#tbohh

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That was the last time Juliette believed anyone could love her. She quickly learned how to be hated and abhorred. Afterall, Juliette was a bright child, perhaps too bright for her own good. Little Juliette wondered how anyone’s skin would crawl by looking at her when no one looked at her long enough. Glimpses were like daggers and barbs finding their ways under her skin despite of being covered from head to toe. She made sure to cover anything that could be her. She used to go to bed in her veils and gloves hoping she could become her second skin. She’d imagine her life as veils and gloves would be much lovelier, being touched and caressed everyday. 

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Once she was considered old enough, a line of suitors started. Juliette could not sleep the night before thinking about meeting her ‘true love’. She tried to imagine him and their first meeting. What would happen? Would he steal her breath away? Would he hold her hands and tell her that he loves her? Would the barrier disappear? Would the barrier disappear and free everyone? Would he free her from everyone who looks at her like an abomination?

Day after her first sitting, Juliette found herself without a lady in waiting. Lying in the middle of the destroyed room, Juliette wanted to be carried out of the palace with all her destroyed furniture. She wanted to be far away from where she is something that needs a royal command to be loved. Barely gazed at, Juliette sat through boys gritting their compliments at her. Her musing the night before was unnecessary. What she should have worried about was how to hold herself in one piece while sitting across from her suitors. She made back to her room because that was the only thing she could do. She didn’t remember exactly but she remembered a woman’s shriek among the sound of her room being destroyed. And Juliette could not have shrieked because last night she wasn’t a girl but a thing that deserved a name; a beast. A thing that deserved hatred.

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Juliette built a routine for her new ladies in waiting and herself. There is no befriending or instructions until Juliette unveils herself. Some left right away, either by themselves or carried out. Some stayed but never too long. None of them deserved Juliette’s attempts to be honest. Still not sure how to communicate her care for others, Juliette’s kindness was overlooked, wasted on the undeserved bunch. Whatever language Juliette spoke with embarrassment, Mallory understood. She understood every syllable and every dialect.

Mallory didn’t just stay but made a new life in the castle. Mallory made it her job to make sure Juliette was taken care of. Yes, it is the lady in waiting’s duty to do so but anyone who saw Mallory with Juliette can tell that that kind of gentleness is not a duty. If anyone witnessed them in private, when the storm rages and rages around Juliette, they would believe that magic is not just in the barrier but inside of it. When Mallory laid Juliette’s head down on her lap, what can it be but magic? What can it be but magic that centers Juliette.

notes: quite frankly, the theme of this fic is in no ways lighthearted, but while the title jumped out at me from the story, I find it also makes me laugh. I can’t help thinking of the tweetle-beetle-bottle-puddle-paddle-battle-muddle from Fox in Socks and I don’t know if I hate myself for it or am just glad I can giggle about something related to this story! 

  If there’s one thing heroes are supposed to be able to do, it’s save people. By definition, a hero is someone who helps others, but in meeting the rest of their chain of heroes, Sky has since learned that the title of hero means something else too. 

  The Hero is a man or child clad in green who appears when Hyrule is in danger to fight away monsters and evil and restore peace to the kingdom. The fashion in which they do so differs of course, as he’s slowly learning, but the fact remains that a hero still has a duty to his people and his country, and while it’s not always something thrust upon them, each one of his brothers bears that burden. Some of them let it drag them down, the weight of the world on their shoulders an inescapable duty, others shoulder it as a life purpose, a defining role, something that they’ve built their whole being around, and others, like Wind, regard it as a natural course of action. 

  It’s strange, learning that the title is so commonly used, that so many men and boys have borne it since it was given to him what feels like ages ago. In a way, it’s nice knowing that there are others, that there are people like him who understand things, yet in the same breath, they’re all so different, and with such varying experiences that really, in the long run, they’re as different as night and day sometimes. 

  As if to prove it, Legend’s blatant lack of trust in knights clashes with the fact that so many of them bear the honor of knighthood with pride. Warriors is a polished, well-spoken soldier, trained in the ways of combat, and Twilight is a ranch hand hailing from the country village of Ordon, brash in many ways that clash with the captain. Time is quiet, distant at times, and Wind is warm, welcoming and an ever-present ray of sunshine at their sides. Where Hyrule is unpolished and unassuming, the majority of their group stand out in a crowd. Wild can cook. Truly, there is such variety among their number that it’s a wonder they can all be classified by the same singular word: a hero. 

  But just because the title is there, doesn’t always mean it always feels like it fits. 

