Archive of Our Own ^beta

Link cautiously raised his hand and extended his fingers toward the small creature. Still clumsy on his feet, he turned his snout toward him and opened his mouth. he had tiny teeth, short but sharp as needles, and Link shuddered as the jaw snapped shut on his fingers, pricking his skin.

However, the little Lizalfos didn't bite hard enough to hurt him. He opened his mouth again, releasing Link, and made a small, questioning noise as he looked at him. Link looked up at the adult, who was watching the interaction with all the diligence of a parent ready to prevent anything from harming his offspring. Link gave him a radiant smile.

"They're so cute!" The Lizalfos relaxed and nodded.

"Yesss. And in good healssss, ssssanks to you," he said with his hissing accent.

"Bah. For once I'm actually useful..." Sherr'she'k muttered behind them.

Link turned to the old Lynel, lying against the wall. He seemed more tired than ever, his single eye clouded with weariness. His scars seemed to weigh him down more than usual. He had spent days using his magic to maintain the room at a temperature almost as high as inside a volcano, so the Lizalfos eggs could complete their development and hatch. He claimed to be struggling to endure such heat, but Link knew that such magical effort had taken its toll. He himself had relieved him several times, so that the Lynel could get some rest, but Sherr'she'k was proud and arrogant and had trouble admitting that he needed help. Kret had to argue, using Link's magical training as an excuse. After all, the Lynel claimed to be his magic master, and what better way to improve than to assist him in such a unique task?

Sherr'she'k had yielded to Kret's reasoning, making it clear that he wasn't fooled. Thanks to their combined efforts, the three adult Lizalfos who had fled Death Mountain with eggs had been able to bring them to hatch, even though they normally had to be covered in molten lava.

A small Lizalfos tumbled from the nest and stumbled curiously toward the massive Lynel. Sherr’she’k raised a hand missing several phalanges towards the little one who nibbled it a little, before starting to climb on him, hooking his claws in his mane. The old Lynel softened, letting the baby climb him with a sweet smile.

Link chuckled until another baby clung to the tip of his hat with all his tiny teeth.

"Careful! You’ll ruin it, it's brand new!" he said, trying to gently wriggle free of the curious little one. It was the adult, Ssiss, who came to his aid by putting the baby back in the nest with a practiced gesture. Link took off his hat and tucked it into his tunic—a matching green, also new—then returned his hands to the babies, who were only too happy to nibble and inspect him.

Ssiss hissed something indistinct, and Link turned around. At the entrance to the cave, holding open the canvas that served as a door, stood Glog in all his idiotic glory. The bokoblin had a grin that revealed his crooked teeth, and he looked longingly at the baby lizalfos on Sherr'she'k's back. He ran his tongue over his lips, and Ssiss raised his crest in anger and warning. Glog had no right to enter, nor to touch the babies; he knew this perfectly well and thankfully didn't try to push the lizalfos's patience to the limit by advancing further into the room.

He turned to Link:

“Kret wants mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?” Link repeated.

“Yes, yes, Kret’s mushroom stew, yum yum!”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m coming.” With a touch of regret, he placed the baby in his arms in the middle of the nest. He nodded to Ssiss, who was still keeping an eye on Glog but seemed pleased that Link was taking care of keeping him away. As he passed, Link gave a small nod to Sherr’she’k. The old Lynel had dozed off and barely winked at him, while the baby Lyzalfos curled up in its mane for a little nap too.

He followed Glog out and almost shivered when the dry, hot atmosphere of the Lyzalfos nursery gave way to the usual cool humidity of the caves. He put his hat back on, hugging his arms tightly, and followed the Bokoblin as he pranced along the path through the gallery toward Kret's cave.

The massive Moblin was already ready to leave; he carried his saddlebags at his belt, and his large club leaned against the wall beside him. Two large wicker baskets lay at his feet, and Link hoped he could get Glog to carry the heavier one. When they both reached him, Kret turned to them and smiled, a smile Link returned warmly. The moblin placed his massive hand on his head and adjusted his hat. It was a little too big and threatened to slip over his eyes.

“I need to adjust that.”

