#I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ON MY BOI KASS and im open to questions about him

[galemilker]

Been trying to gather my thought on Kass Lavellan's journey so far

(my boi decked out with the bones and leather of dragon he hunted in true monster hunter fashion)

beware a very very long post about my boi

Story wise he has met Stroud but hasn't gone to meet the Warden Commander. (personally been postponing + i need to mentally prepare for wicked hearts and how i want that to go). Got the mages and they are in alliance now. Running around Emprise du Lion trying to get mroe info on Samson and the red templars. He is not as angry anymore as he was at the start of the game. Sure he feels like he has purpose and a goal to reach and with all the madness of Heaven and everythign else. The whole "Herald of Andraste" i think really bothers him. Not only because it's connected to a god he doesn't really believe in but also how people have started treating him. I think he lost his faith in the Elven pantheon too when he lost his sister but kept goign through the motions just to try fit the clan. Being Inquisitor hasn't really made him feel better or even safer. The threats to Josephine, the red lyrium , him being an elf in a position of power. The talk he had with Solas after the escape from Heaven continues to linger on his mind. I think he is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop - with him being an elf AND a mage, he is waiting for the moment he becomes a spacegoat in all of this. He was prickly in Heaven and was mostly focused on closing the rifts and making sure the peope around him survive but after Heaven he started to realsie he needs to know more about the politics of the regions and the allies. He has been relying on Josephine to teach him since she seems the most reliable + is the ambassaor for a reason. Even if he doesn't agree with everything Vivianne stands for he sees that her advice how to navigate the Game are valuable and respects her for it and her magical talents. Another voice of reason whom he trusts is Solas (OH BOI IS HE IN FOR A TREAT IN A FEW YEARS). Currently using dragon hunts as way to vent his frustrations and not burden others. My boi is going through it and doesn't know it only gets worse from there on. General Thoughts on companions: Blackwall - world weary but somehow naive? There is somethign about this man that he thinks is odly refreshing. Sera - was starting to think of her as a younger sister with all her antics but had a big fallign out after her personal quest. The whole ""well yeah people got hurt but i sticked it to the noble douche"" was the breaking point. Originally he thought that she would protect her "people" and was willing to overlook some bs as far as it was to help but now he sees her for a reckless liability that doesn't really care for the good of the people and is just in it for her selfish retribution. (i knwo there is much mroe to her story but). He was an older brother and the feeling of resposibility to protect and care for those who younger/weaker than him is never going to leave him and he won't allow for Sera's BS to hurt bystanders. I think he might be contemplating kicking her from the Inquisition altogether but hasn't made up his mind about it. Solas - at first he kinda eh about him, not too happy about his stance on the dalish but after some conversations and a spat on the "well they don't know the past and are miguided!! Well why don't you tell me and let me learn huh". Slowly warmed up to him and started to appreciate his view on the world. Kass was slightly suspicious of him because Solas seemed to know a bit TOO much. He knew the artifact that ripped the fade was elven, suddenly he found a fortress for the inquisition but i think Kass views Solas as the only person around who can understand him to a degree. With Sera being so anti-elvish and SUPER NOT COOL WITH MAGICand then everyone else either worshiping him or hating his ass just for beign mage and or elf. I think Kass is slightly in love with Solas - with his passion for Fade, his different view on spirits, his ability to get the bigger picture , those murals are super cool too and overall his willingness to guide and motivate Kass to learn more and not be bound by conventions and to view the world with more curiousity.(Kass for sure has competency kink ya'll)

The Iron Bull - kind of mistrusts him due to the whole spy thing but overall a cool person to hang with. Cool stories about mercenary life and the Qun (haven't finished his personal quest so wonder how that will change)

Cole - Kass finds him fascinating and is always ready to listen to what cole has to say. He might even have a small scroll where he writes down what Cole has mentioned and tries to figure out the meaning (part of exercise to learn to write and read in the languages of the allies the inquisition deals with).

Vivienne - She is powerful, she is is cunning and knows how to survive in Orlais and thrive by the looks of it. He really respects her, even if he doesn't agree entirely on the Circles coming back but he agrees that things need to change.

Varric - has his own agendas but he seems the inquisitor's corner for the moment. One of the few people Kass can act as a normal person. Enjoys his stories. Cassandra - wasn't too sure how he felt about her at first. Unlike Cullen, Kass had more time to get to know her and start to see her as more of her own person rather than just a Seeker. One of big breaks? from the image of her he had in his head was for sure learning how much she like varric's books. At this point i do think Kass might even say he consideres her kind of a friend. Dorian - the bae. I think Kass fell for him during the time travel quest. Dorian is basically the only other person in existance who UNDERSTANDS what's at stake of Corypheus isn't stopped and that def affected their closeness. Dorian is not like almsot anyone else he knows in his attitude towards magic, Dorian is passionate baotu topics he cares about and Kass just ate that up. They do fight on the topic of slaves but through it they learn more baout where each one is coming from. Kass is truly looking for a deeper connection wiht someone (There is so much tot lak about them aaaaaaaaaaaaaa) Advisors: Leliana - at the begining he was a bit scared of her but has since grown to value her opinion and in awya see her as kindred spirit

Cullen - still very cautious around him cause ex-templar but tries to be supportive of his decision to cut lyrium and contact his family Josephine - his politics coach. Learning of her history as bard and her motivation to do what she currently does def alleviated her in his eyes.

[taliaquinn]

Why Me!? Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry I took a while to update my peeps. Fun fact this chapter was originally over 2,500 words so I split it. After going through a massive edit it was still long anyways:). So Enjoy the fact that Chapter 16 is going to come out very soon, also more one shots will be posted. Check out the most recent one if you guys haven’t :)

“NO WAY,NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Marinette yelped “SCREW SOCIAL INTERACTION!!!” leaping from the chair she immediately started pacing around.

