flowers shall grow

by parsnipit

Summary:

The first thing the Dragon of the Wild knows is this:

It hurts.

Wild swallows a secret stone in order to save Zelda from Ganondorf.

Meanwhile, Hylia dumps eight iterations of his soul into the Depths for a lesson in despair and dragon-keeping.

Chapter 1: dragon of the wild

Notes:

"from my rotting body flowers shall grow and i am them and that is eternity" - edvard munch

The first thing the Dragon of the Wild knows is this: 

It hurts.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—!

The bellows of its lungs heave, and a shriek tears from its throat. It whips its head around to see the vast hurting places on its body. Decay creeps along its foreleg, its shoulders, its spine. Globs of gloom fall from its flank and spatter onto the stone below, sizzling where they settle. It lunges for its own rotting flesh, jaws splayed, and it hears someone scream.

It hesitates, but only for a moment.

Then it tears its own leg off.

Decay burns its mouth, boils its tongue, and it casts the ruined flesh far from itself. Quickly, it sinks its fangs back into its shoulder, tearing off great chunks of poisoned hide and tainted scale. Only when the worst of the gloom has been cast aside does it stop, panting, hoarse with pain. There is a high-pitched noise in its ears, which it pins flat in distress. 

Someone is speaking.

The dragon curves its neck, looking down its own long snout to its uninjured foreleg. Something small and gold is touching its talon. The thing speaks a language that the dragon does not understand, but her voice is soft and her touch is kind. The dragon will not devour her. It bows its head instead, brushing the tip of its muzzle against her halo of hair.

She smells like flowers.

This is familiar.

“Link,” she sobs, reaching up to press one warm palm against its nose. “Oh, Link.”

The dragon nudges her, flips her up onto its snout to carry. It does not belong in this place, and it doubts this small golden thing does, either. This place is dark and foul and full of rot: it is everything the dragon is not. So the dragon bunches its haunches, braces its five uninjured limbs, and leaps to fly as it is meant to do.

It makes it only half a dragon-length before its magic flickers, falters, and it slams back into the ground. Its belly skids across the stone, scraping several scales off. It lays, dumbfounded, for some seconds. Then it gets up to try again—

—and again—

—and again—

—and— 

“Please,” the small golden thing begs, brushing one hand beneath its eye. “Please be still. My Link, my knight, lay and be still.”

But the dragon knows this:

If it lays quietly, it will die in this underground tomb. The gloom curdles inside of its bones and its belly. It does not know how to fix that, but it does know how to seek the sunlight. It digs its talons into the stone of the chasm and begins to climb. It will not be kept here. It will not die in this place.

But it is missing its leg, and so very much of its magic.

It only makes it a few tail-lengths before it loses its grip and crashes back down. Blood oozes from its injured side, oily and black. It lays panting, breath sawing in and out of its throat. Frustration blooms around its body in the shape of thorns and brambles and great locust trees. The small golden thing kneels in front of it, her hands stroking its chin.

“Shh,” she says. “Shh, settle, there now. I’ll help you. I promise I’ll help you.”

But the world moves on above them, and the gloom grows ever deeper, and the dragon cannot fly.

---

Sometime, somewhere, a goddess grieves and a portal opens.

Notes:

hooo boy it's been a minute since i had a chance to write!! but i finished tears of the kingdom over christmas break and then devoured linked universe and immediately regurgitated this because drAGON WILD!!! DRAGON WILD!!!!!!

in other news i am wholly reliant on external validation so plz let me know if you enjoyed this tiny prologue <33 the next chapters will be longer! i cannot promise a consistent update schedule bc my work-life balance is currently nonexistent but!! i will do my best!!

Chapter 2: a forest

Time steps through the portal and into darkness.

It sprawls around him like a living thing, thick and cold. Each breath cloys in his chest. The air feels heavy and fetid, and for a moment he’s deafened by the sheer silence. Then Twilight steps out of the portal behind him, their shoulders bumping, and the next breath Time takes feels a little lighter.

“Woah,” Twilight says.

“Mm-hm,” Time agrees.

His boys come through the portal one at a time after him, each a little quieter than normal in the face of all the darkness around them. They clump together, instinctively putting their backs to each other as they survey the new terrain—though there’s not much surveying that can be done, given how little light reaches them. Time strikes up a torch and holds it aloft as the portal fades.

“Anyone recognize this place?” he asks.

A series of negatives answers him. Only Twilight admits, “It feels a little familiar here, like when my Hyrule was taken over by dark magic. But I don’t think this is my Hyrule.”

“We must be deep underground,” Hyrule observes, wandering to the edge of the torchlight. “And this cave is massive. I don’t hear any echoes.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Legend points out, his ears twitching nervously.

Wind steps up to Legend’s side, wedging himself beneath his elbow. “Yeah, and it’s creepy.”

“Twilight, do you smell anything?” Warriors asks, leaning over to light his own torch against Time’s.

Twilight reaches up to grasp the dark crystal around his neck, magic washing over him in fragmented black panels. In his place stands a thick-furred gray wolf, snout lifted. He sniffs the air for several seconds before pressing his wet black nose to the ground instead. Then his tail wags briskly, and he woofs once.

“Found something?” Warriors asks, and Twilight nods. “Lead on, then, Wolfie.”

Twilight leads them through the dark, his claws clicking against the stone below. The rest of them bring out wands or torches to help them find their way. Legend wanders a little ways off until he finds one wall of the cave. It stretches up and up and up—the ceiling can’t be seen, no matter how far Time cranes his neck or squints his eye. Warriors goes to the side opposite Legend, seeking another wall. He still hasn’t found one by the time he reaches the edges of the group’s sight and Time calls him back.

“Look,” Wind says, jogging out in front of Time to catch up to Twilight. The wolf has paused, tail wagging thoughtfully as he snuffles the ground. “It looks like a camp.”

Twilight shifts back as Time joins them. “There was a person here,” he says, “but I can’t tell you more than that. The scent is too old.”

The camp is small—only the remnants of a campfire and a strange, bulbous silver flower. Wind pokes the glowing bloom just to watch it bob back at him.

“The scent heads that way,” Twilight says.

More of those silver flowers grow sporadically from the stone in the direction Twilight indicates, lighting a broad and weaving path through the cavern. 

“Did you smell any monsters?” Warriors asks, cocking his weight onto one hip as he surveys the path lit up in front of them. “This feels a little too obvious.”

“Like a trap,” Legend agrees.

“No monsters,” Twilight says, shaking his head. “Actually, I smell a forest.”

“A forest? Are you sure you’re not just smelling these?” Wind asks, poking the silver flower again.

“No, those smell different—metallic.”

“Maybe this path leads to the surface,” Hyrule suggests. 

“I sure hope so,” Sky says, his arms wrapped around himself. His discomfort is palpable even without Time dipping into the soulbond they share and feeling it for himself, sharp and cold. “I don’t like this place.”

Hyrule hooks his elbow through Sky’s. “It’ll be okay. I’m pretty good at finding my way out of caves.”

“Like a keese,” Wind says cheerfully, “except not as much of a pain in my ass. I mean, most of the time.”

“Language,” Time says mildly. At the same time, he pushes a sense of quiet-peace-comfort towards Sky through their bond, and the younger man sends him a grateful look. 

The eight of them make their way along the poorly-lit path. To Time’s relief, it slopes upwards, as though it might really lead to the surface. They’ve gone several hundred meters when the forest first appears, bushy treetops poking over the slope. The edges of the leaves are frosted in the dull silver light of the glowing flowers, which grow copiously in this area. Twilight picks up the pace, leading them eagerly towards trees.

The stone underfoot quickly becomes overgrown, thickly-furred with moss and yellow lichen. Tufts of ryegrass tangle the roots of the trees, leaning over small thickets of clover. The air is still and cold, but lush with the scent of growing things. Time looks up and finds only darkness. No sunlight feeds these plants. 

So, how, then, do they grow so well?

“Look,” Four says quietly, kneeling next to Time. He brushes a hand over one of the tree’s roots, revealing the ground beneath. It’s solid stone. The tree has, somehow, rooted straight through it. “That creep you out any?”

It does, as a matter of fact, though Time is careful not to let the unease show in his face or ebb across his bonds with the others.

“Magic?” Hyrule suggests, crouching in front of Four.

“It would take a hell of a lot of magic to do something like this,” Four says, gesturing to the wide expanse of forest around them. By all accounts, it looks like a forest that might be found on the surface—except for the stone soil and utter lack of sunlight or water.

Hyrule nods. “I don’t sense anything malevolent about it, though.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t always trust your senses.” Legend stops beside them, frowning, his arms folded over his chest. “Just keep cautious. We don’t know what lurks down here.”

“This is awesome!” Wind exclaims, already halfway up a nearby oak tree. He balances on one of the highest branches, squinting into the distance. “The trees go all the way over to that stone ridge over there.”

“See any way out from up there, sailor?” Warriors asks.

Wind twists this way and that. Several leaves scatter out of the tree and litter the ground below him. “Nope.”

Sky lets out a long, slow exhale.

“But, uh—the path is still going up,” Wind adds hastily. “And it curves a little. There’s probably something that way if we keep going.”

Time glances at Warriors and Twilight, who both shrug. “Alright,” he decides. “Let’s try to go a little further before we make camp for the night.”

Wind shimmies back down the tree, and they resume their trek through the endless underbelly of whatever world they’ve stumbled into. They make it to the stone ridge within a few minutes; it’s rather steep, curving away from them in a loose semi-circle. A strange, dim green light emanates from it between patches of moss and loops of vines.

“Nobody touch it,” Legend says, coming to a halt some distance from the ridge.

“Cucco,” Wind says, and darts forward to touch it.

“Wind.” Warriors catches him by the shoulder, hauling him back. “Wait. We don’t know if it’s dangerous or not.”

Legend approaches the green stone, eyeing it suspiciously. He nudges it with his toe, first. Only when no magic blasts out to strike him does he reach forward, feathering his fingertips over the rock. “I guess it’s fine,” he grudgingly allows, after several seconds.

The rest of them crowd around him, studying the ridge. It isn’t terribly high—maybe five or six meters at best. They could scale it, given a little rope and a grappling hook. Or, Time considers, studying the evenly-spaced grooves in the stone, by hand, if we were desperate enough. 

“We could wedge a grappling hook in there,” Warriors says, pointing. On top of the ridge are tall spicules of stone, glowing with that same deep green light. If this place isn’t man-made, it’s at least man-modified; there are too many repeating patterns to think otherwise. “Haul ourselves over.”

“Or we could go around,” Four points out. “We don’t know for sure that the way out is over this.”

Sky hums contemplatively before saying, “But the path keeps sloping up on the other side.”

“Whatever you guys want.” Four shrugs. “I just want to make sure we think about all of our options.”

“Guys,” Hyrule says.

“I think at least one of us should scale it, anyway,” Warriors says. “We can get a better vantage point from up there to pick our path.”

“I gotchu.” Wind kneels, beginning to rummage through his pack for his grappling hook.

“I’ll go up,” Legend volunteers.

“Guys,” Hyrule says, more loudly.

“Uh, no way,” Wind says, dancing away from Legend with his grappling hook in hand. “It’s my hook, I’m climbing with it.”

“Wind,” Legend warns.

“You’re babying me again!”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“I’m—”

“Guys!” Hyrule snaps, yanking all of them to attention. Under the weight of their combined gazes, Hyrule shrinks into himself a little. When he speaks again, his voice is meek. “The rock is breathing.”

Time’s eyes rivet to the stone. After several long seconds it sees it—a subtle rise, and then, many seconds later, an equally subtle fall. 

“Well,” Time says.

“Shit,” Twilight agrees. “How about that.”

“Maybe we should go around,” Four says.

The rest of them quickly agree, after that. There’s no sense in driving a grappling hook into a massive stone hill that may or may not be alive. They hike north, around the wide curve of the ridge. At one point they reach an outcropping, and stop to study it.

The outcropping has talons.

This is not ideal.

“It’s a gods-damned dragon,” Legend says, and draws his sword.

“Wait! It could be a friendly dragon,” protests Sky.

“Have you ever met a dragon?”

“Three, actually,” Sky says, frowning at Legend. “And they were all very helpful. Maybe this dragon will be, too, if we don’t wake it up by stabbing it.” 

“Guys,” Hyrule says.

“Most of the dragons I’ve met have been unfriendly, too,” Time says, “but that doesn’t mean they all are. Maybe we should give this one the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m just saying we should be prepared for if it tries to eat us,” Legend argues.

“Argorok is the only dragon I’ve ever met,” says Twilight, “and he was a pain in the ass to defeat. It took me weeks to grow back all my hair.”

“Guys,” Hyrule says, more loudly.

“Okay, but are we sure it’s even a dragon?” Four asks. “I, for one, have never seen a dragon that big before. That’s completely excessive.”

“Yeah, that dragon is way bigger than Valoo,” Wind says. “Maybe it’s some type of molgera.”

“Or a twinmold,” Time offers.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, guys!” Hyrule yelps. “It’s awake!”

The vast green ridge moves, then, shifting with a susurration of scales slithering over stone. A low rumble shakes the air around them. The foremost portion of the ridge begins to lift—up, and up, and up, until it twists and snakes around to reveal the dragon’s head. Its face is triangular, sloping down to a delicate muzzle with a spray of fine golden whiskers. A mane of equally golden fur encircles its throat and the topmost arch of its neck, and crowning its brow are two glowing green antlers. A pair of piercing blue eyes glare down at them, the pupils swollen wide.

“Oh, Hylia’s tits,” Legend swears, and Warriors kicks him.

“Hello,” Sky says, bowing politely. “My name is Sky, and these are my brothers. We’re sorry to intrude, but we—”

The dragon splays its jaws, revealing vast spicules of teeth, and roars so hard Time’s bones shake.

At once, the thick moss carpeting underfoot turns to thorns. Dense brambles rear up, separating them from each other. Time swears and reaches for his sword, slicing through the bracken that bars him from his closest brother: Four. But before he can hack his way through, thick vines lash up and ensnare his arms. They drag him back into the brambles, and he hisses as wicked black thorns scrape across his cheeks and yank his hair. 

“Time!” Four shouts, clawing his way through a thatch of thick brambles to get to him.

Time yanks at the vines encircling his wrists to no avail. They only coil tighter around him, and even more spring up to grasp his chest and legs. They pull him down, forcing him further into the thorns that blanket the ground below. Around him, Time can see his brothers enduring much the same thing: the world around them has become a furious thicket intent on trapping them.

Far above, the dragon’s head looms; its eyes are ominous, unfeeling wells of light.

 “There, on the right flank!” Warriors orders from somewhere behind Time. “Strike there!”

A flaming arrow delves through the darkness and impacts the dragon’s right side, hidden still from Time’s view—but Warriors’ judgement must have been true, because the beast bellows in pain. It whips its head back around, nostrils flaring, as it seeks out whoever shot it. Then it lurches forward, jaws splayed wide. But before it can bite down, Legend lunges in from its right side and spears his halberd into the delicate flesh beneath its tongue. With a great shriek the dragon rears backwards, slinging its head from side to side and spraying thick gold blood. 

“Well done,” Warriors praises, clapping Legend on the shoulder before drawing his own bow. “Aim for its eyes next, if you can; if we blind it, we’ll have the advantage.”

“I think we already do,” Wind cackles. In the dragon’s distraction, he’s scaled its flank with his grappling hook. He now balances precariously behind its shoulders, his eyes bright with fierce excitement. “Watch this!”

Wind runs forward with impeccable balance, beginning to clamber up the dragon’s neck towards its head. Before he gets very far, however, someone else swarms up and over the dragon’s opposite side. Time doesn’t recognize them—they’re draped in a black cloak, their hair and face hidden by a heavy hood. Sky shouts in alarm, hacking furiously at the thorns surrounding him. “Wind, look out!”

The newcomer grabs the back of Wind’s tunic, plucking him off of the dragon’s neck as though he were a mere whelp; she then shoves him down the dragon’s back. “How dare you!” she snarls, her voice thick with rage. “How dare you lay a single hand on him!”

“How dare we?” Wind squeaks, drawing his sword and holding it defensively in front of him. “Lady, this thing attacked us!”

The stranger hesitates, her face dipping slightly further into the shadows of her hood. Then she squares her shoulders again, reaching behind her to grasp the hilt of her sword. “And he’ll do it again if you don’t leave at once; I certainly won’t stop him. In fact, I think I’d rather like to watch him eat every last one of you.”

She draws her sword to level it at Wind, and Time’s breath freezes in his lungs because—

Because that’s the Master Sword.

“Now go!” the stranger commands, her voice unwavering. 

Notes:

thank you all so much for the kind words and encouragement on the last chapter!! i do appreciate them so much and hope you've enjoyed this new chapter <333

Chapter 3: flowers to find

The Master Sword is fractured, its blade laced with veins of pulsing darkness. But it is every bit as sharp as Time recalls, and unwavering in the woman’s hand. The tip of it rests level with Wind’s throat; a mere third of a meter separates the metal from his skin. Wind’s own sword dips slightly, his eyes widening as he undoubtedly realizes the same thing Time has. 

“Oh, man,” he breathes. “Zelda?”

“Wind, watch out!” Warriors shouts, a moment too late.

The enraged dragon, teeth slick with its own blood, whips its head around and lunges for Wind where he stands on its broad back. Wind stumbles away, his shoulders slamming into one of the towering, jagged green spikes on the dragon’s back. The dragon’s jaws splay wide as it dives for him, and—

“No!” The woman—Zelda, it must be, it must—whirls around, lifting her palm and thrusting it towards the dragon. It hesitates, its head weaving subtly from side to side in a gesture of snakelike uncertainty. “Enough. It is enough. Be still, all of you.”

Wind obeys, standing perfectly still where he’s pinned against one of the dragon’s spikes. His face is pale, his chest falling and rising quickly. Adrenaline beats through Time’s system like a drum, pulling his muscles tight with tension. Instinct rages in him, urging him to dive for Wind, to place himself between his youngest brother and the great monster looming above him. But Zelda’s voice binds him as tightly as it does any of his kin, and he forces himself to be still and to assess the situation rationally.

If he moves too swiftly, he risks startling the dragon into movement again. At the moment, it is as still as any of his brothers—its eyes riveted to Zelda, blood oozing between its teeth. It makes no move towards her, or towards Wind. This is enough for Time to stay his hand, however momentarily.

It is not enough for Legend.

“Get that thing away from him,” Legend growls, lurching forward—his legs breaking through the thicket of black thorns intwining them. “Wind! Come here!”

“Hold,” Time orders.

“Would you wait until it decides to eat him, then?” Legend takes another step forward, his boots crushing dried brambles. 

“I said hold,” Time repeats, whipping his gaze around to meet Legend’s. Stern-warning-listen, he pushes through their soulbond, and receives a blaze of impatient fear in response. Legend is terrified, and it tells. “Let us speak.”

“Get down,” Zelda says, jerking her chin towards Wind. “Go back to your kin. Now, before I change my mind and let him devour you.”

Wind sheathes his sword and slides down the dragon’s flank, landing deftly on the ground before scrambling to Twilight’s side. Twilight wraps an arm around his shoulders and draws him further away from the dragon, glaring suspiciously at it—and Zelda. 

“Go far from here, while he yet listens,” Zelda commands.

“We would speak to you, first,” Time says, looking levelly upon her. Though her face remains dimmed by the shadows, he can make out a few strands of yellow hair and the glint of icy eyes. “It is important.”

Zelda pauses, lowering the Master Sword and rolling the weight of it from her shoulder. Her fingers flex around the grip. “You will not be left alive to speak more than a sentence, if you remain here any longer,” she says. It sounds less like a threat and more like a warning. “Dragons do not heed the words of a Hylian long, and certainly no longer than it suits them.”

The dragon rumbles as though in agreement, its large and luminous eyes fixated upon them like spotlights.

“Let’s go,” Sky says, beginning to back away. He grasps Hyrule’s elbow in one hand and reaches for Warriors with his other. “Time. Now.”

“Very well,” says Time, inclining his head to Zelda. “Come find us when you are able. We will trek to the north and make a camp there. We have much to speak about.”

Zelda does not answer him but to lift her chin and glare as they retreat.

Time feels the dragon’s gaze on him for many miles, after that.

---

Only when they are well out of the dragon’s reach—and well out of the living forest that surrounds it—do they dare speak freely again. 

“What were you thinking?” Legend hisses, rounding on Wind when they come to a stop beneath a thick, gnarled gray root with a dim orange glow emanating from it. “Climbing up a dragon! It isn’t one of your ships, to be scaled and steered. You’re lucky it didn’t swallow you whole.”

Defensively, Wind says, “I was helping. Warriors said to go for its eyes. As soon as it got close enough, I was going to leap onto its snout and slash across them. If Zelda hadn’t gotten in the way, I would have done it, too.”

“If Zelda hadn’t gotten in the way, you would be bathing in stomach acid,” Legend counters sharply. 

“Why is it so impossible for you to believe I can do anything?” Wind demands, his hands balling up into fists and his shoulders hunching. “Are you just so insecure that the idea of a fourteen-year-old besting you drives you to madness?”

“Enough,” Twilight interrupts, thrusting himself between them to force them apart. “Both of you. Walk in opposite directions and cool off.”

Legend snarls but stalks away, throwing his bag down at the edge of the circle of light. Wind storms to the other side of the circle and sits down with his sword across his lap, sharpening it with angry strokes of his whetstone. Twilight sighs deeply, grievously, and looks to Time. 

“Give them some time,” Time murmurs, clasping Twilight’s shoulder and squeezing it. “I’ll speak to them later.”

“Please,” Twilight says. 

“We should make camp here for the night,” Warriors says, approaching them. “No one is in the mood to travel farther today; besides that, we ought to stay close so Lady Zelda can find us.”

“Do you really think she’ll come after us?” Four asks, glancing over at them. He’s sat against one of the root’s offshoots, picking thick black thorns from his tunic. “We didn’t make a very good first impression.”

“Wind said her name, and she called the dragon to a stop,” Warriors muses. “We must have sparked her curiosity, if nothing else. That will have to be enough. If not, we’ll have to seek her out again. She must know where the Hero of this world is.”

“If he’s alive,” Four points out. “She had the Master Sword—and did you see the way it looked? Why would she have it in such terrible condition if the Hero was still alive?”

“Then why would we have been sent here?” Twilight asks. 

“Perhaps to finish what this Hero couldn’t,” Four says, with a shrug. “How should I know why Hylia sends us where she does?”

“Has Fi said anything, Sky?” Twilight asks, glancing to Sky.

Sky is sitting next to Hyrule in the center of the root-light, their heads bowed close together—but he glances up at the sound of his name. “Hm? Oh, no, she hasn’t. She’s been quiet ever since we came here, actually. She feels sort of sad.”

“Oh, yeah,” Four says. “The Hero’s definitely dead.”

“Maybe,” Sky sighs, a little morosely. “I don’t like those worlds very much.”

“Until we talk to Zelda, this is all just speculation,” Time points out. “But Warriors is right. We’ll make camp here for the night and hope that Zelda comes to find us soon. If not, we’ll have to return to speak to her.”

Twilight grimaces. “And face the dragon again?”

“We’ll be more prepared, this time,” Time assures him. “Besides, if it obeys Zelda, then perhaps it isn’t an enemy. Perhaps it can be reasoned with.”

Twilight grunts, unconvinced.

“Well, first things first,” Hyrule says, popping back onto his feet and clapping his hands together. “Is anyone hurt? Liars will be subjected to unbearable fretting by yours truly, so please think carefully about your answers.”

Smiling fondly, Time assures him, “I’ve a few thorn scratches, but nothing else.”

“Make sure you wash them well. Everyone ought to change into clean clothing, too, in case any of the plants in that forest were poisonous. We don’t want to deal with any rashes.”

“Right away, Hyrule,” Time agrees, and goes to do as he’s bid. There’s no point in stressing their healer if he doesn’t have to; he can only hope the others are as biddable, today. 

Time strips out of his clothing, picking a few stubborn thorns from his legs before rinsing the scratches with water from his canteen. He redresses in loose trousers and a silver tunic, then goes to prepare the fire. Warriors meets him there a few minutes later, kneeling in the flickering light to portion out their rations for the night: dried berries, jerky, and hardtack. It will be filling, if not anything else.

“If we mean to stay here more than a day, we’ll need to find water,” Warriors says. “Between the eight of us, we have enough food to last a few days before we need to go hunting or foraging, but our canteens will run out far more quickly.”

Time nods. “I understand.”

Worry-stress-pressure ebbs from Warriors’ side of their bond.

Safe, Time presses back towards him. Trust-confidence. “We’ll be alright,” he says, brushing a hand over Warriors’ back as he stands. “We know how to survive in all sorts of places. This is nothing new.”

“Yes,” Warriors agrees, but slowly. “I only hope that dragon was the worst thing down here. I’ll arrange the watches for tonight with two per shift—just until we know what’s out there.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Are you going to speak with Legend?”

Time glances over to see Legend sitting with Hyrule tucked against his side. “Not yet. Leave him to Hyrule for now. I’ll speak with Wind, first.”

---

It must be late at night when Time finishes settling his boys in for the evening. It certainly feels late, though it’s difficult to ascertain exactly how late with no sun or moon to tell the time by. Time takes first watch along with Sky. They sit on opposite ends of the camp, staring out into the darkness. Here and there grow soft silver flowers—the only light visible, save for that of the strange root above them. Eerie sounds echo over the landscape: the distant squeaks of Keese, the rattle of stones, the creaking of the root.

Sky presses up against the soulbond they share, winding around it like a cat; Time can feel the quiet request for comfort. Sky has been anxious ever since they arrived here. He—born and raised in the clouds—finds it exceptionally uncomfortable to be trapped here, in this never-ending dark and stillness.

Obligingly, Time passes a sense of comfort and safety to him.

Sky responds with a swell of appreciation and trust that makes Time smile.

In this manner they communicate, silent and sporadic, for the duration of their watch. They only speak when they go to wake their replacements—Legend and Hyrule—before laying down on their own bedrolls. Time drifts into sleep rather quickly after that, exhausted by the events of the day. He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later when someone shakes his shoulder. His eye snaps open immediately, fearing the worst—but the expression on Twilight’s face is troubled, not urgent. 

“It’s Zelda,” he whispers. “Come and speak with her.”

Time arises at once, rubbing the sleep from his eye and trying to smooth the wrinkles from his tunic. Zelda stands at the edge of the firelight, her arms crossed over her chest and the Master Sword sheathed at her hip. Most of his boys are still asleep—only Twilight and Four are awake, seated around the firepit. It must not be dawn, yet.

“Princess Zelda,” Time greets quietly, bowing to her. “Thank you for coming.”

“Spare the formalities. How do you know me?”

“I will explain, but I must ask you to suspend your disbelief,” Time says. He gestures back towards the fire. “It is not a short story. Would you sit with us?”

“Make it short. I cannot stay here long. He will come looking when he wakes.”

“The dragon?”

Zelda nods briskly. 

“Very well. In short, then: my name is Link, Hero of Time. My brothers and I have been sent here by the goddess Hylia to assist your own Hero or—if he has fallen—to finish whatever duty remains.”

Zelda stares at him for several long seconds.

“Perhaps,” she says, “you should try the long version.”

Time smiles. “I’m afraid it is no more believable. I understand your hesitancy. It sounds crazy, does it not?”

“It sounded crazy to us when we heard it, too,” Four says, glancing up at Zelda. “But it’s true. My name is also Link, but I’m the Hero of the Foursword. You can call me Four. The spirit of the Hero reincarnates through time; we eight are each a reincarnation of that spirit. We come from different times and realms.”

“Hylia has joined us all for a quest,” Twilight adds. “Black-blooded monsters have been arising across all of our realities. We don’t know why, yet; we’ve been traveling through portals created by Hylia to discover why, and how to stop it. She sent us here early yesterday, so we must assume she means for us to do something here. We would help you, if you would allow us.”

“You really expect me to believe this?” Zelda asks.

“No, not really,” Four says, leaning back on his hands. “We can show you our version of the Master Sword if that helps, though.”

Zelda hesitates, resting her hand against the pommel of her own Master Sword. “Bring it, then, and show me.”

Time moves to Sky’s bedroll. It doesn’t take much to nudge him into a deeper sleep through their bond, and he doesn’t stir at all as Time gently takes the Master Sword from his pile of supplies. He carries it to Zelda and extends it to her, the elegant blade balanced carefully on its palms. 

“The original Master Sword, Fi,” he introduces.

Zelda reaches out, brushing the pads of her fingers over the side of the blade. Her eyes widen as she feels the hum of living magic within. “It truly is the Master Sword,” she breathes. “But how—?”

“We stopped trying to figure out the logistics a long time ago,” Four says. “How can the same sword be in, like, eight places at the same time? Well, seven, I suppose—I never had a Master Sword. And how can the same spirit be in eight places at the same time? No idea, but here we are.”

“Then you’re all Link?” Zelda asks, her eyes wide. 

“Strange, is it not?” Time says, smiling wryly. “We don’t all go by Link, of course. That would be far too confusing. We go by the name Fi gives us; I’m Time, this is Twilight, and Four has already introduced himself.”

He turns, gesturing to each of his brothers in turn. “Our youngest is Wind, and there beside him is Legend. Hyrule and Sky are just there, on the other side of the fire. Most of us have some version of a Zelda in our lives—that’s how we recognized you. Well, that, and you carry the Master Sword.”

“So what happened to your Hero?” Four asks.

“My Hero?” Zelda asks, folding her arms tightly across her chest. 

“Yes. If you’re carrying the Master Sword, something must have happened to him,” continues Four. “The question is what, exactly, happened—and what we’re gonna do about it.”

“Forgive him,” Time says softly, shooting Four a chiding look. “He can be blunt, but he means well. If something has happened to your Hero, you have our deepest condolences. It means more than you imagine, perhaps, when one of our own brothers falls. If he has left anything undone, we would finish it in his stead.”

Zelda swallows, her throat clicking. “My Hero—my Link—remains alive.”

The relief that rushes through Time is unexpected and overwhelming. He didn’t realize how very much he had hoped to find another brother until the chance was dangled in front of him. Excitement begins to flutter in his chest, and he can feel much the same emanating from Four and Twilight. “May we meet him?”

Zelda shakes her head. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you at once,” she says. “I want to believe you—and truly, this Master Sword you carry seems quite real. But Link is currently ill, and I will not surround him with strangers whose intentions I cannot be sure of.”

“We wouldn’t hurt him,” Twilight protests. “We would never hurt one of our brothers.”

Zelda scowls, opening her mouth as though to speak before closing it quickly again.

“But we understand your hesitation,” Time assures her, disappointed though he is. If one of his brothers is sick, then of course he wants to be there—but he knows how this looks. They are eight unfamiliar men, claiming an absolutely ridiculous story. If Zelda had trusted them right away, he would have been far more concerned. “In the meantime, is there anything we can do to help?”

Zelda purses her lips, looking away for a moment before saying, “I need sundelions—as many as you can find. With them, I can make a meal which helps to ward off the illness that plagues Link. I have been unable to collect many, myself, as I do not like to leave him for long periods of time.”

“Of course,” Twilight agrees at once, earnestly. “Where can we find them?”

“They grow on the Sky Islands,” Zelda explains, gesturing upwards into the dark. “You are currently in the Depths—a vast world beneath our Hyrule. To reach the surface, you can ascend through lightroots like this one.”

The dimly-glowing root above them creaks as though in agreement.

“Once upon the Surface, you can find your way to the Islands by launching from a Skyview Tower—but you’ll need a glider to reach them, as they can be quite some distance away.” A small frown crosses her face again, and she reaches to rummage through her pack. She pulls out a small stone slate, offering it to Time. 

“Or you can try to use this,” she says. “It’s Link’s Sheikah Slate. I’ve been unable to open it, myself; it’s keyed to Link only. But if you truly are a version of Link, perhaps it will obey you. Only touch the surface and will it to respond.”

Time presses his palm against the surface of the slate and urges it to wake, much like he might do through a soulbond with his brothers; after a moment, it blinks on with a curious chirp. The screen alights in an array of colors and symbols.

“Yes!” Zelda exclaims, leaning over his arm to see the lit surface. “Here is the map, and there are the shrines. If you tap on one, you’ll be able to teleport there. But I wouldn’t try to teleport with all eight of you. We’ve tried it with one or two people, before, but never more than that—I don’t know what the effects would be.”

“Start here,” she says, tapping on an isolated island. “The sundelions are large black and yellow flowers with petals arranged like a star. Gather as many as you can and bring them back to me.”

“Where will you be?” Twilight asks.

“I have a camp, back where you first met me,” Zelda explains. She points to another dot on the map. “It will be easiest if you descend using this chasm, which is close by.”

“A camp with the dragon?” Four asks warily.

“Yes, with the dragon,” Zelda huffs, setting her hands on her hips. “He’s my friend, and you would do well to treat him as such.”

“He didn’t act very friendly,” Four mutters.

“Neither did you,” Zelda snaps back. “Going about and stabbing him. It’s bad manners.”

“I hope we did no lasting damage,” Time offers; if the dragon is important to her, then apologies are in order. “We do apologize.”

“Apologize to him, not to me,” says Zelda. “Bring him some nice plants and he might forgive you.”

“Some…plants?” Four asks skeptically.

“Yes. He quite likes forests and meadows and things, though he hasn’t been able to see them lately. So bring him something nice from the surface, and we’ll see if he forgives you,” Zelda commands. 

In the distance, there rises a low keening wail—the dragon, no doubt.

Zelda turns around briskly, shooting them a look over her shoulder. “I’m going now. Find me in my camp once you have sundelions. Do try to stay out of too much trouble. And be sure to avoid that Demon Dragon, once you leave the Depths.”

“The Demon Dragon,” Four says, scandalized. “Of course there’s a Demon Dragon. Why wouldn’t there be? Is it bigger than your dragon?”

“Oh, much,” Zelda says, and then strides fearlessly into the darkness. The cloak she wears glows faintly, lighting her way across the vast cavern until she disappears from view.

“Oh, much,” Four repeats in an irritable grumble. “Oh, much.”

Time cradles the Sheikah Slate in his hands, a feeling of great urgency upon him. Here is their mission, then—here is, undoubtedly, why Hylia has sent them here. They must help Zelda to rescue her Hero, this time.

Wait for us, he thinks, willing the Hero to hear him wherever he may be. We’re coming, my brother.

“Let’s wake the others,” he says, excitement thrumming through his veins—making him feel young and bold all over again. “We have flowers to find.”

Notes:

wOW hello sorry it’s been like almost a whole year. as per usual, school is eating me alive. i make no promises about the timing of future updates, though i do hope to continue this fic! as always, your kudos and comments are very encouraging and i live on them!!

Chapter 4: since the upheaval

“First you didn’t wake me up when Zelda was here, and now you won’t let me go to the Sky Islands with you?” Wind whines, dragging his feet as begins to pack his things. “You’re being totally unfair, Time.”

“Criminally so,” Time agrees, ruffling Wind’s silky blond hair as he passes. 

“I’m sorry, Wind,” Sky says apologetically from across the camp, hastily combing through his hair; his own things are already packed and ready to go. Excitement hums off of him like a physical force, vibrating brightly through their bond. “You can take my place next time, okay?”

“No, I get it,” Wind sighs. “They’re the Sky Islands. You, like, literally have to go. It’ll be just like your home.”

A small, eager smile crosses Sky’s face. “I hope so. I wonder if they have Loftwings, or something similar.”

“They have dragons, anyway,” Four points out. “Maybe you can ride one of those.”

“Maybe,” Sky says, hopping to his feet and bouncing on his toes. His excitement seems to have banished his usual early-morning grogginess. “Is everyone ready?”

Wind shoves one last crumpled blanket into his pack before nodding. “I am.”

Time glances around, checking to make sure his other brothers are all packed and ready to go. There’s a fresh light in their eyes this morning—they’d all been delighted to hear that they had a living brother in this realm, and that there was something they could do to help him. They’d been less excited to hear about the Demon Dragon, but it had come as no great surprise. Frankly, it would be weirder if there wasn’t a malicious overpowered monster waiting to pounce on them.

“Everyone ready?” Time asks. When all seven of his brothers acquiesce, he lifts his hand towards the glowing orange center of the lightroot and wills it to open as he had with the Sheikah Slate. A low hum begins to resonate around them, and Time’s stomach swoops as gravity reverses. He’s yanked upwards and spat unceremoniously onto the shores of a new world. 

Well, I can’t say that was particularly graceful, he thinks, picking himself up off of the ground with a groan. He’s getting too old for this. The view almost makes up for it, though: in front of him sprawls a vast meadow. Soft green grass brushes against his boots as he steps away from the stout stone building he’d arrived in; the sky above him is a broad and brilliant blue scudded with sparse white clouds. The sun beams bright and warm against his shoulders, and he breathes deeply of the cool spring air. Tiny yellow flowers dot the landscape, interspersed with stout green bushes and stately trees. 

“Wow,” Twilight says, coming to a stop beside him.

“It’s beautiful,” Hyrule breathes, crouching and running his palm over the grass.

“It’s empty,” Four counters, looking around them. 

He’s right—besides the squat stone building behind them, Time can’t see any people, roads, or buildings in any direction. It’s rather daunting. But at least he can see, now, unlike in the Depths. “Come on,” he says, setting off towards the southeast. This will bring them closer to the chasm that stands nearest to Zelda’s camp in the Depths. “We’ll find a good place to make camp before Sky and I head for the Islands.”

They travel in a loose group: Time and Warriors walk near the front, talking quietly about the best spot to camp; Twilight transforms and darts off to the east to explore, promising to stay within earshot; Four, Sky, and Wind amble slowly in the back; Hyrule trots between them all, making sure no rashes have sprouted up since their time in the living dragon-woods, and Legend stays on their western flank, walking some distance out to keep an eye out for any landmarks or enemies. They spy several monster camps in the distance, but are—in a rare stroke of luck—able to slip by unnoticed.

