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Chapter Text

Link wakes up to his head pounding so intensely it feels like Darunia is stomping around inside of his skull.

He drags his eyes open with a groan, squinting against the pain, and tries to focus through the blurriness of his vision. Someone was talking, he thought, but the voice didn’t seem familiar. His head isn’t the only part of him that hurts, and Link grunts as he feels the rag over his mouth, wishing he could take a deep breath.

Where is he? What had happened?

He didn’t remember… much of anything, but he must have gotten here somehow. Wherever here, was.

Link focuses on trying to get the blurriness of his vision to fade, blinking and attempting to focus. It works somewhat, and his vision clears enough for him to see when a man walks up to him, a smirk on his face.

Uh oh.

“The glorious hero finally decides to grace us with his presence,” he says, and another blurry figure walks up, tearing the rag from his mouth.

Link winces, and as someone laughs, ice slips into his stomach. His vision focuses a little more, and Link looks around, taking in the dingy room, the group of men in soldier uniforms, the… tools on the table.

He can’t help but swallow at the sight of those.

“Where am I?” he demands, pulling at his tied wrists. They’re already sore. “What do you want?”

“All kinds of things,” the man closest to him sneers. “Grant over there wants his hand back. Marc wants justice for his family. Me, I want to see a pretty scarfed traitor on his knees, screaming and begging before we kill him.”

Link’s stomach churns but he ignores it. “If you’re referring to me, I’m no traitor.”

The man laughs. “No? Bold words, considering who you are. Half beast. The son of the dragon that the sorceress had leading her army, a half-monstrous brat.”

Link pales.

“Who told you that?” he demands, still pulling at his wrists. A very small circle of people are aware of that secret, and he trusts all of them not to have spilled it. How does this man know?

The soldier merely crosses his arms, a smirk on his lips.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s obviously true though, one only has to look at you to know you’re not true Hylian,” he sneers, and Link bristles, ignoring the hurt the words ignite in him. “The son of the sorceress’s pet attack dog.”

“Volga did not join Cia willingly,” Link says coldly. “And his actions have no bearing on mine.”

“Don’t they?” the man says in a mocking tone, putting his face close to Link’s. “You’re the son of a murderer. I saw him burn men alive with his flames and then tear the corpses in half. He’s nothing but a scaly weapon that likes to pretend it’s a person.”

Link’s blood boils. His relationship with Volga is more than complicated, but that’s just wrong.

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

The man punches him in the face.

“You’re no better,” he scoffs as Link reels, pain throbbing across his face, warmth dripping from his nose. “Killing anyone who turns on you. Letting the sorceress use copies of you to kill your men. Letting a dragon fight at your side, knowing he’s a murderer.”

He draws his sword, and holds it near Link’s neck.

“You’re a beast, and you deserve to die like one.”

Link goes very still.

“Killing me won’t solve anything,” he says quietly, resisting the urge to swallow. “Cia is dead. Hurting me won’t heal your scars. It won’t get your families back.“

“No. But your screams will be satisfying all the same,” the man sneers, and pulls his sword back. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it slowly. Shall we start with your hands? Maybe a finger or two…”

“How about we give him marks to match Caydin’s?” a voice says from further back, and the man with the sword grabs Link’s chin, tilting it to the side.

“Good idea. We’ll make his bigger though,” the man grins, and pulls a dagger out and sets it against Link’s cheek. “Maybe remove an eye while we’re at it.”

Jeers and laughs follow the comment, and Link takes a steady breath as the steel caresses his cheek, forcing himself not to react.

They’re looking for a reaction. And he won’t give it to them.

Even when the blade begins to drag down his cheek, Link bites his tongue and tries not to voice his pain. He won’t react. He won’t.

The blade just starts to flirt near his eye when a noise echoes somewhere outside of the room, distant but loud. Link is so startled that he forgets to force back a reaction, and he gasps as the blade digs into his cheek.

The man grins, dragging it down his face all the way to Link’s chin in a slow movement. A whine escapes Link without his permission, and the man positions his weapon right beneath an eyebrow, eyes glinting maliciously. Link glares back at him, determined not to cower even though his cheek aches and throbs and there’s blood tracing down his face and the blade is right over his eye and he’s trembling in anticipation of losing it.

Then a roar booms through the hall, and a dragon bursts into the room, half-destroying the doorway.

The man closest to him hisses with rage and snatches something off the table nearby, jabbing it into Link’s arm without any hesitation. Link feels a sharp prick even as relief hits him at the sight of Volga tearing his way into the room, and the man beside him looks…

…Smug?

The other men scatter with shouts and screams as the dragon leaps for them, blue eyes blazing. A single swing of his claws is enough to knock most of them out of commission, and the rest flee when he turns on them, the man who had been on the verge of removing Link’s eye narrowly escaping a blast of fire.

The room is quickly void of enemies, and Volga turns to Link, melting out of his dragon form and into a human one. He rushes over to him, and Link dazedly watches his eyes dart across his form, pausing on his bloodied face. Fury flickers in his gaze.

“Are you injured elsewhere?” Volga asks sharply, slicing away his bonds with a claw. Link is too stunned to speak, relieved and reeling from the events of the past several moments, and Volga takes his shoulders in his hands and gives him a shake. “Snap out of it Hero, are you hurt?”

“I don’t— I don’t think so?” Link says uncertainly, having finally found his voice. His arm hurts, and his face, and so does most of the rest of him, but he’s pretty sure he can walk. It’s nothing too serious. Hopefully.

Volga stares at him, then huffs and quickly removes his hands from his shoulders.

“Good. We need to move quickly if we’re going to get out of here. Follow me.”

Volga stands and turns, and Link gets to his feet, wobbling a little at the stiffness in his limbs. Volga starts moving though, so Link is forced to move to keep up with him, ignoring the pounding in his skull and aching legs.

He feels like someone got a rolling pin and went to town on him, aches all over his body, the pounding still keeping up behind his eyes. Link wipes some of the blood from his face, cheek stinging and throbbing, and he swallows. His chest feels tight as they move, and despite how he’d like to ask Volga exactly how he found him and got in here, he saves his breath for running.

His steps trail further and further behind Volga’s though, the odd tightness in his chest increasing, his legs wobbling the further they go. His arm starts to ache, then numb, and it hangs limply at his side. And as if that’s not worrying enough, his vision starts to wobble as well, especially when he turns corners. His more than certain concussion must be worse than he thought if he’s having this much trouble.

They reach some stairs and Link’s breath wheezes, and his steps drag more and more, despite how hard he tries to keep up through endless tunnels and passageways.

Finally, he can’t do it anymore.

“Volga,” Link coughs, leaning heavily against a wall, “V-Volga wait.”

The dragon stops and looks back at him, and concern flickers over his gaze as he strides back to his side.

“I-I just… need a second,” Link wheezes, and Volga leans down so he’s nose-to-nose with Link. He looks him over again, more slowly than the first examination he’d given, then breathes in long and slow. Link waits for him to say something, unsure of what he’s doing, and slightly afraid to ask. Is he… smelling him?

Volga’s expression suddenly darkens.

“…Safflina,” he growls, something flashing in his gaze. “They weren’t taking chances.”

Before Link can ask what that means, Volga lunges forward and pulls him into his arms, resuming his quick stride down the hallway. Link scrambles to hold on with only one working arm, head spinning from the sudden movement.

