Archive of Our Own ^beta

 She’s never stopped looking.  

 It’s been, well, it feels as though it’s been a rather long time since last she saw him, since last Marin had beheld the hero she’d once called her own.  

It was while standing on the shoreline, she’d been out watching the waves and the wind, watching the birds she’d so long envied as he’d come creeping up to where she stood. It wasn’t one of those cautious, purposefully quiet journeys over sand either, the sort where he was trying so hard not to be heard so that he could startle her, arms wrapping up around her waist and a kiss pressed to her cheek with a bright smile. It wasn't the eager dart over with shining eyes, it wasn’t even the casual sort of wandering he most often approached with, enjoying watching and walking just as much as the getting there. No, Link had been slow, nearly hesitant, eyes bearing a burden that she’d long since thought faded and hand resting on the hilt of his blade, even though no strain touched shoulders or step with cause to draw it.  

 He’d been about to go up the mountain top, to end the nightmares that burst out from its peak and made trouble for all of the island. It would be the last battle, he’d said, taking her hand in his own with the same sort of shyness that he usually did, dark eyes looking up past darker lashes with a sort of mixed expression in their starry expanse. He was worried, although he didn’t say it, but it was clear as day on his face. He wasn’t sure of himself and he’d come for a little comfort, to see her, to find a moment of peace before the inevitable chaos of battle.  

 She’d promised to be waiting for him, on the beach, when he finished. She’d pressed a kiss to his cheek and watched him turn bright pink, head ducking but eyes shining as he’d tugged his cap down again.  

 He’d gone up the mountain with a wave and a promise.  

 And she’d waited.  

 And then the world had ended.  

 One moment the land around them was as real as the sea, as the sky, and then it was gone, gusted away like some cloud of smoke or the footprints on the sand itself. The sea, instead, had taken its place and then-  

 And then she’d been standing in a field, still dripping wet, still shivering, and still wondering what in heaven’s name had happened. Not that she’d had long to do so, for in only a moment she’d come to her senses to find battle all around her, and her feet had stalled and heart near stopped as she beheld armored men darting about, and great, terrible beasts following after them, surging seemingly endlessly all around. It was worse than the battles she’d beheld, watching from afar as Link handled the nightmare beasts that lurked in the brush and the sand, no, this... this was carnage . This was mindless; instinct against instinct and swords against teeth and claws, blood spilt and cries of agony sounding on both sides.  

 For an island girl who’d near always known peace, it was like stumbling into the very depths of hell itself.  

 It was all around, it was blood and smoke and screams and senseless violence. It was beasts surging out everywhere around her, coming closer and closer and making her startle back to herself, making her dart and run and scream because even Link, in all his skill, even with the adventures he’d spoken of before, needed a sword to face these things. She had no such weapon, only her own two hands and clad only in sea-soaked fabric, none of the magic armor or defensive rings her hero could boast.  

 That had been when the captain had appeared. She'd later learn he was the hero of this era of the world, learn that she’d been taken from her own time and left stranded in this, another.  

 It was a war, he’d explained, having cleared the foe all about and now crouching before her, blue fabric in hands and offered to her as she shivered and gasped for breath after running for who knows how long. It was a war across eras and she wasn’t the first, nor the last to find herself stranded here, but for lack of a place to go or knowledge of anything around her, he’d taken her back to camp, and it was there that she had stayed until the wars end.  

 It wasn’t so bad. Once she’d found a way to fight for herself, a way to help the hero of this era (so different from everything Link had told her of), she’d been alright. The people in the camp were kind to her, and she’d found almost a place of her own beside the rest of the displaced. Among them, she’d ask about heroes. They all had one, all told stories about boys like her own and also not. Some of them, the captain’s own two charges, were heroes themselves, but that never stopped them sitting with rest, the captain in among them and just as wide eyed, as they’d all shared about their own heroes.  

 Midna’s was an idiot, or so she said. A man with a good heart who, though she never said as much, they could all see her clear love for when she spoke. Filthy, too hairy, tripping over his own feet all the time and so totally unaware of the world outside his own small village, yet with the biggest of hearts and ever eager to aid others, even with nothing to gain from it.  

 Ruto and Darunia had a quick-witted boy with a fairy flickering about him at all times. Ethereal in an odd way, fae like in a way they said no common hylian ought to be. Trickster and troublemaker at times, but well capable of doing all he must to aid those who needed it. Childish, Ruto would say he was at times, but never wavering in his need to protect and aid others. It reminded her of her own Link.  

