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The Heroes of Courage know about mistakes and regrets, about grief and the heavy weight of the symbolism that sword carries. It’s intertwined into their stories, a shadow that marks their journeys, a mirror reflecting their darkest fears and secrets, a ghost of a burden that only the Hero can perceive. It haunts them, and Legend, the veteran and most experienced of the group, is perhaps the most familiar with the feeling.
He’s been on the most adventures, and while he wouldn’t say he has lost the most—because when he thinks of loss, all he can picture is his inevitable failure and the traveler’s future, and what will come to the champion’s Hyrule centuries after all of them—he’s lost enough it has forever changed him.
He’s not the naive kid he was when he first started his adventure, and he’s not as heroic as the others think. He’s a coward, really. He knows he will always fight for his kingdom, but he will always try to run away from it first.
Sitting in the outskirts of their camp, cold because the warmth of the fire does not reach, he wonders if any of the other heroes are similar cowards. If Sky ever hesitated as he chased after Sun, or if Time ever wanted to quit as his youth was stolen for Hylia's will, or if Warriors writes in his journal out of illogical fear and not from the habit of a captain born during war ripened with betrayals.
Sitting with the other heroes, brave in ways he is not, kind in ways that have been beaten out of him, Legend can’t help but wonder what Ravio would think.
Ravio; the one constant that has stayed, the one that didn’t hesitate to break through the cracks of their worlds for the brief chance to greet another hello, the one Legend never had a final goodbye with. Would Ravio prefer the other heroes over Legend? Would he prefer Sky’s gentleness, Twilight’s calm demeanor, or Warriors's heroic drive? Would he look at Legend, and see for the first time the faults in Legend’s soul, the cracks that make them a hero, that makes them human?
It terrifies them, they think as they listen to laughter behind them, the reaching warmth that they shy from. The idea of being left behind, again, terrifies them. If Ravio left, on his own choice and not forced to leave because The Hero of Legend finished another quest, Legend doesn’t know if they’ll recover.
They’re tired of people leaving, but it’s all they know at this point.
Link has always been distant with Ravio, but he can’t help but to think it’s worse now.
It reminds Ravio of the first time he met the hero, bitter lips and sad eyes. Ravio still doesn’t know all that has happened during Link’s countless adventures, of what made them harsh as cracked ice, what made them hold everything at a distance in fear disguised as anger.
Ravio doesn't know, but he does know he doesn’t like this distance. It scares him, as he watches Link become a shell of his brilliant light, fear coating his actions that the other heroes don’t seem to see or understand.
Link is angry, yes, but he’s always been more daunted by the countless possibilities he can’t control. Ravio knows this, has always known this, because they are the same in terms of fear coating their skin like a second cloak. But where Ravio chooses to run, Link stays to fight.
Link is a fighter, where Ravio is not. But here, in the dark of the room they share, Link disappears. That’s how he described it, the first time Ravio freaked out. He becomes detached and unreal, as if he’s lost in the fog within his mind. It’s dangerous, Ravio remembers thinking. He can get hurt, and Link won’t be able to defend himself.
Ravio sighs as he closes the door, and quietly, he helps guide Link under the covers. His lip trembles, because Link doesn’t even glance as Ravio touches them, does not react as their limbs are tugged as he struggles to maneuver them.
Link scares him, it’s Ravio’s only thought as he sweeps pastel bangs to reveal vacant eyes. At this rate, they will only get themselves killed, and Ravio probably won’t even know. Hylia has never been kind to Link, and She cares not for Ravio, a stranger to Her lands.
That night, Ravio never lets go of Link’s hand, grip tight as the other’s stay loose. Ravio fears if he lets go, he’ll lose Link for good.
Ravio still remembers the first time he witnessed Link come home in critical condition, almost dead when compared to the other times Ravio helped the hero with his various injuries.
It had been a nice day: sunny and warm, a small breeze carrying the smell of apples wherever Ravio filtered around the house. He had tea, a batch from Lorule, boiling in the kitchen, and he curled up on the single bed with one of the many books Link had available.
Link’s house was small, and Ravio was surprised by it. There were no walls to separate the bedroom from the kitchen, and the living room only consisted of a separate table that Ravio decided to place his weapons to sell. It was simple, and in a world where the Triforce still existed, Ravio had expected otherwise. He expected the Hero to live lavishly, to be muscular and tall, and full of life that Lorule was never blessed to experience.
What he did not expect was to meet someone short just like him, with golden hair and dark purple eyes. He did not expect to meet bitter words and a mean demeanor, and for Mr. Hero to hesitate to pick up a sword as if his hands had not already marked down its shape. Link was going to be a blacksmith, he mentioned once. He wanted to create instead of kill, to build instead of destroy, if only for a moment in time.
Sheerow was perched on the chair, facing the open window, always waiting to be alerted for when he needed to fetch Ravio’s weapons. But it had been some hours since the hero left, so the companion was content to doze in the warm rays.
It was such a peaceful day, as Ravio was finding it typical for this land even while monsters walked the streets, but he knew it wouldn’t last, not when Hyrule and Lorule remained in danger and in need of Link’s help.
He was unsurprised when Sheerow started getting agitated, feathers ruffling and tense wings flapping. He was unsurprised when Sheerow flew out in a random direction, and Ravio sighed at the thought of losing his part in the book, not able to find a bookmark in the clutter that has made Link’s home.
This thought was wiped out when he opened the door, waiting for Link, with Sheerow already back inside with the hero’s items.
The famed Hero of Courage had never looked so bad, and Ravio’s rabbit heart froze at the sight. In the distance, Ravio was sure he would be mistaken for a gibdo, with the way he was slumping to the side, one arm wrapped around his waist as blood soaked the ground and around them completely. Link didn’t even have the energy to complain about his ruined tunic, not to mention how he managed to stay standing.
