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They march toward The Valley of Seers. The oh-so-green Hyrule she’s gotten to know—much different from Link’s tales—has grown sickly, and continues to wilt and die as they approach Cia. She’s glad that she’s here supporting the cause. One day, Hyrule will be restored to how it should be: teeming with life.
Marin steps over another dead body—hyrulean, this time. She grimaces as her sandals squelch in a drying concoction of mud, dirt, and blood. She hums the Ballad of the Wind Fish, a comforting ditty in the midst of dead and dying soldiers and monsters.
That day is not today.
At the head is Captain Link, flanked by Captain Impa and Princess Zelda. The warriors from other eras—including Marin—follow the commanding trio; the trailing mass of hyrulean soldiers makes up the majority of the offense.
The sun is moving toward the horizon. Princess Zelda should call for the group to make camp before long. Thankfully, after another half hour trekking across the wasteland Hyrule has become, she calls off the troops. Soldiers make quick work of setting up tents in a clearing (relatively) free of gore.
Marin falls to the ground with a heavy sigh. Koholint was much smaller than Hyrule, and even then she would never stray terribly far from Mabe, so she’s exhausted. Of course, she’d never admit it—she doesn’t want the captains to underestimate her.
Tune shuffles up to Marin. She’s always felt a kinship with him: he’s also a kid from a small island, unaccustomed to marching across uneven terrain. “You okay, Marin?”
“Yes,” Marin lies, “I’m fine.” She gingerly touches her feet, assessing the blisters that her sandals have rubbed into her skin. She slips off her sandals and lets her feet breathe.
Tune catches her eye and follows her gaze to her blisters. He makes a face. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”
“Any tips?” she asks.
He frowns. “Bandages?”
Marin doesn’t exactly want to ask a medic for bandages and explain she’s been having trouble with the long marches. Besides, she’s barely injured. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“...Alright,” says Tune, suspicious. He clearly realizes, though, that Marin won’t budge; she’s stubborn like that. “...What’s that song you keep humming?”
Marin blinks. She wasn’t expecting that question. “It’s called The Ballad of the Wind Fish. It’s…”
She doesn’t remember where she learned it, really. It seemed to her that the whole island emanated the melody. It would dance down from Mount Tamaranch, through the trees and cliffs, down to Mabe Village where she spent most her days, and settled along the shores.
One day, she just started humming.
One day, long after Link arrived, she wrote lyrics.
…That feels too intimate to share with Tune right now. Maybe once the war is won. “It’s a song from my island,” she decides.
“That’s neat,” says Tune. He sits up a little straighter, curious. “Is that song performed with any instruments?”
“Yeah, an ocarina,” says Marin. “Link would accompany me with the ocarina.” That and the Instruments of the Sirens—Link said she’d play the Ballad of the Wind Fish to said deity with those—but she figures Tune means when Marin sings it.
“How about you?” prods Tune. “Do you play any instruments?”
“No.” She sets her hand on her cheek and pouts. “I used to play the lyre, but I haven’t in a while. Usually I just sing.”
Link had taught her how to play the Instruments of the Sirens, but it’s been too long; she’s mostly forgotten. She still somewhat remembers how to play the harp—it’s similar enough to the lyre that it didn’t completely leave her head—and she still has the Sea Lily’s Bell, but it’s still different from being a one woman band.
She bets that Link probably still remembers. She was incredible like that.
“I don’t really play an instrument,” says Tune. He rummages in his pack for a quick second and pulls out a sleek, white baton with swirls at the end. “I do conduct sometimes, though.”
He brandishes the baton, closes his eyes with a soft smile, and swishes it around. The wind around them comes to life, a melody on the breeze.
“It’s called the Wind Waker,” Tune says proudly.
“That’s awesome,” says Marin, leaning in close. It seems to shimmer with magic, just like the Instruments of the Sirens and Link’s ocarina. She’s seen plenty of magical instruments before, but never a magical conductor’s baton.
“Maybe sometime we could do a duet,” suggests Tune.
