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minty-mumbles · 2 years

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Honor in the Braids

Summary: Everyone keeps their hair long in Wild’s Hyrule. Everyone braids their hair in Wild’s Hyrule. Everyone except Wild.

Author Notes: This fic was heavily inspired by three other fics. Check out the end notes on AO3 for links. @bunnyambushed you asked if I could tag you in this when I finally posted this fic, so here you go! :)

CW: Emotional Self Harm/Implied Self Harm

(Read on AO3)

~~~

Link, now called Wild, ran his eyes appraisingly over his new companions’ hair, and promptly shoved all his assumptions into a tiny box in his mind labeled “cultural differences.”

He could tell that tiny box is going to get very full, very quickly.

But really. What a mess their hair is. The youngest’s was still crusted with sea salt, and the one with the pink streak in his hair was hiding a rat's nest under that hat of his. And wasn’t that pink streak interesting? Wild itched to ask how he had managed to dye his hair like you would dye clothing, but knew it wasn’t his place. He wondered if it symbolized anything.

At least the captain kept his hair sleek and well managed, but something told Wild that doing so was considered unusual.

Because surely it wasn’t possible for every single one of these heroes to be as dishonorable or disgraced as he was? Surely they had not all failed?

It made more sense to assume that hair simply wasn’t as important in their culture, and leave it at that.

~~~

“Your hair’s getting a bit long, even for me.” Four’s words were said in jest, nothing more than a light joking tone. Wild knew that. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He could only hear the sting of the words, the hidden meaning of “You don’t deserve to wear your hair long. Look at what’s become of Hyrule, look at what happened to the people who were under your care. Do you think you deserve it?”

Wild knew there was no hidden meaning. Four was just teasing him. The smithy’s hair barely brushed his shoulders, and even that seemed to be considered long for men in the other heroes' eras. Of course, they would tease him for the oddity.

He did his best not to react, deliberately not looking up from his slate. He wasn’t actually reading anything or taking stock of his inventory, but if he pretended to not be interested in the conversation, maybe they would leave him alone. “Everyone keeps their hair long in my Hyrule. It’s normal.”

Wild could see Wind tilting his head like a confused puppy out of the corner of his eye. “Eh? Everybody? But what about your Zelda? You showed us a picture of her, and hers is short!”

Wild nodded. “Yes, Zelda keeps her hair very short. For personal reasons.” That managed to shut the conversation down quickly.

The group was fairly comfortable with each other at this point. They had shared many secrets with each other. (Wild especially didn’t like keeping information about his journey a secret. His skin already told a good portion of it without him even having to open his mouth.) However, that didn’t mean that the group didn’t value privacy. No one ever pushed for a story that someone didn’t want to tell.

~~~

“You know, I’m surprised that you can keep your hair so neat.”

Wild took a deep breath in, before turning to face the captain.

Cultural differences. He breathed out deeply. Cultural differences. He means no offense.

“What makes you say that?” If the captain saw through his thin attempts to keep his cool, he gave no indication of it.

“Your hero title is the Hero of the Wilds, and it shows. You really are quite the wild young man. I don’t think you bathe even once a week,” Here, he was met with an unamused stare from Wild. They called him Wild, but at least he was civilized enough not to comment on other people’s bathing habits. “Yet, you keep your hair so clean and you brush it every day, multiple times. Why?”

Sometimes, Wild cursed the Goddess for instilling curiosity into all her heroes, because he did not want to explain.

These heroes knew about his failures, and seemed not to judge him for them. But he did not want to explain how important hair was to him. He did not want to explain the stigma behind unbraided hair. He did not want to explain what Zelda was doing to herself by cropping her hair short. He did not want to explain how he just… didn’t want to braid his hair. Years of muscle memory from before the Calamity urged him to do so. But he just didn’t want to.

His hair was sacred, and he would honor himself, and his ancestors, and his goddess enough to keep it clean. But he didn’t want to keep it braided.

Would they understand?

Could they?

He stared at Warriors long enough that the Captain started to look uncomfortable as Wild tried to figure out what to say. He could just tell him the truth, let the words spill from his lips. But he didn’t want to do that either. Warriors wouldn’t understand. None of them would understand.

~~~

The heat of the fire made the already sweltering day even less tolerable. Sweat pricked on the back of his neck, and he wished he had pulled his hair back into a ponytail before he had started working. He was in the middle of peeling carrots, and his hands were stained orange, and were grimy from the leftover dirt on the vegetables. He wouldn’t dare touch his hair with the state his hands were in right now.

So he would just have to deal with it.

He hunched his shoulders, trying to keep his hair from spilling over his shoulders and into his work, but with every motion he made, more strands escaped. He growled slightly.