“Whoa, wh—”

“You’ve been poisoned, hero,” Volga says without looking at him, speeding his pace further. “Time is of the essence.”

“What? But… safflina isn’t poisonous,” Link says, blinking a little dizzily.

“There is a rare strain of it that is poisonous for dragons in high concentrations,” Volga says curtly. “But that knowledge isn’t well known. Those fools who captured you would have no method of obtaining such information.”

“So how did they..?”

“I don’t know,” Volga growls, his grip tightening just a little. “But it doesn’t bode well.”

Link frowns, then coughs, his breath a little tight in his throat. His stomach is churning now, and he goes a little more limp in Volga’s arms without meaning to.

Maybe it’s his imagination, but it feels like Volga holds him a little tighter.

Lantern light flickers off the walls as Volga’s steps pad rapidly through what Link guesses is an old outpost that got phased out of use. He’s not entirely sure, especially since his vision is being rather unreliable suddenly, but he can’t think of where else they’d be.

He wishes Proxi were here. She’d probably know.

“Hero, stay awake.”

Link blearily reopens his eyes, not even realizing he’d closed them, and sees Volga is looking at him rather intensely.

“You will not wake back up if you fall asleep, stay awake,” he repeats, and Link summons what strength he’s got left, trying to fight against the dizziness and darkness that threaten to pull him under. The torchlight flickering off the walls makes the space behind his eyes hurt, and keeping them open becomes a monumental task.

His arm stings and cold trickles into his chest, stealing his strength as it feeds. It’s merciless, and growing rapidly, and Link finds his eyelids falling no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

“Link,” Volga snaps, and if Link were more awake, he might pick up the fear in it. “Do not sleep.”

“F…ive minutes…” Link mumbles, and gets a shake for his trouble.

“No. Wake up right now,” Volga snarls. “I will not lose another to safflina, wake up.”

Link peels his eyes open again, dark blots clouding his vision. He can vaguely make out Volga’s face, see the horns on his helmet, but not… really. The blue of his eyes stands out, but that’s all he can truly see.

They look strangely panicked.

“Link your mother will kill me if you die, WAKE UP.”

Volga shakes him again and Link’s stomach revolts, bile rising in his throat. He gags, and the shaking immediately stops, a muttered curse flicking past his ears.

Link feels himself get tilted to the side as he vomits up what little is inside his stomach, weakly retching before falling limp with a pathetic whine.

Volga’s arms tilt him back the moment he’s finished, and hold him tight. Link thinks they might speed up after that, the sound of steps pounding in his ears. He feels dizzy and cold, throat burning, hurting deep inside. A twitch runs through him, and Volga shifts his grip, holding him even tighter, his arms radiating warmth.

And some long-forgotten instinct in Link’s mind recognizes the warmth Volga is giving off as safe, protection.

Maybe it’s the dragon in him. Maybe it’s the poison addling his brain, or the blood loss. Maybe it’s the way Volga is cradling him to his chest with a hand in his hair and still shouting for him to stay awake, even if the exact words aren’t really reaching Link.

But whatever it is, despite how horrible he feels overall, he also feels… safe.

So Link curls into Volga’s hold, and drifts.

Chapter Text

Link stops responding, and Volga curses.

These blasted ruins are utterly confusing, his sense of direction getting all turned around in its twisting hallways and narrow passageways. Normally Volga thrives in such conditions, having lived in caves most of his life, but something about the collapsed stones and manmade walls throw him off.

Or maybe it’s just the strange panic beating inside his chest.

Link lets out a weak moan, and Volga tries to quicken his steps even further. He’d hoped never to have to deal with night safflina again; he’d made it a personal mission to burn any sprig of it he came across, destroyed any supplies he knew of with a vengeance. Yet despite his efforts, his son is fighting for his life against it in his arms.

Volga hisses to himself, cursing again. This is not something he can fight. He can’t tear it to pieces with his claws, burn it to a crisp, stab it with his spear. He is helpless in this situation, and the more Link fades in his arms, the more frantic he gets.

Link moans again, and for some reason Volga carefully adjusts him to a more comfortable position.

When did he get so attached to this boy?

He didn’t even know that he existed up until a few months ago, and they haven’t spent much time together. Their relationship is a mess, and Volga can count on one hand the amount of remotely positive interactions they’ve had since he ended up joining Hyrulean forces. Link had only just stopped regularly flinching when Volga made sudden movements towards him— which makes the fact that he’s currently curled into Volga’s hold and weakly clutching at him all the more unusual. Most of their interactions have involved them trying to kill each other.

Though… is this particular show of vulnerability so unusual? He still remembers how terrified Link had looked when he’d burst into the room, blood streaming down his cheek, knife held inches from his eye. Relief had quickly taken its place as Volga freed him, and though Volga may have been his enemy in the past, Link obviously trusts him to get them out of this.

…Or perhaps it’s merely the poison addling his senses.

Link’s head shifts minutely when Volga turns a corner, eyes half-lidded and in no way lucid. Volga knows shaking him didn’t help last time, but he tries it a little again anyway as he runs, calling for him to wake. Link doesn’t react.

Volga hisses and rips some vines out of his path, briefly wishing he had backup with him. If someone else were here then he would be able to drop Link off and go for the antidote, but that isn’t an option. And he can’t leave Link here alone with those men still around.

Perhaps it had been foolish to storm off the moment he’d heard Link had gone missing, scouring the land for any sign of him and rushing into the ruins by himself the moment he’d caught his scent. But Volga has never been one to hesitate.

And besides, if he’d come here any later, Link would be in much worse shape.

He looks down at the boy again. As it is, his current condition even apart from the poison is rather concerning, bruises beginning to show on any visible skin, blood in his hair, coating his cheek, and trickling slowly down his chin. Volga doesn’t have time to stop and clean or wrap it, but he wipes the blood off a little, cursing again the men who did this as he looks at the cuts still sluggishly bleeding. What did they even want with him?

…No, he knows the answer to that. They had safflina. This was always going to end in an attempt on his life.

As if as a reminder, he catches a faint whiff of the accursed plant on Link, a sweet, biting scent that burns his nostrils, and his stomach flips.

If Link were full dragon he would already be dead. Night safflina killed from the inside out, tearing through the blood and eventually constricting the heart. No matter what form a dragon was in, it was deadly within an hour.

Link’s Sheikah blood might be the only thing that will save him now.

Volga finally turns and finds himself in a hallway that’s familiar, and he breaks into a full sprint, leaping over broken stones and cracked walls, wishing he could slip into his other form. It’s too small in here for him to make much progress that way though, and he wouldn’t be able to comfortably hold Link anyway. He’ll have to figure that out once he escapes.

So far he hasn’t been stopped by any major obstacles, none of the men who’d captured Link daring to come stop him. He’d had to fight his way in, but it seems as if there’s barely any opposition left to stop him from leaving, which is strange.

Another piece of this situation that doesn’t seem to quite add up.

Volga’s nearing the place where he entered now, more plants creeping in and less stone. A gagging noise comes from his arms, and he has to stop to let Link retch weakly onto the ground again, barely anything coming up this time except small strings of saliva and bile. Volga ignores the bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, Link pressing his face against his arm with a whine, and keeps running.

Only to come to a halt as he finds his path barred, a line of huge plants with teeth blocking his way to the exit.

Volga stares, certain the monsters hadn’t been here before. The plants spot him somehow, despite having no visible eyes, and send leering grins his direction, teeth bared, vines writhing. Poison drips from their leaves, a purple miasma rising off the floor, and Volga knows he doesn’t have time to fight them all.

