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The letter comes stamped with the royal seal of Hyrule, but the wax is nothing fancy; not like what Wild has seen in Warriors' time. He knows who it is from at once, and snatches it out of the mailman's hands as soon as it's produced. He halfway expects to hear juvenile teasing from Wind about it, but a glance to his side reveals that Wind is busy reading his own letter, which is so long that it could have been bound as a book.
The seal is hard but not brittle. It can't have been more than a few hours since the letter was posted. Wild grins and presses it open.
To my loyal Link,
I hope your battles have not brutalized you too badly since I saw you last.
Wild rubs at his scalp, which is still tender after that awful encounter with the wayward club of a moblin. As he draws his fingers out of his hair, a number of long, pale strands come with it. He grimaces, shakes them onto the ground, and continues reading.
I know you cannot promise me your time until this journey comes to a close. However, you did ask me to keep you updated on the rebuilding efforts in Hateno, and I am pleased to tell you that the clay deposit to which you directed Bolson during your last appearance in our land has proven fruitful.
Thus, I am delighted to extend to you—and your crew of heroes, of course—an invitation to the first Pottery Festival of Hyrule since the Calamity took place! Enclosed are the appropriate details.
I hope to see you there, Link, though I understand if you cannot attend.
Yours,
Zelda
Zelda is always so formal in these letters. It's so at odds with the unguarded version of her that Wild gets to see these days.
In the beginning of Zelda's time with Wild—as himself, after the end of the world—she had been so nervous around him that she spoke exclusively in the royal family's formal rhetoric. Until he offered her a place in his home, he didn't realize that she knew how to talk like the common folk. She had only accepted his hospitality after she began to fear that the generosity of the stable housing her was wearing thin.
It hadn't been, but Wild will never regret letting her in. Zelda feels the same, if her private reticence to see him leave with the other Links is anything to go by.
On the day he had been sucked into that fateful portal, she had torn up the nation looking for him. When he came back, it had been a month for him and a week for her. That night, finally alone after the Chain had been set up with lodgings in the nearby stable, she had kissed him for the first time.
Wild had drawn back, completely shocked. Zelda had apologized, then, tears spilling over her face even as she soaked them with her sleeve.
"I don't understand," Wild had said, touching a hand to his mouth.
Through her tears, Zelda began reciting: "Kissing is a form of affection-"
Gently, Wild punched her in the arm. "You know damn well that's not what I'm asking." Zelda laughed wetly, seemingly despite herself. "What did you mean by that?"
Zelda hugged herself. Though she was the taller between the two, she suddenly looked so much smaller than Wild that he ached with the desire to hold her. Wild held back, though, knowing that touching her now would only distract her.
Finally, she spoke, the words tumbling out all at once: "I don't know. I apologize, that was incredibly rude of me. I just missed you."
"I missed you too. I'm here, I promise. It's okay," reassured Wild.
"Not for long."
"No," Wild agreed. "I can't help where the Goddess takes me."
So aggrieved was Zelda's sigh that the hair on the back of Wild's arms stood up. "I wish I knew a damned thing about any of this. She's been so fucking silent since I reconstituted."
Wild nodded sympathetically, reaching out toward the space just above her arm. She nodded; he wrapped her up in his arms. They were so similar in size that his chin rested snugly on the slope of her shoulder.
This part was familiar: holding her like a bulwark against the unfairness of the world. If nothing else, Wild could do this for her.
"I've lost you," murmured Zelda into his shoulder. Her voice trembled.
Wild shook his head. The movement brought more of the scent of her into his lungs, warm skin and clean hair and the floral perfume of her soap. Plain and entirely her; who she finally gets to be.
"I'm right here, Zelda."
"It's been so long without you," Zelda whimpered into his neck, and Wild understood. This wasn't about being gone for a week, or about his new adventure. It was about ten thousand years of mindless, unheeded need.
Wild wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and brought one hand up to stroke through her hair. "I'm here. I'll be back. I promise."
Zelda shuddered, uncomforted, and began to weep bitterly into his shoulder. Wild rocked on his heels in tandem with the faded ghost of his mother.
Zelda, always too perceptive for her own good, pushed away from him. "You don't have to-"
"It's okay," Wild reassured. "You know that remembering them isn't what hurts." It's the forgetting, he left unsaid. Zelda heard him anyway. She came back to him and let him pour out what he had for her.
Zelda's invitation is bittersweet. Wild has absolutely no idea when the next portal will appear or where it will take them. It feels so cruel to dangle normalcy in front of him like this, but he knows Zelda does it with good intentions, and he swallows it down.