“Marinette you have to go to School, you’re too smart and can't always be cooped up here.” As much as Bruce would love having his children to stay in the relative safety of the house “Besides you wouldn’t be alone Tim and Damian both go to Gotham Academy”

“B-but Bruce” he allowed shock to flood his body because finally his daughter wasn’t calling him Mr.Wayne. Uck. He knew Stark was still dealing with that problem with his own protege. “Gotham Academy is one of the most prestigious schools in the States not to mention expensive”

“Marinette, do you realize that the cost is nothing to me?” Oh god he went through this with most of his children, the whole "please don’t waste your money on me” routine. “it’s my job as a father to make sure my kids are safe AND are receiving a great education”

“The cost means a lot to me-hold up don’t they offer scholarships?” She asked a glimmer of hope in her eyes

“Yes but they are mostly for kids who otherwise wouldn’t be able to attend, The Wayne foundation offers a few, anyways you won’t be completely alone Tim and Damian both go to Gotham Academy” Bruce explained, Jesus all of his kids were so weird about money, well most of them, Damian and Tim were something else.

“Ugh Fine, what about my parents? Will they be okay with it?” No way would Maman and Papa allow it.

“Oh they already enrolled you, your mother just thought that I deserved the honor of telling you” he said rolling his eyes.

“WHAT!!!!”

Oh boy maybe he should have let Dick and Alfred handle this.

Cesaire Apartment                                                                                      Paris, France                                                                                            5:00pm

“Come on Think about it Nino, Marinette’s gone what could she do anyways?” Alya asked her boyfriend on facetime, unfortunately she and Nino couldn’t go out, both were stuck taking care of their siblings. Joy.

“Alya im not sure…... the article seems a bit too far, I mean Chat Noir hasn’t exactly been helpful lately, plus he HAS been acting rather childish lately,” Nino Responded, He might need glasses but that doesn't mean he was blind to the Chat Noir situation. He’s been distracting Ladybug and he hasn’t bothered showing up a few times to the Akuma Battles!!! Some hero. “Why not post the video of your interview with Adrien? That will instantly attract all of his uh eager fangirls” he offered

“Apparently sunshine boy has to ask his Dad for permission, so this article is the next best thing” The article she was referring to was in response to the video of Marinette lecturing Chat Noir. It wasn't as much fact based but opinion based

“Why are you still hung up on Marinette so much? She used to be our best friend”

“She's a bully, who constantly attacks Lila, and still hasn’t confessed to what she has done”

“What if it’s Lila who is lying?” Nino asked cautiously, he never knew what would set Alya off these days.

“Not you too, you know what? Maybe you should just switch classes like the rest of the traitors if you believe that” she scowled. “Go be on their side”

“Sides What sides? Alya there isn’t any sides”

“Yes there's the right side and the wrong side”

“What makes you so sure that we're on the right side?” Nino finally asked. He has been having his doubts. Something about Lila’s stories just wasn't adding up.

“You’re being Ridiculous Nino, You know what? I don't want to talk to you right now, you obviously won't listen” Alya screeched ending the call. Nino Stared at the dark screen with his jaw open in shock.

He’s being ridiculous?

It's his fault?

These last few weeks, Alya has been borderline unbearable. Nino found himself having to resist calling Marinette and asking her for advice.

On one hand it was out of guilt on the other hand some part of Nino already knew what she would say. She would tell him to break up with Alya. The relationship was getting far too toxic. He turned on his phone and clicked on Alyas contact. Thinking out his Message he finally typed the message he's been wanting to send for the last few days

Nino: Hey, I just don’t think this is working. This relationship is bad for the both of us. Ask Lila for help instead. Goodbye Al

Message Sent

Message Received

Wayne Manor                                                                                      Gotham,USA                                                                                                      8 pm

“Trust me Pixiepop Dick is the last person to ask for advice concerning school, Dickhead was smart, sure, but he also dropped out of college ” Jason explained to Marinette, who was mopping about school “He decided to enroll in the Police Academy instead, believe me Bruce was pretty pissed about that”

“B-ut it he quit to do something he actually likes, I doubt he actually wanted to be a businessman,” Marinette retorted. “speaking of which do you think he’s doing alright in Bludhaven?” She asked her voice laced with concern.

Jason knew for a fact that Dick wasn’t doing that great, he was pulling overtime as Officer Grayson and working the night as Nightwing, Bruce and Tim weren’t fairing that great either. The impending gang war was keeping most of the local vigilante community busy.

“I’m sure he’s fine pixie pop”

He was absolutely not fine.

Unbeknownst to them, Nightwing had walked right into an ambush inside a warehouse right next to Bludhaven Bay. With a few more hours of sleep Nightwing might’ve had a higher chance of winning , unfortunately he was running on 3 hours of sleep a night so he was getting quickly overwhelmed.

After one too many punches Nightwing finally put out a distress alert.

“Master Jason, You have a Call from Bludhaven Bay, Your friend there seems to be in need of your help”

“I’ll take it, Sorry Maribug seems like I have to head out right about now.” Jason he quickly answered. Fuck. Dick was in danger.

“Why?” Marinette asked puzzled, why not just take the call here? “Cause This dingwatt friend of mines only calls me if he’s in trouble or about to be”

“Can I come w-” Marinette was cut off by her phone chirping crap akuma.

“Actually you know what? Better not keep you” she said walking backwards towards the door “Stay safe Jay, see ya, toodles~”. She quickly exited and quickly walked towards her room.

“She's hiding something isn’t she Alfie?” Jason said after witnessing Marinette's strange departure

“It is blatantly obvious Master Jason, although I do believe she is permitted to do so seeing as how we all have our small secrets” Alfred said with a huff. His hopes for a normal grandchild have just been dashed. Maybe he will have better luck with great-children? Shaking his heads to clear his thought he and Jason quickly made their way towards the Batcaves entrance,

Jason stopped mid stride an odd feeling overcoming him “You feel that?” Jason asked feeling a rush of warmth

“Feel what Master Jason?”

“Nevermind let's go save Dickie-bird”

Welp I hoped you enjoyed today’s update :). Also I hope you guys have been taking care of yourselves. I know that it has been a bit different lately due to well everything. Please feel free to message me if you guys need to. Stay safe and healthy ❤️

Also if the text is a bit wonky i’m sorry, still learning all the tips and tricks

Taglist:

@maribat-is-lifeblood @kass-is-weird @another-fan-of-anotherplan @damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @thezestywalru @dreamykitty25 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @mochinek0 @shamefullove @mochegato @souleateralicestein @thestressmademedoit @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @aestheticnpoetic @mysupporthyperfixations @itsmeevie01

[civilians-of-nothingtown]

shut up im Yearning also this is loosely based on/loosely including a song that makes me cry like a little bitch baby

The school was silent. You'd think you could hear a pin drop in the cafeteria from the parking lot. However, the school wasn't empty.