Ravio couldn’t help the gasp, but luckily it brought Link’s awareness to him, purple languid eyes blinking at Ravio’s wide green ones. Link whispered his name in surprise, before those purple eyes rolled up and up, knees giving out.
Ravio yelped at the sight, because Link has always gotten up, has always been strong and resilient. Never had Hyrule’s blessed Hero needed someone to catch him.
This image Ravio had of Link shattered as he barely managed to catch him, breath stuttering in panic. He picked up Link’s hand, bloody and so cold where it laid, and pressed it back to the wound on his side.
He huffed as he slung Link’s arm across his shoulders, steps never stuttering as he led the hero back home, ignoring the pained whimpers besides his ears.
Sheerow already had a health potion ready at the table in the living room, and Ravio wasted no time sitting Link down. His breathing was uneven and strained, but as Ravio applied the potion, the breaths turned calmer. Ravio watched as the wound slowly stitched itself together, and he breathed a sigh at the sight. He worried that for a moment, the potion wouldn’t be enough. They had no extra fairies at the house, and for Link to be in this state, it was guaranteed he ran out as well.
Ravio’s lips trembled, the relief flooding away any traces of his panic. His breathing hitched as eyelids fluttered but remained closed, and Ravio had to dig the palm of his hands into his eyes to suppress the sobs that wanted to escape. Now was not the time to lose his composure, he thought as he continued to watch Link, unconscious and uncomfortably vulnerable.
He felt removed as he carried Link to bed, grabbing the softest blanket from the pile and tucking him into it, watching as blond hair shifted deeper into the comfort of safety.
The whistle of the tea kettle brought him back to the kitchen, numb hands serving it into two different mugs. He let the familiar flavors ground him; berries and fruits found only in the forests of Lorule, with a dash of cinnamon and clover honey. He set a cup for Link, just in case he woke up before it would get cold, and sat on the floor, head and back leaning on the bed.
His hands shook, and Ravio didn’t know if it was from adrenaline or fear. Perhaps both, he figured, as he continued to stare at Link, eyes never straying from his chest, counting each breath as if the potion would somehow stop working.
For some unknown reason, he felt the need to hold Link’s hand, as if he was some kid looking for reassurance after a nightmare. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he was still frightened.
He has never been so close to losing Link, and this realization made him clutch tighter to limp fingers.
He was so scared, because he knew this would not be the last time he would almost lose Link.
Legend knows Warriors is not the only one to write in a notebook during their travels.
In fact, a few of them do it out in the open. Sky writes to Sun, letters detailing their various kingdoms and civilizations, reassurances not only of their future and legacy, but of his safety. Most of all, he writes about how much he misses her. The old man is the same way, writing to Malon specifically about the other heroes and their mischief. He doesn’t want to stress her out, so it’s better to focus on the light-heartedness of their adventures, like how Wild threw Twilight and Four into a river out of pettiness.
Rulie draws diagrams about the different vegetation, and how to keep crops and animals alive. They want to better their Hyrule, and figures taking this information back is a good start. Wild does the same, but also records moments with the other heroes on her slate. No one mentions it, sympathetic to her fear of forgetting them.
Wind writes to his sister and grandma, or at least, is attempting to. Despite finishing his adventure, he never fully learned how to write or read. He’s not the only one, but the heroes who were lucky enough to have access to advanced education press on him to practice more while he still can. Four and Warriors tend to spend the time teaching him words and how to structure his sentences to be eligible, and while the progress is small, it’s starting to become noticeable.
Even Legend writes, but they do so after the fire runs out, during their shift for watch. As the months pass by, he finds himself writing to Ravio, not that he would ever dare to deliver them.
He keeps them deep in his bag, pages and pages full about mundane things, like how the chain can’t cook and how Wild is a literal lifesaver, about how annoying Warriors is and how confusing and cryptic Time often is (did he really fight the moon?) He writes about anything he thinks Ravio would find entertaining, knowing he will never give it to him.
He writes about his fears, ones not even Ravio is aware about: fears about his legacy, that despite all his efforts, Hyrule will one day fall in the far future; fears that this adventure is another cursed dream, and his companions are a figment of someone’s imagination; fears about never returning home, about never getting another chance to tease Ravio and feed Sheerow apple slices and eating the berries that that they farm together.
He writes about missing the dumb purple rabbit hoodie, and finding Sheerow’s feathers everywhere, and waking up to nimble fingers brushing through his hair, gentle green eyes fluttering as they both wake up slowly to the rising sun.
For Legend, writing all this is something to keep busy, and a reassurance. Because the letters mean he needs to return home, he needs to finish this quest. If he dies and never gives Ravio the letters, then Ravio will never know that despite everything, he’s trying his best to come home alive. Ravio will never know that, after this adventure, Legend is ready to try to start to become human again, to be someone worth staying for.
It’s a reminder, but only to Legend: a reminder to keep fighting. He doesn’t know what it means that, as a hero, he needs this reminder.
Ravio enjoys living with Link. He enjoys their— Link’s, Link’s little cottage, with the small apple orchard farm and garden. It’s simple, living with Link, in a way Ravio isn’t used to. He kinda likes it, how opposite it is to his old life in Lorule’s castle, where he doesn’t have to worry about appearances or alliances and maintaining a false image.
He can freely goof off and joke, and sure Link might roll their eyes and call them an idiot, but they never make Ravio feel small. He can walk around with bedridden hair, clothes rumpled from a day of doing nothing, and Link will be right there beside him instead of ridiculing him.
Ravio watches as Link cuts apple slices, humming softly as the oven warms the kitchen pleasantly, a pie waiting for its final ingredients before being baked. Link separates the skin in a separate pile, and Ravio smiles at the knowledge that he’s doing it for Sheerow.
He sighs and leans his head on his hand, body resting on the counter. “Link,” he says softly, not truly wanting to interrupt the peaceful atmosphere.
Link hums with a twitch to his ears, but his focus never strays from the apple in his hand. Ravio continues, “Do you ever wish things could slow down?”
