Archive of Our Own ^beta

[ Trigger warning for undertones of depression. Nothing too heavy, but please be safe! ]

“No.”

Warriors tears his gaze away from the book in his lap to see an out-of-breath Wind looking up at a rather obstinate Legend (not that the sailor has to look up very far). The kid is absolutely covered in grass strains and there’s golden leaves stuck in his hair, reminiscent of how Hyrule always looks when being dragged back to camp after an impromptu mini-adventure. He’s got a battered shield in his hands - the scratches and dents in the metal have Wild written all over it - and he’s got that Look in his eyes. That little twitch of his lips and the telltale energetic twinkle only means one thing - Warriors knows Legend knows it too, because even across camp, he can practically see the veteran mentally preparing himself to say no 15 more times.

“Please?”

“No.”

“C’mon!” Wind throws a free hand up, the other letting the banged-up shield hang by his side. “You never do anything fun!”

“Correction; I never do anything stupid,” Legend replies smoothly, narrowing his icy glare at Wind and crossing his arms as the sailor puffs out his cheeks in annoyance.

“It’s fun, and it’s perfectly safe,” Wind huffs.

Legend’s eyes flick up and down Wind’s form, unimpressed. “Your knee is bleeding.”

Wind gives an indignant squawk. “My arm almost got chopped off by a dragon last week- what’s your point?”

“I said no, sailor,” Legend sighs, gaze moving past Wind’s shoulder to watch a whole third of their team speed down a hill in the distance, Sky and Wild’s cloaks little trails of color behind them. “I have no interest in shield-surfing face-first into a tree.”

Nothing comes out of Wind for a moment and Warriors vaguely fears the kid is about to get upset, but then he looks at the sailor’s face and all he finds is a gaze that’s much too calculative for his young eyes. They dart across Legend’s expression like they’re in search of a secret, studying every minute move with his mouth set in a thin, contemplative line.

Warriors finds himself watching Wind closely and following the kid’s gaze, trying to find the puzzle pieces that the sailor already has a pile of. Legend’s eyes are still on Sky and Wild in the distance; the Captain thinks there’s something off about the way he looks at them. The icy gaze is gone and there’s something different about that frown - something about how it’s set makes it seem a bit more genuine than the everyday scowl that’s seemingly etched into the kid’s skin. Violet eyes follow the figures of their friends surfing down the hill with something that Warriors can only describe as vague displeasure.

Their youngest sees something more, because something in Wind’s expression changes, and Warriors thinks Legend’s about to voice a snarky go stare at someone else, but the sailor opens his mouth before he can get it out.

“You want to,” he states simply, and when Legend doesn’t immediately scoff or roll his eyes and instead just gawks, the sailor reels in his catch. “You want to have fun but you won’t let yourself.”

Warriors forgets about the book in his hands. Legend rushes to defend his walls.

“What do you mean, ‘I won’t let myself’- I have fun,” Legend shoots back, eyes almost comically wide. If the kid had hackles, they’d be raised, but the vet makes up for the lack of them with tense shoulders and a look that would burn a lesser man alive. “I’m not Time.”

Wind raises an unamused eyebrow and wordlessly gestures behind him. Legend and Warriors’ gazes follow, and the Captain nearly barks out a laugh of disbelief when he sees Time’s figure join Wild’s at the top of hill, shield underneath him, arms out to keep balance. They watch as their stoic leader tips himself forward and sails down the hill with flawless technique as if shield-surfing is his career; he slows to a smooth stop and they hear faraway cheers and claps along with Sky’s distinct giggle.

Warriors looks back at Legend. Distantly, he registers heads turn in time with his own, and realizes that most of the camp is listening in on this exchange.

A subtle red tint has crept up Legend’s cheeks, and the vet looks at Wind like he wants to dunk his head in the nearest body of water. “F-Fuck you- I’m fun! I have fun all the time!”

“Oh please Ledge, you never take any time to just laugh and relax!” Wind slumps his shoulders. “You’re so rigid! Loosen up!”

“I’m perfectly loose,” Legend growls through his teeth as his shoulders visibly slacken. Poorly, Warriors might add. They’re still stiff - just lower. “And I have fun, dammit. I laugh all the time!”

“You laugh at people, Legend,” Wind deadpans.

“That’s still laughing!”

“Just admit that you don’t have fun!”

“Fuck you, I’m the funnest on here!”

“Admit it! You wanna have fun but something’s stopping you!”

“Nothing’s stopping me, I can have fun whenever I want!”

“So you admit that you don’t!”

“That’s not what I said-!”

“Alright, alright- let’s not raise our voices too high,” Warriors drolls, standing from his spot and leaving his book behind in the grass. He raises placating hands when both of their heads swivel around to glare at the intrusion. “Sailor, how about I shield-surf with you, hm?”

Wind blinks and then lights up instantly, determination to rile up their resident hothead forgotten. “Really?” he gasps, hopeful as he clutches the shield still at his side.

“As long as Wild has an extra shield I can borrow,” he promises, forcing his gaze to stay on Wind. “I’ll surf down a few times before dinner starts.”

Wind promptly bounces on his heels and nods his head quickly, hand shooting out to grab Warriors’ wrist and pull him along. “Yeah, Wild’s got tons! We’ve got a super good hill this time- practically no boulders in the way!”

Warriors lets their youngest drag him along, content to let him ramble about a trickshot Wild had done earlier as he looks back at Legend. The Captain, for the life of him, can’t quite figure out the expression on the kid’s face - all Warriors can see is that frown that’s turned genuine and those eyes that aren’t quite holding anger, but something else. Something… sad. It pulls on Warriors’ heartstrings.

He surfs down the hill a couple times with the others, their laughter and teasing - normally a highlight of his day - serving as nothing but muffled background noise. He finds his mind is too occupied by that look on Legend’s face to enjoy it.

After the sun has set and the food in their stomachs have settled, most of the youngsters are content to sit around the fire and listen to the elders’ stories until they doze off. The sky is speckled with stars and smoke and their camp is made of snores and tired grins; their youngest has drifted off, head on Sky’s shoulders, Sky having already clocked out an hour ago. Wild, surprisingly, looks to be getting there, shoulders slumped and eyes drooping as he sits against Twilight and fights to stay awake. His mentor carefully removes the cup of tea from Wild’s limp hands and smiles when the kid simply leans into the warmth of his wolf pelt. Warriors doesn’t miss the silent exchange of fond smiles Twilight and Time give each other.

He gives a sleepy Hyrule his own fond grin, who sits on the ground by his feet and rests a cheek against Warriors’ leg, lightly dozing. The only younger member by the fire who isn’t passed out or about to is Four, but he’s comfortably cocooned in a blanket and staring at the flames like all he’s thinking about is sleep.

It seems the stories are over for tonight.

Time, Twilight, and Warriors exchange looks and then they’re moving sleeping bodies to bedrolls and having a lighthearted Glares Only argument about who takes first watch. Time eventually shoos them both to their bedrolls, but not after whispering, “Go find Legend. I don’t want him out all night,” to Warriors. The Captain nods and brings his sword and shield along, just in case.

Legend had eaten dinner and then promptly stalked off into the woods earlier, saying something about having a damn headache and going where there’s some actual peace and quiet. It hadn’t been a necessarily odd thing for Legend to do; the kid’s an introvert at heart, and sometimes being constantly surrounded by eight other travelling companions makes the vet a bit… claustrophobic. Legend, Hyrule, Wild, and Four all tend to sneak off from time to time; to socially recharge as Hyrule had sheepishly put it. The others are generally understanding and try their best to give them some space when they need it - they know it helps because they all usually come back in a more chipper mood, steps lighter, smiles bigger (even the Veteran; no matter how minute, there’s a difference between a socially-exhausted Legend and a socially-charged).

But when Warriors finds the kid sitting alone in the grass a ways away from camp, aimlessly pulling weeds from the ground and glaring through the soil, he somehow knows it isn’t about getting away from the hustle and bustle.

There’s a thin ring of loose plantlife sprinkled around the kid that’s illuminated by moonlight and the cloud of fireflies floating in the air; Legend adds to the pile every few seconds, occasionally taking a single blade of grass and idly tearing it in half as the crickets sing to him. From where he’s standing, Warriors can see just a sliver of the vet’s face, violet eyes faraway and reflecting little dots of firefly light. His beloved sword sits, sheathed, in the weeds to his left; his shield rests face-down in the dirt to his right. If it weren’t for that frown that’s still on his face, Warriors would think the kid’s perfectly content.

Something about the air around him is different; it doesn’t scream I wanna be left alone like it typically would in these moments, and Warriors is having a hard time gauging where Legend’s mood lies. But something is most certainly wrong, and leaving his friends to wallow alone in their misery has never sat well with him.

Warriors lets his boots scuff against the dirt to announce his presence. He watches Legend’s ears twitch, his shoulders stiffen; fingers pause in ripping up grass from the ground. Strangely, the kid’s eyes dart to the shield next to him rather nervously before they’re staring at the dirt again.

The crickets harmonize with the thrum of silence as Warriors thinks and Legend waits. His own voice sounds odd, when spoken in such a quiet place. “Is this about that argument you had with Wind?”

Legend tuts and rolls his eyes, looking out over the hill he sits atop and idly scanning the treeline. “I wouldn’t call that an argument.”

Warriors shrugs, sauntering closer and watching the cloud of fireflies float away from his boots. “Fine; squabble. Dispute. Altercation. The point is-” he utters, coming to crouch down next to Legend and balance on the balls of his feet. “-something he said really bothered you.”

The scowl on Legend’s face deepens and Warriors can’t help but think that it doesn’t look nearly as threatening as it usually does - it’s deeper, eyes less angry and more upset than anything else. It just… makes the kid look like a mildly upset puppy. The look is apparently contagious, because Warriors finds himself frowning at the sight.

Legend watches the fireflies meander around him for a moment and Warriors follows his gaze while he waits for an answer. He watches the way the kid’s eyes dart from one speck to another, like he’s counting them, drawing imaginary lines in his head and connecting the dots. One of them lands on Legend’s pegasus boot. He doesn’t shoo it away, just watches the light blink in and out.

When Legend finally speaks, his voice is quiet, and oddly somber. “He said I don’t have fun,” comes his answer, almost whispered like he’s not sure he even wants the fireflies to hear it. The vet looks down and fiddles with the blade of grass in his hands, worrying his lip. “I just… I guess it just made me realize that… I really don’t. I haven’t for… a while.”

Warriors stares, feeling something dreadfully familiar rise up in his chest. Legend scoffs.

“I mean- that’s just-” the vet struggles, tossing his hands up and letting them fall back down into his lap. “That’s stupid. It’s not hard to have fun. It’s not like it’s a fucking task. So… why…?”

He trails off, staring out over the hill with a look Warriors didn’t ever think he’d see on Legend’s face. A close cousin of hopelessness. A dear friend of dread. He feels the air get tighter; he fights to keep his face neutral.

Warriors thinks of the way Legend had looked at the others sailing down the hill in what he had originally thought of as vague displeasure. He thinks of the way Legend had seemed genuinely offended by Wind’s claims, thinks of how quick Legend had been to deny it; how upset he’d seemed about it afterwards. The Captain feels something cold solidify in his gut.

