#lu reader insert

Even after the few weeks that you have been travelling with these people, you don’t think you would ever get used to the sheer whirlwind they are in battle. Shouting alerts across the battlefield and the miscellaneous grunts of heroes stabbing and parrying attacks from bloodthirsty monsters - it didn’t happen as often as you thought it would, but every time it did you always were surprised.

Navigating it all was another ballpark of its own. Even the idea of weaving in between bloody arcs of swinging swords and blazing magic phenomena had you rooted to your place. You liked your head as it was, merrily placed on your neck. Clean and unmarred, like normal.

But even normal didn’t survive around these guys.

Your first instinct had always been to run, climbing up to high ground and trying to put your abysmal archery skills to use, shooting down every mob that tried to go for their necks without actually hitting your allies in the process. Wild and Twilight had proven to be eager, if not very patient teachers, and were very willing to put physical demonstrations on for you.

You always tried to aim for the ones in the outskirts, and every grateful grin aimed your way afterwards made you felt like you were glowing. Wild would give you a proud thumbs-up from his own vantage point, bow loose in his other hand, you just about explode from happiness.

It’s one thing to be good with a bow. But it’s another thing when your medieval-fantasy-elf heroes think you’re doing a good job.

It’s hard to not feel like you have improved leaps and bounds, but you’ve only picked up the bow two weeks ago. You allow yourself a little pride.

It’s an unwelcome change to the status quo, that when as soon as you try to escape and run for the hills, something clawed grabs for your shoulder. You shout and back away out of the grip too late, and a swipe cuts a deep line of red up your cheek.

A shout sounds and goes ignored.

The sheer rage that cuts through you doesn’t even allow you to hesitate. Teeth clench behind bitten lips at the disgusting, slobbery grin it aims at you, and you immediately forget all thoughts you had about your bow.

An arm flies back-

You ball up your right fist and instantly drive it into the Bokoblin’s skull, hard enough that you twist on your ankle to smash the other side into a boulder that you just noticed was on your other side. Oh. Oh shit.

The Bokoblin screams, and dissipates into the evil, red vapours that you expect them to. Well, you didn’t expect it to just die after one hit, but maybe it was already down low on health from the other guys.

Freezing, you eye the black tar on your knuckles, and the splatter on the rock. Even then, punching something to death is. Something.

You didn’t think you hit it that hard. You think of the righteous anger that just took hold of you and are instantly reminded of the one time your sibling kicked you, so in retaliation you immediately tripped them over. And watched in belated shock as they face-planted and broke their nose - as if this isn’t exactly what would have happened upon tripping someone over.

It was completely on instinct that you did that, but you didn’t mean for it to have such an impact, you know?

You would figure that a human love-tapping a monster would be, at most, 1hp lost, or whatever other equivalent there was.

Something grabs hold of your hand, and immediately your other fist is scrambling to meet whatever else is there, but you meet Hyrule’s wide, green eyes, and lose the fight against his concerned face so fast you’re surprised you don’t fall over.

“Are you alright?” He asks, the warm tingle of magic wafting over your cheek. You don’t bother stopping him - no matter how many times they see that magic have no affect on you, they never stop trying to see where the limit lies. Hyrule most of all. “Did it get you anywhere else?”

You decide to just enjoy the light of his warm concern on you. “Mm, no. Just my face.” The cut on your face stubbornly bleeds, just as you expected, in spite of all the magic he throws at it.

The sight of Hyrule growing more frustrated at the lack of effect has you stifling a laugh.

His fingers tremble a little, their hold over your fingers wavering, and you laser in on it like a bloodhound. Gently removing the hand on your cheek, you smile at him. The concern is still appreciated, after all, even though Hyrule could be using his magic for more useful things at the moment. Perhaps the thought that you cannot heal as quickly as them is a frightening one.

“Just go and heal everyone else who needs it.” A giggle bursts out of your chest. “You know I’m fine with a bandage and some soap.”

The guy pouts at you in response, and if you were perhaps a lesser man you would have folded like a lawn chair.

“Go on, then!”

He sighs, hard enough that it blows all the air out of his chest, and goes seeking out another hero who might be actually trying to hide his wounds.

“How. I’m not even that surprised but at the same time I am. How.” Wild says, and he’s grabbing your hands next, twisting them this way and that. You blink at him, and he continues studying the black splattered knuckles on your hands as though it were an ancient relic. “You killed that thing in one go!”

“Eh? No I didn’t.”

“No?” He parrots, tilting his head to the side and looking back up at you. “That one came out of nowhere! It just avoided everyone and went straight for you!”

This is new. “What?” Why would it just go for you? Well yes, you definitely the weakest link (Ha!) and the easiest target, Bokoblin’s weren’t really known for a complex thought process such as that. They usually just went for whatever was in front of them.