His annoyance did not go unnoticed.

When Wind approached him from behind, Wild wasn’t bothered. He trusted these men, and he knew Wind wasn’t going to do anything. If anything, Wind was probably going to throw himself across Wild’s back, sling his arms around his neck, dramatically ask if dinner was done yet- despite it very clearly not being done- and generally make a nuisance of himself.

The first touch that came on the top of Wild’s head, with Wind’s fingers carding through his hair, made Wild tense. Wind continued, as if Wild was not suddenly strung tighter than a taut bow string.

Wild forced his words out, suddenly hypervigilant of the presence at this back. “What are you doing, Wind?” The boy wouldn't go through this ruse just to prank him, right? Wild knew that. Of course Wind wouldn't do that.

The boy liked pranks as much as the next person, but everyone in the group knew how touchy Wild was about his hair, even if they didn’t know why. Wind wouldn’t do anything to it, no matter how much the group teased him about cutting his long hair.

Knowing that didn't let Wild to relax, though. He didn’t think anyone else had ever touched his hair. No one had dared. Not even Zelda. Should he be allowing this? It seemed too private. But, then, it was just Wind. Wind, who was all but a little brother to him.

Wind’s response was light and relaxed, no doubt deliberately so. Wild’s tense back would give away his unease to anyone looking at him. “I’m gonna braid your hair! I do it for Arryl all the time, so you don’t have to worry about me messing it up or getting it tangled!”

Wild’s breath barely left his body, and on autopilot, he heard himself responding. “Oh. I had never thought of braiding it…” Wind hummed in acknowledgement, and continued to chatter away about his sister, but Wild wasn’t listening.

He had, in fact, thought of braiding his hair. He had spent hours considering it. His fingers twitched every morning, desperate to perform the routine that he had become so familiar with before the Calamity. His fingers remembered the motions of making a knight’s braid intimately, even if his brain didn't know it. He did not doubt that if he let himself, he would be able to pull his hair back into a respectable form.

He had never let himself give in to the urge, though.

He brushed his hair every morning and night, and allowed himself a simple ponytail for practical reasons. But that was all he allowed himself.

His lack of embellishments marked his shame. He was nothing, no one. He had no part to speak of, no family to claim him. He had won no great battles, at least not in his eyes.

Even the youngest child had something - a braid that symbolized that they were a child, loved and protected, or their family’s plait.

No Wild, though. He had no family left, and certainly no family plait.

He really should have shorn himself for the shame he had brought on his family. He should have given himself the ultimate shame for the pain and suffering and destruction that he had allowed to befall the kingdom. Zelda herself had cut her hair short enough that it barely brushed her shoulders.

No one had seen her slip a small knife into her pocket the first time she was allowed to go for a walk alone after the Calamity was defeated. Paya had shrieked in horror when Zelda had returned, her hair as short as a child’s. Wild had come running at the yell, hand already gripping the hilt of his sword. He had expected monsters to have somehow found their way into Impa’s house. What he found was almost worse than what he expected.

Zelda had confided in him, much later. They had been sitting on the bank of a quick-moving stream, watching the remnants of Zelda’s once again freshly cut hair drift away. She cut it every few months, to keep the hair from reaching her shoulders.

She knew Impa disapproved, she said. She knew that Paya sometimes couldn’t look at her directly, hiding her horrified expression whenever Zelda returned from cutting her hair. She knew no one else understood, save Wild. She had given him a wobbly smile when she said that.

Her position as the last royal in Hyrule demanded that she keep it long enough to braid her hair in the crown style, she said. Otherwise she would have no hair. But she allowed herself no jewelry, not ribbons, or flowers. She allowed herself no other braids speaking of her triumphs or achievements.

The defeat of the Calamity came too late to save anyone. It was a pyrrhic victory at best. It deserved no celebration.

Wild felt the same. So he allowed himself no braids. He kept his hair long only out of respect for his predecessors. So as to not besmirch their legacy with a hero who had to shave his head, to spare the legacy of the hero that ultimate shame.

Now he comes to find out none of them had hair much longer than Zelda’s.

How ironic.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by his hand mechanically reaching for the next carrot, only to find the pile gone. Wind seemed to have realized he wasn’t listening, and had fallen silent, concentrating on his task.

Wild remained crouched, letting Wind finish his work before he stood to tend to the pots boiling over the fire. His knife dangled loosely in his grip as he let the oh-so-unfamiliar-familiar movements of someone tugging on his hair lull him. The motions were so familiar, and something welled up in his mind. It was a familiar mental pressure that signaled a memory trying to break through. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain on whether he should shrug it off or let himself fall into it and discover a part of his past.

