mask.

“Ah! Of course, of course!” he clapped his hands together and grinned, suddenly the picture of welcome. “Thank you for coming, dear boy. If you’ll just follow me, I have quite the collection of clues on the Captain’s whereabouts, and any information you may have would be invaluable!”

Hmm. For someone who had specifically written to keep quiet about their search for the Captain, Evinal seemed more than happy to shout about it here. Well, Time supposed, he wouldn’t be the first noble to indulge in a few dramatics.

Time nodded. “And I would be glad to see what you have gathered.” Time agreed, pitching his voice deliberately lower.

Evinal chuckled. “Of course! I’m sure I speak for everyone when I declare we want nothing more than to see the Captain safe!” he bowed theatrically, spreading his arms wide and knocking a candle off the table. The candle fell to the floor, spilling flaming wax onto the Lord’s overcoat and trousers.

“Oh, bother!” Evinal muttered, frantically attempting to pat out the flames. Time assisted as best he could, and the fire was quickly out. The elderly baron heaved a sigh, returning his attention to Time with an odd smile.

Ordinarily, Time would have categorized his expression into his mental ‘Catalog of Captain’s Smiles’, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen one like it on his big brother’s face. He wasn’t quite sure how to put his finger on it, but something about that look unsettled him. It was clearly supposed to be grandfatherly, but the edges of his smile were tilted slightly too high and the lines around his eyes crinkled slightly too little. Almost as if, despite being maskless, the old man was still hiding his true face.

Time felt… a little uneasy. But he had come here to meet Evinal, to learn something - anything - about what had happened to the Captain. He wasn’t going to worry about one slightly unsettling look from obviously very old man.

“Now,” the baron continued. “I know you’ve got your son with you, but what I’m about to show you is… rather unfit for younger eyes. Perhaps your boy can join you later? Once you’re done?” Evinal’s eyes flicked to Wind and back to Time.

Time didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.

Which, admittedly, was pretty far, but the matter still stood.

Right. Okay. ‘Son’. Time could work with that. He ruffled Wind’s hair and hoped that the Sailor wouldn’t try to bite him later for his troubles.

“My son is the heir to my title, milord!” he replied, doing his utmost to sound unruffled and breezy, “I hardly think a little blood could faze him!” the Sailor even hummed in agreement, the situation too tense for him to try and protest being relegated to ‘literal child’.

Evinal’s smile didn’t flicker. “That may be so, my dear boy, but what kind of a man would I be if I simply allowed an innocent child to just… wander in and look about as he pleased? I’ll tell you what: perhaps if once you’ve seen what I have and still believe it is appropriate for you boy, you could call him to us. If you are satisfied, then he may witness with my full permission!”

Okay, this was officially getting fishy. But if Evinal really did have information on the Captain, even if only a little, Time couldn’t afford to let this chance slip by. Evinal wasn’t an especially large man and was quite clearly frail, so if worst came to worst then Time was confident that he could fight his way out and call the others for backup.

Beside him, he could feel Wind moving to protest, but he put a firm hand on his shoulder to cut him off. This was his chance to learn more about the Captain. He had to go.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable, milord.” he agreed. “Stay here, son.” he glanced down at Wind and could see his fury blazing in his eyes. He softened, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.” he promised, and then turned back to the baron. “Alright then, milord! Lead the way!”

-

Wind watched his oldest brother leave with no small sense of worry. Yes, he knew that he was young, but come on! He’d been on two whole adventures already, not to mention tagging along for the Captain’s, so it wasn’t fair for Time to leave him alone like this! He could handle himself just fine! Whatever happened to not splitting up?

“Dear boy,” Wind felt a soft hand take his arm and he turned to see Agatha looking down at him, her gaze surprisingly more sober than the smell of wine had led him to believe. He looked down at where she was holding his sleeve, her grip firm.

He frowned, politely but swiftly pulling his arm away.

“Can I help you?” he asked. He didn’t want to offend the ladies, not really. They seemed like they were actually kind of nice, in the way that nosy old ladies could be, and he could absolutely imagine them playing cards with his grandma. That made them alright in his book.

Agatha glanced back at Elizabeth, who nodded in encouragement. Oooookay, this was officially getting weird.

Okay. Weirder.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She asked softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the ball. “Your eyes - we met once before at Lady Tempest’s ball. You’re the Sailor, aren’t you?”

What. He was wearing a mask, how the hell did she-

“We saw you flinch, dear.” Elizabeth cut in, sympathy evident in her voice. “When we were talking about the Captain’s boys. Worried you’d been replaced, were you? As if he ever would, the man doted on you.” she spoke fondly as she reminisced.

Well they just had it all figured out then, didn’t they. Wind sighed. He guessed he’d been risking this for a while now. After all, he was literally wearing a Joy Pendant.

“Yeah.” he admitted. “Yeah, it’s me. But I’m not making a big deal of it. I’m just looking for the Captain. Do - do either of you know anything?”

The women were both shaking their heads before he even finished. Wind sighed. It was a long shot, he knew, but he had long since learned not to underestimate the knowledge of old ladies who liked to gossip. His grandmother had taught him well.

“But dear.” Agatha added, leaning in close. “Listen - we may not know where he is, but there’s certainly something odd going on.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth agreed, glancing around to make sure that there was no one close by who could overhear. “Take this ball, for example! When invites first went out, the dress code was based on the Captain himself. We stepped in, of course. Nothing like social pressure to make small changes. A masquerade ball on the theme of ‘peacocks’ was a similar enough colour scheme so it was easy enough to persuade most people to change-”

“But I wouldn’t trust anyone who isn’t wearing a peacock feather.” Agatha finished for her, rifling into the pocket of her dress and pulling out such a feather, pinning it to his breast. “You and your brothers weren’t to know, and no one would blame you, but around anyone else, be careful. Some just have poor taste, but others - be careful, child. Though I don’t know who in their right mind would think it’s in good taste to dress up like a missing war hero, they should at least be easy enough to spot.”

“Well.” Elizabeth snorted. “We do know. Evinal came up with the theme himself, the old creep.”

Agatha giggled. “You are awful, Liz.” she turned back to Wind. “But she’s right. I don’t know what happened to the Captain, but certain people in society were not as upset as they pretended to be.”

She met his eyes and held his gaze for a fraction of a second more than necessary, and Wind got the message. The ladies may not have known what had happened, but they had heard enough gossip and noticed enough coincidences to get a bad feeling. And while they had been able to leverage whatever small sway they held in society towards good taste, there had nothing that they could ever tangibly do about it. Except that now, finally, they had met someone who maybe, just maybe, could.

Wind felt sick. Evinal had invited them here after word got around that they had been helping out at the Community Centre. At the Community Centre, where they hadn’t exactly been shy about asking questions.

Evinal had said that he knew something about the Captain. Evinal had taken Time somewhere private to talk.

Time!

Wind grabbed each of the ladies’ hands.

“Do you know where Evinal is now? Where he went?” he asked urgently.

Elizabeth glanced at Agatha. “I think he went in the direction of the garden” she said. “He’s very fond of his sculpture, you know.”

That would do. The garden would be mostly empty in this weather, he should be able to find them easily. Hopefully he was just overreacting, hopefully he’d burst out there and all he’d find would be an irritated Time and confused old baron babbling about art.

He was already dashing out of the room, his mind racing..

“Thanks, got to go!” he called over his shoulder as he sprinted towards the door.

Evinal knew something, of that he was certain. And what was more, Wind had a horrible feeling that Time was walking right into a trap.

Chapter Text

Link… remembers.

Sometimes he wishes that he didn’t. That everything that had happened before this could be washed away in the near constant rain, but despite all the things that he had lost over the past year, his memory remained as crisp and clear as it had ever been.

He tried to keep the memories at bay, but there wasn’t honestly much else for him to do other than dwell on them. Sure, on the occasional days when the sun shone he could try to focus more on the people making use of the square. The old lady who always fed the pigeons, the terrible busker over in the corner, the lovestruck teenagers who liked to sit on the benches about his plinth. He couldn’t shift his eyes to actually look at them, but he knew that they were there, could see them out of the blurred corners of his vision and hear them whispering about the life they’d build together.

But on days like this, when he could do nothing but watch over an empty courtyard in the lashing rain, memories were all that he had. Even after yesterday - at least, he thought it was yesterday, but time could be so difficult to parse these days - when none other than his own beloved Sailor had come back to him, had sat with him, he was left alone like he always was. The kid hadn’t realised the truth of the statue he’d been so angry at, hadn’t understood that Link wasn’t painted, even as the Captain’s mind screamed for him to hear, to understand.

The Sailor, of course, hadn’t heard him, and left as soon as he had come. A few moments of sitting by Link’s legs, of telling him stories that seemed too incredible and wonderful to be true, and he was gone.

And Link was alone once again. Alone with nothing but his memories for company. His memories and the constant, driving rain. With the square dark and empty like this, there was little that he could do to hold them back, and sometimes the memories all came rushing back so fierce and terrible that they almost seemed like they were real.

He wanted desperately to shut his eyes against them. To never revisit them ever again. To move on with his life as if none of this had ever happened.

But he can’t move on. He can’t close his eyes.

-

It all started with that damned commission.

The city wanted another statue erected in his likeness, as if they didn’t have enough of the horrible things already. Honestly, he’d given up paying any sort of attention to them - you see one statue of yourself in a heroic pose, you’ve seen them all, and he had seen more than his fair share at Cia’s palace.

There would be no getting away from or ignoring this one. It was going to be the centrepiece of the central square, big and gaudy and unmissable. Link wouldn’t be able to go into the main town without passing the damn thing, and he’d never been more glad that when he went out it was generally down in Flea End.

But then Baron Evinal Vocavit Fallax himself agreed to sponsor the statue. The old coot apparently had a thing for sculpture and had a workshop set up in his gardens, complete with some sort of resident sculptor. When he invited Link to come and have a private viewing of the finished piece before its unveiling, well. It would have been rude to refuse.

Even if Evinal himself was a bit of a prick.

A servant showed Link through the gardens and to the workshop that looked like it had been converted from an old gardener’s hut. Evinal himself was waiting outside, grinning that simpering, false grin of his and dressed as if he was going to a ball rather than into a sculptor’s studio, as ever carrying his absurdly ornamented cane.

Link himself was in his customary outfit: a green tunic over mail and the blue scarf of the royal family, the uniform of a hero. The only nods to his own sartorial preferences were two ornaments - a Joy Pendant around his neck and a bright yellow Keaton Mask on his hip, mementos of two brothers long since lost to time and portals and magic. He never went out without them. Those, and of course Proxi nestled in the folds of his scarf, dozing until a moment arose where he needed her.

Okay, so neither of them were exactly dressed in normal street clothes. But hey! At least Link’s outfit was practical.

