#kovac fic

I made this fic based off my dear friend @yys002's art! Check out her blog(the art below is hers)

He was walking in a dream, fading memories echoing around his lucid consciousness. 

There were voices around every corner, whispers of his loved ones, honeycomb promises behind unending walls. He was trapped in the manor, wandering up and down its lonely halls.

Dick tried to enjoy the experience, a sleep beyond nightmares was rare for him, if he remembered it at all. Life had thrown him too many dangers to rest softly, though he’d come to terms with that reality long ago. He was too proud of his life; what with the people he’d helped, the lives he’d saved, the friends met.

He missed his parents more than the world, but if they were forever doomed to die—-there was nowhere else Dick would rather be. Being Robin honored their memory in a way that doing circus tours for the rest of his life never could, to turn his tragedy into a force for good--Dick knew they’d approve.

So why did he feel so uncertain? Why was he so afraid?

He endured the blinding snowstorm, the numbness that’d overtaken his hands, and the many attempted ambushes--in an effort to right a terrible, terrible wrong. He couldn’t peer through the dense fog of the storm, not with his eyes of man.

He was stumbling into oblivion, and he would return.

Again, and again.

It’d been sometime since he’d felt this compelled to act, to stray from the path of his responsibilities and take on a grievance of his own. He’d decided to stray from the group during the dead of night, after they’d all left to attend to their own duties, or head to their beddings.

They’d followed the shadow northward, chasing it across miles of screaming dark and echoing wilderness. They’d traveled beyond the borders of their hyrules, most of them anyway, and arrived at the base of a swirling mountain--a frozen monument of ice and rock and snow.

During their pursuit, they came across a village under fire. They were lucky to arrive when they did, as the last of the town’s guards had fallen victim to the serrated teeth, and monstrous blades of their attackers. Twilight saw to avenge the dead among the townspeople, as did the rest of his brothers.

Not a single soul died under their watch.

Twilight only wished they’d arrived sooner.

In the aftermath, Twilight did what he could to comfort the survivors. It was with the greatest sorrows that he paid his respects. Grief was a wound without end, a void that consumed all in the heart that once held love. The villagers reminded him of his family in Ordon, from the close-knit nature of their community, to the fact they were a town on the edges of Hyrule's borders--far away from the eyes of the crown.

There was one woman, in particular, that drove the familiar feeling home.

She was a mother, expecting her second child. They’d met during the attack, his first words to her being an order to stay behind him. He’d tried to meet her on calmer footing, following the battle, trying to see if he could help in some way. Twilight found the woman in her cabin--what was left of it, given that the roof was half caved in--sobbing breathlessly into the splintered remains of her couch.

The woman (Sariah, her name was) had lost everything in the attack. In a matter of hours, her entire world, and reasons for continuing on were taken from her. Sariah didn’t know Twilight, nor did Twilight know her, yet it was in their sparse connection that she was comfortable exalting the untold stresses of what just occurred. She put images of Uli in Twilight’s mind, her adoration and love for her family shining through the black clouds of her grief.

Sariah’s husband had enlisted in the village guard, a competent swordsman--like Rusl, ready to protect his home by any measure. And by any measure he did, as he was one of the first slain. Photographs of him and Sariah littered the walls of the house, preserved moments of better days.

Her son, a boy of a mere nine years, was taken soon after Twilight and the others intervened--one of the monster’s captives, to be presumably dragged back to their camp and devoured. The idea made Twilight’s blood run cold, and his teeth grit like colliding glaciers.

It was a bitter, repulsed rage, the type that screamed at him to act--to right this wrong, to avenge this travesty. Twilight thought of what he’d do if Rusl had died, and Uli was left alone in the world, unable to even have a proper funeral for her son.

He was almost unable to fathom the level of anger it’d summon, the shaking, primal desire to meet those responsible with the edge of his blade. He was supposed to protect people, meant to stop these injustices before they happened. It brought a haze of guilt and frustration that clogged his senses.

He knew one thing, however.

This could not go unpunished.

Twilight swore to Sariah then that he’d find her son, vowing to give her some semblance of closure--and left the cabin.

It’d been some time since he’d driven himself into abandon, not since he’d rushed to save Colin from King Bublin, leaving a slew of corpses in he and Epona’s wake. He was more afraid for Colin’s life than anything else, but the feeling of protective retribution was very much present.