 Tetra would complain, never once saying a nice thing of her own hero, but considering he’d be sitting among them as she’d done it, scowling and protesting all the while, none of them had really believed most of what she’d said.  

 Fi would speak briefly of her master, but never the same way as the rest. Rather than the image of some young boy being painted, her tellings always featured a hero; a man one would never doubt as being chosen by the goddesses themselves. He had his faults, she’d say, but she’d never name them.  

 Phan would talk of her hero too, calling him capable and clever. A grease-monkey, she’d giggle into an armored hand, more at home amid boiler and oil than out in a field or wielding a sword, but a hero in his own way.  

 Skullkid would make comments about Mask, and Mask would jab back with one of those sharp little smiles as they’d swat and scowl and hiss and bicker like two siblings.  

 The thing that rang true near always though was the tale of a boy with bright eyes and a brighter soul. She’d tell it herself really, sharing his kind nature but laughing at his sharp tongue and wit. She’d whisper there, to new friends who, like herself, were all far from home and missing a beloved hero or friend (save the captain) about what made her love him most.  

 It was his care for others, bleeding heart and passionate drive to do the right thing. Beside that though, it was the shy smiles and the braying laughter. It was the way he’d watch the beasts of the island with a sort of fascination no one who lived there would spare, save the very young indeed. It was the way he’s poke his tongue out when drawing or tending his sword, or the way his ears, so strangely long and expressive, would tilt this way and that, far more than any hylians in the war camp, and show what he was thinking all the time. It was the way he’d stare up at the sky and the way his words started sounding into a smooth drawl as he’d name to her the constellations, and tell their stories and share with her the world he’d seen beyond the sea.  In turn too, the way he’d listen, resting his head on his knees and giving her his whole focus, strawberry blonde trailing over sparking starlight, and let her prattle on about any old thing. The way he’d roll his eyes and sigh, but be grinning all the while when Papa would go on for ages about mushrooms and all that they were and could be.  

 It was the parts of him, she said, that weren’t a hero, that made him the boy she loved. Even if he never carried the sword or held the love of his land, he’d still be that bright eyed young boy with an overflowing heart and a song near always on his lips, even when words came slow or fumbled into finger-motions.  

 He was her Link, and she was his Marin, and she didn’t want it another way.  

 In a sharp contrast, there was one person in camp whose hero was so very different from all of theirs.  

 Ravio’s Mister Hero was short-spoken and weary. He wasn’t bright eyed and bushy tailed like the boys who so often filled tales told round the campfire. The merchant instead spoke of a young man who carried Hyrule’s weight on his shoulders with the sort of weariness born of ages spent doing so. He spoke of a person who’d tried, so many times already, to hang up the sword just to have it thrust again into his hands. He spoke of a man weighted by wounds where their own heroes were still unhampered by old hurts.  

Ravio spoke of a seasoned hero with, while a good heart, one that was also broken beyond what could be repaired in the short time they’d been acquainted, and with a face and figure that hid all save the strongest and worst of his thoughts and struggles. He spoke of dark colors and darker eyes and long, mournful silences. He spoke of quiet music that brought tears to green eyes without any real explanation for why. And though there was brightness, it came in brief flickers. He spoke of a hero with a soul like a dying flame, long since burnt past it’s limits and yet still offering light despite having nothing left to draw on.  

 He spoke of a hero that would make many bow their heads in sorrow and respect, and even the other heroes would sound their admiration for someone like the man Ravio knew.  

 It was hard to hear some days.  

 It was terrible to know such a thing could become of someone like her own precious Link, that anyone who followed his path could come out at the end in such a way.  

 In all the chatter though, even with all those stories, she’d never found anything that sounded quiet like her hero.  

 She’d kept looking, been searching, hoped one or another story would point her towards the hero that was hers. They’d all have to go home someday, Lana would say, smiling sadly at them all. There would come a day when the war was over and those displaced needed to return from whence they came, and when that day came, she’d need to know where to send them back to.  

 But Marin had never seen the world beyond Koholint, and the island itself had disappeared only a breath before she had. All she had to go on was the hero she’d met and fallen in love with, and so she’d searched. She’d spoken with every displaced person, comparing tales to tell whose hero was most similar to her own, but this one kept a fairy where hers did not, and that was a wolf, a creature she’d never seen but knew full well that Link feared. Fi’s hero was in love with Hylia’s incarnate, and Phan’s wasn’t a former farmer but something called a ‘conductor’.  