Evinal greeted him warmly and went out of his way to hold the door of the workshop open for him, letting him enter first. Which was… unexpectedly polite, to be honest.The old cad was probably after something, but it was nice to have a bit of basic politeness. Link decided not to worry too much about it. Instead he stepped inside and looked around, frowning.

The workshop wasn’t large. A single workbench took up one wall, a small fireplace and an armchair at another, and the rest of the room was given over to the workspace.

The empty workspace. All manner of sculpting tools were set across the workbench and on the walls, but there was no sign of a statue anywhere. Maybe Link had misunderstood? Maybe he was here to see a smaller piece after all? Oh Hylia, he hope that was it. The other option was that it hadn’t been started yet and Link had been brought here to pose.

But… there wasn’t a sculptor in sight. In fact, while the workshop was filled with tools, none of them looked used. The only part of the room that looked like it had seen any use at all was the armchair by the fire. There was even a rug for Hylia’s sake, wasn’t that some sort of safety hazard?

The door closed behind him and Link heard a key turn in a lock with a click. He spun around in alarm and found Evinal smiling up at him with that unsettling, grandfatherly expression.

“Now, then.” he said conversationally. “Shall we get started?”

Before Link could reply, could ask what he meant, Evinal tapped his ludicrous cane on the flagstone floor.

Immediately a sensation like cold water washed over his body, leaving his hairs raised and his skin crawling. Link blinked, trying to shake it off, but all of a sudden his body felt sluggish and reluctant to obey his commands.

“Whaa-” he managed, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and his jaw wasn’t working to shape the words.

“Not to worry.” Evinal cooed, sweeping over to where he stood. Link barely paid him any attention, too distracted by how he suddenly found himself rooted to the spot. Desperately, he tried to lift a hand to see what was going on.

It was a herculean effort. The limb did not want to obey and his muscles were unnaturally heavy, as if they had been pumped full of lead. Just as he managed to finally wrench his hand into view, Evinal gently took it in his own and moved it back to his side, where it stayed. Link looked at the man in confusion, an odd sense of betrayal growing in his chest. He made to question what he was doing, but found that his lips wouldn’t move. None of him could move. He was stuck, frozen in position.

“There, now.” Evinal sounded satisfied as he looked Link up and down, ignoring the obvious horror and confusion in the warrior’s face. He laughed. “Oh, come now, Link, you’d think a Hero of your caliber would know better than to step into a magic circle. Although I suppose the rug did rather hide it from view.”

He was looking critically at Link’s face, as if scrutinising it for imperfections. Link could do nothing but follow him with his eyes, panic rising in his chest. What was going on? A magic circle? Is that what had trapped him? Buy why? What was he doing here? Evinal was a prick, sure, but surely he wasn’t actually dangerous. What was he planning?

“First thing’s first, let’s get you standing up straight.” Evinal said, laying hands on Link’s shoulders and forcibly correcting his posture. Once he was positioned he stayed where he was, his muscles still refusing to obey his orders. “That’s better! No one wants a statue that’s all slouched over, after all!”

He sounded so cheerful, so conversational, that the meaning of his words took a moment to land. Warriors began to breathe heavily, although when Evinal stepped around and put a finger under his jaw, shutting his mouth with a click, he had no choice but to try and gasp for breath through his nose.

“We want to get you nicely arranged before we begin, now, Link.” Evinal mused. He took one of Link’s arms and positioned it, stepped back, shook his head, and tried again. Link felt his skin crawl at the touch, but there was nothing he could do to stop him. He had no choice but to stand there and be posed like a doll. He strained to flex his muscles, struggling desperately to move even a finger, but the spell held firm.

“What’s this?” Evinal hummed, pausing where he had been rearranging the folds of Link’s scarf.

Oh Hylia. Proxi. He’d found Proxi. Link began to pray that the fairy was alright, that the reason she hadn’t flitted out yet was because she was just sleeping. That she hadn’t been caught in the magic of that damn circle too.

Evinal chuckled. “Oh my. You know, I didn’t realise you still travelled with your little mouthpiece! We’ll have to find somewhere to put you, little one.”

No. No, he couldn’t. But Evinal had turned on his heel and was rummaging about the workbench. When he lifted a glass jar of nails and emptied them out on the table, Link felt like he was going to be sick. He- he couldn’t put Proxi in that thing. It was just a normal jar, it wasn’t enchanted to carry fairies. It wouldn’t sustain her or keep her safe. It was just a jar.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ve got you.” Evinal crooned as he stepped up to Link and held the jar to his scarf, brushing Proxi’s tiny body inside with no regard for the delicacy of her wings or her tiny, fragile limbs. He smiled at Link, saccharine and false and horrible. He sealed the jar and lifted it into Link’s field of view and wiggled it a little, sending Proxi spilling across its base.

Now that she was out of the circle’s hex she looked like she was starting to move again, trying to push herself upright and looking around at him in horror. Her mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t hear her through the glass.

“I’ll find her a better jar, of course.” he assured Link. “If I remember. Maybe. Anyway, I see no reason why our little friend can’t watch the show.” he set Proxi down on the workbench where she had a clear view of Link and he could see her. From this distance she was little more than a flickering blue orb, ramming itself against the glass over and over again. It made no difference, though, and her efforts failed to even rattle the jar.

Evinal laughed fondly and patted the lid before he turned back to the hero.

“Now.” the old man smiled. “Back to business.”

Somewhere in the back of his throat, Link managed to whimper.

“Now, I’m to understand you believe that everyone, regardless of status or upbringing, deserves a chance to become the best. The cream of the crop!” Evinal had finished with his pose, and was now busily arranging Link’s panicked face into a stoic expression.

“And while that is a noble idea,” Evinal’s smile turned a touch too sharp, too cruel. “Your desires are interfering with my bottom line.”

Bottom line? Was - was all of this about profits?! Link struggled again to move, but his muscles continued to ignore his orders. He was stuck in the position that Evinal had moulded him into, some sort of parody of a knight standing watch.

“I tolerated your meddling for a long while, you know. Your little pet project in that filthy slum wasn’t any harm to my business. Richer tenants can afford higher rents, after all!”

“However,” and Evinal’s face seemed to contort with rage. “To actively conspire to change how we run our lodgings? Talk of laws to tell Landlords how many people we can rent to? Legislating a ‘standard of living’? Calling our lettings ‘slums’? Allowing the wretches to vote? Well… that was going just a touch too far. You see, my family has spent generations providing housing for the Great Unwashed of Flea End. And to have some ungrateful upstart come along and try to end all of that …” Evinal relaxed once more, his face falling into its usual grandfatherly mask. “Suffice it to say, I couldn’t allow you to continue.”

He stood back for a moment and surveyed his work before turning around to the workbench and calmly picking up a brightly labelled bag, pouring himself a glass of wine.

Really? Really? All his talk about being better and this asshole drank bagged-wine? It was too ludicrous. It was absurd. If he hadn’t wanted so badly to cry, he might have laughed. As it was, he could do neither.

“Besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought as he sipped the clearly-sub par vintage. “Only you could ever make such a fine piece of art.”

Had Link been able to move, he would have choked in horror. As it was, he managed to make a sharper inhale than the rest. Evinal was one of the slumlords of Flea End? Responsible for so much suffering? For putting up rents so high that the choice was either to starve with a roof over your head or freeze on the streets? And even if he was, what was the point in trapping Link here? He was clearly not a statue, and magic circles ceased to work as soon as you moved out of them. What was he playing at?

Evinal looked up at him, and his smile was as sweet as honey.

“Step two.” He said, his expression dreamy.

For a moment Link didn’t understand. He could only watch in confusion as Evinal did something with that ridiculous cane of his, twisting it until something popped out of the handle. A jewel of some sort? Link couldn’t quite see from this angle no matter how hard he swivelled his eyes.

Evinal ignored his desperate attempts to look, instead stepping forwards and oh-so lightly tapping Link over the heart.

The change was not immediate. It was slow and crawling, and that was so much worse.

The sensation began in his toes. At first it was just a tingle, but it quickly grew into a sharp, terrible cold, as if he had been plunged foot-first into a barrel of ice. Link inhaled sharply with the shock of it, but it didn’t go away. And it wasn’t just his toes. He could feel the ice spreading across his feet, wrapping its frosty fingers around his insole, leeching away any heat and leaving behind a terrible, frozen numbness as it crawled steadily onwards.

Link flicked his eyes over to Proxi, flickering desperately in her jar. He couldn’t see the look on her face, but her desperate attempts at ramming herself into the side of the jar had doubled. What the hell was happening to him? The cold sensation wasn’t getting any easier to bear with time; if anything it was worsening, the ice growing around his ankles like manacles and continuing to creep up higher.

Evinal, for his part, looked delighted. “Oh, my!” he gasped, putting a hand to his heart. His eyes were fixated on Link’s feet, and the Hero wished desperately that he could move to see what was happening. What had made Evinal look so happy.

“Well, isn’t that marvellous? I can actually see it working!” He said, sounding for all the world like someone who had just seen their first piece of hedge magic, not… whatever the hell this was.

Evinal circled slowly around him as the horrible sensation of ice crept up his calves, the cold burning in its intensity to the point where Link didn’t know if it was a bitter chill or boiling heat.

“You know.” he said as he returned to his position in front of Link. “You’re entirely stone up to your knees, now.”

Even though, somewhere in the most extreme, far flung recesses of his mind he’d begun to suspect this was the case, he had never consciously entertained such a notion. It was too far-fetched, too cruel, too terrible. Yet there was no lie in Evinal’s eyes, only horrible, malicious glee.

The cold inched further up and Link felt real panic start to set in. He had to move. Had to get out of here. The Master Sword was strapped to his back and was full of holy power, if he could just touch it then surely the curse would be dispelled-

He strained, but he could not bring himself to budge an inch. His arms stayed in their carefully posed positions regardless of his muscles giving everything they had. The sword was right there, and yet he just couldn’t reach it.

His panic grew, his breathing quickening as he desperately struggled for breath with only his nose available.

Evinal laughed in a mockery of kindness. “Oh, dear boy!” he cooed. “You needn’t fuss so. After all, soon you won’t have any need for air at all!”

Link heard himself whimper again, but there was nothing he could do. Evinal reached up and corrected the tilt of Link’s jaw, the set of his hair.

“Sorry to fuss so. Only have so much time to do any final adjustments before the spell finishes, after all!” he straightened Link’s scarf, fingers lingering over the joy pendant around his neck. “I wonder what it will be like. Living as a statue. Alive, but unable to move or speak. Hearing and seeing everything around you but never being anything more than an ornament. Then again, I suppose you’re used to that, aren’t you, dear boy? Fitting, really. You will stand watch over Hyrule for years to come, will see the rise and fall of our fair city, until one day they decide they don’t need a statue of a long forgotten Hero any more. What will become of you then, I wonder? Will they move you to a museum? Break you down for rubble? Desert you in a wasteland? So many possibilities.”

