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Cold wind whistles over the clean sheets of snow. Thousands of tiny snowflakes fall over themselves as Twilight's legs are pulled through them, leaving two neat lines in the field.
The mountains are quiet in a way which makes Warriors wonder to what end he is dragging Twilight around. Perhaps they'd be better off if he took a quick forever-nap and woke up where he was always headed, anyway. But that wouldn't be fair to Twilight, who has people to love and care about. Not that Warriors doesn't have people to love—oh, nevermind. This is a silly sentiment and he ought to end this thought before it gets too long.
"Christ," he huffs, "you're heavy."
"Rude," Twilight croaks.
Warriors heaves him up higher. Twilight's right arm is hauled on Warriors' shoulders, and he keeps slipping off.
He cuts Twilight some slack. "Snow's not helping, either," he says, shooting a glance to the sky. The weather is mild for the mountains. The wind is lackluster and snow comes down ten snowflakes at a time. They're lucky in this regard. In only that regard.
"No, guess not," Twilight replies. Warriors can only assume he's humoring his attempts at conversation because it's better than ruminating on the arrow through his leg. "You're shivering."
Unfortunately, he's correct. This is because Warriors has wrapped his scarf around Twilight's leg and is also terribly dressed for this climate. Twilight would be worse off, but his body seems to be immune to temperature. One of The Three's small mercies which they are always willing to expend on Twilight. For whatever reason.
"We could take a break," Twilight continues.
"You're actively bleeding," Warriors says.
"'M fine, it's nothing."
It's not nothing. It's a puncture wound through a vessel or an artery or one of those things he ought to know. The red leaves a bright smear against their footprints. Warriors' legs go up, down, up, trudging through snow. He is tired, and his hair keeps falling in his face.
Warriors doesn't dignify him with a response, because they both know he's just told a direct lie.
Somewhere, a fox patters through the forest. He hears Twilight's heavy breathing mixing with his own. The village is far, and he needs to stick it out until they reach it. That's the end he is reaching for. Twilight will be taken off his hands, because all he does is keep the middle intact between the beginning and end. Deal with the hard parts.
"You got a potion?" Twilight asks. His eyes are barely open.
Warriors readjusts Twilight so that he can shuffle through his bag. His hands reach cold glass, and he stumbles trying to pry the cork off the bottle. "Only— only half of one," he says, giving it to Twilight. "Don't drink it all."
Twilight drinks it all, tipping it upside-down. He coughs. "Spare me your rationing, Captain, 'kay, 'm dying over here."
"It's a long way to the village," he says, "we can't waste resources."
"What did I just say about rationing," Twilight mumbles.
"And you're not dying," Warriors continues.
Out of the corner of Warriors' eye, Twilight rolls his eyes. "Are you even hearin' me?"
"Hey," Twilight murmurs.
They are further down the mountain, now. It is no less cold. Warriors occupies himself with thoughts of campfires and blankets. His hands shake so violently it's embarrassing. He must be an awful sight, tired, bruised, barely seeing eyes. He might even look worse than Twilight, who can currently only move one leg.
"Hey, are you sure you know where you're going?"
"Don't doubt me," Warriors replies.
Twilight attempts a shrug. "Been a while."
"The trip is a while."
They are always moving. He is not afforded a stop. A dull ache ping-pongs up and down his legs. Another settles in his shoulder, from where he is holding Twilight up. His pain can't possibly be worse than Twilight's, but it makes him feel better to focus on. Keeping track of all his body parts makes sure he doesn't leave his lung or liver behind on accident. Even if they hurt.
"Yes," Warriors says. "I know where I'm going."
Eventually, Twilight gives. He dips suddenly, when they've moved into the forest, and spread-out trees start reaching higher and higher.
Warriors holds as tightly as he can, and tries to guide him down to the ground. "Christ, Christ," he mutters.
Tilting Twilight to his side — still conscious, but barely — he checks the wound.
His scarf is soaked through with blood. "Christ!" he yells.
"Quit your yellin'," Twilight manages. His eyes blink open, but he slams an arm over his face like it's too bright and Warriors is his mother, urging him to get up for school. "Didn't you deal with worse than this in the army?"
"It— it was Cia," Warriors says. He says it as a half-laugh, like this is any time to be reminiscing. He grabs another potion and essentially forcefeeds it to Twilight. The consequences of downing too many potions without a meal is going to come up on them later, but the priority is getting Twilight out alive. "People died when they were meant to. You didn't—didn't see infections, or, or blood loss. Just explosions. Sacrifices."
"That's…" Twilight tries, "that's damn stupid."
"It was a pleasant war, all things considered," Warriors says, because he's been getting into lying recently.
Twilight barrels on. "No one's… meant to die anywhere. Or any time, mind you."
"Sure, Twilight," Warriors breathes, "tell me something I don't know."
"You could make up stories," he rambles, "I'd say I went out in a blaze of glory, or— or huddled 'round some kid I protected from some monster. That'd make it back to my… family, or something, and they'd cry and say 'he did what he wanted', but—"
"You really shouldn't waste your breath," Warriors says, like that's going to stop him from talking.
"—I'm gonna die—"
"You really shouldn't," he repeats.
"—falling off a horse, or some stupid shit like that."
