~Mini the Minish~

“So, what was he like?” Warriors asks conversationally as he sits down before the fire, settling down to eat his dinner of rice.

Marin looks up from her own bowl and hums a questioning acknowledgment. “Mm?”

“You mentioned you knew another Link before.” Warriors shoves a spoonful of rice in his mouth. “What was he like?”

Marin nods, and ponders for a second, a dreamy glaze over her eyes. Warriors recognizes it in the other soldiers he talks to when they mention the loved ones they left behind. Marin opens her mouth as if to speak, the words still evading her for a moment. When they come, they’re wrapped tenderly in admiration and wistfulness.

“He was…like a dream. He was…he was everything I was missing. I told him that I wished I could fly, and he made me feel that I could. I told him I wanted to see the world, and he became it for me, and I saw him every day. His hands were rough and calloused, but he chose not to be calloused in character. He looked at me like I was everything, and he was smart and he was kind and you could see it all in his eyes. And those eyes, they were blue, bluer than the sea where it kisses the sky on the horizon.” She smiled, face turned towards the sky, mind far away from the campfire.

Warriors doesn’t know what to say. He’s heard a lot of people gush about their loved ones, but there is something about the way Marin speaks, careful and sure, that surprises him. He feels he shouldn’t be hearing this—like it was meant for her Link’s ears only, and he was eavesdropping. He’s saved the trouble of an initial response when Marin speaks again.

“I can still hear him so clearly. I can still feel his hair beneath my fingers. I remember him so well…but it all feels like a dream, I feel…that it all *was* a dream, im a way. And, verily, all dreams must come to an end. I wonder if he remembers me, and I wonder if he misses me as badly as I miss him. I’m sure he’s got better things to worry about. But…maybe that’s better. If I hurt this badly, I don’t want him to feel it at all. He told me stories of his past, and he’s lost so much and gained so little…it would be better if he didn’t remember me and was saved the pain of missing me. But then…I wish he did remember me. We loved each other…I hope he remembers me as fondly as I do him.” Marin looks at Warriors, browns eyes brimming with heartache. “Is that selfish?”

Her expression is pleading—silently begging for an answer Warriors is certain he has no business giving. But he can’t leave her hanging. He swallows.

“No. I don’t think it’s selfish. I think…I think he thinks the same thing. I think he lies awake at night, and thinks about you. I think he carries you with him everywhere, in a way, and I think that in a world full of gold and glory and titles, you are his greatest treasure. And I think it will always be that way, for him.”

The lapse in conversation is taken over by the crackle of the fire, and for a few minutes Warriors just watches the sparks curl up towards the night sky. Eventually, with a sniffle, Marin speaks again.

“You Links…you’re all the same, aren’t you?” She says with a watery laugh. “So caring and sensitive. You and him would have gotten along well.”

Warriors chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it.”

* * *

It’s Legend.

Warriors knows as soon as he meets him. They shake hands, and then Warriors finds himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

Blue eyes, as blue as where the sea kisses the sky on the horizon.

They’re sharp, too, Warriors can see Legend taking in a thousand little details even in the brief second they make eye contact, and then introductions continue and Warriors is left reeling under the feeling of having met a ghost.

Later, he talks himself off that ledge. He’s paranoid—as soon as he heard they were all named Link, he’d been on the lookout. He was just paranoid, looking for the first guy who matched Marin’s description, when it was an unrealistic endeavor anyways. Marin hadn’t mentioned any defining physical traits—all the Links had blue eyes, the same blue eyes, in fact, and calloused hands. Everything else had been regarding his character, the way he treated her and made her feel. And Warriors definitely wasn’t getting any first-hand examples of those.

As the weeks go by and Warriors gets to know them all, he ignores the insistent instinct that Marin’s lover is Legend and instead analyses everyone else. And they all fall epically and tragically short. Wind was talkative and never mentioned a Marin, despite telling plenty of stories all staged at sea, and if Warriors was understanding things correctly, Wind was close to a pirate girl named Tetra. Nothing romantic, per se, but everything about Wind simply had the wrong…vibe. That was all Warriors could really argue. Since Marin never mentioned physical traits, it could have been any of them, really, leaving Warriors main method of deduction as whatever his gut was feeling.