Link doesn’t have time.

Fury boils in his gut. Volga doesn’t know how they got here, but they’re blocking his path, and every precious second counts right now.

Volga roars, rushing forward and blasting a huge plume of fire at the plant monsters blocking his path.

Leaves shrivel and he hears shrieking sounds, but Volga ignores them all, shielding Link as he darts through the flames and runs to the other side. Teeth gnash and something scrapes along his arm through his armor, but Volga ignores the flicker of pain, shoving his way through as he blasts more fire.

Something glints in his vision, and he looks down to see a small spray of scales trailing up Link’s arm that weren’t there before, revealed by the heat of the flames.

Volga shakes his head and keeps running, flames flying as he leaves the plants to burn. He’d nearly forgotten about that fight they’d had up on the sky island, where he’d seen Link’s scales for the first time. His memories of the war are sketchy at best, but he does remember Link’s halting explanation of being his son.

His son who he barely knows. His son whom he tried to kill multiple times.

His son who’s currently dying.

Volga roars again in fury and explodes out of the ruins, setting Link down and shifting back to his dragon form in the same movement. He’s careful to pick Link back up once he’s done, taking a moment to settle him in clawed talons, and then takes off for the army’s camp.

It’s not the most comfortable mode of transportation for Link, and Volga thinks his expression looks more pained than before, but there’s no time to figure out anything better. He holds Link close, trying to shelter him from the cold wind, and flies as fast as he physically can without crashing.

Trying not to panic. Trying not to spiral into memories.

He focuses only on beating his wings.

The trip takes forever and yet passes in moments, and the Hylian army’s camp soon comes into view.

It’s late, but the area is a swarm of activity the same as it was when Volga left, Link’s disappearance sending the whole army into a frenzy. He only hopes Impa is still in camp and hasn’t left to join the search. He doesn’t trust any of the soldiers around to keep Link safe at the moment.

Volga folds his wings and makes a beeline for the first open area he finds, dropping into the middle of camp and transforming back in one swift movement. He startles the handful of soldiers around who look on with wide eyes at the bloody hero clutched to his chest, but he ignores them.

“General!” Volga roars into the night, and the moment he sees Impa appear across the clearing, he sprints for her.

Her eyes grow wide as she sees Link in his arms, and alarm crosses her face before switching to steely determination.

“What happened?” she demands, rushing to his side. Volga merely thrusts Link into her arms and only pauses long enough to make sure she has a firm grip on him before rushing away. “Volga!”

“He’s been poisoned, I need to get the cure,” Volga snaps back. “Keep him alive, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“No, wait,” Impa demands, grabbing his shoulder before he can turn into a dragon and leave. Volga twitches at the pain it sends up his arm. “Volga I need more information, he’s barely breathing. What did they poison him with?!”

“Safflina,” he growls in a low voice. “A rare strain of it. I know how to counteract it, but I need to leave now or he will die.”

Impa goes as pale as her hair. “Is there anything I can do to slow it?”

Volga swallows, and looks down at Link just once, his son ashen-faced and limp, then looks at Impa, her face stricken.

“…Not that I know of,” Volga says more quietly. “Keep him warm. Keep him alive.”

Then he leaps into the air and turns into a dragon, flying as hard and fast as he can.
Link will not die from this.

He won’t.

…

Impa watches Volga fly into the night, then looks down at her son again, terror crawling up her throat.

Link is freezing where he lies limp in her arms (he’s always so warm, he’s never cold—), barely perceptible gasps the only sign he’s alive. There’s blood coating his hair and the side of his face, bruises on his skin, and flecks of vomit on the undertunic he’s in, mixed with stains of blood. His eyes are rolled so far back in his head she can only see white with how little they’re open, and he’s pure deadweight in her arms.

Impa takes only a moment to process all this, them shouts for someone to find a medic. A soldier runs off, and Zelda appears at Impa’s side as she begins to move, her face horrified as she takes in Link’s condition.

“Link! How did— what—”

“Volga found him,” Impa breathes as Zelda helps her support Link so won’t be as jostled. “He said he’s been poisoned, he left to get the antidote.”

“How did Volga even— never mind, that’s not important now,” Zelda says with a shake of her head. Link lets out another weak gasp, and she touches his shoulder, face fearful. “He’s been poisoned?”

“Badly,” Impa hisses. “And that’s not all that’s been done to him.”

She briefly meets Zelda’s gaze, and sees the question in her own eyes reflected there.

How could we let this happen?

Link’s disappearance had been discovered a few hours ago, signs of a fight leaving his tent in disarray. Volga had left the moment he’d seen the blood on the ground, face furious, but Impa had stayed, determined to figure this out in a manner more precise then simply flying around and hoping she happened across their missing son.

A part of her had hoped the traitors (for what else could they be inside their own camp?) were still nearby— the blood was fresh, and there were bootprints in the dirt, so it was likely they hadn’t gotten far. Impa had immediately begun tracking them, Zelda joining her, and they’d gotten all the way outside of camp and into the middle of the woods, when the tracks just… stopped.

They’d scoured the area, checking every nook and cranny, bush and tree, but there’d been no sign of Link or his captors. They’d seemingly vanished into thin air.

“…Magic,” Zelda had said finally, anger in her voice. “They must have had a mage with them.”

That meant Link could be almost anywhere, and Impa and Zelda had been able to do nothing but head back to camp, fear twisting sharply in Impa’s gut for her son. She knew that going out and searching herself wouldn’t do any good, not without any clue where he’d been taken, but she dearly wanted to rush out of camp and do something, anything.

They’d taken her son. And she hadn’t even realized.

Lana had stated she might be able to track the spell when they’d shown the area to her, given some time, but she didn’t know how long it would take. And without any clue of what Link’s captors were planning to do with him, Impa knew it might be too late by the time Lana figured it out.

So despite the fact that the last thing she’d wanted to do was to stay still, Impa had sent out scouts and begun organizing bigger search parties, gathering likely locations for them to search, and ignoring the anxiety squeezing around her heart in a death grip.

She hadn’t gotten very far when she’d heard Volga’s roar.

Link makes a sound in her arms, somewhere between a rattle and a moan, and Impa bursts into her own tent, she and Zelda setting Link down as gently as possible on her cot. Impa starts with cleaning the blood from his face while they wait for the medic, and the pit in her stomach grows at the lines gouged into his cheek.

How could he have been taken right under their noses? How had none of them noticed? The mess in his tent had been fresh, but not as much as it could have been. She’d put it at over an hour old by the time they’d stumbled upon it.

How could she have let this happen?

Link’s head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering briefly, but they close just as fast. Impa smooths bloody, sweaty bangs from his face as the medic arrives, and she thinks he might lean into the touch just a little as the medic examines him, face only growing more grim.

“You said the dragon is getting the cure?” he asks finally, and Impa nods. “Any idea how long he’ll be?”

“No. He just said he would be as quick as he could,” Impa replies, and the medic sighs.

“I’ll do what I can without it, but I’ll be frank General, it doesn’t look good. I’d be shocked if he makes it another hour, no less the night,” he says grimly, and Impa closes her eyes as Zelda sucks in a sharp breath, the words drilling into her with a chill colder than a redead’s scream.

Then she reopens them, steadying herself.