Fabian paced backstage, covering his face with his hands.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. This was where he went to clear his head; the place where he felt most secure. The most accepted.

... But one thing was missing. That thing was Hamlet.

Just the thought of him made Fabian's stomach twist into a thousand knots, and burst into butterflies. He didn't even feel this way when he was on stage, in front of tons of students -- so why now?

The rest of the troupe wouldn't get here for another whole hour -- at least, that's what Fabian had thought, until he heard the back door creak open and let a familiar voice float in.

“ O, the prince of darkness is a gentleman! ”

He knew that line anywhere; it's from King Lear. Hamlet quotes that play when he does vocal warm-ups.

‘ Of course you know that, ’ Fabian groaned to himself, stepping off to the side. Out of sight.

Hamlet stepped up onto the stage, clutching his copy of the script for a music number Fabian wrote. They were preforming it together soon, at the annual Christmas showcase. Just seeing him, the way the light hit his hair and made it shimmer... Fabian shook his head, dissipating the thoughts. His face was already red enough, he didn't need to think about that stuff now.

Hamlet could feel a set of eyes on him; however he simply shrugged it off as nerves. He went over his lines a few times before beginning the number.

“ Put your hand in mine, you know that I want to be with you all the time... ”

Hearing him sing was like experiencing a miracle. Fabian's heard it a thousand times before, they've grown up together attached at the hip. But each time, it sounds like an angel.

He sighed softly, stepping up to the top step. Hamlet turned, his face lighting up upon seeing his best friend. Fabian's did too, but he was fighting to keep the red from spreading on his face.

“ I didn't know you were here yet, dude! You aren't usually early... ”

Despite not feeling any nerves on stage, Hamlet preferred to practice in private when it came to singing. He always got self-conscious. Fabian smiled softly, and sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

“ I got here a bit ago... Uh. I was listening to you sing, I'm sorry, I know you don't like people listening - ”

“ ... Did you like it? ”

Fabian paused, looking Hamlet in the eyes. He then adverted his eyes and mumbled.

“ You sing really well. You've got an amazing voice. ”

The other boy's face was slightly red, but he smiled a bit.

“ Thanks, Fabes. It means a lot, coming from you. ”

They stood there, albeit a bit awkwardly, until Fabian cleared his throat.

“ So, uh, anything in specific we're practicing? I could go somewhere else and work on my number, if - ”

“ We could practice the duet, if... If that's something you'd be down with. ”

It felt like Fabian's heart stopped. He nodded silently, unable to say anything for a solid minute. Hamlet cracked a smile, grabbing Fabian's hand and leading him to center stage.

“ Great! I need more practice. I don't want to accidentally screw this up, I mean, you wrote it. ”

Hamlet was only an inch taller than Fabian, but still somehow seemed to tower over him. He carefully clasped their hands together, putting the opposite on Fabian's waist, like they were going to slow-dance.

Fabian swore he could have imploded the minute Hamlet even laid a finger on him.

“ Isn't the slow dance with you and Kass? ”

“ Yeah, but I'd rather dance with you. You're my best friend, after all. ”

They stood that way, pausing again for a minute. They didn't begin the number, nor did they move until Hamlet started the dance.

“ Are you sure you want to dance with me at the show? I mean... ”

“ Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. ”

That comment made Fabian flush red. Hamlet must've noticed, because he chuckled softly.

“ Something on your mind? Are you alright? ”

“ Y - Yeah, I'm fine. ”

He definitely was not fine. He could feel every breath Hamlet took, the beat of his heart, the way his hand was holding his waist just right, the way his eyes glittered under the spotlight --

Fabian was ripped from his daze upon Hamlet moving their faces closer together. Of course, he knew, it was part of the dance, and Hamlet probably wasn't even paying attention... But he couldn't help but feel his own heart race at the feel of the warm breaths of his dance partner. It was almost overwhelming how much he wanted Hamlet to kiss him. To just dip him, and smash their lips together --

“ Fabes? ”

Hamlet's voice was a soft whisper in his ear. Soft, and most definitely clueless. He hoped.

“ Yeah? ”

“ Are you sure you're alright? ”

Fabian pulled away from him slightly, looking off to the side again.

“ I'm fine, I just -- This dance, you, the number, I -- ”

He paused, exhaling. He had to keep himself calm, or he'd become a mess.

“ I just can't focus. I don't know what's wrong. Sorry. ”

Hamlet's smile never wavered, but something in his eyes changed. He pulled away from Fabian, much to the other's dismay.

“ No, I know you. I made you uncomfortable, Fabes. I wish -- I wish you'd tell me when I do that, you know I can't -- ”

As he spoke, he seemed to get more agitated, but not directed at Fabian. More at himself, which made Fabian's stomach twist.

“ No, Hamlet, seriously. You didn't make me uncomfortable, it wasn't discomfort, I was -- ”

Fabian took a breath. Hamlet stared at him, and suddenly, he felt helpless. He avoided eye contact.

“ Nothing. I've -- um -- I've gotta go. I -- text me when the others get here. Or something. ”

Before Hamlet could say anything, Fabian was gone.

( 1 / ? )

[punishandenslavesuckers]

She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She'll never have any peace now. (ao3)  

(chapter one) (chapter two) (chapter three)

They cross a trio of traveling merchants on their way toward Hebra.

There’s an outbreak of fever among the Rito, something Teba wrote Link about, something… strange. A sleeping disease that comes quickly and then smothers the afflicted incrementally, relentlessly, to death over the course of a few weeks. Link sent the message back that they’re coming to help. Fruit purchases would seem secondary, but Teba’s boy, Tulin, likes Lurelin star fruit and Link has a notion of spoiling the kid. So he picks out a dozen, sorting non-bruised specimens from a large saddle-strapped basket.

Zelda watches Link’s process while trying very hard to appear that she’s not watching him because then he might become self-aware of the faces he’s making when he carefully thumbs the skin of an unsatisfactory fruit and puts it back. He kind of wrinkles his nose, looks apologetic, and tried another.