It's not that Wild dislikes being with the Chain. In many ways, being among these heroes is the most understood he has ever been. It's just that he had a life, before.
Wild should be used to missing who he is around people he can't see anymore, but he isn't. Even so, he does his best to live in the moment with the others.
Wild knows that one day, he will miss who he gets to be around the Chain, too.
Of course, it's right as his brooding has kicked into high gear that a portal opens before them, in front of the mailman no less. The tug is instant: a full-body lurch in its direction. Around him, the Chain trembles like a cluster of birches in a stiff breeze. Suddenly so delicate in the face of the elements.
The process of packing up for the next leg of the journey has become mindlessly routine. Everything becomes simple.
They file through, one by one, and the ground shifts to meet them. Wars is close at his back.
On the other side, the scent of the air is immediately familiar. Wild's shoulders drop before he realizes he's moving as he breathes deeply. When he opens his eyes, he acquaints himself with his surroundings.
They've stumbled out of the portal on the shores of Nirvata Lake, only an hour's journey from Hateno Village. It seems the stars have aligned to give Wild something good after all. He sends a brief prayer of thanks to the goddess, still only halfway a believer after remembering Zelda's fight with her powers, and resolves to make it to Hateno before he's ragdolled through time again.
When he turns to face the others, they're all watching him expectantly—except Four, who is laying flat on their back and blinking at the sky like it's personally offended them.
"We're only an hour out from Hateno," Wild starts, and the group transforms before him from scattered to resolved. Except Four, which is understandable, really. "Can we?"
Time chuckles. "You didn't have to ask." Wild scuffs at the ground with his boot.
The group takes a few minutes to get their bearings, stretching and re-packing their things—all except for Four, who remains grounded, and Wild, who can't be still for very long.
Wars is done with his pack first. Wild can tell because he's resumed his occupation as of late, which is hovering around Wild like he's going to break. Wild isn't sure how to feel about it. Wars' hands, always so sure and steady, become strange and fidgety with the hilt of his sword when Wild is nearby.
Four's emergence from Floor Time signals the group to converge into marching formation. Rulie hovers close to Four, checking in, until Four waves him off, rolling their blue eyes.
Ordinarily, Wild can pass an hour on the road no problem. He fucks around on his slate, talks to the group, and can generally entertain himself in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, the hardest part of a normal march is how close the others want to keep him. It chafes on him to be chastised for dashing off toward something interesting.
Today, Wild can't fucking stand the wait. He joins Wars at his spot leading the charge, who regards him with poorly concealed surprise, but says nothing. Wild attempts to occupy himself with his slate, and notices the date in one corner of the screen. He performs the mental conversion between the common calendar and the system the Ancient Sheikah used—the lengths of their days were the same, thank the Goddess—and fishes out Zelda's letter to compare.
The pottery festival Zelda invited him to was today!
Wild triple-checks the dates. Everything aligns.
Wars nudges Wild's shoulder. "What's going on?"
Wild feels every eye in the marching order snap to attention on them. "Zelda's letter was inviting us all to a pottery festival in Hateno."
A series of sympathetic groans rises from the Chain. Missing out on one's own life has become a very familiar feeling—even before the beginning of this adventure.
Wild delights in being able to correct them: "No, no! It's today! We can go!"
Intrigued chatter breaks out among the others.
"Is it okay to take a break? We're here for a reason, after all. What if civilians are injured because we're fucking around?" asks Wars, fingering the hilt of his sword.
Wild turns his authentically heartbroken face upon Wars, who visibly falters. Wind takes his cue and does the same, pouting his bottom lip and clasping his hands together pleadingly.
"You're both dirty little cheats, you know that?"
Wind giggles mischievously. "It's not cheating to exploit your many weaknesses, Cap!"
The Chain rolls into a Hateno absolutely decked out in banners and decorations boasting the first Hyrule pottery festival in over a century.
Wild breaks out into a grin at the sight of his home. The streets are bustling with more people than Wild has seen in Hateno since its inception.
Wild has only been back to Hateno Village with the Chain a handful of times. A non-insignificant amount of gawping follows them. It rankles the faint part of Wild that recalls proving himself at every turn.
Then Zelda parts the crowd like something out of a legend, and Wild can't bring himself to care about the staring.
She's walking at a measured pace, maintaining appearances. Wild has no such qualms, and dashes forward to lift her up into his arms and spin her around. She giggles and shrieks like a madwoman before remembering her circumstances and lightly pushing at him to put her down.
He dutifully obliges her, still holding her tight around the waist.
The hum of whispers around them rises. Zelda makes an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat. Wild steps back, still hovering nearby, and regards her properly.
