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There is something absolutely infuriating about Mr. Hero sometimes. It’s not the way he hordes things like a crow hoarding every shiny rupee it finds. It’s not the way he’s the most unorganized person that Ravio has ever had the chance to meet. It’s not the way he’s abrasive, or distant, or snaps closed like a clam whenever you get so much as a glimpse of his heart.
No. It’s that he’s an idiot sometimes.
Now is Ravio the wisest person around? Hilda would say no but then again she has Yuga whispering in her ear so the validity of her views are entirely questionable. But the point still stands that Ravio has done some dumb things.
(Mr. Hero’s Uncle Sir knows… too many of those things already, unfortunately. There’s something about the charming, kind burly man that reminds Ravio of what Auntie could have been if Ravio himself wasn’t a bastard child and thus, entirely worthy of her bad attitude.)
But none so dumb as to keep working, keep fighting, through a fever .
Honestly. Of all the dumb , brainless things that Mr. Hero has done, this tops them all. Flies off the charts even! How could he be so stupid? How could he put his own life at risk like this?
Ravio breathes in deeply, clenching his fists, working on breathing. Always breathing, always calming down. You’re overreacting, Ravio tells himself. Mr. Hero just got a little carried away.
Which would be fine, if he weren’t out there hacking up a lung on the couch, insisting he’s well enough to go into the Water Temple. The Water Temple! Which is wet, probably cold, and not at all a place that Mr. Hero should be in when he sounds like that !
Ravio grinds his teeth together. Mr. Hero’s stubbornness is only accentuated by his utmost refusal to take the medicine his Uncle had gone into town to get just for him. Even Auntie didn’t do that for Ravio himself―and they had the means to! Mr. Hero’s Uncle Sir doesn’t quite live as well as Ravio had when he lived with Auntie, though he’s heard it’s better now that Mr. Hero is, well, the Hero of Hyrule .
Okay. Enough stewing. Ravio breathes in again, runs a hand through his hair, and tugs his hood back over his head. No need to give Mr. Hero a heart attack on top of a cold. That would be a disaster .
Mr. Hero is sitting on the couch, face pale and looking positively miserable underneath the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders. A handkerchief is balled up in one hand, and Mr. Hero breathes in deeply (and unsuccessfully) through his nose, the sound of sniffling reverberating through the living room. Mr. Hero’s eyes slide toward Ravio as he steps out of the bedroom.
Mr. Hero opens his mouth to say something, but before he can even make a sound, he’s coughing hard into his handkerchief. Once he’s done, he sniffles hard again and leans back against the back of the couch, massaging his forehead with a groan.
“I don’t have time for this,” Mr. Hero grumbles, tugging the blanket tighter around himself.
“If you’d have taken care of yourself, then you wouldn’t be here right now,” Mr. Hero’s Uncle Sir says from the kitchen, where’s boiling water for what Ravio hopes is bribery tea.
Or… maybe it’s not, considering Mr. Hero’s medicine is still on the table.
It’s liquid and flavored and everything! Even Lorule didn’t have flavored medicine for children. Or, maybe Auntie hadn’t bothered getting Ravio the flavored medicine when the normal stuff worked just fine. It’d knock Ravio out for hours sometimes.
Honestly, a good knocking out is what Mr. Hero needs. Ever since he’d passed out on the doorstep and subsequently woke up not even half an hour later, he’d resolutely refused to go to sleep.
Maybe Mr. Hero’s medicine has something to make him go to sleep, Ravio considers. He checks it, and Mr. Hero gives him the most grumpy look ever.
Ravio reads the label on the bottle―cough syrup mixed with sleeping tonic. Perfect .
“I’m not taking that,” Mr. Hero rasps.
“This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Ravio answers petulantly. “It was in the contract.”
Mr. Hero splutters, and Ravio really does making Mr. Hero splutter. It’s funny. “What contract?” Mr. Hero snaps, equally as confused as he is annoyed.
It’s considerably less funny when Mr. Hero immediately begins to cough hard into his handkerchief again. He finishes with a groan, lowering his head in defeat.
“The one I signed when I moved in, of course,” Ravio answers, knowing full well that’s all bullshit.
He never once signed anything―he would never . He enjoys Mr. Hero’s and his Uncle’s company, but he can’t trust them to not use a contract to take everything he’s ever cared about away . That’s all contracts are good for, being evil things that keep people trapped, bound without a word in edgewise. They bound him to the castle before he even knew he was the bastard prince, an agreement signed behind closed doors before Auntie took him in when he was two. They kept him in close proximity to Yuga, that bastard . They kept him away from his little sister for years. They kept a sword in his hand even when he trembled holding one. They kept him with Auntie, and her cold eyes and her sharp tongue that hurt like venom in his bones.
So yes, contracts are evil , and Ravio would never, ever sign one. Never .
And as much as Mr. Hero likes to groan, Ravio has never forced him to sign one either.
“You…” Mr. Hero seethes. “You never signed a contract! You―”
And then there’s the coughing again.
Ravio quietly opens the medicine and pours the amount labeled on the bottle into the cap, and holds it toward Mr. Hero.
Mr. Hero glares. “No.”
Ravio tries not to snap. Instead, he says something that he has never, ever thought to say before: “I’ll pay you.”
That gets Mr. Hero’s attention. His eyebrows furrow, his frown turning curious, and he bends toward Ravio. The face is kind of cute, honestly. Like a dog testing the waters, or a rabbit crawling out of its hole to inspect the earth after a long winter.
Ravio decides not to think of how cute Mr. Hero is at the moment, and nods resolutely. Yes. Yes, he will pay Mr. Hero to take his medicine. If that’s what it takes.
He ignores Mr. Hero’s Uncle Sir watching from the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, equally as intrigued.
“How much?” Mr. Hero asks.
Ravio considers. “Fifty.”
“One-hundred,” Mr. Hero fires back.
Ravio grinds his teeth. Of course Mr. Hero isn’t making this easy. “Seventy-five.”
“Ninety-five.”
Ravio splutters. “T-That’s not how you barter! You have to try to meet in the middle.”
“My middle is higher than your middle,” Mr. Hero answers. Their faces are close now. “Ninety-five. Final answer.”
Ravio grinds his teeth. “Eighty.”
Mr. Hero backs off. “Deal.” He holds up one hand. “The rupees, then the medicine.”
“Medicine then rupees,” Ravio answers.
“Rupees―”
“Link,” Mr. Hero’s Uncle Sir warns from the kitchen. “Just take the medicine.”
Mr. Hero slumps, but does what his Uncle says. He takes the medicine, eyeing it like it had personally wronged him. With a deep, almost reluctant breath, he tips his head back and swallows it in one go. He splutters once he’s done, looking very close to throwing up.
He doesn’t, but he very much looks like he wants to.
He focuses that energy, it seems, on glaring at Ravio. “The rupees,” he snaps.
Ravio goes to get them, walking with a new skip to his step.
Maybe Mr. Hero is reasonable, after all.