“Then let’s do what we can. We’ll give him as much of a fighting chance as possible until we have the antidote,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel. “Whatever you can do to help him, do it.”

The medic nods, and he opens the bag he’d brought with him and begins to rifle through the contents, his face still grim, but with a hint of determination. Impa barely realizes her hand is still resting on Link’s head until the medic asks her to move it, and she slowly withdraws her fingers, hating how cold his skin still is.

He feels like death. Feels like countless soldiers she’s watched die, like her best friend’s hand growing cold in hers, a grief that still lingers with her even years later. It’s only the slight rise and fall of Link’s chest, the weak gasps he lets out that stop her from fully sinking into despair.

There’s a cure. Volga knows where it is. He’s getting it right now.

Link will not die.

A new voice suddenly gasps, and Impa turns to see Lana rush in, her hands covering her mouth in horror as she looks at Link. A winged glow of blue is right behind her, and there’s a shrill, jingly shriek.

“Link! Link!” Proxi wails, speeding for him and fluttering frantically around his face. “Link, wake up, please!”

Link’s eyes flutter, but he doesn’t move otherwise, and Proxi lets out a distraught noise, settling herself at Link’s shoulder. Her wings are fluttering with anxiety, and Zelda smooths a hand over them, reassuring her quietly.

“I’m sorry! I went to visit a fountain while Link was sleeping, I— Lana said he’d been taken while I was— oh Link,” she hiccups in a wobbly chime.

“You didn’t know Proxi, it’s not your fault,” Impa says quietly, and the fairy doesn’t say anything further, huddling close to Link.

“What happened?” Lana asks in an surprisingly level voice, and Zelda explains what they know, the medic still working, another arriving and joining him. Impa doesn’t listen much, her thoughts spiraling in several directions, though she hears when Lana offers to try and heal Link a bit. She watches as the sorceress’s hands light up and ease some of the cuts and bruises marring his skin, though nothing else about his condition improves. Apparently even half of the guardian of time can’t heal poison.

Impa sets her hand over Link’s freezing one as she finishes, listening to the rasp of his breathing as Lana and the medics draw back.

Link is cleaned up now, injuries bandaged and blood scrubbed away, tended to as much as they can. Somehow he looks worse than when Volga pressed him into her arms though, pale as death, dark veins spreading across his skin, especially thick in one place on his arm.

Impa swallows. They’re in a waiting game now. They’ll do what they can to keep Link alive before Volga returns, but there isn’t a lot they can do. She helps tilt his body when he weakly retches, adjusts blankets, and even sits beside him to try and warm his freezing skin, but there’s nothing they can do to stop the poison’s creep through Link’s veins.

All they can do is what they’re already doing, and as time drags forward, Impa feels like she may explode.

Link is dying. There’s no getting around it.

His strength leaves him more by the minute, his skin turning almost grey. Impa watches him fade and fade and fade, unable to lift a finger to help him, and she glances repeatedly outside, scanning the dark strip of sky she can see while Link grows ever weaker and her desperation grows stronger.

Volga, where are you?

It’s the longest night of Volga’s life.

It takes him hours to find the berries he knows will counteract the poison’s effects— they only grow in cold locations, which slows him down, and even then it’s the wrong time of year for the berries to even be ripe. The mountain he flies to is rife with icy beasts, which fall quickly enough to his fire, but it’s yet more delays to his goal.

Volga only half believes in the goddesses, but he tosses a short plea their direction anyway. His ancestors were their servants. Perhaps that counts for something.

The moonlight is blinding against the layer of snow on the ground, casting sharp shadows wherever rocks stick up from it. Volga’s stuck to his dragon form thus far, deeming it quicker and warmer, but now he shifts back, the snow-covered undergrowth looking promising. He digs around in the snow, uncovering all the bushes and plants he can get his hands on, blowing small puffs of flame to keep his fingers warm.

It feels like hours go by as he crawls around digging through snow-covered branches, dirt catching in his claws, breath puffing into steam.

You’re taking too long, it’s been too long—

Familiar leaves suddenly glint in the moonlight, and Volga pounces, clawing almost desperately at the snow covering the bush’s form. He takes care not to hurt the plant beneath the snow, and gently lifts up a branch.

And sure enough, pale, yellowish berries reveal themselves, glowing almost like stars in the light of Volga’s flame.

Volga lets out a harsh breath of relief, wondering briefly if the goddesses really did listen to his plea. That or they just don’t want their chosen hero dying on them, but such things are beyond him, so Volga doesn’t waste time thinking about it and quickly picks every fruit he sees, tying them in a secure pouch at his hip.

The sky is beginning to lighten by the time he’s in the air again, and every beat of his wings seems to mark the minutes trickling away, more poison slipping through Link’s veins.

You’ve taken too long, he’s already dead, his thoughts hiss, but Volga thrusts them aside. Link isn’t full dragon. The poison won’t kill him as quickly.

But despite his attempts to reassure himself, the thoughts don’t go away, only growing louder the longer he takes. Volga watches the moon set, stars fading, and his mind starts to figure how many hours it’s been, surely too many for Link to have survived.

He must be dead by now.

Volga swallows. He wonders if it was quick, Link’s fluttering heart merely going still, or if his lungs had filled with fluid, drowning him on land, choking him in blood. Perhaps his throat had closed up, slowly suffocating him.

Volga doesn’t slow his speed at all at the gruesome thoughts, but there’s dread weighing down his wings, and no small fear at what he’ll find when he arrives. Will Impa cry? He’s only ever seen her truly cry once, and that had been more out of anger than anything. Will the loss of her only child be enough to break her stoicism? Will he cry?

What will he even do if Link is dead?

He may be his son, but Volga barely knows him. They’ve been enemies longer than allies, and a few months ago Volga was so entrenched on Cia’s side that he wouldn’t even have cared to hear he’d met his demise.

But… somehow now he does.

He barely knows Link, but the little he’s seen is bright and fierce and courageous, loyal to a fault, determined and with a spirit that refuses to give up. He has his faults surely, but overall he’s quite the formidable warrior, hero, even. Volga had no hand in raising him, but somehow he’s… proud of him, proud of the man he became while Volga wasn’t looking.

But all that likely doesn’t matter now. If Link is alive it would be a miracle, and Volga isn’t feeling optimistic.

He dives past a cloud, his wings beginning to tire from the long night. He hates this uncertainty. This ache in his chest, a tightness in his throat. It’s half his fault all of this even happened— it’s obvious Link was targeted at least partially for his relation to Volga. And now it’ll be his fault he’s dead, too.

Does he even have the right to mourn?

…

He doesn’t know.

Volga tries to fly faster with his stinging wings, squeezing his eyes shut, hating how much his heart aches.

He doesn’t know.

Chapter Text

The sky is pink by the time Volga grows near the army’s camp once again, the glow of dawn making his scales shine as he lands, feet stumbling when he transforms back to two legs.

His arm aches where the plant monster grazed him, and he has bruises and scrapes from the icy monsters he fought, as well as injuries from the initial rescue of Link. It’s barely noticeable compared to everything else that’s happened this terrible night, but it’s certainly annoying. It all only makes him feel more exhausted.

Volga ignores the tiredness buzzing at the edges of his mind, aches in his body, and instead grabs the nearest soldier, demanding they show him where Impa is.

The man nervously points him in the right direction, and Volga bolts, nearly exploding into the tent when he reaches it.

