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“Excuse me? Have you heard of The Hero of Time?”
The question, as quiet as it is, pricks up Link’s ears. On the other side of Castle Town’s main market street, at a stall selling overpriced jewellery, a young man in a blue tunic with blond hair trailing all the way down his back, messy despite the hair tie fighting valiantly to hold it all back, asks the question to another shopper. It’s hard to tell from such a distance, but the young man’s left side is covered in scars, his neck and parts of his face coated in raised burn scars that extend below the collar of his tunic. A battered sword and shield are strapped to the man’s back, along with a bow and quiver in much better condition, and a flat stone bearing the sheikah crest dangles from his belt. The teenager stands out amongst the ordinary shoppers, vendors and the occasional patrolling knight.
The customer stares blankly at the asker and Blue Tunic pivots to the merchant running the stall, seemingly unfazed at being ignored, “What about you? Me and my friends are looking for a strong warrior to help us eliminate a monster problem and someone with a title like that sounds like the man for the job!”
The merchant, clearly itching to please if it meant securing a sale, sputters, “Well…! It’s hard to say! I’m not from around these parts, you see, but the name sounds familiar… Perhaps we crossed paths while journeying across distant lands! Speaking of distant lands, perhaps I could interest you in these fine pearl earrings, made in the distant land of Hytopia-”
“Nah, I’ve got a pair already. And those are Gerudo-made by the way.” Blue Tunic says dismissively, barely glancing at the earrings long enough to identify them, “Thanks anyway!” he does sound genuinely grateful however, as he scurries away with all the grace of a charging mountain goat. He crashes through a huddle of chatting market-goers, immediately apologising and helping a young girl up from her new seat on the pavement, before launching into his previous question once more.
Link turns his attention back to the list in his hand and Wess’ ramblings about the girl he’s seeing, the ranch hand clearly fishing for love advice from his boss’ husband. “…so, I thought about buying her flowers, but do you think that would be too much for the second date? Plus, I don’t know what flowers she would like! She seems to like purple if the dress she wore to our date was any clue, but what if she doesn’t? What if she just threw on the first dress she could find and she hates purple!? What if-!?”
Wess’ nervous prattling is painful to listen to. Oh, how glad Link is to not be in his early twenties anymore; all the insecurity of one’s adolescent years but applied to grown up situations…
Link cuts the younger man off with a pat on the back, knocking the man out his thoughts and into the side of their cart (maybe Link shouldn’t be emulating Darunia’s back pats, that looked like it hurt!) with a deliberately light chuckle on his lips. “Wess, from what you have told me about her, she would be happy you brought her flowers at all! Just get the florist’s recommendation and then ask her about her favourite flowers during the date so you know for next time.”
“Is that what you did with Mrs Lon, sir?”
Link barked a laugh as he hauled out the first crate of milk and dropped it into Wess’ arms, secretly revelling in the startled noise the younger man let out, “No. I picked a handful of wildflowers for her, I didn’t even know hylians sold flowers at that age!”
How could he? Between the Future-That-Never-Was and Termina, no one had been around to sell something as trifling as flowers. He hadn’t realised until he and Malon had been sent out to the market together at fourteen and she had raced over to a shop he had never paid attention to, arguing with herself about not spending frivolously. He had bought her a rose, saying that it matched her hair. It didn’t. It did match the resulting blush on her cheeks, though.
How had he been so oblivious to their growing feelings back then? He hadn’t figured it out until they were seventeen for Farore’s sake! Then again, if he allowed his younger self some grace, all the time-travelling had created a disconnect between his mind and body. Sometimes he was far too mature for his physical age, and other times he was woefully naïve, depending on the situation and his current place in time. He hoped, by now, having naturally grown into his thirty-year-old self, and with Malon and his few friends by his side to coach him through peaceful hylian society, he was wiser than his appearance would suggest.
“Now, why don’t we save the rest of this conversation for the trip home? We wouldn’t want the milk to spoil in this blasted heat.” Link decided, lightly fanning himself with his list.
Wess frantically nodded and stumbled off towards a local grocer, their delivery in hand. Link set down the list of orders, tucking another crate under his arm, then glanced over his shoulder. The young man in the blue tunic was making his way down the row of stalls, heading west. Link headed east. He idly wondered what rumours the man’s questions were going to stir up this time. His mischievous heart always did love a good show!
~*~
Over the course of the day, Link counted eight young men and boys who were asking about The Hero of Time. They ranged in age from young teens to mid-twenties, and they were all carrying around weapons and dressed in brightly coloured but practical clothing, some of them even wearing chainmail and armour. They each had their own style of interrogation, and some were clearly more successful than others because of it.
As Link fumbled opening the front door to the general store with a crate of milk in his arms, he listened to an older teenager in a fancy red tunic with a blue hat simultaneously haggle for some potions, while also asking for rumours. The cashier, on the younger side and clearly overwhelmed with the questioning, sputtered something about how “The Hero of Time was a knight everyone was talking about a few years ago! I don’t really pay attention to gossip, I don’t know anything else, I swear!”
The interrogator scoffed and was about to raise his voice again when Link set his crate of milk on the counter with a thud, interrupting the young man. “Your order.” he said when the red tuniced boy opened his mouth again. The employee jumped at the chance to run into one of the backrooms to go find his boss to pay for the order.
The boy cursed under his breath, turned to Link and said with venom in his voice, “Thanks a lot, asshole! I almost had him!”
“You cannot extract information out of someone who doesn’t have anything to give you. That’s how you end up confusing facts with fiction.” Link replied.
The boy scoffed, “I don’t need advice from some washed up farmhand with terrible depth perception!” he swiped a tuft of his blond hair behind one of his long ears, and it was only then that Link noticed the pink highlight in amongst the gold. Not many could afford a dye of such a vibrant colour, perhaps the teenager was a spoiled noble’s son; it would certainly explain his attitude and the gold embroidery on his crimson tunic. That, or this boy had an unfortunate brush with dark magic. The deep callouses on his palms suggested that he knew how to use the sword and shield on his back, and the multitude of rings on his fingers were radiating magic. If he was one of the friends that Blue Tunic had mentioned, that would mean that he too was helping to eliminate a monster problem.
Link didn’t have time to further contemplate the fuming adolescent, as Pink Hair swiftly shoved the potions he had bought into a pouch on his hip, one that clearly wasn’t big enough to hold them, but the bottles disappeared inside anyway. He then barged past Link to storm out of the store, slamming the door behind him. Link didn’t linger in the shop, only loitering until the correct number of rupees had been put in his hand, before exiting the store and returning to his cart.
As Link led his horse past the fountain in the centre of the square, he spotted a man in a dark green tunic with a blue wrap tied around his waist and a grey wolf pelt around his shoulders talking with an elderly man, asking the same question.
At first, Link thought an odd shadow was obscuring Wolf Pelt’s face, but he quickly realised that the man had black markings on his forehead and below his eyes, partially hidden by his dirty blond hair. They could have been a poorly thought-out fashion choice, maybe decided upon after one too many drinks, but the longer Link stared, the more certain he was that it was not ink that stained Wolf Pelt’s face. Link was out of practice when it came to sensing magic, especially from such a distance in a crowded area, but he briefly concentrated and found a miasma of magic radiating from the stranger, and yet, despite how the magic felt similar to the malice of Link’s fallen foes, it did not carry the same sharp bitterness as dark magic. Despite the darkness covering him like a shroud, there was a spark of light shining through the shadows, wrapping around the darkness, taming it almost.
Those markings were definitely the result of this unique magic; Link knew that without a doubt. Just looking at them made his own cheek burn in sympathy. His old paranoia reared its ugly head, and Link subtly caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a shop window, just to check. The scar that bisected his right eyelid was still as obvious as ever, something he had grown used to since he had been injured so permanently, but the two red slashes along that same cheek and the blue sword tip on his forehead were nowhere to be seen, as they should be. He didn’t borrow Malon’s make-up every time he left the ranch just for it to fail to hide the Fierce Deity’s brand hardly one hour into his delivery route.
The elderly man laughed, startling Link out of his thoughts, and said “I thought a lad yer age was too old fer fairytales! The Hero of Time is jus’ a myth, sonny! Back durin’ the Hylian-Gerudo War a couple’a years back, the soldiers needed a morale boost, so they made up a knight with magic powers who’d keep ‘em safe! It’s all hogwash, I tell ya!”
Wolf Pelt deflated, his shoulders slumping as he thanked the old man for the information and moved on. Link almost felt sorry for him, but he wasn’t about to reveal his secret identity to cheer up a stranger, no matter how much he looked like a kicked puppy. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. A middle-aged woman, likely a mother on a grocery run for her children and emotionally blackmailed by Wolf Pelt’s drooped ears and forlorn expression, approached the man of her own volition and said, “Oh don’t listen to old man Mo! He’s still bitter about not being accepted into the guard, whether because of his heart problems or his crabby attitude!”