“It’s fine,” Link reassured him, pushing his hand away. “I just need to grow a little more.” A chuckle rose behind them, and Link turned to face Sulyvan. The Hylian had arrived at the same time as the Lizalfos and had been patrolling the area ever since. He had even been to a Hylian village to bring back news and some food. He had offered to take Link with him several times, but Kret had always refused. Fortunately, Link had been able to help Sherr’she’k with the Lizalfos in return and hadn’t held a grudge against the Moblin for long.

He was curious about Sulyvan. There were usually no other Hylians besides himself in the caves of the region, and the man had started teaching him a few words of the Hylian language. Kret seemed suspicious of him, but Link didn't quite understand why, even though he trusted the Moblin who had protected and raised him all these years.

"Are you going out?" asked Sulyvan.

"Yes," replied Kret in a tone that brooked no argument.

"So are we," he said, pointing to Ess'e, one of the Lizalfos, who was following him. "We're heading south, but we can walk with you for a while."

"Are you still looking for another home for the Lizalfos?" asked Link. Inwardly, he hoped they wouldn't find a new territory right away. He hoped to see the babies grow up a bit.

"We're still looking. We'll be away for a few days, I think..."

"We're looking for mushrooms!" exclaimed Glog, brandishing one of the baskets.

"Haha, good hunting then," said Sulyvan, smiling broadly at the Bokoblin. "Before I leave, I wanted to give you something, Link."

"For me?"

"For him?" Kret repeated suspiciously.

"I went back to one of my old hideouts and found this," he said, brandishing a shield.

Link remained silent. It was a wooden shield with a large cross painted on it. It was still a little too big for him, but when he put the straps over his arm, he was surprised to find that it was a perfect fit and not too heavy. A touch of magic seemed to be woven into the wood's fibers. He recognized the sensation of protective enchantments, similar to those carried by his brand-new tunic. Smiling broadly, he turned to Kret hopefully.

The Moblin met his gaze and sighed. Then he turned to the Hylian and said,

"Where did that come from? I hope for your sake it doesn't get him into trouble."

"Don't worry, it fell off the back of a cart⁽¹⁾. And it's been lying around in one of my caches for years. No one will recognize it." Overjoyed, Link turned to Glog, who smacked the shield with his basket while laughing. Giggled with joy, he turned to Kret and breathed a thank you. The Moblin sighed again with a small smile, and their group set off to leave. Link managed to strap the shield to his back and grabbed one of the baskets, then stood beside Sulyvan.

"Thank you!"

"Well, you know how to use it, and it will be useful to you instead of rotting away in my cave," said the Hylian, squeezing Link's shoulder.

Reaching the exit of their caves, Sulyvan was the first to slip into the light. The others waited in silence, Link uncomfortably wedged between the rough wall and the creaking wicker basket. But the Hylian quickly returned and gestured before leaving. Ess'e followed him, then Kret, and finally, Glog and Link. Outside, he blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the ambient light. He didn't have the best nose, but he still made a point of sniffing the air, searching for any sign of danger. But the forest smelled as usual at this time of year: damp earth, dead leaves, and rotting wood.

Glog stepped over to a tree stump and sniffed it thoroughly, his muzzle curling up as if he disliked the smell. He almost lifted his loincloth to pee, but was stopped by a warning tap on the head: Kret blew at him, and the Bokoblin grumbled something as he moved away. That idiot Glog had almost left a trail indicating to anyone passing by that their home was here. It would almost be funny if he didn't make that mistake almost every time.

They set off, weaving between the jagged rocks to descend the hill riddled with their caves. Further on, Sulyvan waved goodbye and headed south, as planned, Ess'e at his heels. They both quickly disappeared from sight into the bushes, and Kret turned in the opposite direction. He started walking, club in hand, alert for any sign of danger.

Glog dashed after him without looking where he was going, and Link had to maneuver the heavy basket to avoid a thorny bush into which the Bokoblin had almost pushed him. A little annoyed with his friend, he followed them. The weight of the shield on his back was reassuring, even though his hands were full. They weaved for a while between the trees and bushes, and the only sound was their footsteps on the damp earth. Two trees rubbing against each other creaked in the distance; Link found this ominous and a bad omen, but he said nothing.

There was a sound of flapping and wings beating, and Kret froze, his face turned skyward, his club ready. It was just a small Keese darting between the branches. It disappeared quickly, and Link assumed it had taken refuge in a hole. Glog grunted at the Keese before setting off again.