Twilight bounds back to them shortly before noon, barking once to summon their attention. The thick fur of his legs and belly is damp, and he leads them back to the river he’d found. They follow it some distance further, until they find a lonely dirt road leading to a wooden bridge. Just across it is and to the south is the small chasm Zelda had told them to re-enter the Depths through—it is a seemingly bottomless hole wreathed in dark, malevolent energy. Naturally, Time supposes, they’ll be expected to dive headfirst into it to return to the Depths. They make their camp nearby, beside another one of those odd shrines, and quickly devour their rations for the afternoon.

“I’m going hunting,” Legend declares, once they’ve eaten. “I want fresh meat. Wolfie, are you coming with me?”

Twilight woofs an affirmative and wags his tail.

“I’ll start boiling water for cooking and cleaning,” Hyrule offers. 

Four climbs back to his feet and volunteers, “I’ll help.”

“And we can scout out the area,” Wind offers, tugging on Warriors’ scarf. “You guys don’t have too much fun on the Sky Islands, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sky says, but he’s already grinning in anticipation. He stops at Time’s side, watching curiously as he activates the slate again. “So you just tap on it and we teleport?”

“I guess so. Ready?” Time offers his arm.

Sky loops his elbow through Time’s with a dashing grin. “Ready.”

Time taps on the shrine’s symbol, and the world around them dissolves in a whirl of cool blue light. A few seconds later the light vanishes, leaving them standing in an entirely new place—a rather small island made of stone, with crumbling ruins littered around it. Hardy green grass sprouts up around the ruins, along with a few black and yellow flowers bobbing their heads in the breeze. It’s colder, here, and the air feels sharper.

“Oh,” Sky breathes, racing to the edge of the island and peering over it with delight. “Time, it’s beautiful. Come and look.”

Time leans cautiously over the edge to look below. The island hangs above the clouds, though there are a few clear spots where he can see the vast green of the land below. His stomach swoops, and he backs away carefully. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” Sky asks, arching his eyebrows.

“No,” Time says. “But this is really quite high.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall,” Sky promises.

“I’ll count on it.”

“Are these the flowers we’re looking for?” Sky crouches next to one of the sundelions. He brushes his fingers over the delicate petals, humming happily. Curiosity-amazement-delight flows through their bond, lifting Time’s spirits. 

“Looks like it. You gather what you can here, and I’ll check over there.”

Sky flashes him a thumbs up, shrugging off his satchel so he can tuck the sundelion carefully into it. 

Time crosses to the other side of the island—it’s not very large, so it’s easy to keep Sky in his line of sight. He kneels beside the first sundelion he sees, gently snapping the stem at the base and nestling the flower into his own bag. He gathers four flowers, peeking in every hidden shadow and nook before giving up. Sky has three flowers of his own. 

“Think that’s enough?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure exactly how many she needed for the meal she plans to make Link,” Time muses. “We could try one of the other islands.”

Time pulls up the map on the slate, and he and Sky look it over carefully. “That one is nearby, and pretty big,” Sky points out. “There must be something on it. Let’s go and see.”

They hook their elbows together once more, and Time taps the appropriate shrine. The world dissolves and rematerializes around them once more, placing them on a different island.

“That is so neat,” Sky says enthusiastically, peering over the side of the island again. “This place is amazing. Oh—Time, look.”

Sky points out, towards the southwest, and Time follows his gaze. There, in the distance, looms a stack of dark clouds; red light flickers within them, slow and ominous. “What is that? Something to do with the Demon Dragon?”

“Given our luck?” Time asks “Almost certainly.”

“Do you suppose that’s what the Hero is meant to fight, here?” Sky asks.

“Undoubtedly.”

“And that green dragon Zelda is with—you think it’s meant to help them?”

“If it truly is friends with Zelda, then I suppose it would.”

“I think they must have fought already. Zelda’s dragon—it was injured, did you notice?”

Time looks back to his brother, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t.”

“Yes. It was on the right side—you likely couldn’t see where you were standing. Warriors saw; that’s why he and Legend aimed their attacks there. Its right foreleg was missing, and its shoulder and flank were covered in some sort of thick, dark tar. It pulsed with red lines, just like the clouds out there, and the stuff around the chasm. It must have clashed with the Demon Dragon before.

“I suppose Link was injured in the battle, too,” Sky adds, “which is why he’s ill now, and why the Master Sword looks the way it does. Do you suppose that darkness has infected him the way it infected the dragon?”

“I hope not,” Time says, quietly.

They look to the darkness a few minutes more, but the storm draws no closer. The land beneath the clouds is too far away to see properly, and Time wonders if it is as dark as the sky that looms above it. If there is a dragon there, it is too obscured by clouds to be seen. He turns away with an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

“All the more reason to gather these flowers quickly, then,” Sky says, his jaw set with determination. “Come on, Time.”

They gather another seven sundelions on that island, and another five on the island after that. Then they break for a snack, sitting on the edge of one of the islands to share handfuls of salted acorns and slices of orange cheese. Sky dangles his legs over the edge of the ruins, humming a quaint tune under his breath. To the north, there is a view of sharp and jagged mountains—and, far below them, the first sign of civilization they’ve seen. 

“What is that place?” Sky asks, leaning over Time’s shoulder to see the map as he pulls it up on the Sheikah Slate.

“I’m not sure. I can’t read these symbols.”

“In any case, it’s the first town we’ve seen. Should we go and say hello? It looks like we can teleport right there.”

“Do you think they’re friendly?” Time asks.

Sky shrugs. “If they’re not, can’t we just teleport right back out?”

“You’re right.” It feels a bit like cheating, but Time’s not going to complain about that. He looks back towards the sun; it’s starting to sink towards the west, but they should still have several hours before nightfall. “Let’s go, then. Maybe we can learn more about what’s going on in this world—and what happened to the Hero.”

---

In the end, they decide not to teleport directly into the town; that might raise too many questions, if Zelda was right and only Link could use the slate to teleport. They go to a shrine just outside of the town, instead, and walk the rest of the way there on a meandering dirt road. It winds through an open field scattered with debris and chunks of fallen stone; there are at least two monster camps hidden within the widespread ruin, which Time and Sky slip by silently.

Coming up onto the crest of a hill, Time gets his first good look at Hyrule Castle. It has—through some undoubtedly ridiculous means—been lifted from its seat at the north of the field and now hovers above the ground, wreathed in an ugly mass of dark clouds. A massive chasm yawns below it—it looks as though a great beast has raked its claw across the land, leaving a dark and gaping maw in its wake.

Perhaps, Time considers, thinking grimly of the Demon Dragon, it has. 

The town, when they reach it, is less of a town and more of a fortress. Thick wooden walls surround it, and two prominent towers rise from within—though one of them is broken brutally in half, and stained by the same strange black rot Time has seen pooled around the chasms. The gates are shut tightly, with no-one to man them. There is no-one in the fortress at all, in fact. Time presses his face against the bars of the gate, peering this way and that to no avail. It appears abandoned. 

“That’s too bad,” Sky sighs. “I was really hoping for some more information.”

“Let’s go inside and look around. Here, I’ll give you a boost.”

Time kneels and lets Sky step into his hands before hitching him upwards, allowing him to scramble up and over the gate. He hauls it open from the inside, and Time slips in after him. It falls shut behind them with a resounding bang. 

“Hello?” Sky calls, wandering towards the center of the circular fortress. There is no reply. “Huh. Weird.”

Looking around more closely, there’s no doubt that the fortress was attacked—several of the buildings’ walls have been smashed in, and burn marks sear the floors. Crates and barrels of supplies have been ransacked, and there are several ominously rust-colored stains against one wall. 

Near the center of the courtyard is a round stone door with a handle on it. Time grips the handle and tugs upwards, but it doesn’t move. “Sky,” Time calls. “Help me open this.”

Together, they grab the handle of the door and haul backwards with all their might. It doesn’t budge. 

“What if we knock?” Sky suggests.

“I mean,” Time says, “sure. Why not?”

Sky drums his knuckles against the door and shouts, “Hello? Is anybody in there? We’re travelers, and we mean to speak to someone. We’re quite lost.”

The door remains unmoved by Sky’s plea.

“Ah, well. Worth a shot,” Sky sighs.

As he stands, dusting his hands off on his trousers, a dull scraping noise comes from the door. Then, at once, it heaves upwards to reveal a Hylian with short, dark hair and suspicious eyes. 

“Travelers?” the Hylian asks. 

Sky and Time both stare at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Time recovers first, saying smoothly, “Yes, travelers. We were only passing through and saw this place from a distance. We’re a bit lost.”

“More than a bit,” Sky adds. “We’ve been wandering in circles for days. Would you happen to know what this place is?”

“This is Lookout Landing,” the Hylian says, his eyes darting between them. Then he reaches into his pocket, rummaging for something, and pulls out an over-ripened banana. He offers it to them. “Here.”

Sky accepts the banana with great bafflement. “Thank you?”

The Hylian’s dark eyes narrow. “Do you like it?”

“It’s good?” Sky tries, looking helplessly at Time. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“Hmm.” After a moment of tense silence, the Hylian seems to relax. “What are your names?”

“I’m Time, and this is Sky,” Time says. 

“I’m Monte,” the Hylian says. “I’m the gatekeeper of this emergency shelter. Come in, and we’ll see what we can do to help you.”

Monte slides down a ladder; Time and Sky follow after him. The emergency shelter is made of thick stone, built deep beneath the fortress above. It’s crowded with people of all types—feathered Rito, round Gorons, sharp-featured Gerudo, shark-like Zora, and several Hylians. It is warm with the heat of multiple bodies, and it doesn’t smell the greatest, either. Several curious, wary eyes latch onto them as they enter the shelter.

“Atmus,” Monte calls, leading them across the crowded hub of the shelter towards another Hylian stooped low over a wooden table. “I have a pair of lost travelers for you.”

“Oh?” The other Hylian straightens up, adjusting the thick square glasses balanced on his nose. “You’ve come to the perfect person, then. I know just about anywhere and everywhere in Hyrule. But it’s been a long time since we’ve had travelers here. It’s not safe to move about Hyrule since the Upheaval, you know.”

“The Upheaval?” Sky asks guilelessly, his ears pricking curiously. 

“Yes—that’s what we’ve been calling it, anyway,” the Hylian—Atmus, Time supposes—replies. “One day, Hyrule Castle lifted from the earth, strange islands fell from the sky, and great chasms opened in the ground. The Demon Dragon came shortly after, emerging from below Hyrule Castle. Since then, monsters have been running rampant. You’re lucky you made it here at all.”

Lucky, Time thinks, that we teleported from island to island, where no monsters loomed.

Ah, he just hopes that the others haven’t run into any monsters, either—he’s felt no flare of pain or fear from their bonds, but some of his brothers are keen to close the bond when they experience such things out of a misguided sense of selflessness. Time likes to think that Hyrule or Twilight, at least, would reach out to him if anyone were injured. 

“Very lucky. We saw several bands of monsters from a distance, but did our best to move around them without being seen,” Sky agrees. “At first, we feared this place had been overrun by them.”

“It was,” Atmus says somberly. “That’s why we’re all sheltering down here, you see. When the Demon Dragon emerged, we built this fortress as a hub for refugees from Hyrule Castle. It quickly became a base of operations for our monster-hunting crews and researchers.

“But our numbers and activities drew too much attention. The Demon Dragon returned to Lookout Landing and laid siege here, along with an army of his monsters. Those of us who survived retreated underground. The monsters in Hyrule Field keep a close eye, now; if they see anyone gathering in great numbers, they send for the Demon Dragon, who will come to tear us apart once more.”

Time and Sky trade a wary look; they must take care that their group isn’t spotted, then, lest the dragon come after them in malicious curiosity.

“Where is the Demon Dragon now?” Time asks. “Is it close by?”

“Oh, Hylia, I hope not,” Atmus says nervously, wringing his hands. “After emerging from the castle, it fled to the southwest. It seems to have set up a home in the lands of the Gerudo, and only comes out to survey the rest of Hyrule at night, when it is strongest. We have not seen it over Lookout Landing recently; it has been more active in the west.”

“Whatever happened to the Hero?” Sky prompts. “Has he fought the Dragon?”

“The Hero?” Atmus blinks at them, bemused.

“Do you mean Link?” a new voice asks.

Sky and Time turn to see a teenage girl approaching. She has thick white hair cropped close to her chin, and rather eccentric-looking round red glasses. She stops just in front of them, resting her hands on her hips. 

“I believe that was his name, if the stories I’ve heard are true,” Sky allows.

The girl sticks her hand out; Sky and Time shake it politely. “I’m Purah,” she says. “I’m the head of Lookout Landing.”

“Oh,” Sky says, sounding politely surprised.

Time is, too—the girl can’t be older than twenty. Who would put someone so young in charge of an entire fortress? Then again, some of his brothers are even younger; Warriors was scarcely twenty years of age when he was made a captain in the Hyrulean Army, and Wind was but twelve when he killed Ganondorf.

Time still thinks it’s ridiculous, and must refrain from being furious on their behalf. Most of his brothers are hardly more than teenagers—some of them are barely teenagers!—and yet Hylia has thrust an unbelievable amount of responsibility onto their shoulders. It seems such responsibility has also been offered to young Purah. Whether Time agrees with it or not, he owes her his respect. 

“We’re pleased to meet you,” he says, bowing slightly in deference. “My name is Time, and this is my brother, Sky. We’re travelers—”

“From where?” Purah interrupts.

“From far west,” Time says easily. “Our town is quite small. I doubt you would recognize the name.”

“I wouldn’t, perhaps, but Atmus would.” Purah flicks her hand towards Atmus. “He knows every place in Hyrule, no matter how small. Try him.”

“We come from Ordon Village,” Time offers.

Purah glances to Atmus for confirmation, but Atmus frowns. “I don’t recognize the name,” he says, hesitantly.

Purah’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “Come with me.”

She turns on heel, striding back across the central room. Time follows her, weaving between beds and bodies to reach the small door Purah vanishes through. It leads to an equally-small room crowded with tables, beakers, and strange equipment. Paper covers the walls, scrawled on in symbols and words that Time cannot read. Purah shuts the door behind them, and flicks the lock with an ominous click. 

“There is no Ordon Village in Hyrule,” she says sharply. “So where do you truly come from, and why are you asking about Link?”

Time and Sky trade another hesitant look. 

“It’s hard to explain,” Sky says softly. “You wouldn’t believe us.”

“A lot of weird shit has happened in the last few years. You’d be surprised what I’ll believe,” Purah says. “Go on.”

So Time takes a deep breath and explains, much as he had to Zelda: about the timelines, the Hero’s spirit, and the portals. Purah listens to it all silently, her mouth downturned in a speculative frown. Sky shows her the Master Sword, which she examines quite carefully, and Time displays the Sheikah Slate and demonstrates how it responds to him.

“You do look like him,” Purah says thoughtfully, once he’s finished. She seems far less skeptical than Time would have expected. “Both of you.”

Sky’s eyes brighten—hungry for any information about their new brother. “Really? What is he like?”

“Shouldn’t you know? If you’re all reincarnations of each other, how much difference can there really be?”

“You’d be surprised,” Time says, amused. “So you believe us?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Purah says cryptically. “In any case, it’s difficult to argue with the Sheikah Slate. If anyone knows that piece of technology inside and out, it’s me—I’ve made a thorough study of it, and am designing one of my own even now. But this particular slate has never shown any interest in responding to anyone but Link. For it to respond to you so easily carries great weight with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Time says, surprised—but glad, now, for the Sheikah Slate’s apparent pickiness. 

“For my own selfish reasons, too, I hope that what you say is true,” Purah adds. “The truth is—Link and Princess Zelda have been missing ever since the Upheaval. No-one knows where they are. I fear the Demon Dragon may have—”

Purah cuts herself off, shaking her head sharply.

“But I refuse to believe it. The two of them together—they’re too clever and strong to be defeated just like that. I do believe they fought the Demon Dragon, at some point. When it fled Hyrule Castle, it was weak and injured. I believe that’s why it has retreated to Gerudo, and why it hasn’t yet overtaken all of Hyrule. It’s waiting, recovering its strength.”

“Well, we can comfort you in this, at least,” Time says, smiling. “Both Princess Zelda and Link are alive.”

Purah’s eyes snap up to his. “What? How do you know?”

“The portal we came through placed us in the Depths, and it was there we found Princess Zelda,” Time explains. “Rest assured that she is well.”

“And well-guarded,” Sky adds. “Her dragon nearly ate us, when we first came upon them.”

Purah’s brow furrows. “A dragon, in the Depths? Which one?”

“She has more than one?” Sky laughs, delighted. “Of course. It was a green and gold one, if that helps.”

“Farosh?” Purah taps her chin thoughtfully. “I had wondered where the dragons went. They have not been seen since the Upheaval, either; I feared that perhaps they had fled, when they sensed the Demon Dragon’s arrival. But if they have gone to protect Princess Zelda, then perhaps we have a greater chance than I thought. Did you see either of the others? They are Naydra and Dinraal: blue and red.”

Sky shakes his head regretfully. “No, there were no others.”

“And what of Link?”

“Well, the princess assured us that he was alive,” Time explains, “but she would not allow us near him. She said he was ill, and she could not trust us so easily.”

“Which is fair,” Sky adds. “I mean, our story does sound sort of crazy, right? So we’ve been gathering sundelions for her, at her request. She says she’s going to make a meal to help heal Link. Once he’s well again, we hope she’ll allow us to meet with him.”

“As clever as always, our princess,” Purah says, bringing her first down on her own open palm in a gesture of victorious excitement. “Will you take me to her?”

“Certainly,” Time says. “Only let us check with her that it will be alright. I would not want to startle the dragon again, and it does not seem overly fond of strangers.”

“Tomorrow, then—I’ll make sure everyone here will be alright without me, and I’ll try out the Purah Pad’s teleportation function to return to my lab in Hateno in the meantime. I’ve stockpiled several hearty elixirs there which might benefit Link. Meet me here in the morning and we’ll go down together.”

“As you wish,” Time agrees.

“Before you go, you may take anything you need from our stores. Lookout Landing is, as always, at the assistance of the Hero.” Purah lifts her chin, looking gladly at them. “And if ever there was a time we needed a Hero, it’s now. Let us go and tell the others that Princess Zelda and Link live.”

“Wait,” Sky says.

“Wait? Why?”

“What if word gets back to the Demon Dragon?” Sky asks, fiddling with the hem of his shirt-sleeve. “Perhaps it thinks them dead, and this is why it’s left them alone for so long. Otherwise, wouldn’t it have gone back to finish them off already? Let the people think that they’re dead, so that the Demon Dragon thinks they’re dead. It’s the safest way.”

A look of contemplation enters the dark red of Purah’s eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. This stays between us, then—and if anyone asks, you are travelers from Holodrum. We must not let the Demon Dragon know you all exist, either; I have no doubt he would come after you as readily as he would our own Link.”

“What is he like?” Sky asks, once more, a quiet plea in his voice. “Your Link?”

“He’s ridiculous,” Purah says, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she smiles, “and you’re going to love him.”

Notes:

alternate chapter title was 4,000 Words of Traveling and Exposition

nevertheless i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! thank you all for your comments on the last one—they definitely encouraged me to churn this one out a little faster! next chapter coming to an archive near you with 75% more Dragon Wild 🐉

p.s. please forgive the creative liberties i’m taking re: function of the lightroots and the layout of the emergency shelter in lookout landing. i had no good way to get all eight links out of the depths without time teleporting them each out one at a time which seemed arduous. so! lightroots have been upgraded for faster Chain Travel :D

Chapter 5: horrible scaly bastard

Time and Sky stay a while longer in the emergency shelter, mostly at Sky’s behest—he’s desperate to hear stories of the Hero, and the more he hears the more obviously enamored he becomes. Time has to admit that their new brother sounds wonderful, if the stories are to be believed:

Purah tells them he’s clever and daring, always willing to bring her back supplies for her experiments—or participate in them. 

Atmus regales them with tales of his courage, stating that he’s one of the best fighters in all Hyrule—and likely the best, when it comes to long-range battling. This, coming from someone who helps to deploy Lookout Landing’s monster-fighting crews, is high praise indeed.

Burmano, the shelter’s newly-appointed chef, expounds on his culinary skills. “Why, they could rival my own, sometimes!” he exclaims.

“Oh, thank Hylia,” Sky breathes.

Lester, a stablehand, talks gratefully about how gentle he always was with his steeds—always giving them a quick brushing and a treat before saddling up. He points out a few of Hyrule’s stables on the map, and advises them that they can catch their own steeds to be kept there if they’d like. This Hyrule is so very expansive that it’s likely the best way to travel, since they can’t teleport all eight of them between shrines.

Purah gifts them a bag of supplies when they leave—elixirs in all different colors, along with food and wine. She gives them a pair of paragliders, too, and explains, “You’ll need these if you want to travel through chasms to the Depths, or move easily between the Sky Islands. This isn’t a world meant to be traveled on foot alone.”

“Thank you,” Sky says, tying the paragliders together and strapping them over his shoulders. “I have something similar. I can teach the others how to use them.”

“Very good. I’ll have more made soon, so that each of you can have one. In the meantime, I believe the Skyview Tower here remains functional, if you should ever need to use it.”

It is long past sundown when they leave, teleporting directly from Lookout Landing—now that their cover has been quite blown—and to the shrine nearest their camp. Legend is on guard when they arrive, perched in the sprawling branches of an oak tree with his bow across his lap. 

“Well, look who it is,” he drawls. “We were starting to think we’d need to go looking for you.”

“Apologies,” Time says, smiling up at him. “We found a fortress, and spent quite some time talking to the people there.”

“Find out anything interesting?” Legend leans forward, ruby eyes glittering in the low light of the campfire. 

“Much,” Time agrees. “Come down and let us speak together about it.”

Legend leaps gracefully from the tree and escorts them into the camp, where the rest of his brothers are clumped together eating dinner—a sort of stew, by the looks of it, with fresh meat and vegetables. Time’s mouth waters. It has been quite some time since he and Sky snacked on the islands.

“Time, Sky! We were starting to get worried,” Hyrule says, spooning out two bowls of the stew and handing it to them. “What happened?”

Twilight scoots over and pats the ground beside him. “Yeah, what took so long? We thought you’d be back before sunset.”

Time sits next to Twilight, stirring his stew to let it cool. The air is growing colder, now that dusk has come and gone. A half-moon rises above them, ensnared with wisps of red much like the clouds to the southwest. He explains their adventure to the others as succinctly as he can—it’s always a difficult task to make things brief when there are so many questions.

Most of the questions, unsurprisingly, are about their new brother.

Sky speaks about him in great length, telling them all what they’d learned of his character and his adventures. “He’s already saved this Hyrule once, according to Purah,” Sky explains, gesturing excitedly. “He defeated a great beast known as Calamity Ganon, when only a few years later the Demon Dragon appeared!”

He then goes on to tell them about the Demon Dragon looming in Gerudo, and about their suspicions that it had clashed with the Hero of this Hyrule once already—thus sickening Link. While Sky talks, Time gathers their sundelions together. Wind bounces to his side with another bundle of flowers held close to his chest.

“Are you going to take the sundelions to Zelda tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” Time says; it has been a rather long day already, but he must speak with her about Purah’s visit tomorrow. He wonders if there might be a reason she hasn’t revealed herself to Purah already, or invited the researcher’s help before this. “What’s this?”

“It’s our sorry-for-stabbing-you bouquet,” Wind says, holding the flowers out to Time. “For the dragon. Zelda said it liked flowers and stuff, so we picked as much as we could.”

Wind leans in and adds in a whisper, “Legend picked the most. I think he felt bad for stabbing it in the mouth the way he did.”

Time takes the bouquet, a wave of fondness for his brothers overwhelming him. “Thank you. I’m sure the dragon will be quite pleased with these. They smell lovely.”

“And those ones glow!” Wind points out a flower shaped much like the sundelions, but in a pale blue. “Neat, right?”

“You’re not going alone, are you?” Twilight asks, standing up and setting his hands on his hips. 

“I don’t mean to stay long. I plan to teleport to this lightroot near her camp and walk the rest of the way; it shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

“You’re taking at least one other person,” Twilight scolds. “I know Zelda says the dragon is friendly, but it’s clearly got some hang-ups about us. What if it attacks you again?”

“It won’t,” Time says, though he isn’t certain of this.

“I hope not, but I’m not staking your life on it. I’ll go with you. The slate can teleport two people, anyway—that’s what you and Sky have been doing all day.”

“Very well,” Time says, glad of the company despite himself. Raising his voice so the rest of his brothers can hear, he says, “Twilight and I are going to deliver the sundelions to Princess Zelda. We’ll be back soon.”

Without leaving an opening for questions or arguments, Time grasps Twilight’s shoulder and taps the proper lightroot on the map. Within seconds, they’re back in the Depths. Time will never get over quite how convenient that is. Twilight lights a torch, and the two of them follow the map towards Zelda’s camp. They must skirt around several pools of the same black tar Time has seen everywhere else.

“Do you think we’ll see Link tonight?” Twilight asks. 

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Time says, though he’s secretly hopeful—perhaps their tribute of sundelions will be measure enough of their goodwill, and Zelda will allow them near. “We must be patient.”

“It’s hard. It’s been a long time since we found another one of us, you know?”

“Yes.”

“I think ten would be a good, even number.”

Time laughs, bumping their shoulders together. “Ten! And who would keep you all out of trouble?”

“You, of course, old man. Or, hey, you never know—maybe this Link will turn out to be just as responsible as you,” Twilight suggests.

“One can dream.”

The area around Zelda’s camp is easily recognizable, though it is not the lush forest of yesterday. It is thick with brambles and thorns, instead; the trees above are now locust and strangler figs, rather than noble oaks, and their branches loom eerily over Time and Twilight’s heads as they approach. Several times Time nearly strips over a stray vine, and has halfway convinced himself that they’re moving into his way on purpose—though he has yet to actually see them shift.

After some distance, they see a flicker of firelight—it glints off of two large blue eyes, which narrow as they approach. An angry growl rolls through the length of the dragon’s throat, vibrating the air around it. It lifts its head, peeling its lips up to show them its teeth, and as it does it reveals the full extent of its wound. Time looks upon it in horror; Sky’s description had not done it justice. The wound upon the beast’s right side is vast, clotted with dark matter, and with veins of pulsing black and red creeping up its throat and down its flank. Small wonder it is so snappish. Time would be, if he had an open wound of such size and miserable state!

“There, now,” Time says quietly, even as they stop quite out of its reach. Vines slither up and around their calves, anchoring them in place—and proving Time’s suspicions quite right. Those vines had been intent on tripping him, earlier. He forces himself to stand still, not fighting against their restraint. “You have my apologies for our previous misunderstanding. I suppose we frightened each other, didn’t we? But rest assured, we will not hurt you again.”

The dragon snarls, unconvinced; Time wonders quite how much it understands.

“Friendly, isn’t he?” Twilight mutters, kicking uselessly at the thick vine coiled around his ankle. It curls more tightly, and he hisses in irritation. “It’s him doing this, you know.”

“I know,” Time agrees. “Be still.”

Twilight growls under his breath but falls still once more, and the vines around his legs loosen—though they do not release.

“Who is it?” Zelda calls warily, appearing from the dragon’s other side. 

“Only us,” Time responds. “Time and Twilight.”

Zelda stops in front of the dragon’s chest, as it curls the talons of its hand around her possessively before she can go any further. She sighs rather fondly, petting one golden claw.

“Princess Zelda,” Time greets, with a bow.

“Just Zelda is fine,” she says, waving away his formality. “Or you may call me another name, if you like. It must be confusing, to have so many Zeldas to speak of between you all.”

“How about Flora?” Twilight suggests, with a glance at the flowers in his arms. 

“Flora will do,” she says, looking pleased as she sees the flowers. “Are these for him?”

“They are,” Time says. “I believe Wind called them a sorry-for-stabbing-you bouquet.”

“They’re lovely.” Flora attempts to step around the dragon’s talons, but it closes them more tightly around her—not enough to harm, by any means, but enough to keep her quite snugly in place. She sighs heavily. “You’d best set them down over there. I’ll come get them once you’ve gone. He has been in a most foul mood all day.”

Time supposes that the fresh wound in its maw, and the aggravating of the wound on its side during their brief fight, likely contributed to the dragon’s temper. On top of that, he imagines that their presence here, walking freely into its own territory even after injuring it, can only be salt in the wound.

“He isn’t hurting you, is he?” Flora asks; she must raise her voice some to be heard over the meters between them. 

“Not at all. The vines are tight, but not painful,” Time assures her. 

A look of relief crosses Flora’s face. “Good.”

“We brought these, also.” Time reaches into his pack, drawing out the bundle of sundelions and setting them down on the ground beside the bouquet of wildflowers. “I hope you can make something good with them.”

Flora’s eyes glitter with excitement such that Time can see it, even with the long distance between them. “Most certainly, I can. Thank you very much.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Time says. “May we ask how Link is, tonight?”

“Link?” Flora asks.

The dragon’s eyes narrow.

“He’s doing alright,” Flora says, smoothing a hand over the dragon’s palm in idle comfort. “No better, but no worse, either. I will make something for him at once, and see if it improves him. The sundelions I have gathered so far are enough to ward off the illness, but not to cure it; with this many, maybe I will have more luck.”

“I do hope so,” Time says. “Shall we gather more?”

“If you would, I would be most grateful.”

“Of course. It is no trouble. The Sky Islands are very beautiful, and easy to travel between with the Slate.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But do be careful—some of the Islands have large enemies upon them, so they are not perfectly benign.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Time promises. “You know, one of our group is a healer, and quite a good one at that; if you would like him to take a look at Link, I’m sure he would be most willing.”

Flora sighs quietly, looking away. “I do not know that his is an illness any ordinary healer could hope to tend.”

“Is it this darkness that has infected him, as it has your dragon?” Time asks, gesturing back towards the pools of glistening red-and-black. 

“It is.” Flora’s lips thin before she continues, “The darkness you see everywhere is called gloom, and it is a manifestation of the Demon Dragon’s blight on this world. If you step on it, it saps your energy, your strength, and your health. Normally, a meal made with sundelions is enough to ease the effects. I have never known the gloom to linger in wounds the way it has for both the dragon and Link.”

“Let us bring Hyrule, tomorrow,” Time urges. “He is no ordinary healer.”

“Ah, well, if he is truly a Link, then nothing about him should be ordinary,” Flora says, with a small smile, and touches the dragon’s palm softly. “Very well. Bring him, and I will speak with him tomorrow. But be sure you do not bring many at once—the dragon remains wary of you all. Not, of course, that I blame him for that.”

Her expression sours a bit—clearly recalling their fight yesterday.

“I hope that the wounds we left are healing well, at least,” Time offers. “We truly are sorry. It is no excuse, but many of my brothers react to perceived threat without thought. They have been through much, and it has made them wary.”

Flora takes a deep breath, peering up at the dragon before she speaks again. “This, I can understand. But it is not my forgiveness you must earn, and this one holds a grudge.”

“We shall have to bring more flowers, then,” Time says, with a smile. “Before we go, there is something else. While traveling today, we came across Lookout Landing. There was someone there who quite wanted to see you—her name was Purah.”

“Purah?” Flora’s eyes alight with hope. “How is she? How is everyone?”

“They’re okay. Frightened, and hiding below-ground, but okay,” Time assures her. “Purah was delighted to hear that you were well. She had thought that, perhaps, you and Link died while fighting the Demon Dragon.”

“No—but it was rather close,” Flora says, her gaze shuttering slightly. “What did you tell Purah?”

“Only that you were here, and safe. We told no-one else. We don’t want the Demon Dragon to realize that you are alive, and hidden here.”

“Thank you. That was wise of you. I’m not sure if the Demon Dragon knows we still live or not. I hope to keep him away until Link and the dragon have healed, so that we might have a chance against him.”

“We’ll keep this place a secret,” Time promises. “But Purah wants to come and visit you. She has some hearty elixirs which she believes might help Link.”

Flora hesitates for a long moment. “I would like to see her. Maybe she would know better how to help Link than I do,” she says. “But it isn’t safe here. She doesn’t know how to defend herself like you all do, and the dragon…”

She trails off, a rather sad look in her eyes.

“Would it attack her too, then?” Twilight asks, his own eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know,” Flora says, honestly. “He has been acting strangely, as of late. I fear—”

She bites her lip, shaking her head.

“What is it?” Time prompts, gently.

“I fear the gloom’s effects go beyond the physical, now,” Flora says, hushed—Time must strain to hear her across the distance. “The more it spreads, the less I recognize him.”

The dragon, unmoved, merely blinks down at her where she sits between its talons—a pretty golden cage.

“No,” Flora decides, after a moment. “I must deal with this myself. Let us start with the sundelions, and with your healer. Tell Purah to stay where she is. Our people will need her creativity and cunning to avoid the Demon Dragon as long as they can, and we cannot risk her welfare. I won’t be much longer, now; I can’t be.”

Twilight opens his mouth to argue, but Time shakes his head.

“Very well, Princess,” he says. “We’ll go now, and see you tomorrow morning.”

Flora nods briskly. “Approach slowly, and with care.”

The vines around their legs uncoil, when they turn to leave—but Time trips over several on the way out, anyway. 

“Horrible scaly bastard,” Twilight hisses under his breath, when he nearly face-plants into a thorny bramble.

“At least it didn’t try to eat us, this time,” Time soothes, trying hard to keep the amusement off of his face. He can sense Twilight bristling even in this Hylian form.

“That might be less annoying. It would certainly be over quicker,” Twilight mutters, and quite promptly trips into a bush of thick green leaves. “Oh, for Hylia’s sake!”

Notes:

wOW three updates in one week? rest assured i will not be keeping that up for any length of time!! but i gotta roll with the hyperfixations while they last u.u since this chapter was written and posted so fast there will almost 100% be edits made later, but they’ll probably be quality-of-life stuff like edited punctuation/word changes/etc. so you won’t miss anything too important if you don’t re-read!

once again thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter!! i hope this makes up for the serious lack of Dragon Wild in the last chapter!

p.s. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! EAT DRINK AND BE SCARY 🎃👻

Chapter 6: skin

“Payback’s a bitch,” Wind says thoughtfully, leaning over Twilight as he scratches furiously at the red rash spreading along his hands and forearms. 

“I didn’t even hurt the damn dragon,” Twilight growls. “It was all Warriors and Legend and you. I was just trying to keep Sky and Hyrule from being eaten.”

“Which we appreciate very much,” Sky soothes, sitting down beside Twilight and running a hand over his brother’s hair. “Now quit scratching before Hyrule tapes mittens onto your hands.”

“You can try,” Twilight says, looking mutinously at Hyrule as he approaches.

“Don’t tempt me,” Hyrule says, smiling sweetly as he kneels in front of Twilight. “Hands, please.”

Twilight grudgingly offers his hands to their healer, who examines them carefully. He turns them this way and that, and brushes his own fingers over the welts Twilight has made with his incessant scratching.

“Well, it’s definitely an allergic reaction to something,” Hyrule says, turning to rummage through his pack of herbs and potions. “What did the bush look like?”

“I don’t know—green, bushy, malevolent?”

“Thank you, Twilight, that’s very helpful,” Hyrule says wryly. He pulls a small metal tin from his pack, untwisting the lid to reveal thick green cream. He takes Twilight’s hand, smearing the cream liberally along his palm and fingers before smoothing it up his forearms. “This will help with the itching and inflammation. I’m afraid a red potion won’t do much for you, though; it might help heal the skin once the reaction has subsided, but it won’t get rid of the reaction itself.”

“Of course not,” Twilight says sullenly.

“Aw, cheer up.” Sky nudges his shoulder hopefully. “At least you don’t have to do the dishes or the laundry for a while, right?”

Twilight looks unimpressed even with this thought.

“You can re-apply this at lunchtime, and again at dinnertime,” Hyrule says, handing the tin to Sky. “Try not to scratch, okay?”

Twilight flexes his fingers, a little of the tension easing from his face. “It actually itches less already. Thanks, Rulie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’ll be back before dinner, won’t you?” Sky asks, looking between Time and Hyrule.

“We’ll see,” Hyrule says, crossing the camp and kneeling by the stream to wash his hands.

“I’ll be back by sunset, at least,” Time assures Sky—and the rest of his brothers, who have gathered around to say goodbye. “Hopefully this illness is something that can be cured easily by Hyrule’s magic. Who knows? Maybe we’ll bring Link back with us, today.”

Hyrule hums quietly, unconvinced, as he re-joins their group. “I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy. If Princess Zelda hasn’t found a way to cure Link and the dragon, yet, I don’t know that I’m going to be able to. But I’ll do my best.”

“In the meantime, the rest of you stay safe and stay low,” Time says. “If any monster sees you, make sure it doesn’t get away—the last thing we need is the Demon Dragon getting word that we’re here before we’re ready to face it.”

“Sir yes sir,” Warriors says, with a jaunty sort of salute.

“Have you chosen someone to go with you to Lookout Landing?” Time asks.

“Four’s going with me,” Warriors says. “We’re going to try to locate a horse herd nearby, so we don’t have to walk the whole way. We’ll plan to be back by dinnertime, too.”

“Give Purah my apologies, and tell her we’ll bring her to Zelda as soon as we have the okay to do so,” Time instructs.

“We’ve got it handled, Time,” Four says, folding his arms over his chest and giving Time a level look. “Go on. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back, right?”

