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Chapter Text

One of the many beauties of Rito Village lay in its sounds.

The open huts, communal spaces, and compact layout created a noisy environment. Chicks running and fluttering about while parents haggled with the vendors over the price of arrows or food. Singing while the fish was cooking and telling stories of tales long past over the fires. Meetings for politics, trade, and public matters. The arrival at Rito Village was when you heard Rito Village. It was part of the reason he had the flight range built where it was. The silence made for a better training atmosphere than the rambunctiousness of the town ever could. He had needed peace and quiet to develop and then perfect his aerial technique.

How he despised the silence now.

Roaming around a Divine Beast for a hundred years, with only the clicks and whirrs of the inner workings of Vah Medoh for company, made Revali…nostalgic for the noise of his home. The breeze on the flight back to his hut, the grunts of acknowledgement by the late-night guards, the fledglings’ whispers as he passed, the parents’ quiet scolding, the subtle thrum of life that followed him all the way to his hammock. Knowing that when he woke, it would all be there to greet him again. To usher in a new day of opportunity and improvement.

Those days have passed. Those people are long dead. He had not improved enough. 

Even the wind is silent to him now. 

Despite the altitude, the remoteness, the way the Beast seems only capable of drifting in the same cursed circle around his home, the wind escapes Revali. He cannot feel it, no longer having a body to be tethered to, but the sound of the air? Nothing. No brush past outstretched feathers, or excited whistling announcing his ascent or warning him of the ever approaching ground.

Silence.

Except for Medoh’s clicks and whirrs. Fighting for control, growing ever fainter. 

Soon, he might not hear her, too.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whirr.

Click

Click. 

Click.

Whirr.

Medoh flies the same pattern as she always has. Dronoc’s pass, above his flight range, down south along Lake Kilsie into Warbler’s nest to the west of the Village. Over Passer Hill toward Strock Lake, only to turn north and head for Hebra Plunge. And then up, and west, and over the flight range once again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whirr.

The village keeps moving. The Rito he once knew are now echoes of themselves in their descendants. Colors fade, boards wither and get replaced, old huts get torn down and new ones are built in different places. His own hut is examined and then left alone to rot on its lone outcropping for years. Revali only watches, apathetic, when it crumbles one winter storm and plunges into Totori Lake.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whirr.

The circles go on. Medoh around the Village. Revali around his Beast. The villagers around the Spire. He is used to feeling nauseous and sick and tired, and nothing phases him anymore. The sensations are ghosts of what they once were, mostly fake and increasingly easily ignored. The gears inside Vah Medoh move ever on, in their same circles, as does the evil in its bones.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whirr.

Revali fears he is going deaf.

He has only been able to hear Vah Medoh since he awoke on the back of his Beast, evil thrumming inside its being, cut off from everything but the sound of dying and suffering from the ancient artifact left to him to save their world. Altitude changes, explosions, smashing one’s head against the boards of the platform of the village one too many times; all good reasons for loss of hearing.

Click.

Click.

Click.

But he knows it’s just his Beast dying beneath his feet.

Whirr.

Tap tap.

And then Medoh’s pattern changes.

Two boots hit the platform and Revali swears he can nearly feel again. Medoh’s clicks continue their pace, ever slowing, but the dwindling noise is now accompanied by the soft and gentle sounds of fabric, leather, boots and gloves, rustling and flowing and loud and alive. Link moves towards the first terminal with purpose, his steps tapping against the ancient stone as he goes.

Revali almost does not dare speak, fearing that interrupting the noise might scare it away. But he can’t help himself when he has an audience for the first time in a hundred years. The knight needs to be told what to do anyway, as he always does, and keeping him moving means he’ll stay for longer. 

Free him, maybe, but making noise on the way.

