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lightning-of-farosh · 1 year ago

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To the Stars #2

AU: small Hyrule, adult Legend I couldn't tell you if this was the first or second iteration. I just know that the title of the doc is "good and loved"

There was a kid digging next to the road. Mud stained his arms, stopping near the elbow, and his too-big sleeves threatened to roll down from his biceps. Dirt was smeared across his cheeks, not able to hide his dark eyes or messy, leaf filled brown hair.

A sword longer than his arm was strapped to his back, covered by an oval-ish dented shield.

Link ducked down behind a tree and watched as he dug and dug and dug.

No other travellers passed by; no merchants to peddle their wares, no postmen to deliver news. Flowers had grown around the edges of the worn dirt, peeking through where wheels and feet had once treaded.

Empty. Abandoned.

Except for the kid.

Birds sung in the trees, small animals darted through the bushes, and Link breathed in. There was a dull, bitter taste of fading charcoal on the air that turned into something physical deep in his lungs. Almost as though it was trying to weigh him down, to keep him there, chained to this place.

(All he had done was walk through a swirling portal. All he had done was run from Zelda’s disappointment and the watching eyes of the kingdom and the smell of rabbit in his home.)

Link shifted his weight.

Dead leaves crackled beneath his heel. The birds fell silent and he pressed himself against the tree, not daring to breathe as the boy’s head shot up, searching the shadows of the woods with frantic, bolting eyes.

One was blackened around the edges, fading from purple to green to yellow and matched a jagged, scabbed over cut that lined the kid's jaw. His fingers, darkened by fresh dirt, reached for the pommel of his sword as he tilted his head to the side and listened.

Hylia, Link cursed because the child was small. Smaller than he had been when he'd first heard Zelda in his dreams and set out to fight Ganon. What is he? Five?

The birds returned one by one, and Link watched as fingers released the pommel of the sword and returned to their task. They scooped up dirt faster than before, pushing it to the side bit by bit. It was like watching a badger; except tiny, child hands couldn't get quite as much traction as massive claws.

Only when he was half buried in a hole did he stop, tugging something up and out.

It looked like a wooden box of some sort, except the wood had warped from the rain and it was tied together with twine. The child hoisted it under his arm and got to his feet, not bothering to brush the earth off his ripped up knees and bruised calves.

His tunic, Link thought, looked familiar. It was green over brown, just like his old one before he had replaced it with red over green and his long, blue hat.

Just like that of the hero, some traitorous voice whispered in the back of his head. It sounded like Impa.

Link scowled. Shut up, he told her and stepped out from behind the tree. "Hey! Hey kid!"

Carved wood, painted blue and shimmering with magic sigils, appeared in the child's hand. It sang as it headed towards Link's head and he cursed, ducking beneath the boomerang and staying low as it whirled around in a tight semicircle to come back.

Dark eyes were narrowed and the kid caught the boomerang like he was used to it. Like he had depended on it.

A perfect throw.

Swallowing down the heaviness in the back of his throat, Link tried to grin as he straightened. It felt too faux, so he let it drop. "Hey, look, I—"

"It's mine," the kid said.

Link blinked. "What—"

Holding the box close to his side, the kid lifted his scraped chin and glared at Link. "It's mine," his tone refused to waver even as he backed towards the trees. "I found it."

"I, well," Link blinked. "Not gonna lie, kid, I don't really want it—"

Dark eyes narrowed even more, searching Link's face. They paused, briefly, on the streak of pink in blonde hair. The boomerang faltered.

Link held up his hands, stepping further away from the tree and into the light, but off to the side. He didn't want to get closer—not really. Not yet.

"What are you doing here?" The kid backed up so he was on the edge of the woods. Light trickled through the leaves, casting a mask of shadows across his features. There was a tinge of something in his words, an accent Link couldn't quite place even though the voice was rough from disuse.

"I got lost."

Fingers tightened, eyes darted up the road, and pointed ears stood up straighter to catch every sound that rustled through the trees. He looked like a deer, trapped in the open, hoping that nothing would come out of the darkness with open jaws and bloody teeth.

"No," the kid said, taking a step back, "you didn't."

Link scowled. "Yeah," he said, "I did; I'm actually really good at it. Which sucks for me but is—apparently—good for everyone else."

Nails were digging into the wood of the boomerang, but the kid hadn't moved. He just watched with wide eyes.

A frog croaked and fled deeper into the woods.

"Look," Link sighed, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. "Just point me in the direction of the nearest town and I'll leave you alone, alright?"

The kid tilted his head to the side, brow furrowing. He bit his torn, dry bottom lip that had already been abused many times in the past, and pointed his boomerang towards a towering mountain in the distance. "That way," he said.

Link stared at the mountain top. "You mean, like, at the base—?"

Snorting, the kid gave him a sour, but confused, look. "No," he said, "on the other side."

