#tempore regis

“No telling,” Time answered gravely. He attempted to punch the nausea back down to his stomach where it belonged, to no avail. Where was his pup? Where—

Twilight whimpered.

He was in wolf form, standing with legs splayed like he was trying to keep his balance. The portal closed behind him as he wheeled around, and he howled softly in the back of his throat, clawing at the ground. Anguished, clearly.

“Twi, what’sa matter?” Wind asked. His eyebrows furrowed sleepily. “Weren’t you Hylian ‘afore the portal?”

The wolf froze. A quick, guarded glance around must have shown him something he didn’t expect, because in the next second he was bounding onto Time. He had gotten bigger, Time realized as paws pounded over his pauldrons.

A shadowy vibration revealed the Hylian behind the wolf. He looked even more distraught in this form— hair wild, clothes tighter than normal, hands awkward like he had been wearing gloves his entire life and didn’t know what to do with bare fingers.

“T-Time,” the younger man sobbed. “I have to go back. I can’t— left him— three years and I can’t even finish out the job— damn portal—” the words were interspersed with panting and head shaking, like he was trying to remember— something. Words?

“Pup, slow down,” Time said. Panic filled his mind but no, he was the leader here. He had to be calm. “You’ve lost us. What happened to you?”

“Forced to— wolf for two, three years— met…” His eyes calmed for a millisecond, taking on something protective and proud. “Him. My pack— my pup.”

Pup? Where on earth had Twilight met someone he thought of so highly, without anyone from their Chain knowing? And being gone for two or three years— No, being a wolf for two or three years—

“I’m changing back,” Time’s pup warned, hands dropping to his sides. “Have to… find Him. Nose’s better for it.”

Quick as an arrow the wolf was standing in Twilight’s place. He snuffled for a few seconds, then bolted off towards—

He glanced up, taking in the environment. Snowflakes caught in his lashes, almost obscuring the smoke in the distance, but… not quite. Lightning flashed. A burning tree rolled down the hill opposite him, tumbling into a huge chasm, tearing through a wooden bridge with a shuddering echo of pure chaos.

It wasn’t just there, either. The forest fire illuminated a huge expanse of ashen snow. Huge birds flew en masse towards Legend and the portal. He could hear Wind. The sailor had seen the birds before anyone else, and was urging them on, his voice travelling shrilly through the howling wind. Come on! You can make it! Just a little further!

Lightning darted out from beyond the clouds— struck— One of them fell. Two more wheeled down, escorting the now-burning beast to its grave. Wind’s exhortations changed abruptly into a scream of pure anguish. Legend turned. The sailor was running— Twilight caught him up in his arms.

“They’re just birds,” the rancher assured him desperately. “I’ll admit it’s not a nice death but—”

“Shut up!” Wind screamed, struggling, tears starting to slide down his face. “They’re Rito, and they’re dying!”

Legend looked up again. He didn’t know what a Rito was, but now he had to see them to safety. If only for their youngest. And instead of seeing the flock, he saw— That was a big bird.

A big bird with mouth open in a mechanical screech, unleashing yet another peal of disaster.

A huge gale rushed past the Chain, tugging the tail of Legend’s cap over his shoulder, heading toward the cliff and the birds- the Rito. They came into focus, desperate flapping calming as the wind buoyed them in midair. Magic brushed against the back of Legend’s neck, and he shifted uneasily before recognizing the signature. The item Wind always had on him, but Legend had never asked about.

The Rito landed.

Great wings, sharp beaks, noble faces caked through with ash and fear. His heart dropped as he remembered the falling, burning being— the one he had dismissed as a beast—

One of them, probably the leader, stepped forward.

“What do you think, Nightshade?” He asked the wolf— the Hylian— the wolf. “I’m leaning towards something savory, and no tomatoes, since they’re a pretty subjective taste.”

Nightshade cocked his head to the right. Link laughed.

