Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

They were a collection. 

Memories, grouped and grounded together, weightless and formless. Some shared, some secreted. Both good.

And then the light cried out, hope in darkness; clarity against the Malice that pounded and sought to obliterate. As the light cried out, so did they. Memories strong and fierce and demanding. To come, to fight, to save. They remembered, and they sought. 

All but one. And they were a collective, and so, after a century of memories and emotions and slowly eroding hope, they heard the words that echoed where the light had not.

Look at him. He has healed but not recovered. We are fine; he is not. We can survive; we will remember and wait, and when he doesn’t look like death warmed over, we can call.

The voice was fierce, and the memory it shoved at them all to make its point harsh. The other three looked and winced and agreed. They would wait. They would remember, quietly, and wait. For all that was in this space safe but threatened by Malice was memory. And one, looking across the land, winced. Memory without body, or body without memory? 

–

The man who looks at the slate is silent, tired, unsure. The ghost of king Rhoam had spoken to him, encouraged him, ordered him forward. There was regret there, but whether it was for him or the king’s trapped daughter, he wasn’t sure. He suspected the latter, though he could not have said why. Just a bone deep certainty.

He moved on, feet following orders his head had heard years ago.

Impa had spoken to him, recalled a young man who approached every challenge with courage and ferocity. He couldn’t remember that person, but he had taken up her challenge all the same. There was something … sad, yes, that was it, about the ruins he had passed from the Plateau to Kakariko. A deep sadness of a land ravaged. And if he could do something to fix that, as the king had said, as Impa suggested he could, then why wouldn’t he? He should, so he would. They all thought he could, after all.

He moved on, feet obeying expectations set eons ago.

Purah unlocked the slate, and memories appeared. But he was pretty sure they weren’t his, or not only his. There was something there he was supposed to find, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not having his memories … well, he was lost. But he also felt free. He saw Koroks and laughed with them. He helped people find lost cuccos and uncover hidden puzzles. The memories, he thought, wouldn’t have that. He liked who he was finding himself to be; would the memories change that?

He moved on. Because in the end, they called him Hero and what else was a hero to do?

—

It stands out in her mind, a moment of clarity and shame. 

They’d been travelling, all six of them, for a few days. The princess was both on a trip to help release her Goddess-born powers and to investigate Sheikah technology. The Champions were accompanying her to “increase their bond” to improve their abilities in the fight to come. Link came because he always came.

They’d stopped, eating as Zelda reviewed the map and plans in front of her. Link had gone to see to new horses. The princess had just dusted her hands, declaring she was ready to move on when the knight came in, signalling that the horses were ready.

“Surely your knight would like to eat, Princess,” a caustic drawl cut in before anyone could agree with the plan to move out. “Besides,” Revali waved his spoon sarcastically, “I have not finished. The cutlery is so conducive to Rito anatomy.” And as loathe as she was to agree with the drama queen that called himself the pride of the Rito, he had a point. The odd shaped spoons this land’s people used were difficult to eat with to begin; she couldn’t even imagine how he had managed to work the spoons with his beak.

The princess blushed furiously, apologising profusely to the Rito Champion. But Urbosa was watching Link, whose eyes had widened slightly at Revali’s words before settling down into his usual facade. A facade she hadn’t thought about until that moment.

Zelda had focused on the slight to Revali. But Revali, Revali of all people , had mentioned Link first.

And as she watched Link eat, quiet and quick, Urbosa thought she knew why. Because, up until that very moment, she had never seen the boy eat.

(Well … once. But being given a rock roast by Daruk did not, in her opinion, count.)

That damned bird. He could have said something and left the dramatics at home. 

But as she watched Revali carefully pace his eating, balancing managing the spoon with barbed comments about said spoon and their plans, so that Link finished his meal before the Rito Champion muttered something about manners and tipped the remnants of the bowl down his craw, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Apparently the bird could be subtle, in his own, dramatically obvious fashion.

–

He works his way around Hyrule, remembering bits and pieces as he goes. He opens shrines, sets waypoints, and meets people. He even buys a house, a place whose ramshackle form and falling walls picks at the back of his skull until he demands that Bolson leave the place intact. Something has him almost ask Bolson how bad it is now, but he can’t put voice to what “it” is, nor what he’s supposed to be comparing the “now-it” to, seeing as he can’t remember the “past-it,” and so he doesn’t. But he does accept the deal of 3000 rupees and 20 bundles of wood to purchase the house. There’s a shrine nearby; he’ll save on stable fees.

Or so he tells himself.

But one thing he does notice is that the past-him of the memories is very quiet. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let himself feel anything, or anything noticeable, if the calm face in the memories is anything to go by. Though, frankly, if the person in the memories didn’t have his face, he wouldn’t have thought it was him. He watches, remembers, as if he’s at a far remove, someone looking down on his earlier self. Perhaps this is because of the shrine? Because of the princess’ magic?

One other thing he notices is that the princess whose voice he keeps hearing, who warns him before each blood moon (though, if he’s being petty, it would be nice to get more warning), is nicer sounding than the one in the memories. The one who can’t look at him as she performs the ceremony that is supposed to bind the Champions together, help her gain her powers. The one who shouted at him when he found her, the reason for his following her unsaid but he can’t help but remember the face of the king, and he’s sure it’s on that man’s orders that he sought out the princess who didn’t want to be followed by her knight. Something must have changed, but what, he’s not sure. Maybe the next memory will share that detail. Or not.

His dreams are fragmented, shifting. It’s easier to focus on the days, moving from place to place, to be present in the now and not think on the then. Or the to come. Better to look to the shrines, the small tasks asked of him, the help he can give. The help he gives because he can, and should, and so he will. 

And because if he is moving, if he is helping, he doesn’t have to think about why the land of Hyrule lies in ruin. 

Doesn’t have to consider the equally ruined wreck that is his memory, his sense of self. He’s not sure who he is, when it comes down to it. He has a name and a handful of actual memories; the rest of him is half-remembered feelings and preferences held piecemeal together by a fragile, flightless body that is all too likely to be injured. He frowns at the thought– those aren’t his words, someone else’s. But whose?

But he also has orders and a job to finish, and those are concrete if seemingly impossible. So he moves on, following the concrete and hoping the rest will come together.

–

He’s always laughing in the memories they share, a booming, echoing sound. He’s been accused of being painfully optimistic, but he doesn’t mind. Someone has to be, with all the self-doubt that ricochets around their little group.

He remembers one such day, where his laughter echoed out. On the edge of Death Mountain, where it was still cool enough for Mipha to stand the heat, where Revali didn’t mutter constantly about the ash and fire affecting his feathers, they had cleared a monster camp. The little guy had gone at it as he always did, leaving little for the rest to clean up. Revali had complained, but Daruk noticed this time the difference– not that Link had taken charge, but that they had left him to take the brunt. Or something like that; the roar of Death Mountain in the distance and the wind kicked up by Revali’s landing obscured the finer points of the grumbling. Daruk turned as the Rito Champion landed beside him.

“Eh?”

“Nothing,” snapped Revali. “Blessed Three, how do you stand this place?”

Seeing as that had been Revali’s constant complaint since they arrived in the foothills, Daruk just chuckled and turned his attention to where both princesses were making sure that the little guy hadn’t injured himself. It had been happening increasingly of late, enough so that even he had noticed the change, though Link always looked a little lost as to what was happening when he received the focused concern of the Zora princess and her Hylian counterpart. Watching Link’s face shift from blank to confused to blank to concerned to blank again, Daruk could only laugh. And as Revali transferred his glare to Daruk, he laughed only louder.

But not so loud he didn’t hear the muttered “It’s about damn time she got her head out of the clouds.”

–

He watches the rain pour down, listens to the thunder, smiles at the lightning flashes. It’s going to be a good storm, one that will keep him here all night, and, for once, he’s content to wait it out. Perhaps because he’s, somehow, managed to find the perfect spot. It’s dry, and the view… well.

Farosh is dancing on the surface of Lake Hylia, lightning balls circling her and sparking as she kicks up the lake’s surface. The winds that the dragon calls circle around her, and Link can only laugh in wonder. 

The dragon is beautiful , and he could watch her all night. All day. Forever.

It’s funny, though, for as he waits out the storms and delights in the dragon’s antics, he can almost feel a lingering approval, distant and perhaps of another time, but there. That he has finally stopped, rested, and someone is pleased that he has done so. Not the king, he knows that, and probably not his daughter, who, he has come to realise, is both headstrong and not.

No, it’s someone else.

He’s realised he has a funny relationship to time. Or Time. He’s not sure which he should use, in thinking about this. But he does know that he doesn’t remember things in order all the time, and it’s not just his memories. He gets days mixed up, and if someone were to ask him to list the moons and what he did in them, he’d probably get those mixed up as well. He remembers odd things, too, from long ago– like how it feels to have a Korok land on your back when they find you in a game of hide and seek– but he doesn’t always realise they are from then, not now. He has to remind himself he has not played hide and seek, or rather, has never been the one hiding, since he has woken. But he also has to remind himself that the person who requested he find out why the stable kept getting hit by lightning is from now, not a faded echo from then; she only asked him yesterday, he realises when he thinks hard about when it happened. 

This may become problematic, he knows. It probably already is. But it hasn’t stopped him from doing what he has set out to do, and he can manage it by just focusing on the very much now, the moment. Which is what he is doing now, watching Farosh delight in the wind and lightning. 

He should probably sleep, but that can wait (and a frown– that approval just faded into something he thinks is exasperation)-- the dragon is here and now. His body, however, has other ideas; warm, safe, and stationary, it pulls him into sleep, gradually and insistently. 

He wakes to a dragon scale and the smell of ozone, a dragon’s toothy grin in greeting.

–

“Oh for Nayru’s bleeding heart,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Stoneface was adequate with a bow. Barely. But because he was a Hylian and according to the incredibly, appallingly, low standards he now knew the Hylian Royal Guard held, the Princess’ knight was considered a good shot.

Explains why the Hylians never got anywhere when they tried to conquer the Rito , he thought. Amend that– Link’s raised eyebrow suggests he may have said that out loud.

Revali ignored the possible slip; the point stood. 

“If you are going to be on the same battlefield as I am,” he drawled, stalking over to where Link stood in the Flight Range, “You are going to have to be a better shot.

“Obviously,” he shrugged eloquently, “You will never match my standard. I have, of course, trained to the pinnacle of Rito archery for years.” 

Link visibly rolled his eyes. 

Well, look at that. Emotion, and out in the open at that.

“But you can,” he continued, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. The Hylian could be touchy about being noticed; a stray comment a few weeks ago had resulted in Revali being cornered, on the ground and unable to escape, and forcefully told to mind his own damn business.

Which he would do, happily , as soon as the whole “defeat Calamity Ganon” business was over and making sure Link survived his own idiocy so that he could (with Revali’s able help, and the less spectacular but still adequate help of the others) defeat the pig, was no longer at the top of Revali’s to do list.

“You can at least get to decent by Rito standards. You will be the envy of your fellow soldiers–” a wince, and wasn’t that interesting “--who will not be able to overcome their unfortunate featherless state to match your abilities after my teaching.”

Link snorted.

“I know, you’re honoured.” Revali paused, then focused sharply on Link’s face, causing the smaller man to back up and stare back, suspicious.

“I will admit I am unaware of the finer points of Hylian physiognomy,” he began.

“Hylia forbid,” Link muttered, still eying him suspiciously.

“But I do not recall that eyes looking puffy and bruised is part of a healthy Hylian face.”

Link’s face went hard. 

At least I have room to manoeuvre here , he sighed. Din’s breath scorch him if he tries to pin me again though.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The stare continued. Revali scowled back, tried to figure out what the issue was. Hyrule’s Hope was certainly not going to tell him. Hylians were odd and fragile; they were always coming down with something…

Ah, he had it. The Princess being shuffled off to bed by Impa, who was going on about sleep and bags under the eyes, and well, that seemed to fit Link’s state. He didn’t eat properly; it had been too much to hope that he also got enough sleep. “Enough” having a new definition, but even that he didn’t look like he was getting.

He jerked his head to the hammock in the roost, where a fire burned cheerfully, heating the small space.

“Sleep’s part of training,” he said sharply. “I’m not wasting my time on someone who can’t focus because they’ve been up longer than they should.”

Link eyed him stonily, face set. He sighed.

“Look, this isn’t charity or making you look bad or … whatever,” he turned and went for his bow, voice as casual as he could make it. “I simply refuse to die because you’re too stubborn to sleep when you should.

“If you want to be a better shot, I’ll teach you. Goddesses know you need it. But you have to be rested otherwise the lessons are pointless; I refuse to waste my time when I can be training to ensure that I survive.”

He checked the tension in the string, filled his quiver. Returned to where Link stood, eying him, and prepared his Gale.

“Your choice.”

When he next looked down, Link was gone from the edge of the Range. His bow and quiver lay, neatly placed, at the edge of the roost. He smiled.

He knew he shouldn’t be keeping score, but, well. It was just so easy to, especially as he was winning.

–

He doesn’t have all of the shrines yet, maybe half. But there’s an itch in his hands, and he’s gotten confusing directions from Hestu enough times to know that now is the time. And the fact that this decision sticks and is clear in the moment is, perhaps, the strongest call of all. It’s time to start for the Forest, for the Sword that Seals the Darkness.

Fi , he hears distantly, but it’s not his voice and he doesn’t think it’s hers either. It’s more an echo of a memory cascading through time. Time. 

He frowns, and finally admits that, okay, this may be a problem. It’s certainly becoming annoying. 

But he shelves the problem from another day and starts moving in the direction Hestu indicated. The Slate’s farscope function tells him there are several shrines between here and the Forest, and he decides it’s okay to focus on getting the waypoints– it’ll help. Not a delaying tactic, at all.