After a moment more, he gave in.

“Remember, sweetheart, your hair is your pride. Wear it long, and keep it clean. Keep your braids straight and even, and we’ll always be with you.” The voice was like honey, so close to his ears as calloused hands carded through his hair. Everything was warm. The hands, the voice, the fire burning low in front of him, and Link himself.

“Yes, Mama.”

The memory was short, and when he came back to the present, no one had even realized he had left at all. His hand shot up involuntarily to pat the top of his head. Wind made a disgruntled noise, but let him be. Wild’s fingers brushed experimentally against neat sections of hair.

Some weak, shivering part of Wild, hidden deep within himself, made him want to curl up and cry.

“Alright,” Wind declared after only a few more minutes. Wild wonders for a moment where Wind got the hair tie from, before remembering what the sailor had said about his sister. “It’s all done! Oh, wait-” Wild watched as the sailor scrambled over to Legend’s pack, and stole his mirror shield, lugging it back to Wild. Legend called out in protest, but his voice held no real anger and the veteran quickly turned back to his conversation with Time, so Wind paid him no mind. “Here! Look!”

Wild took the shield as it was thrust into his arms, and held it up automatically.

His hair was woven into a four-strand type of braid that was traditional for young preteen children. It was neatly done, for all the meaning of the braid itself didn’t serve him. None of his sideburns or front sections of his hair were let loose. All the strands of his hair were pulled back neatly. Nothing was left out of the braid for him to braid in victory braids or family plait.

It wasn’t a half-bad job, really. Wild wanted to laugh at the ill-fitting braid, but instead he smiled wobbly at Wind, handing back the shield. “Thank you.” Wind beams at him, and wanders back to return the shield to Legend. He’s pulled into a conversation with Warriors, and Wild is left alone.

Well, he’s not really alone. He has eight friends to keep him company, after all.

Would it ever make up for those he lost, he wondered?

~~~

The second time Wild tried to bring his companions to a town in his Hyrule, he ran into a bit of an issue.

The first time hadn’t been a big deal. They had been dropped at the entrance to Rito village. They had scared Muzli, the guard stationed there, half to death. Wild had apologized profusely to him for the abrupt entrance, and led the rest of the heroes to the inn for the night.

They had been swept away through another portal before they had time to make it to another village. Wild hadn't bothered to think of the state of his companions' hair then. Not when no one in Rito Village would think about it either. Most of the Rito probably wouldn’t even notice, and those who did would just think it strange. (The Rito, of course, did not follow the same traditions as Hylians did involving hair, as they didn’t have any.)

The second time, the portal dumped them right onto Kakariko Bridge. It was still early in the day, leaving them plenty of time to make it to Kakariko before the sunset, leaving them with no need to head to Dueling Peaks Stable for the night

They were halfway to the town before the realization struck Wild. There was absolutely no way he could take the others into the middle of the Sheikah town the way they looked.

The realization had him stopping in his tracks at the front of the group, mouth hanging open in shock at his own absentmindedness.

Hyrule, who had been trailing after him and chatting with Sky, bumped into him before he realized the Champion had stopped moving. “Wild? Why’d you stop?”

Wild buried his face in his hands, groaning slightly. By then, the rest of the heroes had caught up to them, and had noticed his distress. “I can't believe I forgot.” He offered by way of an explanation, although it wasn’t a very good one. It was true, though. He himself had been so shocked at their appearance when they had first met, he couldn’t believe he had become adjusted to it so quickly.

Going back to the stable wasn’t really an option either, and he really did need to speak to Impa. They would need to go to Kakariko, which meant…

“Does everyone have cloaks?“ There was a general murmur of agreement that they did, although they all sounded confused. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, there was no reason for cloaks. Despite their confusion, Wild was able to relax for a moment.

Wild always wore his cloak around both Kakariko and Hateno, and more recently, Tarry Town. People knew who he was, knew of his refusal to braid his hair. Most were willing to overlook it- he was the hero, after all. He wore the cloak nonetheless, as he found it made people more at ease when they couldn’t see his unwoven locks.

All nine of them wearing cloaks when it wasn’t cold or raining would get them weird looks, but it would be better than not being let into the inn because they looked like a group of mercenaries, or cultists, or Yiga spies. They wouldn’t have the excuse of being the Hero for their appearance.

He was pulled out of his relieved thoughts by Wind’s voice. “Um, I don’t have a cloak. Why?” Wild stared at Wind, his mind running a mile an hour. The situation didn’t call for this much panic. He could just have the group stay put for a little bit, and run ahead to buy Wind a cloak at the store in Kakariko, but something about it made his heart stutter in his chest.

He knew his obvious agitation was making the other heroes uneasy. But Wild didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain why it was important that they cover their hair, why Wild himself didn’t really need to. Would cloaks even be enough to hide their hair? Probably not. The front part of their hair would still hang out of the hood, and it would draw attention.

Wind tried again after receiving no reply. “My cloak ripped a little while ago. I was gonna buy a new one in the next town we visit. Why does it matter? It doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain.”

“You’ll need it to get into town. Here,” Wild was ushering them along the path before they could even protest. Just around the bend, there was a break in the tall cliffs alongside the path, leading to a small space that, a year ago, had belonged to a camp of bokoblins that had stolen Hetsu’s Maracas. The clearing was far enough off-road that it would keep them out of the sight of any possible travelers coming along the road. With only a few more words of explanation, he was gone, headed into town at a sprint.

