#bittersweet!link

Bittersweet tapped him on the shoulder one day, as Digger finished cleaning the drawers they kept their surplus clothing in. Digger turned, smiling. He didn’t smile when he saw what Bittersweet held in his hands.

“Oh, that? Just put it back where ya found it,” he told the man. The drawers were already free of any dust, but Digger kept wiping the wood, the rag leaving damp circles that quickly faded to nothingness.

Bittersweet tapped his shoulder again. He placed the music box on a windowsill and said, “I found it behind the books and things you’ve gotten from the villagers. You couldn’t even see it on the shelf.”

“Put it back where ya found it,” Digger repeated. “Exactly as you found it. Hey, it’s getting late, maybe ya won’t mind seeing what’s fer sale at the market?”

Digger kept idly dragging the rag across the drawers until he heard the front door close. Then he threw himself into frenzied cleaning, moping and dusting and scrubbing until his arms ached. Yet even with the ruckus, he still heard the song.

“When did you buy it?” Sweets asked. “We’ve barely been back.”

He’d gestured towards the corner of the shelf that Digger kept cluttered. Digger smiled. “What do you mean?”

“The pretty box. With the golden stick and the emeralds.”

Digger shrugged. “Long ago.”

Sweets frowned. “What does it do?”

“Nothing,” Digger answered. “It’s completely useless.”

Sweets had always had a knack for knowing when he lied. He doesn’t comment.

Although, Digger thinks, he hadn’t lied at all.

The glow of the radiant armour made it impossible to sneak around at night. The bokoblins had seen them – or rather, seen Digger – from afar and charged, the five of them shrieking as they waved their weapons overhead. It hadn’t been a fair fight.

After all, they hadn’t realised that there were two chosen heroes running around.

Digger swirled the last of the hearty elixir around in its bottle. “Ya sure ya don’t need any more, Peaches?”

The newcomer shook his head empathetically, his bangs swaying with the movement. Digger had called him Peaches for his bubbliness, for the way he’d bounced from monster to monster so confidently, a smile on his face. Considering the situation, his cheerfulness was borderline unnatural.

Or perhaps that was because Digger missed another; one who wore the same face but never spoke a word, who fought with caution and a dancer’s grace, whose smile was soft and small and sweet.

Digger shrugged and downed the last of the elixir. He made a face at the bitter taste of it on his tongue. Still, it restored his strength, allowing him to push himself to his feet and stretch. “Not much further now, Peaches. Monsters in this world are freaky strong, so it’s best we don’t linger.”

His companion nodded. “But… you know… with the clothes you’re wearing…”

Digger winced. It was true. “Right. Give me a moment, will ya? See to t’horses. There’s an apple tree somewhere back there…”

‘Peaches’ nodded and headed towards the copse of trees they’d passed earlier. Digger took his Sheikah Slate from his belt and flicked through the options to find a more appropriate outfit for night travel.

But he was too hasty and found himself staring at the last menu of the Slate. And he found his eyes drawn to the last slot, to that little gold-and-white box sitting so innocently on the screen.

‘Peaches’ returned to find Digger in an outfit of red and blue and gold, white gloves on his hands and white boots on his feet. It’s still a flashy outfit. Despite the gashes and the missing patch in the cap. He doesn’t comment on it.

They mounted the horses that the bokoblins had so kindly brought to them and set off underneath the light of the red moon. The voice that Digger had come to expect during these nights was, as always, silent. Instead, he heard the song.

The last note faded away like mist in the morning. Sweets let out a quiet sigh. Digger smiled. “Beautiful, ain’t it? Do ya know the song?”

Sweets shook his head. Digger wondered if he’d never heard it, if maybe it hadn’t existed in ‘his’ Hyrule. Digger closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk of the palm. Here, the air smelled of the ocean. In the evening it smelled of fish and spice, in the day of baked sand as the sun glared down bright and warm. But in the still hours of dawn when only the slightest suggestion of light peered out from behind the grey horizon the air was fresh and clean. To Digger, it smelled of peace. Perhaps that was a maudlin thought, but he breathed it in, the morning air of sea and dew and the scent of Sweets beside him.

And he began to sing.

By the third verse, Sweets’ hand reached out to his. He laced his fingers against Digger’s. His touch was so very warm.

By the fifth he’d shuffled close, so he could rest his head on Digger’s shoulder. His hair brushed against Digger’s face, tickling his scar on his cheek.

By the final verse he was running the fingers of his other hand through Digger’s hair, just the way he knew Digger liked it. When Digger opened his eyes he saw exactly what he’d expected.

“There’s no need for tears, Sweets,” he murmured, brushing them away with a callused thumb. “I ain’t that pretty a songbird.”