A sennight and a bit later, and he’s here. There had been more detours than expected, well, one. The ruins of the training grounds had sent him into a spiral. 

First he destroyed the monsters there. It’s a bit of a blank, but he’s pretty sure he was a berserk mess.

Then he shoved all of the remains into the muck below. The bodies had disappeared into smoke, but the horns and guts left behind he hadn’t bothered collecting with the Slate. They all went into the mire. He’d probably regret that move, but well…

And then, when the towers were clear and he could fool himself that he was on a watch tower and not a monster fortress, he collapsed and stared. At what, he couldn’t say. He just … stared.

This place had been important. Considering he had been a knight, he suspected he had trained here. But he knew that it was more than that. There was … something about this place that demanded it be treated better than a ruin sliding into mire and muck that monsters had taken over. 

At some point in the staring, he remembered. For a short while, this place had been home . It had been safe and good and secure . It had meant a level of freedom from someone (he couldn’t remember the who, just the relief of being out of their eye). It had been solid in a life that was often unmoored.

And now it was gone. And the very little bits that remained were disappearing.

The staring went on longer when he decided that the grounds were gone because of his failure, his defeat at the hands of the Guardians that the king had spoken of. Had he not fallen, had he not failed, that solid piece of home would still be standing.

How long the staring goes, he couldn’t say (that time thing, again. But also, everything had stopped processing once he had sat down; his eyes watched the world, but nothing of what they saw stuck long enough to process changes). But he does know that he stops staring when it starts raining, a hard, cold downpour that feels like ice being poured on him. It jolts him out of his stupor, and he warps to a random shrine in Faron, gasping as the humid heat of the region envelopes him. 

He’s bone tired by the time he falls into a fitful sleep, but even exhausted, he still has the energy to be annoyed at the dream voice that demands What in the Three’s name do you think you were doing, you imbecile? If you wanted to kill yourself, there are faster ways to do it than getting caught in the rain! He’s not sure when the voice is from, but he wants to tell it he can take care of himself just fine, thank you very much.

The voice snorts in response. Doesn’t believe him.

–

It was a stormy day, she remembers, one that had them all grounded for a change. Zelda was in the Sheikah workshop, Urbosa and Daruk with her as the Sheikah researchers asked them questions about Vah Nabooris and Vah Rudania. Yesterday, when the storm began, they had questioned her and Revali, letting them off the hook for today. It had taken all day by the time the Sheikah’s questions were done, and she had been starving. The slowly simmering stew waiting for them all had been a welcome sight, and she had wolfed down her portions without even thinking about asking who to thank.

It had been delicious .

But now, as she sat with Link and Revali, tending to her trident as Revali worked on his stock of arrows, she realised it had been Link as he quietly and methodically prepared the ingredients for another stew, one that would equally suffer being left all day while they waited for the researchers to finish their work.

“What’s in this one?” she asked, curiously. “Yesterday’s was amazing, thank you.”

He smiled softly, listed the main ingredients. She nodded, watched him cook. It was a quiet, easy silence between the three of them. Lunch was toasted flatbread with cheese melted over it, vegetables roasted in the flames. Revali indicated his thanks for Rito-friendly food as he folded the bread and ate it in neat bites.

Link’s rueful shrug froze slightly to something she didn’t quite hear, but then again, her hearing above water was not what a Hylian’s or even Goron’s was. But she put it out of her mind; Revali was always muttering ridiculous things.

Later that day, as Urbosa and Daruk came down, escorting a protesting Princess Zelda and Purah respectively, Revali joined them, Link nowhere to be seen.

“Training,” was Revali’s abrupt answer to Impa’s question about Link’s whereabouts.

“Not like he needs it!” Daruk boomed, chuckling, and the Sheikah around him nodded. She watched Revali bristle, as he always did when Link’s skill was mentioned and, not for the first time, wondered why.

It wasn’t like Link went out of his way to antagonise the Rito. Was it because swordwork came so easily to Link? That was the princess’ problem.

She asked him, later that night. The Rito Champion gave her an opaque look, and only said,

“Well, if that’s what it looks like, must be so.”

–

There are stories people tell about the Forest. About those who go in and never come out, lost to the laughter and mists. About those who go in and come out changed, wits addled or who can no longer look you in the eye. They saw things , people whisper.

When the stable heard that Link was heading for the Forest, they told him the stories. Tried to get him to turn back. But he couldn’t, and so he smiled and thanked them and came anyway. One detour and freakout over, he now walked through the Lost Woods, following the wind.

Honestly, you’d think there’d be a harder riddle to read to get into this place.

He laughs softly. Can you see anyone behind us figuring it out?

Well, no. 

There’s your answer then. 

A pause. How did you figure it out? I can tell- you’re not following the wind.

He winces, caught out. I’m following the wind’s voice.

Silence.

There were once three goddesses worshipped in Hyrule, he remembers as he walks. Nayru, the Goddess of Wisdom. River blue and full of law and healing; mother to the Zora and Sheikah. Din, Goddess of Power. Fire red, hard and fierce and full of the earth’s might. The Gerudo were her image and the Gorons her sons. 

And Faore, Goddess of Courage. The whipping wind and green as tree leaves, laughter in the bloom of spring and humility in the heart of winter. She had flooded the world with life, and the Hylians were her children. Hylians and the quiet, secretive children of the Forest who changed as the seasons did.

His ears twitched as he followed the wind, moving with its push and pull, listening for the voices that called and chattered at him. He heard music– a soft flute and raucous maracas– and he headed toward both. And then, suddenly, he stood in the glen.

He stood before the Sword. 

Later, as he rested in a bed of leaves, he frowned. The Princess had a smile like the sun, the Deku Tree had said. And he was right. But…

He sighed and turned over, putting the half-formed thought aside. It would come, or it wouldn’t. It was part of the grey space that said then was now and now was then and that hid everything in between.

But no, it seems not. For as he settles, he remembers .

Walking into the forest with the Champions and Princess, just a knight.

Fighting a man who called down Malice and shaped it into the Champions.

Who trapped him and the Princess in the glen with the Malice. 

Who threw him to the side so that the dark prophet could attack the Princess.

Grabbing the first thing that came to hand, not his sword but the Sword and rising to do the one thing he was told he must always do: his King’s command, his sworn duty.

The Sword calling and singing as they fought, as the pure light of the sacred blade dissolved the Malice and broke the prophet’s barrier.

The Champions running in. The prophet fleeing.

Daruk’s and Mipha’s shout at seeing he held the Sword. Urbosa’s smile, relieved. Revali’s scowl.

The Princess. Her face like thunder.

Leaving not just a knight, but the Knight who bears the Sword that Seals the Darkness. A knight who stands so, so alone as all of the Hylian soldiers who accompanied them stand apart, faces carefully blank whenever he looks over.

The leaf bed is comfortable. The pillow is soft, the covers warm. But he feels cold and the pillow cannot offer the comfort he desperately wants as he buries his face in it.

A face like the sun. But not a sun he was permitted to look at, it would seem.

He thinks he knows why, now, past him has his blank face.

–

They chaffed, impatient and worried. The Malice was getting worse, biting harder, striking deeper.

Alright , the sharp voice sighed, tired. Call .

Mipha first , another voice cuts in, firm. Vah Ruta’s Malice is chaotic and insidious, and they can feel its pull.

Mipha first, the other two echo, overriding the protests of the fourth.

They remember. They remember and remember and remember and …

Call .

She is so tired, but she remembers and calls; a past laying gently in the distance between them.

There was a boy who used to play with her, escaping from the watch of the Hylian Moor Garrison just as she escaped the care and attention of Muzu. They would run wild in the marshlands, laughing and chasing the blue bunnies that dotted the landscape whenever Link was there.

She remembered when he left, his father reassigned to the castle. She remembers when she next saw him again, a quiet presence behind Princess Zelda, his face shuttered though his eyes had lit upon seeing her. He had changed much, but then, perhaps, so had she. Change was the way of the world, waters ever flowing, ebb to flood, adapting as they melded and separated. But the steady feel of her friend was ever the same, and she saw the tiny blupees peeking out wherever he would go. The quirk of his mouth told her he saw them too, and she was glad that he had not been denied that joy, the memory of chasing the creatures through the woods and trying to catch them with their hands.

But the memory she most cherished was when she and the Hylian princess had come out of the meeting with her father, when he had finally agreed to allow her to pilot Ruta, to see Link entertaining her brother. The young Zora prince, who sat still for literally no one , sat before Link, his eyes wide as Link spoke softly, a smile back on his face for the first time since Mipha had seen him again. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, and the moment ended all too soon as Link looked up and saw the meeting had ended. Sidon looked over as well, realised he was going to get A Talk, and leapt into the pool that would take him into the lower levels, waving cheerfully at Link as he did. As Link stood, returning the wave, she restrained her sigh; the smile was gone.

But she couldn’t blame him. There was work to be done, and maybe, once it was, she could convince her old friend to return. Maybe she couldn’t go hunting blupees in the marshland anymore, but Sidon could, and Link could smile again.

He remembers training with the little Zora princess and how, one day, a Zora guard had come and said King Dorephan would like to speak with him, if it was agreeable. When Mipha found out what they had talked about, she had been appalled, embarrassed, and, he could tell, a little pleased. He wasn’t sure why she was so embarrassed and was about to ask, but the little guy appeared just then with the other little princess. The two went off, and all he could hear was Mipha’s huffed Fathers.

Link smiled ruefully. “King Dorephan asked you to look out for her, didn’t he?” he asked softly. He laughed, nodding his head in answer.

“How’d you guess?”

“He spoke to me when we first got here,” Link admitted. “Said he would not ask me, because he knew I could not watch two princesses at once. But he wanted to know who I would suggest.” Don’t tell Mipha lingering in his tone and posture.

He was honoured and told the little Hylian so, and the tips of Link’s ears went red. 

“I will keep her safe.”

He remembers and calls, the promise heavy in his memory.

She remembers her first trip to Zora’s domain with their merry band of Champions, a nickname Purah had coined and that had stuck upon Revali’s obvious displeasure at being called “merry” and her and Daruk’s heavy laughter.

Some days, she wasn’t sure who was louder.

But she remembers the visit, the tiny Zora prince who appointed himself tour guide and who directed them about. And who, upon being lost in the crowds one too many times for his sister’s pleasure, unceremoniously found himself picked up and transferred from Champion to Champion until he stopped squirming.

He climbed all over Daruk and was passed on when his foot slid down the Goron’s face.

Revali handed the prince off after a whole five minutes of quiet, calling it a step too far when Sidon started pulling at the Rito’s braids. 

(She had been shocked, she remembers; who knew the Rito could tolerate anyone on his back for even that long.)

Sidon had refused to let his sister hold him, insisting very firmly that he was not a hatchling anymore.

He scowled at the Princess until she passed him off.

Urbosa pinned him under one arm against her hip, done with the antics, at which point he wiggled out backwards to be caught by Link, who calmly boosted the prince onto his shoulders and said,

“Carry on, captain.”

Beaming, Sidon barked out directions and resumed the tour, only occasionally pulling at Link’s hair to indicate direction or when to stop. Amusement dancing in the hero’s eyes, he put up with the hair pulling and the feet drumming for the remainder of the tour.

Remembering, she laughs and calls, beckoning the hero to return.

Softening at the memories he soars high, remembering, calling, requesting that the hero listen.

Zora’s domain is a series of interlocking levels, rising high above the lake on graceful pillars that join in intricate arches. He’s been here three times and finally he can’t resist. As a Zora dives off the second-highest level, Revali follows. As they hit the water, he swerves. And as they come up to wave at him, he is gone, whisking the tops of the waves with his wingtips before he begins to weave amongst the pillars and arches.

He follows the wind and lets it guide him, calling it only when he feels the need to spiral up to a new level. He forgets about why they are here. He forgets the Champions and that he is one. He forgets that Ganon is coming. He forgets that Link still can’t take care of himself and seems to be particularly bad at it whenever Revali is around. He forgets all of that.

He just … flies .

As he settles back down into the domain, feeling at ease and at peace in a way he hasn’t for moons (when was the last time he flew like that, riding the wind and challenging it just because he could ? Far, far too long it felt), he sees Link watching him, something on his face that Revali can’t quite read even with his excellent eyesight. 

He lands, looks at the hero, head cocked and an eyebrow raised.

“Sidon is saying he now wants to be a Rito when he grows up, to fly like you,” Link informed him ruefully. He barked a laugh; if the Zora only knew… 

He waited, sensing there was more. Link’s smile faded, and he looked up to the sky.

“You’re right,” he whispered finally. “My flightless existence is a pity.”

He goes cold. Swallows, then,

“Well, there is a way to help with that,” and, so Link doesn’t get ideas , “Fortunately for you.”

–

He’s not entirely sure why he goes to Zora’s domain first, but he does and it feels right.

The rain, constant and never-ending, does not. Absently he wonders if it has always rained this much in Hyrule. And, if it has, how in Hylia’s name the land hasn’t flooded.

He remembers someone telling him stories about a Flood. But who or what those stories were, he could not say.

But he thinks that no, it didn’t use to rain this much. There’s something not right about the rain here, unlike in Faron where it rained almost as much.

“Hey!” A voice called and he turned, eased through the marshes to speak with the Zora who waved him over, who sent him to the Zora prince, who reminded him, terribly and painfully, of the quiet Zora girl he had seen in his fragmentary memories. Who had spoken to the princess just as the Calamity had erupted, her advice eaten by the beast’s appearance.

That had been on the road to Lanayru, and the memory had started him staring again until he was able to tell himself that that day had been then and was not now. That whatever followed that memory– a subject he shied away from at every possible opportunity, like Epona had from her handlers– was gone, dead perhaps even. But definitely gone.