Draga, who is not hiding that he’s watching, says, “Teba is the warrior who fought with Link to subdue Vah Medoh. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Not the one with the accordion.”

“No, that’s Kass.”

“Kass is the traveling musician?”

“Hence the accordion.”

“Do the Rito know about Link?”

“No. They think he’s a great-great-grandchild of the Champion and Link doesn’t, you know, argue with them.”

“You’re both unbelievable.”

The other two merchants – a spice-trader, and fish-merchant respectively – are eyeing them a little. The larger one, the fishmonger, sits forward on his horse a little bit, squinting as though he just can’t quite get a proper look at the three of them. Zelda isn’t sure, but the fishmonger might be day-drinking if the slack-muscled blinking is any indicator. The spice-trader looks nervous. Like a woman waiting to jump in to break up a fight, like she just knows something is going to go wrong in the next few moments. She’s certain.

And then fishmonger says, “Oi, you’re that fuckin’ guy,” and the spice trader literally starts appealing to the gods.

It takes Link a second to realize he’s being spoken to. He frowns, in the middle of counting out payment, and doesn’t answer.

“Link right?”

Link ignores him.

“Yeah, thought so. Jessie, you shouldn’t sell to ‘im.” The fishmonger hiccups, cheerful in his bearing of bad news. “He’s a demon, ya know. Traded his fuckin’ soul to the Mountain Lord for power.” Another hiccup. “People saw ‘im. Riding the beast of Satori Peak across Hyrule Field. No lie.”

Zelda and Draga exchange a look. It’s not… a surprised look.

Link’s ignoring the man, calmly ties the fruit-bag to Epona’s saddle to evenly distribute the weight. He selects one of the starfruit, however, and careful sinks his teeth into it. That way, it stays in place while he mounts up. Once seated, facing his abuser, Link doesn’t make any move to eat the fruit, just sits there with it in his mouth, staring. The star-fruit is just the right size to make him look a little like a dog with a ball. Fishmonger, too busy expounding on his story, doesn’t notice.

He’s wagging a finger now. “It’s people like you… you are the reason…”

Link reaches up and slowly takes a bite of fruit.

“You are the reason that… this kingdom is going to the dogs. You. People like you.”

Link proceeds to slowly eat the fruit while maintaining the polite, emotionless expression of a person trapped in line with the town’s fanatical but harmless whackjob. Occasionally, he gives a sympathetic nod. Yes. He is a monster/demon/changeling/whatever. A were-creature. A whatcha-ma-call-it. The other merchants look ashamed. Maybe they look a little afraid, but that’s mostly because Draga looks really aggravated mounted up on his giant war horse looking Lynel-sized and murderous in his dark traveling gear and glaring. Eventually, they route the drunk man away, hushing him loudly as they go.

Link wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and waves cheerfully.

“You rode a god?” Draga demands when they’re alone.

Link looks abashed and goes back to eating his fruit, discretely kicking Epona into a trot.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Draga follows him, sounding a little desperate.

“Link, are you joking?”

Link rides away faster.

“Link!”

Zelda watches them zig-zag up the road like an absurd cat and dog, racing away too quickly for Maru to bother catching up. They’ll circle back after Draga finishes yelling. Knowing that, Zelda takes a moment to enjoy the quiet as the distance grows. Soon, she can’t hear anything but Maru’s hooves on the road. She closes her eyes then, gathering her hair at the back of her neck and turning her face into the sun. For a moment, it’s just that feeling – sunshine on her face and the rhythm of Maru walking down the road. She smiles at little. She smiles a lot. She’s not sure what to do with it – the excess of happiness in that moment so she lets it just breathe.

She feels a tug, just a little, like a thread twined around something somewhere behind her breastbone and running down her right wrist.

When she opens her eyes, Link and Draga have stopped to circle back.

But the sun and the happiness are easy to focus on and she’s looking forward to making fun of them when they get back to her. The point is, she does not think anything of the tug.  Nothing at all. 

  Serenne Stable is populated primarily by trappers, traveling merchants, Leviathan researchers, and Rito flying in from the north-west part of Hebra. The main room’s crowded. Loud with guests both coming and going. Link is at the front desk smiling at the innkeeper in that way that will probably get them a discount. Zelda would tell him to knock it off, but there’s something kind of fascinating about watching strangers get charmed by a man she sees so often she has no unbiased perspective of him. She and Draga claim a table near the back of the common room and start dumping gear on the floor, glad to be off the road for a moment.

“I can never tell,” Draga says, taking a seat, “which Rito are male or female.”

Which might be a strange break into conversation, except one of the Rito, a red-feathered hunter by the looks of them, is pulling Link aside to speak with him near the front door.

 “Can’t help you there,” Zelda says, sitting down across from Draga. “There isn’t much in the way of sexual dimorphism in their race, at least not now. I think in different ethnicities of Rito, there are definite phenotypical signs, but so many of them have inter-married now that’s hardly a reliable checklist to refer to.” A beat of quiet goes on too long as Zelda catches the look Draga’s giving her. “Uh, that is to say… I don’t… I don’t know either.” She coughs. “That one might be male through. He’s kind of… tall?” As though there were not tall female Rito. She bows her head. “I don’t know.”

Draga’s leaning back in his seat, which is putting some real strain on the carpentry.

He’s watching Link, who’s got his hands on his hips, listening to the Rito. The hunter is making a comment, Zelda thinks, about the feather token braided in his hair because they kind of touch it with the edge of one enormous wing, lifting it from where it hangs against his chin. Which means, when they move it, they touch Link’s face. Both Zelda and Draga kind of… tilt their heads concurrently. Link doesn’t seem bothered. Perhaps he knows the hunter. He’s not smiling but doing that calm neutral stare that says, without a single word, I’m listening. You have my attention. The Rito laughs, then kind of bends down to say something, softly enough that Link has to turn his head and let them put the long, wicked curve of their beak near his ear.

“I think,” Draga says, rocking back on the legs of his chair and openly trying to get a better angle. “I think that Rito is preening his hair…”

Zelda snorts.

“Link’s not giving a damn thing away, but I think that’s what’s happening there.”

“Is he getting red?”

“A little.”