Inside things are on the crowded side, and most of the occupants jump at his abrupt appearance, shouts of his name, a few faces turning pale. But Volga only has eyes for the boy lying limp on the cot in the center of the room, shirt removed so they can see the jagged lines of purplish green spreading across his skin. They’re alarmingly close to his heart, and Volga rushes forward, out of breath and limping slightly.

Link doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

“Is he—”

“He’s hanging on. Barely,” Impa answers for him at her place directly beside Link, looking as haggard as Volga feels. Volga for his part nearly drops to his knees in relief at her words, hope sparking in his chest.

I’m not too late.

“Did you find it?” Impa asks almost desperately, and Volga holds out the bag, filled with his prize.

“Yes. He will need to ingest these,” he pants, nearly shoving the bag at her. “The juice will do at first if he cannot swallow. But if you can, the whole berry. As many as he can manage.”

“Just these berries?” the blue sorceress asks from her place nearby, and Volga gives her a curt nod.

“Yes. They’re very potent, but they don’t work when they’re dried. I’d keep a store around otherwise,” he mutters, and watches as Impa carefully pulls a few precious pale yellow berries out.

“This is shineberry, I know it,” she says in surprise. “These will really do it?”

“It counteracts the poison. I do not know how, but I’ve seen it work myself,” Volga assures her impatiently. “We should hurry.”

Impa nods, and one of the medics in the room moves forward and sits Link up, Volga steadying his head when it lolls (he feels so frail—). The little blue fairy that follows Link around flutters her way up and sits on his head, wings trembling with anxiety, and once Link is upright enough, Impa carefully opens his mouth, crushing a berry between her fingers and dripping the juice inside.

Link near immediately chokes on it, juice speckling his lips, and his eyes flutter as he weakly coughs. Volga frowns as Link faintly jerks in his hold, and Impa waits until he stops coughing to carefully try again, even more slowly.

It’s the same result, juice spattering out, Link letting out a cough so weak it barely counts as one.

“Please Link, you need to swallow this,” Impa mutters tensely, and Volga tilts his head a bit differently as she tries once again, rubbing a finger on his throat.

Link chokes on the juice the same as last time, and weakly gags in addition, too weak even to properly vomit.

Someone wipes the bit of sick that dribbles from his lips, and Link falls limp again with a shudder, skin as pale as the bandages that have been placed on his face. A brief silence falls over the tent as they lay him back down, and Volga curses under his breath. How can they get Link to eat the only thing that will save him if he’s too weak to take it?

“What now? He can’t swallow!” the fairy cries, sounding near hysterical, and Volga sees the princess take a steadying breath before giving her a sympathetic look.

“We’ll figure it out Proxi,” she reassures, and the fairy moves to her shoulder with a tiny sniff. “There must be a way.”

“We should force it down,” Volga says immediately. Impa frowns at him.

“He’d only choke again,” she rebuts. “I doubt he’d be able to keep enough down to matter even if we forced it, and the last thing he needs is to keep vomiting. We’ll have to get it in him some other way.”

“Well if you’ve got any brilliant ideas, then do tell,” Volga snaps. “He’s dying, Impa, he needs these berries.”

Her eyes narrow.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says back with a venom he doesn’t often hear from her. And even though Volga should take it for the warning that it is, he keeps speaking.

“You’re not acting like it,” he shoots back. “If he has to choke to take them then so be it. I will not sit here while the cure is in our hands and watch him die because you were afraid of him throwing up—”

Impa is suddenly inches from his nose.

“His heart stopped twice while you were gone,” she hisses, in a very dangerous voice. “I know he’s dying, I’ve nearly watched him die twice today and I don’t want to risk a third that he might not come back from!” she nearly shouts in return, and Volga swallows, his body aching, mind exhausted, fists shaking at his sides from too many accursed emotions he doesn’t know what to do with.

He opens his mouth to snap back, and then someone shoves their way between him and Impa.

“Enough,” Princess Zelda commands, glaring at them both. “If you two are merely going to yell at each other and make arguments that only serve to enrage, then for Link’s sake you can’t be in here. Calm down or leave. We will figure this out.”

Volga glares for another few moments, then snorts an angry breath and turns away from her and Impa, fuming. A prickle of regret crosses the emotions buzzing in his head when he catches a glimpse of Impa’s face, but he ignores it. Why can’t she see?

Link has to get these berries in him.

Volga glares silently at the floor, shoulders tense. He can tell the other Hylians in the tent are trying not to stare as the silence stretches out, and he crosses his arms, wishing they’d leave. Why are so many of them in here anyway?

He doesn’t want an audience when Link dies.

“Um… I think I have an idea,” the blue sorceress suddenly speaks up, her voice quiet, and everyone turns to look at her.

“Do tell,” Impa replies, and Volga turns to see the blue sorceress better. She has a determined look on her face, if anxious, and she looks down at Link with an expression Volga isn’t sure he likes.

“Well… perhaps we could inject him with the juice,” she suggests. “We’re pretty sure that’s how the poison entered him. Maybe the cure will work the same way?”

A beat goes by, and Impa looks at Volga. Volga shrugs. He hasn’t ever heard of such a thing, but that’s not too surprising, and he’s about willing to try anything at this point, even if it comes from Cia’s relation. Link looks like he could succumb to the poison at any moment.

“We don’t have anything to lose. Let’s try it,” Impa decides, and Lana nods, taking a handful of the berries.

She and the medics do something to them, mashing them and heating them up or something like that, but Volga’s attention is on Link, his chest moving almost imperceptibly with each shallow breath, Impa’s knuckles white where they hold his hand. He feels… not the best for having snapped at her, but their squabbling doesn’t matter right now. Link does.

He looks at his son again, and swallows.

Please.

…

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when the sorceress turns back around with the medics, a syringe in hand with a shiny yellowish liquid inside. Looks are exchanged, and the first medic carefully lifts Link’s arm, pressing the needle into his inner elbow.

Link doesn’t react at all, and the medic wraps the injection site before leaning back.

“Now we wait and see,” he says, looking tired.

“How will we know if it worked?” Zelda asks worriedly, and Volga snorts bitterly as they all stare at Link.

“If he dies or not, I suppose.”

Impa gives him a sharp look, but Volga easily ignores it. He doesn’t particularly want to get his hopes up, and Impa is well aware this is how he copes with things of this scale.

…But for her sake, he tacks on some more info.

“If we’d given it to him by way of mouth, we would see improvement in only a few minutes,” Volga admits, tapping a finger on his arm. “I don’t know if this will be faster or not.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” the princess says, looking at least as weary as Impa. “Though if it doesn’t work…”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Impa replies quietly. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”

And they settle in to wait.

The medics begin talking among themselves, debating something Volga doesn’t catch. The princess sits beside Impa, saying something quietly to her and the blue sorceress as the fairy anxiously bats her wings. Volga finds himself unable to sit still, and begins to pace around the tent despite the ache in his leg, ignoring the quiet conversation.

If this doesn’t work… he doesn’t know what else they can try. As much as he hates to admit it, Impa is probably right about Link being too weak to handle them shoving berries down his throat, which means this is their best bet to save him. Only bet.

Volga glances over at his son. Link still looks the same, pale and still, no visible change yet, and Volga paces faster.

What do we do if he dies?

His eyes narrow as the answer finally comes to him, his hands clenching into fists.

Hunt down the scum who did this.