Warriors nods, severe frown pulling his usually serene features tight. “Bokoblins aren’t as smart as that, usually.”

“But you all did hit it a few times before it got to the back where I usually am, didn’t you?”

“Disappointingly, no we didn’t. Wild says so, and he had a birds-eye view of the whole area.”

Wild nods. “It’s true. How in Hylia did you kill that thing in one punch, then?” He pulls up your sleeve up to your elbow and you kind of just let it happen. “You’re not wearing power bracelets like Legend…”

“You know magic items don’t effect me anyway, remember?”

He eyes you suspiciously. “That’s what you say, anyway…”

“Maybe they’re just really naturally strong, like Twilight?” The Captain says. “He lives in a village of humans, Ordon was it? Maybe it’s normal for them.”

“Well they be eating all the same stuff, what the hell are they eating?”

"Maybe it’s the pumpkins!” You point out, graciously accepting the bandage the Captain hands you, wiping at the red in your cheek. “And that’s how Twilight grew all big and strong.”

The clearing quietens, as the eight of them turn to see the cause of the noise - and meet the blue gaze of yet another strange man, who looks back at them all with bewilderment. He had dark brown hair, messy but curling slightly against the roundness of his face, and dark markings curling around his eyes that sharpened his features.

He was the second one of them to have odd facial markings, next to the man with the patterns that, at first glance, had appeared to be wounds, on a cheek, and a pointed shape furrowing his brow bone. Perhaps they know each other?

Link resists the urge to sigh. Of course there’s someone else.

Here’s hoping it’s someone who knows what’s going on.

The new man shrinks back at their united attention, stammering for a long second. “Wh - Who are you all?” He pushed a gloved hand through his fringe, exposing the darker roots. “Are y’all lost?”

He assesses them all with his gaze, and Link resists the urge to straighten up underneath it. He meets the face of the long-haired man with the heavy scarring, the one with the strange rectangular thing at his hip, and blinks.

They squint at each other. “Do I know you?” They both ask in unison, and both of their eyes widen in surprise.

He resists the urge to snicker.

Fi sings a happy, wondering note at his back, and then they all turn to face him.

___________________

“It is strange, that we all have been on journeys where we set out to defeat a great evil.” Link points out, mouth half-full with cooked meat, though he guesses he would be going by as the Cook for the foreseeable future. And he has to admit that it is strange, after a few hours of sitting by each other in the evening and trading stories and munching on food he had stored in his Purah Pad, for the lack of anything better to do.

No one had any idea of where they currently were, and his slate was refusing to show him his map, so that was a bust. No-one else was up to doing anything either, so he plopped himself down right there on the grass and got a cooking pot set up.

They’ve already concluded that they may all be from Hyrule, but at different points of time, seeing as the Kid says that his whole kingdom was flooded and nowadays a great ocean - and that Sky had no idea what a kingdom or even Hyrule apparently was.

Maybe Sky was from a different place entirely, then. Maybe from those other kingdoms that the Pink-haired one suggested they could be from, Holodumb or Labeema or something. But how would he have the Master Sword then?

The soldier agrees. “Even stranger that we all share the same name, and happened to meet too.”

He would be less shocked if they were younger children. After defeating the Calamity, several tens of children had been named Link in his honour, and he had met all of them. All of them. Several tens more were named after him when he defeated Ganon again.

Babies were very cute and warm and he kind of wanted to hold one now.

But, he supposes there should at least be one guy named Link every century or so. It didn’t seem so crazy that it existed, but more so that they all happened to meet at once.

“Might have been on purpose then.” The smithy suggests, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Anyone know someone who might’ve done this?”

There are several head shakes, although the soldier pipes up. “I do know a sorceress who has duress over time, although she is a force of good. I don’t think she would do this, unless there is a great evil that needs all of us to defeat it.” He seemed to reconsider. “And even when she did, they were brought to us, not taking me to some foreign era as well.”

“We can table that, then.” The tattooed, brown-haired man mutters. He needs to come up with something better. “Until we could ask ‘er personally.”

…Wait.

“On my journey…” He starts, and he is kind of unsure what he had planned on saying. “I had a companion who would often talk about previous heroes they had known.”

He thinks of a little ball of light, who, for the longest time, he had thought was just a fairy. The little thing that liked to curl up in the hidden nook between his shoulder and ear that was half-hidden by his hair. The person who shouted encouraging words at his back and pointed their toes at every weak spot they needed to hit. The guide who would shout such hilarious words at every serious moment that he often struggled to keep his calm in the face of it, whereas anyone else would hear nothing.