That startled a laugh out of the young man. With a hopeful look in his blue eyes, he asked, “So, The Hero of Time is real then?”
“Of course he is!” she exclaimed, “At the end of the war, Her Majesty gave this massive speech to the citizens of Castle Town and he was there, right by her side! The only reason us common folk even know the name is because she announced it to us as she thanked him for his services. He must’ve done something impressive to be given such an honour; not just any knight gets so fancy a title y’know?”
Link turned his attention away at that point, continuing down the street towards a certain temple. The priestesses that cared for the Temple of Time were also customers of Lon Lon Ranch. Coming here was easier than it once was. There had been a point in Link’s life where just looking at the building where his life had been turned on its head, not once, not twice, but three times, had made painful memories rush back and leave Link a sorrowful husk for the rest of the day, if not multiple days. Now, Link could walk past the gilded halls to the caretakers’ quarters with only a pang of regret buried deep in his heart.
As Link unloaded a sizeable crate from his cart, he spotted another warrior in a green tunic, this one a more pastel green than Wolf Pelt’s had been, talking to another priestess with his back to Link. A white cape embroidered with blue thread in the shape of a stylised bird – like the royal crest, but incomplete – was draped over the man’s shoulders and this man had a red wrap around his waist. The hilt of a weapon could be seen poking out from beneath the cloak and jutting over the man’s shoulder, but it was wrapped up tight in swathing brown bands of fabric. Link wasn’t sure why his eyes were drawn to the wrapped weapon. Bound as it was, it could not be drawn easily even if the man who wielded it didn’t have such a peaceful air about him.
He was so distracted by the sight of the blade that the woman he was talking to noticed. She glanced at the young man for longer than was probably socially acceptable and said, “I know; there’s something about that devout that just… I don’t know, draws your attention, I suppose is the best way to phrase it? It’s as if the Goddesses themselves deem him as important for some reason.”
Link frowned, “He hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”
“Oh no, Mr Lon, not at all! He just turned up on our doorstep this morning and seems oddly fixated on the temple and the legend of the Door of Time. We’re happy to answer his questions! It’s nice to see someone so earnest in their dedication to the Golden Three in this day and age.” Her smile was open and honest, fulling believing in her words.
Link couldn’t agree with her. The Door of Time was not something he wanted people interested in. Even though the Ocarina of Time was still safe in his pouch, the three sacred stones back with their respective races and the Song of Time still a closely guarded secret, Link couldn’t shake the anxiety that came with someone so curious about the one barrier between the public and a certain sword and key to the Sacred Realm.
“Well, if he turns into a problem, I have it on good authority that the guards in the square will remove him for you, if you wish. You can never be too careful these days.” Link suggested.
“I doubt that we will have to, but I will keep your advice in mind. Good day, Mr Lon.”
With that, Link doubled back towards the main square once more, having to drag his eyes away from the young man and his concealed blade.
Continuing his route towards the residential area, he spotted a boy in a colourful tunic talking to a group of children playing with sticks in a small garden. The boy was sitting cross-legged on the grass, the sun shining down onto his back, making the golden embroidery on the four vibrant quadrants of his tunic – a bright red, blue, green and purple – shine in the midafternoon sun. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but he had a feeling the boy wasn’t as young as his height suggested. He held himself with a confidence most children couldn’t begin to try and fake.
He had apparently been given one of the kid’s sticks and had taken a small knife to it, shaping the ordinary branch into the vague shape of a sword, his deft fingers moving with an expertise that spoke of experience, though perhaps not with wood, as a pile of tools laid next to him looked closer to those one would find in a blacksmith’s forge, rather than a carpenter’s workshop. Yes, if this boy was a blacksmith, that would also explain the beautiful sword sitting next to the tools, a shortsword that looked perfect for the smith’s small hands with a beautiful golden hilt that refracted the sunlight into rainbows across the grass. A green headband kept the boy’s straight blond hair out of his face as he worked and listened to the children speak over each other, clearly answering the question Link had been hearing all day.
A little girl exclaimed, “The Hero of Time is so cool! They say he was the strongest knight in all of Hyrule- No! The world! And he could defeat armies all by himself!”
Another kid nodded sagely, like this was common knowledge, “Yeah, he’s the one that took down that mean Ganondorf.”
Another boy interjected, “My dad says he saw it himself! He had a massive sword and this cool gold and silver armour, and it only took three hits to knock down the evil king and save Hyrule!”
Link rolled his eye; Ganondorf had taken three light arrows to the chest, and the rest of the fight had been a gruelling endurance test. He wondered whether this father was merely exaggerating a rumour or sanitising the story for his kid.
Just as Link was about to turn away from the exchange, he spotted movement along the picket fence surrounding the garden. A tiny mouse-like creature with a feathered tail was using the fence like a bridge to scurry from one garden to another. A minish; it had been quite some time since Link had seen one. The tiny fae creatures had been a common sight when he lived in Kokiri Forest and their help was invaluable during his adventures, leaving spare rupees, all sorts of ammo, and those heart-shaped healing fruits in the grass and pots throughout Hyrule. While he knew they lived in every nook and cranny in Hyrule, he saw them less outside of the forest, the little creatures putting more effort into hiding when around the humans who had mostly forgotten them outside of fairy tales and legends. Sometimes he went so long without seeing one that he thought their magic had finally considered him too grown-up to see them anymore, only to spot a little feathered tail amongst the mysteriously cleaned farm tools, or a tiny visitor squeaking at the other enjoyers of the communal sugar water bowls. He’d wondered more than once whether the magic recognised his kokiri upbringing and his childish heart, or whether being a hero who once possessed the Triforce of Courage came with some hidden perks. He didn’t think he’d ever know.
What he did know was that this little minish was making a beeline for the huddle of children and their wooden sword-smith. He thought it would approach one of the children first, but the minish leapt up and tugged at a golden metal charm attached to the tip of Headband’s hood. The stranger paused and handed his creation to the one kid without a sword, encouraging them to play. Once the children were occupied with their sword fight, Headband placed his hand underneath the dangling fae, catching it as it let go of the charm, before carefully moving the little creature to his shoulder. The young man tilted his head just so and the minish squeaked in their little unique language. What surprised Link was that Headband replied back in kind with tiny squeaks. Yes, anyone young of heart could see the minish, but very few could understand them, never mind talk back.
Link continued to lead his horse to their next delivery, but before he walked too far, he used a flicker of magic to sense Headband’s own. Yes, just as he suspected, the boy was coated in minish magic, a flavour of fairy magic that tasted of nuts and fruits rather than sugar. These strangers only got more interesting as he stumbled upon more of them.
Link went door to door, knocking, handing over the requested number of bottles and counting over the handful of rupees he would get in exchange before moving on. Halfway down the street, a teenager with scruffy brown hair and a simple green tunic accented with brown fabric and leather walked down the street talking to two excited preteen boys. The sword and shield on his back looked out of place compared to his simple threadbare outfit; the silver sword was studded with rubies and gave off enough magic that even the magically blind would be able to sense it, and the shield, while it had a few scratches and dents, had detailed engravings across its surface that told of its high quality.
On of the preteens exclaimed, “They called him The Hero of Time because he could see the future! The army only won so many battles because the hero foresaw the enemy’s plans and would tell the army how to counter!”
Link laughed internally; so close but not quite!
He turned back to his horse, Storm, and was about to lead her to the next house when suddenly a crash echoed down the street.
“Ow! What was that for!?”
“Sorry! I thought it’d be funny!”
“How was pushing him onto a stone pavement supposed to be funny!? He’s bleeding!”
That didn’t sound good. Link looked back over to the group of young teens and saw one of the children pulling himself off the ground, blood running down his leg from where he scraped his knee. A new preteen girl had appeared and was now arguing with the other boy as the teenager tried to break up the argument.
Link didn’t feel right just walking away. He lifted up the seat at the front of the cart, revealing a hidden storage area beneath the seat where he kept various supplies, including all his adventuring gear. This was how the Hero of Time snuck about, appearing from nowhere to take care of a monster problem or occasionally making an appearance at a royal function only to disappear afterwards with no one able to follow. But at this moment, what Link needed was one of the potions he had on hand, just in case the monsters in Hyrule Field were a bit rowdier than usual.