“That’s right, you don’t know what a tomato is. Well, until a few years ago, we thought they were weeds, but then Zelda found them in the Hateno School garden and ate one on a whim… For science, you know, like it is with her…”

His voice died as he realized that Nightshade didn’t know.

“...I’ve got a lot to tell you,” he finished lamely. “But that’s a thing for after our bellies are full and a campfire’s been built, huh?” The wolf nodded. Link pressed his index finger into the Pad, wiggling the page up and down. What to make... Nightshade pressed his snout into Link’s palm, damp nose shoving past his fingers to poke one of the ingredients.

“Pumpkins, huh?” Link looked down at him. Snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you like that stew! I don’t know—” He glanced over to the others, who were circled up, discussing something loudly— “Do enough of them like it for me to make it?”

The wolf poked his way into the Meals section of the Pad, selecting a simmered fruit and then a roast drumstick.

“Multiple courses?” Nightshade shook his head. Hmmm… “Oh! Alternative dishes— I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. You’re a genius, huh?”

He nodded vigorously, and Link laughed. It was nice, in a way, to know that there was Hylian intelligence behind the wolf’s actions. There was no need to ask if he understood.

Now, for the alternative dishes. He agreed with Nightshade, some simmered fruit would be a nice, lighter option to go with the stew, and the scents together wouldn’t turn anyone’s stomachs. But he kind of wanted to serve people something a little more gourmet than just a roast leg of meat.

“Meat pie?” He offered. “With some Spicy Pepper in there. That sound good?”

Nightshade shook his head, and on second thought Link agreed. The spice wouldn’t really go well with the warm, fruity smells. Then, what else…

“Fowl and truffle skewers?” Finally, something they both agreed on. Link stood, smiling, ready to go and tell his guests about their decisions, only to be jumpscared by a young teen with serious eyes.

“You and Twi get along really well,” the blue-shirted kid offered. “I’ve only really seen Time understand him like that.”

“I’m honored, I’m sure,” Link answered, still smiling. “I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves— I’m Link Bosphoramus Hyrule.” He offered a hand; if he knew teenagers (and he’d had his fair share in Hateno), then this kid would want to be respected like anyone else. He was right. The grip was strong, but not suffocating, and allowed him to get the feel for several burn scars all over the kid’s palm.

“I’m Link as well,” the kid answered, a grin spreading across his face. “But call me Wind. We’ll have to figure out what to name you, right? You don’t have a musty old hero title lying around you’d like to share?”

Link just shook his head. Hero’s titles… “Wind, I’ve got so many of those, I couldn’t even decide. Just don’t call me a bad cook, and we’re good.”

“Got it.” They shared a laugh, prompting the others from Wind’s party to give them a look.

Link relayed the meal choices, watching their faces crease up in concern. Was something not sounding good? Did anyone have dietary restrictions? He should have asked before planning everything out—

“You can cook, correct?” Scarf Man asked, then backtracked swiftly. “No offense to you, but we haven't really experienced good tastes from anyone in our Chain, and… well, we didn't expect that to change…”

“How about you set up camp,” Link suggested, smiling with relief. “In the meantime, I'll be chef, and you can smell for yourselves why people love the stuff that comes outta my cooking pot.”

Most of them nodded along. By popular vote, it seemed, they would follow Link’s plan.

He strode off to the fire. Nightshade followed him, along with Wind and Four. They said it was fine, since their duties were to get wood and cook that night, but Link had already done that for them.

“We’re glad for the company,” he grinned, sitting down and ruffling Nightshade’s fur. “Aren’t we, Shade?”

Four frowned. “About that— Why are you still in that form?” He asked the wolf, who was almost chest height with him. “I thought you’d… I don’t know. Want to be Hylian again, after three years or however long you said.”

Nightshade wuffed, laying down. Sulking. Link almost laughed; he had been guilt-tripped out of many an inane plan back in the days of Calamity Ganon by that look alone.

Wait. Three years? Only— only three years?