  Sure, Legend’s whole being is built around his life as a hero. They're not sure how long he’s been doing it, but they don’t call the young man “veteran” for nothing. It’s clear he owns his title without shame, living out each day in the effort of following the destiny given to him. Sure, Wild has taken to heart the burden bestowed on him, striving to be the best he can be and own the title. Sure, Wind accepts it like it’s just another truth about himself, just the same as his golden hair and ocean blue eyes. Yes, the old man seems to characterize what any child might think of when asked to describe a hero. But Sky is not Legend or Wind or Wild or Time or any of the other heroes. They are of the same spirit, and some of them apparently share blood (why had Twilight and Time told no one?) but they are each their own separate selves, each with his own life and person, and unlike them, Sky feels the weight of their shared title acutely. 

  It was his duty to save Zelda. The weight of the future was on his shoulders. His duty was protecting the people of Hylia and restoring peace and safety to the surface. His whole world expanded in one day from a smattering of islands high above the clouds to a whole huge land full of people and animals and duty. 

  Duty. What a heavy word. 

  It follows him. Even with the sword now silent, Fi having gone to rest with the assurance that he has accomplished what he must and no longer requires her aid and guidance (even though he does, he still does, please, Fi, some advice would be great from time to time) his mission isn’t over. No, because now that he’s defeated the god of evil, now that Zelda is safe, now that Impa is dead, he is the one Hylian out of all of them who knows enough about the surface to guide the other in surviving there. Yet, in the same breath, he’s still the youngster who barely graduated Academy, never mind being properly knighted. He’s still young enough that the elders sometimes doubt him, but experienced enough that they know not to treat him like a child. He’s ‘too young’ to understand the Knights of Skyloft, but has seen more of the world than they ever have. 

  It’s strange, being caught in such an imbalance. People expect so much and yet so little of him. They want him to know what’s happening but doubt that he does. They ask for advice but question anything he gives them.  

  It’s exhausting. He knows Zelda used to tease him before, but the nickname “sleepy-head” never felt so accurate. 

  At least with the chain though, he doesn’t need to worry about it. Call him selfish, but there’s a certain kind of relief that comes from allowing someone else to take the lead, knowing that everyone else understands the world around him better and knows what to do. He doesn’t need to babysit them around new species or warn them about dangerous conditions or fauna. He doesn’t need to even be on guard, instead free to drift along at the center of the group, knowing that Twilight’s sharp ears and Legend’s acute sense of danger will provide ample warning if anything does come upon them. 

  He’s free to sleep for the first time in what feels like forever, without someone busting through his tent in a panic because they heard keese for the first time or realized that rain existed. In fact, he’s allowed to even sleep in sometimes, no plans or defenses or responsibilities waiting for him when he wakes up, just simple easy to follow orders of get up, get ready, walk, fight, and make camp. 

  Call him crazy, this adventure has been almost a vacation if it wasn’t for the fact that Twilight almost died on them a month ago! Or then again, there’s been a lot that happened since then, but even with that in mind, at least he’s not the sole one responsible for the safety, care and guidance of his fellow heroes. More often than not, actually, they’re the ones looking out for him. Honestly, he doesn’t know how he’ll thank Legend for teaching him about the poisons on the surface, or Wild for letting him peek at the champion’s slate to read what he can about monster types, weaknesses and whatnot. The other heroes have this and that to add, of course, but those two have been the most helpful, seeking him out in order to show him things first hand when they can, so that while Wild and Hyrule often go to muck about, he and Legend find their free time typically spent with the veteran teaching him everything he knows about the surface world, survival, and even matters beyond that; matters beyond being a hero and more about just being. It's nice learning things for the sake of learning, not for the sake of staying alive, and Legend talks with a similar cadence and manner to Fi when he’s caught up in expounding on this point or that, uninterrupted because Sky very much appreciates both the effort and the guidance. 

  For all Legend has to share with him though, the vet isn’t exactly someone he can turn to when it comes to problems with people. Honestly, sometimes it feels like he returns the kindness shown to him by the younger hero by covering Legend’s ass when it comes to social interactions, at least among their group. The vet’s left a terrible first impression on most of them, and since it seems everyone else is equally bad as he is when it comes to communication, there’s still many in their group under the impression that their vet is a total asshole. 