 No one’s hero matched her own.  

 And when the war had ended, while others spoke their goodbyes, wandering through great glowing holes in the air to return to where they came from, she’d spend hours lingering in the office of the captain, keeping him company as he tended his work, her own hands filled with some book or another detailing histories of Hyrule that she hoped, desperately, would show her some face that resembled her own beloved Link.  

 And then the captain had disappeared.  

The captain, the man who’d made her feel at home here, who’d looked out for her and saw that her needs were met, who’d held her gently when she was in pain and who gave her a place to stay when the war was over and she had no home to return to. The captain, the man who’s suffering reminded her at times of the stories of Ravio’s Mister Hero in all his weariness, the captain who was like the elder brother she’d always wished for but never had , was gone.  

 She was sure Link wouldn’t mind that she’d stopped looking, if only for a while, in order to find answers.  

 She wouldn’t believe that he was dead. Others said as much; that he’d jumped from a tower and drowned in the castle moat. They claimed it was the whiskey, and while he’d been known to abuse the bottle, she’d known for a fact it would never go that far.  

 He'd promised, words slurring and face pained, leaning against her on the couch as she’d scolded and fussed, and she fully believes that nothing in the world could make her captain break his promises. He'd tell her, he’d promised, or tell someone if he found himself falling further than he could save himself from. And while there were some that would claim a promise made at the bottle was worth no more than the glass of it itself, he’d repeated the same to her later, when she’d had the same worry in her head and he’d been quite sober enough to assure her, arms wrapping her up and words tight but true.  

 He wouldn’t have jumped, not if he meant to die. If he did leap the tower, it was for another purpose, and that she was certain of. Where he’d gone though, she couldn’t be sure, because there was no sign of him in all of Hyrule.  

 And then there is.  

 She’s sitting there in her room, staring at a map of this strange land of Hyrule and trying to make sense of it, trying to think of how far a person can travel alone or where they would go or what they would do, or really just anything to give her a clue. She’s sitting on the floor and her books on history are piled up everywhere with just as few answers within as the map in front, and then the door bursts open.  

 “Marin!”  

 She jumps. She’s not afraid to admit that she does jump, a small squeak escaping her as her gaze goes from the endless map on the floor to the figure in the door.  

 Linkle, the captain’s twin sister, stands there, shadows falling over her face from dim lighting within the room and all brightness in the hall, but even so she can clearly see the overwhelming relief written on features only slightly softer than that of the woman’s twin. “It’s Link.”  

 She’s scrambling up to her feet as soon as she can. Slipping on the map as she does and only barely catching the edge of the desk in one hand to stop herself eating the heavy rug she’d been sitting on, but then she’s standing. She’s standing and turning her eyes to the other woman again and asking, not sure what answer she wants; “mine or yours?”  

 There’s no attempt at sorrow, or pity, just relief and a smile that threatens to turn to a sob as the other darts in, catching her hands and dragging her out. “Mine!”  

 And it is.  

 He’s there, looking a bit thinner than before, but somehow less tired. He’s standing there with more color than he’d had last she’d seen him; all shut up in his office with papers and books and reports all piled up around. He’s standing there and wincing as Impa scolds and Zelda stares, and there’s a small crowd of people behind him because of course there is, but he’s there .  

 “He’s alive!” She whisper cheers, grip tightening on the arm of her almost-sister. “I knew it! I knew he was alive!”  

 They’re standing in the door, not the room, watching from behind because entering without asking isn’t alright, but they still look and they share smiles and maybe a couple of tears, arms thrown round each other in relief and joy to have their Captain Link back with them, and not only alive, but looking far better than he has since the end of the war.  

 When his business with the princess and general is done, when he’s been excused and told to go rest, his companions ushered off to rooms as well, it’s only a moment before he’s saluting to those that leave and turning towards them in the door.  

 Linkle slaps his shoulder before going in for a hug, hands fisting tight in the back of his uniform as his own arms wrap up tight around his twin, head settling atop her own for the briefest of moments. “You idiot.”  

 “I’m sorry,” he sounds, voice soft and rich and deep and almost a whisper but not quite. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”  

 At some cue, the siblings pull back, hands lingering but eyes now able to meet, finding their match in the face of the other and both glinting with a similar sort of relief and also weariness. It’s Linkle who speaks first though, as expected. “You’re going to explain this to the family.”  

