Ereighna

Link sighs and looks ahead. Proxi had rejoined them shortly after they’d set out, confused but happy Link is back to normal, and she’s stuck by Mask since then, trying to cheer the younger hero. He knows Mask has some... feelings about the Master Sword, and the young hero has looked off ever since coming back with the weapon.

Proxi and Tune are keeping him distracted though, and Link relaxes a little as he hears him laugh.

He glances back at the rest of their group then, and takes quick stock of everyone else. Impa and Zelda are helping him walk, which if he were less tired, he’d likely be embarrassed about, but right now he’s just grateful for the help. Volga trails behind them, the drying blood on his face shiny in the moonlight, and Link wonders just how badly his leg is hurt. Volga is acting like it doesn’t bother him at all of course, but Link had heard the sound his leg had made when the scorpion crushed it, and even with a potion, he has a feeling it will take time to heal.

But Volga would keep trekking along like usual, since that was what he tended to do. Even if he was noticeably limping.

As if it knows he’s thinking about limping, Link’s foot slips a little in a loose potion of sand, and he grunts, Impa quickly giving him some extra support. He gives her a grateful look, and she gives him a tired smile, her red eyes looking almost orange in the moonlight.

He’s really lucky to be surrounded by so many people who care about him, isn’t he? Even with the complicated relations he’s still figuring out and working through, and the tenuous relationship with his parents, they still fight at his side, and he has many friends who do the same, supporting him in countless ways. Even through wars and sorceresses and strange transformations, and battles with scorpions that have no business being so big, they still stick with him.

He smiles softly to himself. He really doesn’t deserve them.

The approaching soldiers reach their small group then, and after a rapid exchange with Lana, Impa briefly leaves Link and Zelda so she can speak with the group. It’s dark out here, but none of them wants to risk any of the men seeing the scales that are apparently scattered across Link’s face at the moment.

He rubs a few fingers along his cheek almost absently. The scales are a little rough against his fingers, but smooth too, in a way. Like river stones that’ve been constantly smoothed by the water rushing over them. It’s weird having the scales there, having such visible proof of his dragon heritage splayed across his face, even if they’re making sure nobody sees them who isn’t supposed to.

He wishes he could see them. He wants to know for himself how they look.

Zelda glances over at him as he lowers his arm, Impa still informing the soldiers and Lana the danger has been dealt with, then smiles as a yawn suddenly escapes him.

“Fear not, hero. We’ll get you to your bed soon enough,” Zelda teases.

“Mm. I’m looking forward to that. I always forget how tiring magic drain is until it happens,” Link says, and blinks slowly as another wave of tiredness washes over him.

“At least you’re conscious,” Zelda says, and shifts her grip a little, Link unable to ignore how her hand rests on his side. “I’d hate to have to drag you back to camp, and I doubt Volga is up for carrying you.”

“Yeah, and he shouldn’t transform on that leg anyway,” Link says with another yawn, then shakes himself. “That fight was rough.”

“Yes,” Zelda murmurs, looking over their weary group. Nobody’s in trouble, but they all have aches and pains that’ll need time to heal. “I’m just glad nobody was too seriously injured.”

Link tilts his head. “Well...”

“I’m glad nobody is still seriously injured.”

Link smiles, and Impa walks across the sands to rejoin them.

She pulls his arm over her shoulder again, and they walk the rest of the way down to camp, the moon shining softly on their heads. The soldiers loosely surround them, some trailing forward and behind, just in case any more scorpions show up, apparently. That’s fine by Link. He doesn’t particularly want to fight another one.

Lana joins him at some point and talks animatedly to him about his successful transformation, and while Link is happy to tell her about it, he’s tired enough that he doesn’t really take much of her words in. Especially when she asks him questions, and he only manages to reply with “I don’t knows” or eloquent grunts. Zelda picks up the slack for him in that regard, which he greatly appreciates, and eventually Lana peels off to talk to Tune and Mask instead.

He’ll have to give her a more thorough explanation tomorrow.

People in their group start peeling off as they enter camp, soldiers returning to watch or dinner, Lana and Proxi teaming up to herd Tune and Mask off so they’ll be sure to eat something.

Link bids them goodnight, and soon enough it’s just him and Impa and Zelda, who soon help him into his tent. Volga trails behind, following them inside, and Link nearly collapses on his cot with a sigh. Never has it felt more comfortable.

“You should try and regain some of your magic naturally, but I’ll send for some potion for you tomorrow,” Zelda says, and squeezes his arm. “Goodnight, Link. And congratulations on the successful transformation.”

“You too,” Link says as she leaves, and smacks himself when he realizes what he said. He could’ve handled that better.