  So yeah, Legend is not the best person to ask for help when it comes to people issues. Time either. Time and he aren’t close by any exaggeration of the word, and while the older man is willing to offer advice here and there, Sky’s not certain he feels comfortable seeking it out. Typically speaking, he’s found that Warriors is the best person to ask about these sorts of things, being as he is a man and not a child and possesses the social skill necessary to address this sort of thing, only.... 

  Only, it’s terribly hard to ask someone for advice on how to handle their own stupidity. 

  He is not blind. Okay, well, maybe, and to some things, but missing Time and Twilight’s relationship is likely more a matter of him not being close enough to either to really put much stock in their interactions. Their leader’s fondness for one of their number wasn’t too shocking considering how attached he himself has become to all of them in such a short time. He'd just assumed that Time moved slower and had begun to warm up to them one at a time, starting with the rancher and moving on to the sailor. He'd thought they’d all follow in time, not that Time just ultimately had favorites. 

  Despite missing that though, he’s not entirely incompetent. He sees his brothers, and much as they might have all assumed he was simply the tired, quiet one, just because he doesn’t speak up doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. No, he sees what happens in camp. He sees Legend’s tentative bids for connection, Wild’s withdrawn attitude that hides behind the smile and the laughter. He sees Wind’s worry and Time’s stress. He knows Twilight is wrung out and confused after his secret was exposed and the rest of them have had to accept the fact that their silent, furry companion was, in fact, one of their brothers.  

  He knows that there’s a breach of trust there, or at least a perceived one. Those who didn’t regard the beast as a threat have often sought the company of their wolf companion in order to express troubles or thoughts that they didn’t wish to share with anyone else, including the rancher himself. Not knowing, they’d told him things, thinking he was just an animal and incapable of sharing them, told him things they didn’t want Twilight to know, things they thought or felt. Now, knowing that Twilight is privy to so many of their secrets, it’s perhaps natural that their barriers have been thrown up, their brothers guarded and wary of what he’ll do with the forbidden knowledge he possesses. 

   He knows it hurts the man, but he understands. He’d never shared his own feelings with their wolf companion, but if Crimson were to one day take hylian form, he’s sure he’d be at least the slightest bit worried about it, maybe even betrayed. Not knowing a dear companion could speak if they so wanted, could be like yourself, would be hurtful. To know they didn’t trust you when you poured out your heart to them... 

  Yes, he understands. 

  Unfortunately, that also means that Twilight is, very much, also not in the category of people who he can come to about things that are worrying him. Sadly, it seems none of them are. He’d never dream of asking the younger ones; Wind is a child and should not be burdened with such things, Hyrule is still struggling to make his own connections, Wild may or may not understand and most definitely has enough on his plate already, Legend is Legend, and he’s never been very close with Four. 

  Which leaves Warriors, who is, again, the course of his frustration. 

  Because, unfortunately, despite being a hero, and despite killing an actual god, Sky finds himself helpless to face a mere vice, a common demon that seems to have taken hold of one of his brothers. 

  It started simple. A night after a tough battle, one where he couldn’t sleep and had wandered downstairs from the inn-room he’d shared with a few of the others, a room where Wind was being kept awake for the sake of his earlier concussion from a battle. Stress was high across the whole group, and he’d needed the space so it was natural that he’d wandered downstairs, hoping to sneak outside and catch some fresh air like he used to on Skyloft. 

  Like on Skyloft, the awful visions that woke him up that night were also cause for his slipping from bed. 

  His intention had been to step out, to catch the breeze on his face and maybe watch the stars for a bit. Legend often says that the stars hold comfort and assurance, and while he doesn’t know nearly as much about them, or the stories and figures the vet can pick out from the heavens, he does know that cloudless nights remind him of home, and bright lights twinkling above had quickly become the only familiar thing between every place he’s gone. 

   Maybe that’s why Legend likes them so much; they’re an unchanging constant no matter where you go. 

  At any rate, he’d needed the space. He hadn’t expected to find any of the others up as well though, much less the captain. In the end, he never made it outside, instead sitting up and talking with the other. 

  He’d thought little of the nearly empty bottle of whiskey at the man’s side, too busy with his own thoughts and worries. 

  He’d thought nothing of it either when, after a terrible battle that nearly saw the loss of the traveler and ended with a passed-out Legend and a very bloody Four, he’d found the captain up stewing quietly over ill thought-out plans and reckless behaviors. The off-handed “I need a drink” had been something to just smile and shake his head at. 

  But then he’d begun to catch on. Rough battles, difficult nights, sleeplessness from worry, from pain and in his own case; from visions. It had resulted in many a night spent up in each other’s company. More worrying still was the constant presence of a little silver flask, held tight in fainty trembling hands as dulled blue eyes would linger over their younger ones. 