Other villagers have tried, over the years, especially recently. Medoh has settled into a routine that is predictable and steady and safe. To him, at least. Revali knows warriors have tried to get close to the Beast. To do what, he is not entirely certain. But flashes of white, oftentimes accompanied by a dark blue not unlike his own plumage, sometimes flash between the clouds and lasers. Medoh shrieks every time it happens, not out of rage but out of fear of hitting them. The corruption is making her shoot at his people, and he can only listen from within as the evil tries to kill using his Beast. He could only ever hear the attacks, never the results or impact.

Maybe they tried to free him. More likely, they tried to take down Medoh.

It’s an understandable goal, Revali thinks, given the menacing nature of the Beast above a home. But she’s done nothing to harm them in a century, and the only reason the corruption is attacking is because the Rito are engaging. They keep coming back, despite failing.

Until one does not fail.

Revali is not quite certain how it happened, but the knight had made his way up to his Divine Beast. He also seemed not to have aged in the last century. Nor had he appeared in the Village anytime before the previous week, when Revali last had allowed himself to peer into the walkways and platforms and huts. He was just…here, after a hundred years.

He’s late. 

He tells him as much, how indulgent of him it was to make Revali wait this long when he shows the way to the Guidance Stone, which holds the map to Medoh and consequently the remainder of the controls. He hopes there is some left for the knight to use.

Somewhere in his mind, a voice whispers the truth to him. How he’d gone toward the castle with the princess, how they’d watched destruction and death happen, how they’d had to flee toward the last remaining stronghold at Hateno Fort. How they’d barely made it before being overrun. How Link had protected her until his final moments, how that had unleashed Zelda’s power. 

How Link had died. 

The Shrine of Resurrection, Purah had called it once. Revali now figures that at least the name is fitting. 

How he wishes the knight would speak. His own voice resonates through his skull when he dares raise it to make a sound, but this boy seems…different from a hundred years ago. The control and tactical insight are still there, fortunately, but there is a certain brazenness to the way he moves from the landing platform to the Guidance Stone that tells Revali Link is not the same as he was Before, either.

It worries him a little, the lackluster way Link moves across the platforms in the center hall, so Revali makes sure to explain, in detail, what Link must do to regain control of the Beast. Or aggravate the evil inside enough to show its cowardly face for the first time in a century instead of killing Vah Medoh from the inside out. 

But Link does not need to know that.

Revali follows him closely through the halls, through the gateways, across the wingspan of Vah Medoh. When Link stands at the precipice of the hull of Medoh, looking out at the terminal at the end of the wing, and suddenly moves, Revali feels fear for a split second. And then there’s the paraglider, just as it was a hundred years ago. The flash of familiarity is enough to stop Revali in his tracks, render him entirely motionless except for his eyes as he watches the boy glide through the open sky, just under the wing of his Divine Beast, and land comfortably on the other side, wasting no time catching his breath or regaining his footing before activating the terminal and turning Medoh back around to glide back. 

(Confused eyes look at him from underneath long eyelashes as the paper gives way to fabric and wood. The wind howls through the spiring rocks and snow is stuck in messily tied-back golden hair. “It wouldn't be fair, otherwise.” All he gets in a return is the tiniest hint of an upturned lip and a nod.)

Link moves past Revali, not making eye contact, as he never does now that Revali is trapped here, and moves to the next terminal.

He keeps following the knight. 

To give directions and to encourage, which comes to him more easily than he would have thought. He also does it to listen. The sounds Link can’t help but produce –boots tapping against the floors, gloves clenching around the paraglider, little grunts of effort as he heaves himself over an edge at the peak of Medoh’s climb in the sky– fill Revali with such an immense amount of contentment, he can’t help but stick particularly close to his rival. The feeling—any feeling—is a welcome distraction from the ever-growing weariness in his spirit.

And Link does not have to know that, either.

It makes for two jarring realizations. One, that maybe ‘rival’ has been a one-sided term for their relationship everybody knew only he saw that way. Revali has always regarded Link as someone who had their destiny given to them with a promise of success. He had pulled the sword from the pedestal and been knighted, appointed to the Princess, and made the primary force in the defence of Hyrule. All while Revali had to fight to be acknowledged in a new village, fight to be admitted into training with the other fledglings, fight to be considered for the role of Champion by the Elder. He had been fighting for the best all his life, and to be demoted to a secondary role, all because some snot-nosed brat from the Kingdom of Hyrule had been given the chance at the Legendary Sword before him, was preposterous. His accusing explanation of his situation to the boy was met with blank looks and tight lips. The irony of the silence of the knight back then was not lost on Revali now.