“That’s probably what’s happening then.”

“Is that flirting?”

“For Rito? I mean… well, it’s a little more than flirting, I think.”

Link takes a seat at their table a few minutes later. He’s just a little pink, but otherwise calm. He puts a single brass room-key on the table between them – meaning he’s sprung for a party suite and soft beds. Zelda is, very briefly, distracted by the imminent possibility of a bath and extremely soft sheets. Link presently goes about the task of unpacking things from his bag, putting his bow on the table, beginning his routine for weapon repairs with a kind of singular focus. He does not look up at either of them while he does this, though it’s obvious he can feel their expectant gazes against the top of his head. He digs a bag of roasted almonds from his pack and starts eating them. Studiously, even professionally ignoring them.

“Do you know that Rito?” Zelda asks conversationally.

He nods once, curtly.

“Who is… she? He?”

Link eats a handful of almonds and says, through the lot, “He.”

“What did he ask you about?”

Link, swallowing audibly, points at the feather in his hair.

“What about it?”

“It can mean things,” he says ambiguously.

Zelda laughs. “Like what?”

Draga grins, folding his arms. “Did Fyson give you an admiration plume?”

Link stiffens.

Zelda gasps in delight, hands coming together against her lips. “Oh! Oh, did he? Is that what they look like now?” She flaps a hand at Draga when he frowns at her. “No, see, one-hundred years ago a Rito would give a feather on a necklace or something more formal. Is it less formal now? Do they just put it, like, in their head feathers now or…? Oh. That’s sweet. Does it still mean what it used to mean? Because back then it was like this… well, it was kind of a declaration you were interested in them, but it could be just for great admiration or…”

Link rather pointedly flips his cloak’s hood up and pulls it down low over his eyes.

Draga sits forward, boots flat on the floor, still grinning. “Did that Rito come on to you because you have it?”

Link’s turning red now. He just sits there for a moment, turning redder, then, “Maybe.”

“But you turned him down?”

Link yanks his hood off so he can give Draga the full effect of his glare. Draga is entirely unaffected. He’s got his chin propped in his palm now, kind of smiling in self-satisfaction. Zelda has both hands clasped under her chin. Link, seeing this, tosses both hands up and gives them a very clear sign with one finger and starts to go back to weapon repairs. Or, at least, he starts to. But Draga sits forward and reaches over to hook two fingers around the offending braid, lifting it so he can look at it more closely.

Link side-eyes him, but doesn’t move away.

Draga studies the detail work. “You don’t mind it when Rito men give you their attention?”

Link arches a brow. Then, after a moment, with careful enunciation: “No,” he says, “I don’t.”

“Hmm. Discount rooms. Admiration plumes. Zora armor.” He flips the braid with a teasing grin. “Do you get marriage proposals everywhere you go?”

Link stops blushing. Instead, all the blood backs out of his face and he tries, unsuccessfully, to smile.

Zelda’s hands just drop, however, and all traceries of previous delight evaporates.

Draga, sensing he’s made a mistake, immediately sits back. “Sorry. I meant nothing by that.”

Link gives up on the defensive smile and the void left in his expression doesn’t seem to fill. He starts signing.  

‘Do you know Zora wedding traditions?’

Zelda translates.

Draga shakes his head. “I don’t.”

’Zora don’t make armor for their betrothed. They usually hand-craft jewelry.’ Link waits for Zelda to finish translating. ‘Zora royalty are expected to lead soldiers in battle, physically, to be on the field. So, Zora princesses craft armor with lightscale for their intended.’ Here Link touches a spot just below his throat, near the dip of his collarbone. ‘Lightscale is here, on a Zora. Only the females. Thin as paper, harder than diamond. A Zora princess can spare the one over her heart and the scale that grows back will be twice as tough, every time.”

“Doesn’t that leave the princess vulnerable for a time?” Draga asks softly.

Link laughs. Once.

“Yes,” he says.

That’s the point, he does not say. That she bares her heart for her people. That she might risk death for them.

Link’s looking very hard at the table in front of him, at his hands resting there among the tools and weapons he’d started to work on. No one says anything for a while. Zelda can’t even remember Link unpacking Mipha’s tunic – feather light scale-mail, so strong it can turn aside any blade, and so obviously a treasure he doesn’t dare wear it openly lest it draw attention. She does know, sometimes, discretely, he wears it under his tunic in place of regular mail. She catches him, sometimes, touching the filigree in the sleeves beneath his shirt, like one counts off beads on a rosary.

Maybe that’s how Draga saw it – caught Link in a thoughtless moment remembering the dead.

He waits until Link’s shoulders relax a little before speaking again, quietly.

“Did you ever get to see the Lightscale Festival?” Draga looks at Link. Gets no response so he elaborates. “The Zora hold the Lightscale Festival every year when the rains come. All Zora come back to the Domain. On the festival day, they send down the river, with their prayers, hand-crafted lanterns made from the shells of ocean creatures. Everyone knows this, because all the rivers in Hyrule carry tens of thousands of lanterns to every corner of the kingdom… and every one of them has her name written inside.” Draga leans forward a little. “I lived in a land where no rivers reach and even I know Princess Mipha was a wonder.”

Link has his eyes closed. His hands are fists on the table top.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I… didn’t make the connection.”

Link tries to say something but can’t get the sound to touch his tongue. His hands don’t move from the table where Zelda can see he’s clenching them so tightly the bones of his knuckles are pushing white beneath the skin. His palms will bleed where his nails dig in. Link finally signs something, but he doesn’t… do it properly. He just slowly spells out the words so he doesn’t need to raise his hands much. Like moving too much will disturb an old wound, like he can go still enough to avoid it.

Zelda translates for him.

“Mipha and I… grew up together.”

“I knew you grew up with the Zora,” Draga murmurs. “I just didn’t assume who specifically.”

The silence goes on long enough (Link struggling visibly to say anything for long enough) that Zelda swallows the terrible heat in her own throat. She moves on reflex, her hand moving to touch Link’s hand, then stops, unsure. But she can’t take it back now, so she lays her fingers carefully over his hand.