 “Of course.” He winces. It won’t be easy, especially after so long. She thinks there was even a service held for the man, although she’s not too sure. At any rate, calling on all of his family, spread out as they are, to tell them he’s alive, that he’s whole, that he’s home and that he’s, while maybe not well , at least not in so bad a state as to have taken his own life, won’t be easy. “I’ll do that.”  

 “Good.” There’s another brief squeeze, a moment where Linkle holds tight before letting go and stepping back, scrubbing briefly and rather harshly at her eyes. Captain Link makes to reach for her, only to be batted off with a “just some dust” that has him rolling his eyes with a huff before their dark hues fall on her.  

 “You’re alive,” she sounds.  

 A million micro-expressions flicker over his features, most of them pained or pleading, and then she’d being caught up in his hold, a tight hug as he tucks her in close, squeezing slightly. “Of course I am. I made a promise, din’ I?”  

 But not all heroes keep their promises. They mean to, they do , but Link never came back like he said he would and, love the captain as she might, had faith in him as she had, she’d still had her moments of doubt.  

 Maybe that’s why she gets all choked up, burying her face in his chest and breaking down into tears that she, unlike Linkle, isn’t strong enough to fight back. Neither of the two hylians judge her though. If anything, Captain Link too is trembling some as he holds her through it.  

 She’s just glad he’s home, that he’s alive .  

 She couldn’t stand to lose another of the heroes she holds dear.  

-  

 They go back together, to Link’s rooms. Hers is on the one side and Linkle on the other, so it’s easy to curl up together in his, listening as he recounts what’s kept him away, where he’d gone, and how he’d gotten there.  

 He's met other heroes, he tells them, nursing a cup of black coffee and sitting criss-cross on the floor between the two girls. He’s met eight heroes across the ages, some older, some younger, all different and yet some familiar.  

 Naturally, they have to know which ones.  

Midna’s wolf is there, he tells them, and just as dumb as she’d warned, but also just as warm. Mask and Tune too, although the younger is now far older, a married man, and settled down to a farmer’s life rather than continuing in his wanderings as he’d been doing at twelve. The elder, in contrast, is but a month or so older than he was, and just the same as they recall. “Fi’s hero too,” Captain Link sounds, smiling into his coffee with one of those lopsided, warm expressions, almost fond. “He’s less the god she described and more just a man, but he’s a good one.”  

 “And the other four?” She presses, eager, hoping beyond hope. She had only glimpsed their backs, only caught a glimpse, but if heroes are gathered, all the greatest for a mission even they don’t yet know the cause of, then maybe, just maybe, the hero of the goddesses themselves will be among them.  

 “The Hero of Four,” the soldier answers slowly, “four what , I don’t know, but that’s what he calls himself. The Hero of Wilds, who seems to come after our time, the Hero of Hyrule-”  

 “Is Link with you?” She huffs, tugging at his arm and maybe pouting, maybe pleading, but it’s been a year, maybe more. She wants to find her Link, she wants to see him again! She’s tired of hearing and seeing heroes all beaten down and she’d almost kill to see his bright smile yet again. “Captain, please! ”  

 He sighs, setting his mug down, wary of its sloshing contents, and settles a hand over her own. “The last is Ravio’s hero, songbird. I haven’t met anyone that seemed like your Link.”  

 Her heart sinks at the words, but no more than it had the first time she’d had false hope of an answer.  

 “I’m sorry.”  

 She shrugs, tries to smile, and knows she fails. “It’s not your fault.”  

 But he’ll still wish he could help. He'll still feel bad that she’s stranded in an era or even world not her own, because that’s how he is. Still, he doesn’t say anything to that effect, just pats her hand in a manner meant to be comforting, and when she asks after his new companions, goes on to tell about them.  

 They’re good, he says. They’re fine fellows, if a bit of a pain in the ass some days. He wants her to meet them all, wants Linkle to as well.  

 They haven’t the chance though. The heroes are gone in the morning with only a note from their captain telling of trouble they’d been sent to tend, but another promise, this one more likely than the last to be kept, that he’ll make it back soon provided another gate doesn’t open to take him to the future or past again. Linkle huffs at it and scowls and complains, and she herself finds herself sighing in frustration, but the promise is kept, at least.  

