Chapter Text
The difference was at least this portal spat them all together onto the same battlefield. ”Wind!” Hyrule cried, “Thank the goddesses, you’re okay—“
“Behind you!”
Hyrule turned on his heel, slashing at a bokoblin; it didn’t die. Of course it wouldn’t: there was black blood on his silver blade. He inches backwards, closer to the others—they wouldn’t leave his back unguarded.
“Whose monsters are these?”
“Darknuts,” Wind said. “And they’re mine. Five of them—I counted, and Sky says the three lizalfos are his and we think the bokoblins are Wild’s.”
A pit in his stomach began to form. “Are all of them infected?”
“Yeah,” Warriors said, blowing some hair out of his face. “You saw it for yourself.”
Hyrule looked at his blade, black blood dripping. He closed his eyes and wondered how much it would be worth it to curse at this moment. “Right. Okay.”
Then as if on cue, the missing three party members dropped onto the battlefield and once more was their crew whole again. The hazy truce had broken. The battle started again and Hyrule watched one of Sky’s lizalfos launch itself at him and thought, well that might be a little troublesome.
It unhinged its jaw, opening wide to release a blast of hot air and heat. Hyrule nearly did swear then: he did not have a shield with him, because he hadn’t been carrying it when he dove through the portal; in fact they were all woefully unprepared. He had nothing to shield himself with, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself. But he was also a hero, and heroes acted. He threw out his hand and thought of the Shield spell, the one the wise man had taught to him—
I will not let anything through I will not let anything through I will not let anything through, he thought, and when he opened his eyes, to his amazement he found the air shimmering. Lightning crackled, ozone and electric. A magic barrier stood before them, thick with power—it was shielding the flames.
“Oh,” Hyrule said. Red washed over his tunic and relief washed over him, so much so that his knees buckled. He went toppling to the ground.
“Hyrule!” Sky called, “Are you okay?”
But he really only had eyes for one person.
“Time,” Hyrule breathed out, and Time pulled out his Biggoron sword. When the lizalfos descended upon him again, the man smirked and just swung his heavy sword into its side. For all the black blood boosted its capabilities, even it fell to the sword’s might, and bursted into smoke and ash.
But Time didn’t stop to watch the show. No, he was a hero; instead made his way toward Hyrule. “You okay?”
“I, uh, yes,” Hyrule said. His tunic was not the only red thing about him anymore. He flushed, embarrassed. “Th-thank you.”
Time did not say he was sorry at that moment. But he clapped Hyrule’s shoulder and said, “Watch your back,” before he went back into the foray. Hyrule thought back to how Legend had said actions spoke louder than words, and thought maybe it was silly they’d tried to talk it out when it was clear neither of them knew how to communicate very well.
Even still, it was not easy. They were still monsters, and this was still a trap set by a shadow, who knew everything about lurking in the night. Sky poked weaknesses into their armor, poised like the perfect knight. Time alternated between his Deku nuts and Biggoron sword, and in the moonlight, he looked like every inch the fairytale hero he was to Hyrule.
(They did not comment on how Hyrule kicked dirt and spat fury into the faces of monsters, how he tripped them and yanked on their tails. There was glory to fighting, yes, but there was a glory to just living. Honor did not win those battles.)
And Hyrule still felt out of breath, chasing for his next gasp of air. I must’ve overloaded that shield spell with magic, he thought, because nothing went through but they usually just cut the damage by half. And now he was magicless and this was exactly the reason he didn’t want anyone to know about it in the first place. It was undependable.
But Hyrule refused to allow himself to become undependable as well. He yanked on one lizalfo’s tail and sent it crashing to the ground, picked his sword up, and swung it down.
Sssss! It hissed when it cut through the flesh, before the monster melted away.
When the last of the lizalfos had fallen, they turned to the rest of the battlefield. But the others had not been doing quite as well as they did. The bokoblins had ganged up on Legend, Twilight, and Four; there was too much chaos from the amount of people and weapons being tossed around. But Sky lifted his chin and marched off, and he was not quite mortal when he did so, holy power in his hands.
Which left Hyrule and Time to the help with Darknuts, which was a struggle. Although most of the first layer of armor had been sliced off, it was clear the others were struggling—blood trickled down from Wild’s forehead, and there was a nasty cut on Wind’s arm.
“We’re here,” Hyrule called, “don’t worry, hang tight—“
And then there was an ear piercing, deafening roar. Monster and man alike pressed whatever they could to their ears to block out the sound—except for one. The Hero of the Wild stood, wide eyed and terrified. “A lynel,” he said. “That’s a lynel.”
