Work Text:
Link might be the “Hero of Hyrule”, but he was a traveler, first and foremost. To plant his feet in one place and be forced to stay there was akin to death—so long as he kept moving, his mind was clear, and all could be set right in the world. It was a truth he had known about himself since before he knew his name, and it was what had gotten him through the worst days of his “heroic” quests.
So, when his new elder brothers insisted the group stay in town until Hyrule’s illness had passed, he was ready to climb out of the nearest window and escape into the woods by himself.
“Whether you like it or not, you still have a fever,” said Twilight, sitting guard at his bedside. “We don’t want it to get worse.”
Hyrule grumbled and signed: As if I haven’t traveled sick before.
“I don’t care if you have. You’re not doing it this time.”
The inn’s beds were too soft and plush. He felt naked without his leather armor, without his arm guards to hide his traitorous left hand (the knot of the cloth he’d borrowed dug into his palm). The window was open to the sounds of outside, but it was like looking at a waterfall through a hollow reed—not nearly satisfying enough, given the full experience.
Hyrule heaved a deep sigh and raked his twitching fingers through his hair—his scalp was hot and damp, and his skull was beginning to ache. Twilight pretended not to be watching him, moving his sewing needle slowly and deliberately through his mending. Hyrule watched him right back with a pout furrowing his dark brow.
The needle moved in and out, in and out.
It was his own tunic in Twilight’s hands. The old, green linen had frayed at the hem, a matted fuzz at the collar and sleeves. He’d worn it for as long as he could remember, even when it fit him more as a dress. He remembered a grizzled old man putting it over his head one day and strapping it around him as he sternly lectured about the dangers of going nude in the wilds. He couldn’t remember where that was, or who the old man was, but it was the first he’d known of anyone looking out for him.
The needle moved in and out, in and out.
Twilight hummed a little, some song Hyrule didn’t know. It was contented but in a wistful sort of way, something like a lullaby.
Hyrule patted the bed to catch his attention: What song is that?
“Oh, just something from my village,” Twilight said, rocking his chair. “Want to hear it?”
Hyrule nodded, and Twilight cleared his throat, disclaiming, “I’m no singer, so don’t laugh at me.”
The needle moved in and out, in and out.
“To hearth and home, I go. The day has gone too slow. The sun is gone, and the work is done, and it’s to my hearth and home, to my home I go.
“To hearth and home, I go. To mend and patch and sew. The stars are bright, and the fields are ripe, and it’s to my hearth and home I happ’ly go.”
Hyrule felt himself sink into the pillows, his eyes closing to listen. Twilight had a nice voice, actually. It was nothing special, but it was nice.
“To hearth and home, I go. To set tomorrow’s dough. The crickets sing, our dreams to bring, and it’s to my hearth and home, to my bed I go.
“To hearth and home, I go. My heart, I love you so. The sun may rise over paradise, but it’s to my hearth and home I’ll happ’ly go.”
*
The day had been stormy the last time Hyrule saw the old woman, Baba Tera. She had been a skinny thing, naught more than a dead bramble-bush with spiderwebs for hair. Her bones had ached fiercely with the weather, but she still tried to keep good spirits.
“Look at you, so tall!” she’d crooned, smacking her toothless gums. “You might even be taller than me now!”
Hyrule had giggled—he was just a child, barely to a horse’s knee, still pudgy in the belly and face—and held the hot cup with both hands to bring it to her. The red paste smelled of mud and peppers, and she took it from him with trembling care.
“Such a helpful boy! Such a good boy! Will you help Baba with her feet?”
She took a handful of hot paste and rubbed it on to her wrists and elbows. Hyrule stuck his hand in it and smeared it inelegantly on the tops of her crooked feet. The scent stung his nose and watered his eyes, but he just sniffled and carried on—he knew too well what would happen if he wiped his face.
“Oh, that’s nice. Make sure to get the toes, too, okay?”
He had tried his best. The lumps and gnarls and paper-thin skin scared him a little, but he tried. Baba loved him, and he loved her with all his heart. He made sure to leave clear handprints on her knobby ankles and knees.
“Thank you, my little heart,” Baba Tera crowed, her arms red beneath her poncho. “Now go wash your hands! Go on!”
The rain was cold as it poured over the cave entrance, and he scrubbed and scrubbed until he could no longer taste the pepper on his fingers. He returned to his spot by the fire, perfectly situated between his Baba’s resting place and the things kept hot for them to eat and drink. His hearth, his home.
“Link-baby,” Baba Tera said, working her jaw (her eyes had shone bright in that moment, he remembered it so clearly), “will you make Baba a promise? You keep being a good boy, no matter what life throws at you, hm-kay? You keep being such a good, helpful boy, and someday, you’ll know when, you’ll find a good life to match you. Promise? Promise to be a good boy?”
Hyrule had taken a moment to put his hands in the right places—a finger to his lips, then a flat hand to the thumb of his fist. Promise.
By the next morning, she was gone.
*
A cold hand moved his hair from his forehead and felt at his face. Hyrule blearily pried his heavy eyelids open—Time’s expression switched immediately from concern to quiet contentment.
