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The night is crisp. Summer’s end in Wild’s Hyrule brings a chilly southerly breeze from over Hateno Bay, and Time can’t help the feeling that his soul would never be whole again.
The call of home had been absent for the two years he’d shared with the eight other heroes, but it was back, a soft hum in the background of his consciousness. That was the call of the Ghostly Ether, where his soul had resided since the day he’d died, with brief intermissions to train his descendant and take a long, long hike through time and space with this untameable pack of kings and vagabonds. He had wondered during this journey, in the quiet moments by the fire on nights just like this, if this quest would be the one to finally free his spirit.
Seems not. Vanquishing the hero’s foil was a step closer to the goal, he liked to think. But in life, he had made destroying evil permanently his goal. In this life, he’d found out he shared a spirit that was cursed to be reborn to fight evil forever. Ergo, he would never reach his goal, and therefore, he would haunt the world through the haze of the Ether until the end of time.
Heh, well that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
Time closes his eyes, breathes in the faint smell of fire in the air and feels the echo of explosions in the valley. A thin veil of residual smoke floats up above the trees separating the clearing from the fields, where eight younger heroes celebrate their victory. He had slipped away a few hours into the celebration to set up camp for the last time, starting a fire and setting out bedrolls for when his companions inevitably showed up, stumbling from exhaustion and hopefully not intoxication. Sure, they did have access to the creature comforts of Wild’s home, but naturally the heroes opted to spend their last night under the stars for old times’ sake. Now, he sits on a log, too still to be relaxed, watching the flames curl and disappear into the sky.
My age must be catching up with me, he’d cited as an excuse for his early departure.
He hadn’t been lying. He’s so incredibly old, and throughout the years, decades, centuries that he had spent wandering as an ever present observer, not allowed to touch, holes had formed in his memory. He frowns when he realises he’s forgotten even his later years with his wife. Had they grown old together, or had fate prematurely parted them? He has so little recollection of history between his true lifetime and now, the comings and goings of seasons, the rise and fall of kings.
So very few memories were still sharp to this day- Kokiri, Termina, Twilight.
He had been pleased with the latest incarnation of his body, not as young or nimble as he had been on his adventures, but making up for it in raw power, a power that he remembered well. It had rushed through his veins once, thrumming with the requiem of a fallen god. It had taken over his consciousness, used his body as a vessel and then painfully peeled itself off his face along with a few swathes of tender, youthful skin when its job was done.
This time, it was but an ember of how he’d remembered it. This body had served him well. It had allowed him to travel, to command and to protect. It was a shame he’d have to give it up and return to his spiritual prison, but living forever was the cost of dying with regret.
“Old man?”
Time looks up from his thoughts. The voice is warm, familiar, safe, and he’s going to miss it dearly, he’s going to hold the sound of all their voices close for as long as he can until the passing of time rips them from his grasp. Warriors reveals himself in the firelight with his signature smile and a flourish of his scarf. Time raises his eyebrow- he had gotten used to the Captain’s real smile over the course of their journey, soft and sweet, with a twinkle in his eye that made him look so young and full of love. The return of this practised, perfect, diplomatic expression suggested something weighing on the younger man’s mind.
Warriors doesn’t seem aware of his scrutiny as he sits down on his right side, picking off an apple leaf stuck to his tunic as he does so. He twirls it between his fingers, running a thumb along the serrated edge.
“Where were you while we were getting high?” the Captain banters, tilting his head to regard his friend.
“Oh, I’m too old for fun.” Time doesn’t miss a beat, traces of humour in his voice.
“Are you ever going to tell me how old you actually are?”
Time allows a beat of contemplative silence for dramatic effect.
“Captain,” he begins. “You are my most reliable comrade and closest confidant.”
Warriors leans in, intrigued on where this could possibly be going.
Time smirks. “Care to explain all the racket out there?”
Warriors sighs, realising his curiosity had fallen for the bait. “Wild’s insane.”
Time is mildly amused that there was anything in the group’s arsenal of chaos that could still surprise any of them.
“I knew that much. Elaborate.”
“The ghost of his Zora princess fiancée can heal him with her love or whatever, and he keeps blowing himself up with fireworks. Apparently, nobody else cares that it sounds like- like a battlefield out there. Or that he keeps- almost- dying.” He gestures with both hands, eyes wide as he relives the past hour.
On cue, a long whistle sounds as a burst of red sparks explodes in the sky. Warriors flinches, barely noticeable. Time touches a hand to his shoulder under the guise of helping himself up.
“Acknowledged. I’m making us some tea.”
Warriors nods appreciatively.
“So what’s on your mind?” the soldier asks, mostly to distract himself, staring at the apple leaf in his hands as Time divides an arbitrary quantity of dried chamomile flowers between two cups. He adds a pinch from another smaller jar to one of the cups, and then sits back down to wait for the kettle to boil.