“And while you guys are gone, I’ll start on gliding lessons with these two,” Sky says cheerfully, ruffling Legend’s and Wind’s hair. “Twi, you get the day off. We don’t want the paragliders getting all…goopy.”

Twilight snorts, shaking out his hands. “Right. I’ll just sit here and look pretty, then.”

Sky beams. “Great idea!”

“Best of luck, all of you. We’ll see you for dinner. Come on, Hyrule.” 

Time reaches for the slate and wakes it with a brush of his fingers over its surface. Hyrule comes to lean against him, and Time settles an arm around his shoulders before tapping the lightroot’s symbol on the glowing map.

They materialize in the Depths once more, and Time lights a torch to lead their way. They follow the path towards Flora’s camp—it’s easier, now that he’s made the trip once already. He only has to consult the slate’s map twice to make sure they aren’t straying. Hyrule stays a step behind the entire way, craning his neck to look around. 

“It feels kind of like home, here,” he says, after several minutes. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad one?”

“Mm. I’m not sure.”

Time reaches out, squeezing Hyrule’s shoulder in comfort.

The land around Flora’s camp is as wild as it was yesterday, thick with thorns and bracken. Hyrule steps carefully over the vines, his steps light and quick; he doesn’t trip a single time. He brushes his fingers against the trunk of a nearby locust, careful not to prick himself on the thick black thorns, and hums contemplatively.

“Which bush did Twilight fall into?” he asks.

Time looks around for the likeliest culprit, nodding towards it when he sees it. It’s a dense, dark green bush with woody branches and leaves shaped like small, serrated teeth. Hyrule crouches beside it, studying its leaves without touching. Time familiarizes himself with the appearance of it, too, though he’s leery of coming too close; with his luck, he’d trip into it just like Twilight did. 

“It doesn’t look like any plant I know,” Hyrule says, straightening up to continue their walk. “At least we know what it looks like, now, so we can avoid it.”

The dragon is awake when they come upon Flora’s camp, and it greets Time the same way it had yesterday—with a show of teeth and an irritated growl. Hyrule surveys it quietly from a distance, his eyes roving over the great wound marring its right side. 

“Good morning,” Flora says, rising from her spot near the dragon’s elbow. She begins to approach them, but the dragon once again traps her jealously in its talons. She sighs. “This is Hyrule?”

“That’s right.” Hyrule offers her one of his gentle, benevolent smiles. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Princess Zelda.”

“You can come closer, if you like,” Flora says. “Only be mindful of his teeth.”

With that encouragement, such that it is, Time dares to take a few more steps in the dragon’s direction. The vines slither dangerously around his legs but do not halt him, this time; progress, however little it is. 

“He’s quite amazing,” Hyrule observes, hopping over a patch of thorny tendrils with enviable grace. “This is his magic, is it not?”

A small smile crosses Flora’s face. “It is. He manipulates plant life—I suspect his abilities may even extend to animals, but we haven’t had the chance to test it yet. There are no animals in the Depths, you see; only monsters.”

“Can he not leave the Depths?” Hyrule asks. 

“No. If he could fly, he could—but the gloom has taken root in his wounds, and saps his magic. It keeps him weak and grounded.”

“Is it the same with Link?”

“It is.” 

“Hmm.”

The dragon, to Time’s surprise, allows Hyrule within three meters of Flora before lowering its head and snarling a more severe warning. Hyrule stops at once, regarding it carefully. It huffs a breath through its nostrils, its ears flipping forward; they’re lined within by soft green fur, as is the rest of its narrow face.

“Hello,” Hyrule says sweetly.

The dragon growls; in the distance, Time sees a wink of movement as its tail-tip flicks irritably.

“He’s rather protective of you,” Hyrule says, humming thoughtfully. 

Flora sighs—half exasperation and half fondness. “Overly so, I should say.”

“Do you think he’ll let me see Link?” Hyrule asks.

“I doubt it,” Flora says. “But see to the dragon first, wouldn’t you? If you can heal him, then you’ll certainly be able to heal Link—plus, the dragon will be in a better mood, and more likely to let you pass.”

“See to the dragon?” Hyrule asks, surprised.

“Yes,” Flora says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. I’ve simply never healed a dragon before,” Hyrule says, cocking his head as he peers up the slender length of the dragon’s neck. “It will be difficult, if he will not even let me touch him.”

“Yes, I thought as much. Perhaps, if you were to give him a treat, he would be more ammenable.”

“A treat?”

“There, by the campfire—there are some sundelions biscuits he enjoys.”

While Hyrule goes to search for the biscuits, Time asks, “Did the meal you made yesterday help Link at all?”

“Mm. A bit.” Flora see-saws her hand back and forth in a so-so expression. “It gave us a bit more time before the gloom began to spread, again—perhaps a few hours more. But it didn’t drive it back, or cure it entirely, as I’m sure you observe.”

“Tell me more about this gloom,” Hyrule says, tossing a large yellow biscuit towards the dragon. It regards him balefully. “Aw, don’t be like that. Flora said you liked these.”

The dragon continues to stare, unimpressed, as Flora explains the gloom to Hyrule the way she had to Time, yesterday. Hyrule asks several questions in turn—what happens if the gloom is left untreated? how does duration of exposure effect it? what other treatments are there?—and, eventually, the dragon drops it head and licks up the biscuit. 

“You may as well sit, Time,” Hyrule says, and does just that himself—sitting cross-legged several meters away from the dragon’s chest. “We’re going to be here a while.”

Time takes a seat next to the campfire, reclining against one of the nearby gray logs. The area directly around the dragon—campfire included—is mercifully devoid of thorns and vines. Instead, it is carpeted with thick green moss and cheerfully-colored flowers. Flora’s boots are cradled by a blanket of tiny golden blooms.

A part of him wants to teleport out of the Depths to go searching for more sundelions; he’s not of any use here, right now. But he’s unwilling to leave Hyrule completely alone with the dragon. It seems peaceful, now, if grudgingly so—but he doesn’t doubt that it could turn in a moment’s notice if Hyrule stepped wrong. Such is the nature of wild things. So he stays, watching quietly and trying to keep up with the intricacies of Hyrule and Flora’s conversation. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep—truly, he doesn’t. But yesterday was long, and made even longer by taking the middle night-watch. He drifts off within the half-hour, and wakes an indeterminate amount of time later when the dragon shifts. His eyes spring open at the noise; he finds that he’s slumped sideways to lay curled in the moss, small fern fronds tickling his nose. He searches at once for Hyrule, finding that he’s drawn alarmingly close to the dragon’s side. 

“—these from?” Hyrule is asking softly, motioning to a spot on the dragon’s elbow. It’s lighter in color, and of a different texture. It takes Time a moment to realize that it’s skin, not scale or fur.

“He scraped his scales off trying to climb from the Depths,” Zelda explains. She’s been released from the dragon’s talons and sits on its forearm, now, her legs crossed primly. “There are patches along his stomach, too.”

Hyrule reaches out and touches the dragon for the first time.

Its head jerks in alarm, its eyes narrowing, and Time braces himself to draw his sword and lunge. But the dragon makes no sudden move, and neither does Hyrule. He merely hums a gentle tune, petting the hard scale of its arm softly. 

“Shh,” he says. “You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Flora, too, appears to be holding her breath—her eyes riveted to the dragon’s face. When it remains still, she exhales shakily.

“Do the scales grow back?” Hyrule asks, sliding his hand towards the patch of missing scale. He sweeps the pads of his fingers over the dragon’s skin, and— 

The dragon recoils with a snarl, lurching onto its feet so quickly sends Flora and Hyrule stumbling. Hyrule yanks his hand back, cradling it close to his chest as though stung. His eyes are wide, his pupils blown in terror and his ears pinned. He stares up at the dragon, frozen in place.

“Hyrule!” Time exclaims, scrambling to his side. He grabs his brother, dragging him away from the dragon. “What’s wrong? Did it hurt you?”

Hyrule’s hand remains cradled against his chest, and he’s gripping it so tightly his knuckles are white. He allows Time to unwind his fingers; Time looks over the skin of his hand but finds no visible wound. Hyrule’s fingers tremble, and Time clutches them tightly. 

“What’s wrong?” he repeats. “Hyrule?”

But Hyrule’s gaze is fixated upwards—on the dragon. It remains standing, its own eyes wide and its flanks trembling with each breath it takes. Flora is clutching its forearm, speaking rapidly to it, but for once it pays her no heed. It swings its head around once more, instead, swiftly finding Hyrule. 

Time steps in front of him, raising Biggoron’s blade.

“Time,” Hyrule whispers, his voice breaking.

Time allows himself to skim against his bond with Hyrule, finding it full of confusion and distress and upset—though for the life of him, he can’t figure out why. Has the dragon somehow infected Hyrule with gloom? Hyrule hadn’t touched anywhere near its injury, and yet—

Before he can dig any deeper, Hyrule slams their bond shut. 

“Hyrule,” Time says, alarmed, looking back at him. 

“It’s fine,” Hyrule says, even though there are tears in his eyes. 

“It is not fine,” Time says at once; as though anything could ever be fine when one of his brothers is crying! “What’s wrong? Is it the gloom?”

Hyrule squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head furiously.

“Then what it is?” Time says, almost a plea now. “Hyrule, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”

Hyrule merely shakes his head again, swiping uselessly at the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Time can feel his other brothers pressing against him through their bonds, alarmed by his own distress. Rather hypocritically, he closes them out. “Hyrule, you must help me understand.”

“I can’t! Oh, Time—” Hyrule’s voice chokes off on a sob. “How can I? I don’t even understand it myself.”

Time is helpless but to drop his blade, drawing his brother into his arms and hugging him tightly. He presses uselessly against the closed bond between them before begging, “Hyrule, please let me help—I won’t pry, just please—”

Their bond opens once more, and Time floods it with as much comfort and calm as he can. Hyrule’s trembling gradually begins to slow, his tears soaking into the fabric of Time’s tunic. He takes several large, shuddering breaths as he struggles to calm himself. His fingers twist in the front of Time’s tunic, clinging fiercely to him. 

“It’s alright, Rulie,” Time whispers against his hair. “Shh, hush. All will be well. Deep breaths.”

As promised, Time doesn’t pry any further into their bond—but he can still feel as Hyrule’s distress slows, ebbing into a darker and deeper sort of grief.

“Is he alright?” Flora asks, her voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” Time says, truthfully, smoothing his hand over Hyrule’s soft brown curls. He flails for an explanation, trying to convince himself as much as Flora: “His magic is—different, than ours. Perhaps the gloom is effecting him overly much. I think we should go.”

“No!” Hyrule cries, grabbing Time’s wrist as reaches for the slate. “No, I won’t go. Don’t you dare take us anywhere.”

“Hyrule, you’re unwell.”

“I’m fine.” Hyrule forces himself to stand on his own once more, rubbing away his tears. He is as stubborn as any of us, Time thinks rather grimly. “I was just—overwhelmed for a moment.”

“Keep secrets if you must, but do not lie to me,” Time says fiercely. “I appreciate that you want to help the dragon, and Link, but we will not risk your wellbeing to do so. If the gloom is truly effecting you this much, we must go. We can come back tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to recuperate.”

“I just needed a moment, that’s all. Bring me—bring me one of the biscuits,” Hyrule says, pointing. “The sundelion in it will help.”

Before Time can go and fetch one, the dragon moves again. It lowers its head to their level, its eerie blue and yellow eyes locked on them. Time draws his sword once more, unnerved.

“Don’t,” Hyrule says, placing his hand over Time’s sword arm and pushing it down. “He won’t hurt us.”

“How can you know?”

“Trust me, Time.”

Gods damn him, but Time does. He lets his sword lower, though he does not sheathe it yet. Hyrule steps between him and the dragon. Slowly, the dragon’s head draws closer. It twists to the side to regard them with one vast eye; its lashes are long and gold, bright in the firelight. Hyrule’s reflection is quite plain in its pupil.

“I’m sorry,” Hyrule breathes. “I startled you.”

The dragon faces forward once more, and touches the very tip of its muzzle to Hyrule’s chest. Slowly, Hyrule allows one hand to rest against its velvety green cheek. To Time’s surprise, an amazed smile crosses Hyrule’s face even as tears build in his eyes once more.

“Hi,” he whispers. 

The dragon rumbles—a low sound that Time can feel in his own chest. It blinks slowly, its lashes feathering together before parting once more. It rubs its nose against Hyrule’s chest before drawing back. Its neck curves so it can peer down at them. For the first time, Time sees something other than wariness and disdain in its gaze:

He sees curiosity.

Notes:

alternate chapter title is Hyrule Makes A New Friend

fun fact: Dragon!Wild finds Hyrule easier to trust because he smells like faeries, and Zelda has brought him faeries before to try and heal him—they’re always very nice and they have soft hands and they hum sweetly and their magic makes him feel better, even if it’s only for a few minutes. he’s been in pain for his Whole Entire Existence, so even a brief reprieve is a tiny miracle to him.

Hyrule is also a tiny miracle to him, now :D

Chapter 7: the terrible time

The Dragon of the Wild is having a frankly terrible time.

The terrible time started thus:

It was napping quite peacefully, as it was wont to do—sleep was, as ever, a brief but lovely reprieve from the ever-present pain wracking its form. Unfortunately, it was soon awoken by a strange chattering noise, similar to the noises its small golden friend made when she wanted its attention. Twisting its head around to peer at the noise, it found itself quite surrounded by monsters. Its ability to count was rather limited, but this seemed too large a group to be anything but an attack party.

This was not unheard of, though it had been some time since monsters dared to enter its territory. After the first few bands it had smashed and slaughtered, they had started to steer clear of it. But these monsters were a new sort—shaped like the dragon’s small golden friend, but without her sweet floral scent and soft hands. They smelled like metal and magic; this was seldom a safe combination. 

So the dragon offered them a rather polite warning: it roared.

Its magic reacted instinctively: thick thorny vines burst forth, and the trees crowded in more closely in an effort to drive the intruders away. Its small golden friend was sleeping, sheltered, within the curve of its body. Nothing could be allowed near her. Everything in this world was dark and dangerous; why would these small chattering monsters be any exception? They would not have her. It would not let them.

Instead of retreating, however, the monsters attacked it.

From the side came a flaming arrow which speared into the open wound on the dragon’s flank. Pain roared up and washed over it in a red haze. It lunged for the monster who had shot it, fully intending to devour it in a single bite. Before it could close its jaws, however, something sharp slammed into the soft tissue beneath its tongue. It reared back with a startled shriek, shaking its head; the sharp thing dislodged and fell to the ground to be consumed by thorns.

Not even a moment later, the dragon felt something shifting on its back. It whirled to find yet another monster climbing along the length of its spine. It braced to stand, but before it could, its small golden friend scrambled onto its back and grabbed the monster by the scruff. She flung the monster away from the dragon’s neck, and her gentle chattering noises became at once loud and angry. The monster leveled a sword at her, which was utterly intolerable.

The dragon swept in to bite, but—

“No!” the small golden thing shouted.

This was one of the few noises the dragon knew the meaning of—‘no’ and ‘Link’ and ‘sorry.’ The dragon’s friend said these often. It halted, despite the anger and the pain and the fear brewing in its bones, and it watched furiously as the monsters were allowed to regroup and retreat. It stared after them long after they’d gone, its talons scraping anxiously against the moss growing beneath it.

Its friend chattered at it, soft once more, and the dragon heard ‘sorry’ more than once as she wiped its own blood from its mouth.

---

To the dragon’s utter bafflement and offense, two of the monsters returned the next night. Its friend tried to go to them, and the dragon ensnared her close to its chest. It had never known her to be foolish before—so why did she behave this way now? Had she not seen how they had attacked the dragon? Did she not know that they would hurt her the same way if she went too close? Had they fooled her, somehow?

The dragon growled, ensnaring the monsters in vines before they could come too close. At least they were a smaller group this time—much easier for the dragon to eat without indigestion. One of the monsters was tall and one-eyed; the other wore a gray wolf-pelt around its shoulders. The dragon pulled its lip up in an expression of great disdain as the monsters chattered back and forth with its friend as though they were welcome.

When they went, they left behind two bundles of flowers—the familiar yellow sundelions, and a new blend that the dragon did not recognize. Its friend retrieved them and left the dragon with the new bouquet while she cooked with rice and sundelions and sweet golden apples. The dragon snuffled curiously at the new petals. They smelled familiar. It closed its eyes and saw wide open fields, swaying grasses, thick forests.

Grief filled its throat like water, making it hard to breathe.

It set its head down beside the bouquet and retreated into sleep once more.

There, it dreamed of sitting on a floating island with its best friend beside it. They were both small golden things. Their legs swung back and forth in the air, and their toes touched the clouds. A fresh, cool breeze smoothed across their skin. The dragon laughed, and it had a voice it did not recognize.

Pain woke it from sleep when it moved.

Pain always woke it.

It coiled up more tightly, tucking its nose beneath its tail-tip and staring into the endless dark. It wondered if the dream-place was real. It must have been. The dragon wanted so badly to go up, to fly—there must be something to fly to. There could not be this endless dark forever…

…could there?

Its dreams turned sour and dim, when it drifted back into sleep. It awoke with a snarl, and found that the dark and burning infection of its flank-wound was now circling its throat and weaving between the teeth of its lower jaw. A familiar burn nestled into the new wound beneath its tongue, and it hissed and shook its head in discomfort.

“Link,” its friend called, and it turned to her as it always did.

In her hands, she held a bowl of green leaves filled with a familiar blend—rice and sundelions and sweet golden apples. The dragon turned its head away. Its teeth hurt, and it did not want to eat. But its friend called its name once, again, touching its uninjured shoulder with fingers as soft as petals. When she began to cry, the dragon yielded; it dipped its head and ate. The meal tasted like ash on its tongue, but it did ease the cold burn creeping along its mouth and jaw.

Tired once more, it lay its head down to sleep.

The monsters returned again the next day. 

The dragon had begun to differentiate between them: the tallest monster it had seen twice now, but the other monster it had seen only briefly the first day. It was a smaller monster, with darker hair than its kin, and with a scent like the faeries the dragon’s friend introduced it to on occasion. But this monster did not look like a faerie. It was much bigger, and it did not glow, though it hummed musically as it thought.

The monsters stayed much longer that day: long enough for the tall one to fall asleep near the fire, while the smaller sat near the dragon and chattered idly with the dragon’s friend. It was difficult to stay wary for so many hours on end, when the monsters had not been doing anything particularly monstrous and its friend seemed so accepting of them. So, grudgingly, the dragon laid its head down—though it took care to always keep one eye on the monsters.

The smaller monster came closer in increments, and the dragon was almost surprised to find that, after several hours, it was within touching distance. Its small hand touched the dragon’s forearm fearlessly, and the dragon braced for pain—but none came. It waited many seconds before allowing its muscles to loosen, slightly. The monster petted it the way its friend did, sometimes, with gentle brushing motions against the scale of its arm.

Then it had touched the patch of bare skin behind the dragon’s elbow, and—

Calm-curious-worry bloomed to life in the dragon’s mind.

The emotions were foreign and strange. The dragon jolted to its feet with a snarl of alarm. There was something different in its mind, something alien. The emotions shuffled too quickly for the dragon to keep up with, and within moments the calm had vanished and in its place rose horror-confusion. The dragon did not know what to do with these emotions, which were not its own and thus quite insensible.

The monsters backed away from it—fearful of its sudden movement, and wisely so. It twisted to look at them, and its gaze found the smaller monster’s. It knew then, without question, that what it had felt in its mind had been this monster. Somehow, it had attached its emotions to the dragon’s. The dragon supposed it ought to be more offended about this, but the small monster felt so sad and upset that it was difficult to be very angry.

The dragon also found that—well, it simply did not want to be angry with the small monster. It felt no maliciousness from the monster, like it had imagined it might. The monster felt things the way the dragon did: vast and all-consuming. Surely no monster could have felt things like that? So perhaps—

—perhaps it was not a monster, after all.

Hyrule, the not-a-monster’s soul whispered to the dragon’s.

Yes. Yes, that was right. This was Hyrule, wasn’t it? The dragon knew him. The dragon had always known him, hadn’t he? He felt so very familiar in the dragon’s mind: perhaps this was another thing it had forgotten in the dark. It was not able to bring itself to stop looking at Hyrule, to stop trying to remember him—trying to understand why he felt so very much like hidden glades and faerie fountains and sweet herbs.

In thanks, the dragon’s soul handed back its own name: endless prairie, thick forests, towering mountains and the wind through a fox’s whiskers.

Hyrule’s agony trembled in the dragon’s chest.

It lowered its head to look him over, trying to find any physical injury that might cause such pain but seeing none. It pressed its muzzle against his chest in comfort, the way it did to its small golden friend when she was sad. Hyrule’s hand touched its cheek, and for a moment joy blazed through his grief like sunlight through storm clouds.

The dragon settled again, at its friend’s behest, but it was not able to pry its eyes from Hyrule. It was so curious—what else had it forgotten? If Hyrule wasn’t a monster, then were the others? Or were they like him—missing pieces of the dragon’s own soul? It peered at the one-eyed monster, thinking this, and its head tilted.

Only time would tell, it supposed.

Around it, the world softened: brambles became ferns, locusts turned to gentle apple trees, and a carpet of wildflowers bloomed.

Notes:

this chapter is shorter but! on the bright side! wild POV!! it is so much fun to write from non-human perspectives aaaaaaa

Chapter 8: a precarious sense of peace

As Flora coaxes the dragon into laying down once more, Time fetches the sundelion biscuits from the campsite. He brings one to Hyrule, who takes it and snaps a piece off between his fingers before popping into his mouth. As he chews, his gaze lingers on the dragon—who watches him studiously in return, its head cocked and its tail twitching. 

“Do you feel any better?” Time asks.

“Hm? Oh, yes,” Hyrule says, nibbling on another bite of the biscuit. “You should have one too.”

“No. We ought to save them for you and Link and the dragon. You three are the most effected by the gloom, out of all of us.” Time pauses, his mouth twisting. “Was it the gloom, Hyrule?”

“Something to talk about later.”

“Hyrule—”

Hyrule glances meaningfully towards Flora and the dragon. “Later.”

“Very well,” Time says, a sigh loosening from his chest. Let Hyrule keep his secrets, then; all of his brothers love to hoard those. It must be a family trait. “As long as you’re sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I’m just worried, that’s all.” Hyrule licks the yellow crumbs from his fingers. “This gloom will not be easily healed by any potion or spell I know of. I tried the life spell while you slept, and she convinced him to sample several red potions as well, to no avail. Given that, Flora believes sunlight is the best way to go. She says that the full light of the day burns away the gloom even more effectively than sundelions do. So we must get the dragon out of the Depths.”

“But how? It can’t fly, and it’s too large to be teleported—I assume.” Time frowns. He isn’t actually sure about the slate’s abilities, there. 

“He is,” Hyrule confirms. “Flora said the largest thing she and Link have tried to teleport was a bookshelf. Only half of the books arrived. We assume the lightroots’ functionality would be similar, since they’re powered by the same technology. There’s the arm’s ‘ascend’ function, of course, but—”

“The what?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you about the arm! Flora was telling me, while you were sleeping, that she and Link found an arm deep beneath Hyrule Castle—it was holding onto the Demon Dragon, suppressing it. She managed to locate it again, after their battle. It has several peculiar functions, one of which is ‘ascend’. That does exactly what you might think. But again, we aren’t sure quite how large an object it can work on. We don’t want the dragon to be our first test subject, either, unless we truly have no other choice.”

“What are the other functions of the arm?” Time asks, his mind flipping quickly through ideas. “Could we utilize them?”

“Ultrahand, Fuse, and Recall,” Hyrule says, and goes on to explain each one: “Ultrahand can be used to move things around, but not anything as large as the dragon, so that’s out. Fuse can combine things together. Recall can turn back time for a single object, but only for a few seconds, and only for something which has moved recently. We thought about using Ultrahand and Fuse to build a long cot, of sorts, with hot air balloons running the length of it. But Flora says even her most upgraded batteries wouldn’t have enough energy to power so many balloons at once, and for long enough to float the dragon out of the Depths.”

Before Time can speak again, there’s a sudden slamming against one of his soulbonds—Legend. With a grimace, Time allows the bonds to open once more. His brothers do their best to drown him in their worry, and he rather clumsily shoves back a sense of general wellbeing. It’s the closest thing to ‘we’re fine’ that he can manage. True thought is difficult to pass through the bond; flashes of sensation and emotion are far easier.

Outrage sparks at him from Legend’s bond before it slams closed again. That’s going to be fun to deal with, later.

“The others?” Hyrule guesses, with a sympathetic smile.

“Mm-hm.”

“You should go back to them. They’re worried.”

Time’s eyes narrow. “We’re going back to them, Hyrule.”

Hyrule shakes his head. “I’m staying here.”

“Absolutely not.” Time is painfully aware, at times like this, how little actual authority he has over his brothers. They all defer to him for reasons he doesn’t quite understand—Wind had proposed, once, Reason A: tall and Reason B: old, which didn’t seem like very good reasons to Time at all. Nevertheless, his brothers tend to look at him for the final say in most things. But when push comes to shove, Time can’t force anyone to do anything, and he wouldn’t want to—

Most of the time he wouldn’t want to. 

Right now, he very much wants to force Hyrule to stop being so stubborn.

“The gloom is already making you behave strangely,” Time says—if it truly is the gloom doing so. Time suspects, given how cagey Hyrule is being, that it’s something else entirely, and something he dare not speak of in front of Flora. “It isn’t safe for you to be down here any longer.”

“If it’s safe enough for Link and Zelda, it’s safe enough for me,” Hyrule says mulishly. “I can’t leave until I’ve healed him—them. They need me.”

“They’ll bide,” Time says firmly. He’s worried for their newest brother, too, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to sacrifice Hyrule. There’s always another way. “They’ve made it this long without you; they can spare you for a few hours while you rest and recover.”

“I’ll rest and recover just fine here.”

“Not with all of this gloom around, you won’t.”

“I will. I’ll just—eat more biscuits,” Hyrule says, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, it won’t be for that long. If all goes well, we can leave the Depths behind for good within a week.”

“A week?” Time exclaims. “Hyrule, I’m not leaving you down here for a week.”

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not your decision,” Hyrule says, pinning his ears and setting his jaw. “It’s mine. I’m staying.”

Time pinches the bridge of his nose. Why him? Truly, what did he do in his lifetime to deserve such horrifically stubborn reincarnations—and why are they so hard to keep alive and healthy and untraumatized? “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Anxiety and discomfort war in Time’s chest. He can’t bring himself to terms with abandoning Hyrule here—alone, in the dark, with a dragon that only recently stopped looking like it wanted to use their bones as toothpicks. But he can’t physically drag Hyrule away, either—not without smashing his brother’s trust in him to pieces. 

“Time,” Hyrule says, his expression growing more earnest now. “It’ll be fine. I’m not being stubborn for no reason, I promise. I need to be here right now. I just know it.”

“Fine,” Time relents, albeit unhappily. “But I’m not leaving you alone for long. I’ll bring someone else down to spend the night with you.”

Hyrule nods, his face lightening. “Okay. Perfect.”

“Are you leaving?” Flora asks quietly, crossing from the dragon’s side to theirs.

“Yes,” says Time. “My brothers are worried. If I don’t ease their minds, I daresay all six of them will be down here within the hour.”

Flora’s brow furrows. “Worried? Why?”

Hyrule directs his gaze to the campfire, leaning over his own knees. “Hm. We haven’t explained this, have we?” he asks quietly. “We reincarnations of the Hero’s spirit share a bond. It allows us to connect with each other over vast distances—we share emotions, sensations, flashes of memory.”

“All of you?” Flora asks, going quite still. “So you have felt Link, then?”

“No,” Time says, regretfully.

Hyrule raises his gaze to Flora’s. “The bond is first formed by skin-to-skin contact.”

Flora turns from them, then, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“If I could but shake his hand…” Time ventures, hesitantly. It would be a comfort to him to be able to sense his new brother’s soul—to know how he is, even with the great gulf of the Depths between them.

“No,” Flora says stiffly. 

“Have we not earned your trust?” Time asks. “What more must we do?”

“It has nothing to do with trust.”

“Then what is it to do with?” Hyrule says, rather more forcefully than Time expected. He stands, brushing off his palms and walking towards Flora. “We have much to talk about, I think.”

“Hyrule—“

“Go back to the others, Time,” Hyrule says, stopping at Flora’s side. “Reassure them and find more sundelions. We’ll be here when you return.”

Time hesitates for a long moment. A deep sense of disquiet nestles in his chest at the idea of leaving Hyrule—but Hyrule is a hero in his own right, and more than capable of making his own decisions whether Time agrees with them or not. So he exhales slowly, scooping the slate up from its spot beside the fire and carrying it to Hyrule. 

“In case you need a quick exit,” he says, pressing the slate into Hyrule’s hands. “I’ll be back by nightfall. Be safe.”

Time makes the trek back to the lightroot alone, and all the more unhappy because of it. At least the ground is friendlier, now; springy grass cushions his footfalls, and the apple trees’ leaves rustle softly in a warm breeze. He plucks an apple from one of the branches and turns it over in his hands, studying the smooth red skin. When it bites into it, it tastes crisp and sweet on his tongue.

When he reaches the lightroot, he ascends through it and into the shrine directly adjacent to their camp on the Surface. As he steps off of the stone platform, he’s confronted at once by Sky, Twilight, Wind, and—farther back, with quite a fierce scowl—Legend. 

“Time!” Sky exclaims, grasping his arms and looking him over. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Time assures him, resting a hand on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to worry you all.”

“We thought you were being eaten by the dragon,” Wind says, tugging on Time’s shirtsleeve, “or by some other crazy monster down there.”

“Yeah, what happened to spook you so bad?” Twilight asks. His hands are tucked deep within a pair of leather gloves—Sky’s doing, no doubt. 

Before Time can cobble together an answer that won’t have his brothers skinning him alive for leaving Hyrule in the Depths, Legend interrupts:

“Where’s Hyrule?”

Ah, that’s their veteran—straight to the jugular, as always.

“He’s fine,” Time mollifies, feeling very much like a man cornered by a pride of hungry lions. 

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Legend says stiffly. “Where is Hyrule?”

Time sighs, raking a hand through his own hair. So be it. There’s really no good way to explain this, is there? “He’s with Flora, in the Depths.”

“You left him? Alone? Down there? With the dragon that tried to eat us?”

“It was in a much better mood when I left,” Time says, feeling unusually defensive. The Chain has their disagreements, but Time isn’t often the source of their conflict. It doesn’t feel good. “It wasn’t as though he gave me much of a choice. He made it clear he wasn’t coming with me unless I dragged him along.”

“So drag him!” Legend says viciously. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Legend—” Time starts.

“No. You were meant to be the responsible one. I trusted you with him. My mistake, as usual, I suppose.” A muscle in Legend’s jaw ticks as his teeth grind, and he thrusts one hand forward. “Give me the slate. I’ll go and get him.”

“I left the slate with him, in case he needed to teleport out of the Depths quickly.”

Legend’s fingers curl into a white-knuckled fist. Stiffly, he says, “One of the few intelligent decisions you made. Fine. I’ll take one of the paragliders and go down the chasm.”

“Ledge,” Sky says softly, approaching him as though approaching a wounded beast. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sure Time wouldn’t have left unless he was sure Hyrule would be safe. We can still go down to see him, but there’s no rush. He’s just fine—you can feel that through the bond, can’t you?”

Legend has always been viciously protective of his brothers—and Hyrule moreso than any of them. Time had expected this reaction, though he’s loathe to be the one triggering it. He holds his tongue, for the moment, allowing Sky’s gentler nature to correct course. 

Legend’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiff. “He is fine now, but for how long? How long until he startles the dragon and it attacks him? And how can we trust Zelda, if that’s even who she is? What if she takes this opportunity to kill him?”

“Flora had the Master Sword, and I can confirm that it was no fake. I don’t think Fi would let anyone else use her, even as wounded as she is in this world,” Sky explains patiently. “Besides, what reason would she have to harm Hyrule?”

“I don’t know.” Legend flings his hands up, stalking away from them and towards the paragliders where they lean against a nearby tree. He snags the nearest one and slings the straps over his shoulders to carry. “I don’t understand half the things people do. Sometimes I think they make choices simply to inconvenience me.”

Sky jogs after him. “I’ll go with you.”

“No. If it’s safe enough for Hyrule to be alone, it’s safe enough for me to be alone,” says Legend. He shoots a bitter look over his shoulder at Time. “Don’t you think, old man?”

Time’s mouth presses into a thin line. Oh, how he hates this. “I would prefer it if someone went with you.”

“And I would prefer it if you didn’t leave Hyrule by himself in weird places, but here we are.”

“Legend, come on,” Sky coaxes, setting a hand on his back.

Legend jerks away from the touch, scowling. “Just—stop, Sky. Enough. I’m going alone.”

Sky stops at the edge of camp, staring after Legend with wounded eyes. 

“He’ll be okay. The area around the dragon has always been clear of monsters. Even if it weren’t, he’s a good fighter, and smart,” Twilight says quietly, after a moment—to convince them or to convince himself, Time isn’t sure. After another moment’s contemplation, he shouts at Legend’s retreating back: “Beware of bushes!”

Legend kindly flips him off before vanishing into a grove of trees.

“It’s not fair,” Wind protests, his arms folded tightly against his chest. “Nobody is supposed to be alone anymore.”

Guilt pools in Time’s chest, sticky and dark. He moves across camp to sit beside the fire, rubbing one temple. “I know,” he says. “I tried to convince Hyrule to come back with me. I didn’t want to leave him there.”

Sky comes to sit next to him, leaning against his side—a comfortable, solid weight. “We know, Time. It’s not your fault, and Legend will realize that, too, once he’s had some time to cool off. He’s just scared right now. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I won’t. Now, have Warriors and Four returned, yet?” Time asks, staring into the embers of their campfire—a clumsy change of subject, to be certain, but the best he can offer right now.

Sky allows it gracefully, answering, “No, they haven’t. We were just wrapping up our gliding lessons when you returned. It’s almost time for lunch—have you eaten yet?”

Time shakes his head.

“We’ll cook something. Wind, will you help me?”

Wind tears himself away from the edge of camp and comes to Sky’s side, nodding firmly. “Yeah. What do you need?”

“I can help, too,” Twilight offers.

“Yes, you can—by putting more of Hyrule’s medicine on your hands, please and thank you.”

Twilight groans.

Working together, Sky and Wind take several quality ingredients and turn them into questionable, over-salted mush. The four of them eat in a rare bout of relative silence, for which Time is grateful—there’s a headache wrapping snugly around his temples, and he has to remind himself to unclench his jaw every few minutes. He washes their dishes, after, shooing Sky away when he tries to help. It’s good to have a moment to himself by the stream, staring into the cool water and studying the glint of large green fish beneath the current.

When he returns, Sky invites him over to the remaining paraglider. “Come on,” he encourages. “You ought to learn, too. It’ll help take your mind off of everything.”

Time opens the paraglider, surveying its build—the wood is sturdy but flexible, the hinges well-oiled. The fabric itself is sky-blue, with decorative tassels and streamers, and in the center is—“A cow?”

“Right?” Sky asks. “I thought it was adorable.”

This cheers Time, however slightly. 

The two of them hike up the hill nearest their camp. It isn’t extremely tall—but tall enough, Sky says, to practice a bit of easy gliding from. For the next hour they take turns hopping from the hill, deploying the paraglider smoothly, and landing without leaving an imprint of their face in the dirt. Sky cedes his own turn to Time more than once, offering him tips and tricks discovered through years with his own sailcloth.

By the time they’re finished, a burn has worked its way into the muscles of Time’s arms and shoulders. He rolls his neck out, pleased to find that his headache has withdrawn slightly. Together, he and Sky sit down at the top of the hill, looking over the rolling fields of this new world in companionable silence. Twilight and Wind come to join them: Wind makes a whistle from a blade of grass, and Twilight lays down and drapes an arm over his eyes to doze. The sun blankets them in humming warmth, and Time is lulled into a precarious sense of peace.

Beneath that, though, is the ever-present need to do something. Their new brother is still sick, and here they are: bathing in sunshine and birdsong. It makes Time feel unusually impatient. He was meant to be gathering more sundelions, but he can’t teleport up to the Islands without the slate. He supposes he could launch from Lookout Landing’s Skyview Tower, but by the time he hiked all the way there it would already be sundown. Better to wait until Legend returns with Hyrule and the slate—if he manages to pull off such a grandiose feat, that is. 

If not, Time will simply have to glide down the chasm to go and speak with them.

Tentatively, he nudges up against his bond with Legend. It remains firmly shut.

Hyrule, thankfully, is still open to him. His emotions brush over Time like the breeze, soft and brief: worry, determination, anticipation. And he is, despite everything, glad of something. Perhaps he was glad to see Legend, if Legend has arrived at the Depths’ camp already—or as glad as two mules dragging each other in opposite directions could ever be.

“Hey, look,” Wind says, shading his eyes. “Warriors and Four are back.”

“Oh yeah?” murmurs Twilight, half-asleep and unmoving.

“Yeah, and they’ve got horses.”

“Are they close?”

“Not yet.” Wind stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “You can nap a little longer.”

“Aye-aye, sailor.”

Wind rolls his eyes, trading an amused look with Time and Sky. When Warriors and Four finally draw near to the camp, Wind rouses Twilight and the four of them go down to meet their companions. They’re both whole and intact, their expressions relatively untroubled as they dismount. 

“Welcome back,” Time says. “You brought new friends.”

Warriors grins, gathering his reins off of his blue mare’s neck and bringing them down in front of her. “We did. This is Lord.”

“And this is Acorn, because she’s brown and also she’s nuts and tried to kill me,” Four says, patting the dappled rump of his chestnut mare. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Time says to both horses, who regard him with large brown eyes. “Did you have any trouble catching them?”