Link pauses, and blinks. “What do you mean?” they rasps, voice weak from the time it was silent, gaze trained on the kitchen counter.
Ravio is quiet for a moment, not sure what drove him to voice this thought. “I know things can’t just stop—you’re the hero. People will always need you,” Ravio winces at the bitter look that flashes across Link’s face before it is washed out with something blank, though the ears stay pinned back.
“I just wish things could stay like this,” he continued in a weaker voice. “Us, living our boring lives, doing mundane tasks. You, baking a pie. Me, running the shop. Together,” Ravio lingered on the word, “taking care of the orchard and garden. The most of our worries being who’s singing at the Milk Bar and not what other danger is lurking around.”
Link was quiet, no longer holding the apple, but the grip on the knife stayed. It was as if all Link knew was to fight, hands imprinted with the familiarity of a blade. The hero didn’t know what peace looked like anymore, but it didn’t stop Ravio from hoping they could both learn.
“Do you ever wish it was someone else who was chosen?” Ravio whispered, a glance into his own wishes back when he was Hilda’s advisor.
“No,” Link signed, voice gone at the reminder of their endless responsibilities. “I was chosen for a reason, no one else would be able to handle what is asked of a Hero of Courage. ”
And that was that. That sword, that legacy, it is something so crushing in weight of expectations, that Ravio hated how true Link’s statement was. If it were anyone else, they would not have lasted a day.
Ravio thinks back to the weeks of silence, to a distant gaze, and the vulnerability Link has shown no one else but him. Ravio looked to Link, back to cutting apples and separating the skin, with a twitching nose and ears, and could only wonder, Do you still wish to be unreal? Do you still wish the Goddesses would pity you and start the cycle anew, even if it meant your own life?
Ravio knew what the answer would be if he were to ask, so he didn’t.
“I’m not supposed to be a person,” Link once said, all those months ago. How cruel for that humanity to show in the quiet moments like now. How cruel for Link to be human when he truly believed he was anything but.
After Link helps save Lorule, a month after Ravio decides to stay in Hyrule, Links admits that often, he doesn’t feel real.
They’re drunk, and it’s raining, and the house is warm and comfortable. It’s only because of this that Link opens up.
Ravio had thought Link was upset with him, and he said that he’s sorry for whatever he’s done, that he doesn’t like Link’s silence and would much prefer the yelling again, because at least that was proof he was alive.
Link stayed silent, staring out the window as the sky continued to pour. Eventually, he sighed, and said, “Sometimes, I forget I have a voice.”
“It’s stupid, right?” The bitter words froze Ravio where he leaned against the couch, a new addition to the small home, fingers barely brushing across Link’s arm, leg pressing into a thigh. “How can I be a hero, and forget I have a voice? How can I be a hero, and not feel like I’m real?”
Link looked at Ravio, eyes still so sad. Still lonely. “Do you understand? Do you understand how that feels, Ravio? There’s days I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. I guess, I’m not good company on those days.” It sounded like an apology. It was one Ravio didn’t want.
At the time, Ravio didn’t know about Koholint Island, about Marin and the nightmares, about the island Link had to destroy in order to wake up, or about the little hope ignited from the sight of the Wind Fish as Link floated on what was left of his ship. He didn’t know anything about Link, about his countless journeys, so he stayed silent. He stayed silent, because while he understood being so lonely you felt invisible, he knew nothing about Link’s disappearance into his own mind, or how to help.
He offered his hand, grip tight in order to anchor Link to their reality, because it was all he had to offer.
“What do you mean,” Ravio began, “by you can’t tell?”
Link sighed. “I mean exactly that. I can’t tell.”
Ravio leaned his head against Link’s shoulder, and his hand twitched in want, in the urge to hold and sooth. He wanted to push, to ask if Link knew how worrisome such a statement was. But he knows if he pushed, Link would withdraw. It was a miracle Link was even sharing this with Ravio, and he didn’t want to destroy the trust he had gained just so he could make a point.
“Explain it to me then,” Ravio stated, glancing into Link’s indigo gaze, begging him to trust him for once. “So I can understand.” So I can help, the words were on Ravio’s tongue, unspoken in fear of crossing an unclear line. Ravio feared the day he would cross it and Link would disappear and never return to him.
Ravio doesn’t want to go back to a silent house. Lorule’s castle was so cold, he doesn’t want Link’s home to be like that too.
Link stayed silent, scrunched his nose in thought, and then he began: “Did you know, I grew up on stories about the past hero. About how he was only nine when he began his adventure, just a couple of years younger than me. I used to look up to him and his bravery.” Link chuckled, but it was the bitter kind. “I used to think he was the greatest, standing up against Ganon, not really thinking about how he failed.”
Link turned to look out the window with drooped ears, and Ravio saw how Hylia’s Light had dimmed in Her hero. Any pride Link used to have about being chosen has long disappeared, and what was left was the bitter man sitting in front of Ravio.
“I had just turned twelve when I had to defeat Ganon for the first time. I did not feel brave, or as courageous. But I made a promise.” There was more to those words, more to the way grief stuck to them, even years later. “When I went to the castle, and for the first time looked at the tapestry for the Hero of Time, I realized this legacy was something I did not want. I didn’t even want to be a knight, and there I was, a naive kid having to save the whole kingdom.”
“I dread the day I die,” Link signed these dreaded words, eyes distant as he looked to the wall where the Tempered Sword was kept, divine magic growing stronger the more Link enchants it. It glows red now, but Link looks at it like one day it will cease. “I hate that one day, I too will be someone’s hero with a misguided image. I do not know who I am now, and I hate that one day, everyone will know me as the Hero of Legend and not as Link, the simple apple farmer.”
The words had so much weight to them, so much history, Ravio did not have a clue where to sort it in the mystery he labeled Mr. Hero.
“I have saved everyone but myself,” Link signed. “I am nothing but a painting for the Three Goddesses to draw and erase, and I fear that’s all I will ever be.”