Link wanted to be sick. He wanted to scream. But he could do neither, so he just stood there, staring as the sensation of ice crept towards his hips.

“Oh!” Evinal suddenly clapped his hands together in glee. “I have an idea! I’ll have to move quickly, mind.”

He began to hum to himself as he circled around Link’s back. For a moment he had no idea what the man was planning to do, until he felt a tug as the familiar strap across his chest came loose.

Evinal had undone the strap holding the Master Sword. He circled back to his front, carefully holding the blade by its scabbard. Still humming, he guided first one of Link’s hands, and then another to wrap around its hilt, as if holding it in front of him and resting its point to the floor.

This was it. Link felt a surge of hope well in his chest - but nothing happened. His hands wrapped around the hilt and stayed there, holding the blade in position. He could feel the thrum of the blade’s sacred power against his hands, but he wasn’t quite touching it.

He was wearing gloves.

Sturdy leather gloves, sensible for a cold day in the rainy season, barely a few millimetres of fabric between his skin and the sacred blade.

That was it. His last chance. It was over.

The line of ice rose to his waist, just below where he kept the Keaton Mask that his brother had loved so much.

“Hmm.” Evinal’s eyes flicked down as he ran a finger over the mask. “I don’t know about this. Doesn’t really add to the whole ‘noble Hero’ look I’m going for.”

Don’t! Don’t touch it! PLEASE! Link tried to scream. He whimpered again, the sound tearing uselessly at his throat.

Evinal laughed at the sound, his eyes lighting up in delight as he looked up at him. “Oh, you don’t want it to go? This little thing really means a lot to you, hmm? And what about this bauble?” he reached up and tugged lightly on the joy pendant around his neck.

Link whimpered again. He could feel tears beginning to well in his eyes.

Evinal shook his head, smiling. “Well, now. Since you asked so nicely. After all, I’m not producing some second-rate imitation. I want people to look at my work and think that it could almost be the real thing!”

He patted the Keaton Mask, readjusted the Joy Pendant, and then stepped back to admire his work.

For a while he stood there, watching in silence as the ice crept further up Link’s body. Link didn’t think he could get any more horrified, but again he proved himself wrong. From where he was positioned, he could just about look down enough to see his hands from the bottom of his eyes, and as he watched they slowly, steadily began to turn grey, the stone spreading and leaching into not just his gloves but also into the bright purple and silver of the Sacred Blade. Inch by inch it overtook him, climbing up his arms and towards his shoulders, up from his hips and towards his chest.

Desperate and afraid, Link flicked his eyes back to Proxi’s jar. She couldn’t do anything to help him, he knew that now and it was a cold, horrid realisation, but in that moment it didn’t matter. He just wanted to see his friend.

The cold hit his lungs first. His breathing became laboured and then ceased, and a moment later so did his heartbeat. But he did not die. He stood there, mostly stone but still partially flesh, watching in horror and terror and rage as Evinal sat there, sipping his disgusting bagged wine.

Link had no idea how he was still alive. Had no idea what was sustaining him when everything below his neck was still and made of icy cold stone. He couldn’t help it when a tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek and onto his neck, almost unbearably hot against the sensation of cold stone.

Evinal tutted. “Oh, dear boy.” he said in a mockery of consolation as he set his glass aside. “Here.”

He stepped up and gently, terribly, wiped the tear away. “There you go. No need to worry. You’ll be the finest statue in all of Castle Town! I’m certain you’ll have no shortage of admirers.”

Link couldn’t think of anything worse, personally, but that didn’t matter now. Nothing he could do mattered. The sensation of ice had crept across his jaw, covered his lips. He couldn’t whimper any longer, couldn’t make a sound of any sort.

What would happen when it reached his eyes? Would he be blinded? Would he still be able to hear? Would that be better? Or worse?

It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only a minute or two before the spell was completed and Link found out.

As the stone crept over the last of his face, his vision fixed straight ahead of him and stayed there, unblinking, as the stone froze his eyes into position. He couldn’t move them about, couldn’t blink. Unless something was directly ahead of him, he would not be able to see it.

Evinal tutted. “Well, that’s a shame. And to think you were almost perfect! Seems the only thing that didn’t make it over were your eyes.”

And to prove his point, or maybe just to torture Link, he turned and picked up a handheld mirror from the workbench, holding it up into Link’s field of view.

His eyes were gone. Where his pupils and irises had been just a moment ago was only blank, plain stone beneath the carved eyelids. If he had a stomach he would have felt ill, but instead he just stood there, his mind reeling and rebelling at the sight before him.

Shrugging, Evinal moved the mirror away and patted him on the arm. Link felt his touch, felt it as a soft pressure with no heat to stave off the cold, but there was nothing that he could do to recoil.

Evinal moved around to where Link couldn’t see him, but he heard the lock click as Evinal finally opened the shed’s door. How long had it been since Link first entered? It felt like it had been hours, but the light that streamed into the workshop said that it was still daylight.

“Claude? Your statue is ready!” Evinal called through the entryway. “Remember, you carved it. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” an unfamiliar voice sounded behind him. Link whirled around—

No, wait.

He didn’t whirl around, grabbing his sword in case of an enemy.

He stood there. In that Ganon-cursed position. And did nothing.

He did nothing in the hours and days that followed. Did nothing as he felt strong hands wrapping around his legs, under his arms, picking him up and loading him into a wagon, as he was moved out of Evinal’s estate and into the streets. Did nothing as he was lifted again and carried to the plinth that only a few days ago he had seen set up in the centre of town.

He did nothing as the henchmen cast an affixing spell to his boots and the plinth, as he was covered with a sheet, as he was dramatically revealed the next day by none other than Zelda herself.

He did nothing the days and weeks afterwards, as search parties were sent out for a Hero they would never find.

Even when Zelda lay sobbing at the foot of his plinth, as she held a memorial service right under his very nose, he did nothing.

It was all he could do.

It was all he could feel:

Nothing.

Except bone-chilling cold.

Chapter Text

“Here we are!” Evinal declared, and his voice was proud he flung open the door.

Honestly, Time hadn’t been sure what to expect when he followed the baron out to his garden. He had led them to what looked like a small gardener’s hut, but apparently this was where the man’s sculptor in residence did his work.

And honestly? As far as odd hobbies of the elite went, supporting a local artisan in his work wasn’t the weirdest out there. Even if Time did have reservations over quite how many statues there were of his brother around the city, this garden at least seemed mercifully free of them.

Evinal smiled and gestured to Time to go on in. Time hesitated, something about that gesture feeling a little… off. Wasn’t Evinal supposed to walk through the door first? As a sign of his higher status? Time had never pretended to have a title and he was fairly certain that his accent, a mishmash of Kokiri, Terminan, and the soft burr of the villages near Lon Lon ranch, marked him out as being distinctly below the baron on the social ladder.

…maybe Evinal wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Maybe underneath the pompous exterior, he really was just a genial, slightly dramatic old man.

Either way, he had information on Link. On Time’s big brother. Sure, he wasn’t quite sure why they were going to a mason’s workshop, but the minutiae of courtly manners didn’t exactly seem important right now. Time stepped through the door, nodding politely to the baron as he went.

He didn’t like how Evinal’s smile stretched as he passed.

The baron followed behind him, closing the door and waiting patiently as Time took in the sights.

Something about the workshop looked wrong. Yes, it was clearly the workspace of a sculptor, with tools on the wall and a workbench to one side and a few blocks of marble stacked in the corner. But something about it seemed… clean. Too clean. As if for all of its artful staging, it had never actually been used.

Which was clearly absurd. There was even a recently finished statue tucked away in the corner of the workshop to prove it. It was an incredibly realistic reproduction of a man in servant’s clothes, his hands both out in front of him and proudly displaying their middle fingers to onlookers.

Okay. That was definitely weird. But Time wasn’t exactly in a position to judge modern art. Maybe Evinal thought it was funny to have a statue of a man scowling and flipping twin birds at his visitors.

A rug was spread out in the center of the room, right in the path from the entrance. It was… fairly ugly, as far as rugs went. A round, beige-ish thing of blue and red concentric circles, looking more like an oversized archery target than some tasteful decor.

But, well, once again. Time wasn’t exactly one to judge the artistic tastes of some random noble. Hell, maybe that’s why this room looked so disused - maybe whoever had carved the frowning statue in the corner had been fired for their horrible taste in rugs.

Whatever. Time had never had much of an interest in sculpture, not even when Lullaby had suggested he model for a few statues back home. That said, even he could understand the amount of skill necessary for the statue of the servant, and despite himself he stepped closer to take a look. Under his boots, the thick pile of the rug flattened and at the base of his brain, something small and subtle began to buzz.

Two things happened very quickly.

Time heard a lock click behind him and spun around towards the door and Evinal.

Evinal rapped his cane against the ground.

Time… Time suddenly felt strange. It was as if, between one step and another, his body had decided to betray him. His muscles felt as if they had turned to lead, the air around him thick as molasses.

He turned to fully face Evinal, but his head was moving more slowly than it should have, uncoordinated and heavy.

He frowned. “Wha ish-” he couldn’t finish his sentence. His mouth had filled up with cotton wool and his jaw was refusing do as he told it.

Evinal smiled at him, his expression serene. “Something wrong?”

This wasn’t right. Time had grown up in the Kokiri forest, he knew the feel of magic - the taste of a curse - intimately. He could feel the hex as it rippled through his brain and out across his body now, thick and sweet and cloying as it froze him in place.

A magic circle? Really? Time did his best to glance down. The spell had completely frozen him in place, but he still had control over his eye and in this position he could just about flick it down to look at -

Oh for- of course. Of course.

The rug. That hideous, round rug. The pattern woven into was not just concentric circles, now that he looked he could also make out small sigils and symbols, humming with power. As he watched, the pattern of the rug moved and shifted until the red center lay beneath his feet, contracting like the pupil of an eye to lock him in place.

Of course. Because why roll a rug over a magic circle when you could have the rug be the magic circle.

He should have spotted it. It was a rookie mistake. He was a Hero, damnit, not some new recruit off the street. Trapping someone with a magic circle was the oldest trick in the book, why in Hylia’s name had he fallen for it?

(Because you wanted to, a treacherous part of his mind whispered. Baron Evinal, this ball, everything about it was off. He’d known that they shouldn’t trust the invitation as soon as they got it, and any other time he would have had his guard so much further up at the ball. But he had been so desperate to find his big brother that he’d just ignored his senses and blundered on in.

Hylia, if the situation hadn’t been so dire, if the Captain had only been here, then he would have laughed at his own stupidity.)

“I wouldn’t strain myself if I were you.” Evinal drawled smoothly from where he leaned against the pristine workbench. “It won’t do you any good; you aren’t going anywhere. Not until I’m all finished with you, that is.”