~~~

“Thank you so much,” He said to the shopkeeper breathlessly. She had startled when he had come bursting into the shop, asking for a cloak several sizes too small for him, but she had complied easily.

He hesitates before he leaves, thinking of something else that he might need. Then he leaned back over the counter, voice dropping to be a little quieter for his next request.

~~~

The others had dispersed through the clearing while Wild was away. Hyrule and Time looked up from where they were sitting at the base of a tree when he passed, but Wild didn’t pay attention to them, slowing to a stop in front of where Legend and Wind were talking, brandishing the cloak he had bought. The one he had gotten was a lovely dark blue. It was made more for rain than to keep out the cold, but Wild had figured that would be more useful to the sailor in the long run.

“Here, put it on.”

Wind opened his mouth to protest or to question him, but must have seen something in Wild’s eyes that made him hesitate. He took the cloak, slinging it over his shoulder and fastening the clasp. Wild ran an inspecting eye over him. He had purposefully gotten one that would be a little too big for the sailor, making the hood fall in front of his face a bit. The cloak would probably need to be hemmed. Wind could grow into it and let down the hem as he needed to.

“Where’s your hair ties?” Wild questioned after he had satisfied himself.

“My pack,” Wind answered, already digging through his bag, “Why? Do you need some?”

“No, you do.” Wild replied, taking the hair ties from Wind, then gesturing for him to turn his head so Wild could get at his hair.

Wind frowned at him, as squiggly as always, and didn’t move. “Why would I need to use my hair ties? I only keep them for Arryl! My hair isn’t that long, and I’m not a girl, anyways!”

“Yeah,” Legend interjected from where he stood, arms crossed and frowning at Wild. His face was pinched, like he was staring at a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What's all this about?”

Wild rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. He had gotten so caught up in his own head that he had sort of forgotten that the others would have no frame of reference to his actions. His actions would look strange to the others, especially when he’s been less than forthcoming with information about this, in the past and today. It made sense the others would be getting concerned. He had to tell them.

“Remember when I said it was normal for people in my Hyrule to keep their hair long?” Receiving nods, he continued. “Well, it’s more like everyone does. Everyone. All the time. People only cut their hair in extreme circumstances. Usually bad ones. Or you might get your hair cut as punishment for a crime. You guys really can’t go walking into a town like that, especially if you want to get into the inn or speak to Impa.”

“There's not a lot we can do about that,” Time interjected, having stood up from where he was sitting with Hyrule. “And besides that, it’s not our custom to keep our hair long, or braided.”

“I know,” Wild said, mentally pleading for them to understand. “I’m not saying you have to grow it out, but I mean it when I say you can’t walk into town like that. Especially a Sheikah town. You literally won’t be let in anywhere. The cloaks are to hide your hair length.”

“It’s that serious?” Wild heard Warriors quietly mutter to Twilight from where they had gravitated toward the conversation. Most of the others had joined now, and Wild tried not to shrink inwards at all the eyes on him.

Wild gestured again for Wind to turn, and the sailor finally complied, twisting his head to the side so Wild could get at the hair framing his face more easily. Wild went to work. He didn't even have to think about what braid to give him. A sailor’s braid was the obvious choice. As far as Wild remembered, he had never woven this braid himself, but he had seen it plenty of times in Lurelin, and it wasn’t that hard to recreate.

As he worked, Wind stared at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, so the cloaks are to hide our hair, but what about these braids? Why do I have to have one?”

“You all do,” Wild plowed ahead, interrupting any protests. “Listen, it’s just for a little bit. The length of the hair isn’t the only important thing? They don’t mean anything bad, okay? The one I’m giving Wind means that he’s a sailor.” He drew away from, having finished and tied off Wind’s braid.

Wind reached up, feeling at his hair. “Wow, really? They have different meanings? That’s cool!”

Wild left him to his exploration and turned towards Legend, raising an eyebrow. Besides Wild and Four, Legend probably had the longest hair out of the group. Legend scowled, but nodded. Wild took hold of one of Legend’s sideburns- the one that was stained pink- and started his work. (Wild still wondered what caused the odd color, but refrained himself from asking at the moment.)