And now he was on the edge of a frozen cliffside, overlooking the warm fires of the monster’s camp below. 

He held the grip of his sword tight, until his knuckles were as white as the snow around him. There were moments that he wondered if there was more to his curse than the transformation of his wolf form, and the markings that adorned his head. When he looked upon packs of monsters, staring into their feral, savage eyes--and saw nothing but prey deserving of culling-- was that truly him?

When he drove his steel into the jugular of an unsuspecting moblin, taking hidden satisfaction in knowing that his loved ones are safer, letting the desire to protect the innocent shatter bones like glass and pulverize skulls-- was he still the same man as he once was?

Twilight gathered himself, reaching for his item pou-

“So, what’s the plan?”

He whipped around to meet the voice, his sword following in tow. It’s tip landed an inch away from the neck of the visitor, the realization quickly turning Twilight’s vigilance to irritation.

It was the Captain, of course.

“Why are you here?” Twilight said, unintended venom coating his words.

Valor didn’t flinch at his near decapitation, nor Twilight’s attitude. He was strangely collected, considering the situation.

“Why do you think?” Valor countered.

Twilight sighed, the thought of a disappointed mentor weighing on his shoulders.

“He sent you, I assume? Should’ve expected it’d be harder to slip by him.”

“Oh, get a grip. I’m here on my own, I figure someone who moonlights as a pack animal would understand why going it alone is a bad idea.” Valor said.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I think I can handle a few bokoblins.” Twilight huffed, frustrated that he was even having this conversation. 

Valor opened his mouth to retort, and then hesitated, softening his tone and expression ever so slightly.

“Look, I get it-- You want to shoulder this responsibility alone, that is something personal.”

“You don’t kno-”

“I talked to Sariah, after you left her cabin. I’m not blind, I can put two and two together.”

A silence followed, and both men stared at each other, uncaring of the blistering winds whirling around them.

“...So you know why I’m doing this.”

Valor nodded.

“You aren’t wrong to do this, any of us would do the same. I thought you’d understand that” Valor said, a twinge of regret bleeding through his voice.

Twilight glanced to the side, a kernel of shame burgeoning in the back of his mind.

“Look, if you want to keep walking this road--I won’t stop you. Just know--this burden is not yours alone.”

Twilight looked to Valor, staring back at him--and nodded.

“I understand...thank you”

Valor smiled, fierce pride burning bright within him.

“Then I think we’re settled, unless you’d still prefer me to leave?”

Twilight chuckled.

-------------------------November 8th, 1943------------------------------

-------------------------Pacific Theater------------------------------------

Sky gritted his teeth in concentration, jerking the yoke of his fighter plane forward. A myriad of alarms shouted demise from the view of his fractured canopy, smoke trailing his battered wings.

There’d be no landing this bird, not softly anyway. The brakes were the first system to go when the guardian’s laser hit, along with the rest of the empennage. Controlling its speed was an impossibility now, leaving Sky as the lucky(and not very grateful) pilot of a forever accelerating one-way carriage to hell.

The radio at his right sparked and flickered to life, incoherent static bubbling through charred wires and melted steel.

“Canary-O-...Canary One, Can you read me?” 

Sky recognized the voice immediately; It was his captain, his ship’s captain that is.

“I read you command,” Sky said casually, like he was on any other mission, and not riding a miles long death spiral over the pacific. He thought it lucky that he’d regained his memories days before, given the fact that he’d be most likely disobeying orders if his captain contacted him for the reason he presumed.

“The order to retreat was signaled, all airborne pilots need to fall bac-”

Sky put his right hand on the throttle, cranking the level forward; a hurricane's worth of wind blasting into his goggles.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m not doing that,” Sky said, unphased by the rapidly increasing g-forces of his chaotic descent.

“Oh yes the hell you are, petty officer. Some rat-fuck brass eagle and a beehive of metal flies wipes out half the fleet in an afternoon, and you think NOW is the time to start disobeying orders?” The captain screamed, his bafflement turned volatility evident.

“I do, actually,” Sky curtly replied. It didn’t bother him much, the idea of provoking the wrath of the military, and he reported to a higher authority anyway; whom he hoped he’d see again, if he survived this aerial bonfire.

The Captain, barely restraining his frustration, reacted as one might expect to hearing his best pilot casually go awol, in the heat of battle no less--

“Petty Officer, I am ORDERING you to turn back. You have five seconds to do so before I decide to take your cute little joke seriously, and order you blown halfway to hell.”