Revali had persisted for a while, voicing his complaints to anyone who would hear him, waging his hard-won status to gain support for his cause. The Elders told him to be grateful for what he was granted by the Kingdom and by them, and that pushing for more would lead to estrangement between Rito Village and the Hyrulean leaders. The other warriors regarded him the way Revali regarded Link: as someone who had stolen their opportunity. The other Champions entertained his complaints for a while, but quickly started shutting him down when it was clear he would not give up on his own. Giving up was not for him. Victory was.

So he tried to eliminate the problem. Scare the knight off by telling him of the pressures of a role this big. How hard Revali had had to train to become a Champion, and how undeserving Link was for just falling into it. How failing to manage to get up to his Divine Beast of his own was only a bad omen for their final battle, if it ever came to that. But Link had persisted, refused to be chased away, and had stood his ground, even in his final moments.

They were alike in that way.

Revali could admire one’s commitment to a fight, but the knight’s commitment to his silence and his duty far outweighed anything else in his life. It made for an interesting challenge for Revali. Trying to get a rise out of the knight to get him to break that vow of his muteness. The taunting became a near ritual, poking fun at his appearance, the weird ways he interacted with others, how his destiny was surely doomed to fail.

While the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Revali curses at himself now. Everything did wage on his shoulders back then, and it still does now. The other Champions are most likely trapped as he is, if not dead already. Hyrule’s army is wiped out, a new generation never having taken the place of the old one to make a stand against the evil residing in the castle. The King is long dead, as is anyone else with first-hand knowledge of the prophecy, save for maybe a few Sheikah who are hiding away and waiting.

Waiting for him.

The boy with the Sword.

Reavli has never made it easy for Link. There had been enough other obstacles along his path that Revali should not have had to contribute to that pile. He should not have felt the need, either. And that is purely on him.

Two, he no longer has a body or a life to return to, to use as he pleases.

The only support he can offer Link now is his voice, a tool he mastered but has never used for this purpose before. He tries to ensure the boy knows Revali sees his effort and successes so far, encouraging him to make it to the next terminal, and the next, and the next. There are moments in between, where he takes a rest or looks around the Beast with quiet admiration, where Revali feels his words would only shatter the insignificant amount of peace Link has possibly experienced in the last century. Letting him drag his fingertips across the walls, or looking out across the Hebra Mountains from the back of Medoh. The comfort he offers then is the absence of his voice. 

They are alike in that way.

Revali wonders what he is tethered to as he watches Link take off from the inner chambers up to the deck of Vah Medoh to reactivate the main terminal. Link’s proximity to the device stirs something in him. Something unnamed, growing, boiling, bursting when Windblight Ganon emerges from the orange glow, dripping acidic, casting the deck in a horrid purple light and filling the air with the stench of rot. Revali would almost name it desperation when he warns Link of an incoming strike, the fact that he feels anything again after a century a secondary fact to his vow that he will take anything over this panic in his chest.

He tries hiding behind bluster and grandiose proclamations, but Link is too focused on his enemy to notice the shudder in Revali’s voice as he warns Link of the creature’s aim. Or when he ushers him forward for a melee strike after Link hits an admittedly impressive shot in the Blight’s eye. Or when hiding behind columns won’t work when the attacks start ricocheting around the deck and Revali has to watch Link take a hit.

“Don’t go out like this!”

The remark lands more than his others have, and Link starts sprinting towards one of the now active updrafts. He pulls out a Lynel Bow of all things and starts raining down arrows on Windblight. It crumples to the floor and the knight wastes no time in driving one of his many swords deep within the mask, acid dripping along the blade and hilt before it shrieks an unholy tone and explodes in smoke and light and malice. The scent of rot lingers for a bit while Link catches his breath, finally seeming worn out after the ordeal, and he watches the terminal calm back to orange.