So he followed Sidon’s directions, swearing continuously under his breath as he made his way up the slick, monster-infested road to Zora’s Domain. Tried to remember why the prince seemed so familiar.

A bend in the road has him pausing, catching his breath and it’s th— gone. The taste of a memory almost realised, the sight of a small Zora girl in just out of focus; sighing, he pushes on. It’ll come, or not. 

And then, in Zora’s Domain it comes back all too quick, standing in front of Mipha’s statue with Sidon and Muzu.

Mipha.

Laughing, the two of them running away to play. 

To plan grand campaigns against the frogs and lizards. To gather blooms– hardy radish most especially– to place at the memorial of the Zora Queen.

Growing up elsewhere, returning to see his friend when the Princess came to seek Vah Ruta’s pilot.

Chasing after a small Sidon as he went to fight a Lynel of all things. 

Mipha healing his arm after he fought a Lynel, a different one.

Vah Ruta’s scream as— and he was back, running from that memory and back to the present as Sidon shook his shoulder, calling his name worriedly.

“You gave us a tour,” he said stupidly, looking at Sidon, dazed. Muzu gaped. “You were smaller?” 

“Wonderful!” Sidon beamed, “You also remember now!”

He must, because there’s no way he could carry Sidon on his shoulders now. Nor … Revali. Yes, that’s what Impah had said the Rito Champion’s name was.

It takes a while, too long for nerves becoming increasingly fraught, like there’s a call that he just can’t hear but is processing all the same, but eventually he gets Muzu to agree to help (and ignores the brick in his stomach as he puts Mipha’s gift on) and finds enough shock arrows.

Lynels. Of all the Goddess blasted things.

“My turn to carry you!” Sidon called out as he met the prince at the Reservoir. “Come, I am unstoppable in the water!”

–

It’s like a bell is ringing, tolling, echoing, and it calls her away from the group. As she goes, she hears the order to send him to Daruk next and knows, despite the protests that follow, the call is right. They were under attack singly, but also together; Daruk had taken the brunt of too much to protect them.

So she goes to the tolling, smiles, and calls out directions to Vah Ruta’s terminals. To the guidance stone. Calls out a warning, watches anxiously.

And as she does, she sees something. Link had always been skilled, always focused. He moved with precision, but the fluid movements of the Zora, ingrained from childhood through the slipstreams and currents of the great lakes they inhabited, were never his. Link moved like a … well, like the Guardians. Precise, but mechanical.

Now? Now he moved with grace, as if in a slipstream. As if dancing , two voices chimed in. As if flying , smiled another. 

Sure, he was no Zora, apparent as Waterblight called up a flood of water and the Hylian swam (a little more easily, thanks to her gift) and hauled himself up, grace gone in those movements. But he moved with a surety and confidence that, if not absent, had certainly been hidden one hundred years ago.

She smiled and hoped and prayed.

And then Waterblight was dead and she was released from the Malice-tinged darkness, pulled to the blue light and safety of Vah Ruta.

–

Soaring down to Zora’s Domain, Link wasn’t sure what to feel. He’d hoped that seeing Mipha would trigger more memories, maybe something to tell him whether he would have responded to the significance of the princess’ gift one hundred years ago.

But no. Nothing.

He frowned, concentrating on managing the glider as an updraft shot past him. 

And the thought was gone, left on the wind. He focused on his soaring, wondering momentarily where he had learned to manipulate such a craft, shrugging mentally when the memory remained elusive, as always. 

He landed to celebration, the rains having stopped, and his success obvious before his arrival. Sidon bounded up to meet him, hope wavering in his eyes as he saw Link land, no one else coming from the distant figure of Vah Ruta.

“It’s… complicated,” he blurted out, suddenly finding he had no words,not the right ones. “I … let’s…” he rubbed his hand over his eyes, frustrated almost to screaming. 

“We should go to Father,” Sidon suggested helpfully. “Then you can explain it all to us there.”

And so, nodding miserably at his inability to articulate words, let alone dates and timelines, he followed. Explained what Mipha had told him, best he could, which probably wasn’t great, considering how little he understood. But he repeated her words, and that was enough, apparently.

She was alive, but only her spirit was free; her body Vah Ruta sheltered until Calamity Ganon would be defeated. If it wasn’t defeated, she would remain there, as would all the Champions in their Beasts.

He needed to go to Daruk next.

The Champions were all alive, but they were fighting and they were getting tired. Their fall wasn’t imminent, but he still needed to move.

He had failed them once– no, that wasn’t Mipha, that was him, but he knew he was right– and he could not fail them again.

King Dorephan offered him Mipha’s Lightscale Trident to carry, to remember her, to fight, to hand over if needed, and he couldn’t say no.

The next morning, he was gone, heading for Death Mountain, a trident heavy on his back.

–

They are three now.

She remembers a meeting in the desert, the Zora princess staying away for the land’s inhospitable temperatures. Sages bless, she had tried.

The others had come, Daruk and Revali and Impa and Zelda, and, of course, Link. The two Champions had remained in the Kara Kara Bazaar, Link returning only after he had escorted the princess and Impa to the gates of Gerudo Town.

“Little Bird,” she had admonished upon hearing about Zelda’s tirade at her silent protector. “You should be kind to him. He is only following your father’s orders.”

A stubborn set to the princess’ mouth suggested there would be no agreement forthcoming; Urbosa just sighed and hoped that things would ease off. It had been moons now; soon, soon, Zelda would realise that his abilities with the Sword that Seals the Darkness had no bearing on her own Goddess-born talent. She had to, if anything was going to change.

Sages be kind, she’d realise soon .

In the darkness of the desert night, cool air drawing goosebumps on her arms, Urbosa sipped her drink and looked out to the Bazaar. 

That boy was a mystery, that was for sure. A young knight, youngest ever if the gossip was to be believed. And silent as the Sages’ own statues, offering no wants, no opinions, only standing where duty demanded. Even if that meant shepherding a headstrong princess across a field of sand just to make sure she reached a destination that he could not enter.

A knight’s job is not to speak , the desert wind whispered, he is seen and not heard, and she frowned, the answer to whom the quiet knight reminded her of finally answered.

He was related to that Garrison Commander, she realised, the one who commanded the Castle’s guard. Rusl, that’s what she thought his name was. Yes, that was it.

Sighing, Urbosa knocked back her drink. Well, that certainly explained a few things. She’d have to remember to tell the bird, since he’d asked if she’d known anything about Link’s silence. About his tendency to stay silent when injured, submitting to healing only if someone noticed, his infuriating tendency in Revali’s words.

“I don’t care ,” he had snapped at her teasing, “I just have an acute survival instinct. And if the prophecies King Rhoam is so fond of trotting out at a feather’s fall are to be believed, we need him to survive for us to survive.”

Her smile returned as she returned to her rooms, chuckling softly to herself. The bird could protest all he liked, but she was on to him. 

–

There’s a problem with getting to Death Mountain with all speed. 

Namely, the stupid volcano is so hot the air is on fire. And anything the air touches that is flammable. Which is all of Link’s clothing, most of his bows, all of his arrows, and one of his shields. 

Oh, and himself. Hylians are flammable too, it turns out. Hylia’s heart, he was flammable. Of all the things to have forgotten. Revali was going to kill him, though he had no idea why he knew that.

After his first attempt to scale the mountain failed, he returned, swearing, to Hateno. He deposited all of his flammable weapons and armour, kept the fire arrows ( definitely left the bomb arrows) and, upon reflection, the ancient arrows.

Sold enough gemstones that he could buy as many fire-proof elixirs as he possibly could when he returned to the Foothills Stables.

And then, frustration worked out thanks to the steady stream of muttered swearing (and a feeling of someone laughing heartily behind him, in the distant, in the past- maybe?), he slept in his own bed.

He’s in Hyrule Field, a yearling turning around him, ears twitching to his clucks and whistles. For once he and his father are in agreement as to where he should be and what he should be doing.

He’s in the Field, but the mare is now older, broader, and he and his father are not in agreement. She is not a proper horse for a knight, too headstrong and not biddable to anyone other than him. He holds firm; she is his, and if he’s going to protect the princess, as his father keeps telling him he will, then he needs a horse that is an extension of his will. He wins, last time in a long time.

He’s in the Field, the mare grudgingly following a white stallion, a blonde-haired princess in front of him, her back rigid. She had tried to give Epona an apple; the mare had refused it. The princess now blamed Link that his horse hated her. He could have told her differently, that Epona accepted food only from a select few people who were not him, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him. 

He’s in the Field, running, running, hoping that in the chaos, in the fi–

And he’s awake, tears streaming down his face, gasping as he sits up, clutching at his blankets, holding his arms tight against his abdomen. Sucking in great breaths, trying to get his heart to stop racing. Focusing on the feel of blankets, of the hay in the mattress below him. The scratching of birds– morning? Those are cuccos– outside.

“Blessed goddess,” he scratches out, his voice harsh and catching. “Why in the name of the Three does it have to be like this? Why, dammit? ”

But the goddess is silent.

–

He remembers a time in the Hylian royal castle, the great edifice of stone and metal that rose about the plain. Urbosa had been there, and Revali, and they had been waiting for the princesses and Link to join them.

But only Link did, who shrugged at their questioning looks.

“Told to beat it, were you?” Revali asked, and even Daruk noticed that his voice was … soft. Link smiled crookedly, and Daruk sighed; the tiny princess was trying, but she kept taking things out on the little guy. She’d gotten better, but when the king yelled… she yelled too. 

“Well,” Urbosa declared. “You are seventeen today Link, correct?” She smiled at his answering nod. “Excellent,” she declared as Revali sighed and he laughed.

“... why?”

“Apparently Urbosa thinks we need to celebrate something,” Revali rolled his eyes. “With food and alcohol.” 

Revali had been put out by the plan, though why, he had no idea. Perhaps because it involved fun, perhaps because it had been someone else’s idea. You could never tell with him.

“You’re of age now,” she grinned. “And as the self-appointed bad influence of our merry band–” Revali shuddered indignantly “ – I insist that we introduce you to it in a controlled and safe environment.”

Link’s eyes had widened, and he took pity on the little guy. 

“Meaning you don’t have to have any or more than you want. There’ll be food too!”

Link hesitated. 

“Oh for Nayru’s breath,” Revali muttered. “We aren’t those louts in the guard. This is just an excuse; drink or don’t drink, your choice, just let us say it’s for your birthday so nobody gets in our faces.”

He watched as the Rito’s words caused the tension to ease out (caused, he later learned, by a practice called “hazing” that the older guards were very fond of; Revali had opinions , no shock there). Link shook his head, laughed a little, and acquiesced.

“Lead on, Lady Urbosa,” he bowed, rolling his eyes as he came up to a muttering that sounded a lot to Daruk like “But you don’t get a choice about eating a goddess-damned meal. Preferably three .”

–

He knows he should return to the mountain, but he can’t. He just… can’t. The memories of Epona have him stuck, mired in a way nothing else has. He’d been recalling his headstrong companion piecemeal, but those last memories… 

It’s all he can do, when he wakes, to get out of bed.

And then another memory comes, he thinks from a few moons ago, not from before, and he’s off, dissolving into blue light. There’s a spring, he remembers, a spring where he might bargain. It probably won’t work, it’s been so long, but he can hope. He can try.

He wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t at least try .

Making his way to the shrine, he thinks about another of the princess’ memories that he’s acquired. Riding with her through Sanidin Park, Safula Hill, the princess turning back and speaking to him. Praising him for the accuracy of his advice about horses (apparently forgiving him for Epona’s continued snubs). Smiling. 

Saying something about trying to be more empathetic, and he’s not sure if she means to the horse or him. He thinks it unfair that she had wanted the horse to prove himself to earn the barding. Epona had taught him that it was the rider who had to do the proving.

He watches the smile, in his memories and without, unsure. He’s still not sure why things changed, how a princess who hated his presence and avoided his company as much as possible has gone from shouting to smiling at him. To being accepting of his company. The past him in the memory is no help, as usual, but he wants to think that he sees wariness hidden in his past eyes.

He’s wary now, waiting for the other wind to kick up.

He’s so tired, so tired of this, of the uncertainty, of the half-remembered certainties. He keeps plodding on, because they’re all counting on him , him who failed once, who has promised that he won’t fail again but is terrified that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll fail, that it will all be the same again, that –

Welcome, little Hylian .

He jolts, looks up to the spectral form of Malanya, the Horse Goddess.

You have a companion waiting.

Nods, dares to hope, doesn’t dare allow himself to.

She , Malanya loomed close , insists you are worthy. Holds his breath. And she… is correct.

“What… What does that mean?” he asked finally, hesitantly, as she stared at him expectantly.

A peal of horsey laughter was his only answer as a soft, familiar nose shoved him into the goddess’ spring, causing no end of amusement for both the goddess and the most difficult horse Hyrule Castle ever had the fortune to house. 

He buried his head in Epona’s neck, launching himself at the one constant he had had once he clambered out of the pool.

Go, little Hero. Go and run with your companion.

For the first time since he had received his charge, Link felt as if, maybe, now, maybe, he could do it. He could complete this monumental task that had been left for him to fulfil.

He wasn’t alone.

–

Urbosa and Daruk are waiting for him as he returns from the Flight Range. He scowls upon landing; this is not what he needs, not while a certain imbecile is currently huddled next to a fire and under as many blankets as Revali could find.

He even donated his scarf , Link looked so miserable.

“Not now,” he snapped.

“Yes now ,” Urbosa hissed, grabbing his wing. Or trying to. He took some pleasure in being faster than her.

“ What then?”