Sky scoffed, breathing unsteadily as plume-ing smoke flushed through the cockpit’s damaged windshield, “I’m...ha...touched you think me so important, sir. But I’m trying to focus here, so please shut up and let me fly.”

“Who the fuc-WHO THE FUCK do you think you are? You are disobeying a DIRECT ORDER; DON’T THINK I WON’T HAVE YOU SHO-”

Sky slammed his hand into the crackling speakers, disabling them, “This conversation’s over.” 

-----December 5th, 12,000 B.C.E-----

-----------Late Ice Age-------------

Time rasped, putting his weight against the trunk of a birch tree; it’s ash bark as white as the snow piled to his knees.

He put two leather-clad fingers to his bruised temple, a thunderous ringing slamming between his ears. It was an earthquake within his mind, the reminder of all he’d failed, and all that he now had to overcome.

Hyrule, his home, was gone--and by all rights so should he.

But he’s alive, by the goddesses he was alive.

Time fought back the cascading emotions of his hours-new remembrance, gritting his teeth as the scars of his first body etched themselves anew on his earthy form. He’d been struggling with the symptoms of his revived consciousness for as long as he’d regained it; barely making the miles walk back to his tribe’s encampments.

How would they view him now? Their leader returning from a foraging trip half-blind and scarred, a shadow of his former strength?

If he’d taught them anything--hopefully nothing at all.

Time winced; abject darkness overtaking his whitening eye, the emblazoned touch of the deity scaring onto his soul once again. He tried to avoid the thought of if he too made the breach; ignorance was bliss.

He grunted, straightening his shoulders despite the pain. He was more then his scars, more then his memories, his tribe nee-

“Watch out!”

Time swiveled to his rearward, reacting on instinct, too preoccupied to digest who was speaking to him. It was a futile effort though, as seven hundred fifty pounds of arctic feline crashed into him like a freight train from hell. They tumbled through the alaskan detritus, a snarling roar rumbling the frozen tundra.

He was on his back now, his hands in an iron grip around both of the saber tooth’s arms, a mask of stoic determination overtaking his adrenalined shock. The tiger struggled and squirmed in his grasp, unused to it’s mauling victims surviving the first gouging, or gouging attempt in this case.

Time’s move, however bold, was temporary at best. It was a miracle he wasn’t stricken immobile by the sheer force of the charging tackle. He wasn’t surprised, it’s not like he hadn’t survived worst.

“Hey, listen! It’s fangs are more brittle then they look, try attacking them with your gauntlets.”

*Navi?*

The gauntlets were a point of confusion too, given that he was stripped of his gear; answered justly when sheets of hammered metal and gold began manifesting around his forearms; emerging like crying tears from rippling air. They wrapped him in ribbons of molten light, their fiery embers coming right off the forges of their creation.

Okay then.

Uncapped strength surged within the forsaken hero, the thrashing predator atop him feeling lighter then a paperweight. He grabbed the Saber’s right fang, the ruby at the center of his gauntlets aglow--

He flicked his wrist right, snapping off eight inches of prehistoric bone from it’s source with unprecedented ease. 

Howling in pain, the saber thrashed it’s unhooked claw at Time--It tried to at least. A rising uppercut hit from below, fracturing it’s bottom jaw in a spiderwebbing cracks. 

The saber, now whimpering, scampered off Time; fleeing into the wilderness.

Time sighed, putting a hand to his chest.

“Stow the yawn, hero. You’re still on the clock.”

A flicker of blue light swam into his vision, impatiently hovering in place; their presence unabashed. A few thoughts struck Time’s mind, all in rapid succession--

Was this real? Was he having a stroke? Had he died again?

Normal things to consider, given he hadn’t seen his friend in over two and a half decades.

“I-..I-” Time stuttered, unable to find the words.

“Save it. We’ll talk whys and hows later, I’m just as confused as you are--but I do know that your tribe is in a heap of trouble, and they need your help.”

Time shook his head, trying to shake his bafflement.

“Our help, you mean. We’re a team, remember?”

Navi paused, a dozen regrets chasing her hurried mind.

“Of course..my mistake. We fight together, Link, ere the end,” Navi said, wistful melancholy infecting her tone.

Time nodded. “Then lead the way, the stage is yours,” Time said.