“Well, I’ll be plucked…” Revali says, and he only falters a little when Link looks at him and sees. The piercing gaze has him fall back on older, worse habits, and he saunters toward the boy while meagerly naming his accomplishment in the task. He stands near the terminal, only slightly eyeing the essence of life and health offered to the knight by Goddess Hylia, knowing that after this, he will probably never see or speak to anyone ever again, death finally grasping him fully.

“Well done. I suppose I should thank you now that my spirit is free. This returns Medoh back to its rightful owner! Don't preen yourself just for doing your job.”

It has taken a hundred years, but Revali had missed talking to someone. Attention for him and his actions and words had been a constant he had grown used to in those final months of his life. Once that blue scarf had been wrapped around his neck by Zelda while she gave him a sly smirk, he had been found. He had found his place among his fellow Champions, even if he had bemoaned his secondary role in the plan, set to assist the ever-silent supposed Hero of Legend. He finds himself thinking of one of their first interactions yet again.

“Oh, you must pardon me. I forgot you have no way of making it up to that Divine Beast on your own!”

He changes tracks into unfamiliar territory. “I do suppose you’ve proven your value as a warrior,” he says. Link’s face remains impassive as ever, but he stands a little straighter at Revali’s tone and seems laser-focused on what Revali is telling him. It almost makes him want to backpedal, but he’s always been great under pressure, so Revali persists. “A warrior worthy of my unique ability. The sacred skill that I have dubbed Revali’s Gale!”

Revali closes his eyes, fearing that this might be the first and only time he sees an emotion flicker across the face of the knight, and looks inward. He searches and digs through memories, feelings, and experiences until he finds what he is looking for. 

Flight. 

He pulls it up, away from his core and being, and focuses it within his wings. It forms a powerful ball of energy that takes the wind out of him to control, and he thrusts it at the boy with the last connection to it he can feel.

He can feel.

A single thread remains, and Revali soars along with Link as he takes to the sky, twists, and lands like he has done it a million times already. Light starts gathering, no doubt the work of the princess to send him to the next Beast, and Revali wonders for a moment why Link came here first. There is no time to ponder, however, when the light starts glowing bolder and brighter with each second. There are three more Divine Beasts to take back from Ganon. At least now, Link has some assistance on the way. 

His Gale settles for the moment, leaving Revali cold and untethered in the world once more. “Feel free to thank me now.” Revali looks across Hyrule, toward the castle, and thinks of what true death will feel like.

“Thank you,” Link says.

Revali whirls around, but he’s already gone.

Chapter Text

Revali is told he was found on the tip of Vah Medoh’s beak. Bloodied, bruised, broken, and on the verge of falling off the Beast and onto either the walkways of the village or straight into the unforgiving waters of Lake Totori. The villagers had been frightened, first by the massive attack that the Beast had unleashed toward the castle, and then by discovering their long-lost Champion on its surface. 

Revali is told he was taken down from his Beast into one of the huts. There had been a search for a healer to save him, but no one could be found in or around the village. A traveler at the stable had not been a healer, but had heard stories of a woman who had reversed wounds inflicted by age. The traveler had said she had been Sheikah, a withdrawn society that still thrived in their secluded Kakariko Village. 

Revali is told they left the next day. It had been a long but continuous journey, taxing on all the Rito. The healer in question had not been at the village at the time, but she was sent for immediately. He had woken in brief intervals, always screaming, delirious with pain, mumbling about tornadoes and flashes of light. 

Revali is told the healer had been able to return him from the brink of death. A gaping wound on his side was her main concern; he had lost a lot of blood during their days-long travel, and had they tardied for even a moment, he would have been dead before their arrival. Besides that and a worrisome cut over his shoulder, near his neck, his other wounds were not life-threatening. Revali is told that his right wing is severely burned and might not regrow all its flight feathers. 