Daruk looked around, worried. That brought him down. The rock was singularly unable to be anything other than optimistic 99% of the time. Make that 99.99999995% of the time.

“Where’s the little guy?”

“Hopefully still next to the fire I told him to stay by,” Revali hissed. “I found Hyrule’s hope and future in a snowbank . Which is why, unless you want the idiot to shiver himself back to warmth, now is not the time .” He did not add and I had to carry the fool back to civilization because, frankly, no one needed to know about that particular indignity other than him and the perpetually silent Hope of Hyrule. Who, if he knew what was good for him (debatable, on the merits of past history, to be fair), would stay silent on the matter.

“Keep him there.”

He blinked. “What?”

Urbosa sighed, rubbed a hand over her face. “The king’s messenger arrived. He has ordered Zelda to the temple in the heart of Tanager Canyon to pray. She’s taken it … well, about what you’d expect.”

Of all the plucking, goddess-damned ideas.

“And her chosen knight was in a snowdrift because?” he seethed, keeping his beak firmly shut on the suggestion that Link’s dance with hypothermia had been due to a thoughtless command of the princess’. Really, he should get an award for how much he has matured. He’ll be the youngest elder ever, if this keeps up. But why, in the Three’s name, had anyone thought it a good idea to let Hylians be in charge of anything ?

“I have no idea,” Urbosa sighed, hands in the air. “I can barely keep track of Zelda. Link is an adult.”

No he is not is on the tip of his beak, but he keeps silent. Continuing this conversation is not something he needs right now. Daruk however, decides, for some reason, that he does need to continue it.

“Isn’t he the same age as the princess?” He scratches his chin. “I thought I heard Mipha say that.”

Urbosa’s face is a picture, but not one he cares to figure out right now; he doesn’t have time for this if they want Link to merely be hypothermic and not have hypothermia.

“Look, you deal with Her Majesty,” he doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. Only so much he can do. “Tell her I’ll return her knight tomorrow when he can actually hit a target. Meanwhile, I need soup ingredients and better clothes for the idiot.”

He hurries from the landing to the market, only slightly pleased to hear Urbosa start swearing vehemently under her breath about Rhoam daring to recruit children to fight the Calamity.

Link looks at him sheepishly from beneath the blankets when he arrives, and he’s pretty sure it’s because the Hylian has obviously moved despite express instructions to not move whatsoever.

“I.. It was j..j…just to g…get more wood,” he proffered hastily, still shivering, hands up under the blankets, causing him to look like a deformed mud monster. 

Revali snorted. “So long as it was just that. Here, get these on. They’re tourist crap, but better than your current clothing.”

“Th… thank you,” Link whispered, taking them. 

“Give me the wet blankets,” he snapped, hand out imperiously. “And clothing, once you’ve changed. Then get under these.” He shoved a new set of blankets next to the fire.

Link’s eyes widened; his mouth opened–

“You fell in a snowbank,” Revali cut him off. “And laid there . Bokoblins have a better survival instinct than you do. So until you can hit a target, and you won’t , shaking like that, no, you don’t get to tell me you’re fine.”

He turned, began to prepare the soup. And then, softly, hears the muttered,

“You don’t have to be an asshole about it. I’m not that bad.”

He grinned. So that was going to be the line, was it? He added a point to his mental tally; still winning.

–

Round two and he hated this dragon-scorched land. A story rises from the mists to lodge in the back of his mind as he slogs up the mountain, Epona waiting for him back at the stable. It had been hard to leave her but… well, horses were flammable too. And he didn’t want to have to go back to Malanya so soon…

Right, the story. Better to focus on it than the combustible air around him, the companion left behind.

A story of a giant lizard who had guarded the pits of Death Mountain.

Of a dragon who had left the mountain to lodge on another, an island in the midst of an endless sea. Who watched the flight of the people below, and waited, remembering the People of the Rock who had once dwelt in volcanic soils. Been born to them. Nurtured and were nurtured by them.

Who bargained with Din when the seas receded, trading power for form. The goddess’ hard laugh as the deal was struck.

The voice who tells him the story in his memory is familiar, but he can’t quite place it to one of the faces that dots his memories. It’s too… soft.

He has a new one, another princess tending to another injury, also courtesy of a Lynel, this time in the foothills of Death Mountain. He’s beginning to get suspicious of those creatures…. But also of what’s going on with both princesses. The him in both memories is quiet, expressionless. He can’t tell what he is feeling, which is both frustrating and unfair; why does he watch his life as if he’s outside of his own head? Why can’t he feel anything as his memories return to him? 

Did he actually feel nothing ? If so, what kind of life had he had, and why did the princess think it so necessary he return to it? Shook his head, focused on not combusting, tried to ignore the twist in his gut.

Whatever the reason, the divorced feeling he gets whenever the princess’ images lead him to a memory doesn’t help things. It just makes him … tired.

But even if he can’t tell what past-him was feeling, he’s starting to get suspicions about what the Princess Zelda felt once she stopped yelling at him. And he’s… worried. He doesn’t feel anything other than the conviction that he must protect the princess because that is his duty, and a knight always does his duty – a memory unbidden and heavy. 

Best to focus on the mountain, he reminds himself. Again. And the offer of a flamebreaker armour set in exchange for lizards; Link pounces on the offer and devotes the next several hours onto catching all the lizards he’s asked to. It’s night by the time he finishes, and he sleeps, uncomfortable in the new armour but relieved that he won’t have to worry about spontaneously combusting.

–

Call .

Daruk remembers taking the little guy up on Rudania, taking the Hylian on a tour of Death Mountain’s crater. The laughter as Rudania swerved, dipped, as he looked out around Hyrule.

It was a good laugh. A brother’s laugh.

They stayed up there long past when they said they would, Link talkative for once and Daruk not wanting to disappoint him. So he answered questions, kept talking about the Mountain, the land, the goddess-blessed rock from which all Gorons came.

They only left when Link used the last of his fire elixirs, time to move down to where the inn held a space separate from the extreme heat of Death Mountain’s air. It was a shame, Daruk thought, that Hylians were so combustible; otherwise they’d have been able to stay longer, for Link to see how Death Mountain’s fiery heart burned so bright that it blocked out the stars. How the night sky turned black as black, illuminated only by the pulsating heat of red magma.

He settled for describing it as they made their way down, Link focusing hard as if, Dark thought, he was painting the image in his mind, committing it to memory.

He remembers and calls, paints the night sky and asks the Hero to come.

She remembers, smiles, taps a tune and beckons, come and dance, Hero.

Gorons loved to dance, she was delighted to discover. She remembers the stomping of heavy feet, the drums booming around them, and twirling, laughing and laughing as she hasn’t done in too long. As the celebrations to a harvest of fire flowers go on, she grabs Zelda and brings her into the dance, hoping to give her heart-sister’s daughter some joy to hold onto. 

Link watches the press of dancers, pressed up against the wall of the square and sitting high, out of the way. Revali is nowhere to be seen. Which, Sages be truthful, is probably for the best; he’d been particularly abrasive ever since they came.

Later, she finds herself next to the knight, asks about Revali.

“He went down to the stables,” Link said softly. “A messenger came for him.”

She frowned; a messenger for Revali? Then shrugged; if the bird was gone, perhaps that was for the best right now. She said as much, thinking Revali’s discomfort due to the heat, remembering his frequent and vocal complaints about the desert.

Link just shrugged, but something was different, had her eye him suspiciously.

“He told you differently, didn’t he?”

Link smiled sheepishly. “Maybe. But if he did, I would have promised to keep it to myself.”

She laughed, “Well, I won’t press then.” His smile went from sheepish to pleased, and she couldn’t help but be glad the young man had started opening up.

The princess then emerged from the circle of dancers, eyes alight and cheeks flushed, waving to her; Urbosa smiled at her charge, stepped forward again.

“Will you join?” she asked over her shoulder, wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. 

“One time, you will have to dance,” she calls. A sigh, the smile is gone.

Death Mountain is aptly named, he thinks sourly. The place is a literal death trap, and it’s no surprise that the only ones who think it a fine place to live are the Gorons who would be cheerful even if you dropped them down a pit in the middle of the ocean.

The princess is also cheerful. He’s beginning to be suspicious of what she considers “interesting.” Already she’s tried to get him to try several varieties of fire elixir that do not require rubbing all over exposed, flammable surfaces like feathers. 

The first few were all vile . He refuses now until she finds a better tasting variety.

At least in the foothills, where they currently stood, it was merely blistering hot and not air-combusts-hot. Still too hot for Mipha though, who waited for them as close to the mountain as she could, ready to heal any serious injuries. Once they got to her, of course.

They were here to test how well the Guardians managed extreme heat. Why he had to be here, he had no idea. He did, however, suspect that it had something to do with the fact that he had reminded everyone that the Rito were allies of the Hylian king, not his subjects, the last time a Hylian guard commander tried to order him around.

So here he was, “on Champion business” that was, in reality, nothing other than an excuse to order him around. 

He was furious and hot and done with this Goddess-cursed Hylian foolishness. 

“Revali.” 

Turning, he scowled at the Hylian knight before him. Link didn’t flinch.

(Remembering, he notices that Link’s face is also pinched. He wonders why.)

“Purah’s scouts have just found a den of fire-breathing lizalfos,” Link said, pointing. “Daruk and the Sheikah will look after the princess; will you cover me?”

He snorted. “Cover you? Please.”

Link hesitated. He was probably too harsh, but he just can’t help it. Din’s teeth, he needs to do something.

“You’ll have to keep up with me, if you can.”

A smile, sharp and bright.

He screeches, laughs, and calls in the remembering of a day’s heat and freedom.

–

Goron City is a maze, and he almost falls into the lava several times. It’s a maze and a death trap, all in one, and the Gorons think it’s amazing. 

He just wants to be done; the place is setting all his nerves alight. Or maybe it’s the flamebreaker armour, oh so necessary but also intensely claustrophobic. Plus there’s also that feeling, the same one he had in Zora’s Domain, of time running out and someone, someones, shouting from a great distance. It is a call, but from whom or from when, he couldn’t say.

Bludo barely notices him, talks over him.

Doesn’t notice him blank out for a brief moment, as, suddenly…

He’s on Rudania, and the sun is shining. Daruk pilots with ease, not the jostling run that had been his first visit on the giant lizard.

He wonders if this is the same lizard from Revali’s stories, asks.

“Rudania?” Daruk laughs, booming, echoing around the caldera. “Maybe! Ol’ King Dodongo, he was old by the time the Hero got to him. Maybe old enough that he was young when Rudania was built, and the Sheikah modelled him off the old lizard.”

He’ll have to remember to ask Revali.

He’ll have to remember to ask Purah.

He’lll–

And he’s back. Shaking his head, trying to remember– oh yes, Yunobo. Who is somewhere in the north mine.

It’s clear Yunobo is Daruk’s descendant (he wonders how that is possible, then decides that he’s better off not knowing).

It’s clear that Yunobo has Daruk’s protection, that he’s better served for facing Rudania and the perils of Death Mountain than the other Goron.

But it is also clear, painfully clear, that Yunobo is too young to be asked to shoulder this burden. That he is young enough to have a someone that should take Link aside and yell at him for even thinking of involving someone of Yunobo’s age. That he should be ashamed of himself.

As Link should have had.

As Zelda should have had.

As Link wants to do now, if he can ever find King Rhoam’s ghost again.

But, because he’s nothing more than a knight, he doesn’t. He swallows the shame, feels it pool in his stomach, solidify into something feeling very much like the brick sitting there from Mipha’s gift, and asks Yunobo for help.

Accepts it.

Fires the young Goron at Rudania, goes on when Yunobo says he’s ready. Keeps. Going.

Yell at me, he wants to shout at the nameless voice that tells him to take care of himself. Yell at me and tell me I’m a horrible person for doing this . Stop me.

But he doesn’t hear anything, and so he keeps going. And hates himself all the more for it.

–

There’s a drum beat calling him, and so he picks himself up and rolls out, Urbosa next lingering behind him, and a fierce argument ensuing.

The little guy’ll have to hurry, otherwise those two will get each other before the Blights do.

And there he is, settling into the protected chambers of Rudania’s interior, insulated from the fiery heat of the volcano. He calls out, laughs at the slight jolt, cajoles Link along.

There’s a tired set to the Hylian’s shoulders that Daruk doesn’t like, and he channels as much confidence as he can to the hero as Link makes his way from terminal to terminal, through locked gates and puzzles designed to trap the unworthy. He remembers the battles they fought and the laughter shared. Calls on the voices behind him, bickering done to focus on the worry, to do the same.

Maybe wishful thinking, but when Link makes it to the guidance stone, the shoulders don’t look so slumped.

And then, a nerve-wracking battle later, Daruk cheers in triumph as the Malice around him disappears and he watches the world dissolve into blue, Rudania’s surface coming into focus.

–

Yunobo is waiting for him, swings him around and causes the flamebreaker armour (regretfully put back on; still claustrophobic) to squeak and clatter.

Bludo chortles when he realises who Link is. 

“I was just a pebble!” he shouts, pounding Link on the back. “And you, you were bigger then!”

He decides to refrain from pointing out that Bludo was smaller then; doesn’t remember him in particular, but does remember a pack of small Gorons who rolled around like tiny devils. Urbosa had loved them, the terrors. Revali had stayed well clear.

He remembered Revali had hated Death Mountain, though not why. He knew that he once knew, but it was a secret. Sighed; a secret he could definitely keep now, it would seem.

When asked his plans, he shares Daruk’s words. That both Revali and Urbosa are fighting, but the balance could tip any moment. That he was to go to Urbosa first though.

Bludo nods, then pulls out a weapon and hands it to him with all ceremony.

He falls over the moment it is placed in his hands.

