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Wild wakes smothered against Zelda's neck, which has become sweaty with sleep. The warm smell of her is pleasant, but the sticky heat is not, and he pulls back to dry his face with his sleeve.
Zelda grumbles, rolling over to chase his warmth. Wild stretches out to lay flat on his back and nestles one arm around her shoulders. Satisfied, Zelda sighs and snuggles up to his side.
Of course, this is when Wind bounds up the stairs two at a time, pitching forward as the steps end; he catches himself on the railing just before he eats shit on the ground. Wild is mildly disappointed.
"Hey, lovebirds!" Wind crows. "Everyone's waiting for you!"
Zelda flinches at the sudden intrusion and curls her limbs tighter, hiding behind Wild. He chucks a pillow at Wind's head. Wild glances down; Zelda's eyes are wide and her breaths heave in silent, shaking gasps against his side.
"I'll be down in a minute. Don't sneak up on us like that again," Wild warns, gesturing to Zelda's state.
Wind cocks his head. Wild watches Zelda's panic begin to make sense to him. "Right, yeah, okay. Don't take too long! Everyone's getting restless without breakfast."
Wild nods and turns his attention back to Zelda. "It's okay. You're not in the castle anymore, it doesn't matter who sees us together."
Zelda relaxes marginally. "Sages, it still terrifies me to feel caught like this."
"That's because the entire court were gossiping bastards."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Zelda scoffs, rolling her eyes. The easy banter between them brings warmth and movement where Wind's intrusion had frozen her stiff.
They drag themselves out of bed and meet the Chain who, to their collective credit, do not harp on the point of Wild sleeping with Zelda. Thank the Goddess.
The reports of black-blooded monsters near Lurelin Village come in as the group is finishing their breakfast, basking in the luxury of food cooked on an actual stove. The group packs up like lightning, energized by good food and the haven of Wild and Zelda's home. Their faces are uniformly sour at the interruption.
Wild kisses Zelda's head after the Chain has filed out of the door. "I'll be back eventually," he murmurs into her hair.
Zelda nods, squeezing his hands. "Be safe. Or else."
Wild recalls the glorious gold of her, and feels the weight of that or else. " I promise."
"Good." She kisses his mouth, short and soft. No hot need overtakes Wild; his warm fondness of her is exactly the same. Zelda sees it on his face and smiles, then cranes her neck around him to peer out the window. "I think your collection of heroes are splitting out of their breeches waiting for you. Go, Link."
In retrospect, Wild regrets letting Wind mess around with his slate. Once the group had travelled through the Sifumim Shrine to Lurelin Village and began to scope out the situation, Wind had asked to see his slate and take pictures of the area because it was the most similar place to the islands that he had seen in their journey between eras. Wild, endeared by his excitement, had given him the run of the thing.
The battle is nothing new. The Chain isn't a well-oiled machine; they more closely resemble a chaotic collapse smothering their enemies. The fray pulls them apart like a frothing wave breaking over rocks. Wars stays close at Wild's back. Across the field, Wild watches the others fight in clumps of twos and threes.
Wild fights fierce and dirty, as always. He breaks one sword over the back of a lizalfos and swaps to his bow, splitting an arrow to its eye with another. As Wild begins swapping to another sword, another lizalfos crawls over its comrade's body to throw itself at Wild. Wars dives, low and dangerous, to tackle it around its waist before it catches Wild off-guard.
Wars falls and does not land. He does not scream, though his mouth gapes wide. His eyes bulge with horror as he and the lizalfos topple over the edge of a sandy pit that had been hidden by broad, waxy leaves. Wild dives after him with one arm outstretched; the memory of losing Zelda's terrified face to the gnarled, golden fingers of time flashes before his eyes.
Wars kicks the lizalfos away from him in midair and takes Wild's hand. With his prosthetic arm, Wild catches them both on a root of gloom stretching out from the knobbly wall of the pit.
Crack. Wild's shoulder tears itself apart from the inside.
"Wild!" screams Wars from below. Wild's remaining upper arm trembles under the strain of holding him and Wars in midair. Even out of the corner of his eye, his shoulder bulges out of its socket.
Wild's prosthetic groans under the stress. Wild's eyes snap open in horror as it emits a familiar click, and he watches the arm dislocate from his bicep.
His stomach swoops and his legs tingle with the sheer force of the drop. Dank wind whips against his face as he spirals into Depths.
Another crack greets them on impact. Wars does scream that time, clutching at his leg, right before Wild tucks into a roll. He lays in the dust, breathing heavily. He blinks tears out of his eyes as pain radiates from his shoulder and prays that no monsters find him while he's catching his breath and something is clearly wrong with Wars.
When Wild feels like he can sit up without vomiting everywhere, he does. The world spins on its axis.
Drifting spores choke the air. Wild had forgotten the strangeness of the depths; how it drains you just from breathing it in. Wild cranes his neck up and finds that he had caught them just as the mouth of it opened into a second sky. The drop here, as the Depths slope to their natural end near the edges of Hyrule, is so much shorter than it could have been.
Behind him, Wars whimpers. Wild turns.