“Lots,” Warriors says cheerfully.

“It took us most of the morning,” Four sighs. “They kept startling when we tried to sneak up on them, and then did their best to fling us off when we jumped onto them. But I suppose that’s to be expected from a wild animal.”

“They warmed up to us weirdly quickly, though,” Warriors adds. “We were able to register them at a stable to the west on our way back, and the staff there were able to shoe them, and gave us some saddles and supplies. You all ought to get a few horses, too; it would make travel much faster, especially if we needed to make a quick retreat.”

“Epona would smell it on me,” Twilight says, with a shudder. “She’d eat me alive when I returned.”

“I don’t have that problem. I want a horse,” Wind says enthusiastically. “Let’s go find some.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Time says. “It will be sundown soon, and it’s riskier to move around in the dark.”

“How did your meeting with Purah go?” asks Sky. Lord leans forward to lip at his hair, and he laughs. “Why hello there, ma’am.”

“That isn’t hay, silly,” Warriors says, gently guiding Lord’s head away with a hand on her bridle. He flicks his gaze to Sky’s tousled golden hair before adding, “Though I can see why you might think otherwise.”

“Hey!” Sky squawks, patting his hair down.

“Our meeting went well,” Four says. “Purah was disappointed, of course, but she said she wouldn’t argue with a direct order from the princess. And she was easy to distract—she was quite interested in seeing how we compared to this world’s Link. She sent us with several hearty elixirs for him, and a ton of sundelions.”

Warriors removes a paper-wrapped bundle from behind Lord’s saddle, opening it to reveal the sunny yellow faces of the flowers. “A few of the braver people in the Landing went up to the Islands this morning to pick these. Purah didn’t tell them why she needed them, but they were more than willing to help anyway. I guess they’re used to her asking for weird supplies.”

“That’s very kind of them,” Time says, relieved. These ought to be enough to tide Link and the dragon over until Time can go and gather more, himself. 

“She sent another pair of paragliders, too,” Four adds, removing his own bundle from Acorn’s back. He sets them down alongside the other paraglider, then pauses. “Didn’t we have two of these? Did you guys seriously already break one?”

“Was that why you felt so panicked earlier this afternoon, Time—a paragliding accident?” Warriors asks. “You and Hyrule really worried us. We had started to come back, but you both seemed to settle afterwards. Well, mostly. You still feel guilty. Why do you feel guilty?”

“Where’s Hyrule?” Four asks, glancing around camp. “And Legend?”

“They’re both fine and in the Depths with Flora,” Sky says, smoothly interjecting before their interrogation can continue. “Hyrule thought it best if he stayed there to help with Link and the dragon, and Legend went to keep him company.”

“Oh, okay,” Warriors says easily.

It’s a much better reaction than Legend’s, to Time’s relief. Of course, Warriors’ own worry is likely tempered by the fact that neither Hyrule or Legend will be alone for long.

“Why does Hyrule have to stay?” Four asks, his own brow furrowing; his worry feels stronger than Warriors’, though it isn’t for who Time thought it might be. “Is Link that bad off?”

“I—” Time hesitates. In truth, he doesn’t know: Flora has been so recalcitrant about the situation that it’s difficult to say. “I don’t know. But Hyrule isn’t treating Link, yet. He’s treating the dragon.”

Four’s expression sours. “Look, I get that the princess likes her pet lizard, but isn’t the Hero a little more important? Why doesn’t Hyrule treat Link first, then worry about the dragon?”

“Flora was quite insistent that he heal the dragon, first,” Time explains. “I suppose she wanted Hyrule to prove he could do it before she let him near Link. That, and she said that the dragon would be more willing to let us near Link once it was healed and in a better mood.”

“Hm.” Four’s mouth twists in displeasure.

“I know,” Time says. “I share your concern, Four, believe me. But we’re on thin ice as it is. We can’t afford to argue with Flora. She might send us away entirely.”

“She could try.”

“She has a dragon.”

“So do I,” Four says, gesturing imperiously at Acorn. “And I bet mine bites harder.”

Twilight snorts. “Go put your horses up and come sit down. You’re probably sore.”

“Very much so,” Warriors agrees, leading Lord towards the outskirts of camp with a notable limp. “I cannot feel my legs.”

Notes:

i swear i love legend i find his character so fascinating !! also i love that he and hyrule are besties because they seem So Different on the surface but actually they’re so good for each other. unfortunately in this particular situation they Will Not be good for each other. more on that next time ;)

Chapter 9: a burden shared

“You know, then,” Flora says, once Time has gone.

“Yes,” Hyrule says. “He’s Link.”

There’s no point in softening the blow—not when he can feel Link beating right alongside his brothers in his heart, and certainly not when Link is in pain. It is constant, ever-present: a simmering beast which taints every emotion, every thought, every movement. Yet, despite the unceasing hurt, Link does not feel angry or resentful. His mind is bright and curious, nudging up against Hyrule’s in a silent plea for attention.

Hyrule soothes him with a brush of comfort through the bond, but Link does not subside—if anything, he only grows more earnest. Hyrule is reminded of tiny terrier pups at his feet, wagging not only their tails but their entire bodies in excitement when he ruffled their ears. The image is almost enough to make him smile.

Then the pain comes in again—a rainburst, an endless crashing—and he falters.

How can Link stand it?

How can Hyrule himself stand it, knowing Link feels this way? It grates against every instinct he has a healer. He wants to fix it, but he doesn’t know how, and his own uselessness makes him seethe. His life spell had done nothing, earlier; Flora’s hearty elixirs had been of no benefit, either.

But, he supposes, how are we meant to solve this problem with so many missing details?

“What I don’t understand is how, or why,” he says, looking seriously at Flora. 

“It’s—a long story,” Flora says miserably. “Frankly, not one I like to tell.”

“So you lied to us.”

Flora draws herself up in offense. “I never lied to you—not once. You all made your own assumptions. I merely chose not to correct them.”

“If we had known this—”

“What difference would it have made? You could not have healed him any faster. This knowledge brings only frustration and pain, does it not? If you feel what he does, as you say, then you feel his pain—and what is the point of that?”

“A burden shared is a burden halved.”

“Oh, do not think to placate me with feel-good platitudes.”

“No?” Hyrule smiles tightly. “Alright. It’s true—to feel his pain is no advantage to me or to him. It may even be a disadvantage, as you believe. But what he feels is not all pain.”

“What else could there possibly be?” Flora asks, her own grief quavering in her voice. “Confusion, fear, anger? These I would believe. He is stuck here, in the dark, without friends or family or the wild he so loves. He has lost all of his memory and power yet again. Once more, we have failed. How could he be anything but upset?”

They’re going to have to circle back to that information very shortly, but first— 

“But he isn’t. He’s curious, and he’s so—bright, Flora. He’s amazing,” Hyrule says earnestly. “He’s happy, did you know? I doubt he is all the time, sure, but right now he is. He’s tired, and he’s hurting, but being around you brings him joy even in the dark.”

Flora blinks a sheen of tears from her eyes, looking away from him. “At least that is something I can do for him, then. Hylia knows I can do nothing else.”

“That isn’t true, either,” Hyrule insists. “We’ll figure something out. Hylia doesn’t expect you to do this all alone. That’s why she sent us.”

“I hope you’re right—but Hylia has rarely been so merciful to us,” Flora says, her voice thin. Then, “Are you going to tell the others?”

“I must.”

“What if I asked you not to?”

“Why not?” Hyrule asks, baffled. He can’t understand why Flora wants to hide this so badly. What difference does it truly make? Their plan remains the same: they get the dragon out of the Depths and save Link. Quite honestly, things are easier now that the dragon and Link are one in the same. For starters, Hyrule only has one patient to fret over. 

“I don’t know that I can trust you all,” Flora mumbles unconvincingly. 

“You have no choice,” says Hyrule. “We’re your best bet for saving Link.”

“You stabbed him!”

“I, personally, did not,” Hyrule says defensively. But he can see why that would be a sticking point. “And I’m sure Legend will apologize when you see him again. Goddess, do you know how awful he’s going to feel when he realizes he hurt Link?”

Hyrule dreads it just thinking about it. Legend is already predisposed to self-loathing; this is just one more regret to heap upon his tired shoulders.

“We don’t hurt each other,” Hyrule says. “Not knowingly. Not willingly.”

“But you see—yet another reason we oughtn’t tell the others,” Flora argues. “As you say, they’ll only feel guilty.”

“Let them. It is necessary, and we can work through it.”

“What’s more, whether they know or not has no bearing on our actual plan. So what does it matter? Why not wait until after we’ve healed him, and—and after I’ve found a way to turn him back into a Hylian? Then, you can tell them all you like without upsetting them further.”

“Are you ashamed of him?” Hyrule asks, ears flattening at the mere thought. 

“No!” Flora’s exclamation is fervent, and he believes her. “This isn’t his fault. He’s only like this because he was trying to protect me.”

“So if you aren’t ashamed of him—” Several pieces click together in Hyrule’s mind, then, and his eyes narrow. “—you’re ashamed of yourself.”

“Yes! Oh, isn’t it obvious?” Flora cries, pressing her hands to her eyes. “I was the one who asked him to escort me beneath Hyrule Castle in the first place. I would not heed his pleas for caution. I was too excited about the discoveries we had been making, and we dove too deep. If it hadn’t been for me, we would never even have found Ganondorf in the first place!”

Ganondorf?

Hyrule is…less surprised than he should be, actually. Such is his life, these days.

“Then, after we had found him, my powers failed me again! I couldn’t protect him. He was forced to turn into this just to save me. I must be the worst Zelda you’ve ever met. How could I bear to admit this to you Heroes of old? You’re right. It’s entirely selfish. I am entirely selfish, and what you see before you is the result of that.”

Flora turns away from him entirely, then, swiping at her eyes. 

Link’s worry pours over Hyrule like a cool wave. He croons quietly, leaning his great head over them and nosing Flora’s back with infinite gentleness. She turns and embraces his muzzle, burying her face against the fine fur of his snout. Her weeping is muffled against him.

“Did you know Ganondorf would be there?” Hyrule asks softly.

Flora shakes her head. 

“Then how can it be your fault? It sounds like you were only exploring; how could you have known Ganondorf would be sealed beneath the castle? Perhaps you should have been more cautious; I can’t say. But I don’t believe you would lead Link willingly to harm.”

“Of course not,” Flora says, her voice thick with tears.

“As for powers, well—they’re always fickle things, aren’t they? I know it’s frustrating to want to save someone so badly, and to still lack the power to do so,” Hyrule says, exhaling quietly. “Believe me. But you can’t blame yourself for things you have no control over. We are only Hylians.”

“If I was more devout, or had moved more quickly—”

“You can beat yourself up about these things all you like, but what good does it do? Perhaps it would have made a difference; perhaps not. But if it’s our opinion you fear so much, you have nothing to worry about. No one in their right mind would blame you for this.”

“You ought to,” Flora insists. After a moment, she turns to rest her cheek against the dragon’s nose. She looks to Hyrule, her eyes glistening in the firelight. “If you feel his soul, tell me—does he blame me?”

“I don’t know,” Hyrule says, honestly. Blame is such a complex thing—it is not entirely emotion, nor thought, nor memory, but a combination of these. “I can’t feel such complicated things, and I dare not interpret his emotions beyond the obvious. But he isn’t mad at you, Flora. He loves you dearly. That isn’t complicated at all.”

Flora presses her face back to Link’s fur with a shaky exhale. “Foolish man.”

Link rumbles quietly at her, lifting his snout just enough to bring her feet off of the ground before setting her back down. He does it again, a few times, as though trying to distract her. Eventually she cannot help but huff a watery laugh, looking up at him. His eyes squint in what Hyrule interprets as an expression of draconic contentment. Link feels content, in any case, to have Flora’s eyes on him again.

“I’m okay,” Flora says, taking a deep breath and standing on her own once more. “Thank you, Link.”

Link lays his head down beside them with a happy grumble, one enormous eye fixated upon them. Love-mine-safe the dragon feels, with an edge of possessiveness that should probably worry Hyrule more than it does. 

“You’re very kind,” Hyrule says, pressing a sense of appreciation towards Link. “When you can speak again, you must tell Flora just what I have, hm? It isn’t her fault.”

Link chuffs warmly in what Hyrule chooses to believe is agreement.

“So,” he says to Flora, “knowing that, do you want to tell the others, or would you have me do it?”

“They’ll take it better from you,” Flora sighs, smoothing her hand over Link’s fine golden whiskers, “but I suppose I should take responsibility. Still, it would be easier not to tell everyone at once. I would rather speak to Time, first.”

“We can do that,” Hyrule says, a bit hesitantly. “But it is difficult to keep secrets between us. Time is already suspicious of me. I can’t promise word won’t spread once he knows, whether intentionally or not. He will be upset, and the others will feel it. They’ll have questions, and I doubt they’ll let him brush them off so easily a second time.”

Flora takes a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “I understand.”

“And when Time returns, tonight, would you tell us more about how this happened?” Hyrule asks. “I have pieced together a little of it from what you said earlier, but I still have many questions.”

“I’ll tell you both everything I know,” Flora promises.

“No uncorrected assumptions?” Hyrule asks, holding his pinky out. 

Flora loops her pinky around his. “No uncorrected assumptions.”

Link scoots his face closer to them, bumping them with his cheek. Hyrule laughs, reaching back to run a hand over the fur of his face—it’s as fine and soft as velvet under his palm. 

“I’m sorry, Link,” he says. “Are you feeling left out?”

Link whuffs out a warm breath, closing his eyes. 

“No more getting left out,” Hyrule promises, leaning over to bump his forehead against Link’s cheek, “and no more getting left behind. That’s the deal with us.”

A deal which Hyrule had forced Time to break, earlier, he considers rather guiltily. But it had been necessary—he couldn’t leave Link behind, once he realized who the dragon truly was. Besides, Hyrule knows he won’t be alone for that long, and in fact he’s alone for even less time than he thought he might be. It is a mere two hours after Time left when he hears the familiar fast footsteps of Pegasus boots on stone. 

Moments later, Legend skids to a stop at the edge of camp. “Hyrule.”

Hyrule sits up, smiling a tad sheepishly. He’s curled in the crook of Link’s elbow, while Flora sits primly in the palm of the dragon’s upturned hand. The two of them had been discussing, in low voices, possible ways to help Link out of the Depths—Flora had just finished explaining the Sheikah Slate’s many functions to him when Legend arrived. “Hey, Ledge.”

Link lifts his head with a wary growl, his eyes narrowing. Painmemory comes through their bond to Hyrule, and he rubs his own right shoulder with a wince. He doesn’t blame Link for remaining leery, especially when Legend had been the one to strike him with both arrow and halberd. But there’s a flicker of curiosity in Link’s mind, too—an openness that was not there before.

Hyrule can work with that.

“What are you doing?” Legend demands. Fear and disbelief are evident on his face, obvious even without the unfettered blaze of it through their bond. He storms forward, only to trip promptly over the vine Link whips into his ankles. He catches himself on his hands, hissing when he scrapes them against the thorns. “Ow, shit.”

Hyrule pushes a sense of peace and pleading towards Link, who refuses to look away from Legend.

“Legend, it’s fine,” Hyrule soothes, sliding off of Link’s arm and crossing towards Legend—

—only to find himself caught in Link’s talons alongside Flora.

“Oh, good,” sighs Flora. “At least I don’t have to endure his horrible hoarding tendencies alone anymore.”

This is so very not good that Hyrule cannot even begin to describe the ramifications to her—but he doesn’t need to. They play out right before his eyes in one horrible stream of events.

“Hyrule!” Legend scrambles back to his feet, grasping his firerod. With a flick of his wrist, he scorches the vines coiling around his legs and surges forward. 

Alarmed, Link releases Hyrule and Flora and lurches to his feet with a hiss. Hyrule flings himself between his brothers, heart hammering—only to be caught up once more in Link’s talons. This time, however, it is the talons of one of his midlegs. This allows Link to draw that hand up against his belly while remaining supported—albeit unevenly—by his single foreleg, remaining midleg, and both hindlegs. 

“No!” Hyrule cries, flinging himself against the cage of Link’s talons.

Legend’s panic crashes over him like a red wave, deafening. “Let go of him!”

FEAR-ANGER-PROTECT, Legend’s soul wails.

FEAR-ANGER-PROTECT, Link’s soul snarls.

Link roars a warning, and several more vines burst forth to ensnare Legend. But Legend is faster than the flora is—his firerod burns the vines to ash before they can fully form. He darts forward, skidding between two reaching brambles. As he does, he snags his bow from his back. A bomb arrow hisses menacingly as he nocks it, and as he draws the bowstring back he aims directly for Link’s eye.

“Legend, stop!” Hyrule shouts, his own panic clawing viciously at his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. “It’s Link! Don’t shoot, goddesses, please—the dragon is Link!”

A terrible silence comes over the bond.

Legend lowers his bow, the tension in the string relaxing. His expression flattens. 

“What?”

Link seizes his chance and dives forward, his jaws closing around Legend in a single bite. Before Hyrule has the chance to lose his ever-loving mind, however, Link makes a startled noise and spits Legend back out whole and un-chewed. Legend sits for a moment, staring blankly into the darkness. Hyrule brushes frantically against both brothers’ bonds; miraculously, neither one feels hurt. 

“Does that count as skin-to-skin contact?” Flora wonders from her spot wedged uncomfortably beneath Hyrule’s elbow. “What is the big difference between scales, skin, and mucous membranes, anyway? Why do some work for the bond and not others?”

“I’m going to die,” Hyrule says, and makes a sound like an overheated tea kettle as he sags in Link’s grasp. Black spots dance in his vision, and he forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath. “My heart can’t take this anymore. I am just going to—pass away.”

Link’s muzzle wrinkles, whiskers twitching. Tentatively, he nudges Legend’s back with his nose before flinching away like he expects to be struck. But Legend doesn’t move. Actually, Hyrule’s not even sure he’s breathing.

“Ledge?” he calls, his own voice strained. “You good?”

Legend wrests himself into motion, then, standing up abruptly. “Great,” he says, sounding anything but. “What about you? Are you safe?”

“Yes,” says Hyrule. “He won’t hurt me.”

Legend sets his hands on his hips, exhaling forcefully. “Yeah. Okay. I’m going to go find—water. Somewhere. I’m—dragon drool.”

“Right,” Hyrule says, hesitantly. “Are you—okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mm.” 

Unconvinced, Hyrule tries once more to escape his prison. He squirms a little in Link’s hand, trying to wedge himself between two talons without success. Link merely tightens his grip and looks back at him, head cocked, like he simply cannot understand why his captives keep trying to get away. Hyrule nudges a sense of discomfort towards him, but this only causes the dragon to grow more concerned. He passes Hyrule into his foremost hand again, curving his neck around to study him. 

“I wish you spoke Hylian,” Hyrule tells Link, wretchedly. “Let go? Please?”

Link does not.

Hyrule is distracted by soft padding steps of boots against moss. He looks down to see Legend lighting a torch at the campfire before setting off to the west. 

“Legend, wait,” Hyrule calls. “Don’t go.”

“I’m disgusting, Rulie, look at me. I’m going to go clean up.”

“You don’t even have a map,” Hyrule says, pleading. “I’ll go with you, just gimme a second.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Legend resumes his even stride out of the camp, heedless to Hyrule’s pleas. Hyrule groans, letting his head fall against one of Link’s talons. This sucks. Legend is absolutely not okay; Hyrule doesn’t need the bond to tell him that. He can’t afford to let one of his brothers wander off into the Depths, alone and upset, without even a map to help him find his way. 

“How do we get him to put us down?” Hyrule asks Flora.

“I was hoping you’d be able to convince him,” Flora admits, her legs dangling between Link’s talons. “If not, he’ll get bored eventually.”

Hyrule looks down at the slate where it had fallen from Link’s arm as he stood. There will be no teleporting out of this. Of course, there is one other option. 

“I’m going to go after Legend, but I promise I’ll be back soon,” Hyrule says to Flora and Link. 

“How do you intend to get free?”

“Eeeh, like this, I guess.”

Hyrule transforms in a flicker of magic—from Hylian to fairy. He’s hardly larger than a rupee, in this form, and slips easily between Link’s talons. Link’s alarm flares up again as Hyrule seemingly disappears, and Hyrule soothes him as best he can through their bond. He flies away from Link as quickly as he can, not entirely convinced the dragon won’t grab him again once he manages to spot Hyrule’s tiny, flickering form.

“You’re a fairy?” Flora asks, aghast. 

“Half-fairy,” Hyrule corrects, with a sheepish smile; as small as he is, and quite far away from her, he doubts she can hear him. He’ll have to explain later, and offer another apology for leaving her in this situation. “As I said, I’ll be right back. Best of luck, Princess.”

Hyrule eyes the slate as he flies out of camp, but he dares not go close enough to get it. The way Link is looking at him, he’d surely be snatched. He’s only lucky that Link doesn’t follow him out of camp, though he does keen miserably when Hyrule vanishes from his sight. 

Hyrule pauses once he’s left the firelight of their camp, translucent wings fluttering quickly as he hovers to look at the vast darkness around him. He’s not sure which way Legend went—he doubts their veteran even had a destination in mind beyond ‘away.’ Hyrule can’t even begin to imagine how he’s feeling, having discovered who the dragon really was in such a way. At least Hyrule had managed to stop him before he’d done something he really would have regretted.

He reaches for Legend through their bond, and finds a wall there.

That’s…not good.

Legend is prone to shutting people out on a whim. In fact, he’s only recently starting leaving the bond open more often than not. But he doesn’t shut Hyrule out—not if he can help it. The last time he had, it was because he’d decided to hide a gut wound from the rest of them until they made camp.

Hyrule could’ve strangled him for that if he weren’t half-dead already.

Since then, Legend has made an effort (read: Hyrule has bullied him into making an effort) to leave his bond with Hyrule open, lest Hyrule freak the absolute fuck out—kind of like he’s doing now, actually. Hyrule flutters back and forth in the dark, anxiety building as he chimes Legend’s name to no avail. 

Heavy with his own helplessness, Hyrule reaches out with a wordless plea.

Twilight responds at once, as Hyrule knew he would.

Notes:

thank you for your patience with this chapter!! this week’s schedule has been a lil hectic ;-;

originally this fic was supposed to be completely from time’s pov with brief intercepts from wild for pizzazz, but i really felt like i couldn’t just skip over this convo with zelda and hyrule! what are everyone’s opinions on different povs?? are they do confusing/overwhelming?? do we like them?? do we hate them?? idk!! lemme know who’s brain u wanna reside in

Chapter 10: the true hero

Twilight can’t run fast enough.

He surges forward on aching paws, an icy wind tearing at his pelt and making his eyes stream. His breath comes in frozen gasps; the air burns his throat on every inhale. Beneath him, the ground begins to crumble. He springs over chasms, and in the distance he can hear something—someone—calling his name. He calls back, frantic, a name he feels more than hears. He has to reach them before the world divides, but he isn’t fast enough. He’s never fast enough. He’s—

“Twi?” 

Twilight jolts awake, flinching back from the hand on his shoulder. Sky’s worried face swims into focus above him. It takes him a few seconds to reorient himself, and his breath leaves him in a rush. He’s safe, in camp, with his brothers. The world feels reassuringly solid beneath him.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was on watch. You looked like you were having a nightmare.” Sky sits down beside him, knees pulled up to his chest. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Twilight shakes his head, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The anxiety from his dream has started to fade, but it hasn’t vanished entirely—it sits like a simmering ball in his chest, tight and upset. It takes longer than it should, perhaps, for him to realize the feeling doesn’t belong to him.

Hyrule.

Hyrule’s bond, curled snugly like a snoozing pup in the back of his mind, now sparks with anxiety and upset. Twilight reaches out to him at once, worried. He and Legend are isolated, and farther away than Twilight prefers them to be. If they’re in trouble, it will be difficult to reach them in a timely manner.

Evidently feeling Twilight’s own anxiety mounting, Sky asks, “Twilight? Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

Twilight shakes his head, standing up. “It’s Hyrule,” he says. “He’s in trouble.”

Sky’s eyes widen, sparking with alarm. “What?”

“You don’t feel him?”

“No, he’s—” Sky’s brow furrows. “He’s shut me out. Why would he do that? If he’s in trouble, why isn’t he letting all of us know? Why only you?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t feel hurt, or terrified, just—anxious. If he’s reaching out to me, specifically, then I think I need to head down there. He needs help with something.”

“I’ll come with you. You need someone to teach you how to use the paraglider, anyway, since you missed out on practice yesterday.”

“You can’t leave the rest of them unguarded.”

Sky hesitates, clearly torn. “Let me wake Four. It’s almost time for his watch, anyway.”

Twilight nods, satisfied with that plan. It will be a comfort to have Sky with him, in any case—this world is so vast and uncharted that it makes him uneasy, and he doesn’t know what danger he’ll find in the Depths. He crosses camp as quietly as he can, stepping around the sleeping lumps of his brothers. Time stirs briefly as Twilight steps over him, but doesn’t wake; he’s exhausted from the last two days, and it shows.

The horses are picketed some distance from camp, their heads low in sleep. Acorn stirs first, jerking her head up and pinning her ears at him. He skirts neatly around her and goes to Lord’s side, soothing her with a few whispered words before beginning to saddle her. He’s just pulled the crownpiece of the bridle over her ears when Four and Sky approach.

“Is Hyrule okay?” Four asks, sneaking Acorn a sugar cube from his pocket. Her ears relax as she chews it, and she allows him to smooth a hand across her broad neck. 

“I think so,” Twilight says, passing Lord’s reins to Sky. “But something must be wrong, or he wouldn’t feel so worried.”

“Are you sure you don’t need more people to come with you?” Four’s mouth ticks down in a frown. “It’s not like we’re doing much good up here, anyway. Why don’t we just make camp in the Depths?”

“If Hyrule wanted more people to come, he would have reached out to all of us—not just me,” says Twilight. “Besides, we couldn’t bring the horses into the Depths, and the hunting is too poor for a campsite.”

“There’s plenty of food to forage around the dragon, though,” Four points out. “And we could always schedule a hunting expedition every few days for meat.”

“Something to speak with Time about, when he wakes,” Sky agrees, leading Lord further from the camp. “Right now, let’s go and see what Hyrule needs. I expect we’ll teleport back to the shrine here once we’ve finished. Thank you, Four.”

“Mm.” Four stands by Acorn’s head, one hand on her shoulder as he watches them walk away. “Be safe.”

Sky hoists himself into Lord’s saddle, turning her head towards the nearest chasm before nudging her into a trot. Twilight reaches up to clasp the crystal around his neck, and the transformation washes over him in a breath of dark magic. When he opens his eyes again, the world is muted in color but brighter in scent and sound. He pushes off in a steady lope, his paws eating up the ground beneath him, and follows Sky to the fractures of this world.

---

To Twilight’s surprise, when they arrive at Flora’s camp the dragon regards them with more anxiety than irritation. Its massive head hovers over them, its eyes wide and its nostrils flaring with each warm puff of breath. It makes a noise Twilight has not heard before—a low grumbling whine from deep in its throat.

“Twilight?” Flora asks, cautiously stepping around the dragon’s head to greet them. The dragon allows her within arms’ reach of them, this time, for reasons Twilight cannot begin to fathom. Perhaps Hyrule’s doting has convinced it that they’re not wicked beasts, after all. “And—I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met properly before, though I remember seeing you.”

“My name is Link, but among my brothers I am called Sky,” Sky says, with a polite smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Princess Zelda.”

Twilight, with none of Sky’s patience or tact, says, “Where’s Hyrule? He called for us.”

“He—? Ah, I see.” Flora folds her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers against her elbow in thought. “So you don’t fret overly much, let me first assure you that both Hyrule and Legend are quite alright. But Legend got into a bit of a—well, a spat, would you say, with the dragon. He was uninjured, but stormed off afterwards, and Hyrule went to look for him. I don’t know where either one is now.”

“A spat?” Twilight asks, glaring suspiciously at the dragon.

“It was a misunderstanding, and entirely my fault,” Flora says, looking away. “Please don’t be upset with the dragon, or with your friends. I should have told you all sooner.”

“Told us what?” Twilight demands. He knows he’s being harsh—overly so—but his younger brothers are missing, and only Flora seems to understand why. 

“It’s difficult to explain, but please hear me out,” Flora says, whirling back around to face them. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “There is a story I must tell you, before this goes on any longer.”

Twilight scowls. “Tell it quickly, then.”

“Twilight,” Sky chides, touching his elbow gently.

Twilight deflates, some, casting his brother a helpless look. 

“It is a very long story, but I will try to be brief,” Flora says, lifting her chin to look squarely at them. “This we have learned from the murals and artifacts we have so recently uncovered: thousands of years ago, a race known as the Zonai was gifted with seven magical artifacts known as secret stones, which were used to enhance the power of the one who wielded them. The Ganondorf of our time came into possession of one such stone and used it to wreak havoc on the Zonai civilization. The king of that time, Rauru, had a secret stone of his own and was able to defeat Ganondorf and seal him deep beneath Hyrule Castle.”

“I’m sorry, but as fascinating as this history lesson is—does it have a point relevant to anything that’s going on with Legend and Hyrule this very moment?” Twilight asks, making an effort to keep his tone level despite his impatience. Hyrule’s worry is an ever-present boil in the back of his mind, urging him to move, to find, to help.

“It does. Please, hear me out. Some months ago, Link and I traveled deep beneath the Castle and found Ganondorf where he had been sealed.”

Twilight silences himself at the mention of this world’s Link, impatience momentarily stifled by interest.

“We disturbed Rauru’s secret stone, and its power faltered. Ganondorf rose once more and attacked us—Link was horribly injured, but refused to give up even when the Master Sword was entirely depleted of strength. I took up Rauru’s secret stone, intending to use it against Ganondorf, but seeing this—”

Flora’s jaw clenches, and she shakes her head.

“Seeing this frightened Ganondorf terribly. He took his own secret stone from his crown and devoured it. In his place rose a great dragon, whose name you have heard already—the Demon Dragon.”

“Oh,” Sky breathes, and there is a terrible realization in his eyes as he looks upon the wild dragon before them. “No.”

Twilight…doesn’t like this story.

“Link stood fearlessly against him, even in this situation,” Flora continues, her eyes fierce with the memory. “But I knew we could not hope to win. I went to swallow the secret stone we still had—the one which had sealed Ganondorf— intending to match the Demon Dragon’s own power. Before I could, however, Link stole the stone from me.”

Twilight takes a step back, cold all over.

“So I will introduce you properly, now,” Flora says, as she rests a hand upon the dragon’s arm. “The dragon you see before you is none other than the true Hero of our time, whose name is Link.”

“Goddess,” Sky says, squeezing his eyes shut; his brother’s grief crushes Twilight’s own lungs, making each breath a thin and quick thing. 

“He’s Link?” Twilight repeats, his tongue numb against his teeth.

Flora nods firmly in confirmation. “Yes. When he swallowed the secret stone, he underwent the same transformation that Ganondorf did and became a dragon. Doing so gave him great power—enough to drive Ganondorf off, however temporarily—but at the cost of memory and thought and self.”

Sky exhales shakily, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He’s hurt.”

Goddess above, but that’s an understatement, isn’t it? Twilight presses his hand hard against his chest, as though he could hope to drive away the heartache building there.

“Very much so,” Flora says, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry. As I told Hyrule, I didn’t intend to lie to you all. My deception has caused far more trouble than I thought it would.”

Twilight takes a step back, looking upon the dragon—Link, he’s Link—with cold dread. Link looks solemnly back at Twilight, his head tilted in question. Memories press against Twilight’s temples, flooding him with guilt. 

We wouldn’t hurt him, he had said, once. We would never hurt one of our brothers.

Yet, they had—they had come upon him sleeping and attacked him without hesitation, then spoke sourly about him afterwards. Twilight had called him a bastard, for Hylia’s sake, when all this time he been suffering for the selfless decision which saved Flora’s life, and drove the Demon Dragon to the far reaches of Hyrule!  Legend would feel even worse, of course, given that—

Oh, goddess, Legend.

“Does Legend know?” he asks.

“I think so,” Flora says. “I think he formed a—a soulbond?—with Link. But he behaved strangely, afterwards, and left without speaking to us. Hyrule went to find him a few hours ago. Neither has returned.”

“Sky.” Twilight turns to his brother, who has wrapped his arms around himself and looks up at the dragon with utter misery in his soft blue eyes. “We have to go find them.”

“Twilight, it’s him,” Sky says, his voice breaking.

“I know.” Twilight exhales forcefully, reaching out to grab Sky’s shoulder. “Hey. I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” 

“We’re gonna make it okay. We will.”

“How?” Sky’s eyes glitter with unshed tears. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t. When has it ever been fair?”

“It’s my fault.”

“What? How could it be your fault, Sky?” Twilight gives his shoulder a small shake. 

“You know how. I started this entire curse—if I had only prevented Demise from issuing it, none of you would be in this position!”

“Come on, stop. Blaming ourselves or each other isn’t going to get us anywhere. We’re gonna help him. But first we have to find Hyrule and Legend, right? They need us.”

Sky wavers for a moment, his head bowed. 

Then, he reaches over his shoulder and draws the Master Sword.

Flora draws her own version of the Master Sword, stepping boldly in front of them. “Do not.”

Sky looks at her, distraught. “I will not hurt him, Princess. Only let him touch the sword, that we might know him truly.”

Sky sets the sword down and kicks it across the ground to Flora and Link. Link dips his head in curiosity, touching the blade with the tip of his muzzle; condensation gathers along the metal with every breath. Twilight doesn’t feel Fi—not the way Sky does—and the only instance he has ever heard her voice is an instance like this, when she greets a new brother with all the enthusiasm she can muster.

WELCOME, she declares, now, DRAGON OF THE WILD!

“Wild,” Sky says, with a heartbroken smile. “How perfect.”

Twilight can feel flashes of surprise and interest throughout the soulbonds as his brothers are startled awake by Fi’s declaration, however distant they are to it. 

Startled, Wild yanks his head back up and stares down at the sword. His ears flick, as though listening again for Fi’s voice. When she remains silent, he turns to look back into the darkness and keens softly—calling mournfully. For Fi? For Hyrule? For Legend?

Twilight wonders.

“We’ll go and find the others,” Twilight says, backing away. “We’ll figure this out, Flora. We promise.”

Flora picks up Sky’s Master Sword, looking hopelessly at it before offering it to him. He takes it with trembling hands, sheathing it once more. “Gather everyone here, when you can. I have an idea, but it will require all of you.”

“Anything,” Sky swears. 

“Everyone has heard Fi’s announcement—she is the spirit of the Master Sword. She was alerted when Link touched her, and has called his name,” Twilight explains. “Our brothers will arrive within the next few hours. Nothing would sway them, now.”

Flora nods sharply. “Then you only have two to find.”

Sky hesitates a moment longer before turning to follow Twilight into the dark, his steps slow. Once they leave Flora’s line of sight, Twilight transforms once more. He pauses to let Sky lean heavily against him, hands burying into his fur. He can smell the salt of his brother’s tears, however silent they are.

It’s going to be okay, fledgling, he thinks, whining softly. We’ll fix this. We must.

“I’m okay,” Sky breathes, after a moment. “It’s just—a lot. This whole time, Link has been here with us, and we had no idea. No wonder Hyrule refused to leave his side. Come on. We have to find him, and Legend. Can you track them?”

Twilight lowers his nose to the floor, inhaling in short, sharp draws. The Depths stink of cold, and wet, and must. But Legend’s scent is ingrained into memory, and Twilight finds it easily with a bit of weaving—his is the sharp tang of magic and the cool mint of the herbal ointments he massages into his joints. He woofs, once, to let Sky know he has the trail.

Together, they travel far from Flora’s camp. As they leave Wild’s territory, the lush bluegrass beneath them turns to hard stone, dotted in places with tarry pools of gloom. Twilight’s ears flick, listening to the distant noises of monsters. He steers them away from the camps as best he can, though Legend’s trail is a weaving one: he had no destination in mind, Twilight gathers, only away.

After several kilometers, Twilight’s ears pick up a new sound: a faint, familiar chiming. He whines quietly to alert Sky, even his wolf-eyes straining to see through the dark. A small pink glow approaches, and Hyrule flutters into focus in front of his snout. Relief courses through him at the sight—at least one of his brothers has been found safely.

“Stop me if you’re heard this once before,” Sky whispers, reaching out with cupped palms to catch Hyrule. “A dragon, a wolf, and a fairy walk into a bar—”

Twilight groans and pushes his head against Sky’s hip.

Sky laughs weakly, sitting down and bringing Hyrule up to eye-level. “Are you okay?”

Hyrule nods, and in a small voice says, “Yes, but I don’t think Legend is. I can’t find him anywhere. After he found out—”

Hyrule breaks off, delicate wings folding down tightly against his back. 

“It’s okay,” Sky says, though his own voice is still wobbly. “We already know. Flora told us—the dragon is Link.”

“I thought you might have figured it out, when I heard Fi,” Hyrule admits. “His name is Wild?”

“Mm-hm.”

“That’s really nice.”

“I thought so,” Sky says. “You knew before, didn’t you?”

Hyrule nods, tucking his chin and looking away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Flora didn’t want me too, at first—but we spoke about it just this afternoon. We were going to tell everyone soon.”

“It’s okay, Rulie,” Sky says, smoothing a thumb over Hyrule’s back. “We can all talk about it together later. Right now, let’s find Legend. Do you wanna change back?”

Hyrule shakes his head. “I can get up higher, like this, to help spot him.”

“Don’t wear yourself out.”

“I won’t. Give me a boost?”