The Gorons think this is hilarious and a sign that Daruk is the mightiest of the Champions. 

The Boulder Breaker gets scanned into the Slate, and peevishly he thinks that it has made the slate heavier. He thanks Bludo. Says goodbye to Yunobo and moves out. 

With any luck, that will be the last time he has to ask a child to fight.

–

She remembers a day near the end, when Revali stalked in the sunbeams, grounded with a strained muscle. Mipha had healed it, but insisted that the Rito Champion wait at least until the next morning before he flew again. He had protested indignantly until Link muttered something, and with a squawk and furious glare at the Hylian knight, Revali shut up.

And now he paced, clearly bored, clearly needing to do something. She couldn’t blame him; they all felt the press now, not just Zelda. Not just Rhoam.

“Come,” she finally sighed. “Let’s go for a walk. You’re making me dizzy.”

So they walked. And walked. And as they walked, the Rito gradually relaxed. Until they saw the training grounds, and he tensed again.

She looked down. Saw Link in the midst of a melee, one small fighter against a pack of men heavier and taller than him, older. Let her gaze wander past the knight and his opponents to where others, armour marking them as commanders, watched. Revali scowled.

“How long has he been out there?” she asked absently, watching a few nod to another and then walk away, clearly not interested in watching Link train.

“Do I look like his secretary?” the other snapped, temper back. She didn’t rise; something was clearly bothering him, other than his wing. Or, she amended, in addition to.

A pause.

“They’re fools,” Revali finally said, eyes locked on Link, voice soft. “All of them.”

“Care to elaborate?”

She almost thought he wouldn’t, he was silent for so long after. But he did, and, as was happening with increasing (and annoying) frequency around the bird, her perception of everything changed.

“He trains all day. All night. But of course he pulled the damn Sword from the stone,” Revali clacked his beak contemptuously, “he’s the descendant of heroes past. Of course he’s the youngest knight in Hyrule’s storied history.”

And Sages, something clicks.

“Because he’s the descendant of heroes past,” she whispered, closing her eyes. 

“Yes,” Revali’s voice was hard, flat. Quiet. “He’s the knight who holds the Sword that Seals the Darkness. Just that. The knight who merits that blasted Sword because he’s the simply descendant of heroes past. No matter how much he trains. How skilled he is. How much he tries to please them.

“He’s always just the knight who holds the Sword.”

She doesn’t want to listen to Revali, to hear his words. To think about what they mean for the h– for Link .

Who had they stopped him from becoming? And Sages past, why had none of them noticed, other than Revali? 

–

Daruk’s words have him heading south, to the mountain ringed deserts of the Gerudo. He picks up Epona on the way, and things settle for him some. 

He swings by Kakariko, asks about the desert. He’s not getting caught out a second time, not with Epona to worry about. And is glad he asked, when the question of desert transport comes up. 

Seals. Seals .

But that’s a problem for another day, and he’s gotten very good at shunting those forward, so on he goes. 

Swears at Impa later when he realises there’s a larger impediment to getting into Gerudo Town to figure out who can help him with Vah Nabooris. And decides to shunt that problem to the future for a day or two and accompany Rhondson from Kara Kara to Tarry Town and Akkala. 

Besides, the someone who might be able to help him isn’t in the Bazaar right now. He’d have to wait anyway , and at least this way he can see if Robbie has anything new. Pointedly does not think about how Robbie had asked him to prove himself.

About how he had pulled up the edge of his tunic, knowing that there was a mess of scar tissue underneath. Not looking at it. Not thinking about it.

Robbie has more arrows and a shield for him. Talks about the sword he’s developing, insists that he stop by before he advances on the castle.

He’s back at the Bazaar that night, too rattled by the Guardian corpses that surround Robbie’s laboratory, the live Guardians that patrol the plains below the behemoth of Akkala citadel’s ruins, to stay, despite his initial plans.

Once, for a short period, he had lived there, in the Citadel. Ran through its corridors, played in the storerooms. Hide and seek. Or just hide.

So he’s back at the Bazaar, where the memories of the past don’t press quite so much. Just one, another of the princess’. One where she finally came to regret her constant attempts to get away. She’s running in the memory, and he suspects she had left Gerudo Town before he could collect her; Yiga found her instead. Then he found the Yiga.

The memory stops there, but his continues, fuzzy. He thinks he threw up later, when the princess couldn’t see. Thinks Revali was the one who found him, though he could be wrong. These fuzzy memories often have the time wrong; he could be remembering another time he threw up and Revali found him.

He stared at the night stars.

–

He remembers a day high in the sky, soaring above the princess and her perpetually silent knight. Looking down to see moblins arrive, spooking the princess’ horse and attempting to direct the animal into a box canyon. 

Link’s horse was having none of it, and as Revali swooped down, she took down a moblin all on her own.

“Can you stop Canto?” he heard shouted at him as he took aim, another down. Who the pluck is Canto ? He wanted to shout, but didn’t upon realising the only thing needed to be stopped was the princess’ horse.

“I know many things–” and another “--but not about horses; I fly, I don’t ride!” he snapped, firing as he tried not to roll his eyes at the idiocy of Link’s comment.

“Then cover me!” the knight snapped back, and he was off, the demon he called a horse pelting after the princess’ white steed.

Had it been any other time, Revali would have been impressed. Would have raced the horse to see who was faster, the four-legged beast or himself (easy answer, himself, obviously, though Link’s horse would have given him a challenge). 

But they were being chased by moblins, and he could see ahead there were more. And so, consummate professional that he was, he followed Link’s suggestion (not an order, since, after all, they were equals in this whole Champion business) and called out a warning. Link nodded in acknowledgement, and the mare put on even more speed, somehow. Pulled up alongside the princess, matched the other horse’s pace.

And then, of all the possible things someone touched in the head could do, he leapt onto the princess’ horse. 

A bokoblin jumped down at that point; he was too busy making sure it also didn’t land on the horse to tell Link what a colossally stupid idea that was. But he managed it, somehow. Hauled the reins and got the horse back under control, and Revali covered him as they made their way to where Urbosa waited.

Link’s horse, meanwhile, followed while also going on a bit of a rampage. Revali didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

The monsters cleared out halfway there, and he could make out bits of conversation. Well, no, that would have required Link to speak. Arguing, cajoling, shouting, the princess trying to convince Link that he could get back on his horse now, she could ride just fine on her own . 

Revali rather doubted that, on the evidence of both of their riding in the past sunmark, but he kept his beak shut. 

He did however, cheerfully point out upon seeing Urbosa (who had taken one look at a fuming princess as Link stopped the horse and turned to Revali) that Link’s horse had killed more monsters than the fabled knight who seals the darkness did. Perhaps they should give the Sword to the horse.

Urbosa had thrown her head back and laughed; he decided that he liked this tall woman after all. It was the first time, Revali remembers, he got Link to roll his eyes.

–

He made it into Gerudo Town. There’s enough said there; he’s pretty sure even if he loses his memory again, that memory will remain, branded.

Worried about a stray breeze.

Worried about someone noticing, realising something was off.

And then the gut punch when he met Chief Riju and saw how young she was. How she reminded him, in her own way, of two other young rulers, both of whom he had failed.

Urbosa was going to kill him if he let anything happen to Riju. He knows this, knows it viscerally even though nothing he has remembered of Urbosa would explain this certainty. It is knowledge from before, with no memory to explain it.

Memory or no memory, he knows that if anything happens to the small chief of the Gerudo, Ganon might as well put up an “on holiday to Lurelin” sign, because there will be nothing left of Link for the beast to fight.

Goddesses bless, she still had sand seal toys in her room.

He agrees to get the Thunder Helm, if only to stop Riju herself from going. Because he can tell; she was one or two nights away from slipping out, shedding herself of Buliara’s care and attention as Zelda had tried to shed his presence. And he… he can’t let her do it. It’s not entirely rational, he knows, but he can’t help but feel if he can protect this young chief, maybe, just maybe, he’ll make up for failing one hundred years ago.

For surviving when so many didn’t. For being free when the others were trapped.

And so he’s here, running away from the town and hoping that he can make up for past failures, cursing the Goddess for involving Riju. For involving Yunobo. 

His eyes are hard by the time he reaches the Yiga hideout. He just… wants to hit something. Hurt someone. But as he hears the crinkle of voices, whispers that echo softly, something brushes his shoulder, feather soft.

A memory.

A touch.

First time you killed people?

Nod. Sigh, a damp cloth passed over.

Don’t let it get easy, Link. You did the right thing, you protected the princess. But don’t let it become easy to kill.

A harsh, short laugh. Oh that, he whispered, that I’ve known for a long time.

A wince, I wondered as much soft on the desert night breeze. A gentle weight on his shoulder, comforting, holding, steady in the grasp of feathers.

And he shudders, comes back to himself. No less resolute, he creeps through, finds the captured Gerudo guard. Follows her directions, her warnings; follows the ghost of a memory of another raid, long ago, of leading soldiers through the twisting, trapping hallways of the Yiga base.

Remembers the accusations that he had led them into a trap, the refusal to look him in the eye later when he got them all out, not every group could say that. He shook his head, clearing it, trying to; he needed all his focus, not the memories of another time and a sinking realisation that past him had tried, unceasingly, to please people he never could.

Fighting Kohga is almost a relief, for the Yiga master demands that he focus, keep his wits about him.

Riju claps with delight when he returns, and worry crashes over Buliara’s face.

I will protect her, he promised the Gerudo quietly in the night. Urbosa fry me if I fail; I will see her home safely to you.

A nod, an acknowledgment. 

Just a man, what does it matter , lingering on the air, someone’s memory from long ago. Some men are worth keeping around. He sighed; a conversation from another Time. Someone else’s memory, intruding.

–

Call.

She’s tired, and maybe the damn bird is right to do things this way. So she snaps her fingers and calls, beckons lightning and the hero, the boy that has always stood in a man’s place.

Link is waiting for them outside the north gate, Impa’s broad hat covering his face. He hadn’t worn one yesterday, and while the princess’ elixir had kept him from overheating, it hadn’t done anything for the spectacular sunburn he now had.

A heated (well, heated for Link) argument had ensued between him and Impa over the hat. Impa had won, but only because in a moment of distraction, Urbosa had leaned over and whispered, “Do you want me to tell Revali about this?” Scowling, Link grabbed the hat from a surprised Impa and stalked back to the oasis and Bazaar, not another word said on the matter. 

Grinning, she watched him go. She was on to Link as well.

She had offered to lift the ban for him, for if anyone deserved it, but he had said no, that this was the one break he could give the Princess without breaking orders, so let it stand; he could take a seal back and forth. And he did, every evening and every morning.

So they walked that day, the hero in his borrowed hat, and she lingered to travel with Link, letting Impa and Zelda take the lead, the princess poking at her slate. Link gives her a sidelong glance, then goes back to scanning his surroundings.

“What do you have against the hat?” she asks finally. “Also, you are going to let Mipha look at that, right?” The slight turning down of his mouth is the only reaction she gets, his face obscured by the hat’s giant brim.

“I’ve balm for it,” he insisted, “but yes, if it’s still bad, I’ll see Mipha.”

Based on those facts, she rather doubted that, made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Nudged him with her elbow to remind him of the first question, almost apologised at the flinch but stopped herself at the look she could barely see. 

“The hat,” he paused, swallowed, settled himself. “It makes it harder to see. Well, that…”

She raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

“That and the damn thing is as tall as I am,” he muttered finally, jumping a bit as she burst into laughter. Smiling sheepishly.

It’s him and Link at the Kara Kara Bazaar, waiting for the return of the princess and Urbosa. A moment of quiet, and for once, he’s willing to take it. Feet in the oasis spring, focusing on the cool of the waters and basking in the heat of the sun. Ignoring the man beside him, because if he won’t take the time to make himself, his worth visible, then Revali won’t do it for him.

The stars are bright in the desert, he thinks.

“Revali,” he hears softly, as if the knight is unwilling to break the subtle peace between them. He expects a bristle, doesn’t feel it. Nods his acknowledgment.

“What am I doing wrong?”

Squawks, breaks out of the reverie. And finds, despite every intention to the contrary, that he can’t be angry. Because what am I doing wrong is followed by something more.

“Because if I’m supposed to defeat the Calamity, it’s only after everyone else has done their part. I just mop everything up; that’s my job. And the Guard, they’re supposed to help. But they won’t, and it all feels… wrong, I guess. Because I’ve done something, I think. 

“So what am I doing wrong?”

He thinks, after a moment’s ironic glee that the knight the King has been pinning all of his hopes on as the prime mover in the defeat of Ganon only thinks of his work as cleanup, that he knows why Link has asked him. Because Daruk will be cheerful and say he hasn’t done anything wrong, to keep at it. Because Mipha will say something comforting about how everyone else needs to come to terms with who Link is. Because Urbosa will laugh and say just to fight. Because the princess will not even engage. Because Revali will answer, blunt and harsh, but he will actually answer.

So he bites back his immediate, flippant response. Because the princess’ knight is right in this– Revali always gauges where his arrows hit. Thinks. Sighs. Groans when he realises what the answer is, that it involves explaining himself and not others. 

“You haven’t done anything,” he settles on finally. “But that’s part of the problem.

“Look, I,” he sighed, casting his eyes upwards. Faore give him strength. “Look at it from my end. You show up, catch my arrow; no one else has ever done that, Rito included. I’m the best there is among the Rito, so I should be hearing about how only the best of Hylians could ever manage such a feat; that this singular achievement proves my skill as well as yours. But all I hear is ‘of course Link caught your arrow; he’s the youngest knight ever!’ It’s a fluke, no skill involved. Then you pull that–” damn unsaid “--Sword and it becomes ‘of course Link caught your arrow, he’s the fabled knight!’ and ‘of course Link is the youngest knight ever, he’s the fabled knight!’”