Did the others know about the pain that the red-tunicked Hylian was in? Did anyone? It was hard to hide, that was clear. There was something in it that made Rosie want to reassure Link, and that was rather against his nature from what Link had gathered. An illness? One that made the bearer lucid? And one that Rosie had experienced before, from the scrap of conversation they’d had.

The fire popped and his careful stack of wood collapsed. Link caught his breath— had the other man awoken?— But no, everyone remained asleep. He returned to the half-made pies. He needed six batches done by morning and only four were baked. Luckily, lizalfos talons were excellent for skinning fruit.

He hummed quietly as he worked. Violynne had taught him the streaming melody, and said it suited his voice quite well. He agreed, but short of Zelda, no one else had heard it from his lips. He’d liked to keep it that way.

Oh, Hylia dammit, there was fur in the apple slices—!

He started over. Setbacks, setbacks, setbacks, his whole life was setbacks. First the Shrine, then the lesser shrines disappearing, then the arm, then the crumbled government of a nation that barely had borders, at the best. And those were only the heavy hitters.

What was that Zelda had said? You need to get more sleep, for the good of yourself and everyone around you? Yeah, he was feeling that. But he had promised to stay up, and it was only the third day he’d gone without sleep. He could run on fumes for a bit longer.

Apples sliced, now for spices. He paused with his hand on the cinnamon. Yes, it was delicious, but what about the Fae boy? He’d clearly been cautious of poisoning last night, and Zelda had told Link that cinnamon was one of the most effective flavors to cover the signature bitter flavors of cyanide or the syrupy sweetness of deadly nightshade.

Ultimately, if he put cinnamon in breakfast— no matter how innocent that breakfast was— the Fae would not eat in the morning.

He set down the cinnamon and stewed the apples quietly. What from his inventory could he put in the already-prepared dough? Maybe crab. Crab was delicious, especially in a buttery and flaky pastry, and bright-eyed crabs would give his companions a boost to face the day.

Plus, beyond salt and a dash of pepper, they didn’t need seasoning.

Sunrise found Link taking the second and last batch of crab pies out of the cooking pot. No one else was up. Or at least, no one else wanted to be up— the Scarfman had shuffled around five minutes before, but when faced with Link’s glare, stayed put in his bedroll.

“It smells delicious,” said Scarfman murmured. “Where did you learn to cook?” Link glanced up.

“Field trained,” he decided after a long pause. “I was taught the basics by the old King, a few solid recipes by a wolf, and the rest I figured out on my own.” He gestured vaguely, grinning. “As you do.”

“You’ve experienced a change of rulers?” The other man commented. “How long did Rhoam last?— Our news is old,” he explained. “We met a group of refugees from the Calamity— they told me what I know.”

“The Calamity.” Link’s eyebrows crept up his face. He pointed his kitchen knife at the Scarfman incredulously. “I heard you mention Kaneli yesterday. How old was he?”

The Scarfman shrugged. Link left it at that.

The sun wasn’t going to come up any faster, and judging by his Purah Pad, the travelers had fallen asleep at around ten. Nine hours of sleep, then? Probably enough for them to eat breakfast now.

So he brought out his Gerudo Captain’s shield and the Master Sword, who chimed happily to greet him. And he bashed the two together. Repeatedly. They made an unholy clatter that had everyone up and awake in a matter of seconds.

“Breakfast!” He cried sunnily. “Everyone gets two pies, apple or crab, mix and match, I don’t care! If you’re not full, there’s apple pie filling on the side. If you don’t like it, I’ve got some prime steak cooked.”

“I hate you,” Rosie groaned, flopping onto his side.

Scarfman got the first pick, since he was the first person up. Then Chestplate, who shoved half his apple pie into his mouth with an indignity that belied his age. Wind and Four took their portions before Fae Boy was satisfied that the food was safe (he still took two crab pastries, Link patted himself on the back for that one). Sky shuffled up, clearly grumpy from being awoken, but smiled at the delicious food just the same. Nightshade dug into his portion, somehow managing to look exactly like usual while still in Hylian form.