However, before he could find his healing supplies, he swore he sensed a burst of sweet fairy magic. Link whipped around, trying to pinpoint the source. Fairies didn’t go into Castle Town. The closest they ever got was the fairy fountain by the castle. That only left a few possibilities for why a little sprite would be in town, and none of them were good. And yet, as Link looked around, he found no glowing spheres of healing magic, no glistening wings, no twinkle of bells. The street was completely devoid of any sign that a fairy was close by, and the magic had vanished as quickly as it appeared. What had changed was the group of children. The three preteens were staring at the oldest in awe, who flashed the children a sheepish smile before running off. The child who had been bleeding brushed away some of the dried blood to reveal unblemished skin where a wound had been only seconds before. Had the teenager been carrying around a fairy? Had they really released a fairy for such a minor wound? Or…
As the teenager passed Link, he reached out with his magic. It was faint, as if it was being purposefully concealed, but hidden in the depths of the teenager’s powerful pool of magic was a glimmer of fairy goodness. A hylian with fairy magic? Link decided not to pry further. Termina might have trained him to be nosy, but even he knew when to let sleeping dogs lie. If the teenager was concealing the core of his magic like that, he had no right to investigate further. Still, as Link moved onto the next house, he couldn’t help but think about how that was now three, maybe five, members of this strange group who radiated a stranger magic.
A little further down the street, a preteen in a blue tunic with a white lobster embroidered onto the front and bright orange trousers was talking with a busy mother trying to herd her children back inside for lunch. The kid’s bright blond hair was windswept, and he was constantly bouncing on his toes and swaying side-to-side, as if he had too much energy in his body to simply stand still.
“I heard that he’s the same boy who saved the kingdom when I was a kid. The Speaker of the Forest, they called him, a kokiri child from the woods, my papa warned me. He strolled into the castle and told the king and the princess that he could see the future and had seen Hyrule reduced to ruins by the Gerudo King. They didn’t believe him until they sent witnesses to the Gorons and Zora as he told them to, and Ganondorf had already cursed them! When the King of the Gerudo was exiled back to his lands, the child disappeared and no-one knows what happened to him, but my best friend’s mam told us that when the kid grew up, he was knighted by the princess herself!” she paused for dramatic effect, the stranger and her kids both enraptured, “I know the Speaker and The Hero of Time are the same person; I know it in my heart!”
Link had to give credit where credit was due; she was right. It had been so long since those days he thought that the world had forgotten the kokiri boy who saved them from the Gerudo king. Back then, Link had despised the attention he had gotten for his ‘future-sight’ as he and Zelda had decided to frame it. He had been terribly anti-social back then, practically mute in front of strangers especially once his trusted fairy was no longer around to speak for him. Maybe that was the reason he went looking for Navi as quickly as physically possible, besides how he missed his companion; an excuse to get away from the grateful strangers, the uppity nobles and the constant staring. It had taken many years of stability for Link to be able to use his voice rather than his hands to communicate, and even then, sometimes he went back to his old ways, on bad days or ones where he just did not feel like talking.
“Wow! He sounds so cool! I wanna meet him!” Lobster Boy exclaimed, a sunny smile on his face.
Link paused, his ears twitching. Why did that voice sound so familiar?
He took out his list of orders, pretending to scan it while watching the young stranger out of the corner of his eye. He held himself with confidence, especially for one so young. Link had never been the best judge of age, but the boy couldn’t be older than fourteen. And yet he was not weighed down by the ornate sword and shield on his back, nor the traveling pack hanging from his shoulder. As the mother once more tried to usher the children inside, one little boy made a break for it and the stranger dropped his cargo with practised efficiency before sprinting after him. He tapped the little boy on the shoulder initiating a game of tag, and distracted by the game, he lured all the kids through the front door. The mother thanked him and the boy just laughed saying something about how he knew how to handle his little sister, so other kids were easy in comparison.
Conflicting thoughts warred within his mind. What had this boy been through to look so comfortable with an armoury on his back? Why was he travelling with a group of monster hunters? And how did he stay so… joyful throughout? How had the world not already beaten out that child-like enthusiasm and left him a bitter husk of who he used to be?
Lobster Boy waved goodbye and made his way down the street once more, a spring in his step. As the boy passed Link by, his mind so occupied with devouring the bread roll the mother had given him as thanks for wrangling her children, that the boy didn’t even glance in Link’s direction, the rancher caught a whiff of something on the refreshing breeze that seemed to follow the boy. Saltwater? There was no mistaking that smell, and again, something within Link’s mind stirred, a feeling much stronger than déjà vu. He knew that boy, somehow, he knew him! If only he could remember when he had met a boy that smelled of the sea no matter how long he stayed on solid ground! He just couldn’t remember… the memory was old, eroded by time, and yet, if that was the case, how would he be able to remember the boy’s voice? How would he have met the boy at all if the memory was older than boy himself?
He tried to put the thought out of his head. He was just going to give himself a headache trying to figure out where in Link’s twisted timeline he had met that boy.
Finally, Link made it to the castle, showing his papers to be allowed through the first gates with his cart. As he was passing the training fields, he spotted a man with a blue scarf so big he wore it like a cape and wearing a lime green tunic talking with two grizzled older soldiers and a Sheikah, all of high rank. The stranger had an air of authority about him, the type that exuded confidence without arrogance, like the few good captains, commanders and generals he had met during his time in the army. That scarf was… familiar. The golden embroidery, the vibrant blue colour, the sheer size of the garment requiring the wearer to pin it in a very specific fashion to prevent it from becoming a hindrance; just like Lobster Boy, he knew he had seen it somewhere before, he just didn’t know where.
Link was stopped by the guards standing right at the castle entrance, one of the pair taking his documents and retreating as they checked them. This part always took so long, especially considering that the castle had been getting the same delivery every week since before Link or Malon were even born, with Link having personally delivered the goods himself for almost eight years now. At this point, they had to recognise him. Link had a theory that the guards dragged the process out on purpose, getting their only entertainment for the day by annoying a lowly rancher they saw as beneath them. But Link was patient and wouldn’t give them the reaction they wanted.
He stared blank-faced at the remaining guard until the man grew so uncomfortable they turned away from Link, trying to make conversation with the guards standing either side of the drawbridge behind him. Ah, a new recruit then, one who clearly didn’t meet the guards’ standards for stoicism; he might have to tattle to Zelda about the falling standards of her soldiers now that Link wasn’t around to whip recruits into shape. Oh, how he would love to be a fly on the wall just to see this soldier’s face as he was being reprimanded! Link may be in his thirties, arguably older in fact, but the part of him that grew up in Kokiri Forest and was raised by eternal children loved petty mischief and seeing a prank unfold.
“Yeah, I knew him. The Hero of Time was in charge of my squad. Quite the stoic one he was, but if you knew how to make him talk, you’d find a real stand-up guy.”
Link’s heart froze. He recognised that voice. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and realised that the blue scarfed stranger wasn’t just talking to any soldiers. He was talking to his old friends…
“He’d play music when we were safely camped, there had to be some magic in there, he could make even the most depressed man dance with that ocarina of his!” mentioned Gurin, a sandy-blond man who clearly hadn’t had time to shave the stubble off his face this morning. Link had attended his promotion ceremony last year and knew that one of the best swordsmen in his old squad was now a commander himself.
“Right! The ocarina! I tell you; he had the Ocarina of Time!” Ash declared with his usual gusto. The black-haired man was smarter than people usually gave him credit for, due to his excitability that often led others to think he was reckless. Link had learned that whenever the man’s green eyes gleamed like they were now, you had best be prepared.
“What? No way! That thing’s been lost for decades!”
“Exactly! It disappeared when The Speaker of the Forest disappeared and it reappeared in the hands of The Hero of Time! I bet that’s how he made all those weirdly accurate predictions! Time travel!”
“You’re full of it, Ash! He was a tactician that planned ahead, you don’t need magic for that!” While he admired Gurin’s faith in him, Link had to award a point to Ash for figuring out the trick that had saved thousands of lives back when the four of them were on the same battlefield together.
“Magic or not, it sounds like you knew him well. If you could point me in the right direction, I’ll get out of your hair.” The caped stranger said with a charming grin.
“No can do.”
“Sorry.”
Blue Scarf looked shocked at how quickly the two soldiers denied him, “Why not?”
“Besides the fact that we’re supposed to be sworn to secrecy!” Koshi gave his two friends a disappointed glare, the sheikah having always been the most serious of their trio. He hadn’t even lowered his cloth mask for the conversation, and his red eyes were as piercing as ever, “No one knows who he is, besides General Impa and the Queen herself.”
“How is that possible? Weren’t you friends?” Blue Scarf’s voice had a hint of sadness to it.