Ravio stayed quiet. There wasn’t much to stay, not for this. He simply pressed closer to Link, and hoped that was enough of a reassurance. He hoped his presence was enough to comfort Mr. Hero.
It was the most Ravio could offer, for all that Link has done, not just for himself but for the countless kingdoms and realms he has saved and continues to save.
Silently, he prayed that one day, Link would realize he’s worth saving too.
They’re in Warriors’s Hyrule when Legend feels the creeping numbness set in.
Really, he should have seen this coming. Stress always seems to trigger these episodes, and for weeks the chain has been, in simple terms, unpleasant.
They’re all stressed. It’s been months since they’ve all been gathered, but have made very little progress in figuring out why. They’re all getting frustrated, and infighting is growing frequent. Beginner mistakes are becoming frequent, tempers shortening, and it doesn’t help when Hyrule—their only healer, Legend’s successor and proof of his failure—gets injured.
Legend becomes distant, because in order to survive, he knows distance is better than his anger. Anger will get them nowhere, he has learned. In fact, it’s his temper that got them in this mess in the first place.
He tenses as he looks up, staring straight at Hyrule and Wild. Hyrule, wrapped in bandages, wheezing; Wild curled on the end of the bed, head lolling where Hyrule’s hand rests, bruises dark on an already scared face.
Legend looks away.
He doesn’t like being so angry. He doesn’t want to lose them, he doesn’t want to lose anyone else. He’s tired. He’s so tired. But there’s no rest for the Heroes of Courage, and so like always, Legend will continue to push on.
There once was a time Link’s world was simple: revolving around his uncle and their apple orchard, his uncle an honorable knight and Link a dumb kid.
His life should have never been that simple, he informed Ravio. He, the lost son of the late queen, was not meant to be alive. A prophecy, or rumor Link heavily suspects, from the past told the royal family of a corrupt prince, and it was secretly declared all male heirs to be killed.
It was the queen's love for him that kept him alive, and it was her love that doomed him.
His life was simple, until it wasn’t, and Link never properly grieved for his uncle. There was no time, they told Ravio when they found the same sword their uncle gifted lifetimes ago, hidden in the attic. The kingdom was in peril, and there was no room for grief or sadness. Not that it mattered, because when Link wished on the Triforce, Hylia Herself took pity and brought his uncle back to life.
The following few years were good. Their uncle was close to retiring and Link continued the farm, business increasing as they learned how to make cider and wine. Life fell apart when they turned fifteen, rapid and unmerciful as an arrow hitting its mark.
His uncle died during his second adventure, and Link didn’t have a clue. He was kingdoms away, on another Golden Three damned quest, and he never knew when or how it happened; if it was peaceful or violent, if his uncle passed away alone or with company.
He was fifteen when everything fell apart. He had to sacrifice Marin and the peace Koholint granted to return home, to return to the last of the family he firmly believed he still had, because why would he think otherwise.
Link discovered there was no time for grief, no time to mourn loss, because the Hero was always in demand, always needed. He never made it to the funeral, he thinks about this often. They don’t know who buried their uncle or who said their farewells, but they know they should have been able to mourn. But Link had become something greater than a mortal being, and word of their achievements spread across not only kingdoms but also dimensions and quickly their help was needed again and again.
Link was fifteen when he lost everything, and looking at the heroes around him, he wondered if that loss would become his legacy.
“When I die,” Link signed slowly and deliberately, ensuring no misunderstanding between them and Ravio. “I want my grave unmarked. I want to be put to rest as human, ” they pleaded.
“I am tired,” they leaned their head onto a purple shoulder, signs clumsy from the lack of space, and cold despite the covers and warm spring breeze. “I am tired and I just want to be human again.”
“If you could choose,” Sky askes one night, “What would you be doing right now?” He looks to the fire in front of them, expression light, but Legend can see the weight the question holds in his eyes.
It’s Four who responds, violet flickering in his eyes from the warmth of the night. “In what way do you mean?”
“If you weren’t chosen,” Sky lingers here, expression falling in a blink before its replaced with something cheerful. “If you were just Link , who would that be?” What aspirations did you have, Legend hears, what were your dreams before they were robbed for something greater?
The question brings back days with his uncle, the last to know Link when he was still a nobody, and the last to ask what he truly wanted out of life. They have not thought of this question since, have not truly comprehended another future where they do not bear a sword as if it was always destined to be there.
“Oh that’s easy,” Four smirks. “I’m still going to be the greatest blacksmith my Hyrule knows.”
Twilight smiles, “A ranch hand. I love the kids too much to leave.”
Some of them don’t respond. Some, like Hyrule, are distracted by the wildlife around them. Some, like Time, have no answer to give.
“I don’t think some of us have any other option but to fight,” Warriors says at last. “I know for me, I still would have enlisted into the army.”
“Still?” Wind asks. “I know I would still be a pirate, but that’s because I enjoy being out at sea.”
“Fighting is all I have known. In a way, I don’t think we’re made for domesticity, not truly,” Warriors stated, shrugging. Legend eyes at how Sky’s face drops into devastation, guilt clinging to his hitched shoulders.
“I don’t think that’s completely true,” Time argued, surprising everyone. “I like to think I still would have met Malon even without my adventure. At some point I would have realized I’m Hylian and needed to leave the forest.”
“I think the issue is we might be a little too broken for it,” Wild signed. The fire highlights her scars in a bright light, skin pulled tight in some areas and others loose from the damage. Her smile is lopsided on the left area, and there’s something tragic reflecting in her gaze. Distant, not from a recovered memory, but from the thought of what could have been.
Legend stiffens from where they lay, thinking of a purple rabbit hoodie and an apple orchard, of nights with warm tea and hands woven together. They think of sad green eyes looking into their own, a tired voice floating through their ears, and looks away from the champion.
The night feels lonely despite the nine of them being together.