 A week later, the night before the anniversary of the war’s end, he’s back, and with just enough time to rest up for the following day’s festivities. He’s back and he’s sighing in exhaustion but smiling one of those honest smiles that’s all heavy in the eyes but sparking just the same when he knocks at her door and peeks in on her at a word to enter, when he tells her he kept his promise, yet again.  

 She just wishes that smile, real, tired, but honest, would last. It doesn’t though; it’s gone in the morning and all through the next day as the celebration of their victory stretches out over the hours and his smile stretches to its wooden limits. She wishes she’d get to let him take her about and introduce his friends, like he’d wanted, rather than stand at the princess’s side through most, if not all of the day, as is his duty. She doesn’t resent him for it though. It’s not his fault that the kingdom expects things of him, and he’ll break away when he can.  

 Until then, she wanders the hall, greeting those that she knows and making small talk with those she doesn’t before moving on again. She’s treated with the respect given to all the otherworldly allies, even if her size and manner seem to confuse people when they’re told she aided in the war. Still, other than a few startled looks, no one really does or says anything, just speaks pleasantly when she comes to them or excuses themselves back to their party when they can.  

 It's really no bother. She isn’t fond of big events like this, all stately and stiff, but she doesn’t mind in the least that she’s no more than another face in the midst. It’s far better- she muses, tucking skirts in close to let a knight of some kind slip past her with an apologetic smile- than being the captain and having the attention of almost everyone on him all the time, if not because he’s a hero than because he’s, to them, a man back from the dead.  

 Yes, being just Marin, just the strange champion from another realm, is quite more to her liking. Besides, it leaves her free to go where she wants, avoiding people or mingling, and when she sees a friend in the crowd, there’s no propriety to stop her moving to say hello to them until, at long last, the captain is given reign to break away from his princess with a deep bow and move, instead, to join her.  

 “Enjoying yourself?” His eyes twinkle, trailing over her briefly and making the tug of his lips just the slightest bit more genuine as he gives her a once over before snorting softly and moving to fix some bit of hair she must have missed or mused while out on the floor.  

 She lets him. “Yes, actually. What about you?”  

 “Much better now,” he chuffs, straightening again and offering an arm that she gladly rests her hand in the crook of. “Her grace has been trying to let me go all night and now we’ve finally run out of people trying to stop her.”  

 Her earrings dance as she turns to grin up at them. “So, you’re free for the rest of the night then?”  

 “Until closing ceremonies,” he nods, a bit stiff, very proper, but his eyes spark again as they turn on her, “yes.”  

 Her hand squeezes, slightly, not harsh, just excited, and maybe she stumbles a bit in her eagerness, earning a laugh, charming and over-practiced, but still genuine even through such filters.  

 “Careful now,” the captain scolds, “no good giving yourself a bloody nose right before meeting our guests, songbird.”  

 She swats at him for that, and of course that just earns more laughter, which in turn earns eyes on them, because it always does. She’s just anyone else here until she’s on the captain’s arm, and then she’s under some spotlight because all eyes follow him if they’re not on the princess. He doesn’t falter though, although maybe she clings a bit tighter, trying to seep up some of that confidence for herself, but his own hand always settles over her own, assuring, and when royal blue turn down it’s easier to remember that he genuinely doesn’t care what she does or says, so she shouldn’t pay it too much mind either. Something they do now, all fond and warm, and while still weary (because when is he not ), that goes forgotten even by him as he steers them towards a small corner near the head of the room where she can see strange figures gathered.  

 He's saying something, and she’d just tuning to hear it, just about to turn to watch as he tells her whatever it is in his head, but then one of the figures in the assembled knot of people, one of the heroes he’s leading her to meet, turns about to glance at something behind them.  

Every thought flies away along with all of her breath as her heart skips at least one beat if not a dozen.  

  She knows those eyes.  

 Deep, rich, boundless in their nature, once so alight and glittering, much like the galaxies they’d loved to turn to when the sun fell. They’re dark, familiar, endless in their gaze. And the face! The face they’re set in, it’s more worn, more weary, more touched with sun than it once was, but it’s still so familiar! It’s the slight upturn to his nose, the faint smattering of freckles and the pleasant set of his lips. Yes, it’s aged more since she’d last seen it, sterner now as he stares over the hall, but it’s the same as has haunted her every dream since the island was destroyed.  

 It’s Link. Her own Link, standing just before her, standing like he’d done, what feels like a decade ago, on that beach before climbing the mountain for his final battle.  

 He’s here. He’s alive. He’s here, in front of her! He’s alive!  