The sailor was right. Warriors wishes he wasn’t.

“You’ve forgotten how to,” he distantly hears himself mumble, and it’s only when Legend lets out a tsk that he’s aware he’s even said anything.

“That’s stupid-”

“It’s not,” Warriors cuts in quickly, razor sharp gaze darting to his friend. “It’s not stupid. It’s real.”

There’s a moment where Warriors thinks the kid will just scoff again, but then Legend looks at him like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing him. Warriors takes it as a sign he’s truly listening. “You know better than most what this kinda lifestyle can do to you. After all the shit you’ve been through, you’ve forgotten how to enjoy the little things.”

Warriors can tell, just by the look on the kid’s face, that his words strike a chord. The vet’s gaze sinks down to the grass to stare at his boots, looking more dejected than Warriors is emotionally prepared for. Legend doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

The Captain’s gaze flicks down to stare at the shield lying in the dirt between them; he thinks of the way Legend had given it a quick, nervous glance earlier. He eyes the hill they’re sat atop, measures the incline, looks for any boulders or trees in the way. He feels the weight of his own shield on his back, and an idea sparks to life in his head.

“But that’s okay,” he breaks the silence, letting his gaze swivel back to look at Legend. “You can learn to enjoy them again.”

Legend lifts his gaze and looks at him, raises an eyebrow, the unspoken how? hanging between them. Warriors sees the lingering doubt in the kid’s eyes and he very carefully does not let the pang in his heart show up on his face.

Instead, he smiles and rises to his feet, pointedly looking at Legend’s shield and then to the downward slope in front of them. Legend follows his gaze, confused, before he does a double-take and stumbles on himself.

“Wha- here? Now?” he stutters, and then gives him an uncertain look. “Really? Shield-surfing?”

“Really, shield-surfing. And why not now? You wanna have fun; this is as good a place as any to start,” Warriors waves an arm out to gesture around them. Sure, this little hill isn’t nearly as good as the one from earlier, and sure , it’s nearly the dead of night and they should both be safely tucked in their bedrolls and asleep, but Warriors, despite his professional approach to things, finds that he doesn’t particularly care tonight. He’ll take the brunt of whatever punishment Time gives them tomorrow morning; Legend is much more important than any of that.

Legend takes in the slope before them, eyeing the rocks jutting out from the dirt with distrust, searching the trees for shadows that move. But even as he looks at the scene around them with muted disdain, there’s still that little speck of eagerness, of excitement, of longing in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d given the others as they surfed down the slope before dinner; the same yearning for something he simply hasn’t let himself experience in a long time.

Warriors sees the problem. He gives the kid a knowing look and holds a hand out, soft grin playing along his lips. “A tip to get you started: stop giving yourself reasons to not have fun,” he says gently.

Legend stares at the hand being offered to him like he can’t believe it’s really there. The kid looks back at the hill and down at his shield lying in the grass, steals a glance in the direction of their camp and at the moon shimmering in the sky. And then he’s taking Warriors’ hand with slow movements, face scrunching up with uncertainty, but he thinks there’s also some semblance of young eagerness somewhere in there and Warriors pulls him up with a giddy grin.

The Captain shows him how to stand on the shield, nudging the kid’s feet in the right positions and correcting his posture so his balance isn’t off. It’s a minute or two of Warriors circling him and griping you’re too stiff, loosen up! and Legend grumbling back I’m loose, dammit, but eventually Warriors deems him ready and unhooks his own shield from his back. He lays it in the grass and hops on, stifling a chuckle when Legend watches him and automatically corrects his posture to mimic the Captain’s.

The Veteran looks at him expectantly. Warriors gestures toward the slope before them with a nod, giving him a silent you first. Legend glares at the stretch of land like it’s offended his ancestors, breaths out, and then promptly leans forward.

His shield teeters over the jut of rock Warriors had placed him on, and then Legend is sailing down the hill. Warriors finds himself grinning as he follows suit, wind rushing at his face as he trails after the vet. The sound of his shield scraping against the ground can barely be heard over the wind rushing at this face, the cloud of fireflies parting as they disturb the peace. He hears himself laugh when he sees Legend’s hand shoot to his head to keep his cap on, but then Warriors almost loses his balance and he quickly rights himself and focuses on steering around rocks.

The Captain wouldn’t say he’s particularly good at shield-surfing, but he’s not horrible either. He’s only done it a few times, and while he’s not as agile as their sailor or as naturally good at it as Time apparently is, he’s well coordinated and he does alright. And he does quite enjoy it - something about sailing down a hill at this speed on nothing by a slab of metal is very exhilarating, and he understands why the others (especially the younger ones) love it so much. It’s a different kind of adrenaline than when he’s stabbing his sword through skulls or ducking under giant axes being swung at his head. It’s a different kind of fast-paced action, and Warriors feels the kid inside him smile from ear to ear.

He finds himself soon passing Legend - with Warriors being heavier, it’s bound to happen, but he doesn’t quite like just how fast he’s going. He enjoys the speed, but maybe not that much. He slowly tilts his shield back to create some resistance, but he must do it too quickly because he’s suddenly yanked forward from the change in speed and he has to right himself again to keep from falling. He’s still going, just at less than half the pace, and without that harsh wind beating against him, he can hear Legend surfing up behind him. Fast.

Too fast. Warriors had stopped much too fast, much too suddenly.

“Woah woah, Wars!!” he hears Legend shout from behind him before something slams into his back and he’s pitching toward the ground at an alarming rate. Barely an ounce of opportunity to stop his fall, all he can do is shoot his hands out and hope he doesn’t crack his nose on a rock. He both senses and sees Legend fly directly over his head (and flipping through the air in a way that has Warriors scared for both his landing and his equilibrium) before he promptly lands face-first into a pile of leaves.

There’s a brief second of silence as Warriors’ brain catches up to present time, and once he’s done marveling at the fact that nothing’s broken, he digs himself out of his autumn prison and frantically searches for a head of pink hair in the dark.

“Legend?!” he calls, and for a moment there’s nothing but his own heavy breathing and a choir of crickets that echo against the trees. Worry sparks in his chest when his call goes unanswered, and he’s about to shout for him again when, a couple of paces ahead, he hears the rustling of leaves and… laughter. Warriors perks up and hurries to the source, stumbling a little as the world attempts to right itself.

What he finds is a perfectly intact Legend (albeit there’s a couple cuts and scrapes) trying to free himself from the pile of leaves he’s trapped under, stumbling like a drunk and cackling like a madman. There’s leaves in his hair and on his tunic and he’s got a hand gripping the branch of a nearby tree for support, too unsteady to stand upright, both the dizziness and the laughter to blame. He’s almost recovered but then he looks up at Warriors and falls into another fit of cackles, face red as he doubles over and clutches his stomach like he always does when Warriors does something stupid.

The Captain looks down at himself and feels a grin creep onto his face; he looks like a bush, to put it simply - absolutely covered in leaves that cling to his tunic, and now that he’s paying attention he’s pretty sure there’s a twig or two in his not-so-perfect hair. He looks back up at the vet who’s trying his hardest to stay upright, a wide smile on the kid’s face that looks so much more genuine than all of his others, and Warriors finds himself laughing right along with him.

When they’re ready to head back to camp, the Captain picks up Legend’s cap off the ground and slaps it over the vet’s head. A shower of leaves rains down on the kid; they promptly cackle like idiots.

+

[ Trigger warning for the beginnings of a panic attack. ]

“What’s this one do?”

“What about this little guy?”

“How about this?”

“You’re a Captain- aren’t you supposed to be diligently scanning your environment for threats or something?”

Warriors promptly ignores him, shifting the little box he holds into one hand, pointedly away from the Veteran who eyes the container like he’s about to pounce for it. The Captain lets a pleased grin across his face as he peers into the hoard of rings and squints; he can’t quite see the contents all too well in this lighting - the dingy stone corridor they walk down only has dim torchlight to offer, but Warriors makes due with what he has and rifles through the little dots of golden reflections. He plucks out a ring with a golden shank and a shamrock colored jewel, sparkly and a tad more orange in the firelight. “What about this one?”

The contrast between Warriors’ perky, oblivious tone and Legend’s long-suffering sigh is palpable, and Warriors grins harder. He doesn’t bother wiping the pleased look off his face as he glances at his companion - Legend’s giving him a half-hearted glare, slumped over himself as he walks and eyeing the box like he wants to snatch it and then eyeing the Captain like he wants to murder him. “It’s a Green Ring,” he answers, tone clipped and short.

Warriors shoots him a deadpan look. “Well I know that-”

“No, that’s the name of it, moron. It’s just called a Green Ring. And it’s very rare and very valuable so I suggest you put it back in the box,” Legend warns and straightens, a finger in the air as if it were a knife. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you hold the box in the first place.”

Warriors makes a show of giving a fake little wiggle of excitement. “Ooohh lucky me, I get to hold a box~”

“You are insufferable- your box privileges have been revoked-”

Legend darts a hand toward the little red container in Warriors’ grip, but the Captain’s reflexes kick in briskly. “Ah ah ah- hold on, I’m still looking!” he chirps, lifting the box high in the air and watching with delight as Legend - poor, poor Legend - stands on his tippy toes to try and reach. The pure ire in the kid’s eyes has the Captain grinning, somewhat nervously, as he scrambles to distract the kid before he tries jumping next.

“What about this one?” He picks out a ring with a design that looks to be a “V” in place of where a jewel would normally go, holding it up in the torchlight and simply praying that Legend doesn’t bite his fingers.

Legend looks at it for a moment, jutting his lip out in an angry frown that looks more like a pout than anything else as he considers something. Another sigh escapes him - Warriors has long since gotten used to hearing frequent sighs nowadays. “Rang Ring,” Legend throws out vaguely, voice clipped.

Warriors elects to raise his brows silently, expectantly. Legend side-eyes him and scoffs, glowering at the darkness ahead of them for a lengthy beat before seemingly caving with a slump of his shoulders - seems like the kid knows he’s not getting out of this.

“... Ups boomerang damage,” is his defeated answer.

Warriors knows there’s a shit-eating grin on his face and he does absolutely nothing to stop it, even when he feels Legend’s frown grow. The Captain plucks another ring from the sparkly collection as they hike on, keeping one eye out for any of their lost members.

He holds a new one closer so Legend can see, the vet inspecting it like it’s a rather ugly bug. “Green Holy Ring; no damage from electricity.”

Another one. “Blast Ring; ups bomb damage.”

Another. “Snowshoe Ring; makes my boots grip onto ice so I don’t slip.”

Warriors whistles lowly, idly rifling through what he hasn’t seen. “Wow, whoever made these thought of everything. What about this one?” he steals one from the pile and holds it up, examining the design of a red bowtie that gleams in the dim firelight. Legend hums, thoughtful.

“Maple’s Ring; gets me more meetups with Maple… somehow.”

Warriors gives Legend a Look, grin widening. “Oh? Who’s Maple?”

Legend shuts down his Look immediately with a swift kick to the shins. Warriors barely feels it through his shin guard but he yelps and hops on one leg for a moment anyway - for the theatrics.

“Just a person I get supplies from. Including rings.”

Warriors blinks at the darkness for a moment, processing. “... You have a ring to get you more rings?”

“Yep.”