They had the little humanoid silhouette, the wings and the glow that he had expected of fairies too.

But he could understand them. But it would always know how to fight the monsters and enemies he encountered. But it had never seemed truly surprised at anything. But it had known previous heroes, personally.

Perhaps they were a particularly old and experienced fairy. But did they know these heroes?

They recall how the guide had sobbed their little chest out when they found out that the Light Dragon had been Zelda all along. For all those years.

They had hugged his neck, dragonfly wings pattering against his hair, trying to offer as much comfort as they could, tight enough that maybe he could pretend the choked feeling in his chest was from them.

“Do you… remember me?” Zelda says, face dirtied and golden hair fluttering in the breeze that may have been natural to feel near the castle, once upon a time. Her eyes shine green, like the lands in her name, and the backs of her ankles are caked in mud. A cricket chirrups at their feet. “Girl… I don’t even know where I am right now.” The person says, idly kicking their legs against Link’s collarbone. Just a minute ago they were whooping and hollering as Zelda’s golden light sealed the beast away in a miraculous sight. “Amnesia moment.” Link’s eye twitches. They were literally right at the castle. Were they stupid?

“They always mentioned something about how they missed a - an Epona? I don’t know who that is, but do you guys maybe know them?”

All of them have sat up now, straightened up as Link had been reminiscing on the time they had spent with each other, before they had to leave. The Rancher gapes at him. “Epona? That’s my horse!”

Link stares at him. “Your horse?”

“Epona’s my horse?” The old man says as well, furrowing his brow.

The soldier raises a hand. “Mine too.”

Link, not for the first time, and perhaps maybe forever, is at a loss for words. “Do you all have a horse named Epona?” Of course. Of course the Epona the guide always mentioned was a horse. Of course this was another thing they would all have in common.

The smithy had a confused look on his face. “I know an Epona too. Although, she’s not my horse.”

“That’s… really weird.”

“…What are you eating?”

“Mmm?” You hum, through a mouthful of granola bar. It’s a really tasty kind that you impulse-bought one day, the ones with fruit bits and delightful pieces of chocolate that melt on your tongue every time you take a bite. You’re in no hurry to chew and rush the sheer dopamine in your mouth, so you chew and take your time. 

Hyrule takes one look at your round, granola-filled cheeks and starts giggling. You wonder if you look ridiculous, and immediately banish the thought because if you start laughing, you’re going to choke and die on granola in front of nine elf-people. 

He looks at Four, staring curiously in your direction, and puffs out his cheeks like a squirrel, cracking them both up. You graciously ignore this.

You chew thoughtfully and shove the half-eaten bar in Wild’s direction as answer, and he looks down at with blue eyes, and then looks back up at you like he had no idea what he’s looking at. Finally, you gulp. “’s a granola bar.”

“What’s granola?”

Oh, the poor thing. A life without granola and it’s beautiful everything was a life you pitied. 

“It’s like…” You say, covering your mouth as you think, to hide the sight of you picking oats out between your teeth with your tongue. “Oats, nuts and fruit all mixed together with like, honey or syrup, I think. It’s kind of a breakfast food but I like snacking on it.”

Wild’s ears flicker up eagerly at the mention of honey, and he starts staring a lot more eagerly at the snack.

You go to have another bite, but the hero snatches it out of your hands and dances away with a laugh when you swipe for it. “Hey?!”

He shoves the whole bar in his mouth, plastic wrapper and all - and promptly starts choking. 

_____

“…You could have just asked, you know that?” You say, as both you and Wild stare down at the wet, depressing remains of your beautiful granola bar. What a glorious, short life it has lived. Perhaps a bokoblin will come by and choke on it next.

You never thought you would have the opportunity to carry out the training you’ve done for the exact scenario of someone choking, but here you are. You really put the grief you had towards the death of your granola bar into the strength of your back-blows. Honestly, it was the only golden opportunity you’ll have to smack one of these guys for the shit they keep pulling - affectionately, of course.

It was handled so professionally that the Captain had frozen in the half-step he had taken towards you when Wild started choking, and now he’s contemplating you with a hand on his chin stroking his non-existent beard. Time is just kind of standing awkwardly next to him. 

He was so suspicious. Honestly.

Wind salutes the remains in a mockery of the salute you’ve seen the Captain do. You close your eyes or else you’ll laugh so hard you’ll die and start reincarnating alongside these idiots.

“Do you have any other snacks?” 

You eye the hero of the Wind, and he looks up you with sad little seal eyes. You know what he’s trying to do here. “…No.”

“You liar! I know you do!” He crows, pointing at you as his face does… something. You have no idea what emotion that expression he is making is supposed to represent, but you wouldn’t put it past him to invent new ones. “You just want them all for yourself!”