Impa gives him an amused if sympathetic smile, and asks to check where the worst of his injuries were before he sleeps. He lets her, taking off all his shirt layers so she can give him the all-clear, and idly looks at the scales still leftover on his shoulders as well. He can see them pretty well, and can’t help admiring them a little.

He’s willing to admit a part of him has always liked shiny things, and now there are shiny things that are a part of him. Mask was right— it’s cool.

“Everything clear up?” Volga asks, and Impa nods.

“The potion handled everything severe. You’ll have some bruising, and some of these bandages will need changing tomorrow, but overall you’re fine.”

Link nods in thanks, and Volga looks relieved where he’s sitting on an overturned box Link keeps around mostly for the purpose of sitting on. He lightly rubs his leg while Impa gives Link the all-clear, and happens to look up as Link glances at him.

His father’s eyes flick to the scales on Link’s skin, and something bright glints in his eyes. That same pride from earlier. Joy in someone else’s accomplishment. It makes Link want to beam.

Instead he pulls on a clean undershirt, and looks between his parents.

“Hey, I... thank you,” Link says awkwardly, and they both look at him. “For your help figuring this out. I know I said it already, but you both helped a lot. Both the transforming, and the turning back. I couldn’t have done it without the help from both of you.”

Impa looks surprised, and Volga raises an eyebrow, but they both looked pleased too, a smile on Impa’s face, a sort of smirk on Volga’s.

“You’re welcome,” Impa says first, and sets her hand on his arm. “I was glad to help.”

“I as well. Your dragon form is magnificent,” Volga adds, and the look of pride on his face makes something inside Link’s chest warm. “You’ve got some work to do still, but you did excellent with the initial change. We’ll have to figure out what’s blocking you from switching back, and practice doing it without outside help, but we can try doing—”

“This discussion would probably be better to have when we’re all a bit less exhausted,” Impa interrupts in a pointed way. Volga looks annoyed, but he doesn’t argue, surprisingly. “You should rest, Link.”

“He should eat first,” Volga adds, idly rubbing his knee again. “You need to replenish the energy you’ve used up.”

Impa looks at Link in a questioning way. “I could eat,” he admits, though right now he’s more tired.

“Then I’ll go find something for you,” Impa says, and stands up. “You can rest in the meantime.”

“I’ll come as well, I doubt your army has food he really needs,” Volga sniffs. Impa rolls her eyes.

“And what will you do if we don’t? Go hunting? You can barely walk,” she says as they start to leave, and Volga stands and follows, pointedly hiding his limp.

“I’d figure something out. Maybe some of that scorpion’s remains are edible.”

“And how would you walk all the way out to where it is?”

Link can’t help smiling a little as Volga’s indignant reply gets muffled by the tent flap falling into place, and he breathes out as he lies down on his cot.

Those two really could argue about anything.

He looks up at the ceiling a moment, just enjoying the quiet after the craziness of the day, then reaches down to the small box he keeps in his tent, where he stores things like parchment and what few extra clothes he owns. There’s a small hand mirror in there too, mostly for shaving, but he pulls it out now, and studies his face.

Blue scales speckle across the middle of his face, shimmering in the lantern light when he tilts his head. They’re concentrated at the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but a few stray scales trail up by his eyes, and the tops of his ears shimmer with them.

Link runs a finger over them again, realizing a few scales speckle his hands as well, and he hums, then puts the mirror away.

A couple months ago, he’d probably be horrified at the idea of scales on his face, but now... he doesn’t mind them so much. Even if he wishes he could control when they showed up a bit better.

Link lays back, and watches the flame dance in the lantern on the table. Being part dragon feels much less overwhelming than before. It’s still a lot at times, and the thought of the secret getting out makes his heart skitter with fear, but he’s accepted that it’s a part of him now.

Sometimes, he’s almost proud of it.

Link yawns, and closes his eyes. He’s too tired to think about all of that right now. Sleep is the only thing he particularly wants to dwell on at the moment, and a few minutes later, he gets his wish, drifting off into a deep, content, sleep.

He dreams of soaring on scaly wings.

...

Tune and Mask sit by a fire as they tiredly eat their dinner, and watch as Impa and Volga walk by together, still arguing, even though Impa is helping him walk due to his limp.

Tune smiles into his bowl of stew.

“Fifty rupees they kiss at least once before the war is over,” he whispers, and Mask snorts, and takes a large slurp of his own soup.

“You’re on, they hate each other.”

“Maybe not forever though,” Tune says, and Mask rolls his eyes.

“Well if they change their minds, it definitely won’t be before we finish this war.”