“Ledge, I think you have a problem.”

Legend snorts. “You say that, but these rings have saved me more times than I can count,” he says, thumbing the multitude of them already on his fingers absentmindedly. His face softens for just a moment, and so too does his voice, as he regards the jewels along his knuckles with something Warriors can’t quite decipher. “There’s a reason I keep them.”

“Even this one?” Warriors holds up a ring that, just by the design alone, is very obviously cursed - it’s got sharp, black angles, perhaps made of obsidian, with blue and white accents that scream malicious magic. He vaguely remembers Wind almost putting it on once and Legend lunging across the room to stop him - Warriors very carefully does not let it slip onto his finger.

Legend shoots him a death glare and goes for the box - Warriors lets him have it with a chuckle, giving the kid a good-natured grin as the vet tries and fails to hide his own behind that frown. The air is light, leisurely despite the dismal surroundings of torchlit hallways and cobwebs lining the corners - in spite of them being separated from the group, Warriors doesn’t quite feel that familiar heaviness that loves to nestle in the back of his mind. He thinks he’s getting it from the Veteran because the Captain can’t help but notice that Legend seems… lighter today.

Ever since the Shift separated them, he’s been oddly… perky in his own unique way - shoulders no longer so tense, frown no longer so tight. He distantly wonders why; perhaps it’s that introvertness at play. Perhaps he, in the nicest way possible, is actually glad to be relieved of the hustle and bustle of group traveling for just a little while. Perhaps he likes it better, like this, with only a close friend to keep him company.

The Veteran shuts the box and the sharp clap echoes down the corridor; Warriors is snapped back to the present and he watches the kid twist around to shove the container in his bag. The Captain’s gaze can’t help but linger on that bracelet that’s always on the kid’s wrist, jewel nearly glowing under the firelight and reflecting the embers nicely. He hums idly.

“What about that bracelet you always have on?” the Captain voices, kicking a stray pebble into the dark void before them. “Unless it does something subtle I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use it.”

Legend hums in acknowledgement as he closes the flap on his bag - Warriors sees a hand come up to fidget with the bracelet in his peripherals. “It’s… mostly a precaution nowadays. Failsafe, I guess. Occasionally saves my ass,” he says.

Warriors thinks of flashy spells and loud pops of magic from wands; explosions of flames that flower out from staffs like petals, glittery dust in the air that morphs the very fabric of reality. An admittedly large part of him gets excited at the prospect. “Oh?”

“You’re not seeing what it does.”

Warriors gawks and stops in his tracks, spinning around to shoot his companion an offended look. He puts his hands on his hips for good measure. “And why not?”

“You don’t need to,” Legend levels with him.

Warriors tuts, crosses his arms. “Now don’t you think that if we’re ever in a predicament and one of us needs to use your items, we should know what we’re dealing with?”

“That’ll never happen.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because I’d never let you anywhere near my shit unsupervised, even if I was on my deathbed.”

Warriors puts a hand to his chest, mock offended. He’s blatantly lying, and they both know this; the Captain plays along. “Honestly, Legend. Do you think I’m incapable?”

“Of thinking? Yes.”

The smirk that’s been slowly spreading across Legend’s face grows. Warriors’ frown deepens in response. “You’re on thin ice, you hear me?”

“I’ve got a ring for that.”

The shit-eating grin is bright tonight.

Warriors glowers and Legend follows suit, looking up at him and waiting with crossed arms - he’s confident, no doubt ready with an arsenal of colorful comebacks. Warriors levels him with a geared up glare of his own, unwilling to back down. “Unbelievable. You know, I have your fire rod- what makes you think I can’t handle whatever powers a bracelet gives you?”

Legend opens his mouth to retort back, predictable insults no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but then he pauses. Something in his eyes changes and Warriors feels a familiar uneasiness enter him. He knows that look. That is the Little Shit Look. Warriors is not coming out of this alive.

“You know what? Fine. Take a crack at it,” Legend says, and then he’s undoing the clasps on that beloved bracelet of his and holding it out for Warriors to take.

The Captain blinks, a bit surprised - Legend very rarely takes that thing off; the kid treats it like it’s a part of him, only surrendering it when he needs to or when he finds a piano and gets too bothered by all the jewelry on his hands to play. Legend is more than willing to let them all have a crack at his items - despite what the kid says, Warriors knows for a fact that the vet has no qualms about lending them his things. The bracelet, though? That’s the one item in Legend’s arsenal that is off-limits, as far as Warriors has seen. And yet here it was, not wrapped around Legend’s wrist, but dangling off a finger between them, golden metal reflecting fire.

Warriors looks at this unassuming little trinket like it’s a pile of rupees for a moment, like it’s a token of unspoken trust because it is , but then he squints suspiciously. “Really? Just like that?”

“Yep,” Legend quips, popping the ‘P’ as he drops the bracelet into Warriors’ hesitant palms. “You said it yourself- in case anything comes up, you should know how to use it.”

Warriors stares at Legend for a moment, trying to read him, to decipher that odd sparkle in his eyes, but the kid’s got that carefully neutral look on his face again and the Captain mentally curses. He gathers the bracelet in his palms with slow movements, eyeing the vet critically as he starts clasping it around his own wrist. “How’s it work?”

The corner of Legend’s lip twitches up minutely. “Take a guess.”

Warriors looks back down at the bracelet around his wrist, clasped on over his arm guard rather lazily. He taps the gem lightly, experimentally. He’s never gotten a close look at the eye symbol until now, but he swears he sees the faint lines of a pupil somewhere in the fuchsia. His thought is confirmed when, after he watches for long enough, it moves, flickering across Warriors’ face as if it’s trying to gauge what its new wearer is like - there’s no eyelid to speak of, and yet Warriors knows when it blinks. He nearly lets out a rather childish woaahhh! but Legend would never let him live that down, so he contains himself.

But, for a moment, his giddiness overtakes his suspicion. He juts his lip out, thinking, and then he thrusts his hand forward, fist aimed down the dark corridor before them, jewel facing an imaginary threat.

His chainmail jingles merely in the silence that stretches afterward. He waits for some brilliant light show, perhaps some pretty swirls of colored dust or maybe the telltale tingle of static along his wrists that always accompanies magic items, but nothing comes. In his peripherals he sees Legend double over as the kid lets a few snorts loose, obviously enjoying this. Warriors drops his arm against a thigh and gives him a deadpan look.

“Oh, this is hardly fair,” the Captain grumbles lowly, but he’s secretly enjoying seeing Legend trying to breathe through his laughter, even if it’s at the expense of his own reputation. He stifles a grin. “Just show me how to-”

Legend’s eyes flick behind them and Warriors sees the smile slip from the kid’s face in an instant. The Captain spots the gleam of a sword under the torchlight before he spots its owner; but then he sees the glowing dots inside the empty eye sockets, hears the rattle and crackle of ancient bones, and something familiar and dreadfully heavy zips up his body.

The air changes with the rudeness of a lightning strike; in the corner of his eyes, he sees the sword rise, sees skeletal fingers fix themselves around the dirty handle. It swings. Warriors barely has a hand wrapping around the grip of his own weapon before Legend is lunging and shoving him back.

The wall of the corridor is behind him. His body doesn’t stop when it hits it.

Instead, he somehow keeps falling, and for a moment he thinks he simply misjudged the distance, but he feels where the wall is. He feels it pass through him, feels where the stone starts and where empty air begins - it’s a pressure he can’t explain, a presence he can’t identify but it’s there and it’s just clear enough for Warriors to feel each of his limbs be compressed in a way he can’t possibly comprehend.

All sense of direction is lost to him and for a moment all he can feel is the unique flutter and flow of magic seeping into his skin - it splits him apart, not painfully, but he feels his very being get broken up and rearranged like he’s made of liquid and stardust. His world shifts, his existence shifts, and for a fraction of a second that feels like an entire lifetime, there’s nothing but the thrum of molecules and the emptiness in his mind where there should be thoughts.

He’s snapped back to the real world by a sword in his face.

He feels like he’s teleported. One moment he’s standing in the middle of the corridor with Legend, the next he’s somewhere where his body definitely shouldn’t be, with the edge of a blade seemingly touching his nose. He hears the sound of its impact, sees it, watches it swing at him and hit its mark, but he doesn’t feel anything. He hears a loud, echoing TINK of metal hitting stone instead of the expected squelch of blood; he feels the vibration from the impact but not an ounce of pain - for a moment he thinks he’s already died and this is just what death is like, staring at the last second of your life for eternity.

But then the sword that’s in his face is wretched from him (from the wall?) and he sees Legend overwhelming the enemy with quick jabs of his sword and a cacophony of blades hitting blades. The kid ducks under a swing, counters with a swipe at skinless ribs; his head is almost taken off within seconds, but he manages to dodge in time. Instinctively, almost automatically, Warriors moves to follow, to help.

His body doesn’t budge. He feels his brain start to decay as he tries to comprehend just where he is.

He’s in the wall. He’s watching Legend slowly but surely back the Stalfos into a corner like he’s watching a play, like he’s not actually there, and he’s in the wall.

Somehow it feels like he’s experiencing two different things at once - there’s nothing behind him, nothing to look at, nothing to perceive, like the world has suddenly gone flat, but the normal world is still laid out in front of him and he feels like he’s just on the cusp of existing in it. His heart is pounding but he realizes that it’s different- it’s not a heavy, physical strain, but more of a pulse of heat and particles; a swirl of color he can’t see but can very much feel in every pore. He tastes the sharp zing of magic pop and crackle along his tongue. When he breathes, all he feels is something warm and fizzy swell where his lungs should be.

Warriors has never been paralyzed with confusion, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Trying to wrap his mind around… all of it suddenly seems impossible - when he tries to think up any solutions he’s beat down by the fact that he doesn’t even know what’s happening. How can he find a solution to a problem he doesn’t understand? How can he get out of a prison he can’t even see? Is he even trapped? Why does he feel like a cloud of dust and light? Why do his organs feel like distant memories- why does his very existence feel so fragile, so flighty? Why does he feel like he can’t breathe- this, this feeling of mock air flowing inside mock lungs- it’s- it’s wrong, it’s otherworldly, why can’t he breathe-

“Wars, you're not listening to me, focus on my voice.”

Legend’s words cut through the air, sharp and sudden, and Warriors’ brain has to take a moment to restart and reorient itself. He sees Legend, standing in the middle of the corridor, in the middle of a place Warriors somehow isn’t , and he can’t decide whether or not the sight comforts him or sends him spiralling further. But he stares at the kid for a moment, stares at the wide eyes and the placating hands held out toward him, shaking ever-so-slightly from adrenaline, and for some reason, the animal in the back of his mind quiets.

Legend’s breathing heavily, a cut on his cheek from where he must’ve been nicked by the Stalfos and some dirt on his tunic sleeve from where he probably rolled to dodge a swing, but other than that, he looks okay. Some part of his wound-up mind loosens a bit; seeing Legend safe and sound makes his scattered conscience feel a little more solid.

