Work Text:
Link rolls his shoulders, hearing a few satisfying pops and cracks before holding the binoculars up to his vision again.
Still no sign of the train. That’s okay; he’s a patient man. He’ll wait here all day if he has to.
Because this isn’t just any train, oh no. This is a Bosphoramus train, and if rumors are right, it’ll be carrying the old rich bastard himself. The payout will be astronomical; he can only imagine how many rupees will be in those safes, just waiting for him to grab. He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation.
While he has some time to burn, he conducts another check. Both guns fully loaded in their holsters, his bandana tied below his neck, the worn, woven sack attached to Epona’s saddle, and Epona herself fed with an abundant amount of endura carrots. She’s already the fastest horse in Hyrule without them, but she’ll need the boost for this train robbery to be completed smoothly.
And he can’t afford to have it not go smoothly. After all, this is a train robbery, and he’s only one man. Usually trains are attacked by groups; he’s the only feller suicidal enough to do it just by himself. But he refuses to work with someone else again, not after that disaster with Misko.
Link still has nightmares about it, and he’s still tempted to go to wherever that little poser is enjoying the blissful years of retirement and rough him up. Show him how little Link appreciated doing all the work, only to split it evenly with that bastard by the end of it.
He’s getting pissed off again. If he wants to pull this robbery off, he won’t be able to do it with anything less than a clear head. Brows furrowed, Link closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing in deeply, before letting it out slowly through his nose.
That’s better. It’s in the past, and now he’s an established outlaw in his own right. He doesn’t need Misko, he doesn’t need anyone. He’s The Silent Gun, and train robberies are a piece of cake for him.
The telltale sound of a train whistle blowing, rattling his ears, prompts Link’s eyes to snap open. There it is, the Bosphoramus train. And, with a quick glance to his pocket watch, it’s right on schedule.
The bandana abruptly pushed up to his nose covers his subsequent grin. With a click of his tongue and a snap of the reins, they’re flying.
“Are you glad to be going back to Castleton?”
Zelda lifts her eyes from her book, nodding her head with a small smile. Ladylike.
“Yes, Father. It was nice to visit Urbosa, but I am happy to be going back home.”
Lies. In truth, she’d like to stay with her godmother for as long as possible, maybe even live there. Away from the judgmental eyes of her father, the ladies she associates with (she can barely call them friends), and of society in general.
She wants to dig around for insects and other small specimens to study. She wants to run through the forests of Hyrule and search for herbs and mushrooms. She wants to make elixirs without worry of being caught by her disapproving father, to be lectured again how she’s a proper lady of society, and to stop wasting her youth ‘playing at being a scholar’.
Because no man wants a scholar for a wife, Rhoam had said. Good breeding, good manners, and good etiquette, all are things a man desires for his life partner. And for Zelda, who has been blessed with her mother’s beauty, finding an eligible man should be no problem.
Well, maybe she doesn’t want any of those men who only consider those things when making their decision. If they can’t accept her interests, no matter how uncommon they may be for a woman, then she can’t accept them.
She’s already turned down a few for this very reason.
“And it’s nice to see that you’re finally reading the right literature,” Rhoam comments with a short chuckle.
Zelda smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Her eyes flicker back down to her book, reading the last couple lines of how to bring a hearty elixir to its full potency before flipping the page. Perhaps if her father paid attention to her at all during this trip, he might have noticed her sneak the chemistry text inside the book facing him, titled something or other concerning household conduct.
A passing glance out the window yields nothing but dry land and rock. Nothing hinting toward civilization yet. That’s okay; she’s a patient woman. After all, it’s not like she’s in any hurry to get back to Castleton.
With Epona, catching up to the train is easy. And with practiced ease, Link jumps off the saddle and swings himself onto the ladder leading up the last train car. A strained grunt tears past his lips, the muscles in his arms burning in the second it takes for his dangling feet to find the rungs. Meanwhile, Epona dutifully falls behind, regaining some of her stamina back but still remaining close enough to come should Link whistle.
The wind nearly topples him over at first on top of the train car, but a quick, practiced change to his stance fixes that. He takes a moment to secure his hat, having felt it loosen with the sudden wind gusts, before darting forward. A bend of the knees and a grunt later, Link is jumping across the gap to land onto the next car.