 Her grip on the captain’s arm must tighten, because the man hisses softly and whatever he was saying stops as he turns to look at her. She can’t manage to lift her eyes to meet his though, gaze fixing instead, wide and wondering and shocked and delighted and a thousand many things all at once, upon her Link.  

 “Marin?”  

 Where words would usually come easy, she’s suddenly without so much as a thought to give sound too, and it’s only her grip on their captain that stops her weak knees giving out on her right then and there.  

 He's older, yes. He's surer too, if the firm set of the shoulders and stance are to be read right. He blends into the room like he was born to it, rather than to the wide fields and sandy beaches she’d known him in. Still though, those eyes, still star-laden and boundless in her memory, are the same as had turned to her in adoration and joy, in sadness or doubt, in a million moments and miniscule memories. His gaze is set out on the hall, a glass in his hand full of some substance he doesn’t seem keen to actually sip, because of course he never cared to drink even when they were younger. Long ears flicker briefly towards someone in the group of people about him, whatever they say tugging lips into a faint smirk as he answers back to them.  

 He doesn’t even see her, but all she can see is him.  

 “Marin,” The captain’s voice touches with real and actual fear for a moment, low and soft as it is to hide as much from those around them, “songbird, what’s the matter?”  

 “It’s him,” the words are only a breath, not enough for the captain whose own ears aren’t near as sharp as even her own human ones. She doesn’t think when she speaks though, doesn’t realize until it’s out that the words came from between her own lips. “It’s Link.”  

 Immediately, the man at her side turns his eyes to the crowd, searching, confused. Royal blue must trace over him, must see him, there is no way anyone could miss him! He’s there, he’s clad in rich tones and bedecked in jewels like some sort of prince- it would take a man far more blind than even the one-eyed fellow behind him to possibly miss how he stands out against those in his company.  

 Even so, the captain’s voice rings confused beside her. “ Where , sunshine?”  

 The best she can do is just stare.  

 It’s been so long! It’s been, what, years? It feels far longer than mere months. It’s been forever, in a way, and he’s right there, as easy as that. No searching, no magic, just appeared right before her like he’d been there all along.  

 He’s here!  

 She just needs to talk to him!  

 She’s not afraid to admit there’s tears in her eyes as she gives the captain’s arm a tug, but the smile that near splits her face as she all but drags him- confused and stumbling slightly- towards the heroes he’d brought to them is far more indicative of the way her heart flutters up inside her chest, near ready to burst from joy.  

 He’s here! He’s right in front of her!  

 Her Link, right here, and the distance between them is eaten up in less than a moment’s time. Naturally, their rush has all those before them turning, but she couldn’t care less. No, because she’s drawing up sharp, only an arm's length or so from the man of her literal dreams , she’s only just barely breathing and he’s right in front of her .  

 She wants to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him then and there. Wants him to dart the distance and scoop her up like he used to do, wants to watch that stern set face melt away into the bright smile she knows and adores just as well as her own father’s.  

 She sees none of that.  

 Link’s dark eyes fly to her in a moment as she comes up before him, but rather than springing alight with joy, with disbelief, with the same desperation as wells up within her, instead, quite abruptly, something cold settles behind his gaze. The only anything is a flash of fire and a setting of the brows into a scowl harsh in every way, and rather than step close, or dart over, he’s instead stepping back, hand flying to the sword hung by his hip, glass falling to the ground.  

 “Whoa there, vet,” the captain is quick to sound, raising a hand, “just me and-”  

 “Captain, you might want to step away from...” The graze of his gaze is near scathing, “ that .”  

 A sharp pang makes itself known in her chest, but it’s more from confusion, although the ice in his eyes does stab at her heart as well.  

 “I beg your pardon?” The man still at her side sounds, more confused than affronted but steadily trailing towards the latter by his tone.  

 Link’s violet don’t leave her even as his ears flicker, briefly, ever so briefly, towards the captain rather than herself, towards the man he addresses rather than speaking to her and- and why is he ignoring her? What has she done? Isn’t he happy to see her as well? “I mean that-”  

“Link,” and she knows better than to interrupt him, not when every word was precious before when she’d thought they’d never be ripped apart, but now, having him back, hearing his voice, richer now, surer, firmer, but still his in its every song-worthy syllable, it’s all the more so. Still, she finds herself speaking, reaching for him even as her other hand clings to the sleeve of the soldier beside her. “It’s-”  

 Long ears press flat back, and when her fingers draw close, he steps even further away, body drawing up tight and hand all the more firm on his sword-hilt. “I know what you are.”  