Well, if Time hadn’t been panicking before, he was now. He strained, muscles working overtime as he tried to flex them and move even an inch, but nothing worked. He was frozen, only his eye and lungs still under his own control.

“You know,” Evinal said, pushing himself off the bench and peering up at him. “you ask an awful lot of questions. Questions that you really wouldn’t be asking if you knew what was good for you.”

He walked over to a small cabinet just out of Time’s line of sight. The Hero tried to shudder as he heard something rustle and then crinkle. What was this man going to do to him? Some form of torture?

Then Evinal stepped back into view and raised a glass of wine in a mockery of a toast.

Because of course. Of course this creep was pouring himself some wine. What was this?

“I will admit, you act as a wonderful cover for that little brat of the Captain’s. I don’t know where he found you, but I promise: he wasn’t paying you enough.”

Evinal tilted his head as his eyes raked over Time’s body. Then he stepped forwards, grabbing Time’s sides and adjusting his posture, lifting an arm and moving its position.

Was he… being posed?

What the fuck?

This was beyond weird. This was wrong. This was very wrong and Time had no way to stop it, no recourse to call for his brothers. He could only stand there as Evinal played with his position and posed him like a doll. His only slight hint of satisfaction was that the little man had to pull a stool over from the side in order to reach his hair.

“Well, I daresay the little skipper won’t be hiding behind you for much longer.” he cooed, apparently satisfied with Time’s hair and giving it a final pat. “I’d be more worried about where the other one is, you know, but I daresay that little roach will come crawling out of the woodwork on his own. Well, either that or his brother might give him up.”

Time did his level best to glare at him from beneath the mask. So the old creep was looking for Time as well? Or, as he had been then, ‘Mask’, the angry, standoffish ten year old? Well good luck to him. As if Wind would ever give him up. It was about as likely as Time giving the Sailor up, or the Captain, or any of his brothers.

Evinal paused in his work. “Then again, you might know where he is. Might be able to lure him here, even! Imagine that! Me having caught the whole collection!”

Time felt a sick sort of humour rise in his stomach. The old baron clearly had no idea how close to the truth he was.

Evinal tilted his head. “Now, you came to see me about information on the Captain, and I would be quite an indecent host if I didn’t oblige. You see, the Captain is… well, he’s everywhere, really. Tapestries, murals, friezes, and especially sculptures. Oh, so many statues!”

He giggled almost like a child, and Time couldn’t help but flick his eye over to the lewdly gesturing statue at the other side of the room.

Evinal chuckled, waving him off. “Oh, don’t worry about him. You see, the issue with hired help these days is that they all think they can mouth off as they please. That particular one over there tried to question my honour. Accused me of scheming.” And the old man’s face contorted, the mask falling off to reveal a truly disgusting scowl.

Honestly, he could have given Boar-Ganondorf a run for his money.

“He was right, of course, but I still had to punish him. But, you see, the spell moves so quickly when it’s just used on a whim. Caught him in that dreadful pose. Fortunately, It’ll be much slower for you, my boy! The magic of the circle you’re standing in slows it right down, though. Awfully convenient - allows for any last minute changes!”

Changes to what? Time didn’t like where this was going.

“Oh, but look at me prattling on! I hadn’t finished my story about the dear-departed Captain! Or soon-to-be-departed Captain, that is.”

Time’s mind, already reeling from what he was feeling and hearing, was sent reeling once again ‘Soon to be departed’? DId that mean - Link was alive? Without meaning to, a grunt escaped his throat, begging to be told more.

Evinal burst out laughing. “Oh dearie me, it seems the sea rat wasn’t the only one looking for our dear Captain, after all! I’ll tell you what: if you ask nicely, I’ll finish my story. Go on. Ask me.”

He looked up at Time and his smile was more of a sneer as he waited.

Time grappled with the decision, staring back at him, his eye wide. Hylia, he didn’t want to give this old creep what he wanted, but he so desperately wanted to know where his brother was. It was still information, after all, and there still had to be a chance that Time could get out of this. If it helped find their brother - their still alive brother - then did it really matter if Time’s damned pride was hurt?

He took a deep breath and strained, and then he grunted. It felt like a part of him broke at the act, but he pushed that feeling down and away.

Once again, Evinal laughed at him.

“Oh, my good man, you truly are desperate, aren’t you! Oho, well, since you asked me so very nicely…” he patted Time’s shoulder. “The Captain got in my way. He thought that Flea End ought be something more than a miserable little slum, and I took offence to that.”

“So, I’m going to do to you what I did to him. But first, let’s get that little mask off your face, shall we? Masked statues are so gauche.”

Masked what now? Was - was he hearing that right? Time had thought that this whole debacle was strange from the start, but was this crazy old man really suggesting that he could petrify someone? Had this been a story then Time would have laughed at such a suggestion. No one would be that cruel, that insane. But Time wasn’t laughing, instead he stood struggling and straining against a binding spell and looking into the eyes of an old man with certainty in his eyes.

He glanced back at the statue in the corner. Was that a person originally?

Evinal reached up, and Time tried desperately to move, to catch his hands and stop him. But of course, he couldn’t. He could only stand there and watch as the old man gently took the edge of his mask and lifted it away.

The baron’s eyes widened as he got his first look at Time’s face, or more specifically, at the Marks burned into his skin, bright and bold and damning. Everyone who knew the Captain also knew of the Fierce Deity, the mighty war god who had appeared and disappeared from the battlefields seemingly on a whim. Ror Time to wear even half of his marks was a coincidence that no one would miss.

And it clearly had not slipped by Evinal either. In fact, judging by the look on his face, he had just put two and two together.

“Din’s Fury.” he breathed, reaching up to run a finger along the Marks on Time’s forehead. Hylia, Time wanted to spit on his face. “Well you can’t be a god, can you? You’d have broken out of that circle by now. But perhaps…” he traced his fingertips down to the edges of Time’s face, following the faint gouges the Fierce Deity left whenever he clawed out of the mask. They’d healed over time after time after time, but the scars remained.

Evinal’s lips curled into a sneer. “So I was right. Hello, Little Roach.”

So it appeared that Evinal had done his research. That, or he’d seen the scratches on Time’s face during one of the innumerable balls he’d been forced to attend during the War.

Time would have happily bitten his fingers off. Instead he glared, hoping the fire in his eye would convey the message his immobile face couldn’t. Much as he hated using that mask, he wished that he could call on the power of the Fierce Deity now. He had no doubt that the war god would have eviscerated the feeble little baron, walking out of the circle as if it wasn’t there and beginning a manhunt for the ages to find the Captain.

But he couldn’t reach for his bag, couldn’t put it on. He was utterly alone. No god to help him. No big brother to step in. Not even the chance to meet his death head-on.

As far as endings went, it wasn’t exactly heroic. No huge battle against evil, no raging against the dying of the light, just a barely heard whimper and a sadistic old creep to bear witness.

No one would know that happened to him.

Malon would never know what happened to him.

“I must say, you look awfully tall for a twelve-year-old.” Evinal scoffed. “I suppose the War is to blame, everyone having to grow up so fast. All those pesky time-portals. Frankly, I don’t care why you’re so much older all of a sudden. Don’t suppose I’ll ever need to know. Not like you’re going to be making any more trouble for me, after all.”

Evinal turned away. “Now, I know I’m sounding rather ominous, but don’t worry! You’re not going to die here! In fact,” and as he turned back around Time made another aborted shudder at his expression. “You’re not going to die at all.”

That… Time didn’t like how that was phrased. What the hell was this? What about the statues? Time was pretty sure that hylians died when they weren’t flesh, and unless Time was wrong about his lineage again, he was very much a hylian.

Once again, he glanced over at the statue in the corner and his stomach twisted. What was about to happen to him? Was whoever that statue had been still alive somehow? In stasis until someone uncursed him?

What kind of grotesque magic was this?

Evinal hummed to himself. “If you think about it that way, I’m giving you a gift! Immortality is all the rage in high society right now. People spending a fortune to extend their life by a measly ten years. Meanwhile, I’m giving you millenia for absolutely free! Well, unless someone gets a bit excited with a hammer or some such. You know how bad the rain can be for statues. But I’m quite sure nothing like that will happen to you, not for a good many years at least! Your brother, however…” He laughed lightly and took another sip from his glass. “Well, I’m afraid that’s an entirely different matter.”

Time didn’t need to ask which brother. The pit of icy cold dread in his stomach deepened. What the hell was this creep going to do with the Captain?!

Time strained against his bindings once more, a strangled grunt escaping his throat as he tried again to escape. He had to find Link, he had to warn him! But of course, nothing happened. He couldn’t move so much as a finger, his efforts serving only to exhaust him.

Evinal laughed lightly and began to idly fuss over Time’s clothes; the position of his collar, the set of his sleeves, tutting as he discovered the knife hidden in the inseam. Time was little more than a doll in his hands, with no choice but to stay in whatever position he was placed.

He hoped that the Chain found this bastard and killed him. Preferably before whatever was about to happen happened, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy at the moment.

“Well! Would you listen to me, prattling on.” Evinal chuckled. “I promised I’d finish my story if you asked, and you did ask so very nicely after all.”

Hylia, this man liked the sound of his own voice. Time took the opportunity to roll his eye, but Evinal had already turned away for a refill of his glass. Well, maybe whoever was stuck in the other statue had caught it at least. Poor guy was probably sick of Evinal’s monologues. Time would bet his wallet that this creep rehearsed his soliloquies before he spoke them.

Idly, Time wondered if there were more statues aside from the servant and the Captain. Time wouldn’t put it past him to have petrified someone just to rehearse his speeches too. A real life captive audience. Time truly pitied whoever it was.

Evinal was on a roll now. Must be a his favourite part of the script. Hylia, if Time hadn’t been so desperate to find out what had happened to his big brother, he would have done his best to block him out.

“Now, as I was saying, unfortunately our beloved Captain was getting too nosy into my affairs. It must have been a Hero thing, attempting to aid the great unwashed when all the wretches do is eat rupees as if they’re candy.” He snorted, swirling the wine in his glass. “Noble as I’m sure his aspirations were, they happened to be directly in the way of my profits. All of those laws he wanted to bring in - mandatory building maintenance, maximum tenants per building, rent limitations? Tenants' ‘rights’? Whoever heard of such a thing?!”

Ah. Yep. Time should have seen that coming. While he hadn’t personally been forced to deal with people like Evinal, whenever Zelda came over for lunch she’d always complain incessantly about the greed of certain members of her court. He’d learned his favorite swears from those lunches, and had developed a deep desire to never get anywhere near the politics of high society.

Well. Looked like that had backfired spectacularly.

“So, of course, the Hero had to go. But,” and Evinal laughed lightly. “That’s far easier said than done! He managed to survive that War, after all, and I needed to get him completely immobile or else I wouldn’t have stood a chance! I’m not much of a fighter, you see. Hence the rug.” He gestured down towards the same damn rug keeping Time in place.