Zelda's eyes are shadowed, but the depths of her exhaustion are concealed by makeup. Her short hair is plaited and pinned back, but frizzing slightly around the edges in the heat of the day. Her clothing is short-sleeved and practical, but obviously of fine make—he remembers her commissioning this shirt soon after her return from draconification.
Wild's mind flashes to the intricate brocades and gold cord of Wars' time. Finery indeed.
"I can't believe you made it," Zelda says lowly, leaning in close to avoid speculation on his peculiar absence from the villagers. Wild shivers.
"I'm as surprised as you are," he says, soft around the edges. "Show us around?"
Zelda wrings her hands. "I can't," she murmurs apologetically. "I have an itinerary. I could take only you and they'd understand, but not all of you."
Wild nods. "I get it. Find me when you're done, okay? Hopefully we won't have been snatched away by then."
Zelda's face sours. Wild reaches for her hand and murmurs, "You know I don't want to leave you alone."
Zelda blinks hard, refusing to cry in front of the crowd, and swallows. Her voice is tight when she says, "Enjoy the festival, Link."
"I'll try to keep the heroes from absolutely destroying every pot in the vicinity."
Affronted, Zelda warns, "You'll be paying for all of the damages if they do!"
Wild blanches. "I will keep the heroes from destroying every pot in the vicinity."
Zelda's resulting grin is everything Wild needed. She gives his hand a squeeze and follows the well-dressed festival organizer with her head high; even diminished in the face of the Calamity, royals have their duties.
The gathering crowd begins to disperse. Wild stretches and turns around to corral his band of heroes.
Hyrule, Four, Legend, and Twilight have vanished. Wild hears no shouting, so they can't have done much in the few minutes Wild wasn't looking.
Sky is staring at Wild like he's never seen him before. Time is making a bemused face, like he knows something Wild doesn't. (Rude.) Wind is giggling into his hand. Wars' expression is like stone.
Wild looks down at his shirt, but finds it as clean as it was an hour ago. He cranes his neck to check his back. "Did I get something on me?"
Time laughs. "No." He conspicously does not elaborate.
Sky does. "Are you and your Zelda together?"
Wild gestures vaguely, scrunching his face. "Kinda."
Wars rolls his eyes. His shoulders are tight. "Can we get a move on?"
Wind, fidgeting with his shirt, nods emphatically. "We never get to do anything fun!"
Everyone softens a little at that. Wind is loosed upon the festival with strict instructions: seriously, don't break anything.
Time and Sky break off to find the others, leaving Wild alone with Wars, who has not stopped acting like someone pissed in his honey crepes.
The number of unfamiliar civilians must be getting to him. Wild links arms with Wars and pulls him forward. The ice of him cracks and Wars allows himself to be led through the market.
At least fifty different artisans have assembled little stalls, each decorated with the fruits of their labours. Necessities like dishware, jugs and pots are elevated with intricate glazes and painted scenes of the wild land. One potter even has a limited Kass-themed collection, which comes with hand-copied transcriptions of his most popular tunes.
Wild mentally marks a number of potential artists to revisit. His meager collection of dishware has become heavily chipped with use; he had picked it up when Zelda came home from Hyrule Castle.
Wars stays close to his side the entire time. Eventually, linking arms becomes an annoying jostle, so Wild slips his hand into Wars'; he stops short as they're moving between stalls.
"What's wrong?" asks Wild.
Wars scrutinizes their joined hands like they'll grow mouths of their own and explain themselves. "Nothing."
Wild searches for cracks in Wars' armour. The set of his lips is firm and unyielding. The furrow of his brow reveals discomfort, but with what?
Wild draws his hand back. "If you don't want to touch me, just"—Wars interrupts him mid-sentence to snatch his hand again, and the rest of Wild's words come out weak and uncertain—"say so."
"No, it's just- won't your girlfriend be uncomfortable?"
Wild makes a face. "Didn't you hear me say we're not really dating?"
"That really is load-bearing."
Wild pulls back to cross his arms again. Wars' poker face cracks, but he pulls it back together before Wild can see what's underneath, to his frustration. "Can you not take me at my word?"
"I just don't want to mess things up between you two."
"It won't, because she doesn't care who I touch—it's not like that." Wild pauses, chewing on his words, before continuing, "Why would it matter so much if we were dating, anyway?"
Wars frowns, reticent, but he at least has the decency to look guilty about keeping his damned mouth shut. Wild scrubs his eyes with his palms. "It's not like you're trying to date me, so it shouldn't matter at all."
Wars, with the countenance of a man who had just swallowed a lemon for fun and was regretting it, nodded.