 “Then you know-”  

 “Don’t your kind ever get tired of this?” And all are startled by that, all the eyes of the hero types standing about now fixed on them, especially those of Tune and Captain Link, but also the one-eyed man with the markings like Mask’s namesake. “Or do you find some entertainment in this sort of thing?”  

 She blinks, thoroughly caught off guard and even more thoroughly confused . “What?”  

“Vet,” Captain Link is drawing up sharp, stern, donning that role that weights heavy as the cape at his shoulders, “what are you on about?”  

 Dark eyes, where once she found comfort, found happiness, now pin her in place, now hold with a silent sort of what she belatedly realizes is fury, unwavering and almost unblinking. The captain goes unanswered though, instead, Link’s attention is, at last, although terribly so, all focused on her. “You’re rather good you know, most mimics don’t even bother about the aging process, most of your kind just draw on memory and wear it. You should have chosen a different face though,” shoulders already set somehow tense further. “I might have actually believed it.”  

 “Marin?” It’s Tune, standing just behind her hero, standing there with wide eyes and all confusion. “Do you...”  

“This is your hero?” The one-eyed man breathes. “Him?”  

 And all she can do is nod, nod and cling to the captain because moving towards her hero seems to only make the distance between them grow, make him clutch ever tighter at his weapon- not yet drawing, not yet attacking, but even she knows he’s a second away from doing so. No doubt, he’s only stopped himself for the sake of bodies so tightly packed all around, many of whom are watching them intently.  

 “Legend, relax, maybe y’should hear her out.” She doesn’t catch a glimpse of the man who speaks, gaze fixed on violet that stare back in equal measure at her, but she catches a lilt of a Ordonian accent in the words.  

 A small shiver runs through the man before her, the knuckles of his sword hand now gone near snow white against the binding of the blades hilt. “Not interested.” it’s more grated out, but while words and gaze remain unwavering, long ears flicker near fearful, a treacherous signal for one who knows him well. “I’m not interested in a mimic’s lies .”  

 “ Vet ,” it’s snapped, the one-eyed man turning with what seems to be anger on his face, only to quickly be cut off as, at last, the dark abyss that threatens to swallow her is turned in full fury upon him instead.    

 “Until it’s Malon’s face they start wearing, butt out , old man!” And there is the first flicker of feeling; harsh breath and briefly shaking shoulders, and when, in an instant, she’s fixed again under eyes familiar yet so altered, she could swear they’re just the slightest bit red in the corners. “I’ll give you one chance, leave, or-”  

 “I’m me! I’m real!” He’d spoken of mimics once, the sort that wore faces familiar and much loved to lower the guards of their victims. She knows he’s faced them before, knows what he’d done to them, and never once did she believe him wrong for it. Even now, she knows he’d done the right thing, but being faced potentially with the same fate makes her freeze in place, makes her act on instinct alone.  

 She reaches for her hero.  

 “I swear, Link, it’s me! Your own Marin! Honest!”  

 “She’s been here since the war began,” the captain backs her, “what would a mimic want with people who wouldn’t recognize her face?” He doesn’t reach for her, doesn’t touch, but he’s there, a warm presence right behind her. “She’s real, vet, please.”  

He’s shaking. Goddesses, Link is shaking , staring between her and the captain, and while his face never once falters, his whole body trembles.  

 This time, when she steps closer, when she reaches out for him, he doesn’t start back. His gaze in on the captain and maybe it’s the speed of her motions, maybe her own desperation that lets her make contact, but once her fingers brush his wrist, catch it, he’s staring, almost frozen.  

 The gaze that matches her own is the right color, the right soul, but goddesses , now that she looks, violet skies lack their once ever so present stars.  

 “ Please -” Please smile again, please show her the glistening stars that far exceeded the glory of those he once admired! Please believe her! Please, please, please, take the hand that drifts for his own, trailing over a wrist and its rabbiting pulse and towards fingers that once twined between her own with such ease.  

 Please, let her Link come back to her- she’s been searching so long!  

 Yet, his brows simply lower, chin the same, hand pulling away as though burned. “My Marin is dead.”  

 “I’m not!”  

 “Not yet! But she is , she is and there’s no altering that, so stop-”  

 “Link!” The captain snaps, voice not yet raised but sharp all the same.  