So the Captain had fallen for the same, stupid trap, then? Somehow, this didn’t feel especially comforting to Time.

“Even so, a body draws attention. And indeed, if I had killed him outright, that damnable fairy of his might have fixed the damage, and then where would we be?”

Proxi. Where was Proxi?!

Evinal had walked behind him. He heard a shifting, glass clinking against glass, before he hobbled back into view.

In his left hand clutched his cane and wineglass.

In his right, he held Proxi.

The bottle she was trapped in was small, the runes around its neck miniscule in order to fit. Her glow, pulsing slowly from behind the glass, seemed muted somehow, the colour not the vibrant, electric cobalt that it should have been.

Evinal held her aloft, dispassionate, examining the glass as her weak light struggled to compete with the room’s torches.

“You know,” he spoke idly to Time, his eyes never leaving the bottle. “I was going to leave this in a standard jar. Seemed a waste to pay for an enchanted bottle for a measly little light. But, well, it was the dear Captain’s final wish to see it protected. Well. Final but one, I suppose.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I promised that I would keep it safe, and you know, I am a man of my word.”

Why was she so weak? Had she been bottled elsewhere before this? Somewhere without stasis enchantments, fairy protections? Time could only stare as Evinal tilted the bottle, watching the dim light inside from all angles.

“So, anyway, I had a most wondrous idea!” he said to the jar. “If there’s no body, there’s no crime. And if there’s no crime, I’m no criminal! So to remove the issue of a body, I got my hands on an Enstonement Jewel. It’s all very tidy, really.”

He paused, as if a thought occurred to him. He looked back at Time.

“Odd fellow who sold it to me. Stuck to the shadows. But then, I suppose that sort of character prefers the Dark. I do recall him giving me a warning when I bought it. Evidently if you enstone someone alive, then they become trapped and cannot die, nor can they return to life. They simply stand and stare, still alive and aware until they’re broken by age. And since the Hero’s Spirit needs to reincarnate, what better way to ensure it cannot harm me in this, or any lifetime?”

…this was insane. No, it was beyond insane. Time didn’t even have a word for what this was. To deliberately halt the cycle of the Hero? To condemn an innocent man to millennia of imprisonment? It was beyond madness.

Time’s thoughts turned to Wild. The Captain’s eventual successor. Concrete proof that whatever happened now, no matter how vile this man was, something would happen along the line to allow Time’s brother to pass on. He held that thought close, praying it meant that the Captain could be rescued and released.

Oh Hylia, what about Twilight? Time’s direct successor and heir to his lineage? If Time was to be enstoned like the Captain, how would his spirit be given to the rancher? Was the timeline changeable? Did that mean Twilight would… disappear? That his Hyrule would be condemned to the Twilight Realm all because Time was so excited about seeing his brother he didn’t watch where he stepped?

Was this it? Was this the end? Not only of himself, but of his Hyrule too?

Evinal huffed, walking towards the workshop table and gently placing the jar holding Proxi on its surface.

“Now, that was the plan. But the thing about having a public figure disappear, especially a Hero, is that people tend to get rather interested in where they’ve gone. First the search parties, then that brat of a Lieutenant, then a veritable horde of people all asking the wrong questions and looking far too closely. It gets exhausting, really. This Jewel is quite wonderful, there’s no question, but there’s a limit to how many people at a time can vanish without pointing fingers headed my way. I need to act to protect myself now. You and that group you arrived with are the exception to the rule, of course. No one has a clue who you are. But, well, it’s getting much too risky to leave any evidence of the Hero sitting around.”

A scoff.

“After all, anyone with enough magic sensitivity could detect the curse, and then it all comes crashing down!”

Hyrule.

Hyrule had been constantly on edge ever since they’d arrived here.

The statues in the courtyards. Had they been some of Evinal’s work?

“But, well, you know what they say. You don’t use a sledgehammer to crack a nut.” Evinal’s face contorted into a smile. “But you can use them to crack a statue! And if there’s no body, there’s no crime!” And once again the smile twisted, turning malicious. Sadistic. “And soon, there won’t even be pebbles left.”

Time wanted to scream. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg Evinal to spare his brother. He knew he himself was a lost cause, but there had to be something, anything he could do to help the Captain! He could feel tears welling up and spilling from his one good eye, and while he wanted to sob, his body would not move to make the action, only his breathing shaky and uneven.

Evinal tutted and stepped closer, lifting a handkerchief to dab at his eye. “Now, then, let’s not have that. You’ll ruin all the work I did posing you! Besides, it’s not like I wanted to change my plans. It’s just that you forced my hand.”

Evinal stepped back. “So really,” he said conversationally, swirling the wine left at the bottom of his glass. “It’s your fault the Hero of Warriors is about to become a pile of rubble.”

For a moment, just a moment, Time felt his mind snap away from his body.

No. No, it couldn’t be real. He couldn’t accept this, he wouldn’t. His mind reeled, it took every ounce of effort he had to bring himself back to the present. He couldn’t lose himself now, he had to pay attention. Had to try and find a way out.

…

There was no way out. Was there?

Evinal had set his glass down and was walking back towards him, cane in hand.

“Now, I daresay I’ve made myself clear. And so, now for the main event! Don’t fret, now - ot won’t hurt a bit. Or perhaps it will. Who’s to say? No one’s ever given me any feedback. Although,” And he paused, laughing. “They always tend to take a gasp when it starts. So I suppose you’ll feel something unpleasant!”

Never mind when it started, Time was gasping for air now. He struggled again, searching frantically for even a mote of magic capable of undoing the spell, but to no avail. He tried to close his eyes, to accept his impending doom with dignity, but that accursed spell kept pushing them open again, forcing him to see every step that Evinal took towards him.

He stopped in front of Time, fiddling with his cane until a slot opened and a gem popped out.

Oh Hylia. This was it.

Evinal took another step forward.

Off to his left, something clicked.

-wait. Clicked?

And then everything began to happen very fast.

Evinal took the final step, reaching with his cane towards Time’s unprotected chest.

A blur of blue and blond lunged into the room, a short figure wearing a mask and with a shock of fluffy blond hair. Wind still had his lock pick in his hand, the other clutching his gossip-stone pendant.

“WILD!” he was screaming as he clutched the necklace. “WILD, THE SCULPTOR’S YARD!”

He bodily tackled Evinal, easily overpowering the little man and shoving him towards the magic circle, the force of the push turning him away from Time.

Turning his cane away from Time.

Turning it right against Wind’s side.

Time wanted to scream. Instead he could only let out a strangled grunt and widen his eye as he witnessed his one remaining brother from the War fall to the floor, mask clattering to the side. Time gazed in pure horror at the grey overtaking his body.

“Hurry…” he wheezed into the gossip-stone before the curse finished its race across his body, and Wind’s flesh was replaced entirely by stone.

Time could only stare. He stood, frozen in place as his brother was petrified only a few feet away. Evinal also lay where he had been pushed, just inside of the red ring of the magic circle, trapped by the magic his own hex.

No one in the room could move. No one could do anything but wait.

Hylia, Time hoped that Wild picked up the message.

-

-

-

Elison had been in the business of building for years, now. He’d overseen houses built, fortresses constructed, and masterminded the destruction of so many buildings and decorations that for as long as he could remember, no contract had fazed him.

This, however? This was new.

It had happened during dinner. A messenger of some hoity-toity noble had come banging on his door, demanding the destruction of some statue well after working hours for no other reason than “His Lordship dislikes its expression”. Elison was about ready to tell the damn prick to get bent; he was eating, after all! But when he dropped a hefty pouch of rupees on his table, Elison’s tune had abruptly changed.

So here he was, out with a couple of his crew and two goons of the noble’s in the pissing rain, off to smash some statue offending delicate sensibilities.

Great Goddesses above, Elison wished he was back home.

Through the corner of his eye he could see Tavison sidling up to him, pitching her voice to the point where the goons couldn’t hear her.

“Boss, something’s not right here.” She murmured. Elison couldn’t help but agree.

He’d heard some nasty rumors about these particular goons, to the point where they were outlawed from most every reputable business in town. Gossip abounded about them, from skimping on safety to stealing from employers to being borderline sadistic in jobs that offered them any kind of power. So to have a weird contract at the ass-end of the day in filthy weather with the kind of people Elison wouldn’t be caught dead employing?

Whatever was going on, he wanted no part in it. However, the pouch of rupees on top of the contract he’d signed had hidden a cancellation clause of twice the payment for the job.

Effectively, he was stuck. Twice the price would ruin him, but whatever was going on here was more than just an offended noble. At the front of the group, he saw the two goons snickering quietly to each other. Straining his ears, he caught snatches of “fucking finally” and “get what’s coming to him” and “some fuckin hero” from the pair.

He made an executive decision.

Pushing towards the front, he loudly grumbled about how it was “too fuckin late right now to take the long way ‘round” and took the lead. He led them down one alleyway, then another, until he came to a courtyard with a statue of the Hero of Warriors.

Leaving the goons to giggle in the back, he hefted his hammer and set to work.

Crash!

The hammer hit the statue in the calf, shattering it into rubble. The affixing bolts jutted out from the base of the plinth and the remnants of the boot, the other calf creaking as it tried to hold up the rest of the statue.

He swung again.

Crunch!

The other leg broke, sending the rest of the statue to the ground. The Master Sword fell first, its outstretched position in the hero’s hand sending its exposed blade shattering against the ground. The hero’s arm followed suit, then his beaming face, until the statue hit the ground fully and cracked into dozens of chunks on the cobbles.

Elison stepped back and admired his work. Small enough chunks to grab easily, but very few slivers to get a backache from stooping over and picking up.

A job well done, if he did say so himself. Glancing back, the goons were beside themselves with glee. Whatever they’d wanted from this job, they’d gotten it.

Elison grunted as he stooped over the chunks of the statue, scooping up a shattered fragment of a soft, round face. He joined the rest of the crew as he bagged and then shoved it at the sadists.

“Here.” He said shortly. “Contract said you wanted the rubble.”

The larger of the two goons cackled. “Aw, shucks, we sure did! Thank ya kindly!” He said as he winked, stuffing it into his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “You have a great rest of the night, eh?”

Elison waited until they were well out of sight before turning around and addressing the crew.

“Now.” he rumbled, picking up his tools and getting ready to go. “Job’s a good’un. Let’s be getting out of here.”

As he made his way back across the courtyard and towards his home, he popped a salute. Just in case his hunch was right. Behind him, he heard the rest of the crew doing the same. Good lads, the lot of em.

Now, for a bath, a change of clothes, and the rest of his damn soup!

Chapter Text

“WILD!” His hip screamed. “WILD, THE STATUE YARD!”