Revali is told he is lucky to be alive. 

What the Sheikah don’t know is that a downed Rito is a dead Rito. 

He has been dead for a long time.

Life in Kakariko does not differ much from life in Rito Village, and Revali hates every second he has to spend here. He tells his caretakers this every moment they dare bother him to feed him, take him to a restroom, or change his bandages. He had let them, after a week of the stench of dried blood, wash him. The cut near his neck meant he had limited mobility, so preening had not been an option. He had been washed by a swift but immensely uncomfortable girl, who had only tried to assure him a million times she was sorry for him. 

He does not know which was worse, her insistence on his sacrifice or the humility of being treated like an invalid. Though he supposes he is somewhat of the latter, now.

His hatred for the crawling movements of Kakariko and its similarities to his village—that no longer exists, not like in his mind—makes way for the inconsolable numbness that takes root in his chest whenever he watches the clouds drift across the sky. The other Rito have all but left, a single white-feathered warrior insisting he “must stay close to the great Master Revali in his time of need”. He is irritatingly attentive, but considerate enough. His plumage blends in with the clouds nicely, and it gives Revali something to look at on the irritatingly cloudless days. 

The second week, a Rito with a different color appears. A mail carrier with a letter for the village elder, inquiring about Revali’s whereabouts and well-being. 

It carries the seal of the royal family. 

Zelda is alive. Alive, and looking for him.

The moment Revali and Zelda make eye contact across the stairs leading up to the Elder’s house, she shouts his name and rushes up to try to strangle him with a hug. “Revali!” she repeats, again and again, tears gathering only in the corners of her eyes but getting his feathers wet anyway. Revali falters merely a moment before wrapping both wings around her, one tighter than the other. He wishes he could squeeze just as hard as she is. “You’re alive..!”

The words “of course” die in his throat.

“I’m so glad.”

“Me too.”

She takes half a step back, keeping her hand wrapped around his intact wing, eyeing his bandaged wounds with apprehension for a second before smiling and asking, “Shall we sit inside?” She leads him through the double doors and onto the floor cushions to the side, where the Sheikah girl had put the tea. The Elder is somewhere else in the village, and the girl quickly takes her leave when he and Zelda sit.

She looks…tired. She’s smiling at him with a glint in her eyes, but it’s dampened by years of struggle and pain. Her hair looks unruly, messily tied back with a sloppy braid, but it looks like an adventurer’s. Paired with her trousers and comfortable-looking green tunic, she seems more herself than she has in any dress or royal attire.

Zelda takes it upon herself to pour them tea, unpractised hands shaking only slightly around the pot. “When we heard of the revival of the Champions, but heard you were not in Rito Village, we sent letters everywhere,” she starts, pouring his first. “The others had been in their own communities, so we grew concerned when there was no clear response from your village. The other regions had neither seen nor heard you, so when Teba wrote back from Kakariko Village, of all places, I simply had to see for myself.”

Revali swallows. “You came for me first?”

She hands him his cup, steaming, with only a little bit of sugar. Her tone is genuine as she says, “Of course. The others have their people around them, while you’re here on your own. I wanted you to have some familiar faces around you as well.”

He takes the cup from her. “Thank you.”

“For the tea? You’re welcome,” she grins.

He almost lets it slip, the chance for genuine gratitude. He thinks back to snide comments and grand gestures, that same golden hair but even wilder, framing an impassive face instead of a grin, the other half of Zelda’s ‘they’. He takes the shot. “For everything.” He watches her blink at him for a moment and then gives him the most fond smile she’s ever seen on her face. He hides behind his cup, looking at the strange painting of a nearby plain on the wall instead.

“Link said you’d changed.”

“How dare he tell such lies about me.”

Zelda laughs, loud and free and unrefined, and Revali feels some of the weight on his shoulders disappear.