For Legend, Wild decided to give him a braid that signified magical powers. Zelda had worn it before the Calamity, Wild remembered. (She had always felt guilty for it, as she had never exhibited any magical power.) Wild himself had even worn it on occasion, before. His ability to slow time was not the most flashy power, but he still had it, so he had worn the braid occasionally. Legend was much more dedicated to channeling his magic through items and weapons, but he was still incredibly powerful. That was something to be celebrated.

“Why, though?” Legend asked “Why is it so important that we do this?”

The constant questions prickled at Wild’s skin. He didn't begrudge them for being curious. Wild was asking them to do something that was very out of the ordinary, at least to them. He understood they had questions. But it felt like the questions were making him tiptoe around a topic he really had no desire to speak with anyone about, much less the other heroes. He didn’t want them to know what he was doing.

Not that he was really doing anything. The opposite, really. That was kind of the point.

His hands stalled halfway through making Legend’s braid, as he tried to think of how to explain to someone who had no context to the practice of hair braiding. ”Is it sort of a religious thing? I think, at least…”

Wild sighed, frustrated. He figured he could just start from the beginning. “Not everyone keeps their hair as long as they possibly can. Some keep it a little shorter for practical reasons. Fighters, farmers, and other physical laborers. But everyone keeps it long enough to braid it. The braids tell others who you are. It’s your identity being shown for the world to see, a way to celebrate and be proud of who you are. Your family plait, braids for different professions, different ages, different roles that people play in society.’

“It’s not just your identity, also. There are braids for winning great victories in battle, or personal victories, for marriages, pretty much anything. People who don’t wear braids make others wary, because it’s a sign you don’t really belong anywhere. Having your hair cut as punishment is a sign that society has deemed you unfit to participate in the tradition.”

“But your Zelda cuts her hair short, doesn’t she?” Hyrule seemed to regret the question the moment he finished speaking, realizing it may be a sensitive topic.

Wild shook his head, frowning. “That’s none of your business.” No one protested how abruptly he shut down that line of questioning.

“So that’s why you have to keep the length of your hair hidden while you're in the village. Not only could they think you're criminals, but criminals aren’t the only people who have short hair. The Yiga, for one example, cut their hair short as a sign that they’ve severed ties with the goddess, and worship the Calamity.” The others stay silent at that explanation. They were all aware of the Yiga; Wild had told them as a precautionary measure the first time they had landed in his Hyrule. Needless to say it had not gone over well. It was still a bit of a touchy subject. Wild could understand. If any of the others were hunted by a cult of assassins, he wouldn’t be happy either.

“I’m weaving your hair because most people have their family plaits, at least, framing their faces. It’ll seem strange if you don’t and I don’t want people to have any reason to look closer.” Wild continued when no one said anything, finally realizing he had been staring at the half-done braid in his hand the whole time he had been speaking, and continued with that too. “You probably wouldn’t be kicked out if people saw- I wasn't the first time I wandered in, and my hair was atrocious,” Wild took a moment to grimace in embarrassment, before moving on, “But you won’t be able to speak to Impa, or go into any of the shops or the inn.”

Time spoke up, voice heavy with interest. “And you can't vouch for us?”

Wild shook his head vehemently. “No. The only reason people allow me to get away with it is because everyone knows I’m the hero. I sort of get a pass, and even then people treat me… differently.” (He definitely should not have said that. Several of the other heroes did not look happy about that.) “I really don’t want to explain that you have different cultural ideals about hair because you’ve time traveled, and I doubt anyone would believe me anyways.” Time nodded his assent, looking disappointed, but not surprised.

The next to speak was Legend. “You said it was religious practice, though. What’s that about?”

Wild considered for a moment. “Well, the practice itself isn’t really religious, but taking out your braids is seen as a very intimate thing. People do it when they’re at home, but also when they’re praying. It's a way to bare yourself in front of the gods. Hair in general is… sacred, in a way. It’s a very personal thing to let someone touch your hair, and unless you are unable to do so, the only person who should be cutting it is yourself.”

