Chapter Text
It was unseasonably hot, despite it being well into fall.
Heat settled into thick clumps between the high walls of earth that framed either side of the path that led through Faron province, encouraged by the stagnant air and beaming sun far overhead. It paired oddly with the bare trees which had already shed their leaves in earnest, laying a thick carpet of red and yellow and ocher to smother the forest floor. The lowest layers of it were well into their decay, still holding water from the last rain weeks ago and thick with muck that threatened to slip out from under any who walked by.
The entire forest was rich with the smell of loam and water and sunlight, but completely still and silent save for a lone traveler on horseback.
The parts of Link’s mind that had always held sharper senses took note, and wondered if the birds and small game had sensed something that he hadn’t noticed yet.
The rest of him was focused entirely on trying not to vomit.
He took a deep breath, the latest out of countless dozens, hoping this would be the one to steady his nerves. But every mile further south brought another spike of doubt, another terrible scenario to consider.
What if the goats had fallen ill? What if the villagers resented him for leaving all those years ago, or for not returning sooner? What if the creek had run dry, the harvest failed, and a plague had run rampant? He kept expecting to turn the corner and find nothing but ghosts and rotting houses.
But Fado was an excellent herbalist, and regardless if his patient had two legs or four, he knew more remedies to heal the sick than Link could hope to remember. The letters from Rusl and Uli and the others were as constant as they were compassionate, full of warmth and well wishes and eye-misting care. Eventually, so were Ilia’s.
Link kept his eyes fixed on the reins in his hands and fought against the rising urge to flee. He didn’t look up as he passed Coro’s hut, Faron Spring, Ordon Spring—all the familiar landmarks that might have tempted him to stop, to take more than a moment to think, to convince himself that he should turn back to Hyrule Field. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs and he forced himself to press on.
He thought of Uli’s letters, always full of cheerful news about about growing families and successful harvests, each one written as if nothing had changed except the passing of time. She was thrilled when he told her he was returning to Ordon for a time.
But then he thought of Uli’s face, pale and distraught in the moonlight, watching her husband limp off in search of their son. He thought of her screaming in terror at the sight of him, of the fury on Rusl’s face as he brought his sword down to protect his family.
He spared a glance up at his old tree house, looking at the window high in the boughs without actually seeing it. His tongue felt heavy and sour in his mouth.
The trees narrowed further and they were almost there. Link felt his pulse spike into his throat, and he suddenly knew with absolute certainty that this was a terrible idea. That whoever the villagers were expecting, it wasn’t him—it was some boy who chased after monsters to rescue the village children, and never came back.
The villagers didn’t want him there, would be dismayed at whoever he was now. Instinct, for better or worse, moved his hands to pull on the reins, to slow Epona and flee.
Epona, delighted to be back home after so long away, did not heed him. She turned the final bend and Ordon Village came into sight.
“There he is!” Mayor Bo’s voice boomed across the valley, jovial and warm and familiar. Epona’s ears perked at the sound, and she quickened her trot forward without prompting. Link’s head snapped up to see the old man grinning from the bridge that spanned the creek, but his attention was immediately arrested by half a dozen familiar faces appearing in doors and poking out of windows.
The villagers surged forward and a general cry went up: Link! You’re back! How were your travels? Are you injured?
Relief swept through him with enough force to make him dizzy. He let out a shaking breath and took his time dismounting as they came near—doing his best to hide the tremor in his legs and quietly wipe away the water from his eyes.
<><><>
The woods and water of Ordon had stayed largely the same, but the passage of time became more evident in the faces of his old home. There were new lines around Mayor Bo’s mouth when he smiled, Rusl’s hair was going gray at his temples, and Beth nearly matched Link in height. Something in all of it disquieted him, an unsteady rumble in the pit of his heart that he couldn’t quite name. But the villagers were all smiles, so Link smiled back.
They had all settled around the Mayor’s home in a sprawl that was quickly becoming a picnic, sitting on blankets pulled from Bo’s house or with their legs dangling off the lip of the porch. Ilia wasn’t among the crowd, and the memory of their parting echoed distantly in his mind. He wondered, again, if she had truly forgiven him, despite the letters stowed in his pack. A jug of lemonade was passed around to everyone’s delight, and the stoneware was slick with condensation in a matter of minutes. The sun continued it’s steady arc across the sky, and Link was grateful for the shade under the new awning that hung over the porch.