Warriors paled. “A what?!” But he didn’t need to ask, for marching over the horizon was the lynel—red-maned and furious that they happened to be encroaching on its territory. “Are you fucking with me?!”
“It’s a red-maned one, at least, so there’s that?”
“Wild, that doesn’t make things better!”
But the arrival of the lynel had changed the battlefield—monster and man crowded together, now, in a haze of fury-panic-anger. Not even Sky’s control could help him here.
But they were heroes, and heroes acted. Hyrule didn’t falter. He did not falter when the Lynel roared when Wild began to battle with it. He did not falter when the first, second, third darknut fell.
But he also did not know why his eyes were constantly drawn to that side of the field where Time battled the monsters. All the same, Hyrule's eyes were. It was why he noticed it—the monster creeping up behind time, a simple bokoblin with a crude, warped metal sword in its hands.
Fear leapt into Hyrule's throat. No, he thought, because Time had not noticed that monster, too caught up in his own battle with another monster who wore silver armor that blinded the Hero of Time to his own weakness. Hyrule ducked underneath the darknut heading toward him and sprinted across to Time, faster and faster, propelled by the last vestiges of magic and everything he had of desperation and want. And then he faltered.
But—
I cannot let him die, Hyrule thought, not when I still need to say sorry, and he thought of Legend, in that brief moment: how Legend had said actions speak louder than words. And Hyrule had never shown him that he was sorry. No, how could’ve he, when he’d only cold shouldered Time and refused to even associate with him?
And Hyrule ran, lungs-chest- everything burning within him. He couldn't tell if it was from exertion or the desperation running in his brains. He reached out and there was not a drop of magic left within him—he was entirely mortal, and he was all too aware of that. If he did this, he would die, because there was nothing that could save them both.
Hyrule did not care, because he was a hero, and this was what heroes did: save other people.
He shoved Time down to the ground, and it was not an easy feat; Time was solid and structured of humility and metal armor. Hyrule did not care and he still did it. In the moonlight, he was only able to see the warped silver out of the corner of the eye before it sank into his side.
Oh, he thought. He hadn't quite expected the pain, hadn't thought of the scarlet that bloomed from it. He wheezed and fell on top of Time, and there were still monsters. Hyrule curled himself around the older hero and trembled. "Don't you touch my brother," he gasped out.
“Hyrule,” Time said, “what have you done?” He was horrified, and sounded so. But that’s what Hyrule should’ve known, and he didn’t think he could blame Time—not when there was a sword in his side.
Time struggled. "Hyrule," he said again, sounding terrified, and Hyrule turned his head so he could see him, scared and desperate and still alive.
"It's okay," he mumbled, feeling woozy. "Don' worry, Time, I'll protect you." Why was his vision going black? Time shook his head, reaching out with his hand.
"Hyrule, don't—"
But it was too late by then. Hyrule didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because then he died.
//
Time trembled. He was a hero, and he was a man. He was a boy who had his brother’s blood slick on his armor. When he touched Hyrule’s face, it was still warm. So was his hands and his hair and he was still warm.
Time trembled. When he stood up, fat tears rolled down his face. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy; when he swung his sword, there was a force to it, this time. No longer did he fight for his own life, but he fought for Hyrule’s, too. He hefted his Biggoron sword and slew the bokoblin.
Slaying it did not feel like vengeance.
And Hyrule still laid on the ground, bloody and unbreathing. And he was still warm.
And he was still warm, him and his crown of magic on his head.
//
Magic is a fickle thing and there was a certain magic in a mother's love. Hyrule was Navi's second child, and she loved him all the same. But before him, there was her first child. Her firstborn.
His name was Link. He was not a hero and he was not a man. He was only a boy who never had the chance to become those things. When Navi’s first son fell, she almost did too.
She did not. She spent the rest of her life dreaming of what ifs, and it did not do her any good because she was a broken mother. But she was desperate, and in her very hands her magic changed. It changed from sugar magic to lightning magic, because she was desperate to change the story.
She crafted a spell made of her mother’s love and there was a magic in that. Once upon a time, when Navi had another child—this time with brown hair instead of blond—he tried to leave the forest.
When he did, as all boys tended to do, she let him. But first, she cast her protection onto him. She had told him this: It will protect you. I know it will, I’ve had years to make it.
How? he had asked.