On the—

"What," Link spat, more in shock than anything. "Are you serious? The other side?"

The kid blinked, the tense muscles along his jaw going slack as he stared at Link.

"Are you kidding me?"

A boomerang hit him on the shoulder and Link winced, rubbing at the bruise it would no doubt leave behind. He turned to its owner, opening his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, but stopped at the sight of bone white knuckles and colour fading beneath smeared dirt.

"You're so loud," the kid hissed, gaze overly bright as he searched the woods. "Are you trying to be found?"

"Found? Found by what—"

Birds burst from the distant trees, cawing as they fled to the sky.

Both of them turned to look. Nothing moved in the spaces between the trees; no birds, no beasts, no monsters.

The kid glanced back at Link, looking over his red tunic, the pack on his back, and sword strapped to his waist. His hands were shaking, brown eyes darting around as he thought before focusing back on a pair of blue.

"Come on," he said, motioning towards the darkness of the woods.

Link stepped out onto the road to cross and felt as if something had taken hold of his stomach. It was like stepping into the Dark World all over again, except the sun was high in the sky and no howling beasts waited for him around every corner. "What—"

Darting across the open space, the kid snatched him by the wrist and yanked him to the other side, tugging him into the underbrush past the newly dug hole in the ground.

Wood crunched under Link's heel and he looked down.

It was a grave marker.

oOo

They travelled silently, slipping around a lake that had sneering, snarling creatures slipping below the water's surface. Link was able to make out red fins and green scales before he was tugged away back into the trees.

Octoroks littered the area, spitting rocks at any sign of movement, and he let himself be guided through faded deer trails and the spaces between towering tree trunks until the forests gave way to copper-green rock formations.

"So, kid," Link crossed his arms over his chest and watched as the small figure inspected the paths leading through the odd valley, easily squeezing past rocks to peek over the edges. "How old are you?"

Looking over his shoulder, the kid scowled. "Why?"

"Well, I mean," Link shrugged. "It's hard to place my fate in someone who's five, you know?"

"I'm not five."

Link's brow rose. "Okay, not five," he said, "six?"

The kid dropped from his look out, shot Link a nasty glare, and worked his way over to one of the many boulders.

"Seven? Eight?"

Cheeks pink, shoulders hunched, the child dug a crimson bracelet out of the folds of his over-sized tunic and fitted it around his wrist. It easily slid over the whole of his hand and looked as though it would fall off at any second.

His silence was cold and heavy as he stepped up to a boulder, braced his hands against the side, and pushed. It was bigger than he was—but that didn't matter.

What mattered was the glistening in his gaze and the way his body seemed to crumple beneath each question.

Link's teasing grin faded as something darker pooled in his stomach. "Hey, wait, kid."

Rock groaned and rolled to the side, revealing waiting darkness.

Reaching out, Link placed his hand on a bony shoulder. Something thick and bitter made a home in the back of his throat as something that felt remarkably like pain clawed at his chest. "Do you know how old you are?"

The kid looked up at him, caught between horrific youth and desperate maturity. "No," he admitted.

Link pulled his hand as if it had been burned. He flexed his fingers and couldn't decide whether he should laugh or cry. Where's your family? He wanted to ask, what happened to your parents? What happened to you?

The kid nodded towards the darkness. "Come on," he said, not looking up at Link's heavy gaze. "It's dangerous to stay out in the open too long."

Swallowing his questions, Link stepped down into the dark and waited as the grunts of a child and the grumbling of stone echoed across the tunnel. A sliver of sunlight peered through a tiny opening left behind, but flame sputtered to life and the kid held up a candle.

It wasn't enough to banish the darkness, but it was enough that Link didn't trip over the cracks in hastily carved stairs. A cavern waited at the bottom with two stone bowls filled with charred wood. They lit easily and the candle hissed as it was blown out.

A bed made of tied together logs sat in the furthest corner from the entrance. Next to it, leaning against the wall, was a ladder made out of warped sticks that glistened in the dim firelight, the shadows along the side darkened from where it had been charred by harsh, hungry flames. One of the rungs had broken off and dangled off the edge, not yet repaired and possibly resolute to the rest of its days like that.

It made a good place to hold a quiver and bow, however, and that was exactly what the kid had used it for.

A small, wooden boomerang sticking out from a book, halfway through the pages, and was joined by some vials, and a good amount of round, fist sized bombs piled up together because there was nowhere else to put them.

Link turned to the kid.

He was poking the flames with a broken stick, a deep, thoughtful frown marring his features.

“You live here?”

The kid shrugged. "Now," he said.

"Now?"

"Yeah. Someone else lived here first."

"What happened to them?"

Dark eyes glanced over at him and turned back to their task. "Dunno. He was here and then he wasn't."