“Did she give it to you?” Sweets asked. The pain in his eyes hurt. The shadow of acceptance there was agony.

Digger shook his head. “Wrong way around. Do ya know what the song’s about?”

“Love.”

“There’s many kinds of love.” Dawn was well and truly on its way now. The sky blushed pink over the sea, as if the sun was a lover’s touch. Digger pulled Sweets close and his husband tucked his head beneath Digger’s chin, bending is head so that he could listen to Digger’s heartbeat. Watching the dawn, Digger explained, “It tells of a woman ransoming her love for impossible tasks. A shirt without seams, land atop the waves, reaping a harvest with leather… it’s a very pretty way of saying ‘no’, I suppose. Just enough hope to keep a man trying.”

Sweets squeezed his hand.  

Digger idly turned the music box’s handle. “I found it on top of my Sheikah Slate. I thought the rest of ya did too, thought ya just didn’t want t’mention it. Not sure when I realised I was the only one. I didn’t remember why it was important when I first saw it. But I felt it. I remember looking at it and feeling the first… first real emotion since waking up. I was confused and scared and alone ‘cept for her voice. But when I saw this, that was when I first… got a glimpse of who I was.”

His husband lifted his head then, watching Digger warily. “What do you mean?”

Digger laughed. “The moment I picked it up I felt so sad. Just angry and disappointed, and I knew it wasn’t because of the Calamity. When I heard the song the words came back to me. I was crying before I even found my clothes. And I didn’t know why.”

“Did you ever find out?”

“Yeah. In the Coliseum ruins, right after I killed the lynel at the bottom. That moment when I stood there, its blood still on my sword, it came back to me. The crowds, cheering. The banners. And her. She was…” Digger couldn’t stop the smile on his face, at the memory of a memory. “…radiant.”

Sweets recoiled then, but Digger reached out to grab his wrist. He kept his grip gentle, rubbing soothing circles over the sensitive skin there. The man’s face is softer than Digger’s own and unmarred, his skin paler. And his eyes were softer too. There was so much warmth, so much kindness in that gaze. So much patience.

He gives and gives. Everything I ask for. Even the things I haven’t. That brings a smile to Digger’s lips. And then suddenly he can’t look at Sweets anymore; here in the light of the rising sun with the sea breeze ruffling his hair, his cheeks rosy from the morning chill, his beauty is dazzling. It brings tears to Digger’s eyes.

Soft hands wipe away his tears. It’s Digger’s turn to lean into his touch, to guide his hands around him so that Digger can murmur his next words against his beloved’s chest, right above his heartbeat. “Before the Calamity, the kingdom was magnificent. The Hylians, they… we had so much. Feasts and festivals and temples and cities. Gardens full of fountains and so many flowers, every single flower in Hyrule. There’s dishes I don’t even know the name of any more, I just remember the smells and the colours and the taste. And there were the knights. The tourneys, the jousts. Archery contests. Horseback races. Duels and melees and even fights against monsters captured from the wild.”

Digger couldn’t stop the sob that wracked his body, the way his voice broke as he continued, “The cheering. I remember the cheering. The way people looked at me and saw… hope. Honour. A hero. That memory… if I’d known what it would do to me I’d have never gone there.”

Sweets pulled away the tie that bound his messy hair together. Silently, he begins to work, brushing out the strands, separating them into workable sections.

“I don’t remember all of it. But I know why I was there. I… I think I proposed to her the moment I came of age, the day I was made a true knight. It was a stupid thing to do. I’m pretty sure we’re all older than her, in every world.”

Sweets started on the first braid. He worked with a steady rhythm, slender fingers guiding the strands in their dance, over and under and around.

“And she told me that she’d accept when I’d become the champion of every important tourney and festival of the year, she’d accept.”

There was nothing to hold the braid in place with, so when he was done, Sweets simply let it fall back against Digger’s face. It started to unwind almost immediately, but by the time it’d twisted apart he was halfway done with the next one.

“I don’t think she expected me to get anywhere close. And I didn’t, for a few years. Maybe she’d thought I’d give up. Guess she didn’t know me very well, eh?”

The braids didn’t unwind completely. They held together at the top, so that the three strands of hair remained curled loosely against each other. Undone, but not entirely, still carrying the suggestion of what had been.

“But then one year I won them all. Travelled all over Hyrule, showed up wherever contests of skill and strength took place. The Coliseum. The last challenge of the year, a major celebration. The royal family was there. The entire time she watched me. That was all I remember caring about – that she was watching. Now though…. I wonder what she was thinking. I wish I’d wondered back then. I wish I’d asked her.”