Twilight kicked down the doors of the Saloon, a dozen rifles meeting his audacious entrance.

He didn’t flinch; they were of little consequence, his quarrel only laid with a single soul among their unlawful crowd. It was an evil that man could not measure to, not in a hundred twisted lifetimes of misery.

He put his left hand on the holster of his revolver, his eyes dilating in anticipation, his fangs bared; the desire for retribution mixing with animalistic senses.

“Easy there, folks; I’m not lookin for a fight-”

Twilight pointed his free hand to the center of the bar. The cautious crowd looked towards his target; an ill-fitted aristocrat, adorned in a black three piece suit, their skin as gray as the steel of their rifles.

“I’m just here to take a snake off your hands.”

Said aristocrat recoiled, seething anger overtaking him.

“You’re supposed to be dead. Deader than dead, a stain under my boot. The Alamo was a massacre, ” He muttered through clenched teeth, the icy exterior of his balanced composure melting away to an undying anger.

“You know what they say. You just can’t keep a good dog down.” Twilight responded, venom in his voice.

Twilight reached into his pocket, the shining star of a ranger badge in his hand. He pinned it to his chest. The outlaws overlooking his interaction took notice, returning to their affairs.

“You have two options, Zant. I drag you back to your people alive, or I kill you here,” Twilight threatened, his thumb hovering the hammer of his colt pistol--

“Your choice.”

Zant squinted his eyes, out of his seat now, his hands balled fists.

“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t risk your anonymity to the goddesses on a single target,” Zant said.

Twilight’s expression remained the same, staring down his old enemy like a predator waiting in the bushes to pounce.

There will be a day, that despite all of Legend’s groveling and pseudo frustration, in which he’ll come to terms with the odd quirks, and frankly bizarre habits of brothers.

Today was not that day.

They were deep within the bowels of a temple, what Legend assumed used to be a place of religious reverence. The crumbling statues, chiseled with their hands clasped together in prayer, which were placed around certain sigils of the golden goddesses gave him that guess, and the biblical-esque commandments that littered the floor. 

They’d decided to split up at the entrance, to cover more ground. The temple was built into the side of a mountain, its entrance made in the bust of a mighty warrior ages past, or maybe ages future?  Legend gave up on trying to tell what timezone they were the moment that Valor tried explaining to him the common history of his era. 

Once inside, Legend offered to handle the higher floors, which got a raised eyebrow from more than a few of his brothers. He typically liked to be in the front seat of whatever danger they might be facing, so the idea that he wanted to head topside, where there’d be less traps and less monsters, stuck out to them. Legend had his reasons, like how most of the locked doors and sealed chambers that these types of temples contained tended to be on lower levels, and the keys to access them tended to be located as far and as annoyingly away as the architects thought possible.

Before he’d gone up the stairs, Traveler volunteered to go with him, if only so he had someone to watch his back. 

Legend appreciated that.

What Legend did not appreciate, was what Traveler was doing now.

“Y’know I’ve heard people say that licking these things lets you commune with the gods, but you have to boil them first.”

Legend, arm deep in a rusty, dusted chest, froze for a moment, if to contemplate what in the golden realms was Traveler talking about. He sprung up from the chest, and turned to see Traveler holding--

Was that a frog?

A luminescent, red spotted frog was held in his friend’s hands. It glowed brighter and hotter than any lantern, Legend could feel the heat radiating off of it’s bumped, textured skin like it was coming from a campfire. He didn’t know how Traveler was holding it, visibly excited no less.

“Let’s not do that, and seco-wait, wait, who says this? Who are you talking about?” Legend asked, more confused than irritated.

Traveler made a pondering hum, thinking over his experiences. He put the frog under his armpit, much like how a student might carry their book bag, counting on both his hands.

“Well there was that old man selling potions outside North Castle, and he told me that right before Zel--Dawn had to detain him on charges of alchemy without a license. That was a shame too, because they were good potio-”. “Oh so the illegal chemist told you, and now licking random animals is fine.” Legend said, cutting him off.

“Don’t get on your high horse here, you catch bees as a hobby, beekeeper boy.” Traveler retorted. “Oh?!? And that’s weirder than the animal licking? Name one other person who says licking frogs is a thing you should do.” Legend exclaimed.

“Fine, I will! There was a pastor in Saria that had them as home medicine for common diseases, and they worked fine.” Traveler said. “So that's a weird pastor, and the illegal potion dealer- fantastic track record.” Legend said.