Link has been helping the villagers with little tasks and handiwork the past week, staying busy elsewhere while Revali and Zelda talk. The Elder, Impa—whom he really should be thanking for her hospitality sometime soon—is currently holed up in the house with her granddaughter Paya, the awkward girl, and Purah, the healer. Discussing him, most certainly. It leaves him with an uncomfortable ache in his stomach as he and Zelda wander through the village at a glacial pace. After three weeks, he has finally been deemed ‘stable enough’ to walk to the southern entrance of the town and back. Under no circumstances is he allowed outside the village, and he is to be accompanied at all times. 

His sleep has been fitful at best lately, littered with aches and nightmares. When he found Zelda sitting on the deck before the sun had even risen, it seemed the ideal opportunity to exist away from the prying minds of the three women. 

The Sheikah outside are welcoming but curious. They turn to watch the house every time he manages to open the shutters upstairs, so he isn’t very inclined to join their public space. The stare they give his bandaged wing and side is one borne of pity, useless and degrading. He folds his arms behind his back despite the early hour and meager number of people outside, wishing for his armor instead of the tunics made for him, and slowly makes his way up the main road next to the princess.

Zelda leaves him enough silence to stew, but makes comments about the people living in the houses they pass, the clothing store that has some new designs, or the plum garden that has grown since she was last here. “These are protectors,” she says after they’ve crossed the final bridge. She’s excited, he can tell, and because he feels like walking back is too arduous a task at the moment, he lets her ramble about the frog statues littered across Kakariko. The wooden gate looms over him from the shadows of the small gorge, marking the edge of his territorial curfew, and he huffs and turns his head in disdain before tuning back into Zelda’s story after a few moments. “The Yiga have apparently kept the frogs, but have turned the symbol upside down instead. Link told me this after—“

“Have you been to the shrine yet?” Revali interrupts. 

Zelda stills. “Not really.” She shoots him a look that is both excited and wary. “But we shouldn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” she says, and she knows not to finish the sentence.

They turn back to the center of the village, crossing the bridge over the plum tree garden, and follow the road up instead of down toward Impa’s house. Zelda slows to walk behind him, and he can’t find it in himself, nor can he find the breath, to point it out. It takes them the better part of an hour, and Revali finds the platform in front of the shrine to be a suitable place to linger while Zelda hurries over to the dias.

Revali stretches his legs out in front of him in the grass and leans back on his left wing, tilting his head up and breathing in the fresh breeze coming out of the grove a little further up the hill. The material under him is neither warm nor cold to the touch, and the low sun rising in the east reflects nicely on the stone surrounding the village. Zelda mutters to herself behind him, probably prodding at the interface and theorizing about its origin or purpose. 

Revali feels himself sag as he takes a deep breath. For the first time since he woke, there are no eyes of admiration, pity, or fear on him. It feels nice to just be, without judgment or expectations. Zelda has always been open to the way he was: petty, opinionated, and unapologetic. She once told him how she thought it was amazing how unashamedly loud he could be himself, despite the terrible traits that came with it. ‘Because I am the same,’ she had said one night on the road, when it was his turn to take watch and she couldn’t sleep again. ‘People like you, still. Maybe one day, they’ll like me, too.’ 

“Dorian!” Zelda says suddenly, and Revali is taken out of his musings to look to his left at one of the guards for the house he’s been staying in. He seems frazzled and wild, and barely acknowledges the princess before running down the hill. “Whatever was that about?” Zelda asks him, and Revali shrugs.

“Something personal.”

Link comes walking down the path as well, more composed than the guard had been and holding a sword unlike one Revali has ever seen. It’s the second time the knight has spoken in Revali’s presence, but it is no less unsettling or surprising this time. Maybe even more. Because this time, Link does not disappear after uttering the words. Revali can see him make eye contact, even, before turning to Zelda. 

“Ah, Link!” Zelda says, sounding glad to see him. “What happened? I thought Impa had sent you on a quest to find the stolen heirloom?”

“I found it. Got another shrine.”

“That’s great news! But, why was Dorian in such a rush?”

Link shrugs. “Not my story to tell.”