Finally, Kret decided to stop. There was a small clearing covered in yellowing grass, crossed by a dead tree trunk. Thorny bushes bordered the clearing, and the ground wasn't too spongy. A little further on, between the scattered trees, a wider gap was visible, as if the forest abruptly ended, giving way to a field or plain. Kret put down his club, a message for Link and Glog to also put down their baskets. The Moblin straightened up and smiled at them, pointing to the ground near the large dead tree trunk.

Glog's ruddy face lit up at the sight of the clusters of mushrooms growing in the trunk's shade.

"I want more mushrooms in the basket than in your mouth, Glog," Kret warned him in a whisper.

"Yes, yes, yes! Kret's mushroom stew is the best; we need mushrooms for Kret's stew!"

"And me?" asked Link.

"You climb," said Kret, pointing the trees around them. Link left his shield with the baskets. Kret lifted it as if it weighed nothing and held it out at arm's length above his head. Link climbed the tree and slipped between the branches, making sure they could support his weight. He climbed until he reached the level where mushrooms grew directly on the bark. He took a small knife from his belt and began to detach them off their supports, trying not to damage them too much.

The morning passed in this way, between climbing and mushroom picking. After a while, Link found himself digging in the dead wood with a stick, searching for large white grubs. He placed them one by one in a jar straight from Kret's saddlebags, keeping a watchful eye on Glog to make sure he didn't try to snatch it and its contents. Link preferred it when the grubs were cleaned and cooked, but the Bokoblin had no such restraint: he could gobble them up raw—and loved it. But the grubs would be used to thicken the stew, or grilled on skewers. Link took their safeguard against the Bokoblin's appetite seriously.

He loved grub skewers.

There was a sound, carried on the wind, faint, still distant. Glog froze, holding a mushroom halfway between his open mouth. Kret, who was gathering the inner layer of bark fragments to make an infusion, slowly straightened up, his nose and ears to the wind. Link put down his staff and stood up from the tree trunk, staring in the same direction as the Moblin. He secured his jar and jumped to the ground, then climbed up Kret to perch himself on his shoulders.

They both stared at the gap between the trees leading to the plain. There was nothing at first. Then movement appeared, and the sounds grew more distinct—the clash of weapons and armor, the frantic running, the growls of fury.

Monsters.

And their prey, a Hylian running with all its might toward the cover of the trees.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kret breathed, whirling around to grab the handles of the two baskets.

Link almost got thrown off his shoulders and instinctively grabbed his ears. Kret didn’t even flinch in pain and simply wedged Link’s leg under his chin to prevent him from slipping again. Glog hadn’t wasted any time either: suddenly incredibly serious, the Bokoblin picked up the jar full of grubs and holding it tightly against his chest. He took one of the baskets that Kret was handing him, and the Moblin picked up his club.

In a few seconds, the three of them disappeared into the undergrowth, walking away without a glance from the tragedy unfolding further on.

Link suddenly realized that something was missing.

“Wait! My shield!”

“No, Link! We’ll come back later!” But the boy didn’t want to risk one of the monsters finding it. It was his shield! Sulyvan had given it to him! So he broke free from Kret’s grip on his leg and slid to the ground. The Moblin wasn’t fast enough to stop him.

Link ran to the clearing. Kret had long legs and had already covered a considerable distance through the woods, but Link was smaller and could slip more easily through the bushes. The shield was where he had left it, leaning against a tree. The monsters’ growls were now perfectly audible, and a cry rang out from the Hylian. Link lifted his head toward the uneven fight, likely lost before it had even begun: judging by the movement through the trees, he counted three monsters. Facing a lone, exhausted, and possibly unarmed Hylian, it was nothing less than a death sentence.

Something stirred deep within him. He didn't know many Hylians, but he knew he was one. Could he simply turn away from one of them like that, leaving him to certain death? He knew why Kret and Glog were running from the monsters. The news from the north that Sulyvan had brought back was not reassuring. Corruption was spreading, plunging the Mythos into madness, enslaving them to a cruel but unseen master.