“Do you remember,” she asks, “that time Revali and Urbosa were fighting about how to position the Divine Beasts? They fought about it for three days straight.” She swallows, pressing on into his silence. “They just… couldn’t stop fighting. About everything. I thought they were going to kill each other before the Calamity even came. Honestly, it was very disheartening. I…” Zelda doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. She tries a new one. “Do you know that they stopped fighting because of you and Mipha?”

Link finally looks up. Gods, has he always been this blank with grief? Has it always been this obvious? When he’s holding still, no longer moving, was it always this clear? How did she miss it? She grabs his hand with two of hers, holding tight.

“That day you two were sparring and… Anyone could see it – that you’d trained together for years. That you trusted each other. Mipha was the fastest, the deadliest with her Beast but the quickest to… to be gentle when it was right. She was so much… better at everything and I loved her too. Have I ever said that?” She swallows, hard. She’s not allowed to cry this time. “Mipha brought everyone together. Everyone. And I… I am so sorry for…”

Link’s calm buckles.

He grabs her hand too tightly, crushing her fingers in his, but she ignores it. The bone-bruising pressure is a relief, an echo far, far away. Because the pain has snapped to the forefront of Link’s entire being and, for a second, it’s there on his face – twisted up and ugly, a knife wound, a fucking certainty. All the stillness and silence and calm scraped away to the raw face of it – the fact of it: That he is alive and Mipha is dead twice over, her body consigned for 100 years now to the tomb Vah Ruta. Her shade departed. No burial rites in the face of the final battle. Nothing left at all.

Zelda is, she knows, a whole century too late for condolences.

But Draga has no concept of that. He doesn’t live in their distorted timeframe. He just moves forward and places a hand against Link’s shoulder and says:

“I’m sorry she’s gone, Link.”

And it’s so normal of him. Like their just people. Like they’re anyone else.

She thinks, perhaps, they don’t know how to do that anymore.

When the first spasm of weeping hits Link, it’s not actually at the table but in the stairwell as they move their things to their room for the night. He hits the wall like his right knee gave out suddenly and Draga grabs the back of his tunic. He says nothing, just waits. Link recovers. Physically, literally bites it back, keeps hauling his things up the steps and into the hall. Zelda waits. Draga waits. The second spasm hits Link in the door to the suite. Again, he swallows it back. Makes it two steps into the room. The third spasm floors him.

Draga, seemingly prepared for this, lets Zelda pull Link onto the nearest bed while he goes about unpacking food from a rucksack. He ignores Link’s hyperventilating, his shaking, the way he doesn’t seem aware of the tears running from his closed eyes, or how he keeps grinding his teeth instead of sobbing. Draga just kneels in front of him to push things into his hands: A napkin with a piece of gummy cake and canteen of something that smells like honey and turpentine. Link opens his eyes long enough to shake his head, trying to refuse it, but the bigger man just presses both insistently into his lap.

Link hisses, frustrated.

“Just eat it and drink,” Draga says.  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to after that. Okay?

Link barely manages it, but he does manage. It’s hard to cry and eat at the same time. Maybe that’s the point. Whatever is in the canteen sends him into a fit of coughing, but by the time he finishes, the hyperventilation is slowing and the uncontrollable shaking smoothing out. Draga takes the empty napkin and the canteen and sits forward enough to – with an inquiring slowness – reach a hand toward Link. When he nods, Draga carefully uses two fingers to turn his face into the lamp light, watching his pupils react to the brightness. Satisfied, he turns the touch into a soft tap against the hero’s chin.

“You’re okay,” he assures them both. “Try to sleep.”

“What was that?” Zelda asks, a little suspiciously.

“Possibly the last Akkala honey-wine in the kingdom, but it seemed like the occasion.” He shrugs. “It’s, uh, strong.” A beat. “In a couple of ways.”

Which is about when Link collapses back on the mattress, body slack, and lies there breathing slowly, like every bone in his body just stopped supporting his weight. Zelda scoots back so she can peer down at him. Draga just stays where he is, kneeling, waiting. Link’s gaze is pale and unfocused, roving the ceiling for a while as the full effect of the drink unfurls warm fingers through his body. He inhales, but it’s shaky. Every breath has a rattle. He wipes his face with one hand.

“You can miss things retroactively,” he says.

That probably shouldn’t break Zelda’s heart. It does though.

Later, lying in bed, Zelda runs her fingers through Link’s hair, not sure if that’s soothing, not sure how to touch him at all. He feels like a river interrupted. He shivers in her arms and its dangerous. Like she could break a circuit inside him and all that terrible agony would jump off his skin and hit her blood like lightning. She holds him anyway. Fully clothed, waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for light to move across the walls, for Link to catch his stuttering breath, for Draga to move from where he’s sitting with his back against the bed, arms folded, also wide-awake and waiting.

“Thank you,” she says much later. After Link’s breathing slows and deepens.

Draga turns his head. “No trouble,” he says in Gerudo.

“I never knew how to talk about her.”

“There is no right way to speak about the dead and no right way to comfort the living. Just make your best guess.”

“She was everything to him.”

“You’re probably right.”

A beat.

“Akkala honey-wine is worth its weight in gold, you know.”

Draga stands up, slowly, stretching when he gets to his feet. “Don’t tell Link. He’ll just feel guilty for not enjoying it.”

“Thank you, though, Draga. Really.”

He turns around to look at her. She can’t move because Link’s sleeping on her arm, his head against her shoulder, one arm around her ribs. They didn’t undress, so they still smell like the road. When she moves her head, she can smell campfire smoke in Link’s hair, the sour aroma of salt and sweat. Their legs are tangled, one of her knees crooked slightly between his legs, his right boot heel hooked behind hers. Draga tilts his head and, for a moment, she can’t read the way he’s looking at them – curled together like cats in a blanket.

Then, very carefully, he moves one hand toward hers, where she’s idly running her fingers through Link’s hair. She stops so Draga can, gently, tuck a section of wheat-gold hair behind the other man’s ear and, for a moment, lay his hand against the top of his head. Then she can read his expression – this formless kind of regret. A mirroring grief that wasn’t there before but she knows instinctively. Zelda isn’t sure what to say or where that’s coming from, what wound or rivaling loss… so she just lays her hand over Draga’s. She threads her fingers through his from the top so her fingernails scrape just slightly at Link’s scalp and they both feel him sigh, deeply, in his sleep.