Sky stands and tosses Hyrule gently back into the air. He flicks his wings back out and hovers several feet above them. He follows the path Twilight picks, coming to perch on Sky’s shoulder only to let them know about monster camps or rivers of gloom in the far distance. 

Finally, they arrive at a small body of water. Hyrule swoops back down to flutter in front of them, saying, “I think I see him to the right, by the shore. Let’s hurry.”

Twilight breaks into a gentle trot, leading the way around the water—it’s as black as oil, rippling softly in a chill breeze. Legend comes into view shortly. He’s crouched on the shore, hugging his knees to his chest. His clothes are damp and his hair hangs loosely around his face, the pink strands dripping water onto the gravel below. He stiffens when he hears them coming, standing and resting his hand on the firerod bound to his belt.

“Easy, vet,” Sky calls softly. “Just us.”

Legend’s shoulders loosen—but only slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” Hyrule exclaims, darting down to land on Legend’s shoulder and giving his hair a scolding tug. “Why did you run off? I told you to wait for me.”

“Hyrule,” Legend sighs, gently scooping Hyrule off of his shoulder to cradle in his palms, instead. “I told you, I needed to find water to clean up. I was in that thing’s mouth.”

You were what? Twilight thinks, aghast, barking his alarm sharply.

“It was just for a second,” Hyrule hastens to explain. “There was a misunderstanding. Legend wasn’t hurt—right, Ledge?”

“I’m fine,” Legend agrees. “It was my own fault, anyway.”

Hyrule vibrates his wings in upset. “Put me down.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I think I like you better this way,” Legend muses, trapping Hyrule in his hands and peeking through his fingers at their little brother’s scowling face. “I can just put you in my pocket when you try to run off to do stupid shit, or keep you in a jar so I always know where you are.”

“Legend,” sighs Sky.

Hyrule bites his thumb and Legend yelps, releasing him.

“You’re worse than Wild,” Hyrule accuses, transforming back into a Hylian in a crackle of pink, sweetly-scented magic. “And he’s a dragon! What’s your excuse?”

“It’d be a nice jar,” Legend mutters, shaking his hand out. “I’d put flowers in it.”

Hyrule hugs him so tightly he wheezes, and Twilight hears his spine pop. “Don’t run off again, and don’t close me out. I hate that.”

“Bossy,” Legend mutters, but he allows his arms to rest around Hyrule’s skinny shoulders. He presses his cheek to Hyrule’s curls, a little more of the tension draining from his body. 

“He’s right, though,” Sky says. “We were worried, Legend. We would have had a hard time finding you without Twilight.”

Twilight stares balefully at him—the best scolding he can muster, like this.

“You could’ve been hurt, too. We don’t know the monsters around here, or how to fight them,” Sky continues. “It’s best if we move in groups, right now.”

“I know that,” Legend says, waspishly. “Why do you think I was trying to get to Hyrule? The rest of you seemed perfectly content to let him be by himself.”

“I’m sorry!” Hyrule blurts, releasing Legend and pushing him back so he can look him in the eye. “Alright? I’m sorry. I made Time leave me behind, and I shouldn’t have, or—or I at least should’ve let him take the slate, so he could teleport you back to be with me. It’s hypocritical of me to say you shouldn’t go off alone when that’s what I did. So I’m sorry.”

Hyrule then grabs the collar of Legend’s tunic, yanking him down to face-level to glower more effectively. Legend blanches.

“But if you ever run away from me again, I’m gonna eat all of your boots,” Hyrule threatens, “and then I’m gonna tie you to Sky.”

“Why Sky?”

“Because he doesn’t go anywhere unless somebody makes him, and he’s broodier than a lady Loftwing.”

Sky rubs the back of his neck. “That’s probably true.”

“Also, if anybody could beat you in a fight it’d be him,” Hyrule declares.

“I—I don’t know about that,” Sky protests.

“You’re the best swordsman out of all of us, Sky, don’t play coy,” Hyrule says, determined. “You’d kick Legend’s ass one-handed and blindfolded.”

“Hey, Hyrule,” Sky says, flustered. “Don’t—”

“And I’d pay to watch you do it. Ugh, I’m so mad at you!” Hyrule pushes Legend away once more, stalking away from him and putting his hands on his hips.

Legend shoots Sky a suspicious look.

Sky holds his hands up in surrender. “That was not a challenge on my part.”

“I’m—sorry, too,” Legend mutters stiffly, after a moment. “I mean, I’m fine on my own, but I know I worried you. So—yeah, I’m sorry.”

Hyrule makes a strangled noise and storms further away from them.

“What?” Legend demands, stomping after him. “I apologized. Why are you throwing a fit about it?”

Twilight steps between them, huffing up at Legend. 

“Oh, not you too,” Legend grumbles, raking wet bangs off of his forehead. “What’s with everyone ganging up on me today?”

Twilight thinks that, according to Legend, every day is gang-up-on-Legend-day. He grumbles in his throat, pinning his ears. When Legend attempts to skirt around him, Twilight moves with him and stares hard. His polite herding efforts go unacknowledged—so he pushes his broad head into Legend’s legs, forcing him to step back.

“Hey!” Legend snaps, stumbling as one of his knees buckles beneath him. “Fuck off, man.”

Twilight’s tail drops, his eyes widening. He hadn’t meant to actually hurt Legend—and he hadn’t though he’d head-butted him hard enough for that, anyway. Legend’s bond is still firmly shut, so Twilight can’t sense whether he was actually hurt, or simply mad about being blocked again. He whines uneasily.

Hyrule freezes at the noise, then whips his gaze back around. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m not. It’s the same old shit as always.” Legend kicks a nearby stone, sending it skittering across the water. “Go figure.”

Hyrule strides back towards them, already rummaging through his bag. “Sit down.”

Legend balks. “I said I’m fine, Rulie.”

“And I say you’re not,” Hyrule snaps. “Sit down.”

Twilight scoots himself out of the way. Putting himself in the veteran’s way is one thing—putting himself in their healer’s way is quite another. He wags his tail in a nervous, subconscious effort to appease Hyrule as he stalks closer to Legend.

“Rulie,” Legend grumbles, backing away as Hyrule approaches. “You’re being dramatic, seriously.”

“Come here.”

Legend takes another step back, his shoulders hunching towards his ears; a split second of panic flashes through his eyes, there and gone fast enough that Twilight could almost convince himself he’d imagined it—if it weren’t for the way Legend’s scent is beginning to sour with fear. “I said I don’t need anything.”

Twilight takes a few cautious steps towards them, rumbling a nervous warning to Hyrule—but Hyrule is too upset to listen. He only prowls closer, ignoring every uncomfortable signal Legend gives: the tightening of his mouth, the stiffness in his shoulders, the flattening of his ears.

“I swear to Hylia, Legend—”

“Hyrule—”

Legend flinches when he backs straight into Sky, who braces him with two hands on his shoulders. “Legend,” he says, softly. “Just stop a second, okay? Breathe.”

Legend freezes, unmoving, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

Hyrule stops at the same time, his expression morphing rapidly from anger to concern. “Legend?”

“You’re shivering.” Sky frowns, rubbing his hands up and down Legend’s arms to chafe warmth back into him. Legend swallows thickly, a shudder wracking his frame, and doesn’t respond. “Alright. We need a break. Hyrule, go over there with Twilight.”

“But I—”

“Hyrule,” Sky says firmly. “Break.”

Hyrule grimaces but retreats to Twilight’s side, reaching out and curling his fingers into the thick fur of Twilight’s ruff. Twilight leans over and presses his wet nose against Hyrule’s wrist in consolation. Hyrule’s stress strings as sharp as razor-wire between them. 

Sky removes his sailcloth from his shoulders, wrapping it snugly around Legend. Legend tolerates this, silent save for the quiet rasp of his breathing, his eyes fixating on something distant and unseeable to the rest of them. Unusually docile, he allows Sky to tug him away from the shore and coax him into sitting down. Twilight lays down, resting his chin on the stone floor and looking sadly at his companions.

Legend gets like this, sometimes—frozen, silent, removed from everything and everyone. It hasn’t happened often, recently, but the stress of the day seems to have finally pushed their veteran to his limits. Sky hums quietly to him, removing his own green outer tunic and using it to tousle Legend’s hair dry. He then strikes up a fire using Legend’s firerod and a few nearby brambles.

“Twilight, come here,” he beckons. “Help Legend warm up.”

Twilight willingly trots to their sides and lays himself across Legend’s lap. Tentatively, Legend’s hands come to rest on his back. Twilight rumbles softly, comfortingly. 

“There, Legend,” Sky murmurs. “There’s Twilight. You can feel him, right? Nice and solid and real. You’re in the Depths, with us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

“Is he okay?” Hyrule asks, looking anxiously at them from several feet away.

“He’s gonna be just fine, Rul,” Sky soothes. “He just needs a few minutes. You wanna come over here?”

Hyrule crosses quickly to sit beside them, though he’s careful to leave space between himself and Legend. He doesn’t speak anymore, and stares guiltily into his lap. Sky cups a hand against the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

“You’re alright, Rulie,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

Hyrule shakes his head, but doesn’t speak to argue.

They sit together for several minutes, and Legend’s breathing gradually evens back out. He starts to stroke Twilight’s fur, tentative and slow—Twilight allows the petting, just this once, to make his brother feel better. Legend’s shivering abates as his clothing dries, and Twilight can feel the moment he returns to them entirely. He takes a deep breath, turning his head from side to side to peer around him as though struggling to recognize where he is.

“There you are, Legend,” Sky says, with a tired smile. “Welcome back.”

“How long—?”

“Not even an hour,” Sky assures him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Mm.” Legend’s hand pauses where it’s petting Twilight’s flank, and he’s silent for several more seconds before summoning up enough to snark to say, “You’re squashing me, mutt.”

Twilight huffs in offense and sits up—only to clamber further onto Legend, toppling him over and sprawling out over his chest and stomach. Legend wheezes his complaints but doesn’t try to push Twilight away. If anything, he relaxes further beneath Twilight’s weight. He’d never admit it, but Twilight’s pretty sure he likes the pressure and the way it helps ground him to the moment.

With another grumble, Twilight rests his head beside Legend’s and closes his eyes. Rest, bunny, he thinks. Haven’t you done enough running today?

“Good dog,” Sky says, a note of teasing in his voice, and scratches behind Twilight’s ears.

Twilight cracks one eye open solely to glare at him.

“Careful,” Legend mutters. “He might cuddle you to death.”

“Oh, dreadful way to go,” Sky says, and clucks his tongue.

“Hyrule?” Legend twists his neck, looking for his descendant. 

“Hey,” Hyrule says, quietly.

“You okay?”

Hyrule nods, scooting a little closer.

“C’mere.” Legend slides one arm out from under Twilight, gesturing for Hyrule. When Hyrule hesitates, he says a little more forcefully, “Hyrule, come here. Don’t make me beat Twilight up just to get to you.”

Hyrule huffs a weak laugh and lays down, slotting himself under Legend’s arm. Twilight obligingly shifts his head to lay it on Hyrule’s collarbone, which he can feel prominently beneath his chin—still so thin, their traveler, even after months of regular meals together.

“Hey,” Legend says, more seriously.

Hyrule doesn’t look at him.

“It’s not your fault, Rul. I’m not mad at you.”

Hyrule makes a noncommittal noise.

Twilight licks his chin.

“Ew, Twilight!” Hyrule sparks back to life for a moment, pushing Twilight’s face away. “Gross.”

Satisfied, Twilight rests his head on Legend’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault, anyway,” Legend continues, to which there is an expected volley of protestations. 

“What? No it isn’t,” Hyrule says, his gaze snapping back to the side of Legend’s face.

“It isn’t, Legend,” Sky says. “Everyone processes trauma differently. If for you that means dissociating—”

“What? No, not about that,” Legend says, making a face. “I mean, kind of about that? But more like about—everything. About the—the dragon.”

“They know,” Hyrule tells him. “That the dragon is Link.”

“Wild,” Sky says, the name fond. “Did you hear, Legend?”

“Yes, I heard—how could anyone miss it, with Fi shouting like that? Dragon of the Wild, pah,” Legend says, a tad scornfully. Then he deflates again, his face falling. “I hurt him. I was about to shoot his eye out. I would’ve, if Hyrule hadn’t stopped me. So why aren’t you all mad at me?”

Twilight cringes at the thought. Legend is skilled enough to have blinded Wild, if not killed him outright—and they’re gods-damned lucky Hyrule had stopped him in time. But how could they blame Legend for that? He hadn’t known the dragon was Wild. None of them had.

“You didn’t know who the dragon was, and that’s not your fault,” Sky says firmly. “Flora kept that information from us. You were well within your rights to attack a wild animal if you thought it was threatening any of us—which you did, both times. I don’t fault you for defending yourself or us.”

“No—but he does.” Legend stares miserably into the endless dark above them. “We bonded, and you know what he felt? He felt terrified—of me. When he looked at me, he only remembered the pain I brought him. He’s going to remember that for the rest of his life.”

Sky has nothing to say to that, it seems.

Twilight whines, wedging his nose beneath Legend’s jaw. He can feel the drum of his pulse there, racing like a rabbit’s. 

“Maybe he will,” Hyrule admits. “But you can make it up to him.”

“I can make up for shooting and stabbing him within two minutes of our first meeting?” 

“I mean, you tried to kill me when we first met,” Hyrule points out.

“No, you tried to kill me,” Legend argues.

“Eh, agree to disagree.”

“No, do not agree to disagree—!”

“My point being,” Hyrule continues, loudly, over Legend’s squabbling, “that just because you try to kill someone, at first, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends later. I mean, look at us. We’re best friends, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Legend mutters.

Hyrule head-butts him.

“Ow!”

“So, it’s fine, probably,” Hyrule decides. “I bet he’ll forgive you, especially if you bring him more flowers.”

“And the moral of the story is that it’s okay to stab people as long as you make it up to them later?” Legend asks sardonically.

“Oh, dear,” says Sky, bleakly.

“No! I mean…sometimes? Call it a mutual misunderstanding. He did also try to eat you, so you’re sort of even? Maybe, like—thirty to sixty percent even.”

“Who has the sixty percent?”

“I think you can guess.”

Legend grumbles unhappily, letting his head thunk back against the stone—but his pulse has slowed, again, and though his scent remains sharp with stress it’s no longer tainted by the sour tang of fear.

“Who has the other ten percent?” Sky wonders.

“The other ten percent?” Hyrule blinks at him.

“Yeah. You know, from the sixty and thirty?”

Hyrule stares at him, round-eyed.

“Because they’re—they’re supposed to equal a hundred? Right?” Sky falters, then lays down beside him and stares up at the ceiling. “And sixty plus thirty is—?”

“Oh. Oh!” Hyrule slings his arm over his face, the tips of his ears pink. “Man. I think I’m bad at math.”

Sky laughs, the sound bright and unfettered in the dark. “Ahh, Rulie, I love you.”

Hyrule rolls over and squishes his face against Legend’s shoulder to hide his flush, making a series of unintelligible noises. They’re disasters, all of them—Twilight included, he supposes—but in this moment, they’re okay, and they’re going to keep being okay. 

Twilight’s going to make sure of it.

Notes:

tldr: twilight best therapy dog

Chapter 11: two men, and two dragons

Legend stops when the Dragon of the Wild comes into view.

Their group is still far enough away that they haven’t been spotted, yet—only the long line of the dragon’s spine can be seen, the spikes spaced along it glowing weakly in the dark. Twilight and Sky don’t notice when Legend’s steps falter, but Hyrule does. His descendent stops with him, peering over at him in unabashed concern.

“Legend? Do you need a break?”

Legend bristles at the implication. Sure, his joints ache more than usual after the shit-ton of walking he’s done today—but that’s never stopped him before. Hyrule had bullied him into applying an anti-inflammatory salve before they’d begun the trek back to Wild’s territory, anyway. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, okay, but that doesn’t answer the question, does it?” Hyrule asks, deceptively sweet but for the determined glint in his brown eyes.

Ahead of them, Twilight and Sky pause. Twilight looks back at them, cocking his head and woofing softly in question. 

“I don’t need a break,” Legend says firmly, “but I’m stopping here.”

Sky takes a few steps back towards them, expression open but bemused. “Why? Flora wanted to speak to us all together.”

“Go and speak with her, then. If you need my help for any part of her plan, one of you can come and tell me. I won’t leave the area again. You have my word.”

Twilight transforms and smooths out the wolf-pelt around his shoulders before saying, “I appreciate your willingness to stay close, vet, but I’d rather have you at camp with us.”

“Yeah, this is too far away. What if monsters come and you’re alone and we can’t get to you fast enough because we’re all the way over here?” Hyrule asks.

“No monsters have come into the dragon’s territory since we’ve been here,” Legend says. “They’re afraid of it—him.”

“Like you are,” Sky guesses.

It is difficult, sometimes, for Legend to reconcile Sky’s mild mannerisms with how very lethal he is. Just looking at him, one would tend to see a sleepy schoolboy rather than a god-slayer. Sky’s placid eyes and warm layers are a raptor’s camouflage, and Legend knows it well. Still, sometimes he forgets: Sky’s mind is as sharp as his blade, and neither is to be trifled with.

“That isn’t why I’m stopping,” Legend says—which is true, technically. “He’s afraid of me, remember? I doubt he wants me curled up in camp with the rest of you. I’ll stay here, so he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open.”

“No,” Hyrule says, scowling up at him. “You both need to get used to each other. You’re brothers, and he’s gonna be with us a long time, anyway. You can’t avoid him forever.”

Legend insists, “It isn’t fair to Wild. This is his territory, and it’s not as though he can choose to get up and leave if he doesn’t want to be around me.”

Hyrule gnaws on his bottom lip before relenting, “Fine. If he acts uncomfortable, or like he wants to get away from you, then you can leave again, and I’ll come with you.”

“Like he’ll let you,” Legend snorts.

Twilight arches an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Wild’s really nice,” Hyrule says defensively, looking between their older brothers. “But once he decides he likes you he’s a tad, um—clingy.”

Twilight and Sky trade an inscrutable glance. 

“Anyway, I’m sure he’ll let me go as long as he feels I’m not being threatened. Last time was probably just because Legend spooked him,” Hyrule adds, turning to resume his walk back towards Flora’s camp.

“‘Probably’ being the key word, there,” Legend points out.

“You’re stalling,” Hyrule says, in a sing-song voice. “Cucco.”

“Yep, c’mon,” Sky agrees, moving towards Legend with an ominous sense of purpose in his stride. “I want to get back to Wild and the others, and we’re not leaving you behind. Hyup!”

Sky ducks and presses his shoulder into Legend’s stomach, hoisting him up like a sack of turnips. Legend flails, but Sky loops an arm securely around his back to hold him in place.

“Let go,” Legend growls, eyeing the broad expanse of Sky’s back as he decides where to bite: Sky’s many layers make it a difficult decision, and he’s not sure Sky would even feel his teeth through all the fabric and chainmail.

“No,” Sky says pleasantly.

“Just relax, vet; Sky’s not gonna drop you,” Twilight drawls, strolling beside them as they head deeper into Wild’s territory. “We’re almost there, anyway.”

“I’ll put you down before anybody else sees,” Sky promises, patting his back. 

Legend goes limp over his brother’s shoulder, glowering at the ground as it passes beneath Sky’s steady stride. He can’t say it’s particularly comfortable, but it does give his aching knees a much-needed break—not that he would admit that to anyone. Hell, he can hardly admit it to himself without making a sour face.

Legend dares not open his bond with anyone but Hyrule right now—even so, he knows the very moment Wild notices their approach. The dragon offers a leery growl and lifts his head, stretching his neck in their direction. To Legend’s surprise, his growl cuts off when he notices Hyrule, and he exhales slowly through his nostrils—a sigh, if Legend had to name it. 

As promised, Sky sets Legend back down but keeps one hand on his back to guide him forward. They approach slowly, cautiously, giving Wild time to define his space. But he offers no other warning, his glittering gaze quite rapt upon Hyrule. Legend grinds to a stop the moment they’re close enough for Wild to reach, and will not be coaxed any further.

“Hey, Wild,” Hyrule says, beaming up at the dragon. “We came back.”

Wild dips his head and presses his muzzle against Hyrule with a happy-sounding grumble, his eyes squinting. Sky looks at him with nothing short of amazement, though he goes no closer. Twilight seems almost as hesitant as Legend, stopping beside him and scratching nervously at the skin of his forearms—still pink from the poison bush, but healing swiftly, Legend is pleased to note.

“Wild, these are my brothers,” says Hyrule, gesturing to each of them in turn. “Legend, Sky, and Twilight. I’m sorry if they’ve—if we’ve—frightened you before, but we’ll do out best not to from now on. Is it okay if we stay here with you?”

Wild, unsurprisingly, does not respond. He merely stares at Hyrule in what Legend would define as—were he not quite so leery of assigning emotions to an inhuman creature with equally inhuman expressions—abject adoration. A part of him wants to crack open the bond that lashes him to Wild, just to peek, but he shies away from the idea. 

Hyrule does it for him, anyway.

“I think it’s okay,” Hyrule says, after a second, and smiles back at them. “He doesn’t feel angry or upset. He’s a little nervous, but that’s all. I think we should stay. You too, Legend.”

“And of course you’re welcome to,” Flora says, approaching from her campsite within the curve of Wild’s flank with a look of relief on her face. “I’m glad you all made it back.”

“All in one piece, even,” Hyrule agrees cheerfully. 

Flora casts an uncertain glance at Legend.

“I’m sorry,” Legend manages, albeit stiffly. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away from both her and Wild, unable to bear the weight of their eyes on him. Guilt seethes in his throat like a living thing, tearing every word on the way out. “For earlier today, and for—the first time we met. I shouldn’t have hurt Wild. I wouldn’t have hurt Wild, if I’d known it was him.”

“Wild?” Flora asks, her brow furrowing.

“The nickname that Fi has given him,” Sky explains. “She called him the Dragon of the Wild.”

Flora strokes Wild’s cheek with one gentle hand, smiling. “Wild, hm? It suits you.”

Wild finally shifts his gaze from Hyrule to the rest of them, his muzzle wrinkling slightly in uncertainty. But he does not growl, or show his teeth, and when he peers at Legend he does so with more confusion than fear. Still, Legend takes a few steps back and sets his firerod down—as pacifistic a gesture as he can manage. The others follow suit, dropping their bags and weapons around the firepit. 

It does not escape Legend’s notice that Flora offers him no forgiveness.

“Have none of the others arrived, yet?” Twilight asks. “I would have expected them to get here before us.”

Flora shakes her head. “No. I have—”

“Guys!” Wind’s shout tears across the distance between them. Legend’s gaze whips around to find Wind pelting towards them, bright eyes shining with excitement. “We found you!”

Sky laughs and opens his arms, letting Wind charge into them and squeezing him  up in a tight hug. “Hey, Wind!”

Wild jerks his head up at the sudden intrusion, snorting in alarm. But no thorns or vines burst forth to ensnare them—though Wild’s talons do edge a bit closer to Hyrule and Flora, cupping nervously around them. Hyrule neatly side-steps the grasp, patting Wild’s hand in apology.

“Easy,” Twilight chides, though his own eyes are fond. “Don’t startle him.”

Wind squirms in Sky’s arms, and Sky releases him. He whirls to face Wild, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is him, right? The Dragon of the Wild—we heard Fi say so! Does that mean he’s a Hero? I’ve never heard of a Dragon Hero before! So then what is Link? Is he a Hero too? Are there two Heroes in this timeline?”

“Only one,” Flora corrects. “I’ll explain everything soon.”

“The others are coming too,” Wind assures her. “They’re just slow. I left ‘em behind. Can I pet him? Will he bite me?”

Legend blocks Wind with an arm across his chest, frowning. “Yes, he’ll bite you. He’s still a dragon, Wind, and he doesn’t know who you are. He’s not your best friend just because Fi named him.”

“Well, you would say so, obviously,” Wind says, pushing Legend’s arm away. “You’re the one who stabbed him. Of course he doesn’t like you.”

Legend pins his ears, narrowly hiding his flinch with an irritated huff.

“Wind,” Hyrule says, a rare flicker of genuine anger in his voice. “Leave Legend alone. He didn’t hurt the dragon for fun, and he didn’t know the dragon was the Hero, either. He would never hurt one of us on purpose.”

Wind glances at Hyrule, startled and momentarily subdued by the scolding. “Yeah, I know that. It was just a joke.”

“Why don’t you come sit down, Wind?” Sky coaxes, sitting down by the fire and patting the spot beside him. “Flora will explain everything once all of us are here.”

Wind casts Hyrule a final, uncertain glance before sitting down by Sky and shrugging off his satchel. “Why did you guys come down here in the middle of the night, anyway? Four said Hyrule needed Twilight for something, but Time was still really worried when he woke up.”

“I needed him to track something for me, that’s all,” Hyrule says.

“Well…did you find it?” Wind asks, unusually hesitant.

“I did.”

Wind wiggles, clearly unsatisfied by such a simple answer—but unwilling to press his luck with Hyrule so soon after being snapped at. Legend doesn’t blame him. He’s pressed enough of his luck with Hyrule today, himself. Wearily, he lowers himself to sit on Sky’s other side, and Hyrule settles in next to him.

Time, Warriors, and Four arrive soon after Wind—entering the camp at a much more sedate pace than their youngest brother had. Wild keeps his head up and his eyes narrowed, surveying their group warily. Legend doesn’t miss the way he keeps glancing at Hyrule and Flora, as though taking his cues from their behavior (or, perhaps, making sure they’re close enough for him to snatch if he needs to).

Time approaches Legend first, and it’s more of a challenge than it should be for Legend to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?” Time asks, kneeling in front of him.

“I’m fine,” Legend says—as though he would ever admit otherwise in front of everyone. He’d lose far too much face, and he’s got to salvage what little he can after his episode earlier.

“Okay,” Time says, electing not to call him out on this obvious untruth. “We’ll talk later.”

Legend supposes that’s meant to be a comfort: it feels more like a threat.

Once everyone has exchanged brief greetings, they gather around the firepit. Flora stands straight before them, the firelight reflected fiercely in her eyes. “I know you all have questions,” she says. “Sky has told me that you’ve heard from the spirit of the Sword, already—this is the Dragon of the Wild, and the Hero you’ve been waiting to meet.”

“What about Link?” Wind asks. “You said there was only one Hero.”

“There is.” Flora gestures back to the dragon, who looks down on them in silent contemplation. “This is Link.”

A flurry of exclamations and questions arises at once, and Legend grimaces at the noise. Hyrule leans over, slouching against him; the warmth and weight help center him, and damn Hyrule for knowing that. Legend leans back against him with a tired sigh before looking up at Flora again. He doesn’t want to see his brothers’ expressions—doesn’t want his own guilt and anger and confusion reflected back at him sevenfold.

“Quiet,” Time orders after a few seconds of chaos, his voice level but stern. He’s doing an impressive job of masking the shock Legend knows he must be feeling, right now—but then, that’s always been Time, hasn’t it? He’s a master of masks: Legend’s always been jealous of that. “I know this is alarming information, but there’s no sense in getting worked up right now. I’m sure Flora will answer our questions, and we needn’t barrage her with them. One at a time.”

“There’s no other Link, then?” Wind asks, leaning forward on his knees. “It’s just the dragon?”

“That’s right,” Flora says.

“That’s so cool! Our brother is a fuckin’ dragon!”

“Sailor,” Warriors hisses, “mind your tongue. We’re in the presence of a lady.”

“Oh—sorry,” Wind says, with a lopsided smile.

“Has he always been a dragon?” Four asks, tilting his head as he peers up at Wild. His own gaze is shuttered, calculating. 

Flora shakes her head. “No. He was a Hylian, as you all are, mere months ago.”

Four’s eyes narrow. “So what happened?”

“I have told this story to Sky and Twilight already, but I will tell it again for all your sakes,” Flora says, folding her hands in front of her. “Let me start from the very beginning, now that we have the time. I have always had an interest in the histories and sciences, you see, so when I discovered there were artifacts of an ancient civilization deep beneath Hyrule Castle—well, you can imagine my interest, though my dear Link was far more wary…”

Flora goes on to tell them an utterly unbelievable tale, then. She tells them of the Zonai civilization, and of seven magical stones made to enhance power. She tells them of Ganondorf, sealed away by the once-king Rauru and left to rot beneath their kingdom. She tells them of a terrible battle between two young Hylians and an evil so ancient it had endured ten millennia without fail.

She tells them of two men, and of two dragons.

They all listen; for once, all eight of them are utterly silent. Legend risks a glance around himself, assessing his brothers’ expressions. Sky and Twilight—despite having heard this story before—still look deeply unhappy to hear the ending. Time’s face is stoic, his mask of control yet unbroken. Warriors listens with great focus, as though filing the facts away to filter through later. Four’s face is inscrutable, as usual, and Hyrule’s is tight with unhappiness. Even Wind’s expression—usually so carefree—grows far more somber as the tale reaches its unhappy conclusion.

“Since Link’s transformation, we have been stuck here,” Flora finishes, looking down at her lap. “Gloom has infected the wounds the Demon Dragon left, and saps his magic so that he cannot fly from here. If Hylia has truly sent you here, as you say, then I implore you—you must help him!”

“Of course we’ll help!” Wind declares, jumping to his feet and balling his hands into determined fists. Wild’s head twitches back again, but he seems to be adjusting to Wind’s quick movements already—good for him. Legend still hasn’t. “You don’t even have to ask, Princess. Wild might be a big weird lizard right now, but he’s still our brother. We’ll do whatever he needs us to do.”

“I second that,” Four agrees, his voice low and serious.

“You have our abilities at your disposal, for whatever good they may do you,” says Warriors, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Only tell us what you need and we’ll make it happen.”

The others agree with similar pretty words, but Legend remains silent. He feels like more of a hindrance than a help, where this mission is concerned—but if there’s anything he can do besides upsetting Wild, he’ll do his best, and damn the rest. Has he ever been able to do otherwise?

“What do you need, beyond sundelions?” Time asks, once their brothers have settled, some. “I fear gathering those may not be the best use of our time. It does not appear to have helped Wild much at all.”

Their gazes all drift upwards, falling upon the great gloom-festered wound on the dragon’s right side. But there appears to be a new wound, too—thin wisps of gloom flicker between the dragon’s teeth. Legend sees no actual injury, but perhaps it lays inside the dragon’s maw, and perhaps—

—perhaps it is not a new wound, after all.

Legend feels ill with the realization.

“Legend?” Hyrule whispers. “What’s—?”

“Hyrule and I have discussed many ways to cure him of the gloom,” Flora continues, and Hyrule’s mouth snaps shut at the sound of his name. “At this time, we believe our best bet is in sunlight.”

“That’s right,” Hyrule says, taking over when Flora glances expectantly at him. His worried gaze lingers a second more on Legend before reluctantly re-directing to the others. “Flora says that exposure to sunlight cures the gloom entirely, whereas the sundelions only heal small parts of it. The issue we run into, of course, is how to get Wild out of the Depths and somewhere sunny.”

“Fortunately, I think I’ve come up with an idea. It’s a bit of an uncertain one, but it’s the best I have right now,” Flora says. “Wild needs more magic, so that he can fly out of the Depths. When he was a Hylian, he was able to travel to local goddess statues to improve his strength through blessings from Hylia herself. While we can’t bring the statues or Hylia here, perhaps there’s a way we can bring a bit of the goddesses’ magic anyway.”

“How?” Sky asks, looking more open to the idea than—well, most everyone else.

Legend doesn’t blame them. They all have conflicting relationships with their deities—some more tumultuous than others. Besides, as far as Legend’s concerned, relying on a stranger’s magic can only ever be a bad idea. There are very few people he trusts in this world, and Hylia isn’t one of them.

“Well, that’s where it gets a little bit improbable,” Flora admits. “There are many Spirits in this world, which are blessed by Hylia herself. There is the Great Deku Tree—”

Time’s ears prick at the mention of this name, and he leans forward.

“—and the Koroks—”

Wind pumps a fist in excitement.

“—or the Lord of the Mountain.”

An illustrious name, but it doesn’t seem to ring any bells with Legend’s brothers.

“But there are three Spirits in particular, which are said to be the guardians of all others, and which are the servants of the Golden Goddesses themselves. I believe they may have enough power to share with Wild.” 

Flora picks the slate up, passing it to Hyrule to unlock before taking it back and pulling up the map. She holds it up for them to see, though the screen is rather small and dim from this angle. Legend must squint to make out where she’s pointing.

“Here, to the far north, is the Red Spirit. Her name is Dinraal, and she guards the Spring of Power,” Flora says. “She flies a route from East Akkala and goes west past Death Mountain.”

“Flies?” asks Sky.

“Death Mountain?” asks Legend.

“Yes, flies; Dinraal takes the form of a dragon, as do the other two Guardian Spirits,” Flora explains. “Death Mountain is just here.”

“Yeah, no, I see where it is, I just—Death Mountain?” Legend pinches the bridge of his nose. “I freaking hate Death Mountain.”

“It’s really not so bad,” Flora assures them. “At least in our world, it isn’t. It’s hot, sure, but the Gorons there are very hospitable, and can equip you with armor and elixirs to keep you cool.”

“And you want us to go there,” Legend surmises. 

“Well—yes,” Flora says. “As Legend has guessed, I need a group of you to travel to the north to find Dinraal. I’ll confess that these Spirits are difficult to communicate with at the best of times, and remain largely uninterested in the going-ons of our civilization. But all three have met Wild, before, and I pray they feel some sense of loyalty to him still. You must convince Dinraal to return here with you and bestow some of her power upon Wild.”

“I don’t mean to discourage you,” Time says quietly, “but this does seem like a stretch. How are we meant to convince the Spirits of anything when we cannot communicate with them? And even if we do, how do we know that they’re able to help Wild?”

“We don’t,” Flora says, but her jaw is set. “We don’t know anything. If anyone can come up with a better idea, I’m all for it. But until that happens, we must try something. He grows sicker by the day, and sundelions will not keep him afloat forever.”

“I mean, I guess it can’t hurt to try,” Four says, with a shrug. “The Spirits aren’t aggressive?”

“No. They won’t harm you intentionally. They are manifestations of power, of course, and are inherently dangerous in that way. Dinraal’s form is surrounded by flames hotter than the inside of Death Mountain—whoever travels to her must be sure to wear the Flamebreaker Armor.”

“And the other two?” Warriors asks, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yes. To the east, in Lanaryu, is the Blue Spirit, who is called Naydra,” Flora continues, tracing Naydra’s route on the slate’s map. “She guards the Spring of Wisdom. Her form is icy and cold; the Snowquill Set must be worn to visit her. But it is her I have the most faith in. She owes Link a great debt—he rescued her from a great darkness, once. I pray she will return the favor now.

“The last is the Yellow Spirit, Farosh. Her trail loops around Lake Hylia and into the Gerudo Highlands. Her form is that of electricity; I will give whoever goes the Thunder Helm to protect you. As her territory nears that of the Demon Dragon’s, it will be vital that you stay undetected while with her.”

“I think it’s a good idea. Certainly, it’s at least worth a shot,” Sky says. “But I’m afraid there might be another issue.”

Flora glances towards him. “And what is that?”

“When we were in Lookout Landing, Purah told us that the dragons had not been seen since the Demon Dragon emerged,” Sky explains.

Flora looks troubled by this revelation, her eyes narrowing. But she persists, “They may have retreated to their springs, then, as Naydra did when she was injured previously. I would advise you to look there, first.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Wind says. “So, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, at the earliest,” Time says. He stands and glances at each of them, his expression unreadable. “It’s already afternoon, and there’s no sense in us traveling throughout the night. We can take this evening to plan and prepare. You four, at the very least, need to sleep before you do anything else.”

As he says this last bit, his eyes narrow at Legend, Hyrule, Sky, and Twilight.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Sky says, with a grin.

“We’ll camp here—if that’s okay with you, Flora,” Time says, looking expectantly at her.

“That’s perfectly fine. The slate is stocked with all sorts of ingredients, so we can make something to eat, too.”

“Thank Hylia, because I am starving,” says Twilight.

The eight of them break off to expand Flora’s camp, setting down their bedrolls and baggage. Four volunteers to cook, leaning over the slate’s recipe collection with Flora. Hyrule seizes the opportunity to clamber back onto Wild’s forearm, chattering cheerfully to him—several of their brothers watch him with poorly-hidden interest and not a small bit of jealousy.

Legend sets up his own bedroll at the edges of the firelight and changes clothes—his tunic and trousers have dried since his swim, earlier, but they’re still smell like murky water. Once that’s done, he lays down and drags his blankets up over his head. If he’s lucky, Time will assume he’s asleep and leave him alone. That last thing Legend wants to endure is his eldest brother’s scolding.

It’s impossible to actually fall asleep, of course—his mind is spinning with far too many thoughts. Does Wild hate me? Is he scared of me? Are the others angry because I hurt him? Will he ever forgive me? It’s not as though I deserve to be forgiven. The only absolute is that we don’t hurt each other, and look what I’ve done. They’ll figure it out sooner or later. I’m not like them. I’m not noble, or heroic, or kind.

So on and so forth, until his head aches and his eyes burn.

His brothers’ idle chatter grows quieter as they all gather around to eat. Legend’s not sure what Four has made, but it doesn’t smell burnt, at least. His stomach growls, and he reluctantly removes himself from his cocoon. He sits down beside Twilight and accepts the bowl that Four hands him with a muttered, “Thanks.”

Inside of the bowl swirls a strange, thick orange concoction. It tastes vaguely of pumpkin, once one looks beyond the overwhelming saltiness of it. He’s too hungry to care much about the flavor, anyway—he tips the bowl up and drinks most of it. The rest he swabs up with a piece of dry bread, and devours this in several large bites. 