“I do.” You nod.

He stares at you, and slumps. “Damn it. I can respect that.”

Wild frowns. “Why don’t you just steal them? You’re a pirate.”

The pirate in question opens an eye to side-eye him. “Step one of stealing is not to tell anyone that you are going to steal.” 

“Oh.”

Ah. He was going to steal them anyway. You might as well, then. 

At least this way you can give them the ones you like the least. 

You sigh, and take a brief second to mourn your already-dwindling snack stash, you didn’t pack much to begin with. If you knew beforehand that you were going to be time travelling with several medieval video-game knights you might have packed more. After all, it’s not like you can just go to a shop and stock up. Not anymore.

But, whatever. For now, you have to introduce the concept of Flamin’ hot Nacho flavoured Doritos to the heroes of Hyrule. And it’s going to be beautiful. 

“Well.” You start, and the two both snap towards you in such speed that their necks could have cracked. “I have doritos.” You pry the snack out of your backpack, and the two heroes lean down to try to decipher the lettering on the front as though they were scholars translating ancient text.

Wild taps his chin with his fingers. “Doritos…” He murmurs seriously, as though he was mentally noting the word.

You grip the sides to pull them apart and open the bag, reaching in to take out a singular chip with such priestly reverence that it feels ridiculous. “Try one.”

Wild leans in and bites the chip - and you barely manage to pull your fingers away fast enough. It’s like feeding an animal, you think, and it’s weirdly fitting for a guy like him. Being, his name was Wild, after all.

Wild chews slowly, like a judge on Master Chef or something. “I think…”

You and Wind lean in.

Something is dripping out of his nose, and his face starts flushing, lightly. “I think I need to be putting more Goron Spice in your food.”

“Oh? What about the chip?”

“I think I have been vastly underestimating your spice tolerance.”

Wow. These guys hate giving straight answers, don’t they?

Wind takes a bite of one as well, and you watch eagerly as his face scrunches up, flushing a bit. You giggle at the mental image of steam coming out of his ears. 

“I don’t think I like this.” He says, calm in a way that is not really characteristic of him, and you fear that you may have broken the two heroes.

They’ve all turned in for the night at this point, with Twilight ever-so-diligently watching over them all in his turn to keep watch for the next late hours, leaned against the stone. He stares out into the open air, blinking slowly as his eyes glint oddly in the light.

Since it’s the summer end of the year, the day has not yet been dark enough to be truly called black, blue at the edges through what you can see through the mouth of the cave, but oceans of stars are visible all the same - and crickets chirp in the distant grass.

The stars are different. You’ve never looked at them closely before, not enough to say how different they are, but you can tell that they are different.

It’ll take a long while for you to sleep though, as unused to sleeping outside in a bedroll as regularly as you are now. If not for the loud as hell crickets, then Wind snickering to you and whispering heinous jokes under his breath that make you struggle not to wake up the whole group with your laughter.

It reminds you of coming over to your cousin’s place and lying in their room, not sleeping until the early hours of the morning because you are too busy talking and joking with one another. Of waking up the next morning both tired and yet feeling as though you had never been more well-rested in your life.

“Oh Hylia give me strength.” Warriors bemoans, holding a pillow over his head and rolling over. “Shut up already!”

Wind shuts up immediately, but the moment the other sighs in relief at the seeming-quiet, he starts snickering under his breath in a way that you know could be quieter, but isn’t on purpose.

The little scamp.

The soldier finally pushes himself up on his elbows, glaring through his sleep-rumpled hair. “At this point, do you need me to tell you a story, sailor? Need me to sing you to sleep like a babe in the cradle?”

“No!”

Legend laughs breathlessly, in a strangely giddy mood. Perhaps delirous from late in the night it is.

His feet point straight up as he lies on his back, and he taps his toes together once. Twice. “Hylia knows that your singing would only cast me off into nightmares.”

He laughs at his own joke, turning away onto his side as if to hide his crime.

Twilight grins over at them, fingers busy with weaving something near his knee that is folded up over the other. “Do you need a carry, sailor? Walk around for a wee bit so you’ll stop yer fussing? That used to put Collin right to sleep when he was young!”

He blinks. “Er, younger.”

Wind sits up on his bottom to scowl at them all, even Wild, who despite being turned away and not speaking, has his shoulders shaking like he's trying not to giggle. “I do not! Just ignore me if you’re so tired!”

“Well I reckon that’d be easier if you weren't giggling like you’d been through several mugs o’ mead!”

“Well I know that’s not true!” Legend crows. “You know the sailor could drink us under the table any day, even though he sneaks it like we can’t see!”