It’s a long way to the front. One misstep could spell out death. But he’s done this plenty of times, and isn’t too worried about it. No, the only thing he’s cautious of is encountering an unexpected gunman from the back tasked with guarding the train.
But when a quick glance behind him shows nothing but empty air, Link runs forward and leaps ahead to the next car.
Zelda pauses from taking a sip of her tea. Perplexed, she gently sets the cup back down on the table and listens hard, but the noise doesn’t come again.
“Father? Did you hear that?”
It sounded like a dull thump on the roof, but that’s impossible. Who could possibly be up there while the train is in motion? They’d have to be an idiot if that were the case; if they fall they could break their neck!
Rhoam clears his throat, not bothering to lift his eyes from his document.
“No,” he answers gruffly. “It’s probably your overactive imagination.” At that, he cracks a slight smile.
Zelda hums, electing to drop the matter for now. But she could have sworn she heard something. Maybe it is her imagination running away with her? As her logic reminded her before, nobody would be up there while the train is moving.
Ah, well. Since the noise doesn’t come again, she supposes it’s nothing to worry about.
With a final leap, Link lands on top of the large bed of coal right behind the engine. The fall is a little hard on the feet and knees, the pained grimace hidden beneath his bandana and the crease in his eyes can attest to that. Besides the danger of being shot, this is perhaps the worst part of doing train robberies.
Luckily, despite the hard landing, the conductor doesn’t turn. It’s likely he hadn’t heard Link at all, given how loud the engine is combined with the roar of the coal fire behind him.
He certainly notices Link’s presence when he drops down next to him and points a gun at his chest.
The poor conductor gulps at the intense, narrowed icy eyes of the outlaw. A choked noise of surprise escapes tears past his throat, his heartrate skyrocketing as he feels a trickle of sweat roll down his temple. He’s never been robbed in his life, no less by a man crazy enough to take on a Bosphoramus train.
Without taking his glare off him, Link motions with his head at the break lever. The conductor gulps, eyes nervously darting in the general direction that Link gestured toward. His mind is racing with a million thoughts, most of them concerning whether he’s going to make it out of this alive, that it escapes him entirely of what Link wants.
Those blue eyes drop in temperature as he motions toward the break lever again, rougher and pinning the barrel of the gun right at his heart. This outlaw isn’t playing around; he’ll shoot him if necessary and won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.
Finally, it dawns on the conductor what Link is looking for, and with trembling hands, pulls down the large, red lever. The wheels suddenly slowing down screech loudly against the tracks, prompting the conductor to grimace as the noise rings through his ears. Link doesn’t flinch, having grown used to the sharp sound throughout his time in the business.
“Hey!”
Link’s head snaps to the right, just in time to see two guards pointing their guns at him. Oh sure, now they act? Where were they when he first threatened the conductor? Mr. Bosphoramus must be scraping the bottom of the barrel these days for guards.
The conductor yelps in fright, ducking down when the first shot is fired. Link drops down just in time for the bullet to whiz past his head, bouncing off the metal control board with a loud ‘ping!’ before falling somewhere off to the side. He fires a couple shots back, mostly for cover so he can maneuver himself around the corner of the car.
Blood pumping, confidently grinning beneath his mask, Link quickly dispatches the guards while the train is slowing down, hoping the metal wheels dragging against the tracks will be enough noise to somewhat cover the gunfire happening. Because the last thing he needs are train cars full of panicking passengers.
Once the last man drops to the ground, blood pooling in the center of his blue uniform, Link waits a minute to see any more are coming. But with the train stopped, and no man rushing forward coming along, Link deems it safe to come out in the open and return to the conductor.
The man is shaking terribly, face white as a sheet, and Link cringes in disgust as he spots a dark stain on the man’s crotch. However, the coward didn’t impede in his robbery in any way, and didn’t try to take him down while his back was turned in the middle of the gunfight. So, Link will spare him.
But first…
Link points his gun at him one more time, flicking it up and down to hint for the man to stand. He does so on shaky legs, and obediently turns when Link circles the pistol around. As soon as he’s staring in the new direction, Link brings down the butt of the gun on his head. The conductor crumples to the ground, unlikely to rise again until well after Link is finished.