“Wars, listen to me, I know everything is weird right now, but stay calm,” Legend voices, and he’s sure it isn’t intentional, but Warriors can hear the battle between urgency and serenity in his tone very clearly. It doesn’t give him a lot of confidence - the animal in his mind thrashes. “I can feel your- you’re panicking, shit-”

He’s not panicking. He’s a Captain. Captains don’t panic, they- they plan. They keep quiet about the fear that comes from facing armies. They don’t freeze up on the battlefield, they wipe the blood off their hands and keep moving. They don’t break down, they stay calm-

“Wars, breathe, you’re panicking, I can feel it. I know breathing might feel weird but you have to do it, okay?” There’s an echo to Legend’s voice and it makes him feel like he’s just getting further and further away, but at the same time he’d never heard such an understanding lilt in the vet’s tone before; something in him feels compelled to follow the serene undertones. “Steady breaths- it’ll make everything so much easier.”

Warriors tries to, he really does, but he’s too focused on the fact that when he goes to nod his head nothing happens. Every failed attempt at moving is another spike of panic - the constant thump of heat and blurred froth that is his heartbeat certainly isn’t helping.

“Just focus on me, okay?” Legend urges, words breathy, soft; eyes wide, open in more ways than one. Warriors sees the regret there, the nervousness. The urgency. “Keep your eyes on me, and breathe.”

Warriors stares at the kid and distantly realizes that his life is likely in the vet’s hands right now. Despite that, he feels the panic ebb from him, feels the tightness in his broken up chest dissolve. He stares at the violet eyes looking back at him, holding his gaze with gears churning backstage, and he suddenly isn’t so scared anymore.

The Captain is vaguely surprised at himself when he realizes that, of all the people in the world to get him out of this, he’s glad it’s this kid.

“Now, I want you to… to pull yourself together.”

There’s a beat of silence, short and heavy, and even though Warriors physically cannot speak, he hopes his involuntary quietude conveys the rude, I’m trying at least a little bit. Legend shakes his head.

“I-I mean literally,” he stutters, hands moving with the words. “Literally try to pull yourself together. You’re spread out right now- your body; try to- try to condense yourself. Think of some stupid analogy if you have to- like, like raking leaves together or some shit. Just-”

He’s stumbling over himself. His hands come up to rake through his hair and he swallows, eyes darting to the floor as he takes a moment to think. Legend closes his eyes for a moment, simply breathing, and when he opens them his hands leave his locks and the confidence comes back into his gaze and makes the violet brighter than ever.

“Just gather yourself, and move forward,” he breathes slowly.

For a moment, Warriors doesn’t quite know what to do with that. He wants to feel frustrated, wants to say what kind of advice is that, what does that even mean but then he really looks at the kid; he sees the sureness in his gaze when their eyes meet, sees the silent trust me, you can trust me in the flecks of gold, feels the undertone of an uncharacteristic please being uttered beneath it all. And Warriors looks in on himself, looks at the particles and the colors and the very fabric of what he’s made of, feels the static along his wrist where that bracelet is, and he plays it over and over in his mind, like a mantra. Gather myself, and move forward.

And Warriors does. Warriors trusts him, and he gathers himself and moves forward.

All at once, the particles and the colors all snap into something solid and bursts of light and stars erupt in his vision; the world turns white, and oddly enough Warriors can’t quite feel the spike of adrenaline that should be running through him. He simply feels heat - warm webs of cotton wrapping around his soul, piercing his skin like needles, heating his bones until they feel like liquid. He feels a rush of air and his knees dig into something hard and cold, palms scraping against dusty stone as electricity zips up his tendons and crackles along his skin. He swears he hears bones cracking but he can’t feel anything over the static zinging his clothes and clinging to his hair.

He sucks in a breath. It’s no longer made of fizzy excitement and warm foam.

Once he realizes he can breathe real oxygen, he inhales it like he’s dying - the corridor around him spins until he doesn’t know which way is left or right, but all he cares about is the fact that his hands are touching the ground and he can feel the cold floor against his palms. Warriors dips his head down, stares as the dimly lit, dusty floor duplicates itself and swirls in his vision; every breath is starting to send pangs through his chest and he clamps his eyes shut when the room spins too much.

Somewhere behind the needles along his skin and the static in his mind, he registers hands on him; they’re on his shoulders, gripping him firmly, and Warriors lets himself grab Legend’s wrist with a shaky hand. It’s admittedly very grounding, and Legend doesn’t pull away, doesn’t squirm under the touch, so Warriors lets himself have this, just for a few moments.

The world eventually clears as much as Warriors thinks it will - his vision still swims if he moves too fast, his limbs still shake like he hasn’t eaten all day, but he’s no longer made of stardust and embers and for that he’s infinitely grateful. His grip on himself is unsteady at best, but the hands on his shoulders keep the animal in his mind asleep.

His gaze swivels to the right and he sees a pile of bones and armor; they’re still, and in the middle of disintegrating, and he watches with some twisted satisfaction as the dust spreads in the stagnant air and fills in the cracks in the stone floor. Another moment of simple, desperate breaths, and then Warriors lifts his head when he hears a quiet you alright? from above him.

He straightens, ever so slowly coming to a kneel in the middle of the corridor, and Legend’s hands leave his shoulders but they never leave his person - he’s got a grip on his arm, gentle but firm, and just as grounding. Warriors nods distantly, if only to give himself time to gather the courage to look the vet in the eyes.

He searches for the judgement that he thinks will be there, but he finds nothing like that; instead, there’s a painful brand of understanding, of empathy in the violet. It’s a storm of repentance, of pain, of that faraway look he sometimes gets in the middle of the conversations. Warriors swallows. Legend’s grip on him tightens. The Captain doesn’t think it’s intentional.

Despite the lack of judgement in his gaze, Warriors can’t help but feel embarrassed. It must show on his face (he doesn’t appreciate the heat crawling up his neck and cheeks) because Legend blinks away the thousand-yard stare and then eyes him suspiciously. “You just got turned into a painting,” he growls lowly. “Give yourself a little credit.”

Warriors stares dumbly, and then nods, and then blinks and mentally skims over the sentence again. “Wai- I-I what?” he breathes.

Legend gestures toward the bracelet on his wrist with a nod of his head. Warriors follows his gaze and the spike of muted panic that runs through him at the sight of it makes him feel extremely silly. “The bracelet turns you into a painting.”

Warriors blinks, and then lifts a hand to peer at the eye symbol in the gold. The pupil stares back, shifting to and fro in a cycle of staring at Warriors’ face and looking into the darkness in front of him; it blinks without really blinking and Warriors feels like it knows things it shouldn’t. He wants to ask why, why would anyone make something so odd, but then his mind flickers back to a sword hitting his face but no pain or damage following it, and he thinks he understands. Still though… a painting?

The longer he looks into that strangely intelligent eye the more uneasy he gets, and Warriors finds himself unclasping it with clumsy fingers and holding it out for Legend to take. The kid doesn’t comment on the fact that Warriors’ hands are trembling. He simply gives a little nod, takes the bracelet and wraps it around his own wrist, right over his sleeve where it always rests, ready for action. Up until now, it had never been used in this particular journey; if that is what the wearer experiences every time, Warriors understands why.

“H-How many… how many times have you… used it?” Warriors breathes, barely a whisper, and a part of him hopes Legend doesn’t hear it. A part of him doesn’t want to know; a very, very large part of him doesn’t want to think about his brother experiencing that every time he needs to dodge with no room for movement. The minute horror of barely dodging a fatal blow alone is bad enough.

But when Legend’s expression turns somewhat sheepish and his gaze darts to the floor, Warriors finds his heart already sinking. “Eh, more times than I can count, really. Had to use it a lot when I first got it,” he says and shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he just told him what he had for breakfast, but the muted horror must be showing on Warriors’ face because he continues with, “It… gets easier after a while. You get used to it.”

There’s a beat of thick silence, the soft crackle from the torches on the walls and the ever-present hum that always comes with dungeons filling the quiet, and then Legend is rising to his feet and wiping the dust off his tunic, holding out a hand for him to take. “We can sit here for a bit longer, if you need to.”

The Captain stares and then grins, clapping his palm against Legend’s and letting the kid hoist him up. “I think I’m alright,” Warriors assures, looking down at himself and doing his best to fix his hair - the magic must’ve made it a bit frizzy. “That was quite the, uh…”

Warriors suddenly blinks. “Wait- y-you said I was turned into a painting- what did I look like?”

Legend considers him for a moment. There’s a beat of silence as he ponders, and then a sly grin is slowly creeping onto the kid’s face and he’s turning away, continuing down the corridor and grinning at the darkness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Warriors gawks, stupefied, and then he’s hurrying after the vet and shouting at him for answers, the terrifying, body-morphing, otherworldly experience inside a dungeon wall momentarily forgotten. “Why you little- get back here! What did I look like?!”

+

Ever since the portal whisked them away from a nameless forest to a pleasant little island in the middle of the Great Sea, something has been wrong .

It was as if the moment the salty air hit their noses, Legend had gone rigid as a board. He’d slipped into his more quiet side, lagging behind the group and serving as a silent caboose while the others chatted, staring at the sand under their feet like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. For a while all they’d get out of him would be a stiff nod or a clipped yes or no; Legend isn’t all that talkative to begin with but after a while, he thinks the group notices the absence of sarcastic remarks and witty replies. Sky quietly walks with him for a while and Hyrule joins him shortly after; it’s a companionable silence between them and Warriors knows they’re trying to help, but he thinks it only serves as pressure against Legend’s walls rather than a relief. Warriors makes sure to call them both over for a supply check when he can; he watches Legend’s shoulders slacken just a hair as they both leave his bubble. He makes sure to look away when Legend’s eyes meet his.

Wind excitedly informs them they’re on Outset and then he’s tackled by a little girl exactly four seconds later; she’s missing a tooth, wearing a skull dress, and holding a fake sword in her hand, and they instantly know who they’re looking at. They’re brought to his family, his grandma, and their quaint little house near the shore; they meet some of the neighbors, pet some of the pigs, and by the time the sun starts to set, the Chain is telling stories around a fire and listening to Wind’s grandma embarrass the shit out of him. It’s a happy night, airy and light and smelling of seashells and fire smoke. Their laughs echo over the waves, bounce off the cliffs above them; it’s a night to settle down and let their worries sink into the sand, to listen to the children of the island giggle as they run around and bother the crabs crawling along the shoreline. Warriors breathes in the salty air and lets his eyes rake over the camp, feeling something astray despite the peace.

Legend is not here.

The kid hadn’t let a word leave him since they sat down and started the fire. The chatter around him simply served as background noise as he kept his eyes on the shore, tracing the curve of the ocean and holding such a clouded, heavy thing in his eyes that Warriors almost couldn’t look at it. He’d nodded to Wild and mouthed a thanks when he’d been handed his dinner, but he’d only poked and prodded at it with a fork and gazed through the popping campfire while the others ate, mind nowhere near the present.

The kid must’ve slipped away during all the noise. The Captain eyes the setting sun that dusts everything in amber; he trusts that Legend will come back just fine, especially on a safe, enclosed island like this, but the worry is still there in his head, stubborn as ever. He gives it another few minutes - maybe the kid just needs a moment to himself - but when nothing changes and Warriors still only counts seven heads around the fire (plus a grandma)Warriors stands, stretches, pats Time on the shoulder with a I’ll be back in a bit, and sets off to find him. Leaving the kid alone right now doesn’t quite sit well with him; there’s something in Legend’s mind that’s weighing on him, and Warriors doesn’t particularly get much joy from watching the kid try to carry it alone.