You sputter out a laugh through your fingers, and the younger next to you shoots a look so betrayed at you, like you had shat on his favourite hat. “Well don’t blame me for having a tolerance better than you adults!”

The captain staunchly ignores him. “What can we do to get ‘im asleep then?” Warriors asks, frowning still although the ends of his lips twitch upwards. He’s laid back down onto his rumpled pillow again, his knees casting impressions onto his blanket. “Anyone got any child-friendly lullabies?”

“Oi! I got shanties so filthy they could make yer mother clutch her pearls!” Wind retorts, and then remembers that he hates lullabies also, “And I don’t be be needing any lullabies!”

The veteran turns back so that he’s lying supine again. His eyes glint at you. “Do you have any songs? Stories? Anything interesting for your human country?” The pink in his hair spills over the hard stone of the ground, and looks purple in the dark.

You blink back, amused at the fact that he’s trying to fish for more interesting tidbits out of you like you were unwilling to give them - which you weren’t! You were very willing! But it was always so funny to see him pretend to be so aloof and utterly failing. You thought it was sweet. Your hands fist and press against the ground in an effort to resist patting him on the top of his head or something.

He’d probably bite you if you tried to do something like that. With how half this group were shapeshifters or something, you didn’t want to take your chances. Who knew what kind of diseases these guys had?

Fantasy-magic-elf-rabies was something you did not want to experience first-hand, personally.

“Well, sure I do.” You say, tilting your head back against the softness of the cushion under your neck. “Any requests?” You pretended you didn’t notice Wind’s eyes glancing at you, now in hope. This kid was hilarious, actually.

You can feel the eyes of the others in the camp as well, Warriors, Twilight, Wild, even Time - he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was.

Maybe even the rest of them, judging by the flick of peach skin poking out of the top of the Smithy’s blankets.

Wind grinned at you, leaning up to you and gazing down at you eagerly - sun-bleached hair glowing in the moonlight cast through the mouth of the cave. Seems like he has completely forgotten any reservations he had about being perceived as childish, and for some reason, it’s completely on character. “Something with adventure!”

“Adventure, huh?” You hum, and a story comes to mind. A tale thrumming with legends, adventure, and a glutton for peaches and immortality. It had been an interesting tale, and you were glad that you had the recent interest to have read it, just to have it in your bank of stories.

With these guys, who have slain gods, monsters, dragons or whatever - hopefully this had even the miniscule chance of drifting them off to sleep. You hadn’t bored these guys once, not in all the time you have known them, and you aren’t about to start now.

You hope you don’t forget any major details. You would be surprised if anything makes sense - you’re a terrible storyteller.

“How about the Journey to the West?” You say into the night. “It’s a popular story, where I’m from.”

“Journey to the West?” Legend parrots. “Doesn’t sound too different from what we’re doing now. You sure this’ll entertain us?”

“Well, if it’s too boring for you, maybe you’ll sleep out of boredom! So I win either way.”

“…Since when was this a game-”

You plop a hand on his mouth, and ignore his muffled yelling against the skin of your palm.

“Once, there was a magic stone atop of a mountain. It wasn’t a normal mountain, but a mountain with a name, the Flower Fruit Mountain. Fruitful with magic peaches and coloured with many flowers.” You start, and the others immediately hush quiet.

It’s Wind who decides to pick them up, this time, shooing away larger, more scarred hands to delicately cup their former guide between his fingers. He carefully avoids the one crumpled wing, and lets them curl up into a half-ball against the creases of his palm, his brown eyes large even against their fuzzy light

The little thing hums at the motion, a short tune that rings familiar in Wild’s ears and makes them prick up on instinct.

Surya still has a fairly shocked expression, behind their light which had temporarily dimmed in their surprise. They look up at him with hopeful curiosity, and then at them, large eyes landing on their clothes and soaking in the sight of their faces after so long.

“How-“ They start, and Wild shivers at the melodic sound of their voice. A sound he had dreamed of and dearly missed, ever since they had left, not of their own volition. A sound akin to the softness of petals and rich like being nestled beside a warm campfire . “How are you all here?” Their sentence quivers at its end, and Wild feels a foreign sort of heart-break hearing it.

If the guide had known all of them... just how many goodbyes have they done?

He watches Wind brush the end of his thumb against their good wing in affection, a fleeting sort of comfort, and it flutters lightly in response.

Their neck curves up as Surya smiles up at him, eyes teary.

“…It’s another quest.” Legend answers, something so tired and weathered that Surya snaps their head over. “So I guess it makes sense, that you’re here.”

“But-“

“So late, though?” Warriors wonders out loud. And he’s right. Ever since they had met up, they had been stuck in Wild’s era without direction for weeks, travelling and camping and fighting together. So why only now?