“So when you meet old men in caves and woods, what they say is “advice” and “tips”, but when I take advice from strangers, it’s bad?” Traveler inquired, a hand on his hip. At this point, Legend’s head was in hands, in disbelief he was having this argument. “Oh Nayr-YES, YES, because I don’t just go with every random hint I’m told! I think critically about it.”

Traveler shook his head, still holding the frog under his other arm, who was strangely content in watching them fight.

“Nope, no, nado pal. You told me that the magic powder in your pouch was from gathering mushrooms in lost woods for a witch, how is that any different from the potion seller, and the frog.” Traveler said.

“Well she didn’t get arrested for one.” Legend shot back.

“How is she going to get arrested if Ganon had driven the royal family, and the actual government, into hiding?” “That’s semantics!” Legend said, crossing his arms.

Traveler didn’t respond, as a set of stomping footfalls up the stairs at the room’s entrance grabbed their attention, they both readied their swords in an instant, preparing for whatever monster had come to check on the noise.

“What are you two TALKING ABOUT”

It wasn’t a monster, and for some reason, Legend wished it was.

Wind stood in the doorway, a scowl painted on his face. 

“We can hear you from the basement, you keep screwing up Twi and Wild’s timing on a puzzle.”

“We thought you two were in danger.”

Legend was unabashed, not turned away by Wind’s anger. He wasn’t leaving this without proving his point, so help him Din.

“Oh Traveler’s is going to be, REAL soon if he goes through with what he was doing.”

Wind whipped to face Traveler, and noticed the frog, and his expression changed to one of sudden realization.

Oh farore, don’t let it end like this.

Traveler, from the moment he began his quest, knew that it’d be the end of him. He just didn’t think that his last moments would be so drawn out. Yet here he was, the oh so mighty hero of hyrule, dying of blood loss. 

He struggled to walk, his knees were wobbly, it felt like he was walking on broken stilts. There was blood, oh so much blood, so much that he’d taken off his tunic as not to irreparably stain it. He’d been ambushed, a pack of moblins had patiently followed him until he’d made camp, and striked while he was asleep.

It happened so fast, before Traveler had grabbed his sword-- a spearhead had sunk its jaws into his abdomen. To the amazement of him, and whatever deity still watched out for him, he hadn’t died then and there. The pure, animalistic drive to survive took over, and his hands cast a ring of holy fire that made the moblins into little more than hallowed ash on the night winds.

And like those ashes, his magic supply was also gone with the wind. Thinking it over, Traveler realized he hadn’t slept in two days, as he’d wasted the previous night and morning away deliriously trying to harness non-existent magic to sustain himself. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead, his skin deathly pale. This was the closest he’d come to the brink. Traveler, hands trembling in fear of the forever unknown, managed to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding.

All was not lost, Traveler knew. Nothing was hopeless, not unless he let it be.

The region was one he frequented, he knew where it’s great fairy resided. He had a chance, albeit a fleeting one.

An undying hope and stubbornness pumped life through his heart, fueling his shambling march. It wasn’t an impressive look for him-- shirtless, bloodied bandages wrapped around his stomach, and shambling like a drunk redead through Hyrule's (mostly) empty roads. Oh, how Impa must be proud.

He’d made it several miles before a scream, a terrified one at that, rustled through the forest canopy. Traveler craned his head to the forest on his right, its verdant greenery spilling over onto the gravel trail. Traveler looked to his hands, coated in his own dried blood.

Traveler shook, tears welling up in his eyes.

He was barely holding it together as it was. Could he really fight? Could he do anything but lay down and die? He knew that if he left his path, he wouldn’t be coming back. 

He didn’t want to die.

In a silent, swift motion--Traveler’s hands reached to grab his sword. It felt heavier than ever before. He sucked in a breath, letting his lungs contract and expand freely. He winced, every irritation to his wounds was another thousand knives plunged into his nerves. He swallowed that pain. It’s not like he’d be feeling it for much longer anyway.

Shakenly, Traveler dragged himself over to the point of concern, his bandages loosening as he tried to speed up his pace. If someone was dead, their blood was on his hands.

Eventually, he came upon a small pond-side outcropping. There was a man unconscious on the ground, a dagger lodged upright in his chest- its pommel pointed at the sky. Nervously, Traveler eyed the treeline, hyper-alert for hostiles. In spite of common sense, Traveler ran to the man, as best he could manage in his condition. 