“We were, but even to us, he was an enigma. The man wore this custom suit of armour that completely concealed his face, and he never took it off. Ever. He had a private tent and rooms with enchantments to prevent anyone from entering. Not even the medics were allowed to take the stuff off to save his life! He once got slammed in the back of his head by a monster’s club and after we dragged him back to the medic’s tent, someone had to go fetch General Impa herself as she was the only person in the whole army that was allowed to remove his armour without his explicit consent.” Gurin continued, “All we know is that he’s a taller-than-average hylian man- Actually, scratch that, we don’t even know if he’s hylian or not! There were all sorts of rumours flying around about why our commander was concealing his identity to such a degree.”
“Yeah, people were theorising that he was a Gerudo that had switched sides, or something like that! That somehow two Gerudo males had been born that generation and the whole war was actually a power struggle between the two.” Ash added, his tone suggesting that the whole idea was ridiculous.
“I heard this pretty entertaining one about him being a Zora and the armour was designed to keep him hydrated despite the desert heat.” Gurin added, a humorous grin fighting to get back on his face.
“And then people started connecting him with The Speaker of the Forest and started talking about fae and fairy magic! I heard a couple of the senior knights talking about how certain types of metal can dampen fae magic or even burn any fairy that touches it, so they thought that the hero had been Claimed by a powerful fairy and needed to wear the armour at all times, so they weren’t dragged back to the forest.”
“I heard something similar, but it was more along the lines of the hero being a planty abomination and the metal armour was meant to stop him from growing out of control.”
“…And do you believe any of that?” Blue Scarf asked, hesitantly.
The two men laughed, Ash answering for the pair, “Of course not! The four of us got a good laugh out of it though! We even made it into a game to come up with the most ridiculous rumour and see if we could spread it around camp, and the hero started it!”
“He was always the best out of us all at those types of games. No one would ever suspect that quiet and yet ruthless commander to have such a sense of humour!” Gurin added.
“Personally,” Koshi cut in, “I think the reason was much more mundane.”
“Oh yeah? Then what was the reason?” Ash prompted him.
“Love.” The remaining three men went strangely quiet at that single word. “Once when the Queen herself visited the battlefield, I saw him hand her a letter. He said, ‘I trust you know who to give this to’ and she just nodded like the answer was obvious. Whether the recipient was a lover or a family member, I have a feeling he did it all for them. Think about it. The Hero of Time almost singlehandedly won us the war; he was going to be showered in accolades and noble titles and whatever else the nobility could come up with. But the hero was a simple person at heart. He wouldn’t talk much about himself, but when he did, he would always prattle on about nature or the satisfaction of an honest day’s work, never lofty dreams of wealth or power or prestige. I bet he wanted to shield his loved ones from the limelight and if the public has no idea who the person beneath the helmet is, they can’t do anything to interrupt the peaceful life he was clearly itching to get back to.”
“That’s…” Gurin started, apparently thinking over Koshi’s words carefully.
Ash whispered, “I did see him picking flowers once. He joked that he wanted to brighten up his tent, but the few times he invited me in, I never saw them… Do you think he sent them home? To this loved one you’re talking about?”
“I cannot say,” Koshi admitted quietly, as if his lack of certainty was a personal failing, “But if we knew him as well as we thought we did, that possibility seems likely.”
Link ached to linger, to listen to his old friends for just a bit longer, but the soldier returned with his documents, the two guards now allowing him to pass with his cart. Those three, plus Zelda and Impa, were the reason he insisted on being responsible for the castle’s delivery; so he could check on the few he had trusted during his time in the hyrulian army, either from a distance or up close.
Of course Koshi had been able to figure out his reason for hiding his identity for his entire career as a knight and commander during the Hylian-Gerudo War, the man certainly lived up to the reputation of his clan. Link could admit that he missed them, but he had to keep his distance. He had worked so hard to separate The Hero of Time from Link of Kokiri Forest, who shortly before the war became Link Lon. If he let anyone connect the dots between his two identities, it would be Malon who would suffer, and he couldn’t let that happen. As much as he loved his old friends, he knew that those three (with maybe the exclusion of Koshi, keeping secrets was literally his job!) couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives, as evidenced by the fact that they had spilt everything they knew about The Hero of Time to the blue scarfed stranger after what could not have been a full hour of talking to him. For the sake of his new life, he couldn’t approach them without his armour.
Link was not a stranger to sacrifices, not after all his adventures, but some sacrifices certainly stung more than others…
~*~
With hindsight, Link should have noticed before it was too late. He and Wess met back up in the fountain square, expertly leading their respective horses Storm and Midnight through the bustling crowds. Link and Wess usually met up halfway through their routes to grab a late lunch together and chat, but it was also to assess the state of their horses. Delivering the cargo would be impossible without them, but even their strongest horses with the calmest temperaments had a limit for what they could endure, especially in Castle Town on a market day.
Link should have paid more attention to Wess’ assessment of Midnight. The mare with a coat as dark as the night had only recently been broken in and while she hadn’t posed any issues around the ranch, in herds of other horses and doted on by the staff, one couldn’t truly be sure how she would react to crowds until she was in one. This was her first time on a delivery, and the mare had started pawing at the ground with her hooves. She was blatantly twitchy and her ears wouldn’t stay still; it should have been a dead giveaway that the poor girl was stressed. But, Link was distracted, thinking about the eight mysterious warriors turning Castle Town upside down in order to find him, how quickly they had tracked down Gurin, Ash and Koshi, the only people from his army days that he truly missed, at the possibility, small as it was, that they might uncover his true identity.
Link really should have remembered that asking animals to be perfect was an effort in futility. He wasn’t even sure what set Midnight off in the end. Even the calmest of horses could be spooked by the smallest things. He had seen Epona bolt from Navi landing on her nose at least three separate times before the mare was desensitised. He’d seen one of their most well-behaved mares, Blossom, throw a rider because Link had set down a metal bucket too loudly and too close for her to handle. Link had long become used to the hustle and bustle of Castle Town, to the point that he tuned out most of the loud noises, lest he have a headache barely an hour into traversing Hyrule’s capital.
It could’ve been anything that spooked Midnight into rearing up with a panicked shriek.
Wess barely managed to dodge her flailing hooves, diving to the side but consequently letting go of her reins in the process. Link moved on pure instinct, grabbing a small knife he kept on his belt and slicing through the leather straps keeping the horse connected to the cart. Midnight was going to bolt, there was no changing that, so cutting her loose would at least make the danger smaller instead of turning the cart and the remaining product into projectiles. As Wess kept the crowd away from Midnight’s rampage, Link grabbed a rope from his own cart and, using the muscle memory Malon had drilled into him when he had graduated from glorified janitor to being allowed to handle the horses, tied it into a lasso and flung the loop over Midnight’s head, first try. Link knew he was strong but not strong enough to win against a spooked horse, so instead of trying to anchor the rope and pull her to a stop, he used it to match the mare’s erratic movements and leapt onto her back, still pulling at the rope until he managed to get a hold of her reins.
From there, Link pulled out his secret weapon. As he patted her neck soothingly, Link began to hum Epona’s Song. The moment the music started, Midnight relaxed beneath him, a great deal of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders, even as she continued to kick and rear up. Link just held on, keeping his balance expertly, the hum in his throat turning into the lyrics Malon always sang when they performed a duet of their favourite song. Before long, Midnight thrashed one final time, then stood still and obedient once more.
The fountain plaza had barely had time to panic before Link had the situation under control. Once Link was certain Midnight had calmed down, he led her back over to Storm and their carts, Wess close behind, as the bystanders went back to what they were doing. Miraculously, Storm wasn’t spooked by Midnight’s panic, the grey mare staying still and only whinnying in a soothing manner, as if she was doing her part to calm down her friend. Link climbed off the black-coated mare, patting her nose and rewarding her gentle nudge with three more notes of the soothing song.
“Wow! That was so cool!” Wess gushed quietly, glancing at Midnight like she was going to spook again any second. “How’d you calm her down so fast!?”
Link merely chuckled as Storm grew jealous and nudged him affectionately too, “I suppose I just have a talent for it.” He blatantly lied, revelling in Wess’ disappointment at the dodged question. “But I wouldn’t rely on my talent fully, Midnight is still pretty worked up. It would be best if you go back with her to the ranch while I finish up the deliveries with Storm.”
“You sure, sir? We’ve still got both the north and west quadrants to do; it’ll take forever by yourself!”
“I’m sure, Wess, it’ll hardly be the first time. I’ll grab dinner in town, so can you tell Malon not to wait up for me, while you apologise for the damaged harness?” his voice took on a sheepish tone as he handed Midnight’s reins to the farmhand and grabbed the dangling ends of the harness. With a few strong knots, Midnight was attached to the cart once more (though this was hardly a permanent solution) and the two men moved to transfer all the remaining product in Midnight’s cart to Storm’s.