It took a heroic amount of effort to not scream as Wild, resplendent in his Royal Guard’s outfit, very nearly flung his Slate into the closest wall. Around him, he was on the receiving end of several bemused and unimpressed looks from the same nobles who’d been curling their lips at his scars, but in that moment he found that couldn’t give a rat’s arse about anyone but his brother.

Wind had called him. Wind had called him and he had been scared.

Instantly, his slate was in his hand, showing a grainy picture of… somewhere? A ceiling, maybe? Something made of stone.

“Hurry…” He could hear Wind rasp out.

“Wind?! WIND?!” Wild shouted back at the slate, not caring who turned and stared at him. This was too urgent to worry about what people thought, not when his brother was in trouble. “WIND HANG ON WE’RE COMING! JUST HOLD ON!”

He turned to where the Vet already standing pale beside him and grabbed at Legend’s arm. “Statue yard.” he snapped. Niceties could wait. “Go get the others.”

Clearly his words carried more weight than usual as Legend didn’t even argue, just nodded silently and dashed off. Wild turned and hurried the other direction, striding along in a manner he only half-remembered but which he knew showed him to be visibly furious enough that the nobles in his path hurriedly ducked and dodged out of his way.

On his way he caught Hyrule and Four, both blatantly staring at the scene he’d caused. Four looked like he was going to make a smarmy comment, judging by the look on his face, but any amusement died as he saw the normally jovial champion so stoic. Four signed something to Hyrule that Wild didn’t catch, but at this point he was simply too stressed to care.

Wind was scared. Wind was scared and called him.

He couldn’t lose another one.

Whispers followed him as they left, the puffed-up cuccos gawping at the spectacle, but Wild Link ignored them coolly. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand why he and his company were leaving in the middle of the gathering after Lord Whythe’s comments. He- He–

No. No, he was Wild. He was not Link. He couldn’t afford a memory now, his brothers needed him.

Statue yard, statue yard, where was the statue yard, where- aha!

Striding into an empty courtyard, he came across a disturbingly macabre display. Statues of all manner of people, frozen in assorted servile or stoic or splendid poses as they ringed the center, with a small building nestled in the back. Light spilled from the open door, but silence emanated from it more loudly than if there had been a brawl inside.

Where were his brothers? This was the statue yard, right? Yard full of statues? If there was anything Wild knew about his baby brother, it was that he was not the quiet type. If something was wrong, wouldn’t he have been swearing Time’s ear off? Wouldn’t there be at least some noise coming from this place?

He strode past statue after statue, eyeing each and every one as if they were about to lunge at him. Each were so lifelike, in picture-perfect poses. Wild couldn’t suppress a shudder even as their sightless eyes seemed to follow him.

Behind him, he heard a sound like a cannon firing and Four’s answering yelp, and he spun around, pulling out a short sword from his Slate. As he turned around, though, all he saw was Four looking ready to fear-punch Hyrule and a beet-red traveler.

“Sorry!” He signed when he saw Wild looking. “Lots of dark magic. Hay fever.”

Dark Magic.

Well. Fuck.

“Where?” Wild asked, tucking his sword under his arm as he signed. “Is there a direction?”

Hyrule looked around, eyes reddening and welling up. Sniffed. Sneezed loud enough that Wild was sure it echoed into his own era.

“No. Just everywhere. The whole place is rank with it.” He pulled out his backup knife as he finished signing, an apprehensive look crossing his face. Four drew his too, though he kept palming it as his eyes darted everywhere.

Everyone held their breath as Wild led the (very slow) charge, making sure that they checked every nook and cranny before carefully pushing the door open to reveal…

A massacre.

Time stood in the center of the room, bodies strewn everywhere around him. A red liquid splashed across the floor, leaving glistening spots all over Time’s boots, the corpse at his feet, and–

Oh, Hylia.

Wind.

The sailor lay in a pool of red, still and silent.

A body. Far too young. Far too small.

Wild dropped his sword, rushing to the sailor’s side.

“Wh- Wind!”

The Hero didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t-

Wild dropped to his knees, reaching out as a sob pushed its way up and out of his throat. His mind reeled, he couldn’t process what he was seeing, couldn’t understand, couldn’t-

His hands found Wind and instead of his soft hair, his little arms and hands, found something cold and hard and-

The Sailor was stone. Solid, gray, red-stained stone.

A cannon went off and Wild spun around, staring at the traveler again. Hyrule was sneezing again and again, eyes streaming and nose running as he ignored the allergies and lunged towards Time, stumbling to a stop only steps away from him.

“back- Back!” he signed, dragging Four back with him. “Paralyzing hex!”

A ruckus sounded behind him, Legend with the rest of the Chain in tow most likely, but Wild couldn’t tear his eyes away from Wind. From Wind’s corpse. He could hear footsteps, hear the horrified gasps of his brothers, but he just. Couldn’t. Stop. Staring.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He ignored it. What could they say to him? What could they do when Wind was dead?

Dimly he could see Sky and Hyrule kneeling down next to Wind, wiping off the blood red, attempting to card through stone hair. They were saying something, they were saying words, but it sounded like it came from underwater, like he was drowning in sorrow that he couldn’t claw his way up from.

-

A paralyzing hex. A fucking paralyzing hex.

The stench of dark magic in the workshop burned Hyrule’s nostrils worse than ammonia as he sneezed again and again and again. Even just at the door he was assaulted by the reek, and his body decided that today was a great day to die as snot ran down his face like a river of unsanitary grossness.

Still, something as trivial as fucking allergies wasn’t going to stop him. He yanked the scarf off his neck, tying it around his face to hopefully get some relief as he stepped forwards, kneeling down beside the rug.

How in fuck’s name was this hex working? It was the shoddiest goddessdamn weave Hyrule had ever seen, with symbols for ‘bind’ and ‘freeze’ thrown every-fucking-where in the hopes that one would stick. Hyrule could unravel it in his sleep. He did just that, too, grabbing random threads of magic and tearing it to shreds like an overzealous daira. Instantly the reek began to ease, the dark magic dissipating as its source was destroyed. How anyone had ever decided it was an acceptable spell, Hyrule didn’t have a clue, but he could already see its grip releasing on his big brother and the corpse next to him.

He didn’t look at the other corpse. There was no point.

Back home, people died. That’s what happened. Monster attacks, poisoned water, sickness, and the precious rare old age. If he wanted to survive, then Hyrule couldn’t focus on the deaths. He had to focus on the ones he could save.

People die. Get over it.

He carefully stepped onto the rug, taking a small measure of satisfaction as the dying hex tried and failed to catch him. Time still stood in the center, but even as Hyrule picked his way over to him he could see his brother begin to twitch and strain. He carefully grabbed one of Time’s arms, maneuvering it over his shoulders as the spell broke more and more and the Old Man began to crumple under his own weight. He could feel Time saying something through his fingers, pressed up against his back, but with his face turned away, Hyrule had no clue what it was. Something about Wind, probably. It was fair, since they’d been close.

But people die. They had to get over it.

He carried Time away from the rug, stumbling over to the rest of the Chain and what had been their brother. Time shuddered and fought the whole way, straining to stand on his own and raising his head, mouthing words Hyrule couldn’t hear.

He could see their faces, though, and could piece together enough to guess what they were saying.

Wind. Wind, Wind, only Wind. Over and over again, he could see his brother calling for someone who wasn’t there anymore.

Hyrule got it. He understood. It was a lot.

But people die. You have to get over it.

If you don’t get over it, then you could die next. There’s no space for weakness in the life of a Hero.

Hyrule looked away, focusing instead on Time. On his living brother. On the one he could still help.

On the one he hadn’t yet failed.

Time’s pulse. His breathing. The colour of his skin. These were things he could work with, and while Time was still weak from the hex, his vital signs were strong. He would be okay. If nothing else, Hyrule had that. Time, at least, would be okay.

He pressed a hand to Time’s chest. His brother wasn’t wearing his customary armour so he could feel the motion of his breathing through his tunic, could check that everything was working correctly. Under his fingertips he pulsed his magic in and felt his brother’s heartbeat in response.

Then something changed. A rumble in Time’s chest, buzzing under his fingertips. He glanced up and yes - sure enough, it looked like his brother was speaking. From this angle, Hyrule couldn’t have hoped to make out the shapes that his lips were making, but whatever he was saying, the others looked devastated.

Hyrule looked away. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, to get upset. Tears are just a waste of water, after all, and he had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to think about what he had lost, to look over at the body that had once been Wind. Never mind how his hands shook as he helped support Time’s head, resting it on his knee where it wouldn’t get soaked in the spilled wine.

People died. He had to get over it.

At length, he looked up, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Whatever Time had said, it could have been important. He looked around to see if anyone could interpret it for him. Wild was out - he was too busy sobbing into Wind’s head. The statue’s head.

It wasn’t Wind anymore, Wind was gone. Hyrule had to remember that. Get over his stupid feelings.

People died. He had to get over it.

Whatever Time had said had clearly ruled out Four too. The smith’s eyes had been reflecting a myriad of different shades since they first walked in here, and now whatever inner turmoil he had been experiencing had coalesced as he leapt across the room and towards the old man lying in the puddle of wine.

Legend looked up and met his eyes. His brother. His predecessor. Legend always looked out for him, even despite what Hyrule represented. Despite the fact that Hyrule came from a future where Legend’s world is in ruins. That Hyrule had let fall into ruin.

Legend was always there for him. The veteran took a shaky breath and raised his hands, swallowing.

“They turned him to stone.” He signed simply. “The other Link. And then they smashed him. He’s gone.”

…People died.

He couldn’t get over it.

-

From the moment that Four had stepped into that room, he could feel his mind straining.

That was a lie.

He’d been feeling it for much, much longer than that. Ever since arriving here, everything had been wrong. It was cold, it was wet, and then- and then they hadn’t found the local Hero. The man seemed to be everywhere around them and yet was nowhere to be found. Everyone they met seemed to have stories about him, stories about his achievements, about his personality, about where he had come from and where he wanted to go.

The Hero of this era didn’t seem perfect. He sounded like a person - like someone who had been through the hell of war, who had quirks and flaws, who had friends and who had colleagues and who had been trying his best. He sounded like someone who would fit in with the rest of the Chain. Someone who Four would have liked.

And he was missing. Presumed dead. Presumed murdered.

Four didn’t know how to process it. A tender, red part of his mind wanted to grieve for the brother that he had never known while at the same time a blue-tinged rage burned in the pit of his stomach that this had been done to one of his brothers. And even as these two warred, something determined and green refused to accept that this Link was gone, bolstered by a violet certainty that if they just followed the right clues, if they approached this the right way, they would find a different solution.

The loss of a brother he had never known was pulling Four apart from the inside out, and that was before he ever entered the hut in the garden.