“Hello there,” he asked, his tone warm. “How are you feeling?”
Hyrule sucked on his fingers before rubbing his eyes… then remembered he didn’t have to do that anymore. Time didn’t seem to question it, waiting patiently for an answer. Hyrule put up two fists and weakly rattled them: I’m cold.
Time gave a hum and sat back in the rocking chair, reaching for something on the sidetable. The window behind him was closed against the night, and the air had gone thick and stuffy. Hyrule tried to sit up a little, but his body did not want to—his legs, his arms, everything complained. Time wrung out a wet cloth and put it across the boy’s forehead, careful to move his curls out of the way. The feeling of it there sent a wave of nausea through him. It curdled strangely against his spine and sickened his limbs, too. If he moved, he’d be sick. He sighed.
“Time?” Hyrule asked very quietly.
The old man startled, nearly dropping the cup he was holding. He very obviously tried to put a more neutral expression back on, but it wasn’t working.
“Y… yes?”
“ ‘M sorry.”
Hyrule’s voice was rough and lower than when he’d last used it.
“For what?” Time asked gently.
“Slowing us down.”
Time sighed and gave up trying to not look worried: “Listen, Traveler… you are not slowing us down. We have no time limit. There is no hurry. We can wait for you to feel better again.”
But a trickle of fear tinged Hyrule’s guilt: “ ‘S not safe to stay in one place.”
“Why not?”
“The Shadow…” he trailed off, his mind trying to make the connection. “Monsters… if they come…”
If they come for my blood, someone will get hurt.
“Oh, my boy,” said Time, resting a hand in Hyrule’s hair. “Don’t worry about any of them for now. You have eight brothers to take the load, and this place was already well-protected. Nothing is going to happen to you, nor us, nor anyone.”
He nodded his head once as if to punctuate the promise and reached back to the table again for the cup: “Here, a little something from our Champion. He said it would help settle the fever.”
Hyrule’s hands began to tremble as he took the cup, and Time held it with him, careful as he brought it to his lips. The tea was hot and yet cool—the sharp, floral flavor slid like ice water down his throat and leeched into his chest and stomach. He still felt cold, yes, but the chill mellowed as if to match what he now felt inside.
He settled back into the soft pillows again and sighed. Time took the cup and put it down, taking up the knitting that had been waiting in his lap. The wooden needles clacked quietly as they worked, and the flickering candlelight made the stitches seem to dance.
“What’re you making?” Hyrule asked, resisting the urge to move his hands.
“A sock,” said Time with a small smile. “I haven’t tried socks yet, and Malon assures me they’re awful toward the end.”
Hyrule watched the plump white figures circle as Time knitted around and around.
“What are those?” Hyrule asked sleepily.
Time grinned: “They’re called mumintrolls. I didn’t hear about them until I was grown-up, but the stories say they are little creatures who live in stovepipes and sometimes leave treasures around the house in return for letting them stay. Considering the amount of rupees I’ve found in random places throughout the years, it only feels right to thank them somehow. And so, I will try to make socks.”
Hyrule huffed, smiling as his eyes closed again without his say-so. The cool sensation in his body and the gentle clacking of Time’s needles slowly drifted him back off to sleep.
*
It was an old, bearded man who had swept him up from the bare ground on that winter evening. The ruins of a temple were barely visible in the dark, but his lantern was bright and warm and steady. His boney arm held Hyrule close and upright as they entered.
“What kind of idiot just lays on the ground?”
His gruff voice had echoed in the enclosed space. He continued berating him as he shuffled about, throwing debris aside to reveal his hidden things.
“Barefoot, too! How old are you? At your age, you ought to have shoes and trousers. Too many things bite in this goddamned world. How would you like snake bites all the way up to your ass?”
Hyrule had just stood there, shivering, barely registering what was going on. The old man scoffed and grabbed his arms, leading him further in. Something bubbled in a dark alcove in the far wall, and the lantern light shimmered on what looked like a bath of red sludge.
“Sit,” the man ordered. “Put your feet in, and don’t argue.”
Hyrule did. The sludge was actually solid rock, and the gently-bubbling water was hot against his frostbitten feet. The man threw an old, smelly blanket over his head.
“Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. It’s like you’re trying to die before—ugh, whatever.”
An old, worn statue looked down on the warm spring. Its hands were pressed together, the vague outline of bird’s wings sprouting from its back. It had no face anymore, and yet Hyrule felt strangely comforted by it.
The rest of the temple was in disarray. The colorful stones laid in mosaics had long been pried away to sell, leaving pocks in the walls that still showed the shapes of people standing and kneeling. The red and white brick of the place was worn by time and bore the grafitti of a thousand names scratched in, chalked on, or painted. Actually, there was a lot of paint. The names at the entrance became more rare within, replaced by little paintings of people walking in a line, fighting unfamiliar monsters, and chasing a black shadow. Hyrule stared at these as he warmed.