Wars has one of his legs outstretched in front of him, clutching at his knee above a divot in his shin. Wild struggles to his feet, staggers to his side, and collapses to his knees again. He rummages for his slate and despairs. Wind!
Wars follows his movements with his eyes and groans in realization. "Fuck," he swears emphatically.
"Fuck," Wild agrees. "Got any red potions?"
Wars digs through his pack. "Just one." Wild grimaces. It won't be enough. Wars pulls a cord and a roll of cloth from his pack. "Help me splint it."
Wild gestures to his nonfunctional arm. "Only so much I can do."
Wars winces in sympathy. "Other one still works?"
Wild nods, chewing on his lip as he scrutinizes Wars' state. "Do you have a rod for the splint?" Wars shakes his head. Wild draws the Master Sword. "I have a potentially awful idea."
Wars gapes, then bursts out laughing. "If you don't cut me open, I'll take it."
Wild sticks his tongue out. "I'd never!"
Wild aligns the sword against Wars' fabric-wrapped calf. Between his teeth, Wars hisses as Wild begins fashioning the splint. It barely qualifies as a medical device, and he can feel Hyrule weeping from here, but it does the job.
"Do you think they'll find us?" asks Wars, his eyes vacant of emotion. Wild follows his gaze to the cavernous ceiling of the Depths. Spores spiral down like snowflakes, dusting their faces. Wars' eyelashes, long and light, collect a crust of spores.
Wild, without thinking, brushes them away with his thumb.
"You'll be doing that forever if you start," warns Wars.
"I don't mind," says Wild, cleaning the other side of his face even as the first eyelashes begin to collect dust again. "And I do think they'll find us. Wind has my slate, and it pings to my arm." Wild rubs at his strained, deformed bicep. "We're right underneath the chasm, and we slipped right in front of them. They'll find us for sure."
Wars watches Wild's hands move and seems to suddenly register Wild's dislocated shoulder. Breaking his leg must have really taken Wars out of it; although Wild mentioned that he only had the use of one arm, Wars only now gestures for him to come closer. "Let me."
Wild obliges, using his good arm to shuffle next to Wars. "You've done this before?"
"Of course," Wars says grimly, "it was war."
Wars' hands are on him with a sickening crack before Wild knows what's happening. He screams, instinctively scrabbling for his sword and finding empty air.
Then the pain recedes, throbbing as it goes, until Wild can bear to roll his shoulder with gritted teeth. "Goddess, that fucking sucked. Thanks, Wars."
Wars' eyes are distant and tender all at once. "It's nothing."
"It's not," says Wild, rubbing absently at his shoulder as if pressure will ease the pain. It doesn't. "Were you ever trained as a medic?"
The question takes a moment to pierce the armour of distance that Wars has donned since the fall. "A little. I was… not really for that. Picked it up mostly by accident, watching other people try not to get killed."
Wild cocks his head. "What were you for, then?" he asks, using Wars' own words. It's a trick he learned while he was trying to make sense of Zelda, who knew him under a different set of rules: mimic their language and see where it gets you.
Wars sighs heavily. "War."
How typical of him it is, to answer succinctly and reveal nothing new. Wild imagines he learned to talk without saying anything during war meetings, too. A vision comes to Wild, unbidden: standing tall under the immense weight of full plate armour, watching the men that know better than him throw around the weight of his life as a bargaining chip. Link grinds his teeth and says nothing, even when they no longer bother to use his name and discuss him in terms of where the Master Sword would best be used.
Wild swallows back the lump of rage rising suddenly in his throat like bile. He wishes, as he often does, that he knew what to say.
Wars drifts. Wild tries and fails to empty himself in the same way.
A strange echo from above shocks them both—Wars with a flinch that jostles his leg and tears a low whine from his throat, Wild to his feet.
"Down here!" Wild cries with a hand cupped around his mouth. An indeterminate shout reverberates down from the tiny pocket of light above his head.
A pinprick blots out the light of day, growing as it spirals down to meet them. Seconds later, the sailcloth comes into focus. Then Sky's face, set in determination. Wild, grinning up at their saviour, doesn't realize that he's in Sky's flight trajectory until it's too late to scramble out of the way.
Sky slams into him, boots to chest, and they topple to the ground together in a heap of limbs. Wild, too happy to care about the developing bruise on his ribcage, clings to Sky in a viciously joyful embrace. "You found us!"
Sky pushes himself off of Wild, hovering above him with a relieved grin. "Thank the Goddess."
"Do you have a way out of here?" asks Wars, ever pragmatic. Sky grins and flashes the slate. Wild snatches it out of his hands and cradles it to his chest, crooning sweet nothings. It's quite possibly the most saccharine he's ever been. Wild collects the two of them—Sky holds onto his free bicep and Wars grasps his good arm by the wrist—and Wild warps them above ground.
The full force of the sun punches Wild in the face, and he's never been more grateful to take a hit. He drops to his knees with his eyes reverently closed and turns his face up to the sky, soaking up heat and life and goodness.
When he's gotten his fill, he opens his eyes. Wars is watching him sunbathe, his face soft. Wild grins. Wars cracks a real, honest smile for the first time since the fall.