Just as Link hefted up the first crate, a voice spoke up behind them, “Would ya’ll like a hand there?”
Link turned around to see one of the mysterious warriors, the one with the wolf pelt and the not-quite-dark magic, idly petting Midnight, the obsidian horse relishing in the man having found her weak spot, scratching right behind her left ear. For some reason, Link didn’t feel the slightest bit worried about the mare relapsing and hurting the man, or of the stranger stealing the horse.
In fact, he found himself saying, “We’d greatly appreciate that, thanks.”
Wolf Pelt beamed and quickly got to helping, hefting the milk crates like it was his day job. “I saw wha’ happened, tha’ was some impressive wranglin’, sir.” The stranger complimented as he helped Link heave an entire pallet from one cart to another. “I’ve ne’er seen anythin’ like it, and I’ve been wranglin’ animals most ma life!”
“So you’re a rancher?” Link asked.
“Born ‘n raised!” Wolf Pelt laughed as the two of them set down the pallet. “Though back in Ordon we raise mostly goats, ma girl’s tha only horse in tha village, and I can’t wrangle her half as well. She’s in the stables by tha gates; if she’d spooked like yer beauty did, I wouldn’t’ve been able to stop her ‘fore someone got trampled, y’know?”
“Huh? I’ve never heard of Ordon?” Wess piped up.
“You wouldn’t’ve. We’re an itty bitty hamlet way down south. The type’a place that’s more like one big family than a community, y’know?”
“You sound so fond of your home.” Link commented, “I have a hard time believing you ever left!”
Wolf Pelt’s ears drooped dramatically, far more expressive than any hylian Link had ever encountered, even as the stranger tried to keep a straight face. “Trust me, it wasn’t willing a’ first and I miss ‘em all more than I know how ta say,” he perked up again, “Bu’, I’ll admit i’, I enjoy travellin’, ‘specially with the group I’m wi’ now, they’re like brothers ta me a’ this point. An’ right now we’re doing something important, so like i’ or not, I’m out here, for the sake of Hyrule.”
Wolf Pelt turned to Link, and this is where Link expected to be asked a familiar question. He’d had half a day to figure out what he would say when he was inevitably asked, he’s honestly surprised he wasn’t approached by one of the warriors sooner. He had planned to say something vague enough that he seemed disconnected from the situation, but close enough to the truth that the more suspicious of this group would believe he was being truthful. Except, that’s not what he was asked.
Wolf Pelt stared at him for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth like he was debating something in his head. And then he asked, “Sir, what was tha’ song youse sang to calm ‘er?”
The non sequitur completely threw Link for a loop, so much so he couldn’t help staring down Wolf Pelt with a disapproving look that made the younger man wince.
Wess cut in, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. “I dunno what it’s called, but Mr Lon and the boss play it all the time for the horses! They always seem to like it.”
Wolf Pelt blinked owlishly at the ranch hand, “Really?” before turning to Link, “Where’d ya’ll learn Epona’s Song?”
Again, Link was surprised and before he knew it, his lips were moving, “My late mother-in-law wrote it. My wife taught it to me when we were children.” It was like the information was ripped from his lips, but he quickly recovered, following up with, “The name of the Lon’s family song has never left our ranch. How did you know it?”
Wolf Pelt winced under Link’s glare. He stammered, no real words leaving his mouth.
Just as Link thought he was going to get his answer, a boy’s voice rose above the chatter of the market, “Twilight!”
Wolf Pelt whipped around, just as the Lobster Boy pushed through the crowd, “Wind, gimme a sec, will ya?” ‘Twilight’ started, only to be cut off.
“We found him! We found The Hero of Time!”
Link froze.
Wolf Pelt echoed his thoughts, “Wait, what?” he looked baffled by this information.
Lobster Boy – or Wind, maybe – was bouncing in excitement. “Yeah! Guess he heard we were asking about him cus he came right up to me and Rulie and introduced himself! C’mon, you’ve gotta meet him, he’s so cool!”
Link relaxed. So they hadn’t figured him out, of course not! It was probably one of the knights looking for some fun and messing with a couple of excited kids. It was hardly the first time some new recruit went around trying to convince everyone that he had secretly been the fabled Hero of Time, and clearly it wasn’t going to be the last. They never lasted long. If these travellers were smart, they’d figure it out before the sun set.
Wolf Pelt still looked confused, his mouth opening and closing like a flummoxed fish, “But-! I mean… I thought-” he glanced back at Link, and then down at the crate that was still in his arms.
Wind looked sheepish, “Err… sorry but I need my brother back now.”
Link offered the strangers a shrug, “It sounds like you have an important meeting ahead of you. Go and put that last crate down, we can handle it from here.”
“Yeah! What he said!” Wind tugged on the tail of Twilight’s wolf pelt.
“Wind, wait, I can’t just-!”
“Run along, now.” Wess added, “You were a big help.”
Twilight was still rooted to the spot, a stressed look to him that remined Link of their animals when they were sick or scared.
“If you and your friends need help saving Hyrule, I’m sure The Hero of Time will help you. Best of luck to you both.” Link wasn’t sure why he said it, but those words finally rid Twilight of the distressed look on his face.
“Thank you, mister…?” he asked with a small bow.
“Lon.” Link replied simply.
Wind impatiently tugged at Twilight again, this time managing to get his friend to stumble backwards a step, “C’mon Twi! We need ‘ta go! Bye, Mr Lon!” as Wind dragged the older man away, Link swore he heard the boy say, “Leave it to you to get too attached to your farmer friends…”
Before they knew it, the two strangers had blended into the crowd once more.
“They were weird.” Wess commented, returning to their work. “Who’da thought folks from outside of Hyrule were so strange.”
“I suppose.” Link replied absently, still staring at where the boys had disappeared to.
“Do you really think that?”
“Think what?”
“That the Hero of Time will help them? I heard he still turns up at those fancy royal parties now and then, but nothing about him still fighting in the army.”
Despite himself, Link smiled, “Oh, I have no doubt that the ‘Hero of Time’ they found won’t lift a finger. But the real hero, whoever he is, will certainly help them if they need him.”
~*~
Hours later, Link was severely regretting his choices. He’d managed to deliver a good three quarters of the orders by himself, in good time as well, when the sky darkened with grey clouds promising rain. Not wanting to be caught out in the inevitable downpour, Link picked up the pace, racing the clock as the setting sun and the gathering storm cast the lively streets of Castle Town in shadow. He only had four deliveries left when the pressure broke and a torrential downpour fell upon the capital, herding the evening crowds inside. Link had to spend precious seconds returning his empty crate to the cart and guiding Storm under a nearby awning before grabbing the cloak he kept under the seat of the cart and throwing it over his already drenched shoulders.
He sighed as he wiped water out of his eyes, only to recoil at the sight of his hand coated in skin-tinted liquid. He grabbed an empty milk bottle and squinted into it until he found his reflection, his heart sinking at the spots of red on his face, only partially covered by what was left of his makeup. What a shit way to end his day. He opted not to wipe the rest of it off and instead threw up the hood of his cloak and adjusted the clasp until his face was obscured by shadow. It would have to do. Considering the weather, no one would be suspicious, at least.
The first three deliveries went smoothly, and then Link was at his final stop. This tavern, The Sparrow’s Song, was at the edge of town, right next to the gates and a loyal customer of the ranch. On days they were running late, they would have dinner here, and they visited so frequently they were known regulars. Link considered the owner, Wheaton, a personal friend.
After leaving Storm in the adjacent stables, Link took the final crate, one of the largest they sold, and pushed his way through the front door. With the sudden rainstorm, Link expected the tavern to be packed to bursting, but from what he could see from the front door, there were still a few tables left empty. A small wooden stage took up a corner, and a man was idly strumming a guitar, taking requests in exchange for rupees. A staircase on the far side of the room led up to the second-floor balcony that overlooked the dining area, neatly separating the inn rooms from the tavern. The bar, close to the door in which Link entered, was only sparsely populated and for now the two patrons were talking quietly over their beers.
The barkeep and owner bellowed a welcome as he looked up from wiping down the countertop. Wheaton had a neat black beard and had tied his hair into a short ponytail with a red string to keep it out of his face while on the job. He was quite a burly man from years of acting as his establishment’s only security, a necessity when the local drunks still hadn’t taken the hint that they weren’t getting another glass out of the man. Still, the man exuded a friendly energy and was beloved by his regulars and newcomers alike.
Wheaton let out a hearty chuckle as he noticed who had walked through the door, “Mr Lon, I’ve been expecting you!”
Link set down the crate on the counter, “I’d hope so, we only deliver the same time every week.” He replied with a touch of friendly sarcasm. “How’s Chai?”