He checks the paths around the village, pokes around the houses, peaks behind cliffs and checks the shoreline just in case, but by the time the sun is fully set, Warriors can’t find the kid. He presses the concern back a little further - it keeps creeping in from the sides and making his hands itch to fight something - he knows Legend can take care of himself; that’s not what he’s worried about. Legend is good at solving problems with a sword on the battlefield or a tool in a dungeon; what he isn’t good at is emotions.

Warriors looks up. He has yet to check a few places, and the watchtower is one of them. Might as well start there.

The Captain makes his way up the tower’s ladder and the wind grabs at his scarf as he climbs; he looks out over the island once he’s high enough and sees the soft glow of their little campfire in the distance. He occasionally hears a holler that echoes over the rocks, a distant laugh or two that overwhelms the waves. But soon a new noise joins in, barely heard over the water and the wind, but Warriors knows it’s close and he looks up at the top of the watchtower and strains his ears to listen. It doesn’t sound like Legend…

When Warriors nearly crests the ladder, a voice pours over the watchtower’s railing. The waves beneath him quiet, as if nature itself wants to hear it.

“Do you wanna try my telescope? That always cheers me up.”

Aryll’s young voice reaches over the water and the gentle breeze, quiet and surprisingly demure. Warriors hasn’t heard her voice go this soft before - up until now, she’s been a ball of unstoppable energy and loud curiosity, shouts turning raspy whenever she gets too excited. But as Warriors peaks his head over the top of the ladder, he can see her leaning over the railing and resting her chin on her arms, seemingly content to stare at the waves.

Legend sits next to her, cross-legged and tall enough that he’s able to simply sit and look out over the railing toward the horizon. An arm rests over the wood, the vet absentmindedly thumbing the rings on his fingers. A seagull or two loosely circles the watchtower, another perches on the railing next to Aryll, another on Legend’s knee.

Sharp eyes flick to the telescope in Aryll’s outstretched hand.

“Who said I needed cheering up?” is Legend’s reply, but even as he says it, he takes the telescope from Aryll’s hand with gentle movements, fingers hesitating for just a beat, as if he’s afraid he’ll break something precious. The vet puts it up to his eye and twists it to zoom in, trains it on an island far in the distance.

Aryll smiles just wide enough to show her missing tooth. “You don’t like the ocean. Or the beach,” she states. Legend’s hand stops twisting the lens. “It’s hard to be happy in a place you don’t like.”

The vet lowers the telescope, looks at her with that sharp stare that even Warriors vaguely fears sometimes, and the Captain internally winces. But Aryll doesn’t flinch under the weight of it; grown men sometimes recoil from the absolute storm that glare is - not her. She simply sways and lets the breeze tug at her dress.

“But that’s okay. The ocean isn’t for everyone,” Aryll says. “It’s pretty, but lots of people don’t know how mean it can be.”

The seagulls squawk and sing with the breeze as Legend stares at her, undoubtedly wanting to open his mouth and say something, ask something along the lines of what do you know, you’re like four because Legend has never been good with kids, but something is stopping him. Something is keeping him from letting the harsh syllables pour out, and Warriors has never seen Legend walk away from an opportunity to pick a fight, even with a child.

The breeze curls around them, tugs at their clothes with a weak grip, curtains them in the smell of sea salt and the tightness that comes with silence. It ruffles Legend’s hair, more of a purple than pink in the dull light of the evening; it grabs at Warriors’ scarf and he has to pin the fabric against his tunic in fear that it would catch their attention.

Aryll has her eyes on the gull perched atop Legend’s knee, the bird seemingly content to sit and let the breeze ruffle its feathers. Another one lands on the vet’s arm that rests on the railing. He doesn’t seem perturbed - he just raises his hand and runs an absentminded knuckle over its feathers, eyes flickering across Aryll’s face like he’s seeing something between the lines.

A smile - a tiny but pleased little twitch of the lips - grows on Aryll’s face, bright eyes knowing more than a child ever should.

“You do like seagulls, though,” she adds over the faraway hum of the waves, an unspoken question in her tone. Warriors thinks of Wild complaining about Legend’s no seagull for dinner policy - she’s not wrong.

Knuckles pause in flattening down feathers, and Legend’s gaze is suddenly on the bird perched on his arm. Something changes in his eyes and in his posture, and he looks at this unassuming seagull like there’s something larger than life housed inside of it. Something terribly heavy in pressing on him - Warriors can see it, can feel some of the weight himself just by looking at him. It gives the kid those subtle bags under his eyes that have been there since they met, that cold demeanor with a touch of fiery snark, especially snappy when the weight gets unbearable.

It’s the kind of weight that comes with loss, with grief. The kind of weight that turns once happy memories into bittersweet ones. The kind that sharpens the shadows and blurs everything else.

Warriors wonders what he lost. He wonders if Legend knows that the loss has shaped his very being.

Legend’s face gains a tiny smile that contorts the soft shadows on his skin, stretches a scar on his lip, another on his cheek - it’s more pained than a smile ever should be, and Warriors’ heart aches. Legend’s eyes house the results of a tragedy, and Warriors’ heart burns.

“They remind me of someone,” comes his answer in a soft voice, the quietest Warriors has ever heard him, and while his words are just barely carried over the distant waves and the wind, he feels like the simple phrase is deafening. His answer is quickly whisked away by the breeze and the call of the gulls, but the implications stay. A subtle tension seeps in the wood of the watchtower as silence takes over.

Warriors can’t read Aryll’s expression - for a moment, the Captain fears that she’ll start asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer, starting digging in that tactless way kids tend to. But she’s just standing there, taking him in quietly, and even though she’s still swaying slightly in that carefree, childlike manner, her eyes are anything but young - he keeps forgetting that Aryll has seen more than most people do in a lifetime.

She asks one question. Her voice is soft, tone somber, and the seagulls seem to quiet around them as if they sense the air getting heavier.

“Do you miss them?”

Legend is looking out over the railing, staring through the horizon line with a faraway look, watching the ocean dance to the moon’s silent melody. He swallows, and Warriors feels his chest tighten when the reflection of the dull sky in the vet’s eyes becomes much shinier than usual.

When he answers, his voice is surprisingly steady, but the words still sound so, so heavy. “More than anything.”

The moon shimmers, as if his grief has reached outer space and rattled the stars. Warriors wants nothing more than to climb over this ladder and give his brother a hug.

The Earth itself settles down into a low hum, as if giving the vet a moment to simply breathe to atone for all it’s thrown at him and all it’s taken away. The crisp splash of waves round themselves out into softer tones, the seagulls’ shrill cries lower into quiet caws; everything sharp and gritty turns smooth, subdued. The salty breeze grabs at their hair, warps the tensions that sits between them. There’s something unspeakably leaden about it. Warriors feels like he can’t move. Aryll has stopped swaying. Maybe she can’t move either.

Nothing is said for a long while as Legend stares at the ocean and Aryll stares at him. Aryll’s hands move to fidget in front of her, and she stares down at her fingers as she breaks the silence.

“... When I got captured by that big bird monster, I missed Link more than anything too,” she murmurs, voice hushed like it’s a secret only met for them. “Link said he missed me just as much. But then he said having my telescope with him reminded him of me, like there was a piece of me with him all the time. He said it made him feel better.”

Water against rocks. Silence against sentiment. And then the slightest hint of a watery smile makes its way onto Legend’s face. His hand leaves the seagull’s feathers to thumb something in his pocket; the reflection of the sky in the kid’s eyes dulls as he breathes in and blinks away the wetness. He lets a breath loose, letting his shoulders sag and his muscles uncoil for the first time in what is probably a long while.

“That’s not a bad idea, kid,” Legend says, and Warriors can tell he means it. It’s not to humor the poor little girl that doesn’t know anything; Legend doesn’t lie when it comes to these things, not even to children. “Not bad at all.”

Legend looks looser. He’s no longer the stiff husk that he’d become when his boots first touched sand, and the air no longer crackles around him like it used to. It simply smells of the sea and maybe the faint scent of a flower hidden in a pocket.

Legend is okay. Warriors climbs down the ladder and joins the others by the fire.

+

[ Content warning: blood, concussion. ]

Warriors isn’t quite sure where he is. He just knows that all the colors are too bright, the pain in his head is too much, and the distant sound of Legend cursing is the only thing keeping him from slipping into the void.

“How can you be so stupid,” he hears from somewhere above him, the voice strained with effort, tinted with hysteria. There’re hands hooked underneath his armpits and his heels leave grooves in the dirt as he’s dragged along; he can feel when his boots get caught on a rock or when shrubbery brushes against him, but he can’t seem to gather the energy to move and help their journey along - wherever they’re going.

The world blurs into hazy greens and browns, and even though Warriors is just aware enough to register that they’re somewhere in a forest, the thought seems wrong to him. He thinks of open clearings, of dusty ground, of his skin feeling warm under harsh sunlight - it’s all very recent, these things. Where did the sun go? Had there been a forest nearby or something?

There’s something dripping down his face. There’s a searing pain in his arm that’s only being worsened by their movements - he feels his left sleeve stick to his skin, something warm and wet dripping from his fingers. He smells copper over the soothing scent of pine cones. Distantly, he thinks that’s very bad.

The voice pulls him from the haze of sweet smelling wood and blurred colors. “There’s nothing smart about what you just did- nothing,” the voice spits; tone tight, said through clenched teeth. The world stops moving for a beat and the hands under his armpits shift to get a better grip, and then everything swirls together again. Warriors does his best to keep his head from lolling to the sides uncomfortably - it seems to be all he can really do right now.

The Captain, for a vaguely terrifying moment, forgets who’s speaking. He hears the voice, can pin meanings to a few of the words, but there’s an empty slot where there should be a face, a name along with it. It lasts for a few horrifyingly vacant beats before he has a moment of clarity and his mind grasps onto the little things. Legend has always had lighter footsteps - maybe it’s the pegasus boots - and the feet behind him, though hurried and carrying twice the weight, are still rather quiet. There’s a certain song to the vet when he walks - the clink of metal equipment moving around makes a beat that’s unique to him and matches his snarky tone well.

The Captain’s mind somehow latches onto the rhythm of his movements rather than his voice. Warriors listens to it, to the melody of sheath clanking against shield, and his mind becomes too occupied with remembering who’s with him to hear any more of Legend’s words.

The green colors and the piney scents are eventually replaced with dark lighting and stone walls. He’s sure the change was at least a little gradual, but Warriors feels like he’s teleported the next time he opens his eyes. He finds he can glance around without his skull threatening to implode - he no longer feels the faint warmth of sunlight on his skin, but the coolness of damp air. He briefly wonders where all the greenery went.

He registers an echo to Legend’s voice as he speaks again, the clink of metal sharper as it bounces off of walls Warriors is too tired to lift his head and look at.

“This is a new level of stupid, even for you,” he voices in a half-snarl, mindless and repetitive complaints overlapping each other. A grunt of effort escapes the vet as he shifts and then Warriors is being lowered to what he thinks is a stone floor. Something cool presses against his back, Legend’s hands leave him, and he slumps, head lolling to rest against rock behind him.