Marin gasps. “We should! Other people in the unit play instruments, right? We should have a little jam session!”
Sheik—Zelda—plays the lyre.
She knows Captain Link plays the ocarina, and so does Mask; it seems to be a common trait between heroes of legend.
…Secretly, she thinks she couldn’t handle an ocarina duet without her Link.
“That’s a good idea!” exclaims Tune. He stands from his seat on the dirt, excited at the prospect. “Let’s go ask if anyone else plays an instrument.”
They do.
Reconvening a few minutes later, they discuss their results: Ravio is keen on wind instruments, but only carries a conch at the moment; Midna doesn’t like playing instruments much but after some prodding she admits she plays the triangle, which makes Tune laugh; Darunia dabbles with the marimba; Impa loves to bang out her anger on the drums; despite not having hands, Fi is proficient on the piano; Ruto, growing up as a sea zora princess, was taught the harp as a child; Lana loves the cello but hasn’t had time to practice during the war.
They all play non-magical versions of the Instruments of the Sirens—they could play the Ballad of the Wind Fish the way Link imagined.
Marin eyes her Sea Lily’s Bell.
When Marin and Tune suggest that they hold a jam session, everyone apologetically denies her request, exhausted after a long day’s march. Marin’s disappointed, but it’s understandable.
She makes them promise they’ll have a jam session once they defeat Cia.
-
After everything, Cia surrenders.
The survivors gather at the fairy fountain, letting fairies heal their wounds and soothe their exhaustion. Proxi explains that Cia has simply… faded away. The war’s over.
Having been nowhere near the final fight due to fighting elsewhere in the valley, Marin doesn’t know the details of why or how, but ultimately she’s grateful. She smiles in relief.
A fairy kisses her on the nose, and the blisters on her feet fade.
Tune sidles up next to her, smiling wide. “Nice that this is all over, huh?” He elbows her, making her laugh and push him away.
“It’s amazing!” says Marin. “I’m ready to go home and see Link—my Link—again.” Her voice goes soft at the thought of Link. She misses Link.
“More than friends, hmm?”
She feels her cheeks grow warm. He cackles as Marin shoves him playfully. “...Maybe.”
Tune smiles. “Tell me about your Link?”
“Oh…” Marin says, growing shy. She eyes the dirt. “She’s amazing. One day she washed ashore and it was like my dreams came true. She’s working hard to free Koholint—no one can leave, you see. Once the Wind Fish wakes, Link and I will travel the world sharing our song.”
“That sounds awesome,” Tune says genuinely.
“Just before the war sucked me in, she left to wake the Wind Fish,” says Marin. “...I miss her. She’s been kind of avoiding me—I don’t know why. I wish we had more time together.” Her eyes sting.
“You’ll see her again after this,” Tune promises, reaching for her hands and squeezing them. “Destiny’s like that.”
Marin laughs wetly. “I hope so. She promised.” She blinks away her tears and gives Tune a big grin. “Thanks.”
Tune grins back.
“Anyway, the Ballad of the Wind Fish is our song,” she continues. “Link and I played it together all the time. I always wanted to share it with everyone I met.”
“You should teach us the melody,” Tune suggests. “Then, when we get back to our own eras, we can share the song too.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” says Marin. “We did say we’d have a jam session after everything was over…”
“I was looking forward to that!” exclaims Tune.
He bounces around, collecting warriors from around the fairy fountain and asking about their instruments. Marin can see a couple of them roll their eyes but smile fondly, making their way over to her. After about five minutes, everyone is settled in a group around Marin.
She feels cozy.
Comforting clangor rings through the air as warriors clean their instruments, tune them, and test them. Marin herself smoothes out dents in her Sea Lily’s Bell with some hard hits of her hand. It chimes clearly when she shakes it.
Then she clears her throat, gathering attention. “Tune said I should teach you all a song,” she says, glancing at each of the warriors for a brief second. “...This song comes from my island. I hope you think of me when you play it.”
She sings of her dream girl.