Without further ado, Link goes ahead and starts off in the very first car. Rifling through a few storage chests nets him some decent rupees, along with a few gold and silver pocket watches. He can hear the passengers in the next car murmuring amongst themselves, likely wondering why the train has suddenly stopped without a station in sight. Luckily, the Bosphoramus trains have a new state-of-the-art security measure, in which the door connecting the passenger car to the storage one can only be opened by a person coming in from the storage car.
Apparently, Rhoam Bosphoramus didn’t account for train robbers to approach from the front.
Thus, Link has a relative sense of privacy as he gets to work on cracking the safes. It’s more time-consuming than, say, planting a stick of dynamite on them to blow them open. However, that method is the worst for a number of reasons.
First one being, and the most obvious, is the risk of injury on his end. Second, dynamite explosions are loud. Very loud. It could alert passing lawmen, and it would incite the passengers into a panic. He needs these people to be calm and not make any sudden moves; it’s not like he wants to shoot innocent people. He just wants to get in, get the money, and get out as quickly as he can with no issues.
Such is why Link never goes for the dynamite method.
At last, he hears the third number click into place. Grinning, he rears back and opens the metal door, grabbing all the gold and silver rupees within and stuffing them into his bag before moving to the next safe.
And when all three are emptied, Link kicks the connecting door open, eliciting many a frightened scream from women and startled gasps from the men. Link doesn’t bother to waste time with some arrogant show of power, simply pointing his gun on the passenger closest to him instead.
He doesn’t have to say a word. The older woman knows exactly what he’s looking for; if the gun and bag held toward her didn’t give it away, those cold blue eyes like ice chips tell her that she better unclasp her silver necklace, remove her diamond earrings, and drop them in his bag else she’ll wind up with a bullet piercing her heart.
Link doesn’t threaten her to give more; too time-consuming. He just continues the routine on his next unfortunate victim, and so on and so forth, until he comes upon an anomaly.
“I’m not giving you one rupee!” the man huffs, some mustached 30-something gentleman with a gold chain leading inside a pocket on his waistcoat, undoubtedly hiding a matching pocket watch.
Link narrows his eyes. He doesn’t have time for some idiot trying to be stubborn. Without a word, he brings down the butt of his pistol hard over the man’s head. A satisfying ‘thunk’ is heard, the man’s wife screaming as her husband shouts and gingerly holds the spot where he suffered the blow.
“For Hylia’s sake, Hagie, just give him what he wants!” she shrieks.
Link internally scoffs. It’s not like he hit the guy hard enough to knock him out; he just roughed him up a bit. This lady is freaking out over a small bump on the head that will heal in a week at most.
At least Hagie listens to his wife at last, though not without a few curses and grumbling about ‘degenerate criminals’. Link moves on without another look back; he’s been called many names and he’s certain there will be many more. Every insult just rolls off him like water on a duck’s back now.
He continues on, his bag gradually growing heavier and heavier with each passenger, until he reaches the last car, and arguably the most important car. If his intel was correct, Rhoam Bosphoramus himself will be sitting back there, hopefully with his pockets lined with rupees and maybe a ring or two on his fat fingers.
Link grins, and opens the door.
“This is ridiculous,” Rhoam growls, fingers tapping a staccato rhythm against the white tablecloth. “We shouldn’t be stopped for this long.”
“I’m sure we’ll be moving soon,” Zelda offers, carefully placing her book down and closing it so her father can’t see the one she’s truly reading within. “Maybe there’s a malfunction with the engine.”
“There shouldn’t be, not on my train.”
Zelda internally rolls her eyes. Yes, just because ‘Bosphoramus’ is written on the side of the car, means that this train will never suffer an engine or other such type of malfunction.
Suddenly, the door leading inside their car opens, but since Zelda is facing her father, and not the door, she can’t see who it is. It’s probably the conductor or another member of staff, likely with news of when they’re going to be moving again.
However, judging from the way her father stiffens and his face pales, Zelda gets the sinking feeling it’s not either of whom she considered.