The old man ponders the question. What had he been thinking about?
The eternal and inevitable passing of time. The fact that when portals opened to take them home, back to their lives and loved ones, his loaned body would vaporise and he would continue to exist as a formless consciousness until he was needed again, if he was ever needed again. He almost hoped he would be needed again. If he couldn’t rest in peace, he would rest in progress.
But would he finally disclose to his closest confidant his deepest secret? Wouldn’t the Captain be better off not knowing?
“Hero’s spirit,” he settles.
A real smile from Warriors, albeit brief. “It’s comforting knowing we aren’t alone, isn’t it?”
Time’s gaze darkens. “Truth be told, it breaks me, Wars. To see all of you forced by destiny’s hand to endure hardships well beyond your years, forged into weapons to stave off the darkness. But never for good. It always comes back.”
“But we always come back too, don’t we?”
“I wish you didn’t have to. I want to see the hero’s spirit at peace.”
“Heh. I don’t know if I deserve peace.”
Time raises an eyebrow. Warriors doesn’t meet his gaze as he focuses on the leaf, meticulously tearing away the lamina to expose its bare ribs.
“Haven’t you done enough good to die without regret?” he prompts.
“I have a lot of blood on my hands,” Warriors says with a wry smile. “Since I caused the war and all.”
“What logical hoops did you jump through to reach that conclusion?”
Warriors chuckles, and a smile twitches on Time’s lips. He knows all too well the tendencies of the heroes to assign blame to themselves.
“Okay, so, there’s this immortal sorceress who watches everyone forever. She falls in love with my stunning face and splits in two. The evil half opens the gates of hell and also resurrects Ganondorf.”
Time squints at him.
“She needs her eyes checked.” He chooses the playful jab over probing for more information. Warriors would share if he wanted to.
“You- you need your eyes- eye- checked,” Wars snaps, and they both cackle at that. He flicks the torn remnants of his leaf into the fire, watching as they curl and turn into ashes beneath the steaming kettle. Time takes the opportunity to finish making tea, and hands Warriors one of the cups, which he accepts gratefully, watching the flowers unfurl in the water. The smell of chamomile, and also something sweeter, rises in the steam.
“There wouldn’t have been a war if I didn’t exist,” he muses. “Ganon was sealed away in four pieces across time and space.”
“No seal lasts forever, Wars. You were the right one to defeat him at your time in history.”
“We sealed him back up the same way. He’s going to break out again eventually.”
“None of us have been able to permanently break the cycle. And, no offence to Sky, but at least you didn’t start it.”
Warriors wheezes, setting his cup down when it threatens to spill over, his hands shaking so much. Time claps him on the back, pleased with himself for knowing exactly how to make his brother smile, for real, lingering a little too long.
“I’m going to miss everyone,” Wars sniffs after his laughter dies down, rubbing what might be tears from his eyes.
“Gonna miss your kids?”
Warriors rolls his eyes, playfully. He’s well aware Time is joking- they’ve had this conversation before, laughing in the shadow of the awful truth of how young these heroes were. “They’re like brothers. It’s been two years, Time, we’ve been watching them grow up.”
He pauses to pick up his drink again. “And after all that, meeting all of you, I don’t even know my place in history.”
“Can’t say I can help you with that one,” Time hums. “Doesn’t help to speculate.”
“There’s something in my tea.”
“Silent princess petals. Helps quiet the mind.”
“Oh.”
Time smiles. “If I was going to poison you, Captain, I would’ve done so a long time ago.”
“Heh.”
Warriors sips at the mildly sweet liquid that’s rapidly cooling in the evening air, watching fondly as Time downs his tea in two gulps and starts eating the soaked chamomile flowers. Still a wild child of the forest. Clearly raised by a tree. He wonders if Time is maybe younger than his body looks. The blissful silence and warm drink slowly lull him into relaxing into a comfortable sense of security. He opts to not eat his rehydrated flowers, instead nursing his cup until it loses its warmth before setting it aside.
A sudden explosion, and Warriors immediately tenses, then shudders as the crackles of fireworks fizz away.
“The boys must be at it again,” he mumbles, breathing deeply in an effort to calm his racing heart. It’s not as bad as it used to be, he tells himself. He’s still in control. Ugh, he’d just been thinking of Time as a child, but here he was, scared of some fireworks.
“Want me to tell them off?”
“No, let them have their fun, they’ve earnt it.”
That was just like Wars, to totally disregard his own needs. It hadn’t taken long for the group to realise that the Captain’s narcissistic apathy was a front, hiding a deeply caring soul who would do anything to protect, to raise spirits. Time sets down his cup and rubs his friend’s shoulders gently, working out a couple of knots before running his hand up and down his back. Warriors shivers under his touch, the tension melting away.