Whatever in the goddess' name was going on, it wasn't Wild's problem. Wars could talk to him if whatever was bothering him continued to do so. "Can you make up your mind about holding my hand? We haven't even seen all of the sculptures yet. I saw one that looks like Wind's face."
Wars snorts despite himself. "Yeah, alright." He moves into Wild's space again, linking their fingers, and the tension in the back of Wild's neck dissipates.
"See, was that so hard?"
"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Wars sniped good-naturedly.
That night, to Wild's relief, a portal does not appear. He and Zelda empty their linen closet to supply the Chain with all of the comforts of sleeping in a house that they can provide; it isn't much, since it's only the two of them at the Hateno house, but the Chain is immensely grateful.
Four, who is still slightly ill from the portal, has been granted the dubious honour of taking the couch, while everyone else dukes it out for room on the floor. The shuffle of unfolding bedrolls and blankets being distributed is a pleasant soundtrack to Wild's view of the proliferation of stars above his head.
In some eras, the stars are faint pinpricks on the massive cloth of the sky. Here, under the light of his home, the endless expanse of sky is densely speckled with hundreds of thousands of sparkling gems.
Behind Wild, the door closes very gently. Only Wars and Zelda, so embroiled in their respective courtly habits, are so intentionally silent in their entrances. Wild cants a glance over his shoulder and finds Zelda. A strange twist of relief and disappointment pulls at his throat.
"You're here," she breathes, like she can't quite believe it.
"Didn't you see the gaggle of men that follow me everywhere I go?" Wild jokes, and is rewarded by the lonely distance on her face cracking with laughter.
Zelda takes her place next to Wild. She swings her feet, bare and free in the evening air, letting the backs of her ankles thud against the stone wall.
A hoot and the distinct thud of Time falling on the wooden floors of their home break the silence. "They're as lively as ever," observes Zelda.
Wild smiles easily at the thought of the others getting into trouble. "Not much has changed."
Zelda makes an uncertain noise.
"What do you think?"
Zelda pulls her knees to her chest. Her light sleeping shift falls to bunch around her hips. Wild watches the fabric shift with mild interest.
"Warriors seems preoccupied."
Wild nods, chewing on his lip. "He does. I don't know what's going on with him recently. He got really worked up about me holding his hand today."
Zelda startles, then tilts her head pensively. "Is that new?"
"Kind of?" Wild's face screws up in confusion. "We've been touchy with each other since- oh, shit, I didn't tell you about that."
Zelda's head whips as she scrutinizes him. "What happened?" she asked flatly.
Wild puts his hands up in surrender. "I got hurt? Kind of? Not permanently," he adds as Zelda's eyes narrow further.
"I should hope not."
"Your wish is my command," he says, a little gentler than he means to. They watch each other soften for a long moment. "There was a moblin. And it should've been fine, they aren't a big deal, but this one had a massive spiked club." Zelda winced in sympathy. "It got caught in my hair."
She gasps in horror, absently lifting a hand to her own head. "Sweet sages."
Wild shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. "I've been through worse."
Zelda shuffles closer to him and interlaces their fingers. "I know. Still…"
Wild acknowledges her point by bumping their shoulders together.
"So, Warriors?"
"Ah, yeah," Wild twists a lock of his hair between his fingers. "He helped me with my hair after. It was nice. He's been hovering over me ever since."
"Is that… overbearing?" Zelda asks, furrowing her brow. It's her trying-to-understand face. Wild is very familiar with it; he has been its subject for a significant amount of the time that he remembers being alive.
"Not really," Wild muses. "I like the closeness. It's different with the others in a way I don't really know how to describe. They're not wary of my history like people are here, but they've got their own walls up. I wasn't expecting Wars to take his down a little for me. I don't want that to go away."
Zelda regards him strangely. "What?" Wild asks, growing slightly annoyed with the number of peculiar looks he's gotten today.
"Do you love him?"
"Ugh, not this again," Wild grumbles, covering his face with his hands. After a moment, he continues: "Not like I love you."
"I didn't ask about me. You don't love anyone like you love me, that's a pointless metric."
"Thank the Goddess you get me," Wild groans, leaning back on his hands and turning his gaze to the sky again. "I do love him. I love all of them."
Zelda produces a disgruntled noise, like the soft sounds she makes waking up. "You know that's not what I mean."
Wild sighs. "I love him differently than I do the others. Does that make you happy?"
Zelda touches his shoulder. When he turns to face her, her expression is serious. "All I want is your happiness, Link."
Wild grins, and watches a matching smile bloom on Zelda's face. "I'll let you know whether he figures out that we aren't dating."
Zelda laughs into her hand. "If only it were that simple."