“The twins are giving her some trouble, the terrible twos as they say, but Pita has been lending a hand until I close up for the night, so that’s been a big help.” Wheaton reached under the counter for the lockbox he kept the tavern’s rupees in, counting out five silver rupees and handing them to Link.
“I wish you the best of luck.” Link replied, stowing his payment away.
“Just you wait, lad, you’ll have your own terrors soon enough!”
“We’ll see…” Link mused mysteriously, relishing in the exasperated look on his friend’s face. He and Malon had made it no secret that they would love to have kids someday, but they weren’t in any rush. The day Malon would tell him they were expecting would be the happiest day of his life, besides their wedding, of course, but the two weren’t actively trying, not yet. Still, Link took no small delight in winding up their friends that already had children.
Wheaton rolled his eyes, but knowing how Link was, dropped the subject, “So, are you staying for-”
He was cut off by a loud shout of “I’ve had it with you!” from one of the tables. Usually, something like that wouldn’t have such an effect on the barkeep, on a man that had worked much rowdier nights with far more belligerent customers, but Link noticed how Wheaton levied the guilty table with a piercing glare. Link also looked over, curious at who could gain his friend’s ire with one frustrated shout, only to see the largest table in the tavern struggling to accommodate nine young men and boys, and not just any group, but the mysterious strangers he’d been eavesdropping on all day.
The eight people he recognised were sitting slightly separated from the new ninth member at the round table, the eight all bunched together with most of their backs to the bar. The final member was a young man in steel armour, standard issue for the men who made it through basic training in Hyrule’s army. His brown hair was overly styled, clearly the man had gotten his hands on an expensive hair wax and wanted everyone to know it. Some of those spikes surely broke the laws of physics. The new stranger was glaring at the teenager with the pink hair and the red tunic, who had risen from his seat to shout at them. The white caped devout had a hand on Pink Hair’s shoulder, seemingly holding their friend back. Pink Hair continued to talk aggressively, not as loud as before but making up for it with his venomous tone, as the soldier sat there.
Wheaton sighed then shouted, “Keep it down, would’ja!”
Pink Hair’s mouth snapped shut and White Cape forced them to sit down again. As they resumed their conversation, much quieter, Wheaton turned back to Link.
Still staring at the odd group, Link commented, “It takes a lot for you to yell at your paying customers. What’d they do?”
“Nothing special,” he replied, “They came in when Farore sent down her storm and they can’t seem to keep their voices down, especially that one,” he nodded his chin towards Pink Hair.
Link chuckled, “I suppose ‘The Hero of Time’ isn’t meeting their expectations.”
Wheaton stared at Link a moment. When Link didn’t reveal he was joking, Wheaton did a double take of the soldier, then looked at Linked incredulously. “Another one!? Don’t those recruits have any respect!? This one doesn’t look a day over eighteen; what’s he thinking!?”
“Not a lot, I’d guess.” Link replied.
He saw movement in his peripheral vision and saw one of the strangers staring at him, the smallest one in the colourful tunic and the green headband. Link gave him a little wave. The boy narrowed his eyes at the chatting pair then started frantically whispering to the boy next to him, Blue Tunic, the kid with the fairy magic leaning in to whisper as well. Good. It looked like they were figuring it out.
The knight with the blue scarf was in the middle of interrogating the soldier. “We heard that you wore custom armour that completely concealed your physical appearance, to the point of ridiculous rumours. I assume you need to stop off at wherever you have stored that armour before we set off?”
“Nope!” The soldier’s voice cracked and he awkwardly cleared his throat before he continued. “I’d rather not draw attention. We’d be swarmed in the streets by grateful townsfolk wherever we went if I did! They’d be all, ‘Oh, the Hero of Time! Thank you for saving-!”
“So, just to confirm,” Headband said, bluntly cutting off whatever nonsense the ‘Hero’ had been saying, “You’ve kept your identity as The Hero of Time a secret for… eight years, was it? And yet, the moment you hear that a group of swordsmen are looking for you, you suddenly decide to throw all that out the window?” he asked incredulously.
The imposter shrugged casually, “A hero never says no to people in need. Besides, it was about time I came out of retirement.”
The teenager with the fairy magic cut in, “But you still could’ve kept your identity a secret. You basically announced yourself in the middle of the market!”
Blue Tunic spoke up, “Rulie’s right. You could have pulled us aside and revealed yourself out of the public eye. So why didn’t you?”
Lobster Tunic (or Wind, if Twilight was to be believed) muttered under his breath, "That was weird..." before he levied his accusation at the imposter, his voice rising along with his confidence, "It would've been easy! And yet you're flaunting your secret identity like its no big deal!"
The soldier’s gaze turned on the younger members of the group and for a moment, Link swore he saw a flicker of hatred in his eyes before he tried to school his expression. Did the man hate being questioned, or did he hate that it was a bunch of kids barely past puberty doing it? His voice was condescending as he answered, “I guess it just didn’t cross my mind.”
The younger strangers clearly noticed his tone too, their expressions hardening, their postures becoming closed off as they bristled silently in their seats.
“You’ve been hiding for eight years, and you think we’re going to believe that it just ‘didn’t cross your mind’? Yeah right!” Pink Hair bit back, his voice rising again.
Link glanced at Wheaton, “You gonna shut them up again?”
Wheaton smirked back, “Nah. This is getting good.”
It wasn’t just Wheaton and Link who were enjoying the show. Half of the dining area were either discretely or blatantly watching the table of nine, either laughing at the display or quietly tutting to each other about the noise and the shameless disrespect of their hero. It seemed tonight’s entertainment was going to be that of a dramatic unmasking.
White Cape spoke next, “Alright, alright, we’ve all done stupid things in the name of helping people. Personally, I want to hear more about your adventures. I heard that you helped Hyrule before when you were much younger, as The Speaker of the Forest, and that you had some sort of clairvoyance.” His voice was sweet and soothing, and yet Link spotted a glint in his eyes, one that reminded Link of a bird of prey with their sights set on their next meal. He was setting a trap, which the imposter immediately fell into.
“That’s right! I told the king about Ganondorf’s evil intentions! If I hadn’t done that, he’d have killed the princess and gotten his hands on the Twoforce-”
“The Triforce.” Half the table corrected him in unison, all at various stages of annoyance.
“Yeah. That.”
“Here’s a question,” Twilight cut in, “I heard tha Speaker of the Forest saved Hyrule over twenty years ago. How old were ya when all dis happened?”
The soldier paused for a second, a single bead of sweat running down his face, “Um… five, I think? Maths has never been my strong suit-”
“The Speaker of the Forest was nine!” Wheaton shouted across the tavern.
“Right!” The imposter agreed hurriedly, “I calculated that wrong-!”
“No, you’re just a moron!” a customer from another table spun around in their chair, glaring daggers at the soldier.
Link stared in disbelief as he realised the customer was Gurin, and Ash and Koshi were the other two at the table. When had they come in? Had they been here the whole time? Actually, knowing Koshi and how Gurin and Ash tend to follow his lead when things got serious, they likely followed Blue Scarf after their talk, trying to figure out exactly why such a group was looking for their old friend. Link was… strangely touched. He didn’t know they cared enough to try and protect him from afar, despite never even seeing his face.
Ash picked up where Gurin left off, “The Speaker of the Forest was a kokiri kid; green tunic made of leaves, a shield made of bark, there was no mistaking him! You, Chudley, have never even left Castle Town!”
Gurin added, “For fuck’s sake, you’re not even blond!”
Koshi spoke up, “And they first appeared twenty years ago; you were barely a twinkle in your mother’s eye at the time. Shut your insipid trap!”
“Please tell me you know where the real hero is!” Wind begged, completely ignoring the ‘Heros’ weak protests.
“I’m afraid not Wind.” Blue Scarf said solemnly. “They claim to be friends of the hero, and even they know nothing of who he truly is or his current whereabouts.”
“Because they are not my friends-!” the imposter tried to cut in.
“If you say you’re the hero one more time, I’m going to throw you out of this establishment myself!” Wheaton shouted, from across the tavern.
“So… are we done pretending that we actually believe this guy?” Rulie asked the rest of his table.
Pink Hair jumped up from his seat, “Fucking finally! I’ve had enough of this idiot!”
“I-I am the real hero-!”
“Can it, asshole! Unless you want me to drag you back to the barracks bloodied and bruised?” Gurin threatened, cracking his knuckles.
“But I am, I even have proof!” Chudley pulled out a misshapen blue object from his pocket. It was an ocarina painted a similar blue to the Ocarina of Time (though it was more of a sky blue than a navy blue). It might have fooled someone who had only heard of the mythical instrument, but it would never fool someone who had actually seen Link play it.
