#larkscrawls

“Get up.”

He remembered all sensations at once, flooding his mind in the brief second before he awoke. His father’s cold hard stare. The adrenaline spiking in his veins. The ringing. The fear. The shame. Tears streaming down his cheeks. The screaming pain of his dislocated shoulder. His knuckle-white grip on his rescuer’s shirt. The blood running down the side of his face. His ear with a chunk taken out of it.

Robert awoke, vest plastered to his back. He immediately felt the protest of his sleeping arrangement deep in his muscles, particularly his neck. It was hard to toss and turn in an acquired-from-display dark green garden chair. It was hard to sleep on one in general. The already flimsy plastic of one arm had begun to discolour and give out, so no support on that front. At least this was but a temporary measure - given his mattress had ended up lining the nearby dumpster.

He just had to last until his first pay cheque from the Superhero Dispatch Network. Easy. In theory.

Usually he had the luxury of being so exhausted he would simply pass out and stay out. Tonight not so much. His eye bags could attest to how physically tired he was but years of superhero work, recent events and the constantly-looking-over-your-shoulder won out. He just needed something to quiet his mind. Temporary relief.

It was still dark. Robert got the impression dawn was still a while away. Neon orange street lamps bled in from the street outside, around the fraying edges of his crappy curtains. He stood slowly, padding across the floor and fumbling blindly - cable, case, on button - to find his charging phone. He winced at the searing brightness and ensured it was on mute.

Robert considered the fridge momentarily, the soothing electric hum cutting through the soft sounds of the city. He decided against it, despite the gurgle from his stomach. Beef made an odd lawnmower-esque noise in his sleep, leg jerking. His dog would be on him the instant the light came on and there honestly wasn’t too much in the fridge to begin with.

Note to self. Get more shelf stable food. Or just nicer fridge food outside of a murky jar of pickles, ham slices and a carton of milk. The fleeting thought of a ham and pickle sandwich was quickly snuffed by thoughts of the various mishaps (getting socked in the face) in the lunch room at work.

Work.

Robert itched to get back to work, not dispatch work, proper work. Hero work. His eyes traced the outline of his closet. It had only been days since he had last worn his suit but it already felt like an era. Thankfully, Mecha Man’s return to heroism was only stalled by the development of a new suit. He trusted no-hands-just-touch-your-pants Royd to build the mecha part but the missing astral pulse hovered in the back of his mind like the ghost of his father.

The hero. The suit. The legacy. Shroud.

No, none of that. Not right now, damn it.

He thumbed his phone, flicking through page after page of apps until his brain opened social media of its own accord. Funny dog videos or something, please. The top trending hashtags flared on screen, the top ranking highlighted its own unique shade of sky blue.

“#thankyoumechaman”

He scoffed involuntarily. Blinked once, twice, then gave into the surge of curiosity.

There were so many posts. Hundreds, thousands, numbers mounting every second. It had only been days since he had announced his retirement.

Swathes and montages of newspaper clippings, blaring heroic headlines and grainy photos - ah there was Flambae’s arrest. Top ten lists of Mecha Man Blue’s feats.

Testimonials and accounts. Beaming groups of school children. A gaggle of emergency service workers. Even some flashes of other brightly-costumed heroes (Robert was doubtful that having a social media page was good for your secret identity, but maybe it helped pay the bills).

“When the building collapsed…”

“I thought I was done for but then I saw the glow blue visor…”

“He said he liked dogs too!”

“He charged straight into the flames with no fear.”

“He saved my baby.”

“Thank you, Mecha Man.”

“If anyone deserves an early retirement it’s you, man!”

Cosplays. Cardboard-box Mecha Man suits. LED and 3D printed helmets. Robotic voice synthesisers slapped over the top to do renditions of Mecha Man’s “famous phrases”. Some kids weren’t far from the age he was when he first put on the suit.

Fanart. Children’s drawings. Paper, crayon, fridge. Mosaics. Paintings. Hyper realism. Abstract. Cartoon doodles on the lined paper of a school notepad. Comic book covers. Animations. Hours upon hours of blood, sweat and tears.

The sudden colossal outpour of gratitude made his skin prickle, heat rising to his face.