Without fail, Time’s gaze seeks him out once they’ve finished eating.

But Legend’s luck—such that it is—holds true for once. Warriors approaches him first, saying, “We're making a plan for the quickest way we can get to the other dragons. Come tear it apart, would you?”

Legend’s ears prick. “Gladly.”

Notes:

plot!! the plot is advancing!!

is this plot just an excuse to have more dragons in the fic, you ask?? to which i reply yes, it is :)

also im a big fan of the legend-has-chronic-pain headcanon, if u could not tell. big big fan. the angstier the better.

Chapter 12: the planning committee convenes

Warriors leads Legend back to the campfire, where Flora, Four, and Twilight are already sitting in a loose semi-circle. Four and Flora lean their heads together over the slate, while Twilight—reluctantly roused from his very brief post-lunch nap—is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Warriors takes a seat beside him, and after a moment Legend joins them on the ground. Time arrives only a moment later and crouches across from them, the firelight playing eerie shadows with the patterns of his face.

“Let the planning committee convene,” Warriors says, clapping his hands together decisively.

Four looks up from the slate, saying, “I’m not sure how safe this idea is, but I’ll throw it out there anyway. We could split into groups of two and take turns with the slate, teleporting to the shrines inside of the springs. It would be the fastest way, eliminating nearly all of our travel time. We could be done by tomorrow evening.”

“No,” Legend says.

“Sort of what I’d thought you’d say,” Four muses.

“Whoever stays behind with Wild should have the slate,” Legend continues. “He may be a Hero, but he’s still an unknown—and he’s unpredictable.”

“I hate that I agree,” Flora sighs, “but I do. The gloom makes him behave strangely, at times, and it is difficult to communicate with him like this. It would be best if we had a quick escape, should something startle him or should the gloom…progress.”

Legend flicks a uncomfortable glance towards Hyrule, who is on the far side of the camp and nestled into the crook of Wild’s elbow with a moth-eaten book. His lips move as he reads aloud, though Warriors cannot make out the words from this distance. Wild watches him raptly, head tilted to the side and ears up.

“Is he dangerous?” Time asks.

“Yes,” Flora says, without pause.

“Very well. But the same argument could be made for any of us. Our travels to the springs may be dangerous, too, and a quick exit may prove itself useful in those situations,” Time points out.

“That’s true. Without the slate, however, I have no ability to travel quickly to the Sky Islands for sundelions, which are the only thing keeping the gloom at bay. I have a stockpile of them which might last me a few days, but what am I to do if one of your missions goes awry and I am left without the slate for longer than anticipated? The gloom would spread quickly.” Flora’s face pinches, and she looks to the ground between her boots. “I do not know that Wild would survive it.”

“It’s not worth the risk, then,” Warriors decides. They can’t risk their newest brother’s life when they’ve only just met him, especially for the sake of quick travel and convenience. “The slate stays with Flora.”

“Then we’re doing things the old-fashioned way?” Twilight says, around a yawn.

“Sounds like it,” Legend agrees.

Four says, “We’re in luck, then. Warriors, Time, and Wind caught three more horses this morning, when we decided to travel to the chasm to come after you four. Provided two of us stay with Wild and Flora, we’ll only need to catch one more to have enough mounts for six travelers. Then we can travel rather swiftly to anywhere in Hyrule.”

“If you travel by horseback, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to reach each spring,” Flora explains, setting the slate down so they can all view the map once more. “Farosh is closest, and should not take more than a day to reach. Naydra may take two days. Dinraal is farthest, and may take three, depending on how hard you ride.”

“The next question, then, is whether we should all travel together to each spring, or break into smaller groups,” Warriors muses aloud, drumming his fingers on his knees as he thinks. “Traveling as a large armed group would make us more noticeable to monsters, who may report us to the Demon Dragon.”

“Unideal,” Legend points out.

“Yes, very much so, thank you, Legend,” says Warriors, shooting his brother a wry look. He’s pleased to see Legend grin rakishly in response; since they’ve come to this world, Legend’s smiles have been few and far between. “But traveling in smaller groups makes us more vulnerable to attack.”

Four adds, “True, but traveling together also makes us slower. If we split into groups of two or three we can finish the mission much more quickly.”

“Let’s do that, then,” Twilight says.

He’s likely thinking the same thing they all are: the sooner they can heal Wild, the better. There’s no sense in leaving their brother to his suffering a second longer than necessary. Besides, they’re all used to traveling and fighting alone, and their individual journeys have made them fierce and wily. A group of even two of them is more than sufficient to fight most monsters. Splitting up is never Warriors’ preference, but he doesn’t believe it poses a significant threat, either—not in this case, unless Flora has something truly alarming to add about her worlds’ enemies.

“I agree,” Warriors says, nodding decisively.

Legend lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Very well,” Time agrees—the first he’s spoken since he approached. When it comes to strategy and planning, he’s usually content to leave Warriors in charge. Warriors takes it as a mark of pride, and does his best never to disappoint. “Which group goes where?”

“Whoever travels to the Spring of Wisdom must be seventeen, at least,” Flora says, with a sour sort of look on her face. “Naydra will not indulge you otherwise. Believe me.”

“Weird choice, but okay,” Four says. “Wind and Hyrule are out.”

“Hyrule will stay behind with Wild,” Legend says, though he doesn’t sound particularly pleased about it. “You’re welcome to try dragging him away, if you want him to bite you.”

“It would only take one bite,” Flora agrees, “as I’m sure you know, Legend.”

Legend smiles sharply. “I wasn’t talking about the dragon.”

Warriors scoffs. “Hyrule would never do something so uncouth.”

Legend stares at him.

Warriors glances towards their dear, sweet, timid Hyrule, and he wonders.

“Hyrule can stay,” Time allows, “but Legend was right, yesterday. He shouldn’t be left alone here. Legend, would you stay with him?”

But Warriors is already shaking his head. “I need Legend to go to Dinraal. He and Hyrule are best at manipulating fire, and if I can’t have Hyrule then I need him.”

Time glances at Legend, assessing his reaction.

“Okay,” Legend says, with another half-hearted shrug.

So that’s weirdly passive. “Are you sure?” Warriors asks.

“I’m a Hero, Warriors. I’ll go where I’m needed. As long as someone else stays with Hyrule, it’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay behind,” Time says, meeting Legend’s gaze levelly.

Legend looks rather unimpressed, but Warriors doesn’t miss the subtle loosening of his shoulders. It must be a comfort to him, knowing that their leader will stay behind to defend Hyrule. “Alright.”

The weird tension between Legend and Time makes Warriors itch, but he’s not putting his nose into that mess right now. Maybe later, if Legend keeps sulking. Warriors clears his throat and continues, “Right, that’s settled, then. Who else wants to go to Dinraal?”

“I can,” Four volunteers. “Acorn’s our fastest horse. Maybe it will help make up for the distance.”

“Good. Then I want Wind to go to Farosh,” Warriors says. “He’s used to climbing all over ships in stormy weather. I’ll go with him, since Farosh’s territory is nearest to the Demon Dragon’s. I want to get a good look at him, if I can.”

“Be careful you aren’t seen,” Time cautions. “We’re nowhere near ready to face him.”

“I will be. If I don’t think I can get a look without him also getting a look, I won’t risk it,” agrees Warriors. “That leaves Twilight and Sky to visit Naydra—Sky has enough layers to keep him warm, and Twilight’s wolf-pelt will be useful, too.”

“A reason for everything, huh, Captain?” Twilight asks, with a tired grin.

“As it should be,” Warriors says. He likes when things have reason, order, structure—it makes everything feel a little more controlled, which is helpful in a universe that seems otherwise intent on throwing him headfirst into chaos.

“I’ve come up with a way you might be able to communicate with the Spirits, too.” Flora rummages in her pack and pulls out a flat, oval plate roughly the size of a serving platter and dark green in color. “This is one of Wild’s scales, which he scraped off when he first tried to escape the Depths. I hope that if you present this to the Spirits, they may recognize Wild and be more apt to listen to you. I can’t promise it will have any effect, of course, but it must be better than nothing.”

Flora passes out three scales—one to Warriors, one to Twilight, and one to Four. 

After tucking his scale safely into his pack, Warriors asks, “Flora, can you tell us more about the enemies of this world and their abilities? That way, if we encounter them, we’ll be prepared.”

Flora nods and begins tapping hastily on the slate.

“Hyrule, Sky, Wind!” Warriors calls, beckoning them over. “Come listen.”

Once all eight of them have gathered around, Flora flips the slate around to show them pictures of this world’s monsters. She names each as she shows it to them, and explains their attacks and where they’re most likely to be found. Then she shows them the edible plants they might find, and how they might be used to make meals or elixirs to ward off the elements. They all listen intently—even Wind, though he fidgets where he’s sitting. Wild, too, swings his head over to observe them. Truly, Warriors thinks he likes the sound of Flora’s voice more than anything she actually says.

While Time explains their plan to Sky, Wind, and Hyrule, Warriors steps aside with Flora and the slate. They unroll several square sheets of parchment paper and copy the slate’s map onto each. Once the ink has dried, Warriors rolls each map up and ties it with twine. He passes them out to his brothers, saying, “Don’t lose them, crush them, burn them, or get them wet.”

“Gee, what can we do?” Wind complains.

“Nothing fun, runt,” Warriors says, and hip-checks him as he passes.

Warriors starts packing his things soon after. He wants to be prepared to leave first thing in the morning. It will be roughly a day’s travel to Farosh and a day back: he packs enough food and clothing to last him four days, just in case, along with the Thunder Helm, topaz earrings, rubber armor, and electro elixirs Flora had given him. It makes his packs bulkier than he’d like, but he’s comforted in the knowledge he’ll have a steed to help him carry it the long way. His Lord is surely sturdy enough that she won’t be bothered by the extra weight.

Warriors glances briefly at Time, wondering if the old man might lend his new stallion to help Four and Legend carry their own supplies—over a weeks’ worth, in addition to the heavy Flamebreaker Armor, which might be more than their two steeds can carry comfortably. But he finds Time looking rather unhappily after Legend—who has taken shelter with Hyrule next to Wild, the great coward. Warriors snorts. Legend will have to face Time at some point, whether he likes it or not. If it were Warriors, he would just as soon get it over with then drag it out by avoiding it. But then, he and Legend rarely see eye-to-eye on these things.

Warriors’ gaze hesitates on Wild, considering. He feels a lingering sort of guilt about their first meeting—he had been the one to command Legend into the fray, after all. Perhaps he should apologize to Legend—and Wild—for that, though he doubts it will assuage Legend’s guilt at all. The man does love to self-flagellate. Warriors, on the other hand, not so much.

So he approaches Wild slowly, and the dragon’s gaze slides over to him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sure you don’t understand this, but I did lead the charge when we attacked you the first time, so I suppose I should say something. You have my apologies for what I instigated. We thought you were a threat, and reacted accordingly.”

Wild’s expression changes not at all. 

Warriors feels a bit as though he’s being stared through. He stares back, curious and calculating. Hyrule has already bonded to Wild—should the rest of them, too? Usually, they try to avoid bonding to a new Link all at once. That can be overwhelming at the best of times, and crippling at worst. But to be able to communicate with Wild in some way—to be able to understand if he’s in danger, if he’s going to attack—would be an undeniable advantage, tactically speaking. They would be able to avoid him if he was upset, or offer instruction to him when it came time to face the Demon Dragon. They could—

“Don’t think too hard or you’ll hurt yourself,” Legend says, having made his way from Hyrule’s side to Warriors’. “I think I see smoke coming out of your ears already.”

“Oh, har har.”

Legend leans over and blows air into one of Warriors’ ears, the bully.

Warriors shrieks—a very manly, soldierly shriek—and leaps to the side, clapping his hand over his ear. 

Legend snickers. Warriors is glad to see his grump of a brother happy—even if at his own expense—but he also knows when to press an advantage, and when to fell a trapped enemy.

“Time!” Warriors rounds on Time, who’s crouched next to the fire with Twilight. “Legend wants to talk to you!”

Time arches an eyebrow but stands, beginning to make his way towards them.

“You back-stabbing son of a bitch,” Legend hisses, his ears flattening. He can’t flee now—not without making it altogether too obvious what he’s doing.

“It’s for your own good,” Warriors says, rubbing his ear sullenly. “I’m sick of watching you mope around. Might as well put you out of your misery.”

“Oh, that makes you sound all high and mighty, doesn’t it? Don’t lie to yourself, Wars. That was revenge.” Legend’s eyes narrow. “And I’ll pay it back tenfold.”

“Bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“You’re the one throwing me to the wolves.”

“Nah, the wolf’s just watching.”

Legend slugs him in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Warriors grumbles. He looks back to Time, feigning an injured expression. “Hey, sprite, he’s threatening me.”

“And I’m sure you did absolutely nothing to instigate,” Time says smoothly.

“I really didn’t, this time,” Warriors defends. “I was just talking to Wild.”

Legend rolls his eyes. “You were plotting at Wild, you mean. Don’t think I didn’t recognize that look in your eyes. You’re trying to figure out how you can use him.”

“Well, yeah. We’re gonna need him to fight the Demon Dragon, aren’t we?”

“He’s not a weapon—”

“Except he is, and a bloody big one,” Warriors argues. “We’re fools if we don’t understand and use every advantage we have when we’re up against Ganondorf, and you know it. Don’t villainize me for that.”

Legend opens his mouth to refute, but Time interrupts before he can. “Okay, enough, both of you. Warriors, if you’re going to plot, do it without staring at Wild—it’s rude. Legend, you wanted to talk to me?”

“Fine,” Legend mutters, shooting one final glare at Warriors as he stalks after Time. 

Well, Warriors hadn’t meant to be rude. His ears droop slightly, doubt setting in. He doesn’t want any of his brothers—Wild included—to feel like they’re just weapons to be used. He values them beyond that advantages they can offer on the battlefield. But at the same time, he’d be stupid not to use those advantages when necessary…

Right?

“Sorry,” Warriors mutters again, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Wild, predictably, does not respond. 

“He doesn’t understand you,” Hyrule says, smiling apologetically at him as he approaches. 

“I figured as much.”

“But I do.” Hyrule stops beside him, bumping their shoulders together. “It’s okay, Wars. I’ll tell you what I told Legend—you didn’t know Wild was one of us. You saw a monster attacking your brothers and you reacted accordingly. None of us fault you for that.”

“I know,” Warriors says, and he does. “Still, I feel bad about it. If it hadn’t been for me, maybe Legend wouldn’t have attacked so suddenly.”

Warriors’ voice is one of command on the battlefield, and at this point his brothers obey him on instinct. He prides himself on his ability to make quick decisions—surveying enemies, finding weakness, calculating chances. It smarts when he’s wrong, and smarts worse still when he’s used one of his own brothers to do a terrible thing.

Still, there’s no sense dwelling on it. What’s done is done. He can only move forward and hope that Wild forgives him, one day. He can’t very well mope about it, or Legend will hold his hypocrisy over him for the foreseeable future. He’s better off setting a good example and moving forward without guilt.

“Anyway, there’s nothing to be done about it now,” he says, looking to Hyrule. “I know that. I won’t let it bother me. If Wild wants to hold it against me, that’s his right, and I don’t fault it for him.”

Hyrule frowns, but does not argue this.

“But I have something else I want to talk to you about, Rulie.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Do you think anyone else should bond to Wild before we disperse? I leave the decision to you—you understand him better than anyone else, at this point, save perhaps Flora herself.”

“I worry it may confuse him,” Hyrule admits. “If he were a Hylian, we could explain it to him. He would understand that the emotions he feels from us are not his own. Like this, I’m not sure he can discern what he’s feeling from what I’m feeling, and that’s a dangerous thing. I think that may be why he’s warmed up to us so quickly—because I like and trust you all, he feels as though he does, too, and cannot rationalize that these feelings are not his own.”

“We ought to wait, then.”

“Yes, I think so. Of course, this is all just speculation—perhaps he does understand the difference between my emotions and his. It’s hard to say. Either way, I think I exert entirely too much influence on him.”

Warriors smiles, ruffling Hyrule’s hair. “He does seem to like you a lot, now.”

Wild chuffs, lowering his head to sniff Hyrule’s mussed hair.

“Ah, I’m sorry, did I disturb your friend?” Warriors asks, laughing. He freezes when, a moment later, Wild’s muzzle swings over to touch his own hair. When his head isn’t cleanly bitten off, Warriors releases a slow breath and even manages to say, “Oi, I’ve just brushed that. Don’t mess it up.”

Wild draws his head back up, giving his own thick golden mane a brisk shake.

Warriors would dearly love to run a comb through that mane. A good wash and a bit of conditioning oil would do wonders for it, he’s sure. He could braid bright ribbons and jewels into it, as though preparing the dragon for a festival.

Even with Hyrule’s influence, however, he doubts Wild is quite that tame. 

---

That night, Warriors wakes to a low, rumbling growl. 

Before he’s even opened his eyes, he’s reaching for his sword. He rolls smoothly onto the balls of his feet, blood rushing in his ears. He looks for his brothers, first, and finds them all in similar states of startled wakefulness. Only Hyrule is missing—he’s with Flora, standing quite near Wild’s head, and Wild is—

—having a nightmare?

Warriors assumes he is, anyway. He can’t think of another explanation. The dragon appears to be soundly asleep, his head still on the ground and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His talons twitch, and he shows a sliver of fang as he growls again. The vaporous gloom wreathing his muzzle has grown thicker and darker.

“Shh,” Flora says, her voice low and soft. “It’s alright, my dear. It’s only a bad dream. Hyrule, can’t you soothe him?”

“I’m trying,” Hyrule says, but he sounds stressed.

Flora reaches out, smoothing her palm along Wild’s neck, and—

Wild comes awake at once, turning on the two of them with a vicious snarl. His mane bristles and his eyes flare wide. To Warriors’ alarm, the dragon’s right eye is now entirely consumed by the same thick black-and-crimson gloom as his shoulder. He pauses with his muzzle inches from Hyrule and Flora, breathing heavily.

Legend moves first, lurching forward and wrapping his arms around Hyrule. He drags their brother backwards, out of Wild’s reach, despite Hyrule’s protests. “Legend, stop! Let me go, I can help him!”

“The fuck you can,” Legend hisses. “Flora! Get away from him!”

Flora stumbles backwards after them, her own eyes wide with disbelief.

Time and Twilight step in front of them, a shield of broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Their weapons aren’t drawn, yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Warriors holds his own blade close to his side, breathing shallowly—as though any extra noise might set Wild off for good. They’re far too close to him: at this range, a single sweep of his arm or tail would scatter them. 

Around them, the forest grows thick and dark once more. Barren branches rattle ominously in a cold wind, and thorn-thick vines hiss along the ground. Gloom wells up and drips from Wild’s shoulder like acid, spattering on the ground beneath him. 

Warriors cannot begin to imagine how painful that must be.

“Calm,” Sky says behind him—to Hyrule, no doubt, who is still straining against Legend’s grasp. “Wild needs you to be calm right now, Hyrule. He feels your fear as his own. Breathe deeply. Slow your heartrate. Show him there is nothing to fear.”

Hyrule—to his credit—does try. He surrenders to Legend’s grip and struggles his way through several deep, slow breaths. But Warriors can still see him shaking, even through the darkness around them. For all Hyrule worries about exerting too much influence on Wild, Warriors wonders if he’s ever considered just how much influence Wild is exerting on him.

“Close the bond,” Warriors orders. “If you can’t control it, close it.”

A pained look crosses Hyrule’s face, and for a moment Warriors fears he will refuse—but after a moment he nods, his jaw tightening.

Wild seems largely unaffected by the closure of the bond. He’s still staring down at them, breathing like a destrier run half to death—Warriors isn’t convinced he actually sees them at all. His right eye doesn’t seem capable of seeing anything anymore, with gloom welling up on the bottom lid like thick black tears. A drop rolls down Wild’s face, and he slings his head with another snarl of pain. Deep in his mouth, Warriors glimpses another gloom-infected wound—the greeting Legend had left with his halberd.

Fuck.

“Oh, Link,” Flora breathes, her hands pressed to her face. Tears well up in her own eyes as she gazes upon him.

Wild comes back to himself between blinks, awareness bleeding into his gaze. He draws his head back slightly, as though confused by his own actions. He finds Flora and Hyrule swiftly. Warriors doesn’t know what it is—Flora’s tears, or Hyrule’s shaky breaths, or the nine of them standing well-away from him—but he seems to realize at once what he’s done. 

Warriors does not think animals are capable of feeling guilt, or horror, or any other miserable Hylian emotion—but what Wild feels must come close. He recoils, lurching to his feet and backing away from them. He flinches as another drop of gloom wells up and rolls from his eye, sliding down his cheek and into the thick fur of his mane. 

“Wild,” Hyrule says, his voice cracking; he strains against Legend’s arms, which are still wrapped tightly around his chest and holding him in place. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay.”

It is the farthest thing in the world from okay, Warriors thinks.

Wild is equally unconvinced; he turns to face away, curling into as tight a ball as he can and draping his tail over his muzzle. He scrapes his hand across the right side of his face, as though trying to claw away the gloom there, and keens when he only succeeds in smearing it across his muzzle and wrist. 

“Quickly,” Flora says, and wipes her eyes hastily before crossing to the firepit. “I’ll make him something with the sundelions. It will drive back the gloom.”

“This is what you meant when you said it spreads,” says Twilight, his voice hollow, “isn’t it.”

“Yes,” Flora says, throwing the bright and sickeningly cheerful faces of several sundelions into her cooking pot alongside rice and milk. “Every day it grows closer to his heart, and to his head. It’s changing him. That’s why we need—I need—”

She breaks off, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and shaking her head.

“We understand,” Warriors says; it is a battle of its own to keep his voice steady, but he dare not show weakness in front of his men—no, he thinks, forcefully, not his men, but his brothers. “We’ll leave to find the Spirits at once.”

None of them will be able to sleep, after this, so they may as well move out. Sitting in the dark and fretting would be a terrible waste of time, especially if this is going to happen to Wild more and more frequently. It’s unbearable. Warriors glances around at his brothers for any disagreement, and finds only anguish.

“Everyone get dressed and grab your things,” he orders.

Warriors’ bags are already packed, so he only has to pull on clean clothes and wrap his scarf around his neck. He brushes his hair more quickly than usual, braiding it back so it won’t tangle during their long ride. By the time he’s shoved his feet into his boots, the others have started to gather at the edge of camp—save for Hyrule and Legend, who are speaking together in low voices near the fire. Legend relents, after a moment, and tears himself from Hyrule’s side.

“We hope to be back in a week or less,” Warriors says. It feels a horribly long time to wait—especially having seen Wild like this.

“We’ll wait for you,” Time says, coming to stand beside Hyrule and Flora. “Ride swiftly.”

Warriors did not think dragons capable of crying, but the low shuddering noises Wild makes as they leave come rather close.

---

The six of them gather on the surface for a short time—just long enough to catch and tack the horses, who had been left to graze near the chasm. Sky tames a sweet-eyed pink pinto for himself, intending to make for the nearest stable to purchase tack before heading towards Mount Lanayru with Twilight. For his own part, Twilight continues to balk at the idea of any mount besides Epona, and shifts into his wolf-form for the journey. 

“Hello, my lovely lady,” Warriors greets his own steed, combing his fingers through Lord’s silver forelock and smoothing it down over her browband. She nickers softly at him, rubbing her nose against his shoulder. “We’ve a long way to go together.”

“Yes, we do,” Four says, already mounted on Acorn and ready to go. “Come on already.”

Warriors swings himself up and into the saddle, turning Lord to the west. The sun has begun to rise, bleeding crimson over the swaying grasslands. The dark clouds brewing in the distance seem closer, now, and Warriors strains to see the shape of the Demon Dragon within to no avail.

“Should we race?” Legend drawls. He’s perched on a flaxen mare Warriors had caught for him on their way to the chasm yesterday—a mare now saddled with the somewhat dubious moniker of Greatgourd. Time’s quiet black stallion, Fierceling, is ponied along behind her with their supplies bundled onto his back. “Whoever brings a dragon back first wins.”

“It feels a little bit like Warriors and I have the advantage,” Wind points out. He’s sitting a tad nervously on his own horse—a powerful but docile beast named Thunderous, who sports broad gray-and-white blotches to match the name. “I mean, our dragon is a lot closer than yours. Not that we’re complaining!”

“Then it’s going to be even more humiliating when we win,” Four says, smirking as he nudges Acorn up next to Greatgourd. The mares bow their heads close together, sniffing, before abruptly squealing and striking out at each other. Four yelps and quickly steers Acorn back to the north; the ornery mare is already breaking into a canter and straining towards a gallop. “Okay Acorn says we’re leaving now bye!”

“Yeah, that bodes well,” Legend muses, and taps Greatgourd’s flanks with his heels to urge her after them.

“We’ll see you guys in a few days,” Sky says, waving at them as he nudges his stallion to the east. Twilight trots along beside him, and woofs a goodbye over his shoulder.

Warriors raises his hand in a wave, watching them go for several seconds before turning to Wind. “Ready, kid?”

“Uh, yeah,” Wind says, staring nervously at the back of Thunderous’ neck.

It’s a good thing the Spring of Courage is the closest one. It will take Wind some time to get used to riding, and Warriors doubts they’ll move very quickly. 

“Eyes up,” Warriors prompts. “Let’s move.”

Warriors clucks to Lord, shifting his reins forward on her neck and squeezing her sides with his legs; she ambles forward at a sedate pace. After a few seconds, he hears the steady clop of Thunderous’ hooves behind him. It feels strange to be riding away from his brothers like this—it’s been a long, long time since the Chain split into so many different groups, and Warriors doesn’t prefer it.

He prefers Wild’s suffering even less, though, so that’s the end of that.

They ride west, to the Spring of Courage.

Notes:

sad wild times!! dont u worry we’re gonna get him out of the depths soon!!

also the chains’ horses and their names/colors, just for funsies:

time - a solid black stallion named fierceling
twilight - no mount besides epona
warriors - a blue mare with four white socks and a silver mane/tail named lord
four - a chestnut appaloosa mare named acorn (technically being an appaloosa she should Not be the fastest horse based on botw horse stats but shhhh its okay)
wind - a gray and white pinto mare named thunderous
legend - a flaxen mare with four white socks and a white blaze named greatgourd
hyrule - no mount
sky - a pink pinto stallion named rosemary
wild - a bay mare with four white socks and a white blaze named artifact (artie)
flora - a pure white stallion named storm

Chapter 13: the three spirits

The Yellow Spirit

Farosh lurks around the base of her Spring, thunder rolling ominously overhead and lightning crackling across her scales. The rainclouds above her are thick and furious: they pour rain in hard sheets, pummeling the canopy. It has been storming since she took up residence here, and she intends to keep it that way. Let the dark beast try to come through her storm. She dares it!

In truth, Farosh knows this: she is no match for the evil thing in the west. It had burst forth several moon-phases ago, and Farosh had been close enough to see the golden dragon-blood still wet on its talons and teeth. She was not sure which of her sisters had been unlucky enough to be mauled by it. No living thing had emerged behind it, leaving her to believe the very worst. Fury thundered in her like a living thing. How dare it hurt one of her sisters! How dare it come into this world and spread its malicious influence over the land like a stain!

A part of her had wanted to chase after it at once, to crunch through its skull with her teeth and press it to the ground until it suffocated. But she was no fool—if it had indeed already killed a dragon, what hope did she have against it? She is the smallest of her sisters, and less than half the beast’s size. If she went after it rashly, it would likely kill her, too, and leave her territory defenseless.

The thought was intolerable, so she retreated to her Spring to gather her strength. She had called a great storm, intending to ward the beast and its army away from her lands. Her people were used to storms, and would survive: the beast would not. Lightning crackled viciously through black skies, threatening to cast down anything that dared fly through. Rain made the paths slick and muddy, and quickly washed out any campfire. The bands of monsters that emerged in the beast’s wake were swiftly demoralized, if not destroyed entirely.

No Hylians have traveled through her lands since the storm began—

—not, that is, until today.

Farosh’s eyes narrow to yellow slits as two figures emerge from the rain. They ride atop horses which are slick with rainwater and sweat both, their legs coated in sticky mud. The riders are unfamiliar to her: one is tall, with a blue scarf wound around his neck; the other is small, and smells like the ocean. Their eyes widen when they fall upon her, and she lifts her head with a wary growl.

“Oh, fu—”

“Wind!” the taller admonishes.

Farosh’s tail flicks as she contemplates the situation. Hylians pose no threat to her, but they do not often seek her out, either. Many leave offerings for her at the Spring, when the weather is less perilous—but only the Hero ever spoke to her as though she was a thinking thing. 

“Ahhh, Farosh,” he would say, laying on her back and dangling one leg off to the side. “It’s stormy out.”

He never sounded upset about that.

How dearly Farosh misses him.

“Oh, Faaarosh,” the small one—Wind—amends in a squeak. “I was saying ‘Oh, Farosh,’ because it’s Farosh. I think.”

“Stay here. Put the Helm on.”

“How come you get to be the one to talk to her?”

“Because I said.”

“That’s not a good reason!”

Farosh shakes her head, spraying them both with water from her mane. 

The taller Hylian makes a face; his own fine golden hair is plastered to his head. He dismounts and comes closer to her, though he takes not care to step in any puddles—or into the electrified water of her Spring. He wears a funny sort of armor, which she has only ever seen on one other person: black and smooth, with the scent of rubber.

Peering more closely, she glimpses the Hylian’s spirit.

It is that of a Hero, though it is a shade different than her own Hero’s. She glances behind him, at the little one, and finds that he, too, bears a Hero’s Spirit. Curiosity piqued, she lowers her head to their level and cocks it to one side. The appearance of a Hero means that things are moving, changing, and this excites Farosh. 

“My name is Warriors,” the tall Hylian says, then gestures at his companion, “and this is my brother, Wind. We’ve come to seek your aid.”

Farosh allows the rain to lighten to a drizzle, the breeze calming to a gentle caress. Warriors wipes the water from his eyes before reaching into his pack and drawing out a dark green dragon-scale. Farosh’s tail twitches, and she leans forward, intrigued. 

Who is this?

The scale belongs to neither of her sisters, nor to the beast.

“This scale is from the Dragon of the Wild,” Warriors tells her, and sets it down for her to examine. She bumps it with her nose, and smells the magic of forests and flowers and fields. It sends a thrill through her. How long it has been since there was a new dragon! “He is the Hero of this world, and he needs your help.”

Farosh pauses, bemused.

The new dragon cannot be the Hero, because the Hero is not a dragon.

Of this, she is pretty sure.

“He was attacked by the Demon Dragon,” Warriors continues, pointing towards the beast’s territory. “He was infected by gloom, and cannot escape the Depths. He needs to borrow some of your magic to escape. So we need you to come with us to see him.”

Farosh takes the scale into one hand, examining it closely. She will go, if only to sate her curiosity. She does not truly think the Hero could have become a dragon, but these two Hylians do bear a reflection of his Spirit: perhaps they are right. It seems a great impossibility, but so, too, did the beast’s arrival. If the Hylians are not mistaken, and her Hero is indeed this new hatchling—

Farosh must go to him, and at once.

She sets the scale back down and gives the two Hylians a cursory look. Warriors has the black armor which renders him impervious to electricity, and Wind has odd Gerudo helmet which does the same. Satisfied that she will not harm them accidentally, she seizes them up in her talons and lunges from the Spring.

She hears a bit of screaming, but they quiet down nicely after a moment.

Where? she thinks, bringing them up to her face. Where is my Hero? Where is the one who laughs in the rain and catches frogs in the puddles and calls lightning to the world?

They do not understand her, of course—Hylians never do.

But Warriors, clutching her talons, eventually manages, “Okay, right, okay, uh—we need to go towards the Castle and then down, into the chasm. I’ll point it out to you when we get there. Oh, goddess, I hope you speak Hylian.”

With a hiss of excitement, Farosh whips towards the Castle and flies with a storm at her back.

---

The Blue Spirit

When the darkness had risen once more, Naydra had retreated to the Spring of Wisdom. She recalled what it felt like, before—the malice seeping through her scales and into her spirit, rendering her weak and angry until Hylia’s newest Hero had come to free her. Oh, how she dreads to face such a thing again.

But the darkness has not yet reached the great mountain. Naydra is not sure what she will do when it does. She has nowhere else to go, and the Hero is not here to help her, this time. She will have to face it alone. Last time, she had fought it fiercely—and it had still overwhelmed her, as though she were a mere whelp of a spirit and not the daughter of a creator-goddess.

So Naydra waits, biding her time, gathering her strength. She will not leap into the fray unprepared, this time. She rests coiled around her Spring, the icy water lapping at her sides. The soft, old magic of it bleeds into her scales with every breath. She lets it settle deep within her chest, her stomach, and she cradles it there to be used when the darkness comes.

But it is not the darkness which comes first—

Rather, it is a Hylian and a divine Wolf.

Naydra lifts her head when she hears them coming—the slow drag of a horse’s hooves through deep snow, and rattle of tack and gear. Water drips from her chin into the Spring, and the small Spirits hiding around her scatter with chirps of alarm. She blows out a breath, and it freezes the air around her muzzle.

When the Hylian and the Wolf approach, they do so reverently.

She approves.

“You’re Naydra,” the Hylian says, with no small amount of awe.

Naydra shakes her head, spraying small flecks of ice from her mane. It has been a long time since a Hylian has called her by name. This one is familiar. It takes her a moment to recall why—her memory is vast, and at times difficult to parse through. But it occurs to her, after a moment, that this Hylian looks quite like the Hero who had rescued her. He has the same golden hair and blue eyes, and the same Sword across his back. He even has, when Naydra looks further inwards, the same courageous Spirit suffusing him. 

But this is not her Hero.

The clothes he wears are different, and he smells of another world. His Spirit, though it is the Hero’s, has a different tint to Naydra’s eyes. His voice carries a different timbre—softer, politer, more rounded. His words are lilting and odd. It is an accent she has not heard in many, many millennia. 

The Wolf beside him, to her surprise, bears another shade of the Hero’s Spirit. But she is fairly certain—though she will allow that the small intricacies of races and species do sometimes escape her—that her own Hero was a Hylian. Such a strange development as this can be none other than the work of a goddess, though which one she could not say. 

She tilts her head, curiosity brewing.

“My name is Sky,” the Hylian says, approaching slowly. He steps into her Spring, shivering at the chill. “We’ve been sent by Princess Zelda to speak with you.”

Naydra remembers many Princess Zeldas, and they blur together in her memory. She thinks she recalls the most recent one, if only because she had irked Naydra terribly. She had been so brash, so arrogant, so ambitious. She had all the intelligence in the world, and none of the wisdom to wield it properly.

Naydra has not seen her since the malice came.

“She told me you know Link—the Hero Link,” Sky continues. “She said he rescued you once.”

Was her Hero named Link? Perhaps. Naydra rarely bothered with such silly things as names. But he had rescued her—this she remembers.

Sky steps closer, ice crusting the legs of his trousers. “Link needs your help, now. Gloom is overtaking him and weakening his magic. He cannot escape the Depths. If there’s any way you can lend your magic to him, we beg you to do so.”

Naydra stares down at him. 

As a general rule, she and her sisters do not interfere with mortals—their lives are so brief and tumultuous. To work for the benefit of one would just as easily destroy another, and any kind gesture on a Goddess Spirit’s part may do more harm than good. Nature finds its own balance without their intervention. 

But if no-one had helped her, she would have died.

What sort of balance is that?

Sky unwraps something from a bundle on his back and sets it in the water. It floats towards her, and she lowers her head to inspect it—it is a dragon-scale much like her own or her sisters’. But it does not belong to any of them. It is a verdant green, and it tastes like young wild magic.

A new dragon, Naydra realizes, and yanks her head back in alarm.

There has not been a new dragon in ages. The ramifications are staggering. She does not remember much about being new—it was so very long ago—but she knows that she was never alone. She always had her dear goddess with her: teaching her, soothing her, showing her their new world and its ways. 

To be new—to be alone—

It is unthinkable.

But Naydra does not understand what this new dragon has to do with her Hero.

She hisses her agitation, scraping her talons against the bottom of the Spring. 

“He’s one of you now,” Sky says, wisely taking a step back. “Link—he’s been turned into a dragon. That’s why we think perhaps—if another dragon could lend him magic—he might be able to summon enough strength to leave the Depths, and let the sunlight heal the gloom that plagues him.”

Her Hero is a new dragon?

It seems utterly unfathomable. But if what Sky says is true, there is no time to be wasted. She owes a great debt—but beyond that, she cannot bear to leave a hatchling to suffer. She will go. Of that, there is no doubt. 

Lowering her head once more, Naydra peers at Sky more closely. She does not know where the Hero is. He must tell her where. Where? she thinks, and regrets once more her inability to commune with Hylians. Where is my hatchling-Hero?

“Do you understand me at all?” Sky asks, looking helplessly at her. “Is any of this making sense?”

Yes, Naydra thinks, with no little frustration. There’s no time to waste. Sky will simply have to guide her from aloft. She pushes her muzzle forward and into his chest, flipping him up onto her snout. She moves to do the same to the Wolf, but it yelps and scrambles away from her. With a huff of impatience, she grabs it fully in her teeth and deposits it on her back. 

Then she unwinds from her Spring, and she leaps aloft.

If Sky or the Wolf speak again, she cannot hear them—the cold wind rushes through her whiskers and past her ears. To fly is a joy she has sorely missed. She stretches the length of her body and circles around the great mountain several times, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. 

To the west, she sees the darkness brewing. 