Koshi silently stepped up behind the pretender and plucked it from his loose fingers, scratching at the shoddy paint-job with one of his nails, revealing the brown clay underneath. “Do you take us for fools? The Ocarina of Time is not so easily replicated.”
“I can’t believe we wasted this much time on someone playing make-believe.” muttered Headband.
Blue Scarf stood up from the table, “Alright team! Let’s get out of here.” He flashed the three soldiers and Wheaton an apologetic smile, “So sorry about the trouble-”
“Awwww! C’mon Warriors! Can’t we at least stay the night!” whined Wind, “Or until the rain stops, at least?!”
“We’ve already wasted enough time.” Twilight decided, his voice gentle with his young companion before he switched to a much more serious tone with Blue Scarf (or ‘Warriors’, perhaps) “I may ‘ave a lead on tha real hero, but with dis rain they may’ve left town already-!”
“Stop ignoring me!” the imposter butted in like a petulant child, banging a steel fist on the table to force attention back onto him, “I’m the hero, I swear! Give me any test you want, I’ll prove it to you!”
“Any test?” White Cape repeated, a deceitfully sweet smile on his face, “If you insist.”
White Cape removed the wrapped sword from his shoulder. At first, Link thought the swordsman was going to challenge the imposter to a duel and was curious how good these warriors were if they considered themselves a genuine test for the hero they sought. But then, White Cape carefully peeled back the wrappings from the sheathed sword, and Link’s world turned on its head.
The Master Sword. White Cape was holding the Master Sword!
The purple winged hilt was unmistakable, the golden diamond in its centre gleaming in the tavern’s torchlight. How had he-?! Had this man somehow made it past the Door of Time!? It should be locked away, no one able to lay eyes on it, never mind hold it, without the three sacred stones, the ocarina in his possession and the song only known by a small handful of people. He couldn’t help but gasp at the sight, and in his shock, he didn’t notice how the closest stranger, the one with the scars and the long blond ponytail, noted his reaction.
How was the White Caped stranger holding it!? The one time he had seen someone else try to hold the blade was when he was caught sneaking through the Gerudo Fortress in The-Future-That-Never-Was and the guards had tried disarming him before throwing him in their shoddy jail. The sword had burned the guards who tried to take it, stubbornly staying in its sheath and refusing to be removed from Link’s possession even once he was knocked unconscious. As far as Link knew, only the sword’s master and those they personally gave permission to were able to hold it, and that second group still couldn’t use it to fight. So if Link hadn’t personally handed the sword to this swordsman, then… it couldn’t be! How was that possible!? How could there be two heroes of courage-!?
And then it clicked.
The War of Eras had been such a long time ago for him. He had tried to forget those years he spent in another era fighting a literal war against a crazed time sorceress and then a new incarnation of Ganondorf. But therein lied his answer. The captain, the sailor, other heroes from different times, the one native to that era wielding the Master Sword like he had been born to bare it. He had looked up to those two so much… He had called them brothers! So when he was thrown back into his own era at the end of the war, alone once more, it had torn his healing heart in two, reopening old wounds and sending him into despair. He had tried to forget them, knowing that no matter what he did, this parting would last forever, and he would never see his older brothers again. But no! Wind was Tune! The sailor followed by the ocean breeze no matter how far inland he trod, who played the air like a symphony. And Warriors was the Captain! The knight he aspired to be like when he joined the army, the commander he tried to emulate both on and off the battlefield.
They were here! They were here and they had brought someone else who could hold the Blade of Evil’s Bane without fear of rejection. Was… was this swordsman another hero, from another era!? He supposed they never did meet the heroes of some of the eras dragged into the conflict. Wait… did that mean all of these warriors were heroes of courage!?
As Link was having his crisis, the white-caped hero continued his test.
“What’s a fancy sword supposed to prove?” Gurin groused.
Pink Hair raised an eyebrow at the soldiers, “You don’t recognise the Master Sword?”
Headband placed a placating hand on his friend’s arm, “It’s possible that the hero of this era never wielded it, like Rulie and me.”
White Cape cradled the divine sword, almost reverent, then swiftly drew the blade from its ornate sheath. The blade looked even sharper than Link remembered, the sacred metal completely spotless, the stylized Triforce etched into the flat of the blade shimmering in the low light. Then, the swordsman offered the divine blade to Chudley.
“All you need to do is hold her. Fi will tell us whether or not you are who you say you are.” White Cape explained, a note of fondness in his voice as he gazed at the Master Sword.
Without even a moment of thought, the imposter snatched the blade from White Cape’s grip. “That’s all? Man, I thought you were gonna make me-” he didn’t even finish his sentence before a discordant chime echoed through the tavern, a ring that sounded like funeral bells. The sword glowed blue as another chime rang throughout the tavern.
“That settles it.” White Cape said serenely, not even bothering to cover up his delight at the soldier having failed his test. “You are not the Hero of Time. You are not a hero at all.”
The sword rang out again. It reminded Link of that infernal clocktower during those terrifying final hours, as the mechanical marvel counted down what little time was left before the moon crashed and decimated the entirety of Termina.
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” the pretender shot back, seemingly unwilling to acknowledge how the sword in his hands was ticking down the seconds like a lit bomb.
“Fi recognises all her masters, regardless of whether they have wielded her before.” White Cape answered. He reached for the blade and carefully ran a finger along the smooth surface. A ring like crystalline wind chimes twinkled from the sacred sword. The moment White Cape pulled away, the distorted clang returned. An almost teasing lilt entered his voice, “Fi doesn’t like you.”
“What the fuck is Fi!?” Chudley demanded, any semblance of decorum leaving the soldier as the sword continued to sound her death knell.
“The spirit of the Master Sword.” White Cape replied simply.
The distorted clanging continued in steady intervals. The rest of the mysterious strangers were starting to look worried. It wasn’t just Time’s imagination then; the sword sounded like a countdown. He didn’t want to know what would happen when this sword spirit ran out of patience.
The Captain- Warriors stepped up next to White Cape, “Alright Sky, you’ve made your point. Let’s go, we’ve got a lead to track down.”
Sky (The hero of the Era of the Sky, perhaps?) held out his hands, ready to reclaim the Master Sword, “I suggest you give her back now.”
“No! This stupid sword clearly doesn’t know anything about true heroism! I swear, I’m-”
A look of irritation crept onto Sky’s face. “That wasn’t a suggestion.” For the first time, the swordsman’s voice was brimming with a cold fury. “Fi has made her decision. No amount of arguing or begging will change that. Now, give her back to me. I assure you, she is far less patient than I.”
The sword clanged again, as if in agreement.
“Fuck you! Your test is bullshit! I’m the hero and I’m more of a hero than you can even dream of being-”
The countdown reached zero.
The pretender howled in pain as the Master Sword’s hilt lit up with purple flames that engulfed the imposter’s hands and steadily climbed up his sleeve, clinging to his plate armour as if it was fabric doused in oil. Chudley flailed and screamed, sending the whole tavern into a panicked frenzy. In the scramble to smother and douse the flames, no one paid mind to the source of it all, that sword, being chucked out of the imposter’s hands. No one except Link. He watched as the sword flew in a perfect arc over the heads of the distracted tavern goers before clattering to the ground and sliding across the wooden floor, right to Link’s feet. The moment the blade made contact with his boot, the sword let out a pleasant chime, like the crystalline voices of companion fairies, that no one but Link heard over the cacophony of noise.
Link hardly noticed the chaos around him, almost transfixed by the sword at his feet. The blade looked so much smaller than he remembered… and yet he knew it was the very same blade he had used to defeat Ganon, the first time at least. Part of him wanted to kick it away from him and forget he ever saw it, still bitter over what he had lost the moment he pulled the sword from its pedestal. Learning there was a spirit within the sword only made the urge stronger, knowing there was a sentient being behind the decision to seal him away and allow Ganondorf to wreak havoc for seven long years. But, for some reason (curiosity? A twisted nostalgia, perhaps?) the urge to pick up the sword was much stronger. The moment he was carefully holding the blade in his hands, the chime sounded again, synchronised with that soothing blue glow that reminded him of someone else whose voice sounded like tinkling bells. He shook off the strange feeling and tucked the blade into his belt, hiding the sacred sword beneath his cloak.
The moment the blade was hidden, the rest of the room snapped back into focus.
His friends and the others capable of wielding the Master Sword, other heroes, were still trying to put out the imposter, to little success. He could slip out now without anyone noticing.
“Link.”
The man startled as his name was called, and he turned back to the bar. For the first time, he registered that Wheaton had stayed glued to the spot, and how the man’s gaze was still on Link. What had he seen-!?
Wheaton offered him a clean cloth, “For your face.”