Inside, he’d barely been able to process what he was seeing. At first he’d thought that the floor was covered in blood, but then the wall of alcohol had hit his nose and it had become clear that it was spilled wine. Time, standing tall and straight over it all, his face emotionless, his eye wild. At his feet were two motionless figures: an old man and a statue.

A statue of Wind.

Four knew what had happened before anyone had said a thing. He’d seen this before, he knew this. It was clear even in how the statue of Wind was lying, clutching its pendant towards its face, mouth open as if frozen mid-word.

Like Dot. His brain supplied as four shades of dread pooled in his stomach. Like Vaati.

He had rushed forwards, barely stopped on time by Hyrule’s frantic signing about a hexing circle. It had taken every ounce of green-tinged restraint to hold himself back from charging forwards anyway. Instead he turned to Wild, frantic and his face pale against his scars.

“My sword.” he managed to grit out. For a moment Wild stared at him, uncomprehending, so Four pressed him again. “My sword. It’s in your slate. Wild, give it to me!”

Wild gasped in understanding and nodded, lifting his slate and tapping it. The Four Sword materialised in his hand and he passed it over.

Four clutched the hilt, ignoring the urge to split as it pressed hard on his brain. Now wasn’t the time. He had to focus. He knew how to save Wind and he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that. As soon as Hyrule gave them the all clear he surged forwards, kneeling in the spilled wine at his side and not caring if it soaked into his rented outfit.

He probably should have been delicate, but with the stress and fear of the moment Four found himself giving into his bluest tendencies as he shoved the flat of his blade against the statue’s cheek. He didn’t need to be fancy here, he just had to get the job done. He had to get his brother back.

…..Nothing happened.

Four’s stomach clenched and he tapped the sword to his face again, and then to his hand.

Again, nothing.

No. No, no, no! This had to work. It had to! When Vaati turned Zelda to stone, it was the Four Sword that turned her back. If it didn’t work here, then he didn’t know what to do. He was lost.

In his arms, Wind remained cold, grey stone. It hadn’t worked. All that power in the Four Sword and it wasn’t enough. The purple part of his mind had ground into overtime, attempting to churn out reason after reason why it wasn’t working.

But the reason didn’t matter. His brother was dead.

Four couldn’t save him. He could never save them.

He felt like his brain was going to tear itself apart. It was all that he could do to hold himself together as Hyrule helped Time, weak as a babe now that the spell was broken, down towards the ground.

Beside him, Wild and Legend were trembling, Wild clutching Wind and Legend helping to ease Time’s head onto his knees. The veteran’s normal acerbic wit had deserted him now he was just wide eyed and frightened, and didn’t seem to have noticed the tear that had rolled down his cheek.

When Time tried to speak, every part of Four focused in on what he was saying, mainly because it was something that he could actually do. Time was still weak and pale from the circle and seemed to be struggling to fully push his words out, but Four leaned in, reaching over to take his hand.

“It’s okay.” he lied. “I’ve got you. What is it?”

“Turn- turned-” he mumbled, his eye wide and pleading. “He turned him to s-stone.” he whispered. “Wind… the Captain.”

Four felt ill. So it wasn’t just one brother that he had lost to this, it was two. Turned to stone, and this time Four couldn’t save them.

Time made a desperate sound for attention and Four refocused on him, squeezing his hand for him to go on.

“He’s sending men…” Time continued. His voice was hoarse. Weak. But he pushed on regardless. “To smash him. To smash the Captain. We- we have to stop them-”

“Who is?” Legend cut in. “Who did this?”

Time didn’t reply, but turned around to look at the defused magic circle. At its other victim, an old man still lying in the puddle of wine, what looked like a burst wine bag beneath him as he slowly tried to push himself upright.

All four shades of Four’s mind coalesced into one, coherent rage.

This was him. The mastermind at the bottom of this, the man who had killed two of his brothers.

He acted without any conscious thought, leaping across the room and shoving the old man back into the puddle of wine and lifting his sword once more, its sharp edge pushed against the old man’s neck.

“Go on,” he hissed as a line of red beaded on thin skin. “Give me a reason.”

The man only whimpered in reply. The stink of ammonia joined the scent of wine in the air, a stain appearing on his trousers as the old man’s bladder gave out.

-

Wind was cold.

That was… an understatement.

But the fact was that for all of his bravado, all of his tall tales, and how vehemently he refused to let himself be treated as in any way ‘less’ than his brothers, Wind was thirteen. An experienced thirteen year old who had seen things that no adult should ever have to deal with, let alone someone so young as him. And now, here he was, hit with a curse that froze his bones, sent icy tendrils digging into his soul, robbed his body from him, robbed his personhood-

And he was cold.

It felt wrong. To try and describe it like that. But Wind didn’t have any other words for what had happened to him. His mind was reeling, spinning, straining at its confines as the rest of him was stuck in place. Even his eyes were stuck open, he couldn’t blink. Everyone blinked, it was natural! Wind had never thought that he really noticed the reflex, but here and now that it had been taken away from him he missed it horribly. It wasn’t right to have his gaze fixed ahead, uninterrupted and the world just out of focus.

He was on the ground, he was pretty sure of that at least. Feeling was… he didn’t really have much sensation of feeling right now other than ‘cold’, and that cold was all-encompassing. Terrible. It barely deserved to be called cold at all, because Wind had never felt anything like it before. Not on the Ice Ring Isle, not in any of his brothers’ eras, not even when a portal dumped him in the middle of Wild’s Hebra Mountains after being in the desert of Twi’s era. This was different to any of those because it was everywhere, all at once, coming from his very soul, and there was no escaping it.

But he had fallen to the ground, he was sure, when he had burst in. He’d knocked that dickwad baron over on top of his own skanky bag of wine and trapped him in his own dumb circle. And now Wind lay there, made of stone, cold, and lying in a spreading puddle of wine.

He might have laughed.

If. You know. This wasn’t so terrifying.

But it was terrifying. It was beyond terrifying. Wind was in a panic, his mind refusing to settle. He was someone who always had to be moving, had to be active, and now, frozen in place, his mind whirled. This- this couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. He’d known what he’d been doing when he charged in, sort of, at least. He’d listened at the keyhole as he picked the lock and he knew enough. This asshat had turned the Captain to stone and was going to do the same to Time.

Well he couldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t! It was wrong! No one deserved that!

But… there had to be a way out, right? There had to be. He couldn’t be stuck like this forever, still and unmoving and silent, just a statue but with a real, living brain. That couldn’t be his life now. It couldn’t! His mind rebelled at the thought, refused to accept it. He struggled and strained and couldn’t even get a grip on his muscles to even try to move.

He was lying on his back, staring distantly at the ceiling. There were cobwebs up there; that should have been evidence enough that this place wasn’t used as a real workshop. If it was, the sculptor would have cleared it out by now, but as it was, the fucking nasty pile of boko shit was lucky that a horde of skulltulas hadn’t moved in.

Wind felt ill. Here he was, frozen, cold stone, and he was thinking about the damn spiderwebs on the roof. He couldn’t do this, he had to get free - how long until it got too much for him? Until his mind cracked under the strain? Until he just gave up? Oh, Oshus, was this what it had been like for the Captain? His mind buzzing about a body that refused to respond to it, fear and isolation building up but not twisting in his stomach they way it should have because his stomach was now stone-

Above him, a beam of light spread across the dark ceiling and something creaked to his side. He could hear voices. His brothers! Oh thank Oshus, thank the Wind Fish, thank anyone who would listen, Wild had got his message!

Waiting as his brothers looked around was torture, and then when Wild and Four finally appeared into his field of vision he tried and tried with all of his might to scream to them, to beg them to help. In his mind he was calling and crying and pleading, but he couldn’t move. He was stone, and he lay there. Lay there as Four pressed the flat of his blade against his cheek and then looked distraught when nothing happened.

Lay there as Time was brought over beside him, as he slurred out his message to the others. As they burst into fresh tears. As Wild and Legend pressed heads that Wind could barely feel into his chest, as Four snarled and leapt across the room, shouting threats to the fuckface who’d turned him into this.

Wind lay there and in his mind, he screamed.

“Guys?!”

That was Sky’s voice, he and Twi must have made it here too. Wind tried to call out to them, to tell them he was here, to beg them for help, but he couldn’t. He just lay there, still and silent and terrified as his brothers did their best to explain the mess of a situation.

“Why, you-” Sky began to say, his voice light and sharp enough to cut bone, but Wind didn’t hear the end of the threat that was clearly directed at Evinal.

Twilight’s terrified face suddenly filled his field of vision, wide eyed and trembling.

“Wind?” he asked. “Wind, it’s okay, we’ll fix this. You’re gonna be alright, there’s a way outta this, there’s gotta be- you’ll be okay. You will, sailor. I promise.”

Wind wanted to sob. He wanted to tell the rancher to put his damn rupees where his mouth was and fix this. He wanted to clutch Twi’s tunic, sobbing into it like he’d done a dozen times before, whenever the world was too much to bear. Instead, frozen in every way, he lay and watched helplessly as Twilight looked around again, his eyes focused on something out of his view.

“Sky!” he called. “Sky, the sword! It - on my journey - the Master Sword, she can break curses, right?”

Wind didn’t even dare to hope. Four had already tried with his own blade and while Wind didn’t quite know what its deal was, it was clearly magic of some sort. But this was the Master Sword they were talking about! If anything could help him, it was that, right? Surely they’d try it at least?

“R-right!” Sky’s voice said, from where they had left Evinal. There was movement at the edges of Wind’s field of view, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, that was Sky. And there, glowing, burning bright just out of eyesight, was that-

“Touch her to his cheek!” That was Four. “I- I tried that, but I wasn’t strong enough- if you touch his skin, then maybe-”

Sky knelt at his side, and Wind got a good view of his wide blue eyes, his messy curls, the pale, hardened look of determination on his face.

“We’ll fix this.” he said, although whether he was parroting Twilight or speaking of his own accord, Wind didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he wanted was for it to be true.

He held the Master Sword in front of him, and for a moment touched his forehead to her hilt. He whispered something, and though it was too quiet to really make out, Wind thought that it might have been please.

Then he held it out, and so, so gently, touched the blade to his cheek.

It felt like fire.

If being stone was like being frozen from the inside out, then the holy power of the Master Sword burning the curse away felt like he was being consumed, like there were flames over every inch of his body. All at once he seemed to combust, he tried to scream - he might have gurgled -

And then it was over. The heat was gone and he was freezing again, but a mortal freezing. A cold that was bone-deep, yes, but that could be ended.

Wind shivered and burst into tears.

The spell had been broken.

-

It wasn’t fair.

Legend was the Veteran. He’d been through six adventures, was starting on his seventh one, and he knew that this was just how life happened. That he was acting like a whiny child upset that a crow had stolen his ice cream.

But it wasn’t fair.

It should have been him.

Not the kid.

Not the Sailor, with his smiles and his good natured cursing and his good, kind heart.