He knows some of them escaped, but he’d been too focused on Link to try and to stop them. And regardless if Link makes it or not, he has a lot of questions for the men that did this. He wants to know how on earth they knew of such a devastating poison when so few people even know of the plant it’s made from, how they knew of his and Link’s shared blood. Someone must have told them, someone who knows more than they should, and Volga wants to know who it is so he can gut them.

He’ll have to ask Impa if she has any thoughts about leaks in information. Guesses on who it might be, or a course of action to take. Assuming of course, that she doesn’t hate him after all of this. If Link dies, he wouldn’t blame her.

He glances over at his mate as he paces, and sees her watching Link, expression distant.

A bit of hair is coming out of its neat style, the braids tightly woven into her bun coming loose. A few strands hang errant in her face, and Volga can’t help staring at her, wondering what she’s thinking.

Is she having the same thoughts as he is? Is she thinking about who did this to their son, how they’ll exact vengeance upon them?

Or perhaps…

Her hand rests over Link’s again, expression pained, and Volga turns away as he continues to pace.

…Perhaps she’s wondering if she has the right to mourn.

The minutes tick on, conversation floating softly around the tent, worried glances cast at Link. A medic gets up and stretches. Link’s fairy chimes a quiet little song to herself. The princess murmurs something under her breath that sounds like a prayer.

And right as Volga is losing what little hope he had left, he abruptly stops pacing, a noise catching his ear.

He stops dead in his tracks, and whirls around, his gaze zeroing in on Link. The action catches Impa’s attention, and he strides over to Link in a few quick steps, looking at his son intensely.

“What? What is it?” the princess asks in alarm as he leans over Link, and Volga is silent for a few moments as he presses his ear to his chest and makes sure he’s correct.

“Listen.”

They all go silent as he leans back, doing as he says, and Volga sees the exact moment they realize the change, eyes widening. The medic who’d given Link the shot leans over him when Volga moves, lightly prodding his sides and checking his pulse, then listens to his chest as well.

“He’s breathing deeper now,” he says in a disbelieving voice. “Those berries worked.”

The other medics break into excited cheers, the blue sorceress letting out an almost giddy laugh, and Zelda puts her hand on her arm with a relieved smile. The fairy cheers as she spins in excited circles around their heads, and Volga can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the squealing sound. Impa is more quiet in her relief, but Volga sees her close her eyes and breathe out, squeezing Link’s hand.

The antidote worked.

Pure relief sweeps over Volga as well, a heady, breathless feeling that makes his head spin. He wasn’t too late.

Link isn’t going to die.

The medics shoo everyone except the blue sorceress back so they can do a more thorough look over of Link, and Volga reluctantly moves with the rest, finding himself standing beside Impa. Relief and exhaustion paint her face in equal measure, and Volga’s arm is halfway up to pull her close before he remembers himself, and he drops it again, instead crossing his arms as he looks at Link.

Link who’s breathing is steadying. Link who’s face already looks less grey.

Link who is going to live.

Volga feels suddenly lightheaded, and someone catches his arm when he sways, the adrenaline finally draining away, the long night taking its toll. Someone says something, and it takes him a moment to tune into it as he blinks black spots from his vision.

“—you’re injured, sit down,” Impa says in an exasperated voice. Volga distantly realizes she’s the one holding him up. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I am not,” he replies in a voice that does not waver, his legs definitely still holding his weight.

“Right. And you’re a water dragon. Don’t think I didn’t notice what a mess you are,” Impa says, and pushes him down onto a stool. “Sit. I’ll wrap your arm.”

“There is no need for that,” he replies brusquely, but Impa ignores him, grabbing some of the supplies the medics hadn’t needed.

“We can’t do anything more for Link at the moment, and you’ve looked like you were going to fall over from the moment you stormed in here, sit,” she stresses when he tries to get up again.

He sits.

“Take your shoulder armor off. If nothing else I need to clean the wound. Then you can go wrap it yourself if you really want,” Impa continues. “But you won’t be able to reach it very well by yourself.”

Impa is annoyingly right as always, and so Volga slowly begins to shuck off his wrappings and armor from his bloody arm, pulling the torn sleeve of his undershirt out of the way with a hiss of pain. Apparently the plant monster had gotten him worse than he thought. The teeth marks underneath aren’t a pleasant sight, red and a little swollen, dried blood crusted around them. The princess winces in sympathy from where she’s standing nearby, and Impa sits beside Volga, her face creased.

“I’m not even going to ask how you got these,” she says as she takes his arm and starts to clean, and Volga hisses through his teeth at the sting.

“Deku Baba. They were in my way.”

“Multiple?” Zelda says in surprise, and Volga huffs.

“Yes. Six or so,” he explains with half a shrug. “They were in my way.”

“Remind me never to get in your way,” Impa huffs, but her tone is impressed, and Volga preens just a little at the compliment he finds buried inside the words. “You have a great deal of injuries… what happened when you went to save Link?”

Volga’s smile dips. “…Later.”

He doesn’t want to dwell on it right now. It’ll only crack open those bothersome emotions he’s finally gotten a handle on, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night agonizing over his son and what exactly he should feel towards him.

Impa nods, and keeps on cleaning his arm, taking a look at his leg as well when she’s finished. She helps him patch up his wounds in silence, the princess lightly dozing nearby. He feels like he should say something as they sit together, a heavy feeling of lingering worry and relief for their son clouding the air, but he doesn’t even know what he would say.

So he stays quiet, and lets her work, feeling every feather-light touch on his skin like a shard of ice.

He does his best to stuff away the part of him that misses her touch when she finally finishes, and he carefully stretches, rolling his shoulders and sighing. Wrapping up his injuries made him feel more awake, at least.

He notices then that Impa hasn’t entirely pulled away from him, even though she’s finished with her work. Volga raises a brow, watching as she rests her hands on her knees, fingers lightly tapping. She looks like she might want to say something, but then a medic comes forward, catching their attention.

He smiles as he informs them that Link is indeed stable, and only getting better, and all of them slump in relief. Zelda gets up to speak with him, but Impa stays, catching Volga’s eyes, her own looking just a little damp.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and Volga nods as he glances back at their son, too exhausted to say or do anything in reply.

Link is going to live.

Chapter Text

He’s cold.

But… not as cold as he has been.

The frozen abyss he’d been dragged towards with icy fingers was finally releasing him, frigid veins that crept through his blood draining away. The cold fog that had enveloped him is receding, and he gets flickers of lucidity, liquid tilted down his throat, warm hands pressing at his forehead, quiet pleas in his ear. But it’s only ever snatches, and they’re gone before he can fully register them.

Until… he can.

Something changes. A corner gets turned. He doesn’t know what it is, but the flickers grow brighter, the pictures more clear, and he is more actively aware of himself. At some point it reaches the level where he actually feels… awake. Sort of.

And now that Link is sort of awake, he wants to know what’s going on.

It takes some effort, but Link manages to flutter his eyes open, that cold ache still weighing him down. The sight of a blurry roof of some kind meets him, and he drifts his gaze around, not really taking in what he’s seeing, but aware that he’s seeing, which is notable.

There’s a headache throbbing at his eyes, pounding in his head. Link does his best to ignore it, but it’s difficult, and the odd sense of deja-vu he gets as he tries to figure out where he is and what happened doesn’t help.

He feels awful.

He almost closes his eyes again, but two blue smears suddenly appear in his vision, and Link stiffens. Something pale is visible above them, and Link finds his gaze drawn to the smears, the shade of blue familiar. They slowly sort themselves into eyes, then more concrete shapes surrounding them, a nose, fuzzy chin, hair.