  He’d thought it strange, but it was Wind’s worried “has the captain been drinking again?” that really caught him by the ears and shook him. He’d thought it a passive thing, hadn’t paid it much attention because there was no true way to know what was in that little flask (Legend has one too, but it’s got some kind of sweet, spicey juice in it). The sailor asking about it though had changed that. It had revealed that, no, it wasn’t simply a passing thing and was very much a longstanding issue. It was not at all what he was hoping to find out. More so, the youngest can’t even say anything about it, because the captain knowing that his former charge is aware of the vice apparently would have some very, very bad results. 

  So, Wind can’t say anything without potentially making it worse. None of the others know or have seen it enough to realize the weight of the issue, and he’s left the only one who not only knows and witnesses it but has nothing he can do about it. 

  Long nights, dark eyes and pain, so, so much pain in the captain’s face and voice have left him stumbling. The quiet admission of how their elegant captain’s own stepfather was a miserable drunk isn’t any help either, although that conversation had rather quickly turned from him trying to bring up the issue and into the both of them commiserating on the lack of decent father figures in the world. 

  From there. It just... keeps happening. 

  He’s watching, trying to say something and so, so easily letting pretty words and prettier eyes distract him into talking about something else. Quite frankly, it would be terrifying if it wasn’t so impressive how the captain manages to dodge his every quiet attempt by redirecting him onto something else, turning the matter around or simply accepting his concern with a smile and an easy, gentle, so very believable dismissal. Yet, he sees the results. He sees the stress and the tension. He sees the misery that before had hidden so prettily behind a polished mask, but which now spills from time to time into a slippery mess before him, catching him in its mire and leaving him floundering, breathless, and scared. 

  He’s the hero, the one meant to save those around him from trouble, but he’s failing a battle with a bottle that’s he’s not even touching. 

  Watching the result of that failure, the downward spiral, it hurts. It hurts more than blades or arrows or even poison. In a way, it is a sort of poison; a slow working thing that, while he never touched it, has infected not only his own life but those around them. 

 As chaos sows itself across the kingdom, poison spreads within their own number. The attention of their brothers, and indeed, most of his own, is fixed on the protection of their home, on defeating the newly risen foe, on ending things so that their lives can return in some small manner to a semblance of normalcy. And somehow, he lets his worries fall to the background, let’s his mind turn to the struggles spawning up around him with the others, with himself, with things that are ever so much more prominent than a little silver flask. Even the yelling match that sprung up between the vet and druken captain hadn’t refocused him, his attention more fixed on other things in the aftermath; Legend’s behavior, his own aggression when shouting at the captain to just cease and desist with beating the dead horse before he’d marched off after the vet.  

  Fighting and travel have kept him busy since, but failure is as sure a trigger as anything, or so he’s learned. Even now, he watches as the others retreat to lick their wounds, to hide away in their inn rooms, silent and mournful, blood still staining their clothes. He’s sore himself, tired, weary, too worn from the events of things over the last couple of months to actually want more than to lay down himself and sleep, but he doesn’t. 

  No, because when the rest of them go to hide at the inn, the captain goes off alone, a cold, dangerous, dark look in that drawn and tired face, and worry gnawing at the skyloftian’s own heart will not allow for him to even entertain thoughts of sleep, not when he’s learned to know what that look means. He lingers only as long as he must to ensure all the rest are settled, safe and stable, before darting back out onto the streets. 

  Watching is hard. Seeking is harder. 

There’s an awful sort of feeling that comes over him at the realization that the nearest bar is mostly the new location of his straying brother but finding it in the dark is nearly as difficult as dragging himself towards it, knowing full well what he’ll find inside. He does though, he does because he has to and because it’s the right thing to do. He does it because it’s what a hero would do.  

Heroes save people when they’re drawn into danger, and the devil in the bottle is slowly urging his beloved brother and friend in. A steady hiss or whisper or however it’s call manifests for the captain, and one that, if he doesn’t make it in time, he won’t be able to stop from taking hold. 

He can whisper a begrudging thanks to the heavens that Warriors is a gentle drunk most of the time. 

- 

The bar-room's floor is shockingly clean when he enters, considering it’s a farming town they’ve stopped to stay in at Time’s suggestion. Faint, dusty footprints from one or two people scuff in and out, but he can see where thick ash and dirt have clumped and marched across the floor, and following the trail is the easiest thing he’s done today after fighting a far larger, far more terrifying demon. 