It should have been him.

Legend wasn’t a fool. He was crotchety. Unpleasant. Rude. Why the hell couldn’t it have been him who got hurt, why did it have to be the Sailor? The world needed people like Wind far more than it needed miserable old pricks like-

Of course, that was why, though. Wasn’t it? The Sailor was good, and kind, and had run to the rescue without thinking of himself. Damn it all, kid! Why couldn’t you have waited? Called for backup?

Why did it have to be you, kid?

Why is it never me?

The Sailor didn’t answer him. Wide eyes, mouth in a grimace, and still as a statue. Still as every single fucking statue in this whole FUCKING era.

No, not every statue. Every statue but one.

Every statue but the one the Hero was entombed in. The brother he never got to meet. The brother he never will get to meet, not anymore. They had been too late. Too late to save Wind, too late to save this unknown Link. Too late to help.

All because of one filth-ridden, trumped up noble who didn’t deserve to be given any more regard than a bush, much less be given the kind of power and influence that let him get away with this level of murder. How many people had he even turned to stone, right here, in this very room? Would they ever even know?

And the worst part?

The worst part was that it didn’t matter.

In the grand scheme of things, his brother’s death didn’t matter. Neither of them did.

The Hero’s Spirit would still pass on, after all, wouldn’t it? Move on to whoever was next in this damn cursed cycle. Someone else would be born and forced to take up the mantle of Hero, and all of the baggage that came with it. So what if the last one had been unceremoniously murdered? Hylia dealt in big, world-changing events, after all. A few dead kids here and there were worth it for the sake of the bigger picture.

Legend felt himself sob. Felt his hands curling into fists, even as he fell to his knees next to the Sailor.

Even now, even when he’s lost his baby brother, the baby brother he was stupid enough to get to know, to get close to, his mind just couldn’t let the bigger picture go, could it? Had to throw Wind away like yesterday’s trash. Just like Din. Just like Sahasrahla.

Just like Marin.

…

Why did it have to be Wind?

It should have been the one with blood on his hands. The one who wouldn’t be missed, not nearly so much. The one who had already been through too much and had left a trail of destruction through his life.

It should have been him.

Distantly, he heard his brothers - his living brothers - talking. Sky and Twilight, saying something, but… it didn’t matter, did it?

There was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do.

He tuned out whatever they were talking about. It didn’t matter - nothing mattered right now, not when his baby brother was lying, dead, in front of him.

What would they tell his grandma?

What would they tell his sister?

Would they even get to? Or would the Sailor be missing? Forever? When they’d promised to keep him safe?

Would Hylia even think to be kind for once in her Lolia-damned life and even let them bring him home?

The scoff he made strangled itself, coming out as a sob. Of course she wouldn’t do that. Why would she? Why would she care? It’s not like Wind is hers, is he?

It’s not like Wind… was. Was hers.

He wasn’t an “is” anymore, was he?

He wasn’t anything. Anything but a hunk of mindless rock. Gone. Forever.

In some dark, desperate part of his mind, he felt a thought rise up.

Heh. Gone with the Wind. He’d have liked that. Probably would have made a fart joke just to spite him.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe how much he was going to miss that kid’s dumb fart jokes. His bawdy tales.

His…. his willingness to be there for anyone. Even for an old curmudgeon of a veteran who was pricklier than a cactus and had a tongue more venomous than a Rope.

And, well. It was too late now to give back, wasn’t it? Too late to give more than just a begrudging side hug or a friendly hair ruffle. Too late to do more than clutch the cold hand of a statue and sob into the unyielding skin, his mind swimming with regrets.

It was too late.

He was always too late.

He should accept it by now. That he’s always going to let down the ones he loves. That his hands are always going to shake too much for him to raise them up. That he’s better off away from everyone. That he’ll always hang back while better people rush into danger, while better people fall in his place.

It should have been him.

And now his own hands won’t even let him accept the truth. Won’t accept that he’s holding stone and not skin. Won’t… won’t stop… moving? Won’t stop pulling Wind’s arm down?

Was his body heat warming up the stone already? Or-

No. No, he- he had to be warming up the stone, it’s not- it’s not possible.

He refused to get his hopes up again. He- he had to accept it. For the others, if not for himself. He was the Veteran, damnit! For once in his life he would be the responsible one, the one looking out for the others, the one not getting their hopes up on the impossible only to be destroyed again.

He wouldn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t give into that hope only to be hurt again. He refused, he was better than this, he-

His hand was blue.

Wind’s hand was blue.

A darker blue than the cheerful cerulean of his shirt. But blue.

That was bad. That- no, that was good!

Wait, shit! That was bad!

Wind was cold!

Wind was cold!

Legend wasn’t someone who smiled easily or who very often gave a genuine laugh, but he laughed now. Big and full as his eyes filled with tears all over again, because Wind was cold!

And if Wind was cold then Wind was alive!

Alive!

He gasped as he kept laughing, racking his body to the point where he couldn’t tell whether he was laughing or sobbing. He sat up straight and looked down at the brother he cradled, who, yes, no longer was the solid, unyielding grey of a statue. His baby brother was so pale under his tan that he was tinged with blue, his eyes were unfocused and teary and his breaths were coming out in pants - but he was alive!

“WIND!”

Legend wasn’t sure if he laughed or gasped or sobbed his brother’s name, and honestly, he didn’t care. Instead he surged forwards and gathered Wind up in his arms - because Wind was now flesh and blood and could be lifted, could be hugged.

He hissed as he held him closer - he may have changed back into a hylian, but he still felt cold as a stone.

“You’re freezing! You- HEAT! I need HEAT!”

An answering flurry of motion followed his words, every Hero hand flying towards its pouch in the hopes of finding something, anything to help their brother. Unfortunately, however, as they were attending a society ball, they had not exactly been able to bring all of their normal equipment. Bedrolls and blankets had not exactly been part of the current trends amongst the local nobility.

Still, they managed a few things. Twilight immediately passed over his pelt as Wild, who never needed to worry about large packs with his slate on his hip, flicked through it and brought out a pile of thick quilted blankets. That, however, seemed to be where his brain cell had run out of energy.

“HERE!” was the only warning Legend was given, as twenty pounds of heavy fabric was launched at his face and sent him nearly sprawling over the poor Sailor. Thankfully, in hitting him, it hit Wind as well, and therefore covered him about as quickly and efficiently as the Chain ever managed anything.

Hurriedly, Legend began to tuck the blankets around him properly, helped by Twi, who had knelt at his side and taken the weight of their little brother, gently cradling his head. Beside them, Time, still struggling against the aftershocks of the paralysis spell, weakly shifted his arm over, reaching his fingers out to hold Wind’s hand. Wind’s real, flesh hand.

Wind was alive. He was freezing cold but he was alive, and they would do everything they could to make sure that he was okay.

“Hyrule!” Legend croaked out, a hand raised to beckon the Traveler over. He was already in motion, skidding to his knees before Wind as his hands began to glow, poking and prodding and hissing the whole while as Wind twitched and sobbed into his fancy tunic. His tears would probably ruin the fabric, but Legend was so far beyond caring that it wasn’t even a thought on the horizon.

He could send the bill to the fucker who set this up in the first place. Or. Well. Send the bill to his next of kin.

He wasn’t planning on anything less than murder, after all.

“They’re alive.”

It was Sky who had spoken, his voice soft and almost inaudible. He stared down at Wind in wonder and- and something else. Something dark and unfamiliar flashing behind his eyes. Something scarily close to rage.

“All of the statues.” he clarified as slowly, deliberately, he turned to the old man on the floor. A glare was steadily growing on his face as he stepped towards him, the spilled wine sloshing around his boots like blood. A faint reflection was visible as he stepped, ripples calming down into a bloodstained echo of the Chosen Hero. Rendering him not as a man, but an effigy of a godslayer. “They’re all alive. Aren’t they? What have you done?”

The Master Sword was still gripped in his hand, and before they knew it, the tip was pointed at the man’s throat.

The old man whimpered, now pinned both Four’s blade and the Master Sword, and yet eyes darting towards the door. “I- I- please, I- I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know!”

“L- Liar!” came the answer. Two different voices at once as both survivors of the War stare at each other in surprise.

Time took the lead. “You- you knew. You told me that- that their mind is kept alive. Over millennia.”

Sky smiled humourlessly, tilting his head as he examined Evinal with a sneer. His gaze bore into the old man, weighing him and measuring him and finding him wholly wanting.

“We won’t kill you.” he said at last, withdrawing his sword. “We aren’t murderers. You’ll face courts. Justice. Everyone will know what you are and you’ll be put away for the rest of your life.”

He broke off, stooping to pick something up from the floor.

“But until then…” he said, and as he turned, his brothers could see exactly what he was holding. A long, ugly, elaborately decorated cane with a dark stone jutting out from a hidden compartment, pulsing with power. “We have to find our brother, and we don’t have time to sit around looking after you. So this will just keep you safe for a few hours.”

The reaction was immediate. The old noble began to shrink in on himself even as Sky’s brothers stepped forwards, varying shades of alarm and concern and even fear splayed across their faces. Sky was their sweet, gentle, sleepy brother. They all knew intellectually that he had fought through his own journey, that he had slain a god, but seeing the proof of that drive, of the viciousness needed to carry out such an act - it was a fearful sight.

“N-no!” Evinal squealed. “No- no please! No!”

“I know we hate him, but I kinda agree with the guy, Sky.” Came the voice of the Champion. “We- we’re better than this, right? We’ve got more scruples than an old man obsessed with money! There’s eight of us, one or two staying back to guard him won’t matter if it means we’re not killing the guy!”

Sky chuckled humourlessly, shaking his head as if Evinal were no more than a misbehaving toddler.

“He’ll be fine, Wild.” he said coolly. “Unlike some people, we know how to undo the curse. We’ll come back for him once we find the Captain.” He paused and then leaned in. “Unless you want to tell us where he is?”

But Evinal just shook his head, eyes wide with fear and tears leaping to his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to spill all, and yet nothing came out. Struck dumb by sheer terror or by a desperate attempt at self preservation, they weren’t sure. Honestly, they didn’t particularly care.

The godslayer was unmoved. “Hmm. Pity.” He tutted. “We’ll be back for you later. You’ll be flesh and blood again soon enough. Until then, we have more important things to deal with.”

And with that, Sky pressed the stone into Evinal’s chest, his eyes never leaving the gaze of the old man, his expression uniformly cold. Without the magic circle acting against it, the magic moved swiftly. The noble gasped, one or two breaths leaving him before the curse roared over his body as a wave of slate gray.

Sky glared down at the statue, and it was only as they saw drops falling on the stone face that they realised the Chosen Hero was crying.

He turned to the rest of them, letting the enstoning cane clatter to the ground.

“The Captain.” he said roughly. “We need to find him.

“Now.”