And Rosie still hadn’t moved.

Link eventually catered to him, bringing over the rapidly cooling meal and setting it down close by, but not commenting. The prickly Hylian didn’t want pity, and Link wouldn’t give it to him. He’d lived long enough with debilitating Gloom sickness to feel sympathy with Rosie, and he’d lived long enough— period— to tell that the other man was uncomfortable around him.

Oh, well. Not like they needed to interact.

He took his two pies— one apple and one crab, the last ones— and strode over to the Lucky Clover, but not before taking a picture of the sleepy travelers. Once inside, he opened the mail feature (developed by Robbie as a way to communicate between Link’s Purah Pad and the new Mk. 2) and sent the image to Zelda.

Met them up at the LC, he tapped in. Brown hair, tattoos is Nightshade. Long story, tell you later. Others are his companions. They met Kaneli during GC. Going to head for R Village, get answers. Love you the sky and back. And send.

“Oh, they don’t all have to be sent now.” Link was quick to reassure her. “I’m fine whatever you decide. The age of privileged nobles is long past, eh?”

“Couldn’t be more right,” Traysi sighed. The soft thumps of talons on the hardwood floor alerted Link— more than it should have, honestly— but it was only Penn, pulling his goggles up from his eyes for the first time Link had ever seen. What was going on?

“Oi there, partner,” the Rito nodded. “‘Ere’s this big ol’ wolf outside, an’ a buncha people I’ve never seen before. Thought ya should know. You’re the sword guy, after all.”

Link took a moment to contemplate this. “How many people?”

“A third’s primaries— Eh,” Penn counted up on his forefeathers. “Seven to Hylian counting. You gonna deal with ‘em?” The blond man was already passing him by.

“Yeah. Would’ve thought the Yiga would know better, but here we are.”

“...do you think all the refugees went?”

Link paused in the doorway, listening as a voice— almost a ghost of his own— asked the confusing question.

“I don’t know, Sailor,” another chimed in. Sailor— odd name for a Yiga. “All we can do is ask Hylia that Kaneli led them safely.”

Link considered himself a pretty knowledgeable man, but even he had never heard of a troop of Yiga seven strong, walking with a wolf, called by honorifics, praying to the Goddess, and talking about an old leader of Rito Village.

But all the questions went out the door when he saw the wolf. Forehead markings. Black and white pelt. Intelligent, icy blue eyes, that emoted just like a Hylian’s.

“Nightshade?” He almost reached out his right hand, but wait— his old companion had never seen Rauru’s contribution— so he settled for stepping forward. “Nightshade, where were you? How are you—” He almost asked the unforgivable question— how are you alive— but caught himself. His chest felt like a stone talus was sitting on it.

The furball whimpered, and pelting forward, bulldozed Link into the side of the Lucky Clover building. He laughed, heartsickness covered by joy to feel the silky coat again. How long has it been…? Too long.

Nightshade endured the hasty pets and rubs, lips curling up in a wide grin. Link laughed again as he received a huge lick across the face, and was treated to the funniest wolfish grimace he had ever seen.

“Are you Him?”

The question took him by surprise. He looked up to see the seven men Penn had spoken of, all standing by awkwardly. Well, men was an overstatement— there was at least one child in that group, and who knows how many old-looking teens.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey, why’re you hanging around Nightshade?” Link looked down at the wolf again, half to assure himself that he wasn’t gone. “Are you causing trouble?”

Nightshade whined, pawing at his ear— their gesture for ‘no’, Link remembered.

“No, he’s— He’s just really distraught,” one of them spoke up. He was wearing a green tunic with a brown underlayer. He ruffled his fluffy brown hair awkwardly. “He told us about someone he helped, uhm, but we didn’t get a name, only… ‘pup’, ‘pack’, and… ‘Him’.”

“Wait, you can talk?” Link turned back to Nightshade. “Wow, mad dog, you’ve been holding out on me.” He poked Nightshade’s scruff playfully. “And here Zelda thought that your palate was wrong for stuff like that!”