Four approaches Legend after they leave Warriors’s Hyrule, the vet hiding in Malon’s attic. Legend can hear Hyrule squealing downstairs, and the way Twilight cackles. He should be relieved his successor is feeling better now, the way joy coats their every move and action again.
But Legend can’t really feel anything right now, not even shame or guilt. He kinda likes it, if he were anywhere else besides the prying eyes of the other heroes. Hence them hiding in the attic, or trying to hide, that is.
Four is silent when he sits, and he is silent as he hands Legend a bowl of freshly picked berries, honey drizzled on top.
“We’re worried about you,” Four says after a while, watching as the vet eats a couple of the berries, slowly coming back to themselves. “All of us are.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Legend says stubbornly. “It’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again.”
Fours stays silent, analyzing Legend’s face. “Did you know,” he starts, “that after my second adventure, I did not recognize myself.” Legend sends him a look, but does not interrupt, curiosity held at attention. “I did not recognize myself, not as I walked nor when I looked into the mirror. I closed my eyes to everything, and as a consequence, I closed my heart.”
“And Legend,” Four reaches out to hold his hands. “It scares me how much I see myself in you.” There’s a tremor to his voice, but he stares into Legend’s eyes, burgundy from the shadows around them. “I see how you pretend to not know as well, and how you close everything off. I know that’s not all there is to you; bitterness and a sour personality. It can’t be, because none of us started our journeys like that.”
Legends wants to rip their hands out of Four’s grip, wants to yell, “What do you know about me?!” But he sees how Four’s shoulder’s trembles, sees the tears that glisten but refuse to spill. He sighs, and signs, “What are you trying to do?”
Four shrugs. “I don’t really know. I just came to say, well, that you’re not alone. There’s people that care, Legend, people who love you.” He goes to stand up, his voice quiet like a prayer and firm like an ancient tree. “I hope that when this is all over, you realize it too. I hope one day you will stop pretending to not know yourself, and one day you will learn that you are everything you need.”
Legend watches as Four leaves, and stays as silence and darkness surrounds him once more. He can still hear laughter down below, and finds himself afraid to chase after it.
Four’s words echo in their head.
Nayru has a distant look to her eyes as she approaches Link, yet her gaze is intense as she looks into his own. There’s something otherworldly about her that Link had to get used to, but even in moments like this he can’t help but to shy away.
“I meant what I said,” she starts. “Back when we first met. Your story will be told for generations, and you’ll be well loved as a hero.”
Link looks at the statue of himself, gaze determined and strong. He’s changed since his first adventure, he’s not that scared little boy anymore with a rabbit-cursed heart. Or at least, he likes to think so.
His mind catches on the memory of the tapestry of a younger boy, centuries before him, and wonders: what if he’s not enough? There’s so much that still needs to be fixed back home. Even with Ganon being sealed again, the monsters still roam and people keep needing him.
What if that’s his life forever? To be needed as a weapon for as long as he can wield one, only to die as a hero that the future will remember because he never stopped. He thinks of the Palace of the Four Sword, and the corrupted shadows of a previous hero before him, and wonders what happened for the hero's spirit to be twisted in such a state, and he fears the same happening to him.
What does his future look like, if there’s a need to remember him as something legendary? Is he a tragic death like the previous hero is for him, a figure to pity and resent at once, a warning and omen to future generations? Or is he victorious in keeping Hyrule safe, even at the cost of his own life and sanity? Is he successful in being Hryule’s protector, or is their world destined to fall in darkness like Zelda fears?
He doesn’t want any of those futures: to be killed and idolized, pitied and resented, corrupted in soul and image. He misses home, he misses uncle, and most of all, he misses the simplicity of his life before.
“It’s going to be tough,” Nayru grabs his hand, and her eyes seem to swirl like the ocean’s waves. He’s noticed that about the Oracles, their eyes are different from mortals once their magic is activated. Din’s eyes glow and flicker like the fire in a hearth, Nayru’s shift with the unpredictability of the water’s current, and even Zelda’s pupils will change to resemble the ticking of a clock.
Nayru looks at the statue, hand keeping Link in place, and she continues her message. “The journey ahead will be unpleasant, and you're going to be bitter and angry for many years. But I need you to remember it’s all worth it. The memories, the laughter and tears, it’s all worth it.”
There's something ancient in her words as she regards Link, as if this is a message she has foretold countless times before. “You will live a happy life, but only if you fight for it. And Link, you always need to fight for it.”
“We’re in my Hyrule,” Wild gestures rapidly in excitement. Wind bounces over as Wild brings out the sheikah slate and Wild leans down to show him the screen. She signs with one hand, “Looks like we’re near Dueling Peaks Stable, half a day’s journey if we set off now.”
Time nods at the information, and checks over everyone before gesturing for Wild to lead them.
As they walk, Hyrule sticks to Legend’s side, Four on the other, and Legend tries his best not to shy away from the company. Both stay quiet, and Legend can’t tell if he appreciates or hates it.
Instead, he spends his time looking forward, watching how Wind hangs off Warriors’s arm as they walk, challenging the captain to see how long he could hold him above the ground. They all know it’s an obvious excuse not to walk, but no one calls him out on it, content to see him joke around.
Wild is up ahead with Twilight, the latter keeping a grip on her arm as the former gets distracted, and Legend has to fight off a grin by the fourth time Wild gets dragged back before she can take two steps away from the group.
Time and Sky hold the back position, and Legend has a feeling they're both talking about their lovers back home. He wonders how they do it, have the courage to continue on this adventure knowing the possibilities they won’t return home or the gauratine someone will still be there waiting for them to return.
They make it to the stable before the sun starts setting, but Legend notices that this time, things are different.
He wouldn’t say Wild’s Hyrule is always feral, but it is definitely wild like her hero name suggests. In a way, the people are like that too, with all the history and culture that has been destroyed and lost over time.