The three monsters were lost souls. Nothing could restore their sanity and compassion. But the Hylian could be saved, and Link didn't hesitate any longer: he charged through the remaining trees, shield over his arm. The moblin that raised its axe before him was smaller than Kret—younger, less well-fed—but Link still felt the blow reverberate through his teeth. He winced but managed to fend off the attack. Behind him, the Hylian gasped in surprise. Having fallen to the ground during his escape, he stumbled to his feet and slipped between the trees, seizing the opportunity Link had given him.

The Moblin that Link had parried recoiled, shaking its head, foaming with rage around its fangs. It glared at the boy with a demented look, and Link bared his teeth in return, before swinging his shield to strike its knees. The monster retreated precipitously, making way for another, which Link reflexively parried. He pushed this one back as well and struck with the edge of his shield. This time he hit his mark, and the decrepit, filthy Bokoblin's legs were lacerated by the metal rim surrounding the shield. It screamed, and Link silenced it with a blow to the head.

Now rid of the Bokoblin, he had to turn his attention back to the Moblin, which was resuming its assault. He parried, his legs buckling under the force of the blows, but his shield and its enchantments held firm. Never in his training had he parried such powerful attacks. Kret was holding back, and Sherr'she'k was far from his former strength. Glog was a clumsy idiot who didn't know how to strike, let alone aim properly, and despite his superior strength, Link was smarter and usually managed to win their friendly little fights.

But the monster in front of him was striking with all its might. Fortunately, its axe was old and blunt and failed to pierce the wood of his shield. Link took advantage of the monster's momentary retreat to strike again at its legs and managed to land a blow on one of its knees. The moblin growled and raised its head, looking beyond Link.

Link berated himself for being an idiot, suddenly remembering there was a third monster, and whirled around, expecting to have to parry. But a completely different scene unfolded before him.

The Hylian had picked up a tree branch and was facing the third monster—a bokoblin just as thin and sickly as the other two. He swung the branch right into the monster's face, which growled and bared its teeth, its cheek scraped by the wood.

And behind it, in the forest, Kret's dark form suddenly appeared. He effortlessly stepped over the Hylian and swung his club across the corrupted Bokoblin's skull. It flew up and fell heavily back to the ground.

The balance of power had suddenly reversed. Link rushed toward the monster on the ground and struck it with the edge of his shield without hesitation. The monster froze, then collapsed. Link stared at it for a moment, confused. He had always been told that against a corrupted Mythos, there was no other choice. That only death could free it. But looking at this emaciated and dirty creature, he mostly had the impression of a huge waste.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, and turned around: Kret was facing the other Moblin, and the last Bokoblin, the one Link had left stunned on the ground, was already getting back to his feet. The Hylian held his staff firmly, seemingly hesitating as he watched Kret fight and the Bokoblin rising to its feet. Link, however, didn't hesitate: he struck the monster still on the ground to prevent it from getting up completely and, after a few blows, managed to inflict the same fate on it as on the other.

At the same moment, Kret smashed the other Moblin's skull, which collapsed like a shapeless mass to the ground. Silence returned, broken only by the erratic breathing of the Hylian who still didn't dare release his staff, staring at Kret as if he were about to strike him with his club as well.

A few seconds passed like this. Kret ignored the Hylian and sniffed the air, observing the surroundings. Link caught his breath and suddenly worried about not seeing Glog. But a quick inspection showed him the Bokoblin crouching in the bushes, its eyes wide with terror.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do, kid,” Kret suddenly snarled, turning to Link.

He knew he was in trouble: Kret only called him “kid” in that tone to scold him.

“Sorry,” he said, because it was the right thing to say. “But, I… I couldn’t let him get killed.”

“Glog and I could be infected!”

“I know! I’m sorry…” The three bodies chose that moment to suddenly disintegrate, crumbling into blackish-purple dust.

Kret stepped aside, careful not to touch it. According to Sulyvan, it took more than that to be corrupted by direct contact, and the corruption seemed less effective the further one moved from Death Mountain, but the moblin certainly wouldn’t take any risks.

Kret sighed and turned to the Hylian. He looked at the Moblin with incomprehension and finally lowered his stick.

“You have my thanks,” he said, bowing his head.

Kret shrugged. With the little Hylian Sulyvan had taught him, Link understood that these were words of thanks.

"I'm looking for help, and I think it was the Golden Three who put me in your path."

"I didn't understand a thing," Link said after a second.