She recalls—

—burning, crunching—

—the dark—

—hollow, thoughtless, anger—

—ANGER—

She veers anxiously away from the sight, growling low in her throat. She cannot let the darkness infect her again. There is no Hero to save her. She will have to take care that she is not glimpsed: she rises up, and up, and up, leaving the familiar course of her flight-pattern behind for the first time in centuries. But she is mindful of her passengers, who she doubts can breathe the cold thin air of the upper-world quite as well as she—so she halts her incline just above the clouds, letting her talons skim through them.

After several minutes, she feels movement along her back. Sky climbs into her mane, clinging like a burr, and crouches beside her ear. “Oh, goddess, I hope you can understand me,” he says; his teeth are chattering. “We need to go west, towards the Castle.”

West, towards the darkness which had consumed her once already.

It does not seem very wise to her. She is strong, but not stronger than the darkness—and she knows it well. The cautious and proper thing to do would be to retreat to the Spring once more, to provide shelter to the small Spirits of this world, and to gather what strength she can. The darkness will come to her eventually; she need not go to it.

But it would be even more foolish if she left the Hero to perish.

Very well.

Naydra arcs smoothly to the west, and flies towards the darkness.

---

The Red Spirit

Since the second darkness came, Dinraal has guarded her Spring fiercely. She wraps herself tightly around it, flames licking from her scales and talons. Smaller and younger Spirits flee to her from the surrounding areas, finding shelter beneath her body and between the strands of her mane. She will not seek the darkness out, but if it should come for her and hers she will devastate it—of this, she is sure.

But in the end, it is not the darkness which comes for her.

No, it is two young Hylians.

“Hylia’s tits, it’s big,” the pink-haired one says, staring up at her.

Dinraal curls her lip in annoyance. Hylians do not often approach her, let alone with such impunity. These two carry themselves with a strange sort of confidence—as though encountering a dragon is not, perhaps, the epitome of their transient lives. There is something else about them, too, which is oddly familiar.

“Massive,” the blond one agrees, his hands on his hips. “Do you think it understands us?”

The taller shrugs haplessly. 

Ah! Dinraal sees it now. Gleaming in their bones is the Hero’s Spirit—a different shape, a different scent, but undoubtedly that of a Hero. They look a bit like her own boy-Hero—they bear a similarity of face, of stance, of heartbeat. What an unusual development. It reeks of a deity’s interference.

“Might as well try, I guess,” the blond says, and takes another step forward. Bold little thing, he is. “Dinraal! My name is Four, and this is Legend. We’re here because we need your help. Your Hero, Link, has been turned into a dragon and infected with gloom. He needs some of your magic to regain his strength and leave the Depths.”

This is, perhaps, the silliest story Dinraal has been told recently.

Her boy-Hero is just that—a boy, and not a hatchling. Hylians do not simply become dragons. Dinraal rather thinks she would know about it if they did. Besides, she has just seen the boy-Hero recently. He came and rode upon her back, weaving small bright jewels into her mane and telling her stories of her sisters. It cannot have been that long ago, though she supposes her sense of time is rather skewed compared to a Hylian’s. 

But Four pulls from his pack a broad green dragon scale, upon which she scents the boy-Hero. Alarm builds rapidly in her chest. There is a hatchling, then, truly? It is unthinkable. There has not been a hatchling in millennia. And to think, it is her boy—!

Dinraal surges to her feet, flames flaring across her spine. 

Four jumps back, round-eyed. “Woah, hey—”

Dinraal will not be woah-ed, as though she is a willful horse! She snorts fire, taking each Hylian into one of her forehands. They will take her to her boy. They must! She stares fiercely at them, willing them to tell her where he is. They both squirm in her grip, but they are like worms to her. She hisses in irritation, and they fall still. 

“I knew this was a shit idea,” the pink one—Legend—hisses. “Dragons are chronically incapable of reason.”

“Well, it hasn’t eaten us yet, has it?” Four demands. He looks up at her, meeting her eyes directly. “If you want to help us, take us towards the Castle. If you want to eat us, I think you’ll find us rather more trouble than we’re worth.”

Arrogant, awful things they are.

Dinraal quite likes them.

She reaches back and sets them upon her shoulders before lunging into the air. She coils there for a moment, looking out over Hyrule—in the south brews a great darkness, which she knows her boy-Hero must defeat. That is not to say she cannot help him, of course.

With a defiant roar, she flies south in fire.

Notes:

more dragons!!!!

i’ve taken a bunch of creative liberties with the dragons’ history and personalities so please Suspend Your Disbelief. they’re just a bunch of big mamas and they love wild <3

Chapter 14: the green spirit

The monsters leave at dawn.

The Dragon of the Wild does not watch them go. 

It curls itself into a ball, instead, wedging its snout beneath its tail. It hurts. This is nothing unusual, of course, but the pain is spreading: burning through its bones and boiling behind its eye. It scrapes its talons uselessly over the side of its face, and does nothing but smear the pain along its snout and wrist. 

Its small golden friend—Flora, Hyrule calls her—approaches with a bundle of leaves wrapped around sundelions and rice. The dragon is so awfully sick of sundelions. Their mild, sweet flavor is nothing but an offensive reminder of its illness. But the dragon also knows that they drive back the pain, however briefly, and so it parts its jaws and allows her to place the leaves within. It does not bother to chew; the pain in its teeth and tongue makes the very act agony. Instead, it swallows them whole.

Every time, it seems to take a little longer for the meal to work—but after several minutes, the pain slinks back to its origins in the un-healing wounds of the dragon’s shoulder and its maw. It falls asleep rather quickly once the hurt subsides, and only stirs when it feels a small hand upon its muzzle.

It cracks its eye open to regard Hyrule wearily. 

Hyrule says things to it—soft, slow things that the dragon cannot understand but appreciates nonetheless. He presses comfort into its mind, and it yields readily to the feeling. Its eye slides shut once more as it allows itself to be soothed. Hyrule stays with it for some time, sitting down beside its cheek and humming sweet, lilting lullabies.

It has almost lapsed back into sleep when someone else approaches.

Reluctantly, it lifts its head and peers down at the remaining monster. Unlike its kin, this monster had not fled when the dragon turned on it. Of course, the dragon does not fault the other monsters for their retreat—it had been a rather wise decision on their part, actually. The dragon is well-aware of how very large it is, and how swiftly it could kill them. Truly, it is glad the monsters had realized that, too. It…did not want to kill them.

But Hyrule and Flora had stayed, and so had this monster.

This makes the dragon quite nervous, but it cannot deny the relief it feels. It does not want to hurt anyone, but it does not want to be left alone in the dark, either. It is abstractly aware that this is a selfish choice, but it cannot bring itself to drive its last three companions away—not yet. If the darkness spreads, if it cannot be whittled back by flowers and rice, then perhaps—

But not yet.

Please, not yet.

The remaining monster is the tallest of its kin—the one-eyed one, which has visited frequently ever since their first unfortunate meeting. He speaks to the dragon the way Flora and Hyrule do. His voice is lower, but his language is the same, and equally incomprehensible to the dragon. He carries no weapon, and presents himself rather harmlessly.

Tired, the dragon sets its head back down. The monster falls quiet for a moment, and touches its muzzle the way Hyrule often does. The dragon twitches its whiskers but allows this. It feels a peculiar sort of fondness for the monsters, now—it thinks this feeling must come from Hyrule, but it is not entirely sure, anymore. Where does Hyrule end and the dragon begin?

It wonders.

Hyrule and Flora join the monster by the dragon’s snout, chattering to each other. The dragon watches them, inordinately pleased to have them all safely and soundly within reach. They do not say anything particularly exciting, but they are nice to listen to, anyway. 

---

The pain returns swiftly.

The dragon’s sense of time is warped by the dark, and by long stretches of sleep, but it does not think even two of its companions’ mealtimes have passed when the pain wells up and over once more. It is blinded by the burning, the darkness, the vast and echoing anger—

When it comes back to itself, no-one is nearby.

It stands, its legs shuddering beneath its own weight. It so rarely moves, and never any great distance—it is weak all over, and bursts of energy drain it quickly. It hangs its head low, breathing hard. The black and burning infection of its maw drools from its teeth, puddling on the ground. It wants to gag, and swallows thickly instead.

Someone is…screaming?

Someone is screaming.

With a groan, the dragon twists its neck around to see. It is glad to see that its three companions are some distance away, mercifully unharmed. It is less glad to see that Hyrule is on the ground, clutching his own head and keening in pain. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he forces them open when he hears the dragon move. The right one glints an eerie black.

Where Hyrule ends and where the dragon begins suddenly matters much more.

The one-eyed monster crouches over Hyrule, speaking rapidly. When the dragon stumbles closer, he whips around. The dragon does not need a bond with him to know that he feels fear—it is naked on his face, and in the way he tightens his grip on Hyrule as though he expects the dragon to snatch him away.

Instead, the dragon lays back down and presses its cheek to Hyrule’s side in silent apology. It does not know how to stop the pain. It does not know how to spare Hyrule from it, either. But if they can suffer it together, perhaps that will not be so bad. Hyrule huddles against it, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye.

The one-eyed monster makes a broken noise: it rests one hand in Hyrule’s hair, and one on the dragon’s face.

Flora returns to them swiftly with more sundelions. Reluctantly, the dragon accepts them. Hyrule nibbles at his own serving, his face pale. Their pain fades, but it will return—of this, the dragon has no doubt.

The monster looks more distraught about this than any of them.

Rumbling, the dragon noses against the monster’s arm. It is a weak attempt at comfort. It cannot speak soft words or sing lullabies or pull comfort like a blanket across the monster’s mind the way Hyrule might—but this, it can do. It chuffs softly, and when the monster look at it it blinks slowly in consolation.

“Oh, Wild,” the monster breathes, pressing his head to the dragon’s cheek. “Wild. I’m so sorry.”

Courage, Wild thinks. Courage, little lingering monster.

It is all they can cling to, in this dark.

---

It is raining.

Wild does not recall what rain is until the moment it starts falling. Fat, cold drops of water splatter from the sky and onto his scales, and the thought crosses his mind like a memory: it’s stormy out. 

A cool breeze kicks up, and their campfire sputters weakly in response. Wild herds his companions into the shelter beneath his arm, where they will be dry. Then he peers upwards, into the endless dark. It has not rained here before. Why should it start now?

The air carries a new scent—damp, earthy, fresh. It claws a sense-memory free from the depths of his mind: a cold breeze lashing his hair, squinting against sheets of warm rain, and the tingle of lightning called to ground with a simple snap of his fingers. Excitement courses through him like a river.

In the distance, he sees a yellow flickering.

Hyrule says something—his own excitement is building, crescendoing with Wild’s until they’re both nearly giddy with it. Wild pushes himself onto his feet, though he takes care to keep his companions sheltered beneath him. The flickering thing grows closer, until at last its shape can be assessed:

Another dragon.

Wild’s eyes widen in alarm. His mane bristles, and his talons scrape silver grooves into the stone. The last dragon he faced off against nearly slaughtered him. This is not the same dragon—it is much smaller, and its scales are pale yellow instead of black—but it could be a threat all the same. Worse, still: Wild knows that his own body is maimed, and will not survive a dragon-fight of any nature. The fear of a cornered thing buzzes through him as the dragon approaches.

Wild crouches low over his companions, his tail lashing nervously. He will fight to keep them safe, even if means condemning himself to death—but he hopes desperately that he will not have to. He bares his teeth in an anxious grimace as the yellow dragon lands some distance away from him: she is wreathed in lightning, and the energy of a great storm crackles around her.

Mercifully, the yellow dragon does not lunge for Wild or bare her own teeth in return. Instead, she cocks her head as she surveys him, and makes an odd clicking noise he does not recognize. He crouches even more lowly, trying to make himself smaller in her gaze. He does not want to fight, and he is desperate that she realizes it. 

The yellow dragon leans her head forward, and Wild hisses anxiously. She pauses, drawing back. Then Wild notices something else: scrambling down from her shoulder are two familiar figures, which he had not thought he would see again. It is the monster with the blue scarf, as well as the loud and quick one. 

Those are his monsters!

He wavers, his tail striking the wall as he lashes it once more. He wants to challenge the yellow dragon for them—they are his, he found them first—but he also knows how very unlikely it is that he would win the challenge. Fortunately, the monsters make the decision for him: they run from the yellow dragon’s side to his own, talking rapidly to Hyrule and the one-eyed monster.

Relieved, Wild shifts his mid-arm to shield them from the yellow dragon’s view.

Mine, he thinks.

Yours, the other dragon seems to agree with a dip of her head, amusement flickering through her brilliant purple gaze. 

Then she snakes her head towards him once more, and he shrinks back with another nervous hiss. This time she does not retreat, and comes close enough to smell him. Her whiskers twitch in surprise, her ears flipping forward in interest. Wild clicks his teeth together, frantically trying to appease her. If she decides she wants to fight, he’ll certainly have to respond in kind—he has five companions to defend now, after all—but he dearly hopes she won’t.

Once more, the yellow dragon makes an odd clicking noise from her throat. Wild does not know what it means, precisely, but it doesn’t sound like a threat—rather, it makes him want to relax. Of course he doesn’t, but the sensation is not an unpleasant one.

Of course, she quite ruins it by stepping further into his space. The storm-magic that surrounds her is strong, and makes him feel as though his very scales are buzzing with energy. He scoots backwards, picking his companions up in his hands so she cannot snatch them. It feels entirely too much like retreating for his tastes, but if that is what’s necessary to keep them all safe—

The yellow dragon huffs her displeasure, and he freezes.

She clicks at him once more—approval, perhaps?—and then touches her muzzle to his forehead. Her power crackles through him like electricity, making his fur stand on end and his scales shiver. When she withdraws, the feeling lessens but does not disappear entirely. Energy hums beneath his hide, and he gives himself a fierce shake to dispel it. 

One of the monsters wriggles in his hand, and he snaps his gaze back to them worriedly. Had her power injured them? He studies them closely, but they all look quite well—and Hyrule feels more eager than frightened. Satisfied, he turns his gaze back to the yellow dragon.

With a happy chirp, she bumps her cheek against his. The power that simmers through him is lesser, this time, but he still startles away from the touch. He expects her to turn and bite him, to drive her fangs through the vulnerable tissue of his cheek or eye—but she doesn’t. She sprawls out on the ground in front of him, instead, making herself quite at home in his territory. 

Around them, the rain continues to fall.

With a grumble, Wild retreats some distance from the yellow dragon. He does not lay down again, but permits the monsters to escape his grasp. They flock around his front leg, talking to him and each other in bright voices. Hyrule’s happiness still hums through Wild, so he cannot bring himself to be too upset about the yellow dragon’s presence.

So long as she leaves his monsters alone, he will tolerate her.

---

The snow comes next.

Soft, lush white flakes flutter from the sky and dust his mane. The breeze—already quite cool—rapidly turns cold. The monsters pitch up a tarp and re-start the campfire, which had dwindled in the rain. They huddle around it, hands stretched towards the flames. Wild curves his body around them, shielding them from the yellow dragon’s view and the brunt of the wind.

From the east comes another dragon: pale blue, with a crest of horns like ice.

Wild pushes himself to his feet once more. It is easier to do, now, with the yellow dragon’s power still humming through him. The blue dragon lands far from them both, and the yellow dragon croons a greeting to her. She croons back, and Wild fights the urge to chirp at them both like a—like a—

Like a what?

He does not know, but he refuses.

Though he is more wary than frightened, now, he still shows the blue dragon a sliver of teeth as she approaches. She stops farther from him than the yellow dragon had, coiling herself up primly and regarding him with a nonplussed expression. From her back come two more of his monsters: the wolf-pelt one, and the one with the white cape. 

Wild chuffs beckoningly at them, and they cross to his side. He herds them into the curve of his body, hiding them rather jealously from the other dragons. He is not sure why the dragons have decided to bring his monsters back to him, but he cannot complain. Though it is safer for the monsters to be far away from him, he can’t deny that he’s glad to have them back—he feels better, having them all within reach. Or perhaps it is that Hyrule feels better having them all within reach. Wild supposes it does not truly matter: he and Hyrule are one and the same, now.

Once he has assured himself that the wolf-pelt and white-cape monsters are uninjured, he peeks back at the blue dragon. She watches him with a mild sort of curiosity. When she notices him looking, she leans her head towards him in invitation and makes the same clicking noise the yellow dragon had. He hisses and quickly looks away from her, feeling…shy? Is that what this feeling is?

How absurd.

Over the course of hours, the blue dragon slowly draws nearer to him. He pretends not to notice, though it would be impossible not to—a creature as big as she makes quite a bit of noise when she moves. Eventually, she has drawn so close that he must glance over at her. She is close enough to touch, and she is making him quite cold. Frost creeps over his scales and glints on the grass that sprouts thickly around him. 

When at last she shuffles close enough to rest her flank against his, a shock of cold power rolls through him. He shivers violently, curling himself more tightly around the campfire with another anxious hiss. The blue dragon leans her head over him, brushing her muzzle through his mane and tugging out knots with her teeth. It feels…nice, once he stops thinking about her severing his throat between her jaws.

It’s still unbearably cold, though.

The blue dragon must realize this, because she retreats after only a few minutes of grooming. She curls herself up neatly on the outskirts of their camp, turning her attention from Wild to the yellow dragon. It is a relief to have their eyes off of him, however temporarily.

For the next span of time, Wild finds himself counting his companions almost obsessively—there are seven, now. He is still missing two. If the pattern continues, another dragon will arrive with them. He can only hope that it is not the dark dragon. He feels more energetic, now, but his injuries have not disappeared, and the dark still weaves through his blood—he would still be hard-pressed to win against that beast. His luck has held for several mealtimes, and the pain has not overtaken him—

But it was only ever a matter of time.

Perhaps it is because he has been awake more, recently, that he is able to feel the change coming. It starts as an insidious burn in his shoulder, stretching gradually up the length of his throat towards his jaw and teeth. The vision in his right eye begins to blur and blacken. He blinks rapidly, trying to drive it back to no avail. He nudges Flora earnestly—if she can get him sundelions, and quickly, then perhaps they can ward it off before it takes over.

Miraculously, they manage. Flora plies him with another meal of tiresome sundelions, and the darkness subsides. The other dragons are looking at him, their eyes glowing eerily. He hates the idea of them seeing him lose to the darkness—it makes him feel so very ashamed. He refuses to look back at them until the pain in his shoulder has dulled to a familiar ache. 

---

The third dragon comes with fire.

Wild feels her arrival long before he sees it—the air around him warms. It never grows hot, thanks to the blue dragon’s influence, but it loses its sharp-edged chill. The snow returns to rain, pattering insistently against his scales. In the distance, he glimpses a red glow. 

It sends a bolt of fear through his heart, thinking that it might be the dark dragon after all—but as the third dragon draws nearer, he sees that she does not look like that beast at all. She is large but pale, her scales laced through with crimson and orange like fire. Her horns are broad, curving things that glow as embers do. When she lands, she immediately sets down the last two monsters—the pink one and the tiny one—and shoves them towards him.

The monsters cross to Wild, grumbling to each other, and he shepherds them into the fold with the others. Hyrule is delighted to see them and so Wild is, too. He rumbles happily at them, watching contentedly as they greet the others. Now they are together, and quite complete. He is satisfied.

Wild turns to regard the red dragon, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

The red dragon snorts, flames wreathing her muzzle. The blue dragon and yellow dragon chirp their greetings to her, though neither approaches her—and for good reason. She wastes no time striding towards Wild, and the air around her is terribly hot. Were it not for the blue dragon’s counteracting presence, Wild is not sure he could bear it. His little companions certainly couldn’t. Already, they’re sweating and fanning the collars of their tunics.

Wild growls quietly at her in warning. He can tolerate all manner of things, himself, but he will not tolerate his companions being caused discomfort. Ignoring him entirely, the red dragon shoves her muzzle against his—her power blazes through him like a wildfire, new energy burning through him so fiercely it borders on painful. He snarls and snaps his jaws at her. She jerks away, looking more amused than frightened, but does not retreat.

Rather, she bumps her forehead against his flank and pushes her horns against him. The pressure is annoying, more than anything, and he makes a crackling angry noise to inform her of this. But she does not yield—she draws back only to push forward again, head-butting him like a ram. With a hiss, he stands and snatches up his companions. But he realizes quite quickly that he no longer had enough hands for all of them, if he wishes to also have hands to stand on. How very troublesome. 

Instead, he passes them onto his back and hopes they will stay there. He does not want them on the ground, not as long as the red dragon is behaving so rudely. Who knows what she might do to them? She may accidentally trample them, or burn them, or otherwise injure them. It would be unthinkable. He would have to kill her for it. 

For the first time, the thought of winning a battle does not feel impossible.

The dragons’ powers flow through him now—storms and blizzards and wildfires. He feels better than he has since the moment he came into existence. He is far from well, but he now has energy to spare, and it makes him rash. Snarling a warning at the red dragon, he tosses his own horns and scrapes his talons across the ground in defiance.

The red dragon hisses in excitement and lunges towards him again, butting her horns into his side. He stumbles away from her, flattening his ears. What does she want? If she had wanted the monsters, she would not have given them back to him, so it can’t be that. Does she want Flora? He will not allow it.

But the red dragon does not grab for him or his companions. She does not claw or bite or run her horns up towards his belly or face. She just headbutts him again, forcing him to move away from her. Wild growls, annoyed—but the sound cuts off quickly when he hears the other two dragons move. He recalls, quite at once, that he is surrounded by strangers whose intentions he does not understand. This is not an unfamiliar feeling, but it remains unpleasant. He whips his head around, looking suspiciously at the yellow and blue dragons.

The blue, with a belabored sort of sigh, pushes gracefully to her feet. She shakes herself briskly, and the melted snow sprays from her mane in a glistening arc. Then, with a great leap, she enters the sky and stays there. Her vast luminous form coils above them, held aloft on currents of power that Wild cannot see. She roars, once—a rallying cry—before twisting and racing upwards.

Wild keens after her, stumbling into her shadow. He wants to do that. He wants to go up, to leave this dark behind, to fly. But he has no idea how to—the last time he had tried, he had only beaten his body against unceasing walls of this world. The helplessness he felt then has long since sunk into his bones, rotting him from the inside out.

The yellow dragon presses her muzzle to his with a croon, sending another wave of buzzing power through him. Then she, too, turns and leaps into the air. She roars at him—for him—calling him up to join her. The wind gusts around her, sparks of light crackling through the air. The taste of ozone settles on his tongue, and he cries piteously after her as she follows her sister far from him. 

When he turns back, the red dragon is watching him expectantly.

Wild wrenches his gaze back to the endless walls surrounding him. He must try again—he knows this. If they can fly, why can’t he? They have shown him how. He must simply jump, and—

—and then what?

He does not know.

A miserable sense of helplessness begins to press back onto him, but he shakes it off. The other dragons have gone somewhere, and he imagines that it is somewhere as bright and endless as they are. He has to get there. He does not know much about this world, but he knows that he does not belong here. He never has. With a determined growl, he leaps again for the sky.

He makes it only a tail-length before he slams into the wall and slides down again. He claws furiously at the stone, but finds no purchase strong enough to hold his body up. He crashes back to the ground, taking great care not to land on his back lest he injure his tiny passengers. Frustration seizes him, and he hisses bitterly as he picks himself up. 

What’s the point? These walls have always been higher than he can fly.

Briefly, he twists his head to make sure his companions aren’t hurt. They’re clinging quite tightly to his mane, their eyes wide. A few are speaking quickly to each other, faces downturned in what Wild has come to recognize as unhappiness.

After a brief moment, the white-cape monster comes to crouch just above Wild’s ear. He says something—his voice is soft and pleasant, though his words are indecipherable. Then he reaches through the thick golden fur of Wild’s mane, pressing the warmth of his calloused palm to Wild’s skin. 

Curious-hope-determination, says the monster’s soul, except it is not a monster at all—it is a piece of Wild’s soul, just like Hyrule.

Wild is less startled by the alien emotions curving around his own, this time. Sky, the soul-piece whispers; it is as expansive as its namesake, suffused with startling courage and blazing love. He is overcome by the weight of a sword in his hand—in his heart—the warmth of blankets and blue eyes—the flare of freedom that comes from flight.

An image, passed to his mind like a gift:

They’re falling through a fearless sky, cold air tugging their hair and clothes. The ground is a distant green plain, and it is theirs. A laugh bubbles from their throat before they whistle. A blaze of red feathers appears beneath them, just like they knew it would.

C’mon, pretty bird. Fly with me.

The feeling of flight rolls through him, and wants nothing more than to have it once more. He has no wings to beat, nor feathers to catch the wind. But he has power, and he must be able to use it, somehow.

Fly, Sky’s soul urges, a feeling more than a word. Fly.

Wild gathers his feet beneath him once more, narrowing his eyes and glaring upwards. He wants to fly—he wants to feel the freedom that Sky has shown him for himself. If he can’t do it now, with the other dragons’ energy flowing through him, then he’ll never be able to. 

The red dragon nips him, and he lunges.

For a moment he wavers in the air, his borrowed power flickering as he tries desperately to figure out how to wield it in a way that keeps him aloft. It feels like a new limb—clumsy and weak. But for the first time since he came into being, he does not fall back to the ground in a mere moment. No, this time—

This time, the Dragon of the Wild flies.

Notes:

you know how mares nip their foals to get them to stand if they're bein lazy??

‘cause dinraal sure does. she says get uP, DAMN SON

Chapter 15: take a break

For a moment, Sky comes home.

The sun dazzles him as they emerge from the Depths, and he blinks furiously to see the world around him. The horizon sprawls endlessly beneath them, distant and untouchable. The sky above is overcast, but he glimpses stripes of sunlight between sullen clouds. Cold air whips through his hair and flutters his sailcloth; he is breathless with the familiarity of it. Beneath him, hard green scale blurs to soft crimson feathers.

Oh, Hylia, but he misses his bird.

Pain slams into him, and the memory splinters. Wild screeches and twists midair, rapidly losing momentum. They plummet towards the ground below at sickening speed. The other three dragons bellow in alarm and veer towards them, but Sky can already see that they won’t be fast enough. 

“Hyrule, what’s happening?” Time shouts; he’s tangled one hand in Wild’s mane to keep himself anchored, while his other hand clings fiercely to Four’s tunic. 

Hyrule doesn’t respond—he’s curled in on himself, gripping his right arm as though he wants to tear it off. Legend wraps around him, his hookshot fastened behind one of Wild’s spines and tied hastily around his waist. His fingers fumble frantically with the chain, now—unfastening himself so he can jump before they hit the ground. To Sky’s relief, his brothers had all been smart enough to keep their paragliders on them when they traveled, so they won’t be injured in a crash—

But Wild will be.

“It’s the sun!” Sky shouts back. His own arm burns fiercely, and the sparse sunlight sears his right eye—echoes of Wild’s own pain, reverberating through their new bond. “It’s burning away the gloom!”

“How long does that take?” Legend snarls.

Sky turns to look—the vast swath of gloom on Wild’s side festers angrily, bubbling like boiled tar as it withers beneath the sunlight and rapidly grows smaller. To Sky’s relief, his brother’s pain eases swiftly as the wound dissolves. A shaky breath escapes him: he had hoped the sunlight would drive back the gloom, but to see it actually vanish is a crushing relief. Wild’s own relief is brief—because he seems to realize, as the rest of them have, that they’re going to crash. He simply hadn’t had enough time to gain altitude once he’d left the Depths, and his supply of power remains severely limited. 

Fear, Sky presses through their bond. Guilt harangues him as he does—the last thing he ever wants to do is frighten his brothers, let alone one who’s already terrified and confused—but he can think of no better motivator. Danger. 

Fear danger! Wild agrees, with another shriek. Then, fiercely, Defiance!

Wild doesn’t slam to a stop—he’s far too large for that—but he does pull up so sharply that they all crash into his back. Sky clips his chin against scale and comes up wincing, rubbing a smear of blood away. Looking off of Wild’s right shoulder, he can see sprawling grasses around them. The thin green blades are close enough to be flattened by the wind in Wild’s wake.

But when they crash, it isn’t into the grass—it’s into water.

Wild hits the surface of the lake headfirst. Waves blast up and over his sides, wrenching Sky’s grip. Water slams him away from Wild and spins him in a furious current. For a moment he loses track of gravity, and must squint his eyes open beneath the water to find his way back up. He breaks the surface with a gasp, raking wet hair out of his eyes so he can see. His clothing and gear weigh him down terribly as he slogs his way back towards Wild, struggling to keep himself afloat. Choppy waves, stirred by the dragon’s inelegant landing, crash ruthlessly over his head and flood his nose.

Fear, Wild feels, frantic. He raises his head from the water, searching desperately for them. Panic-regret-guilt-FEAR.

“It’s okay,” Sky gasps, his fingers scrabbling against Wild’s side. The scales are slick with water, and impossible for Sky to climb without a grappling hook. But he manages to hook his fingers between two of the scales, clinging desperately as he catches his breath. “It’s fine, Wild. Everybody’s fine.”

Sky threads through all of his bonds to confirm it—his brothers are various degrees of startled and uncomfortable, but no-one is injured or panicking. One by one, their heads pop out of the water and they splash their way back to Wild. Lightning crackles above them, and Farosh gives a piercing cry. She hangs low over the lake, her own eyes wide with worry. She only allows herself to be driven away by Naydra and Dinraal when Wild roars back to her.

Once there is some distance between them and the great dragons, the sky begins to clear. The clouds break further apart, allowing more sunlight to spill between them. Wild pays it no mind at all—he is far too busy nosing anxiously at them, pushing them up onto his back.

“Thank you,” Sky says breathlessly, once he’s settled between Wild’s shoulders. 

“Sound off,” Time calls, from somewhere farther down the dragon’s spine.

“Soggy,” Sky calls, “but alive.”

“That was awesome!” Wind cries.

Four groans, “Here.”

“I’m okay,” Hyrule says.

“Ugh,” Legend agrees.

Twilight says, “Still kicking, old man.”

“Same here,” Warriors seconds.

“I’m alright, too,” Flora says; she looks rather like a drowned cat, but her eyes are glowing with excitement. “More than alright. We did it.”

“Yes,” Time says, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he finally allows himself a smile. “It appears we did.”

A smile breaks across Sky’s face, too, and he allows himself a brief moment to revel in their success. They’d really done it: they’d gotten their brother out of the Depths and free of the gloom at last. He presses a hand to Wild’s waterlogged mane, offering his happiness to the dragon. Wild is far too confused and overwhelmed to feel it for himself, but he accepts it readily enough from Sky.

“Come on,” says Time, once he’s given them a few minutes to recover. “Let’s get back to shore.”

Wild is large enough that his body spans the length of the lake, and his tail-tip rests quite near the shore. They hike down his back, weaving neatly around his spines, and wade the last few feet out of the water. He twists to watch them go, simmering with anxiety. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Sky invites. “You can come with us.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Wild,” Wind cheers. “Just a little farther. You can do it!”

Legend is best as passing pictures between the bonds, but Sky likes to think he’s a close second. He imagines them all on shore, drying out by the campfire with Wild curled around them like a wall, and pushes the image towards his brother. The dragon seems to find this agreeable, as he begins to wade towards the shore. He drags himself up onto the bank, though he only makes it halfway out of the water before he collapses once more.

Exhaustion bleeds through their bond—it seems the dragons’ borrowed power had been enough to get Wild out of the Depths, but no more than that. Hyrule kneels beside his muzzle, petting him softly. “It’s alright,” he says. “Take a break. We have time.”

Wild’s eyes slide shut with a tired sigh.

Sky passes by them: he smooths a hand over Hyrule’s hair, and touches his palm to Wild’s cheek. They both melt into him, and he plies them with all the comfort he can squeeze into their bonds. Then he follows Warriors away, allowing his brothers to debate where best to set a camp. They chose a flat, sunny spot several meters from the shore, and Sky drops everything but Fi quite immediately. 

“I’ll get a fire started,” Legend says, wringing water out of his tunic with a look of imperious disgust upon his face. “Wind, come help me find some dry kindling. Hylia knows what we have won’t light right now.”

“‘kay,” Wind agrees eagerly, trotting to Legend’s side.

“At least change clothes first, vet,” Twilight says. “You reek of lake water.”

“And you reek of wet dog,” Legend shoots back, but does obligingly pause to change into dry clothing. Wind hurriedly follows suit, as though afraid Legend will change his mind and leave him behind if he’s too slow. As soon as they’re finished, Legend announces, “Alright. We’re going now.”

“Stay nearby,” Time warns. “Wild’s arrival was conspicuous. It could attract monsters.”

It could attract the Demon Dragon is left unsaid, but hangs heavily between them.

“I know,” Legend says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Warriors and I will scout that way,” Twilight says, nodding towards the area opposite Legend and Wind’s direction. His own clothes are still damp, but Sky wagers he’ll transform before long, so it won’t matter. Warriors, on the other hand, is hastily shoving his feet into his dry set of boots. “We won’t go far.”

Time nods, and the four of them disperse. Sky rummages through his own pack, relieved to find that the oiled leather kept most of his things dry. He changes into a fresh tunic and trousers, setting his soaked clothes out in the sun to bake. Then he shakes the water from his boots as best he can, and wrings out his socks. His gloves are wiped dry and tucked into his bag. 

Once finished with that, he wagers he’s given Hyrule enough time to decompress. He makes his way back to their healer’s side and crouches next to him, looking up at Wild—who is laying quite still, his eyes shut and his breathing heavy. Sky brushes over their bond once more, but finds no pain or injury: only sheer exhaustion. He lets the dragon rest.

“Go and change clothes,” he coaxes Hyrule gently. “You’ll catch a chill.”

“It’s warm out.”

“Not warm enough to sit soaking wet all day,” Sky says, fondly amused. “Come on. Wild’s resting. It’s okay if you step away for a moment.”

Hyrule hesitates, his shoulders hunching. His anxiety simmers between them like a water-pot on the verge of boiling. What had happened while Sky and the others had been gone, to make him so much worse? Sky wonders, but he doesn’t ask—not yet.

“I’ll stay with him,” Sky offers, “so nothing bad will happen.”

Hyrule finally nods, pushing himself up and stretching out his limbs. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

Sky thinks it would be a small miracle if Wild even opened his eyes, right now. He sits and leans against the dragon’s neck, letting his own head fall back to rest on warm scales. His gaze drifts upwards, admiring the vast expanse of sky above them. The three other dragons are circling in the distance, now—hazy to his view, but an undoubtable beacon to friends and foes alike. 

Which will arrive first? he wonders.

Flora marches towards him from their camp, having changed out of her own wet garments and into a tidy blue dress. She hikes up the skirt to keep it out of the mud, scowling as she does so. 

“I’ve never seen you wear a dress before,” Sky observes. His own dear Sun, in contrast, prefers dresses to tunics. 

“They’re terribly inconvenient,” Flora huffs, coming to sit beside him. “But my other garments are all either wet or dirty. I’ll have to wash them later.”

Sky hums his agreement, and, when Flora says nothing else, lets his eyes slide shut. The sun is warm on his face, lulling him into a sleepy sort of haze. He doesn’t know if Wild’s weariness is making him feel this way, or if it’s simply his own fatigue rearing its head—the journey to Mount Lanayru had been long and cold, and he’d had little time to rest afterwards. Twilight had pushed them at an unusually fierce pace, though Sky couldn’t fault him for it. He’d been desperate to help Wild, as the rest of them were.

Hyrule’s steps return to them a moment later, and Sky lifts an arm in invitation. His little brother slots himself against Sky’s side with a tired sigh. 

“See?” Sky murmurs. “Wild didn’t even wake up while you were gone.”

“That’s good,” says Hyrule. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep, too.”

“Yeah,” Sky says, with a jaw-cracking yawn. He slits his eyes open and glances over at Time and Twilight, briefly—they’re standing together, arms crossed over their chests and brows furrowed. Like this, it’s easy to see the similarities between them. They have the same broad shoulders and serious faces. It makes Sky smile. “I don’t suppose we need to do anything urgently.”

“I guess not,” Hyrule agrees. “Why? Wanna nap?”

“A nap sounds good,” Flora seconds.

Sky takes that as permission granted and lets his eyes close again. He drifts to sleep quickly, listening to the distant chirp of birdsong and the rustle of a warm breeze through grass. It’s so much easier to sleep here than it ever was in the cold, quiet darkness of the Depths. 

Wild must feel the same way, because he’s still asleep when Sky wakes up. But Sky can’t have been asleep for long—the shadows have hardly moved. He shifts groggily, trying to figure out what woke him, and feels the weight of a blanket slide down from his neck. Squinting his eyes open, he sees Legend crouched in front of him with a frown on his face.

“Hey,” Sky says blearily.

“Hey,” Legend says. He lifts his hand, tucking the blanket back into place around Sky’s shoulders. Another pair of blankets have been draped over Hyrule and Flora. In her sleep, Flora has drifted into Sky’s side; he finds himself wedged quite solidly between the two of them, comfortable and warm. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’s okay.” Sky lifts his head, careful not to disturb Hyrule or Flora as he glances around the camp. In the center, a small fire burns. Someone has strung up several lengths of rope nearby, over which multiple sets of clothing hang to dry. Four and Wind are polishing their weapons, while Warriors appears to be skinning some unfortunate creature for dinner. “Need help?”

Legend shakes his head. “We’ve got it. We’re just gonna rest here for the afternoon. We all could use a break.”

“Well, if you need me to do anything—”

“I need you to go back to sleep,” Legend says, tapping Sky’s nose. For the briefest of moments, their bond flickers open, and Legend presses a sense of peace-quiet-rest through it. “Besides, it’s not like you can go anywhere. You’re trapped.”

This is true. Sky can hardly get up without waking Hyrule or Flora, who both need to rest far more than he does. So he nods and settles in again, leaning his head against Hyrule’s and closing his eyes. He falls back to sleep swiftly, soothed by the sound of Wild’s slow, deep breaths behind him. 