“Mm, that’s nice. Can I come closer?”
Time opens his arms in invitation. Warriors shuffles up against him and swings his legs up across Time’s, pressing the side of his face against his broad chest. Time’s arms settle around his shoulders and knees, cradling him in something resembling a bridal carry. The Captain sighs in satisfaction, hugging his friend around the waist.
“Comfortable, princess?”
“Very, thank you. Your arms are comfy. Malon is lucky to have you.”
“You’re the only one who thinks that,” Time smiles.
“I’m sure she agrees with me, old man.”
“Don’t call me that, I’m only 35.”
“That’s what you want me to think.”
Another colourful explosion over the treeline. Warriors feels his muscles involuntarily tense, but Time is there, holding him close with one hand, taking his trembling hand in the other.
“You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We all have our traumas, Wars.”
“You’re not scared of fireworks.”
“No, no I’m not,” Time concedes.
Warriors can’t help but flinch when more colourful sparks light up the sky, followed by sharp bangs and crackles. Time soothingly squeezes his hand.
“But I was scared of the moon for the longest time.”
“Termina.”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get over it?”
“Time.”
“Of course.”
More fireworks over the treeline, gold and blue this time.
“They’re pretty…” Warriors tries to convince himself. All he can see is carnage. Wild’s joyful face as he runs through the sparks. Wild’s pained face watching over Twilight’s injured form. The dread in his heart as the Iron Knuckle transforms and he realises too late that they had been outmaneuvered by the enemy. The dread in his heart as a boy, about the same age that Wind is now at the end of their journey, signs his name and life away as he enlists for an army. The explosions of artillery fire. The screams of those he must’ve considered brothers falling around him. Wild’s emotionless face as he lies unconscious, eight concerned brothers looking over him, Legend distraught as Wars checked the fallen knight over-
Hah, Legend had thought he was dead, fucking idiot. It takes more than a swipe to the forehead to take down a hero, he should know that after five adventures.
Oh boy, did he love Legend. His perfectly inappropriate sarcasm, his stupid pink hair, the way he had a tool for every situation, everything about him. The way he had a heart of gold and a stoic yet unsuccessful commitment to trying to hide it. It almost brings him to tears every time they argue, because it’s just banter, they’re brothers, and there’s an undercurrent of love and trust that he’s all too sensitive to and it all feels so right, but good things don’t last forever so he holds on to that feeling as long as he can.
Legend feels like home. The Chain feels like home. Time feels like home, Time is protecting him. Time is strong. Wars doesn’t need to be strong right now. It’s okay, he’s safe, and Time’s touch is proof. Those explosions are from his brothers messing around. They’re smiling. They’re safe and having fun.
The fire had been slowly sneaking away to retire into the night. Time prods it back to life with a stick using his free hand. Warriors’s left arm is hanging limp now, the other resting across Time’s stomach.
“Sleepy?”
“Mm.”
“Falling asleep before Sky. You must be tired.” The faintest concern in Time’s voice.
“Hylia forbid a man be warm and comfortable,” Warriors grumbles, opening his eyes. “Did we ever figure out why he’s so sleepy all the time?”
“Maybe having your spirit reincarnated for centuries takes a toll on your body.”
“Or he’s just lazy.”
“Or that. Do you want to lie down? I can pull up a bedroll, I’ll sit with you.”
Warriors wordlessly and graciously accepts his offer, dragging a bedroll over and taking off his scarf before flopping on top of it. It's warm enough with the fire, and he would be woken up by the rest of the heroes later anyway. Time stands and stretches before settling down beside him, leaning on the log this time. Wars rests his head in his lap, and Time takes his blue scarf and lays it over his body, keeping him warm. The softness of the fabric and Time’s gentle, rhythmic touch lulls him into relaxing again.
Time watches. Warriors trusts him enough to sleep against him. He could cut his throat, even strangle him with bare hands, and Wars would be helpless to stop him.
Warriors trusts him with his life.
“Captain?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t know how old I really am inside. I grew up twice, and when I died, I stuck around to train the next hero. I lived for so long even after I died. I don’t think any of us will truly rest until the end of time.”
Warriors blinks slowly, struggling to process this information through the fog of sleep. Eventually, he speaks, not to ask but to jest.
“By Hylia, you’re not an old man, you’re a fossil.”
Time chuckles, a low noise in his chest. A genuine smile graces Warriors’s delicate features, the corners of his eyes creasing before he closes them again. Fireworks go off in the distance, and for once, Warriors doesn’t jump, doesn’t even open his eyes.
“Wars, never change, my friend.”