Link frowned. “I don’t … I don’t understand.”

“Have you ever pointed out that you caught my arrow because you have trained to the point you can gauge that degree of movement, which is, for a Hylian, singularly impressive?”

A shake of the head.

“Have you ever pointed out that maybe, just maybe, you’re the youngest knight ever because you worked your bloody ass off? Because you have; I’ve seen you out there.”

Link was silent, eyed him. Answer enough there.

“You make them nervous,” Revali sighed, “and because they’re nervous, they say it’s not because you train. It’s because of freakish talent, or nepotism. Or something else that justifies them being annoyed and bitter. Which I’m sure they are, since you don’t say anything otherwise to change their minds.”

A bitter laugh is answer enough, but Link speaks for once. “I was… I was told once that the only reason I got my position was that someone sucked the king off. There were bets as to whether it was me or my father.”

Revali winced. For once, he had no words, in part because the tone suggests Link knows very well where the bets landed and Nayru’s grace he was a minor when he entered the Guard. Silence settled until he realised they were both ready for him to continue. He hadn’t been aware of the fact that he had been waiting.

Waiting for Link.

“But once you pulled the Sword, it changed. They can’t say it’s because you deserved it, since that would go against what they’ve been saying, but now you’re the Hero’s descendant. And you still haven’t done anything to say that, no, you pulled the Sword because it was skill and effort as much as blood. You can’t be the only descendant of the Hero,” Link winced, nodding, “So something else let you pull that damned blade out of the stone. But does anyone in the castle know that?”

He leaves it there, expects things to lie. He’s said enough. Honestly, he understands why Link has decided to ask him this question, but at the same time, he doesn’t get it. He’s made his position clear.

“But what… “ Link hesitates, then barrels forward, at a rush. “But what if they don’t want to know? Even if I’ve tried?”

Feels himself stiffen in shock in response; he’d always assumed Link’s silence was from not wanting to make himself known, seen. Never even thought it would be because he’d been ignored, or worse.

In the mountains of Hebra and the plains of Tabantha, the winds blow so cold that your breath can freeze in your threat. And as such the Rito and the nomadic Hylians who make the region home have a single rule: no one is left behind, no one freezes. It is only those who have refused to consider the community, to give shelter to those who are cold, to feed the hungry before the full, who are not covered by this single, golden rule. No one freezes, except those who have refused to share their warmth.

Revali thinks back on Link’s earlier comment, about the endless training he has seen the knight undergo. How he always looks to those watching him, waits for something that he never seems to get if the infinitesimal slumping of shoulders (that only keen Rito eyes can determine; he’s not watching Link harder than the others) would suggest. How Link keeps training, keeps looking, how he asks if it’s his fault. 

Eyes hardening as he goes cold, he snaps, “Then let them freeze.”

Link’s eyes widen then settle into something that he can’t figure out. And Revali, feet in the water, desert stars above, looks at the princess’ knight and starts to think some more.

He rises on a desert wind and remembers, calls, seeks to offer comfort where no comfort can be found.

–

By the time he and Riju set out (a million promises and cautions having been made, Buliara very clearly not comfortable with the plan), he’s rattled. A stray view out to the mountain ringing the desert has him remembering…

Urbosa, a quiet, protective force, not moving for once, the princess curled against her in the desert night.

A soft conversation, the princess working herself too hard. A king’s orders to please, a destiny to meet.

He doesn’t say much, doesn’t feel he can, he remembers, shocked that he does so, he’s too new to Urbosa, this towering force of confidence and the ability to back it. But he does, wistfully, wonder if his mother had been like her.

A force to capture his absent father’s attention. Confident enough to weather the disappointment of a stepdaughter who wanted a father, not another mother.

But he doesn’t know, doesn’t remember this vague sense of sister, even vaguer sense of a mother.

He does, however, he realises as he and Riju race across the sands, remember enough of his father to be uneasy about the man his faulty memory offers for that figure. An argument about whether he left the citadel without cover or not, whether a single Rito could be considered cover.

It had been Revali, he remembers after pummeling his memory, and if any single Rito could be considered “adequate” cover, then it was Revali, who, he knows, like he knows that Urbosa will kill him if anything happens to Riju, will insist that he is spectacular coverage, thank you, not merely adequate.

Meeting, taming, and climbing Nabooris, Link smiles as he remembers that he had made that very point when the two of them had been called before his father.

“Now go home!” he shouts down, his voice hoarse and rusty, surely from the dust and not his preference for silence.

“I’ll wait–” he hears before the wind cuts off the rest of her response. 

Scowling, he summons his most fierce memory of Urbosa. 

“Chief Riju! You will, of all courtesy, return to Gerudo Town and await me there!” His tone is firm, language archaic. It’s from one hundred years ago, overly formal in this era lacking in kings and courts.

“Fine!” he hears finally, petulance and responsibility warring for prominence in that single word. It was enough, though, and he entered the Divine Beast, only a single regret following, that he could not see her safely home. Patricia would have to do it.

Which… he had seen the seal drag a moblin under the sands. If anyone could see the young chief home safely, it would certainly be the very best of the sand seals.

–

The beat for the dance changes when Link enters Nabooris, and she laughs, deep and pleased. 

As he makes his way around, she calls out directions, but she trusts this hero, this knight. This man. There’s no need to press.

Instead she watches, assesses. Sees a set to his lips, to his shoulders that speaks to a decision made, a commitment to be kept. She nods, approves. The princess’ knight had always followed orders, but they had not been his own. Now, whatever this commitment was, things had changed.

He had always fought. Now he would fight for his reasons. Somewhere behind her, she can feel the smile of the last Champion.

As he reaches the guidance stone, she shouts her warning, almost too late as Thunderblight Ganon appears. Strikes.

The damned thing is fast and she curses from where she lingers, helpless.

But Link, somehow, manages to be faster, just long enough to defeat the Blight. She smiles, arms open to welcome as the world fades into blue.

–

Riju lifts the ban when he arrives at the gates of Gerudo Town, announces that the hero who fought alongside Lady Urbosa has returned and freed her spirit.

He manages to smile, somehow. The lifting of the ban makes him uneasy for some reason.

Manages to keep the smile as he’s ushered in, the first man in centuries to enter as a man. Manages to settle himself as he delivers Urbosa’s message.

That Revali remains and fights, but as he now fights alone fights an uphill battle.

That the Champions are linked, so the loss of one means the loss of all.

The Gerudo fill his packs, prepare things so he can set off with all haste, shift so celebration is moved to allow for sleep and recovery; they will celebrate in his name later. There is a small ceremony where Dawnbreaker and the Scimitar of the Seven are handed to him, entrusted to him, and he leaves with the weight of Urbosa’s arms and the Gerudo’s hopes.

They are worried for Urbosa. He understands.

What he doesn’t fully understand is why he is so worried for Revali.

–

Revali narrowed his eyes. This was day three of the princess’ journey, day three of tramping around Hyrule for no discernable reason other than giving the king an ulcer and a reason to yell at them all. Day three, and he was appallingly aware of an equally appalling fact. The princess’ chosen knight– the silent, stoic, stone-face– had finally revealed a weakness; he would have been thrilled, had that weakness been anything other than said knight’s ability to take care of himself .

Watching the Hylian, he considered the facts. 

One, the Hero did not eat when the princess did.

Two, the princess did not stop except when she was eating, and if she was running around, so too was her appointed protector.

Three, Link was up with the dawn to train. 

Four, he stayed up past nightfall to train.

Conclusion? The man didn’t eat. Or if he did, it wasn’t anything near enough to sustain the person who was supposed to be front and centre in fighting the Calamity.

Revali continued to watch the Hylian knight and princess. She was animated, though pointedly not engaging with the silent shadow behind her. Who looked … Revali paused his scrutiny and considered. Yes, the knight actually looked tired. Or something. Probably hungry, considering the aforementioned conclusion about not eating properly. He scowled. Of all the Faore-damned times. Hylians. Useless.

Well, he’d been relegated to a supporting role. He’d made peace (ish) with that. He’d be the best damned supporter any Hylian Hero could ever have, and Link would have to admit that (if he ever spoke). He wasn’t being petty, just coming to terms with his role. Revali had decided this last sennight. It was fine.

What wasn’t fine was the fact that apparently being the best damned supporter any Hylian Hero had ever had meant making sure said mind-blasted Hylian Hero actually ate .

No wonder he was so short.

—

He’s got Epona again, and they race across the plains, and for a moment, he’s content in the moment, the wind pulling at his tunic, his hair. The drum of the mare’s feet against the hard ground, the waves of brushing prairie grass.

For so long, this was as close as he could get to flying. 

Too soon he’s at Rito Stable, not sure whether to look down to where the bridges arc up, connecting the valley to the towering rock that Rito Village perches on, or up to where Vah Medoh circles ominously.

He settles on the valley, begins to climb up. And as he does, something settles in him, and he frowns, unsure.

It’s not like Zora’s Domain, where the familiarity had been tinged with sadness and then confusion over what the Zora princess meant to him. Where angry faces mingled with those shocked and please to see him alive.

It’s not like Kakariko, which he vaguely remembered, but nothing special.

Nor like Hateno, where the house had pressed on him, an unknown memory demanding something be done.

And, blessed Three, not like the ruins of the training camp which had pressed in, accusations in the rot and mire. A visible reminder that he had failed, failed one hundred years ago and for one hundred years as he healed.

No, Rito Village is something else. Comforting, safe. 

A fire where, he knows, he can visit if he wants, or not. Where the choice to sit or train is his. Where silence is companionable, not pressing. Not disappointed or angry.

Rito Village, he thinks, just is; it goes with the wind, never makes demands.

The Village is full of life, and he smiles at the fledglings running around, waves back at them. When one tells him he must see Revali’s Landing, because it’s the very best landing in the whole world, he does just that. 

Thinks when he sees it that the reason it’s the very best landing in the whole world is simply because it carries Revali’s name, but any fleshing out of that thought is cut off as he remembers…

A challenge, a boast, a gale rocketing Revali up to the protective rounds Vah Medoh has set around the valley.

Being annoyed and wanting to shout that Revali should take up a sword and then they’d see whose skill set was so lacking. Rolls his eyes, swears, and leaves the landing.

Ignores the Princess’ pleased smile, not caring what put it there. 

And then, when the Princess was busy with the Elder, meets Revali at the Flight Range, scowling at him until he turned to face Link, and then…

Shaking his head, he smiled, laughed. For once his aim had been perfect, and Revali had even admitted it. How could he not, with a snowball decorating the middle of his face?

And as he trudges up, he wonders if that was it. 

In Rito Village, the wind carries laughter. 

–

The last call, I promise.

“Now this isn’t going to fully solve your feather problem,” he began, back to Link as he got everything in order.

He turned, hands full, caught the exasperation before it fell into a stare. “But it will help.”

“This,” he continued in response to Link’s gesture to explain. “Is a glider. You’ll be able to glide down, obviously, but if you hit an updraft, like those around the village, you’ll rise.”

“Like the fledglings?”

Revali nodded, resisting the urge to react to Link’s use of actual words. When things got bad, he went silent and did not appreciate the lack of verbal communication or return to being noticed.

“And eventually, if you manage to be more than competent with this–” Link rolled his eyes, taking the glider “--you’ll even be able to shoot from the air.”

He bristled at the stunned look Link gave him.

“What?” he snapped. “Don’t look at me like that. Didn’t I tell you that you met Rito standards the last time you were here?”

Link flushed, nodded, went back to inspecting the glider. Listened enough so that he managed both not to die and to avoid injury in his initial runs. Did not listen enough to not almost send Revali into an early molt, several times.

Later, as they left, Link stopped, smiled.

“Thank you Revali,” he offered softly. “This is… there are …” His smiled faded, a sigh. Frown, clearly trying to find the words. Revali waited, feeling something tense inside.

“There are few times when I feel like me,” he settled on finally, then a short, harsh laugh. “Well, only when Epona can run. So not much now.”

He resisted a snort; no, not much with Link babysitting the Princess, whose riding abilities seemed to Revali’s unpracticed eye adequate but nowhere near those Link could boast, if he was the boasting type.

“I know it’s going to be work to learn the glider. I know it’s going to be hard. But… but I. Well, even with you shouting at me, I felt like me.”

He bristles, but it’s just for show. “I do not shout when I teach.”

Link laughed softly, the shadows from his eyes lifted, a silent of course not dancing in their place. “I don’t know if I can ever truly thank you for this, but I’ll try.”

He paused, looked at Link, doesn’t know what to say. Then,

“If the Three are kind, there’ll be a moment,” he says softly, “When you’ll be able to seize that freedom that lets you be you. Take it, and that will be all the thanks I ever need.”

Smiles, tries not to let his sadness show, as Link’s eyes widen. 

He reaches, remembers, glides, wings outstretched; calls a friend to fly with him.

–

He leaves Saki’s roost with a snowquill tunic that he almost refused, purely out of shock. He only managed to accept because he could hear memories of Revali shouting at him about cold tolerance (really, his lack of) and acted on impulse, hands out to accept the gift before his brain caught up.

“Master Revali had these made for the Champions,” Elder Kaneli had said, “And as the descendant of the Hylian Champion, you should have his. The air where Medoh flies is cold.”

It fit perfectly, much to Saki’s delight and relief as she directed him out into the snow to find Teba. Well, once she made sure he ate something sustaining.

Apparently he’s too skinny?

He expects the Flight Range to hit him like the Training Grounds had, another safe place and who knows what happened. But it’s been cared for, a reminder of a Champion long lost, well loved. And the reminder has him stop, remember lessons.

His own, Revali scowling at him. Not-shouting (but shouting) as he rode the updrafts.