Draga catches her eyes then, just for a second.

In that second, Zelda becomes aware, suddenly, of her palm pressed against Draga’s knuckles. Of all the bones in her hand, of all the bones in Draga’s hand, of Link’s breath against her collarbone – all three things common as sunlight and boring as bread in any other context but this moment suddenly. Link turns his head a little against her shoulder. She ignores it. She smiles, loops her fingers more firmly though Draga’s and holds his hand tightly – converting the moment into something more recognizable to her.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Draga gives her a half-smile. “I just wanted a horse, you asshole.”

She has to physically choke back the laugh to keep from waking Link.

  “There’s a wolf following us.”

“Just one?” Link says, not looking.

“Yes,” Draga says slowly, clearly registering Link’s non-concern. “But it’s… big.”

Link cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, twisting in his saddle to see. Zelda looks too and sure enough, there’s a wolf on the road behind them. For a moment, she doesn’t get what Draga means when he says it’s big for a wolf since the average wolf is nearly twice size of a grown man on all fours. But then she realizes that the perspective is tricking her eyes. She thought it was nearer than it is. The wolf is quite a distance back but it just happens to be the size of a pony. It’s loping easily along the edge of the old forest path.

Draga pulls Arbiter’s reins, turning his horse around in the road. The wolf stops. They wait a while. The wolf doesn’t move. Cautiously, they set out again down the road and, in step with them, the wolf breaks into a trot. Like a Hylian Retriever headed for the farm. Draga stops again, this time reaching for his bow.

But Link says, unexpectedly, “Don’t.”

Zelda looks at him. “Link?”

“We’re downwind from it.”

“So?”

“The horses aren’t spooking,” Draga says warily.

Link stares up the road at the wolf, face… interested but blank. Eyes fixed on it in a way she’s not sure she understands. For a moment, she thinks the light in his eyes is animal green, back-lit by fairy luminance, but she can’t be sure. He pulls Epona around to face the beast. The wolf cants its massive head at him. Now that she’s really looking at it, the beast’s fur seems matted. Like it’s got its hackles up or… No. Not that. It’s just… almost maned, like a lion alone the back of his neck and spine. Storm gray, cream under belly and jaws. She can’t quite make it out, but she thinks there’s a marking on its forehead – like a sigil whorled there in ink. Its eyes though – bright almost phosphorescent blue in the dark mask of fur.

“What is it, Link?”

“A god maybe,” he says.

“Of what?” Draga murmurs.

“The forest.” Link hasn’t taken his eyes off it. “Or wolves.”

Draga surreptitiously glances at Zelda. He’s palmed the massive recurve bow from his back, his other hand resting on the quiver at his hip. They’ve traveled together long enough that Zelda knows Gerudo gods don’t walk the roads of their sacred lands in physical forms and, to him, there’s some question in his mind what is divine and what is demonic in this kingdom. She can feel that tang in the air that suggests he’s idly pulling some sorcery to bear – close to his skin, like heat off a stone. Link doesn’t seem to notice – or if he does, he doesn’t care – because he dismounts. Epona seems equally indifferent, lipping his shoulder fondly as he moves toward the wolf.

“Link,” Draga says through his teeth.

When he’s ignored, he looks at Zelda.

“I don’t… think it’s dangerous,” she says. She glances at Draga. “What are you feeling?”

He lowers his voice and in Gerudo, says, “Like it ripped my throat out in a past life.”

Before she can react to that, Link kneels in the middle of the road, one forearm braced against his knee, opposite fist set against the dirt. She can’t hear it, but she’s pretty sure he’s speaking – words low and unfamiliar. The giant wolf tilts its head back and forth, like its listening to whatever he’s saying and, for a moment, Zelda could believe it: a rogue of god wolves hearing a traveler’s prayer on the road, the forest bending inward with every divine lupine breath…

But then the giant wolf kind of bounces on its forelegs. Then it bounds forward in a single terrifying lunge, so fast Link jerks back but not fast enough and – the beast knocks him down and drags a giant tongue from his chin to forehead. Then it barks, panting, and bounds off into the trees, vanishing into the underbrush.

Link sits there, kind of stunned, blinking.

Draga lowers his bow and the air around him seems to cool.

“Mad,” he says, turning his horse around.

Link scrubs his face and turns to look at Zelda. He seems genuinely perplexed.

“You should stop being strange in front of Draga,” Zelda says, ignoring his confusion. “He’ll catch on if you don’t rein it in.”

Link just grins at her. 

  Maybe Link wasn’t taking the fight seriously. Maybe it’s been a while since he fought a person and not a monster.

Either way, he seems genuinely surprised to find himself flat on his back all the air knocked out of him. For a moment, he just kind of lies there, eagle-spread, looking puzzled. Draga looms overhead. He’s holding that claymore-sized scimitar one-handed. He seems vaguely unimpressed. Link nurses the region just below his sternum where – after blocking a blow like a cannonball – Draga swatted his defense aside and put a back-handed pommel in his gut. He grimaces, struggling to sit up, and Zelda can’t remember the last time she saw anything short of a Lynel put Link in the dirt.

“Focus or I’m going to hurt you,” Draga says.

“I’m not healing either of you,” Zelda shouts from her seat very far away. The horses are penned around the log she’s sitting on, grazing boredly around her. She raises her voice. “This is going to end badly!”

“Don’t worry,” Draga calls. “We’ll be back to Lynel hunting or dragon chasing or army killing or whatever terrible thing you’ve found for us to do.”

“Healing sick Rito children you mean? That?”

Link sits up, warily.

Draga smirks at him. “You best just use whatever magic you have, Hero. I plan to do some cheating of my own.” A beat. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

Link climbs back to his feet, wrinkling his nose at his opponent.

“Forgot how to lose?” Draga asks, squaring up casually. “Or does that sword do all the work?”

Link hefts his sword a little and rolls his shoulder. He eyes Draga sidelong as he a takes up defensive stance across from him. They’re not using shields which Zelda thinks might be more to Draga’s advantage than Link’s – the man with double his reach, height, and body weight. But then again, Link’s never up to size against any opponent. It also rarely makes a difference against Link’s inhuman precognition and speed. And, more to the point, Link has that blade in hand and there’s nothing in the universe that stops him, truly, when it’s awake.