It seems, he muses as he watches Hylians run around with ribbons and baskets full of items, that not everything has been wiped away. It’s a festival of some sort, they’re sure of it, with how areas are sectioned for different activities. There’s a small range for archery, and another with axes and a table set for knives. Pies are set up in a row on a table, and next to it is a basket filled with water, apples and radishes. He notices how one pin has a mixture of goats, sheep, and cucco’s with children running around in it, and another mysteriously empty with barrels set in. The ribbons and streamers around them are in themes of bright blue, yellow, and various shades of sea-green and Legend notes the animal masks and drawings that surround the stable.
It has to be a festival for the wildlife, but they’ve never heard of a festival dedicated to animals, and based on the confused looks around them, they are not the only one.
Sky manages to get Wild’s attention when she runs by, frantic energy and excitement buzzing in the cook’s bones. “Wild, what is all this?”
“It’s Satori’s Festival,” the movements are brief and rushed. “All the stables worship Him as He keeps their area and animals safe from monsters. And the weather, in a way.”
Wild runs off as a woman calls for her, and Legend watches as they both rapidly sign before the woman shoves Wild to the cooking pot, laughing at her incredulous expression.
“Any of you folks good et cooking too?” an elderly man approaches them, a basket full of wine and cider in his arms. “If so, Helena could use your ‘elp.”
Twilight shakes his head. “Not unless ya want us to give everyone food poisoning.” There’s a pointed look towards Hyrule, no doubt the rancher is thinking about the burnt soup incident, but the teenager pays no mind.
“You lot better meke y’rself useful then,” the man scolds. “Can’t be standin’ like fools while the rest of us work. There’s still more to be d’ne.”
Hyrule and Four are set to look for insects and frogs for an activity for the kiddos, and Time and Twilight are responsible for chopping more wood for the night. They need lots of it, and after Warrior is finished helping set up more decorations, he goes to help them. Sky helps with transporting baskets full of ingredients and drinks over to Wild, Helena and a couple of other people helping cook, and after noticing how winded he is, Wild has him chop up ingredients. Wind and Legend are grouped together to help set up more chairs and tables, and occasionally they have to remind Wind to take a break before he strains an arm from all the chairs he tries to carry.
With the help of everyone, it doesn’t take long for everything to finish setting up, and by the time the sun is down candles and torches are lit up and kids are running around with masks and adults are eating and drinking.
Miraculously, there’s enough masks for the heroes, but they don’t have any luck choosing their design.
“It’s tradition,” Wild explained, a fox mask in one hand as the other signs. “Select a name from the basket with your eyes closed. It’s believed that the spirits of the animals are choosing you to represent them for the days we celebrate their life and ask for Satori’s protection.”
One of the children hands Wild a basket full of paper, and Wild lifts her hand to her chin before she brings it down again towards the young boy. The young boy, wearing a sheep’s mask, giggles before running off to his mother, tugging on her dress and pointing to the pin full of farm animals.
Wild smiles fondly at the boy’s excitement before she faces them again. “It would be rude to do otherwise.”
“What exactly is the point of this festival?” Warriors ask as Wind grabs the basket first, tightly closing his eyes as Four mixes the labeled papers.
“Satori is the deity that keeps all wildlife safe, and because the people here are dependent on said wildlife, it’s best to keep His good-wishes.” Wild signs as Wind cheers, a seagull mask grasped in his hands. Legend can’t help but to stare at the mask, memories of walks on beaches and a soft voice singing floating through his head, broken promises of a time that never even happened dampening his mood.
“We do it for the seasons too,” the old man from before continues where Wild has gotten distracted, already wandering away if not for Twilight noticing at the last second. “Spring, as ya see, is to wish for plentiful game to feed travel’rs and our families. Summer, for our lands don’t feel the stress of drought. Fall, for the safety of wildstock as we all prepare for the harsher weather, as well as thanks for the warmer seasons. Winter, we wish for the safety of those traveling and to thank Satori for protecting us throughout the year.”
By the end of the man’s speech, almost everyone but Hyrule, Warriors and Legend have selected an animal mask. Twilight is no surprise when he selects a wolf, but it surprises the sailor when the old man selects the same creature. Sky is a heron, and Four somehow end up with a squirrel mask.
The old man continues as Warriors closes his eyes, Wild shaking the basket with so much force Legend is surprised nothing falls out. “If you’re with Link, then no doubt you’re gon’ travel soon.”
“We’re not sure how long we will stay,” Time confirms. Legend has to bite on his lip not to laugh as the captain is handed a duck mask, his face clear in disappointment but he stays quiet, not wanting to be disrespectful. “But I’m glad we’re able to see such a beautiful celebration,” Time continues, the corner of his lips lifting at the sight before it smoothes out.
Wind drags Warriors by the arm, yelling about how he wants to bet on the beetle fight, and Twilight is already long gone. Legend can just barely see him across the crowd, dirty blond hair moving back and forth as he desperately looks around. Seems like Wild finally escaped his watch, and based on Time’s sigh, they’re not the only one to realize this. Time pats Legend on the shoulder as he walks away, and Four shouts that he and Sky are going to see what trinkets they have to sell.
Legend looks back to Hyrule with a pigeon mask, and the latter smiles as they hand Legend the basket. Legend sighs as he closes his eyes, but he can’t help the way his chest feels light and giddy for the first time since….he’s not really sure.
The feeling doesn’t go away even when he pulls out a rabbit mask, and he can’t help the way he cackles. Ignoring the confused look Hyrule sends him, all he says is, “Ravio would have loved this.”
Legends sits on a wooden bench, watching how the flames of the bonfire teases and flickers along the shadows of people dancing and skirts twirling, crackling and snapping in time with feet stomping and hands clapping, drums steady along with the crescendo that Wild calls her home, her people.
Sky and Time are with the musicians, fingers steady and quick on their respective instruments as the beat changes fluently. Wild spins Twilight around and around the fire, Hyrule in the crossfire but laughing all the more for it. Warriors tries to flirt as he dances with a group of Hylians, but it seems Wind is in his gremlin mode and sabotages him at every chance, shouting cuss words and pulling on his arms.