Warriors does a cursory look through his bag to reach the same conclusion he reached two hours ago. Two red potions, little water, and less food. The village is not far. Maybe.
"Not here, though," Warriors says, absentmindedly. He pulls the scarf tighter, tight, tight. Like he could squeeze the blood out. He could fix everything, if he just pulled tighter.
"Shit," Twilight hisses.
Warriors ties the scarf off and pulls Twilight up again. "Calm down," he says.
They move slowly. The snow is thick.
"I'm not the one with veins popping out of his skull," Twilight replies.
He thinks he might be hungry. But the idea of it makes him nauseous. His heart thuds dully in his throat — if he ate anything, it'd turn into acid and kill him. "I'm not the one getting existential. Come on, we have to keep moving."
"Tryin' my best," Twilight says. His good leg — his left leg — stumbles through the snow. There's less of it on the ground, now that they've reached the forest. Small mercies. "I almost died, didn't I? Let's take a break."
"No," Warriors responds, like Twilight's asked them to start sledding.
This mountain might be endless. They keep moving.
"What a workout," Twilight breathes.
They are barely further. This pace is going to kill them. More importantly, this pace is going to kill Twilight. He tries to up the speed every once in a while, but Twilight starts to wince with every step when he does that. Warriors thinks he might have to make some sacrifices in Twilight's comfort to make sure he gets out alive. Warriors thinks he should have made that decision a while ago.
They come to the end of the forest. There's a slope downhill to their left, but they're left right at an edge, overlooking the rest of the mountain. He can see smoke in the distance. Close. They're close.
Sunset takes backwards glances at them as it trails under the Earth. They have some sunlight left. Not enough. Come on. Get it together.
"It's beautiful," Twilight says. "I'd die here if I wanted to."
Sure. "Quit losing your facade on me, farmboy," Warriors replies. He chugs them both along. "That's what dying men do."
Twilight laughs. It's a terrible, forced thing. Like he does it only to prove he still can. "Guess you're plannin' on living forever," he muses.
Warriors almost stumbles. "Pardon?"
A finger comes to tap at his cheek, twice. "Does that thing ever come off?"
"You're delirious," he says, shoving Twilight's hand back down.
"No, 'm very lucid," Twilight says. "Come on, Captain. What are you like under there?"
"Under where?"
"Ha."
Warriors continues walking, if at least one of them is going to stay committed to getting off this mountain. "I'm… me," he replies. "What else do you want?"
Twilight stays quiet. They continue on like that for a couple minutes.
Warriors wonders if maybe the Gods are watching, and they thought it'd be funny for him to have to escort Twilight personally down a mountain. He hasn't gotten to making a ranking of people in their little group of Links he'd like to escort personally down a mountain yet, but—well. Twilight wouldn't be high.
It's not personal. Maybe. Well, they're both the same hero reincarnate. Maybe it is personal.
It's just— maybe he just doesn't like Twilight. Or maybe Twilight just doesn't like him. He's not sure of it yet.
The snow has stopped. It's not any warmer.
"Don't lie to a man on his deathbed," Twilight says. Warriors takes a minute to remember what he's referring to. "Who'm'I gonna tell, the Gods? Like they care."
"You're not dying," Warriors pushes.
"Indulge me," Twilight says.
He doesn't.
Minutes later, down the mountain, Twilight says: "What if I say please?"
They are moving faster. Twilight is muffling his winces and they both pretend to not notice it. Warriors keeps his grip on Twilight, but he can't feel his fingers, so who knows how well he's holding on.
Warriors was silly to think he'd drop this topic. "Gods. I— well—"
Twilight really must be delirious, if he's asking questions like these. Like he cares. Your mind gets fixated on these things, when you're dying. Not dying.
"—everyone's a different person, depending."
"Depending?" Twilight questions.
"You know."
He squints. "Sure."
Warriors was a different person three years ago. He's a different person always. He's always hiding in himself. He's always carrying someone down a mountain. Always with a little sticker on his hand, something placed by the Gods when he was born. He didn't ask for it, and he thinks that might make him a worse hero.
The two of them, handpicked from all the kids in Hyrule. The Gods better know something they don't, or he's going to think they made a mistake.
Here's the reality of it: Twilight took that arrow for him. Obviously.
There's something Warriors'll never be, not really, not ever. He won't be a hero, something personal, like Twilight will be. He'll be that capital-H Hero that wins wars and keeps going in battle when soldiers start dying. It's necessary. He's not wrong for it.
But the reality of it—he'll never be Twilight.
It's very possible that he was born with something missing from the very beginning. The Gods traded it for the Triforce.
"So sue me for being a different person for different dependings."
It's almost like Twilight considers it. Then he says, "You're not makin' any sense."
Of course.
"No," Twilight says, later. Voice hoarse. It's getting darker. Evening creeps past them. "you are."
Warriors doesn't reply.
"Sorry."
"What's," Warriors tries to say, then coughs. "What's so interesting about me, anyway?"
Twilight's head lolls up and down. The mountain has plateau'd. They're off it now, essentially. Good. Warriors has exhaused the last of the potions, and Twilight probably couldn't take any more, anyway.
He's going to need a new scarf. And he really did like that one.
"Dunno," Twilight replies.
They make it. Obviously.
That was never the point.