Nightshade shook his head, then his ears perked up. He nosed into Link, checking him for scents, he guessed. It tickled. Apparently his left hand was really interesting, along with… Oh, right.

“Nightshade, get off the arm, please,” Link tried. “I swear I’ll tell you all about it later but I can’t do that on the Lucky Clover’s steps, Traysi would kill me!”

So the mad dog got up with a huff, loping a couple feet away.

Well, no. Not quite. Yes, he felt like it, but even three seconds out of dreamland he could suppress that particular instinct. It was a necessary skill (and he didn’t want to think about what that meant).

More like he woke up and his body screamed.

You’re being stabbed, you’re being burned, you’re being crushed, somebody threw a Like Like at you and that’s why your chest is being chewed into, you’re bleeding out in your bedroll why are you just LYING there~

He let out a long-suffering sigh. Sadly, his body didn’t respond when he told it to shut up.

It was going to be one of those days, huh? Night actually it’s dark out

There’s no blood, he told himself, forcing his ravaged (whole) arms against the ground, shoving himself to sitting. There’s no blood. You are not dying. You’re just damaged. Damaged. He laughed sardonically, or he would’ve if he wasn’t already out of breath just from being upright ow ow there are knives in your abdomen!

He caught a whiff of woodsmoke while trying to work his lungs. Woodsmoke and apples… and flour, but he couldn’t tell which type. Was someone making a pie over a campfire? Seemed like a good way to get boiling juice spat at you

melted wax

slid down his arms and he collapsed back onto his pillow, grunt tearing out of his mouth half-mixed with a curse ow fuck ow fuck ow

“Hey, you alright, Rosie?” Now that newbie was hovering over him. He cursed again, pulling up the unapproachable face for his benefit wait what was he just called

“What,” Legend managed, feeling the singular sensation of magic at the back of his head. “Doing… Doing jus-t peachy.” You are a liar

“Are… you sure,” the newbie parsed out, eyes flickering like he couldn’t decide whether to look at Legend’s clawed fingers, pained eyes, or twitching arms (restraining healing magic was hard). “You don’t look good, I hate to say.”

Nightshade stuck his nose up between Link’s arm and his side, fixing him with the softest puppy eyes ever. He relented, loudly bemoaning the loss of the succulent (Fruit? Veggie? Fungus?) truffle.

“He’s not like that, normally.”

Link glanced up. The armored man was the speaker, as he had been previously. It was easy to tell that he was the leader, by dint of experience or age or both, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh believe me,” Link smiled easily, “it took me a while to make friends. Every night he’d trot off to Goddess knows where and howl his fool voice out, and he’d barely look at me during the day.” He looked down at the wolf, who had now curled up around his feet, realizing something. “Hey, you can tell me why now, can’t you? If you want to, I mean.”

Nightshade whined, rolling his eyes around at the gathered people. Inconclusive, then.

“You should at least test if you can still change,” Four suggested, discreetly dropping a couple more pieces of food for the wolf. “I know you’re probably more comfortable in your current form, but we can’t really understand you, and… feelings aside, that could hurt our response speeds.”

“I agree,” Scarf-Man nodded. So Nightshade transformed.

Link got a good look at what his friend looked like, really, for the first time (or was it? Something was tickling his memory). He was tall, with prominent features and a sorrowful cast to his face and frame. His dark brown hair was streaked through with silvery-gray just like that of the fur on his flanks. He ran a hand through it, face furrowing in a wolf-like fashion.

“—Don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, sitting down next to Link.

“We need to get you to Cece,” he decided. “Those seams are on their last legs, and the colors are absolutely atrocious together. Orange, blue, and hunter’s green, what were you thinking, Nightshade?”

He glanced up, mock-offended. “I’ll have you know these’re from my home village, an’ I’m not givin’ em up. You can deal with it, Pup!”

“Hey, relax! She can copy the style! I mean, the colors aren’t surviving, but you’ll get the same thing, the size is what I’m worried about.”