Chains upon chains of comments.

“Fuck Charles Kingsley. I would have decked his ass. That was not reporting.”

Robert cracked a grin. True. He’d definitely considered it at the time.

“Don’t worry, think the room of reporters turned on him anyway, OP.”

“Surprised that guy hasn’t lost his job.”

“Looks like he’s up next for retirement.”

The bittersweet slightly-exhausted slightly-giddy surge of emotion sat uncomfortably in his throat. His vision blurred slightly.

Rough wet sandpaper against his leg.

Robert yelped and juggled his phone, the light of the screen momentarily illuminating two big innocent eyes.

“Ruf!”

Only after his initial panic subsided did he hear the scrabbling of paws on the floor and the tell tale jingle of a collar.

“Beef, you scared the crap out of me.” Robert chuckled breathlessly, scooping the offender into his arms. “You should be in bed.”

The dog snorted, then continued to butt his small furry head against Robert in protest.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, me too. Couldn’t sleep. But I guess I’ll have to give it another shot.”

Robert slept dreamlessly, dog-in-lap, for the rest of the night.

Robert awoke to a half-charged phone, still clutched in his hand.

Relmyna noted, through the slurred thoughts clogging up her mind, that she was in a lot of pain. Not the kind she had been studying - pain of the flesh. Emotional pain. The alcohol had dulled the sensation of wasps in her skull, reducing them to a dull constant droning. She hadn’t slept well for a week, constantly assailed by wave after wave of hideous emotion. She would flop pathetically between a shaky wet anger that made her feel like a girl again, and howling like an animal till her throat went raw.

The sorceress stared with unseeing eyes into the bottom of her drink. Her life was over. Her expulsion from the Arcane University and subsequent destruction of her research had been the death blow. She had nothing left - no money or prospects - and yet the cold flame of rage inside of her continued to burn.

She had been close. She had been so close. She knew what she had discovered; she just needed proof. Air, earth, fire, water and light. The five elements that constitute the world. And she had found the sixth. Flesh. She had been expelled from the guild for this revelation. They had all acted like this was some dark, inhumane secret. It was just progress. They didn’t want to see progress. They saw the way she had knit flesh and bone back together, regifted (or grafted) a soul and called it unethical and inhumane. Fire, ice, storm atronachs? Yes. Flesh atronachs? No. They called her a lunatic and psychopath among other colourful things. They struggled to get over the vivisections the most. There hadn’t even been that many.

She had fled and holed up in some horrible backwater middle-of-nowhere inn. The patrons and owner had pieced together she was a mage and that it was best they keep their distance. If she had anyone else try and look at her sympathetically or curiously or any other-ly and she would rip out their throat.

“Pardon me.” An implacable accent, followed by a green waistcoat.

Close. Too close. Relmyna looked up at him from her corner booth and shot her most withering glare.

”Miss Relmyna Verenim, yes?” The man seemed unphased. His teeth glinted, smile something a bit larger than polite. Bearded, fading ginger hair. His eyes were the same shade of emerald green. He would have seemed ordinary enough, an eccentric well off merchant-or-banker perhaps. The cold writhing worms in her gut told her otherwise. She found herself suddenly feeling quite sober. He knew her name. Had they sent someone after her? Possibly. The man, whoever he was, travelled light.

He swooped into the seat opposite her, laying a walking cane beside him. Her sudden companion seemed to sense her trepidation and splayed his palms as a form of surrender. “I’m a fan of your work! A big fan!”

She blinked once, hard. “I- you- what?”

“Your-! Uhm.” He leaned in conspiratorially, splaying his fingers. “You. Pioneering new magic. New… things. That-? That sort of thing. Delightful.”

“Delightful?” She echoed incredulously, choking out the syllables. After all the fear and outrage-

“Exciting! It’s exciting. I’d like you to continue your work.” He raised a tankard she hadn’t seen delivered to the table. She had one too. Relmyna scanned the bar anew. Nobody had ventured near the table except this man. Her mouth felt dry. She inspected her drink, rotating the mug in her palms. The liquid inside was pale, yellow and smelt hoppy. It was hard to think over the blood rushing in her ears. She felt so horribly blindsided. She didn’t dare feel hopeful. It was possible this was a cruel trick, a complex deceit.