It’s a face. Someone he knows.

Who?

“Link?” the face says, voice muffled in Link’s ears. He slowly blinks as the word registers in his head, and the voice and facial features finally click together in his bleary mind.

“…Vol…ga?” he croaks, the words taking more effort than they should.

There’s a nod, and watching the movement makes Link feel dizzy. He has to close his eyes again for a second, but stubbornly reopens them, focusing past the nauseous feeling. He feels terrible. In fact…

“‘M… uh. Not dead?” he gets out.

And startles as Volga lets out an abrupt snort of laughter, loud with relief.

“No, no you’re not. You made a valiant effort towards it though,” he finally replies as he catches his breath, crossing his arms. “Gave your mother and princess quite the scare.”

Link hums, not sure what to think. He briefly wonders if it would’ve been better if he had just died— he’s cold and achy, exhausted, and there’s a deeply uneasy feeling lurking in him, like he’s still in danger, like something’s waiting just out of sight to get him.

There’s details he’s missing. A lot of them. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because Volga suddenly places the back of his hand on his cheek that doesn’t hurt, carefully feeling the skin.

Link stills at the feel of it, not quite sure how to react. His hand is warm though, chasing away the unwelcome cold in his bones, and he has just enough time to think it’s sort of nice before Volga pulls back.

“You’re warmer. That’s good,” Volga says with a sigh.

His face is relieved, which Link is a little surprised at. The last thing he remembers is just… cold. Pain. Anger, not his own, but directed at him by… someone. Volga had been there, but… he doesn’t remember why. Or how.

But…

Warm arms, cradling him, shouts of anger and fear, a bruising hold on his chin, something glinting close to his eye and a prick in his arm—

“How… long?” Link rasps, then swallows, blinking again. “Has it been?”

Fortunately Volga understands he means how long he’s been out, and he hums.

“A few days. Most of which you’ve spent sleeping after being ravaged by poison, so I suggest not trying to sit up,” Volga says with a pointed look, and Link stills where he’d been shifting himself. He’d only wanted to sit up a little.

—Wait.

“I don’t remember… poison?” Link asks uncertainly.

“You were kidnapped, and poisoned at some point while captured. You came very close to not making it,” Volga murmurs, tapping a finger on his arm. Link can’t quite read the expression on his face, but his voice sounds… concerned? “Impa said you stopped breathing several times.”

Link swallows. “Oh.”

That would explain some things.

He doesn’t ask more questions for the moment, and silently lets Volga help him sit up enough to drink some water. It has something sweet in it, which makes it taste a little odd, but not in a totally bad way. Link eagerly drinks it all, not even noticing Volga’s hand resting steady on his back at first.

He thinks back to his spotty memories as he sips, flashes of fire, a knife at his cheek. They swirl around like leaves in a gust of wind, sweeping out of his hands when he tries to catch them. He manages to hold onto a few though, and they’re enough to piece together the memory of Volga saving him.

Link stills.

Volga. His father, the dragon knight, whom Link still flinches at sometimes when he’s caught off-guard due to the fact that they’ve both nearly killed each other more than once… rescued him.

And now he’s helping Link sit up after nearly dying, making sure he doesn’t drink too fast with an expression on his face Link still can’t read.

…Out of all the people that could be in here, why is he at Link’s bedside?

“That’s probably enough,” Volga says, even though Link feels like he could drink quite a bit more, and takes the cup back. “You’ve been vomiting a lot, and your mother would have my head if I was the reason you did again.”

Link sighs to himself, too tired to argue. Or ponder Volga. So he doesn’t try to, and lets his father ease him back down, looking at his hand as he does. He’d noticed it while drinking, but he studies his arm closer now, dark veins in his skin, stretching across his skin like cracks in a mirror.

“I remember… these,” Link says quietly, a memory forming as he slowly turns his arm. “I… woke up and… saw them. I think we were… flying?”

“I didn’t know you were aware for any of that,” Volga says, looking surprised.

“Not… much of it,” Link admits in a soft rasp, dropping his arm with a small wince when it aches. “Pieces.”

Pieces he’s still trying to fit together.

“Well you’re correct about the flying, I carried you here after getting you out,” Volga hums, tapping his fingers on his arm. “Do you remember much else?”

Link hesitates, then lightly shrugs. “Only pieces.”

Volga raises an eyebrow at him, but Link isn’t sure if he wants to continue. He’s been recalling more of what happened the longer he’s awake, and one snippet of conversation is crystal-clear in his mind. But it’s not… a light topic. And not one he’s sure his fuzzy brain is up for.

He’s madly curious though. And a part of him has the feeling he won’t have the nerve to ask about it when he’s clearheaded again.

“What pieces?” Volga presses, giving him an inquisitive look, and Link finally gives in.

“I remember… you. Saying… you lost someone else… to this,” Link finally says, keeping his tone careful and soft. “The poison. Who… was it?”

Volga stills.

His face goes curiously blank, and Link watches as he leans back, feeling suddenly nervous as he stares at the tent wall. Should he not have asked? Volga had wanted to know. But maybe he shouldn’t have anyway. Maybe it’s rude to ask dragons about stuff like that.

Link’s headache throbs.

Volga keeps staring at the wall for an uncomfortably long time, and the silence stretches between them, yawning like the maw of a deep cavern. Link is afraid of it getting deeper, and he shifts in place.

“…Volga?” he asks finally, and Volga breathes out, then closes his eyes.

“My father,” he says in a tight voice. “I was only a hatchling.”

Link goes quiet, and Volga breathes in, and out.

“Hunters came to our domain, searching for dragons to slay and sell parts of,” he begins in a low, low voice. “Dishonorable men. Only looking for profit. Somehow they knew of night safflina and its uses. My father fought them off easily, they were no match for a dragon of his skill, but he was cut with a blade coated in safflina right at the end. He was dead within the hour.”

Link is stunned into silence for a moment, his brain not quite up to thinking about the ramifications of the story, no less a grandfather right now.

So he just says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, and Volga repeats his deep breath in, then out.

“It was a long time ago. My vengeance was had. I’ve made my peace with it,” he murmurs. “But I swore that day never to let safflina harm another, and I failed that. Failed you.”

Link can’t help but be surprised at that. “You didn’t fail me,” he rasps, meeting Volga’s eyes and trying to make sure he sounds grateful through his exhaustion. “If it wasn’t for you… I would be dead. I have no doubts about… that. You saved me.”

Volga huffs. “The antidote saved you. I merely retrieved it.”

“You got me away from those soldiers,” Link says in a quieter rasp. “That I remember. I… would be a lot worse off if you hadn’t… come when you did. You saved my life.”

And I’m so grateful to you, and yet I’m still scared of you, I’m terrified I’ll turn my back and you’ll hurt me but I remember you cradling me in your arms and I felt safe—

“Thank you father.”

Volga’s eyebrows both shoot up in surprise, and Link gulps, quickly looking back at the ceiling as his ears warm.

There’s a long, awkward pause.

Link can feel Volga staring at him, but he keeps his gaze away, feeling oddly afraid. Why did he say that? The poison must have done more to his head than he thought. Volga may be his father, but it’s not like Link… wants that connection.

…Does he?