When he next wakes, the shadows have stretched long across the lake. Hyrule and Flora have both disappeared. Sky vaguely remembers stirring when they left, and being soothed back into sleep by a bond—though whose bond it was, he couldn’t say. He sits up, running a hand through his hair. It’s finally dry. 

Wild stirs as Sky does, bringing his head around to peer at him. His eyes are calmer and clearer than Sky has ever seen them. Curious-worry? he wonders through the bond.

Safe-calm-happy, Sky responds, holding a hand out to him.

Relief-glad. Wild pushes his nose into Sky’s hand, rumbling softly.

Sky pets him a little, then returns, Worry?

Wild’s emotions flicker rapidly for a moment, before eventually settling on, Happy-overwhelmed-nervous.

“That’s fair,” Sky says, smiling, even as he assures safe through the bond. “This is a big new place. I’m gonna go check on the others, okay? I’ll be right over there.”

Sky turns to leave only to trip over something on the ground. He catches himself and looks down—a swath of sundelions has bloomed around his boots, and he laughs. Wild must have a little more energy back, if his magic is starting to return. Sky’s glad to see it.

Stepping neatly over the flowers, he makes his way towards the camp proper. Warriors waves to him—he’s crouched near the fire, over which a spit of meat is roasting. His eyes are more focused on the distant dragons than the meat, however, which has already started burning. Sky hastily rescues it, and Warriors jumps in to help him once he’s realized his mistake. They lay the charred meat out on several plates, looking at it a bit dejectedly.

“Sorry,” Warriors says. “I got distracted.”

“It’s okay. It adds flavor.”

What sort of flavor, Sky does not specify.

“What were you thinking so hard about, anyway?” Sky asks.

“Aerial battle,” Warriors explains, “but I think it might be a moot point. The dragons don’t speak our language, so we can’t give them orders—and who knows if they would follow them, anyway. More than likely, they’re going to do whatever they want. So the question is less of ‘how do we use them’ and more of ‘how do we support them’.”

“And how do we support them?”

“I thought we might split up again, the way we did before—sending two of us with each of them. We could fire arrows from their backs. If they got close enough, we could even jump onto the Demon Dragon’s back and go at it from there.”

“Like boarding an enemy ship,” Wind declares, materializing beside them—summoned, no doubt, by the smell of cooking meat. He’s followed closely by Four and Legend. “Except the enemy ship is possibly poisonous, definitely venomous, and has the misfortune of being both sentient and ludicrously evil.”

“Yeah,” Legend agrees sardonically. “Just like a ship.”

Warriors divvies out their dinner as he talks, saying, “Boarding the Demon Dragon might be too risky. It would limit the other dragons’ attacks, too, since they’d be worried about hurting us.”

“Supposing the dragons actually care about us,” adds Four, sitting down next to the fire. “How do you know they’d go up against the Demon Dragon, anyway?”

Warriors rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I don’t. I’m just hoping, at this point. I mean, if they wanted to go back into hiding they could—it’s not like we can stop them. But they haven’t fled yet.”

Sky glances up again, his eyes finding the distant, dimly-glowing shapes of the three dragons circling high above. They’re all quite some distance away—Dinraal has gone north, while Naydra has gone to the east and Farosh to the west. But they’re still near enough to be seen, and that has to count for something.

“They came to help Wild,” Flora insists, joining them by the fire. She accepts a plate of sad, burnt meat without complaint. “They wouldn’t abandon him now.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” says Four. “We could really use them. Wild’s still too weak to face the Demon Dragon by himself.”

“But he’s getting stronger,” Sky says hopefully. “Look—did you see the plants sprouting?”

Hyrule wedges in next to him, reaching for a plate and humming in agreement. “He’s doing a lot better already. Just being out of the Depths has really improved his energy. I think he must draw a lot of his magic from the land, and he wasn’t able to access it until now.”

“Good news,” Twilight says, snagging a plate for himself.

Time settles in across from them. “It is. But we need to give him as much time to recover as we can.”

“Here’s hoping the Demon Dragon allows it,” Warriors says, looking towards the dark clouds yet brewing in the southwest. “There’s no way it missed all four dragons leaving the Depths. Even if it didn’t see them itself, a monster or two must have. I’m sure they’ve reported back to it by now.”

“Best to run on that assumption,” Flora agrees. “We mustn’t underestimate the Demon Dragon’s intelligence.”

“How long do we have before it can get here?” Time asks.

“If it wanted to, the Demon Dragon could arrive by tonight,” Flora says somberly.

“And do you think it wants to?” Warriors asks, setting his plate down.

Flora shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I assume it’s been staying in Gerudo to recover—Wild left it with rather terrible wounds, when they fought.”

Wind whoops in delight. “Hell yeah he did!”

“Language,” Time chides. “Princess Zelda is with us.”

Flora waves their concern off. “Never mind that. I don’t know how quickly the Demon Dragon healed, or if it feels prepared to face Wild once more—especially if it thinks the other three dragon will be supporting him. It’s possible that it will wait, amassing its power and its forces, until it feels stronger. It’s equally possible that it has healed much more quickly than Wild has, and will strike at once to prevent Wild from growing any stronger, himself.”

“Well, I know which I’d prefer,” Twilight muses, licking grease from his fingers.

“A defensive battle is the worst sort,” Warriors agrees. “We can’t let the Demon Dragon attack first.”

Sky bites into his own dinner—a tough, stringy bit of meat with the flavor of charcoal. “But Wild still needs time to recover. We can’t rush him into something he’s ill-prepared for.”

“Is there any way he could recover his magic faster?” Warriors asks, looking to Flora. “Could the other dragons lend him more just before the fight begins?”

“Borrowed magic won’t sustain him through an entire fight,” Sky points out. “Magic from all three of the dragons barely got him out of the Depths.”

“He needs a steady supply of his own magic,” Hyrule agrees.

“Well, how do we get that?”

“Time,” Sky repeats. “He needs time.”

Warriors looks away, his jaw tense. “That’s the one thing we may not be able to give him.”

“Then let’s work on controlling what we can,” Twilight says. “You were saying something about aerial support, Captain?”

“Right,” Warriors says, after a brief pause. “We could provide support from the dragons’ backs with bows or spears, or attempt to board the Demon Dragon to attack it more closely ourselves. Alternatively, we could stay on the ground to fight the monsters it will undoubtedly bring with it. Are there villages nearby that could be taken hostage, Flora? Can I see the map again?”

The nine of them crowd around the slate once more, and they discuss their battle plans long into the night. As they talk, Wild finally drags himself the rest of the way from the lake. He loops his body around their camp once more, leaning his head over them. He nudges rather insistently against the bond Sky shares with him, demanding attention.

Smiling indulgently, Sky comes to his side and sets a hand on his neck. “Sorry,” he says. “We don’t mean to leave you out, but I figure this is all rather boring for you. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure how much you understand.”

Wild touches the tip of his muzzle to Sky’s head, each long breath stirring his hair. Content-quiet-calm, he declares.

They may not be out of the woods yet, but Wild is clearly feeling better now that he’s escaped the Depths and the gloom that plagued him. Sky will take his victories where he can. In the meantime—

“We’ll figure something out,” he assures Wild. “Trust us.”

It’s a big ask for any of his brothers to trust, after all they’ve been through. But Wild does it so easily, now—he purrs, low and raspy, and squints his eyes in an expression of draconic contentment. Sky is nearly overwhelmed by the precious weight of that trust, and he trembles beneath it.

They’ll figure something out—not because it will be easy, or obvious, or because the goddesses smile upon them (though, Sky would argue, they do). They’ll figure it out because they have to. They’ll figure it out because if they don’t, Wild will be destroyed once more, and that simply isn’t an option: Sky will slaughter whatever man, myth, or monster makes the mistake of thinking that it is. 

Notes:

sky is so soft but also he is so 100% down to murder anyone who threatens his brothers and i love that about him

Chapter 16: harnessed

Warriors mercifully allows Four two sips of coffee before accosting him.

“Do you think you could make a harness for the dragons?”

Four yawns, letting the steam from his mug curl up and warm his face. “I would need the right materials for the right dragons,” he says. “We can’t use metal or Farosh will electrocute us. We can’t use rope or Dinraal will burn through it. That limits our options pretty significantly.”

Warriors holds up a strange, cubic black rock patterned with blue stripes. “Zonaite.”

Four holds out a hand, and Warriors passes the rock to him. It’s heavier than it looks—dense. He takes a third sip of his coffee before setting his mug down and tossing the stone between his palms. It leaves faint black dust on his skin, reminiscent of coal.

“Flora said it’s abundant in the Depths,” Warriors explains. “We believe it can be melted down and re-shaped.”

“I’d need a forge.”

“There are several in the Depths.”

Four wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“And one on the Great Sky Island,” Warriors adds. 

Four hums thoughtfully, setting the Zonaite down and reaching for his coffee again. “I could try. Why? What’s the goal?”

“To keep us from plummeting to our deaths mid-battle.”

“We’ve decided to make our stand from dragon-back, then.”

Warriors nods shortly. “I don’t think we need to leave anyone on the ground. This Hyrule is vast, but it’s unpopulated. If we can stage our battle far from any villages, it won’t matter how many monsters the Demon Dragon brings with him. We’ll be safe in the air.”

“Safe from them, anyway,” Four muses, considering it. The only reason for them to fight on the ground would be to defend civilians—of which this Hyrule has very few. If Warriors is right and they can stage the battle in the middle of nowhere, they can abandon ground defense and focus solely on taking down the Demon Dragon. “Will the dragons accept a harness?”

“I have no idea,” Warriors says with unabashed honesty. “But I think we have to try. Running around on an unpredictably-moving object five thousand meters in the air without any sort of security can’t possibly end well. I know we have the paragliders, now, but we’d still end up on the ground alone. If the Demon Dragon brings as many monsters as Flora thinks it will, that won’t be good, either.”

Four murmurs in agreement, taking another swallow of coffee. The taste lingers hot and bitter on his tongue. “I’ll try to design something. Suppose Wild will hold still for measurements?”

Wild does not, in fact, hold still for measurements.

From the start, the dragon is livelier than Four has ever seen him. He’s standing and stretching when Four approaches him, his jaws split in a yawn that shows off several rows of terribly sharp teeth. He chirps in surprise when he notices Four, dipping his head to study him closely. 

“Good morning,” Four says, nodding politely to him.

Hyrule appears from behind Wild’s leg, waving to him. “Morning, Four. Did you need something?”

“I’m taking measurements,” Four explains, pulling his tape measure from his pocket. “We’re designing harnesses for the dragons.”

“Oh, sure,” Hyrule says, his eyes brightening with interest. “Can I help?”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s climb up. The hookshots don’t hurt him, right?”

“No, he barely notices them.”

Four aims the hookshot for one of Wild’s spines, and it lodges neatly into place. He and Hyrule scale up the chain onto Wild’s back. Wild does his best to keep an eye on them the entire time, nearly doubling back on himself. He snuffles curiously at the hookshot’s chain. Four resets it just as he’s opening his mouth to bite it, and the chain narrowly escapes draconic destruction.

“He seems more awake today,” Four says as they make their way towards the base of the dragon’s neck.

Hyrule nods earnestly in agreement. “Isn’t it amazing? Just a day out of the Depths, and he’s already starting to get up and move around. He’ll be flying before long.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t decide to try now,” Four says, though he doubts Wild will; the dragon is far too busy trying to fold his neck in half simply to look at them. “Try not to let him bite at the chain, would you?”

“I make no promises.”

“Very encouraging, thank you.”

Four sets the hookshot right behind Wild’s neck, using it to rappel down with his tape measure. It isn’t nearly long enough to encircle the dragon’s throat, so he takes several measurements and adds them together to get his sum. He takes circumferential measurements at Wild’s neck, as well as his withers and waist, and jots down the length between each.

“How goes it?” Warriors shouts up at them, almost an hour later.

“Almost done,” Four calls back; he’s measuring the diameter of one of Wild’s spikes, in case he needs to use it as an anchoring point for the harness.

Wild warbles in agreement, bobbing his head in birdlike excitement. 

“Can you get him to go over there, into the water?” Warriors gestures back at the stream that feeds into the lake. 

“Ask Sky,” Hyrule says, leaning over Wild’s side. Four grabs the back of his tunic, just in case. It is an awfully long way down. “He can do that picture thing with the bond.”

Warriors gives them a thumbs-up and goes to find Sky, who—after a rather complex game of mental charades—manages to convince Wild to splash into the stream. Four and Hyrule climb to the top of his head, which Wild holds aloft and dry. Warriors climbs aboard shortly after, wielding his weapons of choice: thick, soap-soaked rags of fabric. 

“It’s spa day for Wild,” he announces.

“Nuh-uh,” Four says, stepping back. “I have harnesses to build. The Demon Dragon could arrive at any time, remember?”

“And when it does, it’ll see a fine, clean enemy,” Warriors says haughtily. “Besides, I’ve been watching the clouds to the south all morning. They’ve come no closer, and Flora says the Demon Dragon isn’t likely to attack during the daytime. The sunlight weakens it.”

“All the more reason I should go now, to prepare the harnesses while we still have time,” Four insists.

“Fortunately for you, I agree,” Warriors says, handing one of the rags to Hyrule. “Legend volunteered to travel to the forge with you. You can teleport up using the slate. Just make sure you’re back by sundown, whether the harnesses are done or not.”

“They won’t be,” Four assures him. He’s a good smithy, but even he can’t make hundreds of meters of chain in one day. “Somehow, I doubt you’ll be finished here by sundown, either.”

Warriors looks down the tremendous length of Wild’s body. “Somehow,” he agrees, “I think you’re probably right. Sky, Twilight! Get up here and help!”

Four rappels down and hands his hookshot off to Twilight so the other two can climb up. He goes to meet Legend in camp, and the two of them teleport up to the Great Sky Island. The forge there is immense, and already burning hotly. Four cracks his knuckles and gets to work.

---

It takes four days to make the harnesses.

On the eve of the first day, Four returns to find Warriors combing Wild’s mane and telling stories of his conquests. Wild rumbles every so often in response, though Four sincerely doubts he understands a thing Warriors says—he’s merely reacting to Warriors’ tone of voice, which is pitched up with excitement and enthusiasm. Flora passes him several colorful jewels as he talks, which he braids into Wild’s mane.

“Topaz, for resistance to electricity when he’s near Farosh,” Flora explains, when Four clambers aboard to see what they’re doing. “Amber gives a sturdy defense, and diamonds increase strength in attacking. I thought about adding sapphire and ruby to ease the temperatures around Dinraal and Naydra, but I feel as though they might cancel each other out. I’ll have to test the theory another time.”

Four lays his head down on Wild’s mane—soft, smooth, and scented suspiciously like Warriors’ conditioner—and listens to Warriors and Flora talk. He finds each of the great dragons circling in the distance like ever-present guardians. The clouds in the south crackle with red light, but draw no closer.

The eve of the second day, Time tells Four that they’re moving. “Flora believes Wild might gather his magic more quickly in a place where power lies closer to the surface.”

“And where is that?”

“The Korok Forest,” Time says, unrolling his map and showing Four just where. “The Deku Tree lives there—in the center of it, to be exact, in a place known as the Lost Woods.”

Four’s brow furrows. “That’s quite some distance away. How are you going to get there? Wild can’t fly, and he doesn’t walk well.”

Wild can stand and turn with relative ease, having learned to compensate for his missing foreleg by leaning largely to the left. But walking remains an ungainly thing for him. He’s a massive creature, designed to support a significant portion of his weight on his forelegs. It must pain him to travel any distance with the awkward crow-hops he uses to move his front shoulders forward.

“He’s going to swim!” Wind exclaims, bouncing into place beside Time. “We can follow Hylia River north all the way up to Helmhead Bridge, just past the Castle. Then he’ll only have to walk a little ways to get to the Lost Woods. Hyrule says the swimming will be good exercise for him, too, now that he’s getting up and around more.”

It’s a good idea. 

It’s also, Four realizes, a retreat. Looking to the south, he sees that the dark clouds have finally begun to draw closer. Warriors has undoubtedly realized the same thing: the Demon Dragon is on his way. Their captain is usually loathe to retreat from an enemy, expounding at length about the follies of defensive battles and sieges—but in this case, he seems to be trying desperately to give Wild the time he needs to heal.

Anxiety prickles in Four’s fingertips. “The first harness is done,” he says. “Let’s put it on Wild. That way, you all have something to hold onto while you’re sailing upriver.”

Four and Legend bring the harness down from the forge in pieces—the only way it can be moved, as large as it is. Sky coaxes Wild into standing up, though getting him to stand still is another matter entirely. He must smell and touch every piece as they apply it and fasten it together with a series of heavy latches. 

The harness itself is hasty work, but Four is satisfied with it. It is chain made of dense, deep black Zonaite—non-combustible and non-conductive both. It loops around Wild’s throat and trails down his back in two lines on either side of his spines, fastening around every third spine to anchor it in place. Supporting chains encircle his body behind each set of legs. Leather wraps the chain at the heaviest contact-points, keeping it from chafing against Wild’s scales. Four had focused on keeping the harness simple and maneuverable, meant only to give his brothers a place to grasp onto or tie themselves to in flight. If he had a little more time, he could incorporate armor—

“Good,” Time says, looking at Wild in approval.

Wild gives himself a hard shake, rattling the chains. Four is satisfied to see that they hold their place, though the same can’t be said for Warriors—who yelps and slides off of Wild’s shoulder. Snake-like, Wild curves his head around and snags Warriors' tunic in his teeth before lowering him to the ground.

“Thanks,” Warriors sighs, patting Wild’s muzzle gratefully. 

“You could use this.” Four hands him another length of Zonaite chain, with a much smaller harness at one end and a carabiner at the other. “Latch onto any of the links along Wild’s harness. That way, you won’t fall off next time.”

“Perfect! This is exactly what we needed.” Warriors beams, shoving his legs into the harness and buckling it around his waist and chest. “Thanks, Four.”

Wild gives another—smaller—shake as he adjusts his own harness. Then he snorts and offers a few stiff little hops which rattle the ground beneath them. 

“He hates it,” Four guesses.

Sky smiles sympathetically at him and doesn’t deny it.

At Warriors’ insistence, they pack up camp and leave for the Lost Woods that evening. It’s nearly midnight by the time they reach Hylia River, and Wild collapses gratefully into the water. They all scramble aboard—Four hasn’t quite finished making the rest of his brothers’ own harnesses, yet, so they can’t all latch on, but the swim is mercifully short and uneventful. Wild drags himself out of the water before moonhigh, and goes to sleep quite promptly on the bank. The rest of them follow suit, save for Wind, who is on first watch, and whose eyes study nervously the growing dark in the south.

The eve of the third day, Purah joins them. 

Flora had gone to speak with her as they passed Lookout Landing earlier that afternoon—much to Wild’s chagrin. He had been persuaded not to follow her only by Hyrule and Sky, who had hidden in the nearby forest simply to give the dragon something else to worry about. Several uprooted trees later they had been found, and Wild had been left with no hint as to where Flora had gone. It was an effective distraction, if a little mean. Were Wind’s stories to be believed, Wild had spent the rest of the day moping rather sullenly by the river.

Fortunately, Flora returns just after sundown. Behind her, there is a string of familiar horses, as well as a young woman with shortly-cropped white hair. The woman stares unabashedly—first at Wild, and then at the eight of them. 

“Purah!” Sky says brightly, jumping up and crossing camp to greet her. “Hi. It’s good to see you again.”

Wild swings his head around at the sound of Sky’s voice, his eyes quickly finding Flora. He hisses in excitement and presses his nose against her, careful not to bowl her over; the horses, to Four’s surprise, do not even bother to startle. Flora laughs and pets his whiskers down, a smile lighting her face. Wild only draws back when he notices Purah, his ears pinning in uncertainty. 

“I know you told me already,” Purah says, her eyes never once leaving Wild, “but I truly can’t believe it’s him.”

Flora takes her hand and squeezes. “I know.”

Purah extends her free hand to Wild, palm upturned. “Hello, Linky. Do you recognize me?”

Wild cocks his head, studying her with one vast eye. He does not nuzzle up to her the way he did to Flora, but he does not drive her away, either. In fact, he sets his head down in front of them with a quiet rumble. When Purah steps towards him, tiny red blooms sprout in her footprints.

“You’ve got yourself into a rather interesting predicament this time, haven’t you?” Purah says, touching his cheek with one small hand. 

“Doesn’t he always?” sighs Flora, though the fond look in her eyes does not abate. 

“We’ll certainly have a time turning you back into a Hylian,” Purah muses. “Though, if you should like to stay like this for a little while, that would be fine, too. Just think of all we could learn about the dragons! I’ve never been so close to one before—though not for lack of trying, believe me. You said one of them had already taken measurements—?”

“Four has,” Flora says, nodding towards Four.

Four lifts his hand in a tired wave. Pain flares up in his knuckles where he’d burned them earlier at the forge, and he presses one to his mouth to suck away the sting. 

“You simply must allow me to copy the numbers down,” Purah declares, striding towards him. 

“But first,” Flora says, catching her elbow, “let us speak with Warriors.”

“Ah, yes! Which one is that?”

As Flora introduces her to each of them, Four makes his way to the herd of horses. He’s pleased to find Acorn looking as spirited as ever, pinning her ears fiercely whenever Greatgourd glances her way. He had been rather loathe to leave his mount in Akkala—not that Dinraal had given him much of a choice, at the time. Truly, he hadn’t thought that he would get the chance to see her again. 

“How did you find them all?” Sky asks, rubbing the soft pink nose of his own stallion. “They were scattered so far away.”

“All horses are guarded by Malanya’s magic,” Flora explains. Her own horse—a rather fierce-looking white stallion—looms over her shoulder as she speaks. “Tamed horses are naturally drawn back to nearby stables. From there, Malanya’s magic allows them to be teleported between any of the stables in Hyrule. I was able to retrieve them all from Lookout Landing.”

“That’s amazing,” Wind says, hugging his own mare around her sturdy neck. 

Once the horses have been un-tacked and picketed outside of camp, Flora, Purah, Warriors, Time, and Twilight retreat to the campfire to pore over their tentative plans. Purah—as de-facto leader of Lookout Landing—will be responsible for keeping the people there safe as the Demon Dragon passes overhead. It is an unfortunate complication of their northward retreat that they have drawn the beast closer to civilization, but Purah assures them that her people will be safely secured underground.

“Unless the dragon itself wants to waste time digging us up, we’ll be just fine,” Four overhears her saying.

“Do you think it would do such a thing?” Flora asks.

“I don’t know how intelligent it truly is. If it’s anything like Wild, it won’t think of such complex things,” Warriors says. “Not to say that Wild is stupid, but—”

Flora hums. “I understand. He thinks more like an animal than a man, right now. If the Demon Dragon thinks the same way, it won’t formulate such extravagant plans, and it won’t think to dig our people up just to take them hostage.”

“I don’t think it knows anyone remains in Lookout Landing, anyway,” Purah adds. “We’ve done our best to lay low, and to keep any monsters from seeing or reporting our activities. With luck, the Demon Dragon thinks it killed all of us the first time it attacked the Landing.”

“That’s excellent,” Warriors says. “So, then—”

Hyrule kneels in front of Four, shifting his attention from their companions’ conversation. He reaches for Four’s hand, studying the scalded pink skin. “How much longer will you have to work?” he asks.

“We’ve just started on the last harness,” Four says. Between the four of him and Legend, he hopes to finish it by tomorrow night. “Then we have to figure out how to get the harnesses onto the other three dragons.”

Hyrule hums, pulling a small metal tin from his pocket. He pops it open and dabs the pale green cream within onto Four’s burn. It’s pleasantly cool on his skin, and Four finds his shoulders unwinding. He hadn’t realized how tense that small, nagging pain had made him. “Suppose you ask them?”

“Dinraal did seem to listen when we told her about Wild,” Four admits. “I think they understand more than we believe.”

Hyrule smiles, tucking the tin away once more. “I think you’re right.”

“The issue is getting within earshot. They haven’t landed since they were in the Depths, and I don’t know how to summon them down.”

“I’ll see what we can figure out tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about that part. Leave it to us.”

Four nods, watching quietly as Hyrule winds a soft linen bandage around his hand. The healer’s movements are deft and quick; he’s finished within only a few seconds.

“Now go to sleep, Four,” Hyrule says. “You’re exhausted.”

Four doesn’t bother arguing that. Working the forge from sun-up to sundown is a hot, miserable task. Even with Legend’s help, he’s left near-numb with fatigue by the time he’s finished each night. So he arranges his bedding, flops down, and does just as Hyrule suggests.

The eve of the fourth day, Four harnesses the dragons.

Naydra, Dinraal, and Farosh had all been coaxed down once more: “The hardest part was finding a good island to paraglide to their backs from,” Sky had explained when Four arrived. “After that, we just had to tell them that it would really help us—and Wild—out if they would land and let us put the harnesses on, so we could fight from their backs without worrying them.”

Four hands the harnesses over to each dragon’s team: Sky and Twilight to Naydra, Wind and Warriors to Farosh, and himself and Legend to Dinraal. Each harness weighs nearly a hundred kilos, so they hitch a horse to each and allow them to drag the chains over to the dragons. Unfortunately, the horses are rather more wary of the elder dragons than they were of Wild; Acorn balks several meters away from Dinraal and will not be driven another step. Muttering curses, Four and Legend unhitch her and haul the harness the rest of the way. 

With a rather derisive snort, Dinraal lowers her head to study their handiwork. She bumps the chains with her muzzle and wrinkles her upper lip. 

“Yeah, well, you try making thousands of meters of chain on a time crunch using a material you’ve never worked with before at a forge over a millennia old,” Four gripes, holding his nose and downing another bitter black fireproof elixir. 

Dinraal huffs, dousing him in sparks.

It takes nearly two hours to heave the harness’s pieces into place and latch them together. It takes another to adjust its lie to Dinraal’s satisfaction, as she will not permit them to leave until she’s comfortable—and her harness cannot be padded, simply because she’d burn any other material away. 

“Right,” Four says once he's finished, his hands on his hips. “Are you happy?”

Dinraal shimmies her shoulders and considers this. Having found everything the way she likes it, she reaches up, allowing Four to climb into her palm, and sets him down on the ground before her. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Legend says, sliding down her leg and landing neatly in the charred grass beside her. “I think Wild would pitch a fit if we stayed over here any longer.”

Four glances over to find Wild watching jealously from across the river, his eyes glowing through the dark. In the firelight, Four can see that the others have already returned to him. Their dragons must have been a good deal less insufferable about harnessing—lucky them.

“I think that’s all we need for now,” Four tells Dinraal. “You can go. Just remember to come grab us before you fight the big guy, right?”

Dinraal hisses in what Four desperately hopes in agreement. Then she launches herself back into the air, shaking the ground beneath them and leaving a shimmering trail of sparks in her wake. Four and Legend plod back to camp, sullen and weary. 

“I’m sleeping in tomorrow,” Four announces, climbing onto Wild’s back. At least if he sleeps there, no-one will have to wake him to resume their travels. 

“Please do,” says Time.

Legend, after a moment’s hesitation, clambers up beside him. He throws a blanket down and pillows his head on Wild’s mane. Four sprawls out on Wild’s mane itself, which he figures is a soft enough a bed for him, and folds his arm beneath his cheek. Let the others worry about packing camp and plotting a course ahead—he’s done for today.

When Four wakes late the next morning, they’re already moving. Wild swims upriver, his movements slow and smooth through the water. Flora and Hyrule have joined them on the dragon’s back, but the rest of his brothers are riding their horses on the riverbank to Wild’s left. Acorn is ponied along behind Time’s stallion, Fierceling; for once, she doesn’t seem terribly upset about another horse’s presence in her well-defined space.

Four sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“Morning,” Hyrule says. “How’s the hand?”

Four flexes his fingers. The skin on the back of his knuckles is still stiff and pink, but it doesn’t sting as badly as it did the first couple of days. “Better,” he says.

“Good. There’s breakfast, if you want it.”

Four accepts the bowl of rice porridge Hyrule offers him. It’s cold and congealed, but better than nothing. He wolfs it down, surprised by how hungry he is. “Where are we?”

“Right across from Hyrule Forest Park,” Hyrule says, handing him one of their parchment maps. “We’ll be at Helmshead Bridge by noon, if I had to guess. Then it’s just a few miles over land to the Lost Woods.”

Four grunts in acknowledgement, scraping his bowl clean. “Can you get Wild to stop for a second?”

“I can try,” Hyrule offers. “Sky’s better at it, though. Why?”

Four stands up, stretching out stiff joints and tired muscles. “Because I have to piss.”

There’s a bit of shouting between the two groups—those on Wild’s back, and those on horseback—before they all draw to a stop. Wild reaches around, as Dinraal had done last night, and offers his palm to Four. Four steps into it, and Wild lowers him carefully to the riverbank.

“Thanks, Wild,” Four says, patting his talon.

Wild chitters softly in response. 

Four weaves between his brothers, murmuring tired greetings and pausing to pat Acorn’s neck. He makes his way into the forest to relieve himself, then turns to head back towards the river. But the image of Hyrule Castle far above him, just to the east, catches his eye. He turns back towards it, taking a few more steps in its direction.

The Castle is massive, made of hewn stone. It floats high above the ground, wreathed in shadow and gloom. Beneath it is a massive crater—if Four had to guess, it leads into the Depths. The area around it is dull and lifeless. But the area around Four, here in the Forest Park, still teems with wildlife. Even as Four watches, a large doe picks her way through the trees.

The idea of fresh meat for lunch makes Four’s mouth water. He draws his bow from his back, deftly nocking an arrow. He moves after the doe with careful, quiet steps. He’s careful to keep downwind of her, waiting patiently until he has a good view of her side to take aim. He draws the bowstring, the arrowhead aimed just behind her front leg, and—

Something moves.

The doe blows in alarm and flashes the white of her tail, taking off. Four swears and lowers his bow, relaxing the tension on the string. His eyes narrow—deeper in the forest, trees are shifting and branches are cracking. A towering shadow rises before him: a black Hinox. He grinds his teeth in frustration. He’d left his Quake Medallion behind, with the rest of his things. He’s armed only with his bow and Foursword.

“Four?” Time calls behind him, his voice distant. “We’re getting ready to go!”

Four hadn’t realized he’d strayed so far from the group in his pursuit of the deer. He raises his bow once more, aiming swiftly for the Hinox’s blazing blue eye. He releases the arrow and it lands truly. The Hinox bellows in fury and clutches his eye, staggering backwards.

“Four!” Time shouts, alarm now clear in his voice.

“Hinox!” Four shouts back, already nocking another arrow. Dark, sticky blood wells up on the lid of the Hinox’s eye, and he swears. “Black-blooded!”

The Hinox advances, tearing a fully-grown oak from the ground with terrible ease. It swings it, felling several other trees and narrowly missing Four. A branch whips past his ankles and he hisses, darting backwards. When he takes aim again, the Hinox—unfortunately intelligent—clamps a hand over its eye. “Shit!” Four exclaims.

Twilight crashes through the brambles in wolf-form, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. He wastes no time in lunging forward, sinking his teeth into the Hinox’s ankle. It kicks back at him, dislodging his grip, and he slams into broken trunk with a yelp. 

“Twilight!” Four scrambles towards him, wide-eyed.

But Twilight is already lurching to his feet once more, ears pinned. A terrible growl rolls through his throat. He lunges in once more, but he’s more cautious, this time—weaving in and out of the Hinox’s reach, nipping at its ankles to distract it. Four takes the advantage he’s given and fires another arrow into the Hinox’s eye while it searches for Twilight. It reels backwards with a shriek. 

Legend skids in next, a bomb arrow already hissing on his bowstring. “Twilight, out!” he shouts.

Twilight darts away from the Hinox. The moment he’s clear, Legend fires. His aim is true, as ever, and the Hinox stumbles several steps backwards before crashing down. Four draws his sword and makes it approximately two steps forward before the forest is torn apart above his head.

Wild shrieks in fury, ripping the trees up to reach them. Legend grabs Four and the two of them stumble backwards, narrowly avoiding splinters of bark and broken branches. The moment he sees the Hinox, Wild seizes it between his teeth. Even its tough hide parts like butter between his fangs, splitting open and pouring out rivers of black blood. He shakes his head like a terrier with a rat, then tosses the body upwards and catches it in his maw. He swallows it whole before turning back to the forest with an enraged snarl—as though even the trees have offended him.

Twilight winces his way over to them with one arm curled around his right side, returned to Hylian form. “Goddess,” he says, looking at the spatter of blood where the Hinox once stood. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”

“You’re hurt.” Four pushes Twilight’s arm out of the way, looking for blood or deformity. He finds none—not on the surface. “Come on. Let’s get to Hyrule.”

“I’m fine,” Twilight says, waving him off. “Just a bruise.”

Legend snorts, pressing him forward with a hand on his back. “We’ll let Hyrule decide that, rancher. Move your feet or I’ll carry you.”

Twilight makes it a few steps before Wild notices him. The dragon presses his chin to the forest floor, hissing anxiously at the three of them. His talons flex and release against the dirt, like a massive cat kneading the earth. Thorns coil up and around the broken tree trunks, and the very leaves of the canopy seem to wilt. 

“We’re alright,” Four says, pressing his hand to Wild’s muzzle the way he’s seen Hyrule and Flora do. “Don’t worry.”

Wild growls quietly in disagreement, his eyes fixated on Twilight. His tail lashes, felling several more unfortunate trees. Twilight flaps a hand at him. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he insists. “You guys are worry-warts, seriously.”

“I’ll be the one deciding that, thank you,” Hyrule says, storming past Wild’s leg with a thunderous look in his eyes. He’s out of breath and flushed with exertion—he must have run all the way from the river. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”

Legend points unabashedly at Twilight.

“The Hinox kicked him pretty hard,” Four explains. 

“Sit,” Hyrule instructs.

“I’m not a dog,” Twilight grumbles, but does as he’s bid. Like the rest of them, he knows better than to argue with their healer. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Hyrule asks, exasperated. “Clothes off.”

“Gee, take a guy to dinner first—”

“Euthanasia is always an option.”

Twilight barks a laugh but shrugs out of his pelt and tunic, allowing Hyrule to examine his side. He winces as Hyrule palpates down his ribs, his breath catching. 

“Take a deep breath,” Hyrule instructs.

Twilight tries, but falters halfway through. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Twilight mutters rather sullenly. “But they’re not broken.”

“They’re broken,” Hyrule decides. “Anywhere else hurt?”

Twilight shakes his head. Jaded—and understandably so, having traveled with them for almost a year—Hyrule elects not to believe this. He presses along Twilight’s spine, from his neck down, and watches carefully as he flexes and extends all of his limbs, fingers, and toes. He feels for any lumps under Twilight’s hair and assesses the way his pupils change in shadow and in sunlight. Then he presses his palm against Twilight’s stomach, feeling carefully for any flinch.

By the time he’s finished, Four’s other brothers have arrived. Four moves away to give them room, letting Time and Warriors crouch next to Twilight to speak with him and Hyrule in low voices.

“What happened?” Sky asks, his brow furrowed.

“I saw a doe,” Four mutters, feeling ashamed for no reason that he can discern. How was he meant to know there was a Hinox here? It wasn’t his fault Twilight got hurt—so why does it feel like it is? “I thought I might hunt her, but I followed her too close to the Hinox. I didn’t know it was there until it stood up.”

Sky squeezes his shoulder. Four knows that the bonds don’t allow for mind-reading, per se, but sometimes it sure seems like Sky reads his mind anyway, because he says, “It’s not your fault, Four.”

“I know,” Four says, and he does, rationally. Guilt still gnaws at him when he glances Twilight’s way. “He’ll be fine.”

It sounds more like a question than he means it to.

“He’ll be fine,” Sky assures him. “Some red potions and rest and he’ll be right as rain.”

Four nods, watching as Hyrule passes a red potion into Twilight’s hand. Wild hasn’t moved an inch, his head planted right next to them. He looks terribly anxious—in as much as a giant lizard can look anxious, anyway. He breathes quickly, his nostrils flaring. Flora appears to be trying to soothe him, wiping the Hinox’s blood from his face and speaking soft words, but he remains inconsolable until Twilight stands back up. Only then does he lift his own head, though his eyes never leave them. 

“Come on,” Legend says, bumping Four’s shoulder with his own. “Let’s go.”

Wild does not allow them to stray from his side. He bars their path when they try and nudges them onto his back once more, carrying them to the river with hobbling steps. Flora whistles, and the horses follow their course without further instruction. Four is impressed despite himself. Whatever magic compels the horses to listen with such little training is immensely convenient. 

The eve of the fifth day comes, and the Lost Woods appears on the horizon. Thick gray mist shrouds it, though Flora professes to know her way through quite well. Wild limps along behind her without complaint, though his head is low and his face tense—with pain or stress or both, Four does not know. It is nearly dawn when they reach the Great Deku Tree, who invites them to rest at his roots.

Wild flops down quite immediately, smashing through several trees as he does. The rest of them drop their things around him, glad to be at the end of this journey. But there is another to face—and soon, if the grave look on Warriors’ face is anything to go by. The Demon Dragon has not stopped its pursuit, and if Four’s estimate is accurate, it will be upon them by the eve of the sixth day.

“Heal quickly,” he murmurs to Wild, “and we’ll save the kill for you.”

Notes:

i can’t believe we’ve made it to chapter sixteen of a linked universe fic and this is the first time anyone has Actually fought a monster, whoops

also!! more creative liberties were taken to turn the stalnox near hyrule forest park into a black hinox for The Drama and also because the stalnox isnt active during the day :(

sorry mr. stalnox, maybe wild can eat u next time