Wild ruled himself out with his own Zelda, and most of his story came out fairly early in their journey and no Marin was ever mentioned. Twilight spoke of a girl who had broken his heart, and his melancholy demeanor didn’t match the wistful longing Warriors thought he should have had. Sky was happily courting, Hyrule much too shy, and Four too active and analytical.

Warriors briefly thought it could be Time—he spoke of his wife with utmost adoration. But then they met her, and although Warriors was surprised at her strange likeness to Marin, knew it definitely wasn’t Time.

Which left, as Warriors had originally and always known, Legend. And it only grew more obvious as the time passed.

He guessed exactly who Time married, because he loved someone near the same. He could be snarky and bold when he talked to them, ruthless and calculated in a fight, but Warriors saw the way he interacted with kids and people in the villages they stayed at or passed through. It was as if he’d flipped a switch, and suddenly he was the gentlest and softest person Warriors had ever met. Meeting him in person strengthens the way Marin had described him—hands rough and calloused by his past and traumas, but he chose purposely not to let it sour his character. And he did it all at the ripe age of 18.

All of this, of course, fell into place weeks after their initial meeting, and when it finally did Warriors was left with an entirely new problem: getting Legend to confirm it.

He knew in his heart, sure, that Legend was in fact the Link Marin had loved so deeply. But he could only be 99% sure. That last one percent would come as soon as Legend mentioned her, but Warriors is impatient to wait for it to happen organically. But he also doesn’t want to just walk up to him and mention it—he respects Legend, sure, but that isn’t enough to bridge the gap of familiarity. It isn’t enough to explain the awful feeling Warriors has. It isn’t enough to cover the possibility—probability—that if Warriors is too impatient, it could lead to insensitivity and the last thing Warriors wants to do is dredge up bad memories when Legend is caught in a place where he can’t run.

Ultimately, Warriors can only wait. No matter how anxious he is, he places his money on the goddesses having everything planned out already, and his chance will come when it comes. Which it does, and sooner than the Captain expected.

Months have passed since they first met, and the group has grown much closer. Close enough to rifle through each other’s things, poke and prod at other, compete for largest scar and in general, act very much like brothers. And Warriors has grown to consider them so; in a way he never has with anyone else, Warriors loves them as if they are all of the same flesh and blood. And after that, his mission is no longer delivering one last message. It is giving his brother a vital piece of information. He no longer owes it to him because of Marin or out of perceived obligation. He owes it to him because to keep it to himself would be to lie to his brother.

Well. Maybe not directly, but still. It would feel like lying.

Thus, one warm and humid evening somewhere in Time’s Hyrule, deep in some woods somewhere, when Legend stands up and stretches and declares he’s going on patrol, Warriors jumps straight the chance to accompany him. The silence is peaceable at first, and the two heroes walk through the woods, eyes peeled and ears open for any sign of monsters. The camp noises fade far behind them, replaced by the sounds of a forest preparing for bed. It’s broken when Legend stops abruptly.

“What?” Warriors asks, stopping too and looking around. “Did you see something?”

“What do you want?”

Warriors stops and looks at Legend. “What?”

“What do you want?” Legend repeats, eyes boring into Warriors’ soul. They betray no sign of hostility or wariness, and neither does Legend’s tone. It’s short and to the point. “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. You have since we first met. I thought you must have recognized me, but I know I’ve never seen you before in my life. So what is it?”

Warriors blinks. Damn, the kid is perceptive. He struggles to find the words, everything sounding too soon, too indifferent, too harsh. Shouldn’t there have been a more gentle lead up to this? Then again, Warriors has no idea how he would have achieved that, either.