 His jaw clicks with how tightly it shuts.  

 Link hated soldiers, she remembers. Link was betrayed by soldiers in ways worse than even their captain. Link was brought up at their knees only to have the men he once admired and loved all turn their blades on him at once, seeking his blood.  

 This time, it’s her who bids the man almost her brother to be silent. “Captain, please.”  

 “He-”  

 Marin doesn’t listen. Briefly, she sees hurt flash in royal blue as she spins back to meet sharp violet (nearing indigo now), but she pays the previous no mind. “Link, I’m here, please , believe me. What would I gain from lying? Why would I want to?”  

 But he’s still guarded, still ready, still- not fearful exactly, but there’s sort of uncertainty to him, even with the firm set of his shoulders and the dark expression on his face. Because underneath that darkness, under all that harshness, surely, her wonderful hero must still remain, desperately wanting to see her as much as she wishes to see him.  

 “Please,” she tries again, “I just want my Link back.”  

 Those words, briefly, seem to be the key, as something shatters behind dark hues, but then he’s turning, and any sight of familiar eyes is shielded by mused strawberry blonde. “Even if you were her,” and he pauses, no doubt biting his lip like he used to, hands tightening at his sides- no longer on his blade but still close, still ready to defend, still tense for a fight that won’t come, “the man you seek is long gone.”  

 “He’s right in front of me.” How she wants to catch that face in her hands, to push hair out of the way, to hold his gaze and promise, to watch those shields lower again and see him soften. She wants Link, wants the love of her life, wants him to see her.  

 He’s but a whisper away from her, yet also so far away in the same second.  

 “No, he isn’t.”  

 “Link-”  

 “I’m not the person she loved,” and though shielded by his hair, the gaze that tuns to her still gives her pause yet again. “Marin loved a person who died with her; he’s gone.”  

“I know my Link when I see him.” This she’s sure of. This she’ll never doubt. There’s no replicating, no pretending, to possible way to confuse her mind when she’s memorized him in every way that she can. From the melody of his soul to the set of his stance, the scars on well-weathered hands or those endless eyes she so adores; she knows the man she loves like she knows nothing else.  

 “Well then you should be able to see he’s not here,” already tight-strung shoulders somehow stiffen further.  

 She just shakes her head in answer. She won’t be caught off guard any longer by his manner, by his sharpness. She won’t let a bit of brashness turn her away, something she makes clear as she steps closer, not reaching, not this time, but desperately wanting to. “I can see him quite clearly, Link. I see him and he’s no different than the day I lost him.”  

 For a second, something shines, but then it’s smothered. “Then your eyes are playing tricks on you, ma’am.”  

He doesn’t press that she is a mimic any longer though. Maybe because she’d not attacked when he’d lowered his guard, maybe it’s due to the captain’s claims that she’d stood with them through a war. She’s not sure for certain, but he still doesn’t seem keen to admit that she could be the woman she’s sure he once loved.  

 Instead, Link squares his shoulders, lifts his chin and the abyss that turns to her, near black for lack of stars, is once more blank, and with both the most gracefully elegant and yet also somehow coldest and sharpest bow she’s ever had directed at her, he says “enjoy the rest of the night.”  

 Watching him go, turn his back and move off into the crowd around them, proud, tall, steps sounding sharp against the stillness of the room around them, is so different from the last time she’d seen it. Then, he’d paused where the sand changed to earth, paused and turned to her with a look of sorrow she couldn’t understand, and offered a wave and a smile that she’d never have guessed would be his last. This time however, none of that is offered, and instead, he melts away into the crowd without so much as a glance back towards her. Every step feels a stab to the heart and when she loses sight, it’s as though that burdened organ is naught but a gaping hole any longer, aching and empty.  

She’d searched for so long, tracing any source on a hero that could be hers, praying all the while his life would be kinder to him than that of the hero of which Ravio spoke. Yet, here he is, one and the same with that poor tortured soul, so altered she almost can’t recognize him.  

 Except for by his eyes, eyes that are the same in every way save one: there aren’t any stars left in their depths anymore.  

 When the captain asks if she’s alright, she doesn’t have an answer, how could she be, when he is so clearly not?  

 Maybe he is right, maybe her Link, bright eyed and warm, really is gone. Maybe, all that’s left, wandering the world to save it time and again, is only what’s left after everything that made him into the stranger she just met, the one with familiar eyes that no longer know her own.  

 Because her Link would never.  

 Right?