He grunted, rubbing his left wrist. Oh. The flesh was red and chapped. Link hadn’t considered how the shackle would affect his Hylian form. He pulled out a Hearty Elixir, his only thought was taking care of the wolf shifter who had mentored him.

Nightshade tried to keep away, but Link was stronger than he was given credit for. He pulled off the cork with his teeth and splashed a bit over the other’s arm, feeling the tingle of the healing serum in his fingertips as he massaged it in.

“...Pup,” Nightshade sighed, skin knitting over into a fresh-looking scar. “Why did ya do that? Hearty Lizards’re a bucketload to buy…”

“I catch them.” Link stood taller, frowning at the other. “And you’re not getting away with mistreating yourself, not now I have you here.” His scowl morphed into a smile.

An unfamiliar— no, familiar, but kinder than last time— voice spoke up. It was the red-tunicked man who had insulted Nightshade before.

“So you’re just fine with the fact that the wolf you’ve known for years is, in fact, a Hylian? That doesn’t make you feel strange?”

Link shrugged as his brain finally pulled up what he wanted it to.

“A while back I had a fever,” he explained. “Woke up with the urge to just go somewhere, be somewhere, get off the grid. I spent a bit of time bushwhacking in Faron, roughing it in the Tabantha Plains, and now I’m here, standing with a wolf-turned-Hylian from my first challenge who looks like my half-remembered visions given form.” He tapped his Zonai index against his chin contemplatively. “As for feeling strange, that’s pretty much a constant of life… Point is, this meeting was sanctioned by the Goddess. I’m fine with it. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That was a really meandering explanation that leaves a lot to be desired,” the red-tunicked man decided (really needed a better name for him, how about Rosie).

“Legend,” the oldest of the group said, resting a heavy hand on Rosie’s shoulder. He looked to Link, and he could see the weight of decisions made in those eyes. An understanding passed between them, but Link couldn’t name why.

He broke eye contact quickly, and drifted his gaze over the eight men around him. 

Rosie, or Legend, with his curious-looking gloves and tired, lined face, that clearly knew pain as a clingy younger brother.

Nightshade, who was shaking with the effort of simply standing up straight, and whose hair was losing color long before its time.

Wind, with an undiscernable sorrow resting just behind his sea-filled eyes, and scars all over his hands that mirrored the ones Link had found along with the Master Sword.

Four, who was clearly holding back a migraine as he avoided looking into the fire. Link could see Zelda so clearly in his face.

The scarfed Hylian, with heavy makeup caked under his eyes, still smiling quietly as if he felt he was obligated by some higher power to do so.

The oldest man, who looked steady and solid as his embellished armor, but despite that had puffy-looking hands and sore rub marks around his eyes and temples.

The spritelike one, that had waited for everyone to show any symptoms before eating, and still wasn’t quite comfortable around Link (at least without someone else watching).

The Hero of the Sky, who seemed ready to fall asleep where he was standing, and was humming a mournful dirge under his catching breath.

They were so beaten down and Link hadn’t noticed before this moment. What kind of a host was he?

“You know what,” he decided, shuffling the leftovers into his Purah Pad, “You all need some sleep. Don’t even bother getting up before noon; I’ll take care of everything.”

“Alright.” Chestplate turned to the others. “Rulie, Captain, Legend, you all are on watch—”

“—What did I just tell you?” Link interrupted him. “Let them rest, Hylia knows they need it. Everyone into your bedrolls, I say!”

“‘ts safe,” Nightshade chimed in, shuffling slightly to give himself more support. “The Rito keep th’ place pretty well taken care’a.”

“The Rito?” Wind exclaimed. “They’re here? Where!” He stood, but Link caught him. He grinned, exasperated— and chucked Wind bodily at the sleeping area Chestplate and Nightshade had arranged while dinner was cooking.

“If y’all can’t practice some self-care,” he threatened, “you’ll experience forced care! Every action has an equal and opposite reaction!”