Her suspicions are confirmed when a young man, dressed in nothing resembling the train uniform, silently prowls closer and sticks his gun in Rhoam’s chest. Zelda’s heart leaps into her throat and freezes there, as her father slowly lifts each of his hands up in the air for the universal sign of surrender. But there’s no mistaking that spark of indignant rage in those green eyes of his so much like hers.
Bandana covering the lower portion of his face, worn cowboy hat atop his head, gun pointed at her father and bag likely full of money thrust toward him, all hint to his being an outlaw. That much is obvious. However, which one is he? Because there are plenty of them in this country.
As she watches the scene play out, Rhoam giving up his wallet packed full of silver and gold rupees, coupled with his ruby ring and gold pocket watch, it doesn’t escape her notice that the robber completes the whole transaction without a word directing her father what to do. His glare and pistol do all the talking for him, it seems.
That infamous silence…could she be looking at The Silent Gun right now?
He abruptly turns to her next, gun shifting from her father’s chest to point at her own. In shock, her mind reduced to a mere blank, she can do nothing else but look up at him like an idiot.
A shiver races down her spine. Eyes of blue, blue like the deep waters of Lake Hylia on a summer’s day, slowly widen.
Link swallows, an unmistakable heat crawling up his neck and fanning across his ears. His heart is beating just a little bit faster, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the adrenaline coursing through his veins from personally robbing Mr. Rhoam Bosphoramus.
Suddenly the hand gripping his gun feels a little sweaty, and without much thought, he lowers it so that it’s loosely pointed toward the floor. The first rule when using a gun is to only point it at something you intend to shoot; he doesn’t want to shoot her.
She’s beautiful. No, breathtaking. He’s never seen hair so vibrant before, like gold strands spun from the sun’s rays, and boasting such thick layers that nearly tempt him to run his fingers through. The rest of her features are absolutely lovely as well; full, pink lips parted in awe that he’d readily tug down his bandana for and claim, despite the consequence of revealing his face. Cream skin with a splash of red strangely painting her cheeks the longer he stares, and sooty lashes curled in such a way that it’s like she’s beckoning him to look closer, and look closer he does.
Her eyes are what capture his attention the most. Deep, and a bewitching green like the Kokiri Emerald on display at that fancy museum in Castleton he’d like to pick off someday. From this close, he can see the little black flecks scattered throughout the irises. They’re simply gorgeous, precious gems of their own caliber, and poor Link finds himself rooted in place, utterly arrested by their beauty.
Heh, good thing she’s not a sheriff, otherwise he’d have given himself up a long time ago.
Wait.
Sheriff. Lawman. Robbery. Outlaw.
He’s doing a robbery. He’s in the middle of conducting a robbery, allowing time for the lawmen to come, because he’s standing here and staring at her like an idiot instead of the menacing outlaw that he is.
Link swallows, forcing himself to blink and awkwardly thrusts the bag towards her.
“You,” he says gruffly, voice raspy with disuse, and so he pauses to clear his throat. “Your valuables, miss.”
The first time he’s spoken during a robbery in years, and he stutters?! She’s going to think he’s the lamest gunslinger in Hyrule.
The woman blinks rapidly, pulling back from where she absently leaned forward, as if she’s shaking herself from a daze.
“Yes, yes of course,” she whispers distantly. Zelda is only half-aware that she even responded at all.
White-gloved fingers quickly move to the nape of her neck, clumsily undoing the clasp of her necklace, her favorite one—gold and decorated with three, slim rubies—to drop in the bag.
She’ll miss that necklace. But she values her life more. His eyes may have attracted her and his gun may not be currently pointed at her, but she should still do as he says. He could snap at any moment if she tried being belligerent with him.
Although, the longer she looks at the tips of his ears stained red by a fierce blush, sees how he never moves to raise his gun, and observes how he can’t even lift his eyes to look into her own, like he’s bashful of all things (how ridiculous, a rough and fearsome criminal bashful because of little ol’ her?) helps her suspicion grow that he has absolutely no intentions to shoot her.
He nods after she deposits her small rupee purse into the bag, seemingly satisfied and draws it back. He turns to leave afterward, yet something crosses his mind to make him suddenly stop and peer at her again with an abrupt spark of determination in his eyes.
“Your glove.”