The stranger was an older man, dressed too refined for life out in Hyrule's frontier. Traveler took short, rapid breaths, his body wasn’t letting him forget the severity of his own predicament. The stranger was on his side, the velvet flaps of his overcoat obstructing view of the injury. 

With strained breaths, Traveler pulled him onto his back. Suddenly, he regretted the choice not to wear his power bracelet at all times. He re-inspected the wound, sparks of panic igniting across his face. The knife was jammed through his ribs, and probably punctured a lung. Given the snail’s pace in which Traveler’s half-corpse legs arrived, there was no doubt that the internal bleeding was beyond fatal.

“No, no, NO” Traveler exclaimed.

Traveler pounded his fists on the ground, he wasn’t going to sacrifice so much for nothing. He would not die failing another. This wasn’t the end for either of them, he didn’t know the meaning of giving up. Traveler frisked the man’s possessions, in a desperate hope for something useful. The familiar glint of a glass bottle caught his frantic eye, and Traveler grabbed it without a thought. He scrambled to see its contents- it was a magic potion. It may be half empty, and possibly stale, but he now had a chance.

The thought of whether he should’ve used it to heal himself didn’t pass his mind, not when people were in danger. He gulped down the viscous fluid, a surge of energy electrified his veins, and his mind. For the first time in days, Traveler smiled.

The knife was in deep, even if he was confident in using his healing magic on another person, it was no guarantee that the fluid would be taken out of the lung. He’d have to get creative. The half-dead hero racked his mind for answers, spells, tricks, anything!

There was one spell, a bit of sage magic he borrowed from the ruins of old Hyrule castle. He’d never used it on anything alive, and not on this intricate of a scale.

Traveler hovered his left hand above the knife, paying attention to the stranger’s slow breathing. He made a claw with his fist, like he was holding some invisible object. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the world slow to an impossible standstill in his mind’s eye. A soft luminescent light flowed from his palm, and streamed like a gentle current into the crevices of blood and muscle. 

Traveler opened his eyes, caught in more than his finite present.

He was downstream a cosmic river, a single flower in a garden of giants. A multicolored battle overtook his irises, and they crashed and flooded beautiful light onto the wound as well. He twisted his hand counter clockwise, and the knife began to rise out, and the spilt blood rushed back into the body.

It was a tricky thing, reversing time.

There was an art to magic, a precision long since forgotten in this age of barbarity. Traveler supposed he just had a talent for appreciating the craft’s finer details. He took satisfaction in watching the knife place itself on the grass, as did he in observing the body revert back into a healthy, uninjured state.

As the light of his spell died out, Traveler sighed in relief, as he watched a healthy exhale escape the stranger’s chest. A jabbing pain interrupted that relief, however, and Traveler was reminded of his body’s sorry state. 

Maybe, just maybe, he had enough magic left.

He wiggled his fingers, and the glow of a dozen small sparks flickered out of them. He wasn’t dead, not yet, not while hyrule needed him. A blue glow emanated forth from his hands, which he’d placed at his stomach. The pain, the pain that’d nearly ripped him in two, slowly faded, like it was nothing but a bad memory.

Excitedly, Traveler ripped off his bandages, revealing a perfectly unscarred stomach, bare of injury. The joy, the utter euphoria that he was going to live brought him to tears.

He wiped a shy tear from his cheek, and then looked at the stranger again, as a rapturous cough escaped the man, followed by reasonable shock.

“Wh-what? Where am I? There were monsters, right, and I was..” He said, almost out of breath. The man looked at his chest, free of harm. “Stabbed?” 

Traveler chuckled, attracting his attention.

“Boy, did you do this?” The stranger asked.

Traveler grinned.

“I did, you’re welcome by the way.” Traveler said.

The stranger paused for a moment, and rested his hand on his beard.

“Thank you, for saving my life. I’m Henry. Who might you be?” Henry asked.

This was written for my friend's(brendathedoodler) adventure swap AU, go check it out!

In that AU, Warriors has Hyrule's adventures. I wanted to write something about Warriors before the events of Z1. How that might begin for him. -----

Barren prowled the catacombs under the northern castle; or what was left of it. In the wake of Ganon’s return, and the death of the king--Hyrule had been teetering on the brink of collapse.