In his mind, Sky steels himself; if he can fight Demise and come out alive, he can face up to the captain about this most worrisome coping technique. The key is simply not to let Warriors distract him with something else, so at the first mention of anything that’s not the man’s own issues, he needs to start to redirect. 

Hylia above, why couldn’t those cursed goddesses have granted him even just the smallest piece of Wisdom? Charging in is the easiest part, getting through the battle with a silver-tongued soldier is the thing it seems he can’t do properly. 

Glass taps on polished wood, a heavy and familiar sigh following. Trailing his eyes towards the back corner of the room, he can easily make out the bloody and worn form of his brother, slumped against a small table and already with a hand ploughing through his ash dusted hair. Warriors looks like hell. Dark bruises beneath darker eyes, face drawn and still stained with the remains of their defeat. The usually proud appearance has been crippled, uniform torn and filthy, and blood still spattered over armor, leather, and skin. The man doesn’t so much as spare him a glace as Sky settles across from him at the table, keeping the barrier between them for both their sakes. 

“Hey.” 

A long, drawn-out sigh sounds off the wood of the worn bar table. 

Sky waits. Pressing any of his brothers is counterproductive. Sitting quietly, taking in the situation, is the best approach, letting them determine whether or not they’re ready to speak yet. He won’t push either, he just sits and rests his arms on the table, glancing the empty glass and the blessed lack of a matching bottle.  

“What d’you want, Sky?” Still not even a flick of dull eyes up towards him. “Shouldn’t you be with the rest?” 

He shrugs, stiff, as though he’s not being eaten up a bit with guilt at leaving them. The other adults can keep an eye on things though, and Wind was already doing a marvelous job of talking them out of their heads. It’s up to him to handle the captain though, as the sailor may or not have even been allowed inside the bar. The kid shouldn’t be here anyway, for the captain’s sake and his own.  

“I didn’t feel right about letting you go off alone.” 

“The kids need you right now.” 

“They need you too,” he challenges, leaning a bit closer and trying to catch the turned away eyes of the other. “And I think you’d do yourself some good to be around them.” 

A twitch of the fine-featured face before him is his only answer as sooty fingers toy with the empty glass between them. It’s lifted briefly, before the other man seems to check himself and realize it’s empty. 

 Sky needs to prevent it getting refilled. Hopefully, he can drag the captain’s ass out of here and back to their brothers before then. The key is just getting through to him, and though it feels like ages since he’d looked at the other man and found only unreadable smiles and perfection, there’s still a barrier that stops him really understanding what the captain might be thinking. Goddesses above, how is it that even Legend is easier to read than this man? 

“Wars, you’re worrying me.” He tries. Slowly, softly enough that no other patrons in the place will hear him, but it seems the captain doesn’t hear it either. 

No, the man just taps his glass against the table-top, distracted, and sigh so heavy he seems to shudder. “Go back, chosen.” 

“No, captain.” 

In battle, maybe blue eyes hold the flames of the goddesses themselves, but in the dim light of the bar, there’s only a dullness and flickering darkness that makes him want to shift and draw away. He doesn’t though, doesn’t dare. Instead, he sits under that stare for the brief second it's spared, and then the soldier is shutting his eyes with yet another heavy sigh. “Rest, you need it.” 

“I can’t.” You’re here, he wants to add. You’re out here and you’re worrying me, and I can’t sleep easy until I know we’re all safe. 

Fine features twitch, shifting into a frown that would be very terrifying indeed if Sky hadn’t gotten used to all the harsh looks of his team over the last while. Time’s dark looks and Warriors’ disapproval aren’t nearly as weighty all things considered, and he carefully doesn’t respond when the other looks up at him again, brows drawn low and tightly together, jaw twitching slightly. “Sky-” 

“Link,” he returns, sharp to match the look he shoots at the other. Their given name slips strangely off his tongue and earns a twitch of the brows in answer. “No. I’m not letting you sit alone a stew.” 

“Even if I want to?” The glass taps loudly against the table, a sharp contrast to their low voices. “Does that matter at all?” 

Okay, that’s just a bomb-burr waiting for him to walk too close. “Link, please,” and the use of their shared name seems to have fingers closing tighter over the mouth of the whiskey glass, “we both know what will happen if I leave.”  

His words are proved by the lack of verbal answer, instead the tapping of the glass back onto the table as dark eyes meet his. They’re blank again, impossible to read past that closed off, stern expression. It's not one he’s used to facing much these days, but he’s seen it turned on the younger ones plenty of times. 