“Geez, if the others knew,” the old man grumbled. “I mean, I knew you were an idiot, but for heaven’s sake, Rule…”
Was this a memory, or a dream? Hyrule’s mind went blank, taking the temple with it. He was vaguely aware of voices nearby, of shaded sunlight, of the slight creak of the rocking chair. He was warm and sore and sweating, and his body felt both very solid and very far away. His breath was hot in his nostrils.
“Legend?” Hyrule asked, his feet still in the spring.
The old man stopped grumbling and turned to him with a young face, his bald head now shaggy with blond hair.
“It’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed on purpose,” Legend said with disgust. “I mean, I get it, but come on. Are you really gonna leave me with the rest of these guys?”
He felt he was being watched, and his vision slid to the winged statue over him. Where before there had been no face, now there were eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring down at him from the stone. He couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t move. He found himself terrified that she would eat him, and his awful mind filled in the details, giving her a gaping maw full of moblin teeth in too many rows.
The paintings on the walls began to move, to march, to fight. Little, white trolls scrambled out of holes in the bricks, trailing yarn from their tails.
Legend’s hand held his shoulders down against the bed.
“No, don’t go anywhere! You’re staying right here!”
Hyrule tried to push him away, tried to will his legs to kick. He realized suddenly that his eyes were open and burning. The sound of fighting trickled through the muffled remains of his dream, and he cried out wordlessly.
“Stop it!” Legend ordered. “They’re taking care of it! You stay right here!”
Hyrule’s body came back to him, and he shoved weakly at his brother’s face. Legend lifted a hand to bat his away, and Hyrule wriggled out of his grasp and sideways off the bed. The world tilted and twisted, but he managed to claw his way to his knees, searching the room for his sword.
“Hyrule,” Legend growled in warning. His footsteps came behind him, and strong arms wrapped firmly around his chest, pulling him back down to the floor. Hyrule kicked, and Legend wrapped his legs around him, too, holding him in place.
“No!” Hyrule tried to scream, but it came out as an airy whimper. “No! No!”
“No nothing!” Legend argued against his ear. “Just calm down!”
“No, no! No!”
His heart pounded in his chest, sick panic eating away at everything in him. His blood rushed in his ears, his cursed blood, his stupid blood! He could see the monsters outside in his mind’s eye—he could see them beating his brothers, laughing at their bodies on the ground, dragging them away to be fed to Ganon’s ashes, just in case.
Hyrule fought, but Legend was stronger than him. His desperate whimpers decayed into sobs, his body exhausted. He lay limp against the floor, the world blurry and boiling, with Legend’s arms and legs holding him tight.
“It’s okay,” he said against his ear. “It’s okay, just calm down.”
His chest rose and fell against his back. His heart thumped in his arms.
Hyrule whined in his throat: “Let me—let me help…”
“They don’t need any help, especially not from you right now. Look, you hear that? It’s already over. They’re coming back in.”
Sure enough, as Hyrule listened, there was weary but amused discussion under the floorboards. There was relieved laughter, the sound of drinks being poured, footsteps coming up the staircase. Still, his heart shuddered as the door to the room opened, and Sky’s head popped through. His eyes went from the empty bed to them on the floor.
“Oh,” he said, and his face crumpled into absolute worry.
He left the door open just a crack behind him and came to kneel beside Hyrule and Legend.
“Are you both alright?”
Legend nodded, his cheek rubbing at the back of Hyrule’s skull. He slowly let him go, and Sky put a gentle hand on Hyrule’s arm. His gaze slid down to his hand. His left hand. His exposed, tell-tale hand. Hyrule gasped and pulled it to his chest, covering it quickly with his other, and he stared, terrified, at Sky.
Legend shifted behind him and handed the borrowed cloth over him into Sky’s waiting palm. Sky gently pried Hyrule’s right hand away, exposing the still-healing brand of the full Triforce on the back of his left hand. Sky met his eyes, and his mouth tightened sympathetically. He looped the cloth around it and tied a secure knot, once again hiding it from view.
“It’s safe,” he said warmly, patting Hyrule’s hand. “There were only a few monsters out there, and the people here certainly know their way around a sword. They said you taught them?”
Hyrule’s jaw trembled, tears rolling over his nose and cheek and to the floor. He felt Legend’s grip tighten on his shoulder, Sky’s gentle hold on his fingers, and he breathed. He nodded very slightly.
*
The late springtime air was already hot, but it was fresh and alive. Hyrule breathed it deep and relished the tickle of pollen in his nose. The sunlight had never felt so good on his skin.
“I swear, only a week, and you lost your tan!” Wild giggled.
It’s only spring, signed Hyrule with a shrug. I’ll darken again soon.
Wild waggled his head and turned a little away: “Come on. I know you’ve been dying for a ramble.”
He had. Hyrule watched Wild walk ahead toward the edge of town, hearing Time and Twilight tending to Epona behind him, feeling Legend’s protective gaze linger as he relaxed in the shade near Sky. Wind, Four, and the Captain bickered on the inn’s porch, and the patterns of the townspeople moving in and around were slow and regular. Hyrule smiled and finally, finally, moved his feet.
***