“Spit it out,” Legend says impatiently. “I’m not a little kid, I can take it. Are you mad I smeared mud on your face the other day? Because if that’s the case I’m not apologizing, I was perfectly justified—“

“Marin.” Warriors says, and Legend’s jaw snaps shut. His whole body stiffens, something flickers in his eyes—good natured annoyance turns to fear, ever so briefly, before he relaxes again. He’s deadly calm now, attention completely on Warriors. He doesn’t say anything, so Warriors keeps going.

“I met a girl during the war. Her name was Marin. She had red hair and a blue and purple dress and she could sing like no one else. When we met, and I told her my name, she smiled and said that she knew a Link, once. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Legend nods stiffly. Warriors hesitates. Again, words evade him. Legend doesn’t care.

“That’s not everything.” His voice is almost monotone. “Tell me.”

Warriors opens his mouth. No words come out.

“Captain.” It’s harsh this time, almost anxious. “Say it.”

“…She’s gone.”

* * *

“Spit it out. I’m not a little kid, I can take it. Are you mad I smeared mud on your face the other day? Because if that’s the case I’m not apologizing, I was perfectly justified—“

“Marin.”

Legend hates the cold shock that shudders through his whole body when Warriors says it. He forces himself to stay calm, taking a deep breath and exhaling through his nose. His silence prompts Warriors to continue.

“I met a girl during the war. Her name was Marin. She had red hair and a blue and purple dress and she could sing like no one else. When we met, and I told her my name, she smiled and said that she knew a Link, once. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Legend nods. He can tell that isn’t what Warriors wanted to tell him. Not all of it, anyway.

“That’s not everything. Tell me.”

Silence.

“Captain.” He feels the faint tendrils of desperation prickling at his heart. “Say it.”

“…She’s gone.”

Legend doesn’t understand at first. Maybe, unconsciously, he doesn’t want to understand.

“What? Of course she is. She…she has been, for awhile now, and she clearly isn’t here—“

“Legend. She’s dead.”

There’s no way he can misunderstand that. He can’t feel the rest of his body. He just keeps standing there, staring hardly at Warriors’ face.

“What.”

“She…she died, Legend. I’m sorry. She fought long and hard, but ultimately the enemy overtook her. She didn’t…she didn’t even have a chance.”

Legend keeps staring at him for a second, and then he shifts his gaze to the ground. He feels sick. He’s shaky and weak, and after a minute, he just sits down.

Warriors knew Marin during his war. Which meant she survived. Somehow, she had survived Koholint, even though it was a dream.

And then she died in that war.

The irony. It’s so ironic, in a sick and twisted way, he can taste it. Uncalled for, a chuckle escapes him, and then a soft laugh, and then he’s just cackling outright, loud, humorless laughter because of course she survived. Of course the Windfish would spare her, of course Legend find that out in an information of her death somewhere else.

Of course Legend would only find out that he didn’t kill her after she had died at someone else’s hand.

He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs until Warriors is shaking his shoulders and telling him to snap out of it. He does his best, but ultimately all he can do is grasp Warriors’ forearms and look into his eyes, still chuckling breathlessly.

“…Of course.” He says. Warriors looks genuinely afraid of what Legend will say next. “Of course, the goddesses would let me blame myself. Of course they would let me spend all this time hating myself, until they knew there was no way she could distract me.”

Warriors is visibly confused. “What?”

“That’s got to be it…right? There’s nothing…I don’t know why else they would do this. How…could I be so damn unlucky? I’ve lost her twice. How do I keep doing this?” He laughs again, but when it fades out he’s too short of breath and his eyes burn. Scalding tears sear his cheeks, and he doesn’t know if he’ll survive how badly his heart hurts. Not again.

Warriors shifts to tuck him completely against his chest, holding him tightly, as if he could absorb the pain somehow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Legend hair. “I’m so sorry.”

* * *

Legend cries for a long time, and violently enough that Warriors wonders if he’s getting enough air. They’re incredibly vulnerable here, and when Warriors hears something approaching through the woods, he jumps up and very nearly stabs Wolfie as he jumps through the bushes. Wild is close behind him, and once Warriors knows it’s just them he returns to Legend.