“I leave,” he presses, “and you’ll drink.” 

There’s the faintest tightening again around the glass still clutched in sooty hands. “It could be worse.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, nodding slowly, “it could. I could keep ignoring it and you’ll keep getting worse.” He steels his own jaw, folding his hands if only for something to do with them before he meets the stare now fixed, heavy and harsh, on his face. “When we all met, you hardly touched the stuff save maybe after a bad battle, and I mean a really bad one.” The same as Time here and there. The same as any man likely might. A really bad day is fair enough excuse for one drink, but Warriors used to stop at one, and now he doesn’t. “Now it seems every time our backs are turned...” he motions to the glass, watches as blue eyes dart down to follow his gaze. 

The captain’s hands aren’t shaking like they normally do. They’re perfectly still as he clutches hold of the empty cup.  

He doesn’t like it. The tremor is normal, it is a sure sign of ease. He knows the after effects of their last battle, the magic in it, the illusions cast around them of the worst they’ve seen, worst they’d imagined, used as a distraction shook all of them, but seeing the man still so tightly wound, still so caught up in his head that his body is still responding as though he’s in immediate danger, it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Come back to the inn,” he begs. “We all-” 

The sudden shriek of the chair as the soldier stands might be what cuts him off, the cold look in closed off eyes definitely is though. “I don’t know what that demon showed you, chosen, but know this: you can fight gods and you can win, but some of us have fought men and believe it or not, there’s something quite different and more terrible about that.” It’s the clipped soldier’s voice that speaks to him, resounding enough in the bar that everyone else present has fallen silent and tense, looking up from their own conversations to stare. “So go back to the inn, get over what you saw, and let me do the same here so we can face the demon again in the morning.” 

“Wars-” 

The other turns, heading back to the bar and no doubt with full intent to refill the glass he holds. 

Sky darts after him. “Please, Link! This isn’t good for you!” 

“Well, it isn’t exactly hurting you now, is it?” Is the sharp answer as barkeep approaches the two of them, wary. 

 For a moment, Sky debates between telling the barkeep to not serve his brother and telling the captain to just walk away. Caught betwixt, he misses the opportunity for both, too distracted, too unfocused, to slow, and when his brother motions for the bottle in the hands of the barkeep, it’s only then that he gets his wits about him enough to catch hold of the thing himself. 

The barkeep darts away, no doubt eager to avoid the mess as snapping eyes fix on storm cloud blue as Sky’s voice rumbles low like thunder between them. “You doing this hurts everyone that loves you. We can’t stand to just sit back and watch anymore.” 

“Well no one asked you to watch,” the captain bites, “or care.” 

“But we do,” he answers back, trying desperately to catch those eyes again, “we chose to be your brothers, and thus we chose to stad beside you.” 

“Then don’t blame me when your choices get you hurt.” The hand he’s set on the bottle is knocked away as, once more, Warriors turns his back on him and heads back to his table.  

He’s not sure if he should chase or walk away or give up. He’s left standing for a moment before darting after, again, unable to stop the other as a finger of amber is poured and knocked back without so much as a flinch. Well, not a flinch from Warriors, he finds himself recoiling just the slightest bit as he watches. 

 He tries again, this time not daring to push further by touching the forbidden poison, but instead trying to break through and get the other to just look at him. “Link, please, you’re killing yourself like this.” 

Dark eyes are empty, lifeless, as they turn upwards to look at him, like visions of the sealing grounds were once, thousands of years ago; barren and ruined by battle and death. “Good.” 

And then it’s gone, another glass knocked back and Sky left standing, only able to watch. 

What else is there to be said? What argument is left to beg, to plead, to convince? He’s the hero, he’s good with his hands, his blade, his strength. He sees foes and he crushes them. He sees allies and he aids them. But when an ally embraces the foe, what then? What’s left for him to do? What course of action is there left save to beg? And when even that fails there is nothing. 

Nothing but watching, unable to go back without fulfilling his mission and unwilling to let his brother be left alone in the weakened state the quickly emptying bottle will leave him in. All he can do is watch as golden poison flows, as sooty, bloodied, burned hands lift and toss back, as glass clacks against the tabletop again only to be refilled once more. There's nothing else he can do or say. There may be other arguments, but they’re lost to him, buried instead under that horrible stare and the cracked and shattered soul that had glinted through on that single, devastating ‘good’.