“Are you… a mage?” She tried to make her voice less forceful, more polite, and neutral.

“Mm.” He swallowed his drink, thoughtfully, one finger raised. “No. Well. I dabble. Not my job.”

“And what is your job, Sir? What do you want with me?”

He laughed heartily to himself like there was an in-joke she was missing.

“I’m a Prince. A big one. I’d like to make you an offer you can’t refuse. Or you can, but I’d be ah- very disappointed.”

Relmyna clenched her teeth in annoyance. Why can’t people just speak plainly? “Prince? From where?”

“The better question is of what?”

“Pardon?” Another verbal sucker punch. Relmyna reeled. “That’s not grammatically correct.” She blurted.

“Aw c’mon. You know me. You do. Everyone knows me a little.” He winked, playfully. Relmyna looked at him blankly, trying to suppress her twitching eye. “I sponsor a lot of… creatives. Big supporter of the arts, music and the like.”

“Magic is logic, not creative.”

“It can be! But, ah, if you say so. The bottom line is I want you to come work for me. I want to fund your research.”

Relmyna nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. She was still piecing everything together. “I’m surprised you don’t think the guild or the law would come after me, or you by association.”

“I’m a Lord too. I have a lovely island.”

“You can’t be a Prince and a Lord.”

“Can’t I? What I’m saying is I have a place where you can do your research, nobody would bother you. And you could ask for anything. I’d get it for you. You’d have it.” He fixed her with an odd gaze, looking through his eyelashes. Relmyna squirmed in her seat.

“Forgive me, but it sounds too good to be true. After- after all I went through with the mage’s guild. What do you get out of this? What would you want me to make for you?”

“I’d have a gate I’d like keeping. I’d want you to make a big… brute for that.” He shrugged. “Pretty much it. We can work out the details.”

“Keeping who out?”

“Adventurers and the like. Love ransacking the realm.”

Oh.

Then it finally clicked. She felt her cheeks colour. The unease rectified itself into butterflies in her stomach. Having her talents recognised and applauded was one thing. A god seeking you out to specifically ask for your aid was another matter entirely. Relmyna’s mind suddenly quieted, leaving her very much at a loss for words.

His eyes glinted gold in the light as he leant back, satisfied, into his seat. “I’ll take that as a yes?” His smile was smaller now, but felt more genuine. Just for you. A small part of her awe-struck mind whispered.

“Yes! Yes. Yes…” Relmyna raised her drink so fast she sloshed half of it onto her sleeve. “I- I would be honoured.”

The princess and swordsman sat perched on a corner turret of Hyrule castle. The two had fallen into a comfortable silence, exhausted from the events of the day. Combating ancient evils was apparently exhausting, whether you wielded a piece of the triforce or not. Things were different now it was over, it was something in the air. The hours of the day had advanced without notice, the creep of twilight swathed the sky in pale yellows and lavender purples. Zelda turned the Tri Rod over again in her hands, a weight heavy in her chest. It no longer buzzed with power. Despite the twisted yellow and green wood, it might as well have been any old staff. No. She chided herself internally. It was a memento of her friend. Zelda couldn’t help but feel the word implied some kind of mourning. She tried to untangle the knot of emotion inside her with her mind. Tri and their friends were with the Goddesses. Safe. Happy. She wished them a peaceful sleep. She was sad. It wasn’t a teary kind of sad, but she knew the feeling would linger for some time. A rift in her heart that she would have to close herself.

Perhaps the atmosphere had not been as comfortable as she had initially assumed, for the Princess’ attention was drawn to the sound of her companion standing. Link walked the perimeter of the turret, once, then twice, eyes downcast and searching. His hand flexed on the pommel of his sword, not in any attempt to draw it, Zelda assumed it was some way to ground himself.

“Link?” She prompted. It still felt odd to put the name to a face. (A hylian face, not a malicious duplicate.) “Is something wrong?”

The swordsman held her gaze, expression conveying a gravity that urged the princess to her feet. His hands made a flurry of gestures she struggled to follow. Zelda’s face contorted, she lamented her education did not cover sign language. Link seemed to understand her confusion and changed tactics. He tugged at his cloak, then bared his teeth, fingers twisting into an imitation of claws. Zelda blinked.