Her glove? He’s demanding her glove? Why? Both of them may be made of silk and have lacey flowers detailed on the backs, but the rupees he’d get for them when sold wouldn’t be nearly so much as they cost to initially buy them, right?
But, if it’s what he wants…
Biting her lower lip, confused yet intrigued by this outlaw with the alluring blue eyes and strange desires, she pinches her middle finger to peel off the glove. No sooner does she extend it towards him that he snatches it away, sending her one last, smoldering look over his shoulder before he runs to the end of the car and leaps out the door.
A glance out her window confirms what her ears have already suspected. There he goes, atop a brown horse, kicking up dust as they gallop away to safety.
“That bastard!” her father curses, the exclamation wrenching Zelda’s attention from the window to the fuming older man in front of her.
Rhoam bangs his fist on the table, green eyes spitting acid while his face begins to turn an alarmingly shade of purple. Zelda absently wonders if she’ll have to take him to the doctor when they get to town to check his blood pressure.
“I’ll see him hang for this! No one robs Rhoam Bosphoramus and gets away with it.” He pushes himself to a stand, not sparing her a passing glance as he stomps toward the front of the car.
“What happened to those gunmen I hired to protect us?! And the conductor, how could he allow this to happen? Did they all turn yellow and run at the sight of him? For Hylia’s sake, it must’ve been ten against one; how could they just run away like that? They’re all fired, every last one of them!”
The car door being ripped open and subsequently slammed shut cuts off the rest of Rhoam’s tirade.
Zelda weakly slumps back into the plush cushion of the seat. Disbelief, wonder, and incredulity each fighting for the forefront of her mind. Did that really just happen? Was she really just robbed?
And did she really stare transfixed at him like a schoolgirl seeing a cute boy for the first time? Did he really stare back in, dare she say, much the same fashion?
Augh, no! She can’t go around thinking criminals are attractive; that’s insane! Besides, she could only see his eyes and those tufts of dark blond hair framing his face. Who’s to say he’s good-looking at all beneath that bandana? She could be sitting here swooning over a man covered in warts, for all she knows.
Lips purse, that space between her brows pinching together.
Somehow, she has a feeling he isn’t covered in warts or suffering from some other form of hideousness.
Besides, he’s weird! Who asks for gloves during a train robbery and only takes one of them? That’s just-
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Link glares down at the glove clenched in his fist, barely refraining from using it to (justifiably) slap himself. Why did he steal her glove? Of all the idiotic things to do, why demand she surrender her glove to him?
Oh yes, he knows why. Because for the first time since getting involved in this life, he spoke without thinking first. Before making his grand escape, he got the wild idea to steal her glove, because it would make it the perfect excuse to see her again so he could return it, and the rest of her pilfered valuables, to her.
He thought it was romantic at the time; now he realizes how stupid that plan really was.
Because he’d have to return the glove in person, and when could he get time with her alone? At night. And where will she be at night? At home. And where is that home? On the outskirts of the busiest town in Hyrule with a very competent police force. And who owns that home? Her father, Mr. Rhoam Bosphoramus himself, who will probably be upping the security now that he knows an outlaw brave enough to rob him to his face is lurking around.
He'd have to sneak in somehow. Figure out where her room is, climb up somehow if it’s on an upper floor. Maybe he could find a ladder? Then again, he’s always been an excellent climber in the least ideal situations-
Wait a minute, why is he entertaining this? There’s no way he’s going to attempt something like that; it’d be suicide! Besides, she probably doesn’t want to see him again, anyway. He did rob her, after all.
But…he would certainly like to see her again. Even now, as he imagines her likeness, his heart is racing. Plus, she did seem as equally mesmerized with him. That is, until, they remembered themselves and the trance was broken.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. If he was an outsider watching someone else do this, he’d scoff that they’re a right idiot before continuing on his way, not wanting to stick around for the carnage.
A lady like that, classy and sophisticated, not to mention probably the richest girl in Hyrule if she’s Rhoam’s daughter, would never fall for a lowborn criminal like him. It’s nothing but pure insanity to even consider it.
So why is he turning Epona and clicking his tongue to urge her to a steady trot towards Castleton?
It’s official: he’s an idiot. Hopefully not many people will attend his hanging; he’s never been a fan of crowds.