He can’t hear the sounds of nature anymore; instead there’s an odd hum that accompanies the silence. Warriors feels the fog cling to him and he lets his eyes fall shut, exhaustion draping over him like a weighted blanket. The edges of the world go blurry, and he sinks into the static, heavy, drained; there’s a little voice in his head, prodding him, urging him to stay alert, but it always does that. It never wants him to rest. Just a moment…

Something presses against his arm, right where it screams and throbs. Warriors feels his body jerk upright without his consent, breath hitching as he snaps his eyes open.

“I know-!” he hears over the searing pain that somehow contaminates his senses. The tone is urgent, clipped yet apologetic. The pressure doesn’t leave his arm. “I know- I know, just stay with me.”

Within the sea of slurred colors and morphing shapes, Warriors sees the vague silhouette of Legend hovering over him, one hand pressing on his wound while another ventures off into the black dots dancing in his vision. There’s noises coming from somewhere to the left, metal scraping together, empty bottles clinking against each other. Legend curses again and a hand comes to grab one of his own, shoving a piece of blood-soaked cloth into his palm and pressing it up to his wound.

“Put pressure on it, okay? Can you do that?” is his breathy question, and even though Warriors nods, it still takes him a bit to really register the words. The blob of color that is Legend doesn’t move, violet eyes watching him like a hawk while the vet’s hand still holds Warriors’ in place, so the Captain blinks away the fog and nods again, pressing the fabric against his stained tunic.

There’s a beat of hesitance where Legend’s hand stays on him, unmoving, unsure, and then the vet is turning around and dumping his bag’s contents onto the cave floor.

Warriors watches, stares through the back of Legend’s head, lets his eyes loosely follow the items being flung off to the sides in a hurry - boomerangs and magic mirrors and potion bottles that were emptied two days ago. There’s a ringing in his ears that overwhelms Legend’s compulsive cursing; it somehow weakens the echoes bouncing off the walls and strengthens them all the same, layering the entire Earth in something so insulating yet so loud, so hazy and yet so bright that it hurts Warriors’ mind to even try to understand most of it.

There’s a build-up of cotton inside his skull, cobwebs clinging to the back of his eyes - his bones aren’t solid anymore and Warriors looks down and sees red where there should be grey. His gaze follows where it cuts through the grooves in the stone, painting a picture made of ruby highlights and mahogany hatching. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows it’s too much red, he knows he’s turning pale and that his breaths are quickening. And somewhere, deep in the corners, he recognizes that’s bad, but he finds he’s too focused on keeping his eyes open to really think too much about it.

“Wars, keep pressure on it!” a hiss comes from the static, electric currents make his ears ring. He feels sticky. Sweaty. Dizzy. He wants it to stop.

Something is taken from his hand - it felt so wet, why was it so wet? - and the pressure comes back, strong and determined and Warriors can’t find it in himself to stifle the pained noise that crawls from his throat. The walls of whatever cave they’d taken shelter in are spinning and the copper on his tongue doesn’t help the fact that he feels like he’s going to vomit. He registers that Legend has growled something, he’s sounded upset, upset at him, and he doesn’t remember what for, but he lets a slurred, “S’rry…” escape him anyway. He isn’t even sure it comes out loud enough to hear.

The ringing that threatens to crack his skull subsides, but Warriors isn’t allowed a moment of peace when the sound of shaky, heavy breathing takes its place. For a moment he thinks it’s him, but it doesn’t quite feel right so he struggles to lift his head to search for the only other source it could be.

Dizziness clouds his peripherals, invites the little black dots back into the corners, and he blinks to try and clear it away; Legend is a blob for a moment, and then he’s a messy outline and then he’s an unfocused picture on Wild’s Sheikah Slate. But when the image finally clears Warriors has a moment of clarity, and the pang that shoots through his chest almost hurts more than the wound on his arm.

Legend looks so terrified.

The kid has Warriors’ blood on his hands, on his sleeves, in his hair- there’s bruises staining his skin, mud soaking his clothes, untreated cuts scattered across him that might get infected if they’re not cleaned, but Legend’s focus is on Warriors and Warriors alone. Wide eyes flicker across the Captain’s form, darting from one problem to the next and Warriors isn’t even totally aware of all the issues but by the sheer overwhelmed look on Legend’s face he thinks he doesn’t want to know.

There’s something else there, though, and at any other moment Warriors would probably chalk it up to the concussion, but right now, he’s absolutely sure of what he sees in this moment. Legend’s gaze is wide, open, his hands are trembling, his chest is heaving, and as scared and as young as he looks, Warriors still sees anger.

He sees a cold rage, he sees clenched teeth made of ice, each heavy breath like a crunch of snow under a boot, violet eyes like oceans pushing against a dam with all its might. It’s frigid, and for a moment Legend blends right in with the cold stone around them before the outline of crackling static is snapping back to the kid’s silhouette.

The longer Warriors stares, the more he feels like this kind of anger is otherworldly. It feels so much larger than him, larger than Legend himself- it’s a creature that could take on a God if it so chose and the Captain almost feels it loom over him like a shadow, like stalactites on the ceiling, like the weight of a beast on the other side of his shield.

And even though Legend had been cursing the entire way here, chewing Warriors out for being so self-sacrificial, hissing and grumbling and growling under his breath, he doesn’t think this anger is directed at him. The Captain may have a concussion and the blood loss may be getting to him, but he knows Legend better than that. Maybe some of it is for Warriors, but the little embers of guilt in the frozen fury has him thinking most of it is at himself. The little flecks of shame, of utter, unadulterated regret in that wide gaze- the kid’s doing everything in his fucking power to hold it in, to not just scream at himself until his throat goes raw. His eyes are far away, but his anger is present.

Warriors should’ve known the kid would blame himself for this.

“I kn’w what you’re thinkin’,” Warriors lets out, and his words are slurred and his mind is beginning to loll, but when Legend’s panicked gaze snaps up to look at him, he wills himself to clear the grogginess. “Stop it.”

Warriors gulps and swallows copper. He no longer knows the difference between sweat and blood on his skin. “Some’ne had t’ take th’t hit,” he breathes, and maybe he should’ve been paying more attention, because if he had been, he’d have seen the way Legend’s eyes go livid. “‘Was either you or me.”

It’s silent for a moment, but it feels too wrong to be satisfied with it. Even in the midst of the wooziness and with a mind made of cotton, Warriors knows, instinctually, that this silence is more deafening than it should be.

And then Legend shatters it like glass.

“Then pick me.”

He says it quietly, but not softly. He says it through his teeth, grinds it out like it’s painful, like he’s sifting through all the incoherent echoes in his mind and handpicking each word very carefully. It splatters against his vision like grains of sand, warm from the desert heat, grainy and distorted. Warriors almost thinks he imagined it, and maybe he did, so he asks. “W-What-?”

“I said then fucking pick me goddammit!” Legend shouts and the ice cracks. The glacier melts and the stalactites fall and now there’s magma underneath the kid’s skin. It boils just beneath the surface, cooks the flesh, burns the outer shell of the sturdy halls he’s carefully constructed. Legend no longer blends in with the cold ground. He’s a figure made of sharp angles and bared teeth and white-hot wrath.

“Stop picking you!” he yells and it drives nails into Warriors’ skull, but he’s too busy gawking at the kid to really notice the pain beyond his vision blurring. “Why does everyone always let themselves die instead of me?! Why do the Goddesses want me to outlive everyone so fucking badly?!”

His voice cracks at the end, and his demeanor crumbles with it. His shoulders slacken, the magma cools, and the seething light in his eyes fizzles out like a candle in the rain, and Warriors is left staring at a kid who has equal parts tears and blood on his face. Through the pounding of his skull and the distant ringing in his ears, he hears hiccups, sniffles, little fractions of sobs that’re just barely being stifled, and for a terrifying moment, Warriors doesn’t know what to do.

How does he always seem to forget just how young Legend is?

He swallows the iron in his mouth. He steels himself, blinks away the fog, reins Legend in with a bloodied hand on his shoulder and the look of a Captain in his eyes. He knows Legend is only looking at the crimson dripping from his chin, only looking at the gash across his forehead that soaks half his bangs in ruby, but he hopes the kid can see past the ruin. He hopes the kid can see the determined gaze and not the mist clouding it.

“Do you r’lly th’nk I’d do th’t t’ you?” he gets out, words unsteady and breathy and wet, but they bleed with a sureness that is palpable. They bleed with a sureness that he is not dying here. “I’m n’t leavin’ you. Not t’day.”

Warriors means it, means it with every fiber of his being. He feels it in the tips of his fingers, feels the desperate push and pull in his joints, in his lungs, in his teeth. It is raw , and it simmers under his skin and lights his nerves on fire and he can taste the smoke, he can taste the need to survive. And because Legend finally meets his gaze and finally looks at him, finally sees him behind all the scratches and bruises and bloodied, tattered clothes, he says it again. Because he can never say it too many times. Because Warriors knows that Legend has lost more than he’s gained. And Warriors knows that if Legend loses anything else, the kid might just fall apart.

“I’m not leaving you.”

It takes a moment, but all at once, Warriors sees the storm in his eyes stop for a beat, he sees the gears churn as his gaze darts across Warriors’ face and takes in the pure willpower, the sheer defiance in the face of death. Legend’s breath hitches with unsteady little intakes of air and there’s tears dripping from his chin and soaking into Warriors’ tunic, but the Captain sees some clarity coming back to the violet. Legend’s head jerks a little, tiny nods forming as he gathers himself, sniffles, swallows the lump in his throat. He straightens a bit, gulps again, breathes.

And then, in a raw voice that crackles at the edges and sounds damn near broken, but still whole, “Damn right you’re not. Cuz if you die on me, I’ll kill you.”

Despite everything, Warriors laughs.

His voice is rough and it might hurt when his wounds shake with his laughter, but he lets a few chuckles loose before they grow in volume and echo against the cave walls. He knows Legend is staring at him, probably about to gripe at him to stop laughing as he puts pressure on his wounds, but then there’s a hesitant giggle that quickly morphs into slightly hysterical chuckles against the kid’s will. It might look a little crazy to an outsider - hell, Warriors is bleeding out and he still knows it’s weird - but they’re tired and drained and emotionally exhausted, and the Captain thinks that they deserve to be cut a little slack. They’ve been given hell, both of them. Give them a little bit of heaven, too.

Warriors isn’t quite sure when, but eventually their slightly misplaced laughter dies down and they hear voices instead. Well, Legend hears voices and Warriors doesn’t hear much of anything through the ringing, but he knows just by the look on Legend’s face that it’s the others. Warriors rolls his head to the side, winces at the bright light beaming from the entrance, squints at the distant silhouettes of Time and what looks to be Hyrule and Four right at his heels. They’re hurrying, and Warriors can almost feel the seafoam bubble sensation of Hyrule’s magic before he even reaches them.

Warriors looks back at Legend, and the kid’s already got that crooked grin on his face that absolutely screams utter relief. His shoulders slump and his body sags with something akin to absolute exhaustion, but when his gaze catches Warriors’ again, the Captain grins. It’s loose and lopsided, slurred with a certain dopiness that he’s sure looks silly on him, but he smiles anyway and hopes his mouth cooperates. “T’ld you I w’sn’t leavin’.”