When no one else asked another question, Wild let himself relax for a moment, glad the interrogation was over. “So, that’s kind of the gist of it.” He let out a gusty sigh.

Well, no one, until- “What about you? Why don’t you wear braids?” It was Legend who asked, although WiId had no doubt the rest of them were thinking it. Of course Legend was the one to ask. He’d never been one to shy away from difficult topics

“I haven’t needed any until now. I’ll do mine after I do all of yours.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth. He still didn't technically need to. The Sheikah had grown used to his unbraided hair, but he knew he had to give himself one to appease the others. It wasn’t fair to ask them to adhere to his culture if he wasn’t even participating.

The other heroes weren’t stupid. They all knew there was more to it than that, more that he wasn’t telling them. But the excuse would get them off his back and give him a chance to think of what braid he would give himself to appease them. The rest of them dispersed slowly after that, sitting against the trunks of nearby trees, or going to admire the view from the seer drop-off nearby.

He allowed himself to become lost in thought.

Who even was he? Who could he claim to be? A knight? No, definitely not. He wasn’t a knight anymore. He served no one, much less any non-existent military or monarchy.

Could he claim to be a hero? Wild didn’t like to think so, but these venerated heroes of the past seem to have accepted him as one of them, and seemed to have absorbed him into their ranks.

Could he claim to be his parents’ child? Not anymore. He couldn’t even remember them, besides snippets. He didn’t know if he wanted to remember them. They were too far away for him to reach, trapped in the past he couldn’t ever go back to. It would only bring him pain. It would only bring him heartbreak.

What was he?

What was notable about himself that was solely his own, and not something gifted to him by his parents, by the king, by Hylia herself?

Anything that he used before the Calamity wasn’t applicable anymore. He had forgotten everything, everyone. He had rebuilt himself from the ground up, dragging himself up from a stumbling child to a sure-footed traveler.

He was no longer the skilled swordsman he was before. He had instead turned towards the bow, leaning into the long-range weapon that was more useful for keeping a single traveler alive in his Hyrule.

That was something he was. He was an archer. He had picked up a bow with only a vague idea of what it was, and taught himself how to use it. Missed shot after missed shot, bokoblin after bokoblin, he had perfected his craft, a symbol of his determination to reshape himself- not as a hero, but as Link.

He couldn’t call himself a hero, but he could call himself an archer.

By the time he had made his decision, he had worked through most of the others. He’s glad for the hair ties he asked the shopkeeper for. Wind’s couple of ties wouldn’t have been enough for all of them.

He had given Warriors and Sky a knight’s braid, of course. Time was given a farmer’s braid. He had seemed to appreciate it over something that represented his fighting skills, when Wild had told him what it represented. Twilight got the same.

Before Wild couldn’t move onto Hyrule, Twilight grasped him gently by the wrist. “Wild, we’re okay with doing this to blend into your Hyrule, but I just wanted to ask if you were alright with doing this. If this is a Sheikah custom, they shouldn’t be forcing it on you too. I think we’ve all noticed you're very particular about your hair. You never braid it, but now…” Twilight trailed off when he saw the look his words created on Wild’s face.

“No,” The denial was automatic, but as he fruitlessly tried to find the words. He finally settled on. “It’s a Hylian thing too.”

Twilight released his grip on Wilds wrist, seemingly assured he wouldn’t move away. His brows furrowed. “Then you…”

“I just don’t.” Wild settled on the simplest answer. The easiest one. It was true. He just didn’t. Did they really need to know why?

Twilight nodded slowly, “Alright. You’ve just been acting very…” His scowl deepened for a moment, although Wild knew his frustration probably wasn’t directed at him. The rancher ran his hand through his hair, sweeping back his bangs. “You can talk to any of us about this, you know that, right?” Wild could read between the lines of Twilight’s words. I’m gonna leave this alone for now, but I don’t believe you when you say you’re fine.

He nodded mutely, and Twilight moved away from him, quickly being replaced by Hyrule. Wild’s hands started moving through the traveler’s hair automatically, not paying attention to Hyrule's worried gaze on him.