The clamor didn’t stop as everyone settled in, it just got more specific: You’re looking terribly thin—when was the last time you had a good meal? You’ve arrived just in time—the boys are returning from training tomorrow, they’ll be thrilled to see you! You’re a sight for sore eyes, especially considering all this business with the fog down in the swamp.
“Wait— what fog?” He snapped his attention to Pergie, who was balancing her toddler, a little girl with her fathers’ curls, on her knees.
“It’s all that muck out in the woods by Faron Spring.” She made a dismissive gesture with one hand, as if she could flap away the problem.
“It’s still there?” Link’s eyebrows shot up. “After all this time?”
“Sure enough.” Jaggle snorted and spat off to the side. “And it gets worse year after year. The last time I checked it was up to my ankles by the bridge. By this time next year it’ll be up to the gate, mark my words.”
“It’s made trade with the Southern Villages impossible.” Sera sighed. “As if it wasn’t difficult enough already when the monsters and monkeys were the only things roaming around. I haven’t been able to get any new inventory in the shop for ages.”
Link opened his mouth to ask more but barely took a breath before Rusl cut in, his voice sharp and commanding.
“Enough of that.” He gave her a pointed look, and Sera had the courtesy to at least look embarrassed. “Link just arrived, and I’m sure the last thing he wants is to hear of such troubles. Let the boy breathe.”
“No, I want to hear.” Five years ago, Link would have let Rusl dissuade him. He turned to Sera. “How long has it been since anyone’s heard from the Southern Villages? Has anyone gotten sick?”
“Leave it be, lad.” Bo’s large hand clapped across his shoulder. “Rusl is right— you just arrived home and don’t need to be rushing off again to solve our problems.”
“I’d like to help, if I can.”
“I know you would,” Bo’s smile was serene, dismissive, and Link fought down a scowl. A mix of wounded pride and deep-seated worry gnawed at him, but he didn’t have an opportunity to study it. “But we’ve got the issue well in hand. The only thing we need you to do is put your feet up for a spell, and get some rest.”
As if it would be that easy.
By some unspoken cue that Link was not privy to, the conversation moved on to more of the mundane. Their voices washed over him in a warm hum, though it fell oddly on his ears, like a familiar tune sung in a different pitch. His gaze wandered further down the valley, sharp eyes landing on all the changes in the bones of his home. Sera’s Sundries had grown; its new walls nearly touched the path. The branch above Fado’s home had fallen, leaving a jagged limb behind. Stairs had been cut into the ridge beyond Rusl and Uli’s home, and Link could just make out the skeleton of a new structure being built there.
He frowned as he searched his memory. Uli had said in a letter that Rusl was working to rebuild his forge, but he couldn’t remember any mention of a storm strong enough to drop such a thick branch, or who had helped Sera put up new walls. It was no small task to frame and plaster walls, or to chop and hew a branch of that size. He wondered who had helped to set everything to order, and felt a burst of anxiety, a hot sort of fear that came with knowing someone else did the work he could have. The air around him suddenly felt entirely too close, humid and heavy and pressing into his lungs. He was pulled out of his spiral by a tug on his sleeve.
He looked down to find that Beth had snuck into the spot on the other side of him. She stole a glance at Rusl before confiding in a low voice: “We haven’t heard from anyone in the Southern Villages in about half a year, since Numar came up from Lurelin to help Fado at the ranch.”
“Did he have any trouble passing over the swamp?” Link lowered his voice to match, and Beth nodded.
“He was sick for a couple of weeks but recovered well enough. He still wheezes when he moves hay sometimes, though.”
Link nodded, a frown growing across his face. “And why is it such a big secret?”
“I don’t know. It’s not supposed to be, but the Mayor and Rusl have been real strict about keeping people out of the swamp until the help from Castle Town gets here.”
“They asked for help from the capital?” Link’s frown transformed into a full scowl, latching onto the news of another newcomer rather than the sudden spike of jealously in his chest. Beth cringed under his scrutiny, but a high, clear voice rang out from the south before he had a chance to feel guilty.
“Link!”
He leapt to his feet before the other villagers’ turned their heads, his heart thundering in anticipation of some sudden danger. A single, petite figure was at the base of the path leading to the ranch, leaning against the wooden arch and panting from a sprint through such sticky heat.
Link felt time slow to a crawl, his heart thundering in his ears.
Ilia’s hair had gotten longer, fashioned into a single thick braid tied with ribbon. She had lost some of the girlish roundness in her cheeks; any gangliness in her limbs had been replaced by subtle muscle. But the same freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks, and the same meadow-green eyes were wide as they took him in.