Link exhaled. That was something for later, he figured, not bothering to try and pick apart the meaning behind... that. Instead, he frowned at the sight of the dirt crusted box still under the kid's arm. "So," his voice was full of forced casualness, "what's up with that?"

The stick was tossed into the fire and the kid hugged his prize to his chest. "It's mine," he said, firelight glinting off his wide eyes, making him look wild and young and more hunter than prey.

"Yes," Link said patiently. "We've covered that—but why did you dig it up?"

The kid looked down at it, tilted his head to the side, and turned his attention back to Link. "Because I wanted it," he told Link with the same patience.

"You—" Link leaned his weight back on his heels and counted to ten. "You just wanted it?"

"Yeah."

Hylia help me. "You can't just—look, okay. Kid. Robbing graves isn't good."

Fingers tightened around the box. "Why not?" The kid said, tone sharp. "They're not going to use it; they're dead."

Link inhaled. "Yes," he said, "but—"

"What use is anything to the dead? They're dead. They're not coming back."

“Okay, that’s true, but how would you feel if someone took your stuff when you died? Just stole everything?”

The kid shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said, turned away physically from the conversation. “They’d need it more than me anyway.”

"That's—" Link closed his eyes. "Okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say."

The hunter expression melted away and the kid sat down on the dirt floor, picking at the twine wrapped around the box. He tensed and stopped when Link came close, but continued after a few, long seconds.

They both waited with baited breath as the lid opened and Link frowned. There were needles and thread, a small, half finished doll, and quite a few buttons of various colours.

"Oh," he said, "It's a sewing kit."

"A what?”

Link leaned over the kid’s shoulder, examining the wound up measuring tape and a small container full of pins. “It’s used for making and repairing clothing.”

"Oh," the kid picked up a spool of brown thread and looked over the rips in his tunic. "Do you know how to... uh—"

"Sew?"

"Yeah."

Link frowned. "It's been a while," he admitted, "but I can teach you the basics, sure."He held his hands out for the box.

The kid flinched away, grasping the wood with mud stained fingers, digging his nails into the grain. His expression was torn between want and fear as his shoulders shook.

“Okay,” Link said, pulling his hands back. “Why don’t you, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck and looked around at the collection of stuff that littered the cave.

Had he dug all this up?

“How about this,” Link said, “you keep hold of the rest of the box and I’ll just use what I need, okay?”

The kid frowned, looking down at the colours he held in his hands. He peeked out from beneath his filthy bangs. "You won't take it?"

"Nah, kid," Link sat down beside him with an amused huff and rested his hands on his knees. "It's all yours. Promise."

An inhale. A sigh. Trembling hands lowered the box to the floor between them and released it one finger at a time. "Okay," the kid said, "show me?"

Link pulled one of his old tunics from his pack. It was green and brown, just like the kid's, with a similar stitching pattern around the collar. He talked through it, using as much of the firelight as he could while the child inched closer and closer.

Curiosity overwhelmed fear until small hands rested on his legs and the kid had braced himself over Link's lap to watch his fingers. He smelled of earth and metal, of salt water and ash and there were layers upon layers of dried mud caked into his skin.

Fire crackled, burning on until the tips of his fingers stung from needle pricks and holding the thin metal. “Would you like to try?” Link offered the thread and tunic to the kid.

He took them both and stared at the half-done work Link had already completed before looking up helplessly.

Link laughed and reached out his hand. “Come on,” he said, motioning for the kid to come closer. “Don’t worry—I’ll show you. It’s like this—” taking child hands in his own, he guided their movements. “In, over, out, over, see? You got it.”

The kid hunched over the tunic in his lap, tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth, the fabric almost brushing his nose he was so close to the stitching, but he worked with careful, steady hands. The thread wasn’t quite even, but it was good enough.

“See?” Link said, showing him how to tighten it so there was just a small seam left behind. “There you go!”

Running his fingers over the once ripped tunic, the kid looked up at Legend with wide eyes, and smiled.

#Linked Universe #legend linked universe #hyrule linked universe #Fabulist tales #i'm gonna have to go back through and correct all these tags at some point

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grimrevolution · 9 days ago

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Venhedis/Muddled Thoughts

Neve/Rook, originally posted anonymously on AO3 here

“It’s certainly a start,” Neve said, tilting her head back to look at the glimmering colors of Solas’s mural. The lighthouse was quiet, though she was sure some people were still awake. Lucanis for sure. Bellara, maybe, if she hadn’t passed out over her table. “I’ll check in with Tarquin and Elek. See if there’s a pattern we’ve missed…”

Fingers brushed the back of her forearm. A whisper of a touch that pulled her attention from notebooks and the wall of clues in her room to the woman at her side.

Rook’s black hair was still damp with rain and the light from the Eluvian caught on the gold hanging from her wrists.