Did the Goddess, or whoever was leading them around think they needed them that badly? Wild is unsure whether to feel offended or grateful.

Sometimes, when he truly lingers, he remembers cold, iridescent blue liquid retreating from his skin, and opening his sticky eyes to a little face looking down at him with thinly disguised curiosity and excitement. Little feather-thin fingers tickling the apple of his cheek, and pattering like droplets against the bridge of his nose and along his hairline.

He had almost shit himself.

Surya had been there from the start. From the very, early beginning. Delighted at the sight of him awake, even in the dark of his tomb. Wild’s eyes following their path in the air with an innocent, undisguised wonderment.

Nowadays, he has become much more jaded. But he fights to keep that wonder, that curiosity - the way Surya would.

For the longest time, he had wondered if Surya died too - they learned a lot about Hyrule, together. But interestingly, Wild had never seen Surya in the memories he had to regain. Not once.

Wind jolts up straight, and the passenger in his hands clutches tighter at the fence of his fingers with a squeak. “Were you fighting? Is that why you were injured when you came out of the portal?!”

“What-! No!”

He slumps a bit. “Oh. I’ve got nothing then.”

Hyrule steps forward, hands raised up. “Do you want me to heal your wing? It looks painful.”

They send him a grateful look over Wind’s curled fingers. “Would you? Thank you so much.”

Hyrule’s ears redden behind the locks framing his face, taken-aback. Wild feels happy for him.

He had noted before, Surya's odd way of speaking. In an accent he had never heard before, but perhaps that was common with fairies. How they had exaggerated every thank you, never held back in praises and found even the most littlest of things extraordinary. Even their odd swear words.

Wind offers his hands out and in an instant, Hyrule’s glowing hands are hovering over Surya’s crumpled wing, blue healing magic drifting from his hands and curling into the air like steam. Creases in the wing straighten out and vanish, and Wild can finally see the linear, branching patterns on the thin organ clearly enough that they glimmer in the thin afternoon light. It had always been an odd pattern to him in the past, and he likens it to the faint puzzle-piece patterns he sees in the Sheikah Slate screen from time to time.

Their guide hums soothingly under their breath, and they all slump over in unison. Even Time, who drops an inch or two in height.

Twilight starts giggling under his breath, and chokes when Wars elbows him right in the side.

“What’s this quest about then?” Surya asks after a brief silence, and twitches as their wing snaps into place. Ouch - that looked painful. “Do we have to beat Ganon again?”

And that’s a thought. How many times has Surya helped them beat Ganon? If they have been around for all of their adventures, then surely they have helped beat Ganon more than the veteran had.

That’s… terrible.

Even he barely could handle facing Ganon twice. And Surya is a little fairy. Did Surya have any choice in this?

They traded looks over their head, and the guide followed the motion with furrowed brows, as confused as they have ever seen them. Seeing them so disoriented after so long of them knowing exactly what to do in every situation was… disconcerting. It didn’t lend well to what they were doing there.

“Monsters have been getting stronger, and smarter.” Time starts, “Once killed, we can see that their blood is as black as tar. But that is all that we have.”

“There were already signs of them before we met.” Four added quietly. “They had been hunting down travellers in our eras, most of whom had barely managed to escape with their lives. That’s how it started.”

“So you guys have been hunting them down?”

“Anytime they appear, yes.”

“Oh okay.” Surya brings their arms up to cross them, resting them on the tips of Wind’s fingers. A thumb comes to rest between their teeth. “And you’ve got samples?”

Wild stared. “Of what?”

“The blood!”

“Why… would we do that?”

“I thought we were trying to figure out what was up with the monsters?”

Time had his hands out in front of him, trying to understand. “Yes, yes. But how would that help?”

“Well, maybe you can hand it over to Purah or Kilton and see what they find?” They suggest brightly, smiling at their non-understanding faces. “For one of your Zeldas, perhaps?”

You blink awake to the deep, pleasant smell of something cooking in a pot, the warm earthy tones of a fire crackling away under the calm humming in Wild’s throat.

It’s so pleasant, in fact, that you take several minutes to just bask in the serenity like you never really had the time to, before.

In the branches above you, a bird sings a sweet song and hops along a twig, pecking at the tart berries growing in bunches and fluttering leaves off their wings as their descend upon their breakfast. You wonder what kind of bird it is - certainly not one native to where you came from, at any rate.

You turn to your side with a quiet sound that almost turns into a yawn, and stretch out your hands and feet so intensely that you groan, pleased. The tips of your fingers and toes brush against dewy blades of grass and a ladybug drifts past your eyes.

The cook’s eyes flick to you and a smile is lighting up his features at the sight of you stretched out and bones gooey under your covers. “Had a pleasant sleep?” His slate says after a second after he signs, several different voices saying each word. 