Navi had smiled. A mother’s love will never fail, not when it matters most. And it did not fail now.
When the Hero of Time trembled but did not falter, he fought desperately. He did not notice how behind him, the magic crowning Hyrule illuminated their surroundings, so bright it was hard to look at. He did not notice how the air was heavy with ozone and electricity, how lightning magic twisted and changed.
Perhaps that could be forgiven.
Across time and space, a mother waited; when her son fell, this time she did not wait around and mope. No, Navi was a far more desperate fairy than that. Even across time and space her magic was that strong, fueled by her love.
And she could stay. She could stay, Navi knew, stay in this forest home where nothing changed and it was safe, guarded by the spirits of dead children. She could stay and be safe.
She had done that once. That was how her son had fallen; Navi left and did not look back. She was tired of her sons being stupid and being silly.
When she arrived at the battlefield, she saw her fallen son. When Navi came, she saw that her other son, too, was about to fall—even if he was bigger and sadder than she was used to. But he was still her son and he still preferred actions over words, and she regretted how she treated him. No one remained but them and the monsters.
She said, “You will not have them, they are mine; I will not run away and leave them to die, not when I already have. And if the goddesses smite me, so be it,” for she was breaking their laws. But she and her magi changed the story, and the fairy said, “And they are good and they are mine and you cannot have them.” And she was a small fairy, and her son was bigger than he had ever been allowed to be, put against monsters made of shadows.
They won.
But it did not solve the problem that Hyrule was dead, and Time fell to his knees and cried, hero-man-boy extraordinaire. Hesitantly, Navi wiped his tears.
“Do not worry,” she said, “I am a fairy, and he is your brother.”
Time’s voice was flat. “He’s dead.”
“No, he’s not,” she murmured. She floated down to Hyrule. “Stupid boy,” she said, “you promised to return home, didn’t you?”
And she was a fairy, and she flew around him, faster and faster and faster until it was dizzying to watch her magic. She flew upwards, up and up and up to the night sky. But Navi was not just any fairy—she was a desperate one.
Desperate fairies did not use sugar magic, healing and tasting of sweet things. She used lightning magic, a harbinger of power. Of change.
And so the story changed.
//
When Hyrule awoke, Navi sobbed. ”Stupid boy,” she said, “you made a promise.”
Hyrule sat up gingerly. Owwww. His side ached and his back felt like he hadn’t stretched it in ages. Nonetheless, he grasped Time’s hand with his own and beckoned Navi down with the other. And he grinned, because they were all alive.
Across the battlefield, together with Wind, Wild knocked down the (uninfected) lynel. Legend and Twilight slew the last of the bokoblins, and Warriors, Four, and Sky took down the final darknut. Someone cheered, and Wind shouted, “We won!”
Hyrule grinned, because they had won and they were alive. “Mama,” he said, “I did fulfill my promise, don’t you see? I’m home now.”
Home was not a forest he couldn’t go back to. Home was not a castle made of mortar and cold flagstones. Home was eight other boys and a fairy and two princesses, and he could not return home when he was already with them.
Then, “Oh!” Navi gasped. Time’s jaw dropped open, and when the others had come closer to help Hyrule up, there was more gasping.
He sat there confused. “Uh,” he said, “er—what are you guys gasping about?”
“Hyrule,” Wind said, “your back, look at your back, holy Hylia.”
This was the thing about lightning magic: it was a harbinger of change. Hyrule was a son of Hylia like every other Hylian, and he was the son of Navi, like only one other could claim to be. He was part Hylian and part fairy, and now—
Hyrule turned around and nearly shrieked. “I have wings?!” And he did—shimmery and iridescent, lightning magic sparking on the surface of them. “I—I don’t even—okay. Weirder things have happened and I’m still alive, so I’m just—wow. Um. Okay.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You know what?” he said. “We’re alive. Holy Hylia, we’re alive!”
Wild was the first to break out into laughter with him. “We did it!” Once one followed, so did the others. And soon, there were nine heroes giggling, laughing and laughing because they were alive. Hyrule thought survival is a talent, and knew that it was true.
Navi watched them laugh, and she smiled, watching them; there would be rest after this. She had to talk to someone. Or, in fact, they all needed to talk to someone.
But they were alive, and Hyrule found that he didn’t find himself dreading that talk. And he grinned and he laughed, a hero of Hyrule, a hero amongst other heroes—a boy amongst his brothers and his family and a home.
And he thought that this was what a home was.