Work Text:
Some weeks—months into the adventure(if time were linear, he'd keep track), and Link would say they'd all gotten relatively accustomed to each other's oddities, despite how little got explained and what did, didn't make much more sense. The Rancher's ability to track any of them down, and Link refuses to believe a sense of smell is that powerful, Wolfie. How the Smith hates peppers and switches cadences when talking to himself or others. How help is given and nothing more is said about it, whether it's passing the Vet hot stones for his hands or wading into the river first before the Wanderer is convinced it's safe.
Or the Rancher sitting by the Cook when he relives old memories; the Cap'n and the old man stare off, too. Those two talk even less about what they'd seen than the rest. They've all relived their adventures at some point, mostly in nightmares they don't dare breathe into the waking world, some during the day. And it's his turn to wear Tetra's expression when he's caught off guard—drawing his sword too quickly or worse.
The old man's staring off again tonight, but the Cap'n doesn't pull them away, and his ears still twitch when the crickets start, so Link's not too worried. The old man takes the first watch.
It isn't a full or new moon tonight, and certainly no blood moon. The old man will be fine, whatever his grievance with the moon is.
Then Link shoots awake to twilight and a waning crescent firmly in the sky with it. He can barely see the old man over the logs they'd rolled in around the fire and the noise crowding his vision.
Heaving the thick blanket with him, the era's unfairly cold air won't dare touch him; he tiptoes past the Cook, splayed on top of his bedroll. If he wasn't going to use the blanket, he could have given it to Link or the Smithy. Someone who'd appreciate it.
"Sailor, you don't have watch tonight. You should go back to sleep." Link looks up from picking his way through stray limbs, like any of them wake at this hour on purpose. If the old man turned around, he could appreciate Link's utterly unimpressed face. The effort is wasted now.
As is, Link plops down beside the grumpy adult. "Nah, I'm good."
Who still won't look at him, one eye fixed straight up at the night sky. He can't make out the old man's expression, hardly ever can, and so imagines something like his own. Soured by uninvited phantoms crawling up his back. He pulls the blanket tighter against his spine, trying and failing to suffocate the invisible hands.
The old man hums, softer than usual, and Link's brows pinch. He fiddles with the end of his blanket, tugging it ever tighter over his shoulders, testing words on his tongue.
"Y'know, your shift ended a while ago," Link says, and he knows the old man knows. "The Cap'n will have something to say about that…"
Darkness seeps further into his vision, from the dying fire or the buzzing at the back of his head. He doesn't care, and he almost misses the put-upon huff beside him.
Looking over to see the edge of the old man's mouth twitching back. Bingo.
"Really? Old man, out of everyone here. You—breaking the rules." He pauses for effect, hissing air in through his teeth. "That sets an awful example for little old me, I don't know what I'll do with my impressionable mind." Thank you, Rancher, for that one. "Might start—"
"Alright enough, you've made your point," the old man says. Has he now? He hasn't even started.
"I need to wake Cap'n right away!" His hair gets ruffled, and he squawks, hand to his chest in mock offense, and the old man is finally looking at him.
"I'm quite alright."
"Really? I can get Cap'n, if you want?" Link leans forward, scrutinizing the old man's face, far easier to make out than a moment ago.
The old man hums, and his hand falls from Link's head to settle on his shoulders. "I'm actually rather enjoying the night."
"But—wh—I don't get it."
The old man has the audacity to shrug.
Link would gesture, but he'd risk losing his precious blanket. "Like—yes, nice sky… But you… I thought you didn't like the moon."
The old man does return a raised eyebrow. "It's comforting," he says and tacks on with a scowl, "not the moon."
"Speak plainly, my cryptic forefather." Link gets a fond eye roll. It seems too easy. He should be relieved, but it only sits rotten in his stomach like his part here is meant for someone else. He's forced to sit back up when the old man reshuffles himself, boots scuffing the forest floor, and Link thinks that's where it'll end.
The old man will look at him too and decide that this isn't Link's place.
"My brothers and sisters always found the stars comforting." Oh. "The children of the Great Deku Tree live a long time. Even the forest had changed somewhat. Saria, Fado, and even Midoe would make stories from the constellations they'd named…"
Fado's ghost crashes to mind. Then the Koroks and the red swirl on the doors of the forest haven, and the little wooden shield the old man carries. He should tell the old man, instead, he leans back against him, swallowing the rot in his throat for another day. Raised by a tree indeed.
"… I've travelled some, more time than places." He starts with more fervor, and Link startles a bit at the almost nostalgic tone. "Places made of magic don't get them right. Termina never got the stars right. They'd change from night to night, even changing in the same night! Here, the constellations remain the same; they shift with the seasons but never change. " Barely stopping to breathe, he quiets. "The names aren't the same, but Farore knows how many years apart and they're still there." He gestures vaguely to the sky. "It's comforting."
The old man's head falls into his free hand. Cyclos damned it. If Link could go more boneless, he would, too.
"I get what you mean." The old man's ears flick to him. "No, seriously. I'm a sailor. We rely on the stars to navigate." He swallows. "During my second adventure, the stars changed too." He scoffs at the unbidden memory of running to Linebeck on the verge of tears, screaming the stars were blinking. "It—it is nice. To know that it's real, that you're back." He thinks of the Vet and how he hates the sea.
Link buries himself under the old man's arm, refusing to meet his eye, and neither says anything when the old man pulls him a bit closer.
He can feel the old man start and stop again. When he does speak, it's slow and methodical, like when the Cap'n has to steer his stories towards something more palatable and less truthful.
"I knew a sailor once, during my time with the Captain. You… you lot always find your way. He always trusted he'd end up where he needed to be—drove the Captain right mad, popping up out of nowhere, calm as can be. Complete faith it'd all work out; that it was skill, not luck, that would get us to the other side."
Link narrows his eyes.
"If this is your way of saying 'have more faith in yourself'?" Link says incredulously, pulling his blanket snug. "Then you're losing it, old man. Your sailor sounds crazy."
The old man, honest on Cyclos, snorts, his free hand trying to muffle the rest of the laugh like they hadn't already woken someone up.
They stay there for a while, Link tracing the familiar patterns in the sky. Watching the ones the old man begins to trace with his finger, after a not-so-subtle nudge and a page out of the Rancher's book, puppy dog eyes and all.
"Could you tell me some of the stories?" This time Link definitely 'doesn't' keep his eyes on the stars. "We could swap some."
"I think I'd like that, but maybe tomorrow." The old man stretches, receiving a sharp elbow to the ribs. "I promise, but you're right, the Captain will throw a fit if we don't wake Vet for his watch."
Oh, he didn't. But he did, little sh—. "It's almost third watch anyway!"
"Shush!"
"It's almost third watch anyway, hypocrite," he whispers.