Legend claps along as everyone dances, breath heavy in exertion but face flushed from the joyous air, and around him children run with honey-covered fingers and laughter rich in their lungs. Four mingles near the vendors, trying to find a gift he deems good enough for Dot, and Legend can see how he lingers around a vendor full of beautiful pins.
The simplicity of the festival reminds Legend so much of Holodrum, of Din and her fiery hair as she dances with her traveling troupe, comradery fueling their music and love strong in the beat of the music. It’s clear the purpose of this festival is to bring the community together, and Legend was right when he said Ravio would have loved this, if not for the business potential than for the close-knit community, with how strangers drag each other to dance and how groups who just met laugh and drink together.
Legend is glad Wild has something like this, something to bring her people together and something for them to celebrate. Looking at how Wild smiles freely, how her people embrace her despite the scars, despite how feral she may seem, Legend can only see how loved their sibling is.
In a way he can’t explain, Legend finds himself a little envious of it all.
They look back to the vendors. Maybe they should get something for Ravio too.
Legend’s ear twitches at the sound of feet on dried leaves, but they refuse to look at who it is. Either it’s Hyrule, Twilight, or Time, and his bet is on Time as Twilight is being held hostage as a sleeping buddy by Wild and Hyrule’s magic is so bright not even being blind would he miss it.
Time says nothing as he sits down, and through the corner of their eyes, they see how the old man looks up to the sky. It’s a full moon tonight, and Legend closes their eyes as the sounds of crickets sing. An owl nearby hoots before flying away, and a fox screeches in reply. Legend twists his rings as the silence grows.
“Did you know,” Time’s voice startles Legend, “that there was a time where I hated everyone.”
Legend eyes the old man, but Time doesn’t look back, his face still directed to the moon. “Even after everything returned back to normal?”
Time chuckles, and it rings hollow and bitter. It strikes Legend how similar his own laugh used to be, before this journey started. “Nothing has ever been normal,” Time explains. “And that was the problem.”
“My childhood was robbed, and my existence too, in multiple realities. In this one,” he points to his finger, emphasizing the wedding band, and Legend can’t help but wonder where their leader is going with this. If it were anyone else, he would have told them to shut up the moment a syllable left their mouth, but it’s different with Time. There’s still a part of Legend that still worships the hero before him, and another that craves the information from their most mysterious hero.”I grew bitter.”
Legend can picture it, with how his books say the Hero of Time died at age nine, with how Wind says Time was wiped from existence, with how Twilight looks to his mentor as if he was looking at a ghost, and with the stories Warriors shares of Mask, a bitter kid who listened to no one and ruthless in battle in a way no kid should be.
It’s easy to picture a younger Time frustrated with how no one listens, because no one remembers all he has done and sacrificed for. It’s easy to picture a younger Time grieving loss only to struggle as that loss was reversed. It’s easy to see him alone with resentment growing as a hero woven in future tapestries is labeled as nothing.
Legend thinks back to Four’s words and asks, “What changed? What made it…” he trails off, gesturing around as if to say everything that has happened through their journeys. What made Time change to where that bitterness made room for love, where a battlesick man learned to be a husband? What made Time change for him to believe he was worthy enough for love and to be loved back?
Time has a dumb smile on his face, fond and full of adoration as he says one name: “Malon.”
“I almost lost myself because I refused help, but then comes this stubborn woman, determined to help me. I didn’t want to lose her,” Time says the last sentence as if he almost did, regret and pain transparent on his face, and it shocks Legend into silence. It seems incomprehensible, Time and Malon not being together. “I already lost so much, but she was the one thing I couldn’t stand losing.
“That’s the thing Legend,” Time finally looks at him, face gentle but firm, and Legend sits up straighter at the attention, ears pinning forward. “When all you believe you’re good for is fighting, fighting is all you will be destined for. You need to believe you're built for domesticity too, or else one day, you’ll lose those you care for.”
Legend runs a finger over Ravio’s gift, and Legend swears he feels magic pulsing back to him as if to say, “Hello! I’m here Mr. Hero! Are you alright?” but he knows he’s imagining it. If Ravio’s magic can reach across dimensions, Legend would have been forced into a blanket cocoon everytime he gets scratched.
Time’s face turns softer when he notices it. “You care for him, right?”
Legends nods silently, not willing to explain why or how.
“Good,” Time says. “If you want him to stay, you let him care for you too. Alright? Don’t close yourself off like I once did.” It sounds like a warning when Time says it, as if it’s absolute that Legend will lose Ravio if he doesn’t learn to open up more.
Legend closes his eyes. “I’ll try.” It’s not a promise, but it’s a start.
They want to be happy too, like how Time is with Malon. Wants domesticity to be their life, with Ravio’s item shop and their orchard farm, living together with joy instead of sadness. “I’ll try,” he repeats the words to himself, looking back to the enchanted jewlery.
“Maybe start with those letters of yours,” Time jokes, and all Legend can do is glare at him. How in Nayru’s name does Time know about that?
Ravio is reading when the Sheerow starts chirping earnestly, wings sending feathers and dust but Ravio doesn’t care.
He gets up, and practically runs to throw the door open. “Mr. Hero!” he shouts, “You’re back home!” Ravio throws himself at Link, confident that he will hold him steady. “I hope no one is injured this time,” he reprimands, but keeps an easy expression as no one has any visual injuries.
“Not unless you count portal sickness,” Four complains, and Ravio leans to the side to see him being carried on Twilight’s back, head buried in the fur coat while groaning.
“We’re all fine,” Link replies into his arms, head leaning against his. “Tired, but all good.”
Ravio pats his arm. “Let me go make tea. Great timing on Hylia’s part, really!” He exclaims as the heroes follow him inside. “Zelda recently gave me some new tea a nearby ambassador gifted. I think you might like it, Mr. Hero!”