You yawn in his face, and he yawns back at you on instinct, ears flaring out and twitching back in a way that reminds you of a cat, minus the whole tongue sticking out part. 

It’s quite cute, how his ears tend to be really emotive, moving every which way and twitching like it does.

You’ve noticed that the rest of them have ears that tend to stay in place, twitching occasionally, whereas the sailor’s and traveller’s ears also are almost as emotive as Wild’s - tending to twitch and move often according to emotion and the environment. Maybe it’s a feature that dulls with age?

He flushes, pulling on one of his face-framing pieces of hair. “Oh. That good?”

Snorting, you push up onto your elbows and sniff at the air, wondering what he had made, and also if you could maybe have some. It smells amazing. “Yeah, what did you make?”

You pull the blanket back, away from your legs to start getting up and shiver slightly at the rush of the cold morning air that fills the space that had been occupied by your body heat.

“—- seafood soup! Felt like something  —- today.”

He blinks, and scowls at his feet. “Oh, missing that word.” He then signs the missing word at you, and the slate makes the same pitchy noise in response, and you guess that he hasn’t programmed that word into his slate yet.

It’s probably a really specific word then, one he doesn’t use a lot in conversation. And maybe he used the same word twice?

You tilt your head. “Is it a food? A flavour?” You say, smoothing the hair back form your face in an attempt to look more presentable. You’ll have to make use of the nearby river, at some point.

He shakes his head, hair flying around, and rubs his hands together in circles so that his fingers brush and his hands are flat. It reminds you of rubbing cream into your hands when they start getting dry and flaky after a day where you had to wash them often.

“…a texture?”

He smiles, and nods brightly. You think, what words are there to describe the texture in a soup? If only you had a thesaurus in your bag specifically for this situation. 

Maybe Legend would have one?

“Watery? Salty - wait no that’s a flavour.” You suggest, and your eyebrows draw together in determination as he shakes his head twice. “Thick? Thin? Milky?”

He shoots down every one, and then makes a weird expression at the last one, seesawing his hand back and forth. So, milky was close.

“…Soupy? Soupy seafood soup?” You say, half-joking, and grins when he swats at your shoulder, smiling. “Creamy? Is that it?”

Finally he nods, making a double thumbs-up and making a note on his slate.

You wonder why he can’t just record it now, seeing as sometimes a stray word here and there has a different voice to the baseline female british one of the slate, but one look to the simmering pot has the thought quickly vanishing from your mind.

Oh, it looks delicious.

Creamy with small bubbles of oil lazily drifting on the top, tender meat with golden edges floating and the wonderful aromatic scent of spices wafts through the air and makes your mouth water.

You need to ask. Now.

Before the rest of them descend upon it like a pack of vultures and leave you nothing but crumbs.

“Could I have some?” You ask hopefully, maybe even widening your eyes a little for more effect - though you would deny it to whoever pointed it out. “Of the soup?”

The blonde looked at you like you had just put a frog on your head. Puzzled, tilting his  head one way like a confused little dog.

“Of course.” He signs, although with the way his hands quirk you think it might’ve been in a questioning manner. “I made enough for everyone.”

You beam, and clasp his hands together with your own to shake them once.

“Thank you so much!”

Wild’s ears waggle, and his face reddens lightly with a pleased, but bewildered flush. It’s an adorable sight, a comment you deign not to say out loud out of fear of him having a heart attack and dying on the spot. He’s reserved, despite the scarring and weapon-shattering and overall back-shattering insanity.

Heroes that they were, a compliment would knock them down sooner than a blade ever could.

As you follow him back to the cooking pot, you take out your water bottle to have a sip, swishing it around your mouth so you don’t have to deal with sleep-gunk while eating, watching impatiently as he taps the handle of his ladle against the side to alert everyone else that the meal was done.

The first time they had seen those portals, white and gold-trimmed, pulsing softly and reverberating with a low-pitch that gave the slightest head-rush whenever you stared directly at it for too long, it was directly before their first meeting.

Portals that had appeared underfoot, carefully under sleep-warm bodies snoozing under the sunlight, walked into willingly with simple curiosity and pushed into by some monster or other - that dropped them into a time with blue skies, and of little creatures in the grasses, hiding rupees or not. Dropped them several metres away from each other and perhaps hard enough that some of them are still sporting several bruises.

“Hm.” Their resident expert in anything and everything magic related hums, walking and stopping in loops around the magical happenstance, frowning at it as though it had personally broke into his house and pissed on his pillows. “Alright, all I can tell is that this one is a little different.”

“It is?” Hyrule says, watching it all happen with a look of curiosity. Like he doesn’t use magic himself. “How?”