“Ready?” Draga says, the scimitar up, angled slightly between them.

Link exhales, then nods.

It’s instant. Draga darts across the space between them so fast Link only just manages the footwork to block. Zelda’s palms itch. She rubs them together as Draga slams Link’s sword aside in a series of deadly rapid swings, each one hitting with such force that the third blow throws Link staggering. Draga’s fast despite his size. He’s immediately in Link’s guard for the follow through, slashing at his open flank. Link has to dive-roll to the right, scramble back then somersault away from a two-handed downswing.

Draga’s sword slams into the ground like a pickaxe. Link lands cat-like then lunges. Draga’s wide open, fully committed to his previous swing and – Wrong. Draga pivots, raking the ground with his free hand and flings gravel directly into Link’s face. He flinches. Draga puts a boot in his chest and hits Link so hard he skids in the dirt for three meters before rolling back on his feet. He looks shocked. He coughs, grips his ribs with one hand, blade up with the other.

Draga inspects a long tear in his shirt, a shallow cut in his light mail from his hip to his shoulder – a defensive swing, struck before he could kick Link out of range. Draga eyes him, clearly deciding on another attack. But Link’s giving him a look: confused, almost hurt, blue-eyed and just on the edge of anger. He wipes the dirt from his face, pointedly.

“This isn’t tournament rules,” Draga says, a little exasperated. “Cheat back, hero.”

Link tilts his head. There’s something a little… predatory about how he does that. He rotates the sword in his hand a little… then grips the hilt, hard, like he hadn’t had a proper hold before and Zelda feels the change, a focus running from the blade to his palm to his boots and rooting him in some previously untapped current in the earth. Grounding him. The hair rises along her arms and she sits forward, frowning. Link squares up again. Draga does too, slowly. He can smell the change the same as she can but she can tell it interests him. She can feel that… shapeless density Draga has coming to bear somehow. Like extra gravity, like the world pulls in more tightly around him and he brings his blade to bear.

Zelda shivers. Digs her nails into the mossy wood beneath her.

“Ready?”

Link nods.

Zelda catches the spilt-second grit in the dirt when they both leap forward, where their boots push off the earth – then the deafening explosion when Draga’s sword connects with the divine blade and explodes. Not snaps. Explodes. Like a black-powder charge detonating between them. Draga hits the ground on his back, snarling, armor smoking. The tang of metal and defensive magic – thick, almost sickly sweet, and likely the only reason Draga’s head is still attached. The remains of the scimitar rain down in brittle pieces, the hilt landing somewhere in the woods.

Zelda’s on her feet immediately. “Draga!”

Link lands in a crouch. She’s never seen that expression before – that razor-thin edge of grief and shock where she can see him replaying the thousand alternate universes where his friend is dead by his hand.

He throws the Master Sword down and dashes forward. Zelda is already on her knees beside Draga who’s levered himself up into a sitting position, grimacing as he inspects his sword arm. There’s blood. A lot of blood. The entire limb shakes either from the pain or struck tendon. There’s a gash in his palm and his fingers, like the hilt of his own sword turned against him and cleaved through his glove into his hand. Bone glints in the red pulse of blood and Link stares at the wound, speechless. He tries to say something, but the syllables stick so violently they almost manifest a stutter.

Draga shakes his head. “No. I goaded you into it. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zelda snaps at him, heat gathering in her palms. She does not look away from her work, one hand holding his wrist, the other cupping the back of his knuckles. Her fingers start to glow internally. “He broke your wrist and most of the bones in your hand and you’re lucky that’s all it did. You knew what the blade was. Why on earth did you try this?”

He shrugs. “Wanted to see what the Lynel felt like.”

“The Lynel felt dead, Draga.”

“Well, I don’t. So, all’s well, princess.”

“Do not ‘princess’ me while I’m gluing your arm back together.”

He nods, almost thoughtful. “Can I tell you two something?”

Link makes an exasperated noise of assent.

“What?” she grouses, eyes fixated on the knitting skin beneath her fingers.

“I think, if I’d managed my focus a little better… I’d have had that exchange.”

Zelda looks at him. She’s not sure what his face is telling her when she studies him for any sign he’s joking, that he’s serious about defending against the blade that seals evil when Link’s holding it with any real intention. He seems calm, polite. She doesn’t think he’s unrealistic about things and that concerns her – his sincerity that he can beat Link. That he’d like to. She feels a shiver climb her spine, a cold crawl in her body. What? For gods’ sake it’s just Draga. Link’s hovering anxiously behind her, watching her undo the damage – the familiar recapturing of stray blood and the atomic stitching of muscle and skin. She erases any sign that there was a fight between them.

“There,” Draga says, showing Link. “No harm done and nothing a couple fairy tonics couldn’t undo, even if Zelda didn’t loan us her expertise.”

She feels Link start to smile without looking, a quiet glow of relief.

“You’re not immortal,” she says. “Being brave or reckless doesn’t make you immortal.”

Draga, flexing his hand, looks sharply at her. Link too, because he recognizes the words and the tone. Zelda looks over her shoulder at him, glaring.

“You know better,” she says.

“Zelda…” Link starts to say, but she’s already on her feet and walking off.

“Don’t fight again!” she says, loudly.

She can’t explain her panic, the cold rise of hair and gooseflesh, the heat behind her eyes, her mouth bone dry. She can feel them staring after her, confused. Good. They will think she’s just mad at them for injuring themselves, upset generally at their recklessness, their bloody-mindedness – the usual sensible reasons for being mad and not this… instinctive terror. A terrible de-ja-vu. It’s in the roots of her teeth, in her palms, the marrow of her bones. She stays away from camp until her hands stop shaking.

When she comes back, Link and Draga are seated cross-legged facing one another in the grass.

Link is signing, ‘I love pie.’

Which seems odd until Draga awkwardly mirrors Link’s hand-motions and says, “That seems lengthy for a hello.”

Link maintains his cool. “No. It means ‘hello’.”

Draga signs, ‘I love pie.’

Link smiles.

“Like that?” Draga says, suspicious.

“Yes.”

And suddenly, Zelda is less anxious than she was before.

.

.

.

go to chapter 5...