~~~

“Oh, Link…” Paya’s voice was soft. It wasn’t quite pity; it was the opposite, really. There was a sort of awe in her voice that Wild couldn’t place. Paya reached a hand out towards his hair- towards the archer’s braid he had put in his hair- and Wild couldn’t stop himself from twitching away from her. Paya gave him that familiar nervous smile of hers, and let her hand drop.

“I think… um, I’m glad that- that you found- some people to travel with.” She nodded firmly at him, her own braid swayed with her movements. As far as Wild could remember, that particular braid meant that she was the heir to a noble family, which would demark her position as Impa’s heir. After a moment’s pause, she moved to continue past him to her grandmother’s house, tossing a significant look over her shoulder as she did.

~~~

Wild drew his fingers through his hair, carding out the single braid until his hair was straight again. His movements were slow and contemplative.

He knew one or more of the other heroes were probably watching him from where they sat by the fire, but he also knew that prayer was considered a private thing in most, if not all of their Hyrules, and they would turn away when they realized what he was doing.

He picked up the hair tie from where he had set it in his lap when he took it out, and placed it on the long, low table between the statue and him. The single tie looked pathetic on the table. It was big enough to have room for more adornments than Wild could imagine using. Even before- before the calamity, before his death- he had never had enough ornaments in his hair to fill a table like this.

For a moment, he wondered how he knew that, before a memory began to nudge at the back of his conciseness. This time he doesn't hesitate to allow it to overtake his mind.

His hands are practiced and steady as they swiftly remove his braids. One by one, the beads and ties holding them in place are removed and set on the gilded table in front of him.

First comes the main braid falling down his back that marks him as a knight. The blue ribbon and golden bead that declares him as a member of the royal guard are carefully removed and laid in front of him. Then the smaller braid that frames the left side of his face that marks him as a master swordsman.

He leaves that braid on the right side of his face that declares him to be his parent’s son to last, but when he has nothing else to do, he reluctantly unravels that one too, and carefully sets his family bead down on the table.

When he’s finished, he takes a moment to look at his beads and ties laid out on the table he kneels in front of. He’s never used a prayer table as ostentatious as this one before. It’s made of a dark ebony that looks even darker next to the bright golden inlays in the wood. The entire thing is intricately carved. The table is probably worth more than a month of his salary.

It’s nothing to the glamor of the rest of the cathedral, though. Gold glimmers everywhere, glinting in the midday sun that finds its way through the large stained glass windows behind the altar. The ceiling arches high over his head, gloriously painted with the story of Hylia descending to live among mortals during the time of the first chosen hero.

His breath sounds too loud in the large space. His heart beat rushing in his ears drowns out the sounds of shuffling and coughs from the nobles who sit in the pews behind where he and Zelda kneel. The King sits there too, and Link feels himself straighten up subconsciously at the thought of the King watching him.

Zelda takes much longer than him to finish unbraiding and brushing out her hair.

Her hair is longer than his. She is a princess, with more time in her day to spend on formalities such as brushing it and braiding it, and he is a knight who needs to keep his hair a slightly shorter length than most people. To do otherwise was simply asking for trouble on the battlefield. Not only that, but she has many more ornaments than he would ever need.

He knows the meaning of some of them, while others are a mystery to him. The one braid she’s working on right now has four beads woven into it. Each of the beads were gifted to her by the different tribes of Hyrule. One from the Gerudo, one from the Gorons, one from the Zora, and one from the Rito. They showed their support of the young princess, and symbolized their loyalty to her future reign.

Link feels slightly awkward waiting for her to finish. He’s not sure what to do while he waits, or where to look. It feels wrong to look at her while she unbraids her hair. It’s too vulnerable and intimate. Things like this should be kept for the privacy of your own home, or at the very least, your own bunk in the barracks, where the other recruits have the decency to look away. Not here in a cathedral with scores of people looking on. But then again, Zelda is a princess. She's been doing ceremonies like this her entire life. She’s probably more than used to it by now.

He lets his eye fall on the stony visage of Hylia that stares back down at him while he waits- it seems like the safest place to look- and tries to forget the many other stares burning into his back.

He shivered slightly when he snapped back to the present. It had cooled down significantly since he went under, and a brisk breeze was blowing against his chilled skin. This memory seemed to have lasted a bit longer than the first, for the air to have cooled off this much, but the sun had not yet set, so it couldn’t have been too long.

It was an odd feeling. He was once more in Hylia’s sight, bare and unlabeled. He was no longer Link, the warrior, the knight, the hero. He is no longer Link, his mother’s son. He is no longer Link, lover of the Zora princess. He is just Link, himself.

Somehow, he felt ten times as bare and open and vulnerable before the goddess here, in a small shrine within a small village, with a small audience- if anyone was watching him at all- then he did in that great cathedral, with seemingly half the world looking on.

This was not the first time he had prayed to Hylia, but it was the first time he had ever had use of the table in front of her shrine.

He does not know how spiritual he had been before he died. He doesn’t even know if he had ever prayed to the goddess of his own accord, and not as part of some ceremony. But then he had woken up in that tomb, somehow stumbled into the Temple on the Great Plateau, and found that statue of Hylia.

It was smaller than the one in his memory, less imposing, but somehow it seemed all the more holy for it. There had been a presence there that he had never felt before, but which seemed overwhelmingly familiar regardless. The face of the statue had been weathered away by a hundred years of rain and wind that seeped into the temple through the ruined walls and roof, but its hazy features had made him straighten up and run a self-conscious hand through his hair.

He hadn’t known why he had felt the urge at the time.

He hadn’t known why the ghost king had looked upon him with such surprise when he first laid eyes on the newly awakened hero.

Now, when he thinks back to his tangled hair, messy from a hundred years of sleep, and wet with the slippery liquid that had filled the Shrine, he cringes.

The ghost king had been kind enough to instruct him to bathe in one of the many shallow ponds on the Plateau. That had at least gotten rid of the clear goo from the shrine, which had still clung to him hours after he crawled his way out of his tomb. He had owned no comb to untangle and straighten his hair, and his fingers were of little use, not with all the knots, but his hair had at least been clean.

The cleanliness had not lasted long after he had gotten off the plateau. Wild didn’t even want to think about what he must have looked like when he wandered into Kakariko.

At the time, he hadn’t understood why Dorian had refused to let him up the stairs to Impa’s house.

Paya had been the one to get Dorain to let him up the stairs, insisting that he did in fact, need to speak to Impa, quite urgently, and she would be more than enough to protect her grandmother if need be.

He didn't doubt she would have been able to protect Impa. Paya was a shy girl, and remained flustered around him to this day, but she was the granddaughter to the leader of the last remnants of the Sheikah. The Sheikah were a warrior people, and Paya was not an exception. She was more than a match for him, most days. Back then, when he was still weak from the shrine, all skinny, and learning to provide for himself, and skittish of people in general, Wild had no doubt she would have been able to protect Impa had he had tried anything

Regardless, it was a miracle they had let him talk to Impa in the state he had been in.

Since then, he’d learned. Partly from his memories, and partly from the kindness of Dorain, Paya, Bolson, and others, he had learned why it was important to keep himself presentable, to brush his hair, and keep it clean, even if he refused to braid it.

He knew they disapproved of him wearing it unbraided.They thought he had done nothing to strip him of that right.

It didn’t matter what they thought. It was his hair. It was his choice.

He bowed his head over his single hair tie, and started his prayers.