“What flavor is it?” Wild signs, intrigued. Link huffs, and Ravio smiles at Wild’s curiosity.
Ravio hums, filling the tea kettle with water and lighting the stove. “A little tangy, but the sweetness balances it out nicely, especially when combined with rose petals.”
Link leaves as Ravio gives Wild the box, slate on hand as she tries to see what materials are similar to her Hyrule, trying to figure out if she can replicate it for Flora. There’s shouting in the living room, and the distinct reverating sound of metal hitting the ground, and Ravio grins under his hood at the chaos.
He misses this, how lively the house gets whenever the heroes return. He looks out the hallway, at the cluttered mess of boxes and enchanted jewelry on the floor. Link is scolding Wind and Hyrule, but he doesn’t hide the way his lips curl into a smile. He’s joking, and it’s nice.
Ravio isn’t sure when the last time he’s seen Link so happy, light back in their eyes. It’s nice, the change. Ravio isn’t sure how long it will last until the cycle repeats again, but he hopes this change is something that stays.
It’s quiet when Ravio wakes, trembling and tense, nightmare still close to touch despite how the moon is high in the sky. He pays attention to the occasional snores and shifting on covers from across the hallway, proof of life beyond the bedroom door. Link is curled into his side, arm draped around Ravio’s waist and the other curled into their chest. Their forehead is pushed against his shoulder blade, and Ravio can feel steady breaths grazing his shirt, occasionally a soft snore breaking the rhythm.
He lets the feeling ground him, the warmth against his back and the weight of Link’s arm, the feeling of a strong heart sturdy and stable. He exhales a small breath, and tilts his head back to look at Link, trying to erase the lingering memory of a bloody face with this one. Link looks calm, content, and Ravio smiles as they shuffle closer, nose twitching before exhaling a sigh. He lifts a hand to sweep pink bangs, hand lingering on Link’s face. He smoothes a finger over a faint scar on his cheek, and wonders if it’s from a simple scratch, or without the traveler, his hero would have returned home with another scar.
Silently, he moves from the bed and into the hallway. He puts a hand on the hallway wall, and lets it guide him to the kitchen, careful not to step on any lingering limbs as he crosses the living room.
It’s far too late to make tea, so instead he grabs a glass of milk, honey, and gently warms it up by the candle.
Letting the warmth seep into his hands, he maneuvers back into the room, sitting in a chair set in the corner of the room, a bookshelf standing beside it. Sherrow chirps once from a small nook, a tired sound, before falling silent again.
Alone to his thoughts, Ravio gazes out the window, eyes growing tired from the milk but his mind refusing to rest. He looks back to Link, only to find indigo purple watching him.
Link doesn’t speak, but Ravio doesn’t fear the reason why because instead of fear or anger—or worse—detachment, Link simply looks bone-dead tired. They’re exhausted, as evident by the deep bags under their eyes and the way they blink languid, but still they sign, “What’s wrong?”
“A nightmare,” Ravio sighs. “I worry. About you,” he whispers the words, looking down at the glass, empty while anxiety still curls in his gut. “I worry you won’t return home.”
There’s the sound of rustling, and a bag being opened. Ravio looks up at the noise, and watches as Link empties his adventure bag of its contents; mandalions and charms of various shapes and designs, maps and bottles both empty and full of potions. Link pulls out a pile of paper, and looks through them before pulling one out for it to lay first in the pile.
“Here,” Link signs with loose gestures, letting out a yawn. “I was going to give this later, but I think,” he stops signing, looking at Ravio with something in his eyes. “I think you need this now,” he concludes.
They hand Ravio the papers, moving the glass on the night table to deal with in the morning. They sit on the armrest of the chair, leaning their body onto Ravio’s and sighing as they rest their head on top of Ravio’s.
Ravio simply takes it all in, how peaceful the night is, and listens as Link’s breathing turns deep and heavy once more as ears droop relaxed. Only then does he flip the paper over and reads:
Dear, Ravio
I think I finally found the answer to what home is supposed to be. I was so caught up in the past, that I was letting it cloud my vision. For that, I’m sorry. I know you care for me, but it was unfair to burden you with so much.
I’ve been thinking a lot; of Four and Time’s words. I spent so long trying to protect myself from hurting, that I forgot how it felt to be safe. I’ve been afraid for so long that I never stopped to consider the source of that fear. And by the Three Goddesses, there’s a lot of sources.
But I think the thing I fear the most is losing you. Either through my rash actions, or from forgetting myself, or from a journey left unfinished. I'm a bitter person from all I have seen and accomplished, but you know this anyway. Still you stay, even when you can always return back to Lorule.
When, not if, but when I return, I want to make it up to you. I want to prove, not only to you but to myself, that I can find happiness and keep it. I want you to be a part of—
The letter is unfinished, as if Link didn’t have enough time to write everything. And seeing first hand how those portals pick up the heroes, he probably didn’t. Ravio still blinks the tears out of his eyes anyway, because Link was right.
He needed these words, this assurance. Link finally found a reason to keep fighting, and Ravio brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp at the realization that he was the reason.
Oh Link, he thinks fondly as he taps on a sleeved arm, Link’s ears twitching at the interruption. They grumble but gets up, and Ravio grabs their sleeve to lead them back to bed. Link doesn’t even bother with opening their eyes, fully trusting Ravio to not lead them into a drawer or trip on an item thrown aimlessly on the floor.
Once in bed, Link immediately curls their arms around Ravio’s waist, and buries their face into his chest. One of Ravio’s arms wraps around Link, the other scratches the back of his hair, their legs tangled together from the proximity.
The adventure isn’t over, and Ravio isn’t sure how much longer it will be until it is, but at least he knows Link will do everything in his power to return to him.
Thank you Hylia, Ravio thinks as he closes his eyes and exhales a small breath, for returning his hero. Ravio can rest easy now, knowing that Link is, and has been for some time now, fighting to return home.