“He seemed really upset…” Zelda worries her lip, glancing at Revali as if contemplating, and turns to Link. “I’ll talk to him later.”

Link then also looks at him, and this time doesn’t break eye contact when he says, “You can go now. I’ll look after Revali.” The eye contact is unnerving. Link never used to look at him, not like that. Not like they were both just a person.

But Revali never backs down from a challenge, not even one as small as eye contact. “I am not some child that needs constant supervision.”

“That would be great!” Zelda says, completely ignoring him, breaking Link’s focus on Revali before they both turn to her. “I’ll see you for breakfast!” She waves over her shoulder with a wink and makes her way down the hill as well, leaving Revali with Link. 

Link turns back to Revali and joins him on the pedestal of the shrine, inspecting the long silver blade in his hands. He doesn’t seem keen for a chat, and Revali is still a bit winded from the trek up. He lets the silence surround them as the sun continues rising in the sky. 

Only when his hunger and curiosity cannot be satiated by sitting still any longer does he break the silence. “So what happened?” Revali asks. “Did he trip over his own strange blade, and did you have to comfort the fool? Is that why he seemed so embarrassed?” He eyes the blade that Link has been holding balanced on his thighs, and thinks for a moment he sees blood on the very edge. 

“He was indoctrinated into the Yiga clan and had to leave a few years back with his wife,” Link says, and Revali does not jump at the words, especially a sentence of that length. “They wanted him to come back and give them information from the Sheikah. But he refused. So they killed his wife and threatened to do the same to his children.” Link turns the blade over and smears blood over his pants in the process. There was more of it than Revali thought. “The Yiga stole the heirloom and blackmailed him. So he tried to fight back. It didn’t go well. I helped.” Link shrugs. “I got stabbed a bit. It’s fine now. He’s dead.”

Link does not meet Revali’s eyes this time, cleaning the blade with a rag he produced from somewhere. Revali considers the tale–betrayal, death, torture–and Link’s reaction, and snorts. 

“Only you, Link. Only you.”

“I’ll go with him.”

“Absolutely not.”

A month after Revali arrives in Kakariko, Purah deems him healthy enough for the trek back to Rito Village. Revali has since figured out that she is not, in fact, a healer. It makes him wary of her judgment, but his boredom and antsiness outweigh his wariness and suspicion. Zelda is thrilled by the development, even though she seems sad to tell him she can’t join him on his journey to Rito Village. The other regions have been neglected far too long, in her opinion, though Revali knows she’s merely itching to see the others. After two weeks in one place, it always seems to get to her head. It was one of the many reasons she always ran off when she did, only to be chased down.

But since Teba has to fly ahead to make preparations, Zelda is needed elsewhere, and the Sheikah have their own troubles, the only one left to accompany him is Link. On foot. Because Revali is not getting on horseback.

Link, ever the gracious knight, merely nods when Revali tells him this at the entrance of the village. He’d picked up his current nightmare of a steed at the nearby stable the day before and had saddled it with more than enough supplies to last them the entire trip, and started walking beside the horse. Revali looks up to the gate that marked the end a week ago and now shows him the start. The wooden structure still looms over him, and he looks back over at the Elder’s house to avoid the rising panic that it might fall on him. Zelda had left before them, before the sun had even shown hints of color over the edges of the cliffs, but had promised that after visiting the other three Champions, she would come to check on him. 

He never did thank Impa for her hospitality.

Link has stopped moving through the small gorge and has turned to watch him. Revali scoffs, tosses his braids back over his shoulder, and follows the knight. The gorge is too narrow to comfortably walk next to each other, especially with the packs on either side of the horse, so Revali bides his time until they reach the side of the cliff over the slow river to grill him. Link has been awfully quiet again, especially since the ordeal with the guard and the Yiga, and Revali is loath to admit it annoys him, to some degree. First, he was all mysterious yet bright-eyed on Medoh. Then he had spoken, but when they saw each other again after Revali had returned from the dead, they barely traded glances, let alone words. It’s enough to give him whiplash, and Revali is determined to get some answers from the knight.