Legend kind of waves his arms at it vaguely. “It has different lettering ‘round the edges. More…purply in general too. No idea what it means though.” He squints.

Four puts a hand up. “I think its smarter than the old ones.” Everyone looks at him with judgement suited for a group of gossiping aunties hearing something particularly shocking. The smithy had initially come off as rather level-headed, even for someone of their group, but maybe that would need to be reconsidered if he suggested that the magical phenomena sitting there menacingly was capable of thought.

“Evidence?”

“I got a feeling.”

Wild smirks. It looks dumb on him. “That feeling might’ve been me. And by me I mean my secret ingredient.”

“Are you ever going to tell us what that secret ingredient is? Or are you just going to keep vaguely bringing it up and smirking about it like you’re some evil villain?”

“I’m so evil.” He even does a dramatic little laugh, pitching his voice lower as though he were twenty years older. Twilight eyes him like he’s not sure if he’ll get bitten if he approaches, and he’s afraid of what he’ll get if he does. “Eviler than that portal.”

“You’re so evil you hand out candies to little kids.”

“….Why does that sound so wrong? Please rephrase?” Sky says, frowning.

“No.”

The sailor frowns severely at them, cheeks round with what would be a pout on anyone less indignant. “Are we all just going to ignore the portal? Is that what we’re doing?”

“No.” Legend sighs. “We’re just going to see what it’s going to do first. No point going into some rando portal when we can just keep walking past.”

“It’s going ta rush at ya, now that yer not looking.”

“I’m always looking.”

“Expected, with ‘em big ol’ eyes.”

“…Rancher I’m going to hurt you.”

“Wait-!” Warriors shouts, and he’s shoving his way to the front before any of them manage to think up a response, and they’re all shutting up without a second thought.

Time looks shocked at the action, which is just his left eyebrow raising a little higher than usual. Legend has learned that he doesn’t react strongly to a lot of things that aren’t his wife, horses, swords, and other farm related subjects.

“It’s doing something!”

Legend throws himself out of his place in front of the portal, getting up and staring at the ripples puttering over the surface with a stare intense enough to shatter glass. “Swords out!”

Hyrule moves over so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder, supporting him as he stands.

The portal wriggles oddly, and then spits out something small and glowing.

The glowing thing flies out of the portal with the speed of something carelessly thrown back over the shoulder, and plops to the floor in the same manner. It bounces a few times, and Legend winces as the fairy audibly wheezes with every impact.

“A fairy!” Wind gasps.

The portal coughs. Sputters.

Legend tilts his head at it. “What the hell…?”

The portal promptly disappears. He blinks.

Okay then.

He lowers the sword, sheathing it hastily, exchanges a bewildered look with Hyrule, and steps over to investigate the fairy.

The being on the grass is already pushing themself up so that they are in a seated position, dragonfly-delicate wing fluttering weakly and the other half crumpled on the grass. He winces at the sight, it’s almost guaranteed they won’t be able to fly with the state that they are in now, and it could take a while before they were recovered enough for flight.

There is a hint of petal soft fairy-clothing on it and antenna bobbing that could be made out through their shine. Maybe the sight of large, wet eyes is merely a vision too, but it’s unusually hazy.

Already, he can see some differences between this fairy, and the fairies he’s seen in his own time.

For one, they come in various colours, sure, like blue or pink, but he’s never seen a gold one before, not in all his years. Or maybe the fact that he could actually make out parts of their body, like their hands, feet, even parts of their head! The glow varied a lot, sort of like a mist in the way that they obscured parts and then suddenly didn’t.

Suddenly, it feels like there are grass imprints on his knees again. Like he has bitten-down nails and limbs too long for his body again. Like his hands are small and weak enough to tremble around a swords handle again.

Like something small and giggling is tugging at his hat again.

And-

He knows them.

Maybe he couldn’t process it earlier, with how under-whelming the fairy’s sudden appearance had been, and how they actually look a little different to how he remembers, with the antenna and all-

But… that’s their guide, isn’t it?

That’s who helped him take up the sword, who liked to tickle him under the chin whenever he looked a little to upset for their liking, who alerted him for whenever anyone unwelcome was headed their way or who always managed to find helpful little things that would help him out sooner or later, isn’t it?

The fairy looks up at all of them with big, shocked eyes, antenna shooting straight up in the air in a way that looked comical. Their little hands clench in the grass and pinch a daisy’s petal softly.

“Surya?” And it’s Wild who says this, voice thin with shock. So thin that it comes out as more of a animal-like warble instead. Legend would ache for him, if he wasn’t so shocked himself.

Surya looks up at him at the sound of their name, and their face crumples at the sight of his wet eyes.

“Link?”