The Rito fledglings, Revali promising with the other instructors not to let them fall as they learned to glide. Revali threatening him with being a pincushion should word of this get out.

Remember Revali delighting in a new technique, a new way to call the wind.

He smiles, relaxes. This place, this home, was still safe. Still present. Something his failure did not erase or harm.

Teba’s challenge feels right, as does the pull of the updrafts and the euphoria of the drop as he fired at the targets before popping open the glider again. Revali had hated his penchant for releasing it at the last possible moment, but that moment of testing death was where he had lived for so long.

Test passed, and they’re off. Teba clearly didn’t believe his claim that he was doing this for the Village, but it doesn’t matter in the end; they’re off and taking on Medoh’s cannons.

But it’s the truth. Everything else he has done for the Princess. For the Champions. For the orders a long dead king gave him, one hundred years ago and again upon his resurrection.

This though? Sure, he’s doing it to free Revali. To save the Champions. But he’s also doing it for Rito, for the village that gave him solace and deserved its protector back. Its peace, its safe winds.

–

There’s a change in the wind’s voice, and he follows it to see Link land, wave to a white Rito wheeling off. Smiles, calls out. 

Laughs in heady delight at the rude gesture Link gives his disembodied voice.

Medoh is a Beast that delights in complete range of movement, something Revali had taken full advantage of to demonstrate to the Hylians and Sheikah who came to study the Beast how lamentably bound by land-based thinking they were. A few tries though and Link has it, moving with Medoh’s banking movements.

He glides, Revali thinks smugly. Look, he actually listened.

In the other Beasts, Link had moved with grace and surety, tired but committed. Here, Revali watches, that is all apparent. But there’s something more, and he can’t quite put a finger on it. Waits, then decides it’ll come with another wind, and he can puzzle it out then.

Now, now, Windblight demands his attention, and so he calls out his warnings, shouts in worry as Link gets slammed into one of Medoh’s pillars, pillars he never could discern a purpose for, but he didn’t like this new purpose, to be Hylian catchers.

And then… it’s done. The Blight is gone, and he’s exiting the Malice into a world of blue.

–

On the other Beasts, he had spoken with the Champions. Received their messages and their gifts of aid and left. 

It was too awkward with Mipha to stay. He remembered so little, and he could tell it pained her.

With Daruk it was simply too damn hot, even in Rudania’s protective embrace.

Urbosa reminded him too much of the Princess, whose words still rattled uneasily back and forth, angry to friendly, despite the Gerudo Chief’s soft smile.

But on Medoh, none of that holds. Not when Revali gave him a hard look and demanded to know if he was eating and sleeping at least somewhat regularly. Not when he huffed, accepting but clearly not believing Link’s stammered assertion that he was.

Not when the Rito said, softly, “We can hold it now, the four of us and the Princess.”

What?

“We can hold it, Link, the beast, Ganon. You’ve been running around non stop since you woke, because the Princess needed help restraining it. Well, she’s got that help.” He stared. “So take a damned break.

“And think. Because we can hold Ganon. You’ve done enough, more than enough. If you want to tell the king to go fuck himself and wait for another descendant of the Hero to take that damned Sword from you, you can . And you– listen to me!-- you have every right to .”

No one, he knows despite the fuzzy memories that intrude, has ever said something like this to him. There has never been a choice, someone else to take the Sword; just him. And while he knows Revali is right, that there are others who could, he’s already messed up and so he won’t pass the Sword on and mess them up too. It’s not Fi’s fault, just how things have worked out.

A squeeze on the shoulders, two hands, comforting. 

So, stammering, babbling, he thanks Revali, tries to explain himself, probably fails, but tries and assures the spirit before him that he will, at least, take a break before charging at Ganon.

And then stays, sits, as Revali offers to answer any questions he has. No sadness at memories lost. No judging when Link’s questions are about dragons and volcanos, Rito and the winds. When they are about the Three and who he learned to swear by them from. When they are not about the Champions, about before. Not about the Sword and the Royal Guard. Not about the Princess, the King, his endless orders.

And as the sun rises and they can see Rito waking, when Link finally gives in to the fact that, even in the very finely made Snowquill Revali had commissioned (which came with grumbling about the quality of the stitching, when the Rito saw it), he is cold, Revali gives him a hard look.

“Remember, Link,” soft as he faded into Medoh’s depths, “You make memories as much as remember them.”

Teba’s soaring up when he jumps from Medoh, which ends up being a very good thing, for Link’s hands are too cold to properly manage the glider and he would have fallen to his certain death had Teba not caught him. He jumps off before they land to save Teba’s leg, which just means they both sort of crash on Revali’s Landing and end up being scolded for being the most reckless beings Rito Village has ever had the misfortune to house, if Saki is to be believed.

Din’s teeth , he hears snapped at him from long ago as he shivers in front of a fire, more food being handed to him (still too skinny), what did you Hylians do to deserve so little cold protection?

–

Rito doesn’t make demands, but its children do. Link finds himself staying, longer than he has previously, and he puts all of the blame on the pack of fledglings that clung to him and begged him to stay, to tell stories of Master Revali. To tell stories, full stop, when he stammered out his lack of memories.

Saki and Amali looked pleased with themselves for some reason he can’t figure out. Very pleased, to Teba’s obvious amusement.

The first night has him answering questions about Master Revali, what he was like. Searching his scattered memories, the answer is he was an asshole , and he jumps at Teba’s screeching laughter.

“Of course he’s an asshole,” the tall Rito grinned, language! hissed at both of them, Saki futilely trying to cover Tulin’s ears. “He’s a proud Rito warrior, the best Rito warrior.”

I’m going to tell him you said that has a bet being made (Amali’s nutcake) over whether Revali will agree with Teba or not. Upon reflection, he’s thinks Teba’s going to win this one.

Maybe he’ll share the nutcake…

He stays, he heals, rests. Gets lessons in how to manage the Great Eagle Bow from Harth, who defrosted upon Link’s return, being dragged by Molli to hear stories of the great Master Revali. 

He learns one night about the loss of Harth’s mate, a slim Rito who had wanted nothing more than a child and a mate who didn’t risk his life, lost in a hasty flight from Hylian bandits, risking his life as Harth got a tiny Molli to safety. Forgives every sharp word he had received, has no idea how to behave around the saturnine Rito– somehow feels he should be apologizing, but for what he has no idea and even so, knows it won’t be nearly enough to fill the gaping hole that Itske’s death left– until Amali tells him to stop worrying.

When he leaves, it’s only after promises to return have been made. When a gift is pressed into his hands, a long necklace with a riot of colours forming a pendant: fledgling feathers, mingled with the longer plumes of their parents. The pack of fledglings– Tulin and Molli, Kotts, Cree, Genli, Kheel, and Notts– dance around him, Molli gingerly holding the package until he took it, explaining that it means he’s part of their family now.

Painted on the disk to which the feathers are attached is the Rito crest, Revali’s wings spread around it.

There’s no words, and he doesn’t even try. He just embraces the fledglings, doesn’t hide the tears, holds them as tight as he can. Accepts the weight of the adult Ritos’ wings.

Realises as he leaves that the weight he continues to feel is what leaving home feels like.

–

The Zora remember their princess, whose soft voice had laid over an iron core. Whose laugh rang through the echoing halls of the Domain.

Whose Grace healed the injured. 

The Zora remember their princess, the prince his sister, whose kindness taught him resilience and cultivated boundless optimism.

The Zora remember their princess, the king his daughter, a pearl who reflected the light of the world around her, who reminded him of all of the best he and his wife had had. Whose firm resolve had taught her father and brother the meaning of duty, service to the people.

In Zora’s Domain, Mipha’s statue stands, and the Zora remember their princess.

–

There are shrines waiting for him when he leaves Rito, and he seeks them out.

Finds them, completes their puzzles with a minimum of swearing.

Seeks out the Springs and their hidden shrines, tries not to wince at the memories they bring.

The Princess failing her final attempt, braving the frigid winds of Lanayru. He remembers hearing the soft whispers of a patient goddess, asking when is wisdom gained? Knowing that the answer is never, feeling small in the majesty of the great mountain and the ice blue dragon that circles it.

Her cursing in frustration in the Spring of Power. Remembers the heat that radiates, the bone deep certainty that the power the princess seeks must be claimed, earned, taken. Hears the stern goddess demanding why she should listen to the tantrum of a child.

Her fervent pleading to the depths of the forest, humid heat enveloping them both. And remembers the laughter of children that whispered on the wind, smiling at the hands that tugged his tunic. His silent answer to the question of what do you do, child of the Hero’s line, when you are afraid? gaining a delighted whip of wind.

He’s never told anyone about these silent voices, these echoes of the Three that resound in the Springs.

Keeps silent, too, when he returns to Rito, having promised to take breaks, both to Revali and those in Rito, and instead asks the children about the Three, the legends about the ancient goddesses who created the Triforce.

They are delighted to tell him, for they have just learned all about this in school. And so, perhaps more disordered than it had been when he first learned these stories, he hears about the old goddesses and the heroes they protected.

Din, whose power the King of Evil often claimed, for power is to be taken. But, Molli tells him, this is why the evil king lost, for power is supposed to be returned to the source when its job is done.

Nayru, whose wisdom fell to the princess who held the blood of the goddess Hylia in her veins. And that, Kotts nodded, is why the Hylian royal family had lasted so long when other lines died; for they used the wisdom their daughters had gained.

Faore, whose courage propelled the heroes to fight even when the night seemed the darkest. Kheel puffed up, excited as she danced, explaining that the hero’s courage is like the sun, rising and lighting the way for those who just need a little help to see that there is a way forward.

He likes the analogy, he thinks.

And Time, Tulin pipes up, who didn’t create the Triforce but spun the weft that allowed one Hero to fight the King of Evil, casting himself back and forth across the years until he was able to send the land back and let it heal.

He smiles, thinks something is off about that story, but lets it lie, content to let the fledglings tell him the stories of old and let Saki and Amali press food on him.

He’s content, for once, to rest.

–

There’s a blunt edge to the outcroppings around Goron City that has been shaped by Goron hands to fix the memory of their Champion in the body of the earth herself, permission sought, permission granted.

Goron memories are hard to shape, but they run long, long, long when they do. And fixed in the earth, Daruk’s will last long, long, long.

The brother who laughed in delight at the Goron pebbles ricocheting around. Who always lent a hand when asked, never shirked from helping.

Whose Protection would ring out whenever Death Mountain shuddered and fired. Whose Protection mottled as far as he could manage, seeing everyone home.

The Goron remember their Champion, and the earth, their mother, remembers her singular child.

–

His memories complete, he returns to Kakariko Village, the shrine challenges complete as well. He has but to hear Impa’s last command and then he’s off.

Revali had said he could wait, leave it, but now that he’s so close, he just wants it done.

As Epona picks her way to the village, he thinks on the last memory he had collected, venturing into the ruins of Hyrule Castle for it. His nerves were raw, but the omnipresent threat of death from any number of monsters and Guardians had kept him from falling into the panic and fog that had hit him in the Training Grounds, when he had first been targeted by a Guardian; perhaps, he suspects, the Castle had never really been home.

He expects directions on how to fight Ganon, how to best proceed once he enters into the Castle. Instead he gets directions to another memory, to an area he has, somehow, avoided, one way or another. And suddenly, he’s very, very uneasy.

But because it’s just easier to go where he’s told, he makes his way along the road from Kakariko to Fort Hateno. He doesn’t take the back way, or cut across the low mountains, as he has in the past. He follows the road, feels his chest getting tighter and tighter.

And then, there it is.

He’s fighting, hacking, slicing, dodging. But they just keep coming. Wave upon wave.

He had never liked them, he realises, almost giddy from exhaustion. He’s never liked them, and here’s their revenge– siding with Ganon against the hero they were supposed to protect.

Some hero.

The princess is screaming at him, but he ignores her; this is his field. He pushes her back, retreating, fighting, ignoring the burning that pulls at him.

Doesn’t think about the blood. How heavy his arms are, how slow his feet. That his head pounds, that it would be harder to focus to land a blow if there weren’t so many damn Guardians.

Too slow in blocking and he’s on the ground, pain cascading from his abdomen that he finally has to admit to, and the light dims until suddenly with a scream, there’s bright, holy light.

Smiles. 

When is wisdom gained? Through pain, his answer to the goddess. Pain and years.

Why should I listen to the tantrums of a child? Because that child has claimed her power .

What do you do, child of the Hero’s line, when you are afraid? What I must, his whisper of an answer. I do what I must, fear or no fear.

Feels himself go cold. Feels himself be free, lets–

He gasps, heaves, drops to his knees. Throws up everything in his stomach.

He died. Shudders, tries to throw up some more. Shakes.

Goddesses protect, he died.

A Guardian cut open his stomach. Another one carved a swathe across his chest.

Others tried to cut off his legs, shatter his wrists.

A Guardian cut open his stomach. Another threw him against a tree, or the remains of a stone tower; maybe both. Tried to crack open his head.

A Guardian cut open his stomach.

He died. Died .

Vomits whatever bile is left in his gut.

Panicked, sickened, shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth, he pulls out the slate and hits a destination, eyes not seeing, not caring where he goes so long as it isn’t here . Shouts at Epona last minute to find Malanya, to find safety. As the blue light takes him, he relaxes fractionally, leaving the here that demands his pain, his blood.

Here, where failure watches him.

Where the Guardians caught him.

Here, where Hyrule fell to the Calamity.

–

The Gerudo are famed for their craftswork, for the entwining of metal and thread. The finest examples of their work decorate the Chief’s house, the centre of Gerudo Town.

Seven Tapestries, the Sages of Old. Seven Statues, the Heroines of Old.