"Don't look at me like that, I don't understand either..." The Hylian seemed to realize that none of them spoke his language. After a few moments of confusion, he continued:

"Would you be more familiar with the Calatian language?"

"Oh... yes," Link replied, unable to stop himself. He hadn't heard anyone speak like that in years. Since... before Kret found him. He didn't know if he would be able to understand everything or even reply, but it was worth a try. The Hylian seemed incredibly relieved and launched into his tirade, almost without pausing for breath:

“I’m looking for help. Princess Zelda has been kidnapped by the minions of the evil Ganon. He’s holding her prisoner within Death Mountain and threatening her with a fate worse than death. We must… we must find the Triforce. The princess has scattered its fragments, and without this divine relic, Ganon will only extend his influence over the world…”

“Okay,” Link replied, nodding.

“Do you understand what he’s saying?”

“He’s lost something. He needs help to find it.”

“Please… you’re just a child, but surely you know people who could help? I’ve never seen an uncorrupted Moblin. With that kind of power, surely they could stand up to Ganon…”

“Oh, Mythos don’t go north. Not to the mountain. It’s dangerous,” Link replied, stumbling over his words.

He hadn’t spoken the language in so long!

“So… Hylians? Do you know any?”

“Sulyvan, but he’s gone.”

The Hylian slumped, as if the news had crushed him.

“But I’ll look! I’ll find what you’ve lost!”

“What? But…”

“Link?”

“I’ll go find what he’s lost! It’s just that it’s in the direction of Death Mountain, so you can’t come.”

“Absolutely not, kid. I’m not leaving you alone…”

“I can defend myself!” he said, raising his shield to show him. “And I’ll hide, I promise. If I see any monsters, I’ll find another way!” Kret sighed deeply. He looked at the Hylian as if he might have other answers.

He was a very old Hylian, tangled in robes soiled by his long run. His white hair escaped from the scarf tied around his head, and wrinkles dotted his face. This elder needed rest. He wouldn’t be able to follow and guide Link in his search. But Link was small, fast and stealthy. He could surely find the… pieces of the tri-thing without being seen by the monsters.

Kret sighed and grumbled, then crouched down to Link's level. He unhooked one of his saddlebags from his belt and attached it to his own. Link knew what was in that enchanted bag: a blanket, a knife, a water bottle with clean water, a flint, and some tinder.

“Kret…”

“You're not leaving empty-handed.”

“I know about mushrooms and edible plants.”

“I know.”

“I know the markings on trees and rocks that indicate where the mythos is.”

“I know you do.”

“I… I'll be careful.”

“I know, kiddo.” Kret quickly hugged him. He gave him a few more items from his other pouches, as well as the jar containing the grub.

“You’re just a child…” the Hylian said, his eyes wide. “You don’t even have a weapon…” Link shrugged.

“A few hours’ walk north lies the cave of a Hylian hermit. We call him Old Vava,” Kret explained.

“Okay.”

“His cave is marked by signs. He can give you shelter for the night.”

“Okay,” Link repeated.

“Be careful. And if you don’t find anything… don’t forget the way back.”

“I promise.” Link looked at the Hylian, who was staring at him with a horrified expression. Glog, in his bush, gave him a small goodbye wave. He let Kret squeeze his shoulder a little longer, then set off across the plains towards the north, searching for what the Hylian had lost, his heart trembling with both excitement for adventure and terror of the unknown.

▲▼▲

A few hours later, Link finally entered Old Vava's cave. His knees were scraped after a fall. He hadn't been able to avoid all the monsters—there were so many to the north—and had had to fight again. His shield weighed heavily on his tired shoulders. Old Vava didn't ask too many questions, letting him fall asleep curled up in his blanket in front of his fire.

In the morning, he listened Link tell his story without comment, then explained that the Triforce was a divine and legendary artifact that could grant wishes if it were fully reassembled. Link then began to think that this quest might be more complicated than simply sneaking past a few monsters.

Old Vava rummaged through his chests and returned to Link with a wooden sword.

"It's dangerous to go alone, my boy. Take this sword, so that at least my heart less heavy seeing you go towards danger." Link took the sword. Its wood resonated with the same kind of magical enchantment that made his shield stronger than it should have been. It was a precious gift. He would prove himself worthy of it.

"Thank you," he replied gravely.