He fights to keep his eyes open; he hears the others getting closer, their voices just beginning to echo as they reach the cave entrance. There’s a new figure looming over him, then two, and he just barely feels Hyrule’s magic weave its way between muscle and tendons before Warriors’ consciousness finally fades.

He sees Legend’s utterly exhausted and yet utterly relieved face just as he closes his eyes and he goofily thinks, as if he could ever get rid of me before he’s out.

+

[ Trigger warning: panic attack. ]

Warriors cannot hear Tetra over the rain beating against the deck and the lightning charging the sea. He doesn’t need to to know she’s probably shouting obscenities and asking why all of Wind’s Hero friends are so useless on a ship.

His legs have trouble adjusting to the constant rocking and he can’t see past the heavy rain that pelts him - it stings where his skin is bare, and he should really take off this chainmail before his legs give out from the weight of wet clothes on top of armor, but he’s a little busy helping Wild pull at the rigging to fix that. Thunder claps over their heads and lightning reaches for the masts, the sky’s fingertips snapping and cracking like a whip at empty space; it turns the air thick and tight and Hyrule said he’d tasted sparks on his tongue earlier - Warriors wouldn’t doubt it, the way magic seems to seep into people’s pores at every opportunity. The deck is slick with water that spills off the side with each tilt of the ship; Warriors wonders if the lightning is trickling into the wood itself, buzzing along the ropes and making the railings sizzle. He’s heard that lightning is mischievous like that - zapping and hissing and being a nuisance to whatever poor souls are in its presence. 

Tetra zips back and forth across the deck and shouts over the wind that tugs on Warriors’ scarf - he can’t really hear her over the Gods waging wars above their heads, but he gets the gist of what she wants. He turns to Legend to offer a hand in adjusting the sails, but he finds the space empty.

Warriors’ eyes scan the deck. Though he can just barely see the bowsprit through the rain that hails at them sideways, he can tell apart the silhouettes that’re running around the higher decks - none of them are Legend. The vet shouldn’t be in the crow’s nest during a time like this and he’s smart enough not to, and Warriors can’t for the life of him find the kid in the small crowd of pirates and Heroes beelining across the ship. The Captain’s eyes flick to the jackline that runs from the bow to the stern and he traces each of the safety ropes that’re latched on - the ship is rocking too much and the rigging is swinging in his vision and he has a hard time keeping track of the lines when the wind is threatening to rip them right off the boat.

Something terrible writhes around in his gut when he sees a single safety line that’s been unclipped - it dangles around and hits the side of the ship uselessly, and Warriors tries not to lose his lunch as he thinks back to the last time he saw Legend within the chaos.

“I think I saw him go inside!” he hears, and he all but whips around to see Wild squinting at him through the wind and rain, hair whipping around and attacking the kid’s vision. Warriors can’t even hear his soft-spoken voice over the howling of the clouds, but then the knight gestures toward the doors that lead to the lower decks with a nod of his head.

Warriors catches an in there! being mouthed to him, strained against the wind, and the Captain glances at the doors and feels the weight in his stomach evaporate. Just like one of these men to scare the absolute shit out of him. If Legend’s inside then he’s relatively safe, but Warriors finds it hard to relax, somehow - there’s something nagging at him, prodding his brain, and the heavy rain soaking his clothes and the loud cracks in the sky doesn’t help his scattered mind much. 

Wild nudges him and Warriors tears his gaze away from the lower deck doors. He’s shouting again, and Warriors can’t quite make out the words, but he hears check on him and seemed off in the middle of the garbled mess and the weight in his gut comes back. He glances at the line Wild’s holding, reluctant to leave the kid while he’s struggling, but the Champion nods to the doors again and gives him a knowing look. I’ll be fine, go check on him.

The Captain shoots Wild a grateful smile and hurries across the deck, untying his safety rope and tossing it to the side as he makes for the doors. He vaguely hears Tetra yelling over the wind, something about where do you think you’re going Captain Hair Gel but he’s already down the steps and swinging the doors open - a vague guilt swirls in his chest for leaving them alone during such a time, but something in him is unsettled and he has a feeling it won’t get better until he finds Legend.

He does find him. And Warriors thanks the goddesses above for giving him gut feelings, because Legend is not okay.

The kid is pacing across the room, a steady pitter-patter of boots against wooden floorboards overpowering the muffled rain - he’s soaking wet, shivering, teeth clacking together, but that’s not what’s concerning Warriors the most. It’s the wringing of his hands, it’s the trembling fingers that he suspects isn’t from the cold, it’s the frantic, wide open eyes of a person that is not thinking straight. They dart across the room, looking for something, searching for an item in every nook and cranny and every time he comes up empty he looks just a bit more terrified. He’s playing with the hem of his tunic, picking at the stitches, compulsively fixing his hat like he does when he’s nervous.

The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing. It is shaky, just as Warriors’ voice is when he softly calls, “Legend?”

The vet’s head snaps up to look at him, and for a moment Warriors genuinely, honestly thinks that the kid might run away to another part of the ship with how scared he looks. But then Legend swallows, thick and breathless, and his gaze leaves the Captain to continue raking his eyes over the furniture.

“I-I don’t like sailing,” Legend stutters, and Warriors doesn’t think he’s ever heard Legend stutter like that before. Maybe when he’s flustered or too frustrated to speak, but Warriors has never heard the Veteran’s voice so… panicked. So shaky. “I don’t like the sea. I-I don’t- I don’t like storms. I hate storms.”

His voice trembles with the sky above them, thunder muffled by the cabin walls but certainly audible. The kid twitches with every creak of wood, every tilt of the ship, every clap of thunder; the uncharacteristic skittishness has Warriors’ heels glued to the threshold. A bolt of lightning cracks the sky in half in the distance, but it still sounds rather close - Legend flinches.

“Where’s my bag?” the kid asks, pacing in aimless, loose circles as he hunts for it. Warriors doesn’t really have time to answer before Legend darts to the other side of the room and falls to his knees beside a bench, all but yanking his bag out from underneath the seat. He rips the flap open with impatient hands, digs through the contents, throws things aside he doesn’t need. Warriors watches a boomerang land at his feet, a power glove hit the floor with a muted clank, and he realizes that he doesn’t know how to handle this.

He should know. He’s a Captain, Captains know these things- he’s consoled his men before, he’s cared for people after panic attacks before. It should be a relatively easy process for him, but Legend has thick, thick walls. This kid has a maze built around him, and while Warriors likes to think he knows a lot of the layout, he’s a stranger to it when it’s crumbling- he doesn’t know how to get around all the rubble. He doesn’t know how to approach Legend when one wrong move could make it worse.

Legends mutters a quiet but panicked dammit and Warriors snaps out of his stupor to see the kid turning his bag upside down dumping everything on the floor. More items than logically possible fall out and clatter against the floorboards - canes and bracelets and medallions and bottles litter the hardwood and then Legend’s unsteady hands are combing through the pile, shoving things aside in a haste to find something .

Lightning screams in the distance. Legend flinches and quickens his search. Warriors’ gaze flicks to the pile of items and he mentally scrolls through what he knows of Legend’s inventory - any of his weapons would be useless here, neither of his canes would be of any help, and Warriors somehow doubts Zora flippers is the thing Legend is searching for despite the circumstances. He keeps tossing aside the larger objects. He’s looking for something small.

Lightning strikes. Legend’s breath hitches, his hands twitch. Warriors finds himself thinking back to the night in the dungeon corridors; back to a little green ring he’d held in his hands.

“Green Holy Ring; no damage from electricity.”

Warriors feels his heart squeeze. Oh, Legend...

The Captain comes to a crouch next to the vet’s pile, eyeing the kid as his breathing starts to get rather choppy. “I-I can’t- I can’t find my ring box. Where’s my fucking ring box- I know it’s here.”

“We’ll find it,” Warriors reassures softly, a stark contrast against Legend’s rough, petrified tone. His hands join the fray to search as the vet looks at him, latches onto his calm words, his slow movements, his placating eyes. Legend doesn’t need this ring. But Warriors knows the kid has an attachment to his items, and he’s not about to take this comfort away from him. “We’ll find it, Ledge. For now, you’re safe in here, but we’ll find it.”

The ship rocks and the planks creak and they can hear muffled yelling over the harsh patter of the rain above them. The sky releases an ear-ending boom that feels like it shakes the ship- the ocean itself; Warriors thinks it shakes Legend the most, because the kid is suddenly looking through him, muscles locking up, breath hitching as his hands tremble. Warriors feels the familiar weight of worry fully settle into his stomach as he searches faster.

He catches sight of it, he thinks, and he dives for it - that little red box, hiding under a bundled up Roc’s cape. Legend’s panicked gaze locks onto it as soon as it's in sight and the kid snatches it out of his hands faster than Warriors thought he was capable of moving. The vet flips the lid open and digs through the gold for a beat before cursing, losing his patience, and dumping those onto the floor too. Quivering hands scour the pile and Warriors leans forward to scan the jewels on each one.

Legend finds it - his breath hitches when he spots the green gem and he messily plucks it from the pile, almost dropping it when the sky booms again. Warriors watches the painful process of Legend trying to steady his trembling hands to get it on, but once it’s around his finger the Captain can practically feel the air around them soften.

The pure panic in Legend’s gaze dulls to a simmer and his shoulders slowly unstiffen - his breathing is choppy and labored but it’s starting to smooth out into fluid intakes that don’t tremble. The kid still stares through him, through the floor, his mind in another place entirely, but his ears twitch at every minor rumble of the clouds, every creak of wood that breaks the pattern of rainfall. Warriors watches him very closely, watches the quiver in his hands stay despite the fix; watches the fog cling to his gaze when he tries to blink it away.

The vet’s attention flickers to Warriors’ hands, then up and up until he’s looking at his face like he just noticed his existence. The Captain watches him think, watches him process, and he feels a tug at his soul when the air suddenly zings with an energy that makes his ears buzz, his skin tingle. It screeches in his mind and shakes the marrow in his bones and he doesn’t think this is the lightning’s doing, as powerful as the magic feels. It pulses at the walls and grates against the wood, the lanterns hanging by the doorways flicker, and Warriors swears there’s somehow an echo to something that isn’t making a sound.

He swears he feels static crackling in his lungs. He doesn’t know if it’s the lightning charging the very air inside or if it’s Legend’s magic seeping into the wood and curling around the furniture. Whichever it is, it’s paralyzing.

Legend’s face is blotched red, the tips of his ears tinted cherry, and everything about the kid suddenly screams embarrassed and overwhelmed. The air becomes hot and stagnant, almost painful to Warriors’ joints in a way he can’t explain, and he watches Legend curl into himself with a foul taste in his mouth. The vet tries to string together a sentence, and Warriors is surprised that he can see nearly every stage of it in his gaze; the kid is feeling too many emotions to sort through, and he doesn’t know which one to pick from to build the words off of.

Warriors had thought Legend would default to anger. It’s an easy emotion for the kid to express; it’s sharp and it’s dangerous and it wards people away from the weak spots in his walls - perfect for protecting yourself in a world that’s been out to get you since your first adventure. And call him crazy, but Warriors thinks he sees Legend try. He sees the spark of anger in the violet, he sees the teeth clench, he sees the shoulders tense, the insults in his head build. But he thinks the kid is simply too worn out to let it explode. Maybe part of him doesn’t want to be angry at Warriors for helping. They’re past the point where Legend thinks every attempt at kindness is pity - maybe he appreciates the help, the comfort.