Nabooru sits in both, proud and tall, head held high. 

And now, another to be remembered, honoured, kept in memory beyond the reach of the harsh desert wind. Urbosa stands in delicate, brilliant glory: golden threads picked out amongst an intricately coloured tapestry, her blue skirt, the Champion’s banner, bright and brave.

The Gerudo remember Urbosa, keep her close, her memory, her deeds, her laugh.

–

He lands, collapses onto his hands and knees. Eyes down, barely processes the softly pulsating blue light. The wind pulling at his hair.

Bile rises. The same blue had met him in the Shrine of Resurrection.

Resurrection . 

He feels a laugh come up, but it leaves as a strangled sob. He should have known, it was in the name.

There are voices, but he can’t process the words. 

He died out there, one hundred years ago. 

It’s as if they’re coming from far away, or his ears are full of batting.

—lli, ge—---ur a—-t, go!

His gut contracts, but he knows there’s nothing left to void, and tries to keep it in. Begins to shake uncontrollably for his efforts. Barely registers the soft touch that reaches out to him, flinches away. 

Ha—----at is –t? Wh— ha—--ned?

—--on’t know, he jus– a—ea—-d c–llaps—-re’s T—ba?

Shakes his head at the voices, wants to tell them to go away, to leave him to lie in the cold. That’s starting to register.

He died one hundred years ago, and he died because he failed. He failed the Champions, and Revail and Mipha and Urbosa and Daruk had to spend one hundred years trapped, bodiless, in the Divine Beasts. He failed Hyrule and the land was ravaged, left to the mercies of Ganon’s monsters and the human monsters that popped up in the wake of Hyrule’s fall.

—-’s at t—-ight Ran—. 

I’ll —--rry hi—wn then; whe—ould—e tak—-im?

He failed the Princess, just as she had always thought he would. That was why she had been so disappointed in him as her knight, as the Sword bearer. He had always suspected, and now he knew. 

O—-oost; it—-igger. 

The soft grasp is back, but he doesn’t process it beyond an abstract awareness that someone is picking him up, cradling him. 

There’s a voice he wants, a comforting presence he needs; they’re not here, and so he stops listening to the voices, sounds around him.

Doesn’t process anything at all, falling into a darkness that’s easier to deal with and the soft-sad voice that whispers come grandson, all will be well, eventually.

–

There are stories in Rito, told about the Rito warriors of the past. They remember the voices and names, the colours and bandings. They keep excellence close.

Revali has many stories– his Gale, the King of Hyrule’s decision to call on him. Medoh. But the best, some say, is how the Rito Champion, just barely flying on his own, carried two fledglings home, racing ahead of a pack of monsters. Cutting the wind with a determination and hard earned skill well beyond his years, won on clandestine trips out beyond the bounds allowed to train and train and train.

Others say it is the story of when a rescue mission got caught in the fore winds of a storm, and Revali shaped the wind, called his Gale, over and over and over, lifting and directing the wind under the other Rito’s wings so that all made it home, collapsing of exhaustion but safe, all safe. The Gale had carried them back, tumult turned into tightly honed updrafts.

There are many stories about Master Revali, and the Rito remember fiercely their Pride.

–

Saki considered herself a reasonable Rito. She had to be, to endure the endless trouble that Teba had gotten into before Tulin had been born. That he continued to get into, now with a child in tow.

She was, she thought, very reasonable. All agreed with her on this, most especially her mate.

So it was with that in mind that she considered it only reasonable that when she found out who had put Link in such a state, she was going to murder them slowly , whether they were the fabled King of Evil, the sleeping Princess of Hyrule, a lowly cucco farmer, or one of those damned metal beasts that someone thought to call Guardians.

Whoever they were, they were going to feel her entirely reasonable wrath for harming the last person in the goddesses’ storied lands who deserved it.

Harth watched Saki rattle around the roost, silently glad she had suggested the roost she and Teba called home, for once he had brought the Hylian Champion here and collected Teba, he had found himself shaking, unable to leave. Saki hadn’t made him and Molli leave, letting them stay. The roost was tight, but they all fit, comfort in the closeness.

Link’s huddled form on the shrine’s floor had brought back too many memories for him to be comfortable alone in a roost that had once been just big enough for three, comfortable but too big for two. 

So here he waited, rattled, tending the stresses in Link’s bow and glider to pass the time. Watching Saki coax a wide-eyed and unreactive Link into eating, drinking. Watching Link stare, sleep. Shudder at things only he could see.

Teba was going to explode. Since Harth had barrelled into the flight range, banking and demanding he come back now before turning back for the Village, he had been on edge.

Three days and he was going to explode.

There was nothing he could do but pace, watch. Wait. Take the children out and try to reassure them that Link would be fine. Reassure himself, ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as the days crawled on.

What had happened? Only a sennight before his collapse on Rito’s shrine Link had visited, looked tired but otherwise fine. Nothing to suggest a break of this sort. Something had to have happened.

He waited, fretted, fumed, planned. Because whatever had happened, someone was to blame, and he was going to get them . Because this was Link, and Faore’s breath, someone was going to pay .

You’re safe grandson, it is safe to wake. You are among friends, go.

The voice coaxes him to wake, to move, to perceive, and it’s a voice he trusts, knows, deep down, that cares for him. Wants the best, would not lie. So he wakes. Blinks until his surroundings register.

A breath shudders out, and three pairs of sharp eyes turn on him.

Saki, he tries to say, but his voice sticks. He can’t get Teba’s or Harth’s name out either, but he keeps trying. Tries not to panic, feels the breath coming faster and faster until Saki is holding his hands, pulling them away from where they grasp, claw at his stomach.

When had he started doing that?

Her voice is soothing, soft, and he feels the weight of a blanket wrapped around his shoulders; not her doing, Teba’s he thinks. Harth is beside Saki, his voice soft as well, asking questions that don’t process but ground nonetheless.

“I’m… I’m alive,” he whispers, throat finally getting its act together. Something lights in Saki’s eyes, he thinks relief.

“Yes, yes, you are,” she tells him, hands firm but soft, keeping his twitching fingers from burying themselves in his skin.

“I shouldn’t be.”

The Rito freeze.

“I… I died. I died and the Princess sent me to the shrine and I died and that’s why, that’s why,” he’s starting to hyperventilate again, keeps going, “why, why it took me one… one hundred years. I died. That’s why it took me, took me so long. Why every, everything got so bad.

“That’s why it’s my fault. Eve…everything. I… I died .” The last is a sob he can’t hold back, and suddenly he’s enveloped in soft Rito wings, a firm embrace, silent comfort. Doesn’t even stiffen, just falls into Harth’s shoulder, sobs, feels Saki release his hands so she can echo the embrace, Teba’s wings encircling from behind.

Hidden from the wind, from the world, he shakes, cries, screams at the princess and the goddesses. Lets himself be held, be protected, be comforted.

Lets the reassurances and assurances run over him, flow through, until, finally, one registers, doesn’t quite stick but it will be repeated over and over for hope that it will:

You did not fail. And do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

–

There are stories that echo around Hyrule, told at night, shared with smiles.

A golden princess, daughter of the goddess. Dedicated to the land, to her people. A princess whose power holds the Calamity at bay, who waits rescue by the fabled Knight who holds the Sword that Seals the Darkness.

The people of Hyrule remember their princess. They tell her story, they echo her steps from Spring to Spring to Spring. Pray to the Goddess for her return.

Wait for when the Knight will free her, for the return of the daughter of the royal family who carries Hylia’s gift.

Stories in the glow of a fire, Hyrule remembers its princess.

–

He stays in Rito for a full moon, pulling himself back together. It takes him a sennight before he can leave the roost without shaking, another before he can make it down to the stable on the lake’s edge.

Kass returns to Rito, to the delight of his children and the relief of his mate. For much of those sennights, Link found himself joining Tulin and Molli on the walk to Amali and Kass’ roost, where the big Rito would share the songs he had collected and teach the children to sing. Other times he would follow Teba up to Harth’s roost, sit in silence as the two argued about bow tension and fletching. 

He floated, going where the wind pushed him, where he felt he needed to be. 

Towards the end, he felt himself coming back, felt more grounded, more connected. He made it to the Flight Range; fumbled with his bow the first few times, then got it. Worked his way back to shooting from standing, then from the air. Teba watched him sharply, hauling him away whenever he thought Link had done enough.

It’s only when he feels solid, pieced together enough from shooting arrows at stationary targets, that he pulls the Sword from its safe place, away from eager, curious fledglings, and begins to train. They offer him Revali’s Landing– the Flight Range doesn’t have the space he needs– and he accepts, feeling the need to have Revali close, even in name. 

And, surprisingly, he finds it feels good to train in the open. There are none of the dark looks he vaguely remembers getting at the Castle, none of the veiled scorn that the Sword is trusted to such a young knight; no hostility, no catcalls. Instead the Rito watch, and the swordsmen ask him about fighting on the ground, listen intently as he speaks. He sees fledglings mimicking his moves, excited to have a way to mock fight on the ground.

One night, sitting in the quiet space of Harth’s roost as the Rito inspects the Great Eagle Bow, he comments on it, on how different Rito is from his memories of the Castle. Doesn’t see Harth stiffen, the shocked look that passes over his face at what those memories are.

“You are the best swordsman to come through Rito,” is Harth’s answer to his surprise on how many have come to talk to him. “Of course they’ll talk to you; they want to be the best there is. I bet Master Revali was pestered constantly about his Gale and shooting.”

He frowns, thinks.

“Maybe?” Thinks some more. “He was a good teacher, so he must have had practice.”

Harth snorted, nodded. “Well, there’s your answer. The warriors, they respect you, they want your advice.”

He doesn’t get it, really, but nods and acts like he does.

–

She’s a collection of memories and words, winds and seasons, hopes and dreams.

She’s light and air and fire, determination and will.

But it’s getting hard, even with the Beasts, and so she grabs on to the memories that float around, pulls, orders, calls .

Ignores the shouts, cries, around her, knows that Hyrule demands this one thing:

The Hero, to fight.

–

The call is quiet but insistent. It’s not the shouting he had heard for so long, but he knows the Princess’ voice. And so he goes.

Orders are orders, however politely phrased.

But he goes with promises made to return, to return alive and not be an idiot like a certain pair of Rito who don’t have the sense Nayru gave goats. Assuring Saki that he would do his best (hoping he had more sense than Hylia gave a goat, but suspecting that, in Revali’s esteemed opinion, he did not), he set out.

Left Epona with the stable by Malanya’s spring, secure and safe.

Warped to the Castle shrine, made his way up, slowly, carefully, Hyrule’s royal shield on his arm and the Sword in his hand.

Stilled himself for a moment. Whispered a soft prayer to the Three. Stepped inside.

Met the beast.

–

She collapses from the blue that had held her safe, falling in front of Ruta’s guidance stone. Shaking, looks at her hands, sees the dried blood that speaks of injuries gained long ago. Hauls herself up, activates the screen.

“Home Ruta,” she whispers, voice soft but fierce, eyes wide with delight.

Rudania is moving already as he uncurls, moving out of the caldera to Death Mountain’s peak. He feels the pull of scar tissue, hears the crack of joints stretched beyond their range. The screen is accessible from his seated position, and so he calls it up, begins to move the great lizard down the mountain.

“Gotta see this kid the little guy told me about,” he grins, voice gravelly and short.

Her ankles buckle as she lands on Nabooris’ platform, and she falls, catching herself on the guidance stone. 

“Well Sages be damned,” she wheezes. “We did it.”

Everything hurts, but she refuses to focus on that, turns Nabooris towards the towers she can just see in the distance. To where a lightning child waits.

No one saw how Revali landed on Medoh’s back, and that was exactly how he wanted it. Wings aching, breath short, he pants as he looks around. Smiles, laughs softly. 

“He did it Medoh, he did it.” Pauses. “Guess that means he won the challenge.”

He could ask the great bird to help him down. But he is Revali, Master Revali now, stubborn as he is tall, and he needs no one’s help flying. And really, it’s just gliding at this point, so close to the village. So once his wings stop shaking (mostly) he’s off, screeching his goodbye to the great bird.

–

It’s sunny, he realises, as he wakes, and the land is singing.

There’s a girl next to him, and as her figure comes into focus, he knows it’s no girl, but the Princess. Zelda, corporeal and real, sitting beside him, looking down in relief as his eyes open, her cheeks flushed as she sees him looking at her. He pushes up and away, needs to stand to reassure himself that everything is ok, misses the disappointment that briefly covers her face.

“You did it Link,” she says, smiling, later. “You did it. You defeated Ganon.”

He doesn’t know what to do, say; his words, which had come so easy before, are gone again. Nods, seems to be enough.

“I, while I still had the Power, I felt the others. They’re alive.”

Of course they are, he wants to say. I spoke with them, they told me they were alive but trapped.

“We should go to them.”

Nods.

“Link…” he looks over, sees the Princess looking at her hands, unsure suddenly. “Do you remember me?”

Does he remember her? 

He wants to ask what kind of question that is, for she’s been sending him around Hyrule with nothing but her memories to go on. 

He wants to say that, yes, he does remember her. Remembers the Princess that shouted, that blamed him, that ran away and endangered herself to prove that she was capable. 

He remembers the Princess who started talking to him, “trying to be empathetic,” who started feeling things for him that, as far as he could tell, he never reciprocated.

But he knows, knows , that this won’t be good. And so he shrugs, seesaws his hand and lets it be. Sees the fall in her face, hears the mutters of course, the shrine , watches the forced optimism.

And they’re off, first to Zora’s Domain and then around to end in Gerudo Town. He’ll get to go to Rito, fulfil his promise to Saki.

And, maybe, hopefully, see Revali.