Link’s stomach dropped with something like fear. Instinct told him to run, to cringe away from whatever was coming next. Because despite the welcome arms and pleas to rest, surely Ilia would be the one to see through him, as she always had.
But then Ilia laughed, her smile wide enough to nearly push her eyes closed, and ran towards him. A wave of relief rushed over him with enough force to make him lightheaded, but his arms still came up to catch her even as his mind was reeling. She crashed into him, her feet briefly leaving the ground as she threw her arms around his shoulders, bringing with her the scent of hay and sweat and wildflowers.
Her voice was thick with emotion and muffled against his shoulder. “Welcome back, I missed you.”
Link sighed into Ilia’s hair, the heavy weight across his shoulders easing into something more bearable. “I’m back.”
<><><>
Almost as quickly as Ilia had rushed to Link, she released him to fret over Epona. The mare nosed happily into her shoulder as Ilia worked a deft hand down her neck, her flank, her forelegs, looking for any hidden sign of injuries. Even without his keen hearing, Link heard her murmur:
“He didn’t work you too hard, did he, girl?” She turned before he could answer. “And you made sure to change her shoes often? And that she wasn’t overburdened?”
“I found a farrier in every settlement I came across,” he assured her. The questions would have been an insult coming from anyone else, but from Ilia it was a comforting pattern—something he could recognize at just a glance, as easily as her tidy words flowed on rough paper. “And she had no heaver load than me, my pack, and sometimes a second rider.”
“Two riders is too many.” Ilia’s frown was immediate. She rose to her feet and planted her fists on her hips in one swift motion, tilted forward at the waist and leveled a hard gaze at him. The villagers tittered around them in good humor, but still shied back from the conflict like grass parting under a boot. “She can easily carry you and your pack going at a normal pace, but anything beyond that is far too much of a burden. She’s not a warhorse.”
The memory came back before Link could even think to stop it. For a single heartbeat, he remembered the eerie heat of light arrows whizzing over his shoulder, the smell of Hyrule Field burning, and the presence of a second rider, stoic and corporeal, mounted behind him as they chased down a demon. Her steady, cold fury had tempered his own blistering panic when he thought Midna had been lost in the destruction of the castle. The memory was gone in the next moment.
“I know, Ilia.” It came out harsher than he intended, and Ilia’s eyes widened at his abrupt tone. He cursed inwardly and smoothed out his features, tried for something softer. Something the man she remembered would say. “On my honor, I never put Epona in any danger.”
It was a different script that what it use to be— where Ilia would urge more caution and Link would cringe back in guilt, as if he didn’t know Epona’s limits or temperament just as much as she did. The change hung in the humid stillness, and Ilia’s first few letters bloomed in his mind, the way the ink was dark on the pages as if she had weighed and deliberated each word. He felt his muscles tense, his heartbeat quicken, ready for whatever blow was to come.
But Ilia smiled instead. And even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes, Link’s shoulders eased.
“I know.” Ilia tilted her head up towards the ranch, and there was almost an apology in the gesture. “We should get her settled up at the ranch, all the same— unless you wanted to stay and visit with more folks?”
“We won’t keep you if Ilia has a mind to spirit you away up to the ranch.” Bo’s voice carried, cuttin through the tension with the practiced ease of a natural mediator. The rest of the villagers gathered themselves, milling and chattering and preparing to meander away. “Plus, Fado and Numar will be pleased to see you.”
“Are you coming?” Link looked up at him. Bo remained on his porch, arms crossed over his chest in his usual sentinel posture. He looked like the same giant Link remembered from his youth.
“Not on these old legs,” Bo laughed. “I’ll be here when you come back down, don’t you worry.”
Link hoped his returning smile didn’t betray the twinge of anxiety in his stomach. Uli lingered, and captured Link’s hands between her own.
“There’s going to be a feast the day after next.” Her tone held both an invitation and a plea. “To celebrate all our boys coming home. And I made sure that your house was clean and tidy when you got here, so it should be comfortable enough for you to move back in tonight.”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay in the village.” His response was automatic, and entirely the wrong thing to say. Link winced internally just as Uli’s brow crinkled in dismay and scrambled to right himself. Behind her, Link saw Ilia stiffen where she was stroking Epona’s flank. “But you can count on me to be here when Colin and Talo come home, at the very least. Likely longer, if you’ll have me.”
Uli’s answering smile was fond. “We’ll always have you here, Link. Stop by the cottage this afternoon when you’re done at the ranch, if you please. Aryll is dying to meet you.” She pulled Link into a quick embrace before turning to the path back to her home.