Link inhaled sharply. He thought the marks were hidden! Had his hood slipped? No, it was in the same place it had been since he walked into the tavern. But Wheaton had seen anyway. Who else had seen!? And, oh for the love of Nayru, had he watched him pick up the sword!? The sword he had just heard only the Hero of Time would be able to wield without being burnt. This was it. The secret was out. Castle Town was infamous for its gossips; everyone in the city would know the true identity of The Hero of Time before the sun rose. Malon would never have peace again- He’d never be able to show his face in town again-
Wheaton’s face fell and the barkeep silently grabbed one of Link’s shaking hands and tugged the other man in close, so that he could whisper, “You and Malon will always be welcome here, hero or not.” The barkeep let Link go with a smile and placed the cloth directly into his hand, “Now, if you don’t want the rest of Hyrule knowing your identity, you’d best get outta here and gear up.”
Of course. Link should’ve known. His shoulders relaxed and he gave his friend a sincere smile. “Thank you. Until next time, friend.”
Link swept out the door, leaving the chaos behind, only Wheaton seeing him go.
~*~
It took far too long to quell the fire. In the end, Legend had to pull out one of his more niche items, his water rod that he acquired (stole) from Hytopia. With one wave of the wand, a pillar of water had sprung up beneath the imposter, soaking the man so thoroughly that not even Fi’s protective wrath could keep the flames burning. Once all the excitement was over, the three soldiers had hauled the idiot to his feet, commenting that they’d be taking him to get the burns all up his arms checked and bring up this incident to the rookie soldier’s superior officer. It had also taken a while to calm down the rest of the customers, who were rightfully worried that something else might spontaneously combust. Quite a few of them fled the premises during the chaos and once things were dealt with, even more decided not to linger, leaving only a few stubborn patrons left, who somehow seemed almost unimpressed by the whole ordeal. However, with one problem dealt with, another took its place. It didn’t take long for the Links to realise the Master Sword was missing.
“How could you lose it!?” Legend shouted, only the slightest bit of panic pushing through the anger in his voice. He heaved himself up from his position on the floor, the sword hadn’t slid under the decorative cabinet he was inspecting, and he glared in Sky’s direction. “No one but us should even be able to touch it!”
“That idiot did.” pointed out Four, the younger teen crouched in a corner, not searching nearly as frantically as the rest of the Chain. If Legend didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn the smith was whispering to the floorboards.
“I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if someone else was on fire, Four!” Legend retorted, kicking another chair away in order to search under the table.
“Wait… Of course!” Sky declared, jumping up from where he was slouched in shameful defeat on the second floor. He vaulted over the balcony’s railing, saving himself from a painful landing with his sailcloth. “If Fi isn’t here, and no one else is on fire, that leaves only one possibility!”
Wild immediately picked up on what Sky was thinking, poking his head up from behind the bar. “The hero was here!”
“You folks still looking for that sword?” the barkeep spoke up, the doors to the kitchen slamming closed behind him. He was carrying a bucket of soapy water, likely to scrub away at the scorch marks all over the floor. A majority of The Chain were looking at the man with guilty expressions, some quickly trying to right the furniture they had overturned looking for the sacred blade. They’d put this man and his establishment through the wringer tonight, and that was before they accidentally set a guy on fire in the middle of the dining area.
“Yes, but that can wait until we’ve helped clean up,” Warriors started apologising, approaching the man and gesturing for the owner to hand over his cleaning supplies. “we’ll be going-”
“After the guy who picked it up?” the barkeep finished for him.
“What?” Sky let out, hurrying over to the counter to hear him better. “You saw him!? The person who took the sword!?”
The owner nonchalantly set down the water bucket, either unaware of how eight sets of bewildered eyes had locked onto him or ignoring them. “Yeah, some guy walked in during the commotion, picked up your sword and left. He wasn’t even singed. I thought he was one of you, but if you don’t know him, then…”
“Thank you, sir! C’mon, pack it up you lot, we’re leavin’!” Twilight hollered, throwing his gear over his shoulder, not even bothering to secure it properly, before sprinting out the door, the rest of the Chain on his heels. Warriors brought up the rear of the pack, and only because he took a moment to throw a bag of rupees at the owner with another apologetic smile.
The rain was still pouring, but the heroes barely paused long enough to throw on hoods and cloaks before they ran into the deserted streets. But they barely got a few steps away from the tavern’s threshold before they realised they had a problem.
“How’re we supposed to find this guy!?” Wind panicked, looking around wildly, noting the dozens of alleyways that branched off the main streets. “He could’ve gone anywhere!”
Hyrule looked at Sky “Do you have any way to track the sword?”
“No. My sword was how I tracked things!”
Four turned to Twilight “That wolf friend of yours, do you think he could find it?”
“I don’t think so, not in this rain, at least. Bu’ as I was sayin’ earlier, I migh’ have a different lead.” Twilight dived down the street, hoping he remembered how to get to the plaza where he had met that rancher, the rest of the Chain following close behind. He had to shout to be heard over the pouring rain and the splattering of eight heroes running through the storm. “Before tha’ idiot messed everythin’ up, I was talkin’ with this farmer, and he knew things tha’ only The Hero of Time should’a known!”
“Like what?” Wild called back.
Twilight grimaced; he hadn’t known these heroes for more than a week; he trusted them enough to fight side-by-side with them, but he was in no way ready to share something as sensitive as the Hero’s Shade with them, or his blood connection to the hero. “The Hero of Time is my predecessor, and we ‘ave lots’a old stories ‘bout him. Things tha’ go beyond his heroic deeds an’ his combat prowess. He knew-”
Twilight froze, skidding to a halt, his ears perking up. He barely registered how his friends stumbled to a stop around him, asking him what was wrong and why he had stopped. Below the roar of water hitting pavement, a song floated down the street. Played on a high-pitched wind instrument, Epona’s Song called to him, as it did to his loyal mare.
“-that song!” he finished, his voice so low the other heroes almost didn’t hear it over the hiss of the pouring rain. Not wanting to lose it, Twilight sprinted down the street after the music, the other Links scrambling to keep up, confused at his sudden urgency until the song grew loud enough that they heard it too.
The melody led them to the town square, just as abandoned as every other street in the drenched city, except for the person they sought. The Chain skidded to a halt as they spotted the source of the music. A hooded figure was perched on the edge of a grand fountain, a navy-blue ocarina held to his lips, the instrument appearing to glimmer in the darkness. The Ocarina of Time; the genuine artifact this time.
Leaning against the fountain’s basin, right next to the man’s leg was the Master Sword, seemingly letting out her crystalline chimes in time with the music. Sky stepped forward, desperate to reclaim his friend’s resting place, but stopped when the figure lowered the sacred instrument. No one had realised the man’s eyes were closed until a single eye opened, a bright blue piercing through the dark and flickering between the eight heroes before him, assessing, judging. Then, the hero raised the ocarina to his lips once more, a jolly upward trill of notes flying from the instrument. The clouds parted in response to the ocarina’s call, the rain ceasing immediately, and the full moon sent down a beam of moonlight upon the group of heroes.
The moonlight reflected off an object that the Chain hadn’t been able to see in the previous darkness. Sitting next to the figure was what appeared to be a golden helmet, but it was clear that it had seen better days. The helmet was scratched and dented, all that remained of a visor to protect the eyes was a battered hinge. While the helmet only had one purposeful slit for the wearer to see out of, it bore a jagged tear through the metal, all around the area that the right eye would see through. It was clear why the potential hero was not wearing it, the thing was so twisted it would be little protection, and its ability to conceal the wearer’s identity had been compromised long ago.
Without a word, the hero undid the clasp holding his cloak in place and rose from his seat, the fabric falling away to reveal a suit of silver plate armour with golden pauldrons and gauntlets, all the more grand for how the metal shined in the moonlight. Finally, the group could see the man’s face and realised the truth beneath the man’s helmet; red slashes across his right cheek and the tip of a blue sword on his forehead, markings that glimmered like the ocarina in the near darkness and were clearly more than simple tattoos. A scar bisected the man’s right eye, permanently sealing it shut, only making his remaining iris stand out more.
The Chain was frozen in awe as The Hero of Time stowed away the sacred instrument and casually plucked The Blade of Evil’s Bane from its place on the fountain. Fi grew quiet as if she was finally satisfied to be back in the hands of one of her masters. He twirled the blade, testing the weight of the sacred sword in his hand after a long absence, his single eye scanning the blade far more critically than he had assessed the heroes. With a frown and a dismissive shake of his head, the hero switched his hold on the sword until he was offering the sword hilt-first to the Hero of the Skies.
“I heard you were looking for me.” The Hero of Time said, a fond look in his eye as he looked upon his new companions.