“Monster?”

He gestured at his cloak again. Zelda connected the dots. “Blue. The blue monster. You’re worried about it.” She paused, searching the recesses of her mind. “We…” she started, heavily considering her word choice, for it had been a team effort overall. “… fought an echo of it. You’re worried the actual thing is still out there?”

Link gave one of his signature curt nods. He dropped to a knee, tracing a jagged outline on the floor. Zelda had seen enough rifts to identify the shape.

“We closed the rift.” She nodded.

Link stepped to the inner wall of the castle, extending a hand to the town and its inhabitants, who were in the midst of clearing up the impromptu celebration. (Her father had assured them both the formal one would begin a different day so they could rest.)

“Everyone returned... I- oh. I see. The monster should be with us. But, that is assuming it didn’t fade away. That was something Tri said would happen if one stayed too long in the Still World. You just cease to exist.”

The swordsman seemed to accept this answer with an angling of his head. He seemed to relax slightly, enough that his left hand fell from his blade. The princess cringed as a flicker of doubt lingered in her mind. She considered the Tri Rod. “Then again, I don’t know if you could make an echo of something that doesn’t exist anymore. I never tried it. Maybe Null could. It seemed to have a stronger sorcerous might than me.”

Link’s arms were folded now, weight shifted onto one of his feet. His jaw was tightly set. He looked off into the mists of the Eternal Woods. Zelda moved to stand beside him, boots clicking against the stone floor.

“I’m sure if the beast did return we could deal with it.” She spoke softly, if a little suddenly, extending a hand to try and comfort him. Her fingers barely grazed the shoulder of his tunic before Link jerked away, eyes wide. She had never seen him this wrong-footed, he looked taken aback. Embarrassed at having not fully comprehended the gesture until it was too late. Zelda recovered quickly by turning her raised arm into a thinking hand on her chin. She tried to carry the momentum into a joke. “I’d just need to convince Lueburry to make me a blade that rivals your Sword of Might. Which might be quite a feat given… no more crystals will show up on account of there being no more rifts to fix… I’d also need formal sword fighting lessons, so there’s that. Unless we could find another way I could just borrow all your sword fighting skills!” She gave him a smile to show all was well.

Link looked relieved but the tips of his ears had gone noticably red. He gave her a slow nod. His mouth was something just shy of a smile, no longer downturned and something above neutral. He scrubbed at an eye with his sleeve.

“I think it’s best if we retire soon. I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s quite a trek back to Suthorn at this hour… I’m sure my father made it apparent you’re very welcome to stay for the night. There’s a spare room next to mine on the East wing of the castle.”

Link’s two emphatic nods spoke for themselves so the pair departed. Zelda spun the Tri Rod in her hand. She wondered if she had been slightly spoiled on her travels, if she was going to have to get used to not having the ability to conjure anything (including a copy of her own bed when desired). Then again, echoes of food had been distinguishable from their counterpart so perhaps the real deal was superior. Zelda bid goodnight to the king, not wanting to risk herself or Link being drawn into any more lengthy conversations.

As they arrived outside the two doors, Zelda was struck with the realisation another parting might follow. After this adventure Link surely intended to return home, but would he stay there? Admittedly, they hadn’t known each other for all that long. Could they even be considered… friends? Those were hard to get as a princess. She cleared her throat. “Should you need anything, I am next door. Goodnight, Link.”

As Zelda pushed open the door to her room, she felt a hand at her shoulder. She turned. At first she assumed Link was giving her a nod, then realised the motion looked slightly odd. His shoulders were high, eyes on the floor. It took a couple of false starts.

“Good- Goodnight.” His voice wavered from disuse. He made an effort to meet her eye, smiled politely, gave the princess a curt bow and hurriedly excused himself to his room. The door closed with a click.

Zelda struggled to hide her delight. “Goodnight!” She called again, emphatically, through the door. “Sleep well!”

She floated into her own room, giddy. The princess pressed her back against the inside of the door, hands over her mouth. She certainly felt… ‘thank you’ as Tri would have put it. Her cat watched her from atop the bed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.