“I really—”

“Neve,” Rook said, the tips of her fingers sliding up teal leather. Her height felt like some cruel joke from the universe. How she could wear no shoes at all or the flattest of sandals and still be taller. Still be warm and soft and so many other awful things.

The quiet of the lighthouse dropped around them, curling like a quilt. Rook didn’t push forward, leaving just enough space for Neve to flee.

Oh, how this woman knew her. It was horrifying. A gilded cage with the door left wide open that her heart didn’t want to leave.

“Rook,” Neve tried to sound stern but it came out wrong. So, so, wrong. Her blood sounded as though it was trying to rush out of her cheeks and ears and wrists. “I—”

Something warm and heavy and terrifying kept her in place. It was in Rook’s gaze. In the way Neve’s fingers twitched, reaching out only to stop just before contact. She bemoaned the heavy gloves on her fingers, wanting to know if Rook’s bared waist was heated by the warmth in her soul or chilled from the rain.

(Wanted to know if a tattooed thigh tasted the same as the hollow of a throat. If the paint dipping beneath Rook’s waistline was made of the same spice-herb mixture as the one on her lips.)

“I knew you were trouble,” Neve breathed. Her hands were trembling with the desire to run, with the need to stay.

Rook smiled and shifted, the light from the Eluvian catching on the gold chains hanging across her chest. She smelled of the brine from seawater and sweat. A scent that was so distinctly Minrathous that it made Neve homesick all over again.

“I want to kiss you,” Rook said. As if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if it wouldn’t ruin everything. “May I?”

Neve hated her for it. No, she wanted to say. She should say. There was work to be done. Attraction was a distraction that neither of them could afford. Not with Ghilan’nain haunting their footsteps and Aelia slinking through shadows. No, no, no—

“Yes,” she breathed.

Palms, worn and warm, cupped Neve’s jaw. Thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, leaving trails of warmth stinging against her skin. She wanted to fight against the gentleness. Bite and push until Rook was gasping against the nearest hard surface. If they could just get the physicality of it all over with, maybe Neve wouldn’t spend the evening staring helplessly up at the ceiling.

Yet, her eyes still drifted shut when lips pressed tenderly against her own. Her heart still roared when her chin was tilted up. Traitors, the lot of them, but none betrayed her more than her spine; arching until she was pressing against Rook’s chest and their hips slotted carefully together.

All leather and gold and heat.

Damn her. Damn them both.

Neve pressed a hand against Rook’s collar and shoved her back, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp. Her blood howled in her ears. A mix of terror and something so alien. Neve wanted to rip it out of her chest and throw it over the edge of the crossroads.

“You,” she said and the rest of the half-formed sentence died in the back of her throat. They were both flushed in the shallow light of the Eluvian room, eyes wide.

The docks hadn’t been a red herring. Twice was never a coincidence; not in her line of work.

“Neve?” Rook didn’t move. Why was she so far? “Are you alright?”

Neve’s fingers curled against the golden baubles and disks. Pieces clicked into place. The sight of Rook’s bared teeth in a feral smile as she hefted the ballista that brought Ghilan’nain to her figurative knees. A tempest crackling along fingers when waves of enemies shattered beneath storm magic. How she sat on the floor, leaning over a map and smile beautifully patient as Bellara paced and ranted about some new relic found in Arlathan.

“Venhedis,” Neve snarled, wrenching back. She grabbed the tips of the glove with her teeth and yanked it off. The second followed soon after, buckles hitting the stone walkway with a careless clank.

Rook blinked. “Uh… Neve?”

There’s always so much to lose. She could wake up tomorrow to another blighted dragon raining fire down on Minrathous. Could find that the Venatori had found the entrance in the back of the pawn shop and slaughtered the Shadow Dragon. Maybe Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan would find a way to break the wards on the Lighthouse and trap all of them in the raw fade.

Griffons weren’t extinct. The elven gods were real. Lace Harding, already on first name bases with the Orlesian Divine, could do Titan Magic. The grandson of the First Talon loved to cook. One of their companions spoke to dead people as a hobby.

There were so many strange and impossible things happening in the world, what was just one more?

Neve grasped Rook by the nape of her neck and yanked her into another kiss. Warm Rivaini skin burned against her fingertips like a brand. The beaches were so bright and so hot and she could feel every inch of them etched into the lips pressed to hers. Could almost feel the tide in the way a pulse thrummed beneath her curled hand.

She dragged her nails up Rook’s throat, pushing them into short, black hair and smiled when it earned a guttural moan. This. This was why being infinitely curious was a curse. How many sounds could she drag from those lips? How many ways could one get a brigand panting and full of want?

Something heavy sunk into Neve’s belly like an anchor. Oh, she thought, pushing forward until Rook’s back hit one of the stone pillars. I’m in so much trouble.

#Fabulist Tales #Dragon Age #neve gallus #rook laidir

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