The music box, ornate gold against white porcelain and studded with emeralds, weighs against his palm. It’s cold against his skin, having drunk in the chill of the morning. It leeches the warmth from his skin, sharp corners digging into his flesh.

“I didn’t, though. And I’d had this made, to give to her after I won. This song. I wonder why I chose it.” Digger shifted so he could look up at Sweets, who paused in his work. “Did you know, I had to fight my own father? I don’t even remember his face, but I remember I had to fight him. The feeling of it. That felt…”

The silence grew deeper as the day grew lighter, until eventually Sweets gives his bare shoulders a squeeze.

“Yeah. I guess afterwards I won. I gave the music box to her. And she told me she couldn’t, couldn’t let love distract her, not when she still didn’t know how to stop Ganon. Afterwards, she’d said. And that’s all I remember. Afterwards.”

Digger looked at the trinket in his hand and wondered, then, who’d been the one to truly ask for the impossible.

Sweets tapped his shoulder. The sun had cleared the horizon then, its light bringing out the deep, true gold of his hair, the smoothness of his shoulders, the brilliant blue of his eyes. Smiling, Sweets told him:

“Digger, you have a beautiful singing voice.”

He’s walking through the trees, their branches forming an archway over the stone path. Patches of bright blue sky peek out where the leaves thin. Strips of warm sunlight pass over his face to give way to cool shadow, followed by another kiss of sun.

Up ahead he sees her. Her hair shines in the light, golden and glowing. Her eyes are a richer green than emeralds, a hundred times as precious. She’s dressed all in white – her dress flutters in the breeze.

She’s waiting.

She’s calling, reaching out to him.

He feels his heart beat faster and suddenly he knows that he’s scared, that he has to reach her before to late, that it’s already too late. He breaks into a run but the path suddenly turns winding. Flat white stone gives way to grass, dry brittle things blackened by flame.

He can see the fires rising up, devouring the trees and the sky. Purple and black. Ashes dance as the wind starts howling, drowning out her voice. The smoke stings his eyes and sears his lungs and he’s running, running.

The flames lick at her dress. White gives way to red, to black. Still she holds out a pale hand to him. She’s calling. It’s too late.

The air shakes with the cry of the beast. A roar like nails dragged across glass, a screech like the grinding of metal against metal, the echoes of a dying city. It earths itself in his bones – it weighs him down, weakens him. It wraps around his chest and pours itself into his lungs. It eats at his flesh and sets his skin crawling as he runs.

The fire crawls across her skin now. Where it touches it blisters, melts. He can see the fire in her throat as she opens her mouth to call his name.

The ground beneath his feet becomes swampy, sucks at his feet. He’s sinking. It’s so cold. He struggles against the pull. He stumbles, grabbing fistfuls of dirt trying to free himself but it turns to ash between his fingers. Still he does not take his eyes off her, as his name echoes in his ears.

He kicks and there’s a cry and now he looks down to see that the thing pulling him down isn’t the ground at all but people. Feathered limbs, red hair, squirming fins, shuddering rock. A hundred faces. A thousand hands. They grab him and pull. They’re all so cold, their touches like iron, like death. He can feel claws and nails dig into his flesh, feel teeth tear into him. They’re calling. Calling his name.

A hand closes cover his face and the last thing he sees of her is nothing but flame – black and red and malicious as it devours her, except for the last glimmer of her eyes so green-

There’s a hand on his face when Digger wakes up and for a moment he stares into blue eyes, panting, heart racing. The hand is warm. Alive.

There’s sweat dripping from his face and sheets tangled around his bare legs. The hand on his face starts stroking his cheek. He blinks. A thumb gently wipes away his tears.

Bittersweet looks so worried. Digger tries to say something reassuring – it was only a nightmare, only a dream of something long past – but all that comes out is a sob. Digger finds himself grabbing the man around the waist and pressing him close. Bittersweet falls on top of him. He’s heavy. And warm. Digger holds him there, feels his weight against his chest, against his heart.

Bittersweet lets himself be held. Digger listens to the quiet sound of his breathing and the whisper of the tide against the sand. After a while Bittersweet squirms and Digger releases him. The man rolls onto his side so he can talk.

“You’re safe now,” Bittersweet says. “You’re home.”

Digger nods, slowly. In a rough voice, through a throat still sore from shouting, he asks, “Who am I?”

Bittersweet frowns, confused. But he still answers. “Digger.”

A hero.

Digger turns so that his back is to Bittersweet. Dragging the covers back over himself, he says, “Sorry I woke you. Let’s try to catch some shut-eye before dawn, hmm?”

Bittersweet doesn’t touch him, doesn’t press the issue. But Digger can still feel his warmth close by, hear the steady sound of his breaths. It’s a long time before Digger falls asleep again. The house is silent.