Link gathered Epona’s reins but didn’t step into the saddle. His heart felt lighter than it did when he first rode into the village, but something still kept him from fully returning Ilia’s smile. He stepped next to his oldest friend and joined her on the trek up the hill.
Link was the first to break the silence.
“How old is Aryll now? Six?”
“Six and a half,” Ilia answered easily. “And she certainly won’t let anyone forget. Colin was the same way.”
“Was he? I can’t say I remember.” His gaze was focused ahead, but he could still see Ilia turn to look at him in the edge of his vision. There was a beat of silence, a small tension Link couldn’t name. “Is the Mayor’s health okay?”
“What do you mean?”
Link shrugged one shoulder. “He said that he wasn’t able to make the walk up to the ranch.”
“Oh, he’s doing well enough. I know he’d like to get up to the ranch more often, but heat like this takes a toll on him.” Ilia gestured vaguely, swinging an arm through the sticky air. “And he’s not as young as he used to be.”
“Is he having trouble catching the goats when they break out of the pens?” An irritated ram loose in the village was more than a nuisance. Link had long memories of pulling more than one stubborn creature out of the creek, and helping to repair the fences they had broken during a temper tantrum.
“Fado has been doing well with them—they hardly ever run into the village anymore. And Numar has been a great help.”
“Right.” Something hot and writhing and dangerously close to jealousy shot through his stomach. Link stamped it down firmly and kept his eyes on the path ahead of them. “Beth mentioned that he got sick after he came through the swamp.”
“That he did.” Ilia grimaced. “He collapsed right on the edge of the swamp, before he even made it to the gate into Ordon. If Coro hadn’t seen him…” She swallowed hard and took a fortifying breath. “But I wrote to Castle Town to help, and they’re sending a mage. They should be here any day, and here’s hoping they can get to the bottom of it.”
Link stopped in the path and Ilia followed suit with a questioning look. They were nearly at the gate that marked the edge of the pasture.
A shadow of the same anxiety he had felt as he entered the village returned, and he let himself believe it was only because of this new threat to the village. Every instinct pressed him to ask more questions, to make himself useful and hunt down the source of the trouble. But the memory of Bo’s dismissive smile and Rusl’s stern redirection lingered in the back of his mind to stop him. He tried to push the feeling away. After all, didn’t he come here, come home, to rest?
Churning unease quickly shifted into simmering irritation. Beth’s whisper about the mage nagged at him, buried into his ego like a seed in loam. Was that why Bo and Rusl had insisted he stay out of it? Because they could rely on someone else for aid? What was he doing here?
“Link?” Ilia was a few paces ahead of him on the path, looking down at him with a crease of worry between her brows.
There were a thousand more useful questions he could have asked to resolve this, to give her a chance to ease his worries. It was far easier to clear a field of young weeds when the soil was soft and freshly turned, and painfully more difficult when they had a chance to root and cling to hard-packed earth. Even so, Link tucked his questions back into his heart and chose let his worries go to seed.
“Did Bo finally give up his choke hold on writing letters to the capital?” He asked with a practiced smile, and Ilia’s answering grin was almost smug.
It wasn’t that the Mayor outright banned communication to their liege lord. He just insisted that it had to be done just so to avoid sending the wrong impression of Ordon’s station. He fretted over every word and phrase, writing and rewriting and working himself into state until he gave up entirely, figuring whatever problems they had Ordon could deal with it on their own.
“I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.” Ilia said as they continued up the path. She walked a few paces ahead of him now, moving to unlatch the gate and gesturing Link and Epona through. “I wrote the letter and didn’t tell him I posted it until after the courier already left. He was half-ready to run the man down to get it back before Rusl talked some sense into him.”
Link smiled at the thought. “I don’t think he would have had much luck, even if Rusl hadn’t stopped him. Those couriers are quicker and hardier than anyone else I’ve met in my travels. Did I ever tell you they delivered one of your letters all the way out in the Trillby Highlands?”
“Isn’t that out past Zora River? How did they even find you way out there?”
“I couldn’t say, but I was always grateful to hear from you and everyone else,” His smile was small, though sincere. “And I’m glad your letters will always be able to reach me, even when I’m well outside of Hyrule.”
Link led Epona through the gate, but caught a glimpse of Ilia’s expression shifting—her mouth pulling into a small frown and brow twitching together, as if he had said something odd. He almost paused to question it, but Epona let out an impatient whinny and pulled him forward, and he let himself be led through the familiar gates to the ranch.