To what questions exactly, he is not yet certain. 

They’re making their way down the side of the cliff towards the stone bridge that eventually leads to the stable when Revali starts his interrogation. Slowly, of course. “How many days of travel should this take?”

“Four.”

“It would take a day if I were to fly,” Revali scoffs. “The Rito are truly a magnificent people, are they not? You silly Hylians with your stables and…horses.” The creature makes a funny noise, as if it knows it’s being mentioned, and throws its head up and down within the reins in Link’s hands. “What is the appeal of depending on another for travel? An animal, no less.”

“Companionship,” Link says immediately, putting his hand on the horse’s nose and calming it within seconds. “With enough time, and effort, even friendship.” He looks at Revali from the other side of the horse, and something is dancing in Link’s eyes when he talks of the creature. 

Revali looks at the beast sceptically, but thinks of what he knows of Hylians, ever the social creatures. The Rito have a strong sense of community, but the Hylians have a certain aversion to solitude that Revali cannot imagine. Even while traveling, they start congregating, sharing stories, spilling secrets and recipes like green rupees between worn-through seams. The stables were erected for a reason, after all, even before–

(Black ichor pools at his feet before bubbling together as if magnetized, bits of ancient stone tear away from the broken deck and pillars, static pink breaks through the mass as a cannon appears and fires—)

The river below them is slow but loud, the horse’s steps changing in sound when the ground transitions from worn dirt to now-ancient stonework. Halfway, Link waves over the side of the broken balustrade to some submerged stones, and continues as if that was not a strange thing to do. When they’re back on solid ground and pass a rock formation on their left, Revali starts to feel the strain of the walk on his body. He slags behind the knight and his horse, finding anywhere to look except the eyes that would meet his if he looked ahead. Looking over the grass, the ruins of an old settlement, the small ponds, something clicks in Revali’s mind. He’s seen this before. The painting on the Elder’s wall. These plains. Hateno Fort. 

“You died here.”

Link stops walking, but keeps the reins in his right hand, stepping in front of the horse to properly look back at Revali. “I did,” he says.

Revali considers Link’s reaction. The practiced mask, the feigned apathy, and how he always held his head high. Revali thinks about how unhealthy those unbroken habits are. How one hundred years of sleep could erase his memories but not who he was. 

Revali thinks of his own empty courage instead. 

“Did you go down fighting?”

“Same as you.”

“Good.”

It ends up taking them longer than planned to reach Dueling Peaks Stable. Revali may have overstated his ability to hold a steady pace while walking in his last meeting with Purah. Though looking back on her wild smile as she approved of the journey tells him she was more than aware of the fact. It’s mid-afternoon when they arrive, and Link lets the horse wander around a bit while he cooks. Revali sits by the fire with fresh water from the river and changes most of the bandages alone. The one on his neck is small and thin now, merely there to keep the area clean. It still pulls his skin when he reaches too far with his left wing. 

He does not think about his right.

Revali and Link eat in silence, and Revali finds the pressure in his brain formed of questions and theories and memories fitting for his foolishness.

His middle is tender, the bandage thick and restraining, but not more so than his armor is—-used to be. Link helps him, his rough hands feeling appropriately delicate on the white cotton and around his back where Revali cannot reach. He cleans and rebandages Revali’s right wing with even more care. A red potion, something hearty and terribly sweet, is pressed into his grip while Link strings up a hammock for Revali between two trees. Far enough away from the stable and fire to not be bothered by the noise, but close enough that it will not be a bother to move back and forth if he needs to. It’s barely evening when Revali goes to lie in the hammock out of pure exhaustion. 

The hammock is not particularly soft, but pliant enough as he settles in it. How Link managed to get his hands on a hammock is a question for a later time. Maybe he can add it to the list of questions he’ll want an answer to in the morning. 

Revali watches Link sitting by the fire, engaging in conversation with a merchant and cooking while studying a map of the region. Revali only briefly wonders when the knight rests before sleep pulls him under.