He’d only left his home in the wilds weeks ago--equipped with little else but his sword, shield, and his wits to guide him through the many dangers of his fragmented kingdom.

“I can barely see in this place, how have you not fallen over yet?”

His fairy companion too, not to mention.

Barren didn’t answer, raising an index finger to his closed lips. 

Talking would only attract unwanted attention, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight-- not while Ganon’s army was still occupying the castle. Barren was well aware of the difference between headstrong courage, and suicidal recklessness. The lessons of his many, many mentors made that abundantly clear to him. Cautiousness had been baked into his very bones. Survival was paramount.

Careful as he was attempting to be--Barren did find it odd that he hadn’t encountered a single monster. You’d figure that an army of thousands would be patrolling every square inch of their enemy’s capitol; the catacombs especially. He’d heard the stories of their brutality, even seen some of it up close on rare occasions. 

These were the same monsters that found it fit to bludgeon fleeing children into bloodied stains, to hunt down and devour the sick and wounded over an open flame. To say they were ruthless would be the understatement of the century, they were cruelty for cruelty’s sake--taking frenzied glee in the suffering of others.

So that begged the question; why weren’t they swarming the catacombs?

Before Barren could begin pondering the question--a hollow rasp echoed across the halls, reverberating from crumbling stone and cracked archways.

“Is..is anyone there? Hello?”

Barren stood still. Silent. Questioning for a split-second whether it might be a trap.

“I’m...I’m here to help. Stay where you are, I’m coming over.” Barren said.

He winced at his own words. He sounded more stilted than assured, a product of his inexperience to be sure. In time, he hoped to portray to others the confidence he had in the field.

But for now, he was going to have to make due.

Barren reached into his bag, pulling out an old bronze lamp; dented and rusted from years of use. It was a gift from an old friend--though she said it’d belonged to his family, the heirloom finally returned to its rightful owners.

Once lit, he clipped the lamp to his belt; walking over to the source of the voice.

“You shouldn’t be here boy, it’s not safe.”

It was a knight.

And he was dying.

The soldier was an older man, thrice Barren’s age at the least. It was a wonder he was even in the field, though given his current condition--that wouldn’t be for much longer. The resolve behind his eyes, and the scars littering his weathered body told of a life in service of the crown.

No matter the cost.

The knight wasn’t going to leave these catacombs in anything more than a casket, Barren could tell. He lay a mangled mess of torn sinew and splintered bones. He lay rasping over an ever expanding pool of his own blood, darker in color then any Barren had seen before. 

“Can..can you do anything?” Barren asked, tilting his head towards proxy.

“I-I’m sorry Link, I can’t. Nothing short of a great fairy can save him now.” Proxy stuttered, hovering above her companion’s shoulder. It was heartbreaking for her to be as powerless as this. 

Barren shared her sentiment. 

He reached for his medical supplies anyway, hoping to ease some of the soldier’s pain.

The knight raised a hand, speaking clearly through his bashed teeth.

“Don’t bother son, it’d be a waste..” 

Barren knelt down, meeting the old soldier’s gaze.

“What can I do, then?”

The knight didn’t respond right away, letting the offer sit for a few terse seconds, each one feeling like an eternity passing by.

“Find my comrades, give them my crest--”

The knight lifted his metal gauntlet to his neck, bringing forth a golden circlet attached to a thin silver chain--a black bird painted across it’s face. 

He placed it in Barren’s hand.

“Tell them I gave my last full measure.” The knight said.

Barren nodded, pocketing the crest.

“And what if they didn’t make it?” Barren asked, colder then he would’ve liked.

“Then it’ll fall on you to protect the princess, son.” The knight retorted.

“I assume that makes you the royal guard?” Barren realized, his eye’s widening.

“Hah, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’d be correct, yes.” The knight chuckled, spitting coughs and blood between his defeated smile.

“What happened? Where is your unit headed?” Barren inquired.

“Ganon happened. We were lucky to get out with a third of our unit, nevermind the princess. One of his damn darknuts managed to nick me, and its underlings did the rest. If any of us are still alive, then we’re headed south for old hyrule castle.” The knight explained, pointing to the hallway on his left.

Barren processed the information, soaking in the reality of what he was asked to do, and the dismal odds of his survival.

“I’ll find your comrades, and the princess. You have my word.” Barren promised, steeled resolve plating his words.

He rose to his feet, tightening the straps on his shield.

The knight smiled.