“Whoa!” Wild yelps softly as he sees Warriors gathers the limp and unyielding Veteran into a bridal carry. “Is he—“

“He’s not injured.” Warriors assures him, shifting his hold on Legend so it’s more comfortable for them both. “He just heard some pretty shocking news and it hit hard.”

Wild nods, understanding immediately and offering no further inquiries.

“You guys have been gone so long we started to worry. Supper’s way past over and we were about to get ready for bed when we realized you hadn’t returned, so we split up and went searching,” Wild explains his sudden appearance.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” Warriors apologizes sincerely.

“It’s alright. Just as long as no one’s hurt.”

The walk back is silent, and Warriors has never been so glad to see bed rolls surrounding a campfire. Legend isn’t asleep, but he’s sluggish and almost unresponsive. Wild digs his bed roll from his bag while Warriors coaxes him to at least take off his boots, and then as soon as he’s tucked into his bed roll, he’s asleep. Warriors, searching to offer a little bit more comfort, undoes his scarf and lays it over the Veteran like a blanket. He doesn’t know that it will actually do much in the way of support, but it makes him feel better so he leaves it.

Warriors himself stays awake until every searching member of the chain has returned, just to explain what took them so long. Any anger at the inconvenient scare dissipates upon hearing how it came to be, and seeing the Veteran curled up in his bed roll. Arguably, they can’t really tell by his face that he’s been distressed—but the fact that he was already asleep when they all got back, and that he remained asleep throughout the remainder of bedtime prep, spoke for itself. Even though Warriors didn’t say exactly what Legend was told, the weight of the situation falls on them all, and except to establish watches, no more words are spoken for the rest of the night.

* * *

Not a word passes Legend’s lips for a week. His mood seems to shift through the days; at first he is almost angry, going everywhere and about everything with a hard purpose, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. And then one day, he loses that battle as soon as he wakes up, and is the last one for the rest of the week. The last one to get out of bed, the last one to pack up, the last one to start and the last one to stop.

The others do their best to accommodate him, no matter how much time they lose. They can tell he’s trying, even when he’s too tired to. They’ve all been there, in some way, at some point in time. They all give him space, they do their best to silently convey that they’re there for him when he wants to reach out.

Everyone, that is, save Wind. And it is Wind, surprisingly, who breaks him out of it all.

He’s annoying, at first, sticking to Legend’s side like glue and chattering away at every hour of the say. Legend comes very close to strangling him more than once, but that all fades with the anger. The week continues, and Wind’s constant talking fills the silence, the lighthouse on the hill during a storm. He doesn’t realize it until later, but Wind was always helping hold him together. His every story, his every mundane topic was all meant to keep Legend from getting trapped in his own head. From forgetting the feeling of grass beneath his boots and the sound of his brothers as they all walked on.

An evening almost seven days exactly from that first, Legend is sitting in front of the fire, leaned against a log. Wind sits on the log next to him. For the first time in a week, the Sailor is quiet, and not because his mouth is full of food. Then,

“What was she like?”

The question is a violent shift from anything else Wind had said before. His cheery, story-telling tone is gone, replaced instead with tentativeness. It’s soft and curious, worried he’s overstepped. Legend glances around the fire, and the rest of the Chain has all stopped. There’s some tension as they wait for Legend’s response, unsure if he’ll answer or if it will have a negative effect. Legend’s eyes settled back on the fire and he sighs.

“She was my everything.” He looks at Wind, who is watching him with rapt attention. “You would have liked her.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Words can’t really describe her, anyways.

“Could she sing?” Wind asks. Legend nods.

“Yes, she could sing.”

“What did she look like?”

“…She had red hair, and big brown eyes, and she could get anything out of me with those eyes.”

Wind laughs. “She sounds like Malon.”

Legend smiles. “She was a lot like Malon. Of Malon were a goddess, they’d be almost the same.” He looks at Time. “No offense, Old Man.”

“None taken,” Time says softly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

A comfortable silence settles over the camp for a few moments.

“She once asked me if it was selfish of her to hope you remembered her.” Warriors says suddenly. “I said it wasn’t.”