“I know how to lead troops,” Volga says finally, and Link looks at him again. Volga doesn’t return it, and instead looks at his hands, rough and gloved. “I know how to fight, to direct armies, protect my domain. Hunt. Kill. But I… I do not know how to be a father,” he admits in a voice so quiet it’s barely legible.

Link blinks, taken aback at his almost nervous tone.

Then he scrounges up a hesitant smile.

“Well… I don’t really know how to be a son, so… you’re in good company.”

They meet eyes, but then the noise of the tent flap rippling sounds out, and they stop their conversation.

Which is fortunate, because Link had no idea what he was going to say next.

A moment goes by, and Impa appears in the square of greyish light in the tent opening, looking haggard. Her face lights up when she sees Link though, and she hurries forward to join his bedside, relief softening her eyes.

“Link,” she breathes, and sets a hand on his shoulder. “You’re awake.”

“Supposedly,” he rasps with a tired smile.
Impa smiles back, and she clasps Link’s arm, Link weakly doing it in turn. Things still aren’t perfect between them, but they’ve been better lately, much better, and he doesn’t protest the small embrace she gives him.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as she pulls back, and Link hums. He’s not exactly sure, to be honest. He still feels… jumbled.

“Better… I think. I don’t remember much after Volga… came to get me,” he admits with a weak huff of amusement. “Lot of… cold.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Impa sighs, feeling at his face in the same way Volga did. Link leans into it just a little. “Things were bad. You certainly look better now, you’ve been pale as the ghosts guarding the Master Sword.”

Volga blinks from behind her. “The what?”

Impa ignores him. “Have you had anything to eat?”

Link shakes his head, and Impa moves to the table that’s laden with various supplies he hadn’t noticed until now.

It takes her a minute of rummaging, but she finally pulls out a clementine, which she begins peeling. Link’s mouth waters at the citrusy smell that hits his nose, even though his stomach does a protesting flip. He obviously hasn’t eaten much lately, and his stomach isn’t happy with him about it. He’ll have to go slow.

“You said you would get me when he woke up,” Impa directs at Volga as she peels the fruit, and Link checks back in as Volga runs an absent hand through his hair. Impa looks rather annoyed. Though she usually looks annoyed when Volga is around, so that’s not saying much.

“I was waiting for a good opportunity, I didn’t want him to be alone. A kitten could probably fight him and win right now,” Volga points out, and Link blushes as Impa reluctantly agrees. Did he really have to point that out?

Volga’s right though, as loathe as Link is to admit it. A kitten probably could beat him right now.

Those men certainly did.

Shame goes over him, and he doesn’t meet Impa’s eyes when she hands him a few pieces of fruit. Some hero he is. Hyrule is already a mess, and he just had to go and get himself kidnapped on top of it.

“Is something wrong, Link?” Impa asks, worry in her voice. “Are you in pain?”

Link hesitates. Well, yes, he is actually, and he feels a little like throwing up, but that’s not the problem he’s thinking about right now.

“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t… stop them,” he mumbles as he nibbles the fruit he was given. At Impa’s look, he clarifies. “The turncoats. They… caught me off guard. I should’ve been more alert… I—”

“From the state your tent was in, it looks like you gave them quite the fight,” Impa chides, finishing with separating the slices. “This was hardly your fault, Link. You were outnumbered with no allies, and somewhere that should have been safe.”

She hands him another piece of fruit as he finally finishes the first, and Link thinks he might see guilt in her eyes.

“They should have been caught long before they reached you. I’m sorry you had to fight them alone.”

Link blinks, mouth pausing halfway through a bite, and then he resumes his chewing, feeling a little awkward. He hadn’t expected an apology of all things. It’s his own fault for being dumb enough to get captured. Certainly he’d fought the traitors best as he could, but it hadn’t been enough. They’d cracked him on the head when his back was turned, and then while he was reeling, pressed a sweet-smelling cloth to his face.

He remembers little after.

“Still. I’m the hero. It’s… kind of my job to be able to handle… things like that,” he says quietly, and Impa sighs as he eats more of the clementine. Somehow he feels like he’s said something wrong.

“You could hardly help being caught off guard,” Volga speaks up, arms crossed as he watches the two. “Your own men shouldn’t turn on you. The loyalty in your army is… dismal.”

His lip curls with displeasure, and Impa sighs. “Dark magic had a hand in that, I’m afraid,” she says grimly, and sets aside the fruit’s peel, brushing off her hands. “We’re still working on it.”

“Hopefully as a higher priority now,” Volga snorts, and Impa gives him a look.

Link knows that look. It’s the “we’re about to argue about this for the next half hour”, look.

Normally he’d be exasperated, but he can’t really find it in himself to care this time, oddly enough. His mind is getting fuzzier again, like when he first woke up, exhaustion pressing in on him. His stomach is protesting the few slices of fruit he ate, and he feels… nauseous. And dizzy. And sleepy.

He yawns in spite of himself, and Impa and Volga both look over at him, Impa closing her mouth instead of saying whatever it was she was going to say.

They stare, and Link finds his face warming.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing a shaky hand over his eyes.

“No need for that,” Impa chides. “You were badly hurt, Link. It’ll be a bit before you’re back on your feet.”

Her expression briefly cracks, fear crossing her face, but it’s gone just as soon.

“We’re just glad you’re alive, and on the mend now,” she says more quietly. “Your job right now is to heal. Which means you should get some more rest.”

Link gives her a tired nod, his eyes drooping in spite of himself. Impa gives him a small smile, and takes the half-eaten piece of fruit he’d forgotten about out of his hand before he can drop it.

Then her hand rests on his cheek a moment, thumb gently brushing his skin as her eyes scan across his face.

And then she sighs, and gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before she stands back up.

“I’m going to let the medics know you were up,” she says, brushing a bit of clementine peel off her clothes. “I’ll be right back. Sleep, Link.”

She strides out of the tent, and Link feels another wave of exhaustion go over him, deep and overpowering.

He weakly struggles against it as it presses in on him, nearly overwhelming. Despite how weary he is, he doesn’t really want to go back to sleep, not already— he can’t help but fight it, not wanting to fall back into darkness and vulnerability just yet.

And… maybe a little afraid that the cold he can still feel in his blood will grow and drown him again.

“Hero.”

Link is pulled from his thoughts, and he sees Volga watching him, an odd look in his eye. Link swallows, feeling shaky and ill and terribly weak, and Volga hesitates, his jaw working.

Then he steps forward, and sets a hand on top of Link’s head.

Link goes still.

Volga’s hand is warm, just like it was earlier, and it feels… nice. The lingering fractals of ice in his veins shy away from such a bright source of heat, and Link finds himself relaxing, the warmth and light pressure soothing. The sickness and pain and weariness don’t go away, but they’re pushed to the background with the touch.

Link leans into it with a sleepy noise, so tired he’s barely aware of what he’s doing, and a smile appears on Volga’s face.

“Rest, Link. Recover your strength,” he says softly, and Link nods, fully relaxing back into his bed.

His eyes fall closed, and it’s probably because he’s so exhausted and sick-feeling that a purr rumbles from him as he starts to drift off. There’s a distant amused noise, and he faintly feels the blanket atop him get adjusted, and the hand in his hair give it a light ruffle.

The last thing Link is aware of before fully drifting off is a deeper, answering purr to his own, one that assures him he is undoubtedly safe.

…

Impa comes back to find Volga’s hand resting on Link’s head, their son fast asleep, and a softer look on Volga’s face then she’s seen in a long, long time.