Maybe, Warriors thinks, as he stares at Legend’s sopping wet form while the vet curls into himself and flinches at every crack of lightning, maybe the kid just needs more comfort.

Warriors slowly rises from his spot on the floor and comes to kneel in front of him - Legend’s eyes follow his movements, sluggish and tired and still overwhelmed, and the Captain hopes to Hylia he’s not making the wrong decision here. He raises his arms, hovers them near the kid’s form, and waits for the go ahead.

Legend stares at his gloved hands like he thinks they’re not real. He stares and thinks and for a moment Warriors isn’t sure if he’ll say yes, but then the ship rocks and the sky screams and Legend nearly jumps at the booming sound that echoes in their skulls. Legend nods, little jerks of his head that’re quick, panicked, and Warriors finally, slowly, wraps his arms around the vet and simply holds him.

It takes a moment, but eventually, Warriors feels two shaky hands come up and grip the back of his tunic. Legend leans into him, breaths hiccuping and body shaky, head coming to rest against Warriors’ shoulder, and even though they’re both sopping wet and cold and dripping rain water onto the hardwood, the hug is quite comfortable. Neither of them say a thing, but neither of them have to - Warriors simply rests his chin on the kid’s shoulders and holds him a little tighter when the thunder rolls. 

Eventually, the static that crackles in the air dies down and his bones stop trying to harmonize with it - the air is wet, salty, just as it should be out in the middle of the sea, and Legend finally lets his worries soak into Warriors’ tunic. His breaths turn steady, smooth, his hands stop shaking, and maybe he’s not totally okay in the head just yet but Warriors doesn’t expect him to be. Legend has dealt with enough people over the years that expect him to fine. The kid deserves to have some time to not be.

So Warriors sits with him, and lets him not be fine for once. The kid deserves as much.

+

Warriors once overheard Twilight mention feeling a strange sadness as dusk falls; that it’s the only time our world connects with “theirs.” It had sounded a bit crazy back then, but now, Warriors thinks the ranch hand may have been onto something.

The sun is long gone over the horizon, though, and the fireflies are out to peruse the fields and float along the railings of Time and Malon’s porch. The crickets click and chirp in Warriors’ ears, singing a song in a language he never learned, but he listens to the lull in their beats and the tune of their words and he thinks they’re having a conversation. He’s perfectly content to be a foreign listener, and he tunes into their laughter while he lazily wipes at his shoulder guard in his lap with a dirty rag.

Something about the silence is a bit unsettling to him. He likes peace and quiet from time to time, seeks it out, even, when he’s a bit overwhelmed, but tonight it simply makes him feel cold, and perhaps a bit lonely. The cricket chirps echo farther than Warriors thinks they should. His socked feet lightly thump against the wood of the porch - it sounds so much louder in the silence. Warriors hears the fabric of his rag rub against his shoulder guard’s plating with every swipe; he tries not to focus on it too much.

A new sound enters his ears and they perk up at the intrusion. Footsteps, inside. Soft thumps, barely audible, and the pattern changes as they walk into the tiled kitchen. They’re too light to be Twilight, too slow to be Wind, too quiet to be Time; they wander around the dining table and a certain hothead pops into Warriors’ mind just before the front door opens.

The bags under Legend’s eyes are prominent tonight, and Warriors feels a pluck at his heartstrings despite the fact that Legend has looked like this for days. The kid hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in… Warriors doesn’t even know; he hasn’t seen him stay in his bed for a full night since they arrived at the ranch. Under nothing but moonlight the circles under the vet’s eyes are darkened against his pale skin. His hair is a bit of a mess, as well…

“Sorry,” Legend croaks, apologizes, and Warriors is snapped from his trance at the unfamiliar word leaving the kid’s mouth. “Do you wanna be alone?”

Warriors blinks, and realizes that he’s frowning. He carefully molds his expression into something more neutral, more friendly. “No, you’re alright,” he says, and then pats the empty side of the bench he’s lounging on. Come sit.

Legend trudges up to the bench and Warriors swipes the end of his scarf out of the way before the kid collapses into the seat and lets a long breath loose. He lets his head rest against the wall behind them, stares up at the sky and searches the stars. The quiet sound of his breathing joins the sounds of nighttime. It’s not much, but somehow, Warriors thinks the crickets’ orchestra echoes a lot less now.

Warriors resumes wiping at his armor, clearing the dust and crud off and tilting it toward the moonlight to see any spots he missed. He feels a light tug on his scarf and his gaze flickers over to see Legend picking up the end of it and staring at the golden embroidery. He idly thumbs the pattern, traces it with his fingers, studies the stitching of the gold strip that borders it. Warriors searches his face, sees a youthful curiosity behind those tired eyes, and the Captain leans back to get a better look at the royal crest.

“My mom made it, ya’know.”

Legend blinks and looks up at him, hums a tired hm?, and Warriors lifts a hand and runs a thumb over the fabric.

“My scarf. My mom made it,” the Captain hums, voice hushed, and he feels Legend’s gaze snap to him. Warriors finds himself grinning fondly down at the blue and gold. “Gave it to me when I was still a little ankle biter. Told me to wear it with pride on the day that I’m knighted. I’ve worn it ever since.”

Warriors feels Legend staring, studying, and he lets him. He lets him hold the end of his scarf and run his fingers over the royal crest, lets him feel the texture of the threads, the subtle bumps in the fabric where it’s been torn and stitched back together over the years. It used to be a brighter blue, but it’s old now, and all the adventuring has worn it down. Warriors still loves it to death despite that.

“High quality,” Legend hums quietly, flattening the scarf out on his lap and studying the royal crest that drapes over his legs. “Good stitching.”

Warriors’ grin turns a little bittersweet. “She was good at everything,” he whispers.

It’s silent for a while, just them and the crickets and the soft, steady thumps of Warriors’ heel tapping the floor. His dirty rag runs across his armor again and the Captain idly tries scrubbing a speck of dirt off, and then Legend speaks.

“My tempered sword was my uncle’s,” the vet says, and Warriors pauses. He looks at the kid but Legend is somewhere in the sky, staring through the moon and searching for something out there beyond it. “He gave it to me to save Zelda when I was nine. I don’t think he ever intended it to be used for that more than once.”

Warriors stares and Legend’s gaze leaves the sky to wander, and it eventually lands on the shoulder guard that rests in Warriors’ lap. Something changes in his eyes, in his expression, and he’s suddenly staring through the Captain’s armor with a look that Warriors is all too familiar with. It’s the look of a soldier thinking back to a kill, the look of a knight who’s tired of blood being stuck under his nails, the look of a warrior who’s murdered and then regretted . It’s haunted, and guilty, and ashamed. It’s the look of someone who’s done something that they never want to think about.

“I wonder if he’d be disappointed if he knew what kind of shit I’ve used it for,” he whispers, words just barely above the crickets like he’s afraid of saying it any louder. Like he’s afraid the stars themselves will hear and judge him. Like he’s afraid someone up there will curse him more than Hylia ever could.

The crickets keep talking and their gossip is the only thing keeping the thick air breathable; it’s stagnant and heavy - layers of chainmail piled on their shoulders. Warriors feels the coldness come back somehow, frigid and dull on his skin. The sounds of nighttime echo again, bounce off the walls of the house, reach across the fenced in fields like they’re trying to escape. There’s something… empty about it.

The Captain looks at Legend and he sees a kid who’s tired, who’s overthinking, who’s scraping by on four hours of sleep within the past few days and Warriors knows that if the pattern continues Legend can and will run himself into the ground. But Warriors can’t just say stop thinking about it. He’d be kicking himself before Legend even got the chance. But maybe… maybe he could push the kid in the direction of a more… happy train of thought.

Warriors takes a plunge, and hopes it doesn’t backfire. “What was he like?”

Legend blinks and the distant fog in his eyes fades as he looks up at Warriors and regards him for a moment, tired stare blank.

“Your uncle,” Warriors elaborates. “What was he like?”

There’s a beat of waiting before something fond crosses Legend’s face. His lips twitch up into a half smile, and Warriors thinks that if Legend weren’t so tired, he would’ve taken more care to cover it up. “He was… a workaholic,” Legend mumbles. “Worked night shifts at the castle until he could barely stay on his feet. He’d come home in the morning all tired, and he’d sleep for half the day.”

Warriors frowns, beginning to regret this, but then the fondness in Legend’s eyes grow and he thumbs a ring on his finger absentmindedly. “I remember I used to make him ‘breakfast’ every morning, but it was in the middle of the day after he woke up and all it was was fuckin’... a piece of a bread and the biggest apple I could find from the orchard,” Legend smiles, and Warriors grins with him. “It was a shitty meal, but he never complained. Always said I was helpful. Said I was a good kid.”

“And sure, he worked a lot, but he had to. It was just us, ya’know? And he made sure to spend plenty of time with me. He’d… take me into town and let me count up all the rupees we’d need… I’d sit on his shoulders and point to the same damn stalls every time, but he was patient, and he let me stare at the same damn items that had been in stock the week before,” he chuckles softly, shoulders shaking. “He was always patient.”

Legend looks up to the moon again, the reflection filling his eyes and making them sparkle; stardust on violet clouds. “On his nights off he’d let me stay up late, and he’d take us out on a hill near our house so we could stargaze. He’d point to the constellations and tell me their stories, but I was young and… didn’t quite grasp some of it. I’d always mistake random stars for constellations n’ shit. So I’d just make up new ones, with new stories. And he’d just listen and smile.”

Legend’s eyes are drooping, and his head comes to rest on Warriors’ shoulder. The Captain thinks, again, that if Legend weren’t so tired he’d never be telling him this. He thinks that if Legend were more aware, he wouldn’t be leaning on him. But, distantly, he also thinks that the kid would never let himself spew this much to any of the others, even when he’s bone tired and mentally drained. He thinks that maybe, Legend trusts him enough to tell him these things, to trust him with pieces of things he holds dear. It’s hard to tell with Legend, but some part of him hopes it’s true. He hopes that Legend trusts him enough to let him through that maze of his. He hopes Legend knows that he has a best friend he can go to for anything.

“He’d always listen to me,” Legend yawns, slow and sluggish as he blinks tiredly. His eyelids fall shut, and his words are a bit slurred together, but Warriors can still make them out. “He never dismissed me just cuz I was a kid. ‘Was nice, ya’know? Nice to be heard.”

Warriors looks down at him, down at his scarf held in Legend’s limp hands, at the bags under the kid’s eyes. He listens to his breathing, hears it smooth out, hears the breaths slowly deepen, and it makes him sleepy too. The crickets lull the kid into a different realm and Warriors isn’t too far behind; he rests his head atop Legend’s and stares out into the field until the fireflies are just blurry dots in his vision, the stars little specks of static.

Warriors lets his eyes fall shut, and he finds that the last thing he thinks about is how he wishes Legend was still awake; if he was, Warriors would be sure to tell him that he thinks Legend’s uncle would be very proud of him.

Why wouldn’t he be? Warriors sure is.