~~~

Zelda found him later.

She approached only after he had finished praying, and had sat himself on the edge of the small island the goddess statue rested on. He had no doubt that she had already introduced herself to the other heroes in the meantime. Or rather, interrogated them. No doubt she was bursting with questions. He had tried to preemptively answer as many as he could them in the letter he had sent to her when the group had visited Rito Village, but he had no doubt she had come up with more.

When she sat down though, she didn’t interrogate him, instead sitting silently next to him. When he finally looked up from the water, he saw she wore a single pearl strung on a thin silver chain.

She was not wearing it as a necklace.

The chain was woven into her crown of hair, the pearl coming to rest in the middle of her forehead.

It wasn't a crown. Not really. But it was close enough. Everyone would know what it meant.

“Sidon gave it to me,” She admitted. “He asked me… if I would wear it. I said yes,” She rushed on with her words, as if she thought Wild was going to interrupt her. “He doesn't understand the true importance of wearing braids, but he understands a little about wearing crowns… about the weight of the kingdom resting on you. And he didn’t even ask me to grow my hair out, he only asked me to wear one pearl. Just one.”

She was breathless by the time she finished, and refused to look at Wild, like she was afraid he would tell her she wasn’t worthy of this. As if he would be angry with her for healing, when he himself didn’t know if he could bring himself to.

She was right. Sidon did not share the same traditions as the Hylians and the Sheikah. None of the Zora did. (How could they? None of them had hair. The Gorons, and the Rito were the same. The Gerudo as well. Although they did have hair, they didn’t share very many traditions and practices with Hylians.) Sidon did not understand the tradition. But he did understand the pressure of ruling, the seemingly insurmountable task that Zelda was facing alone. Sidon knew that part of Zelda’s struggles far more intimately than Wild could ever hope to.

Not knowing what he could say. Wild said nothing. He leaned against her, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. Soft strands of her hair tickled his nose. She didn’t push him away, allowing him to stay. Her eyes remained fixed on the ripping water in front of them, which gleamed in the very last rays of the settling sun. She didn’t even seem to be paying attention when her hand automatically lifted and settled itself in his thick locks.

Her hand carded through his hair slowly, working out non-existent tangles. She leaned away from him, and he let her, but instead of standing, or continuing to stare at the water, she turned to him, and motioned for him to face away from her.

He does.

Her fingers were practiced and sure as she worked with his hair. She’s had the duty of braiding her own hair since she was released from the calamity, and her fingers have grown much steadier since she began.

He knows what braid she gives him. He does not ask, and she does not say, but he knows. It is one he has never won before, even before the Calamity, when he had done nothing to earn it yet except draw a sacred sword.

He remains quiet, passive- which he realizes is very unlike himself- when Zelda reaches behind them, takes his hair tie from the prayer table. There's a moment of stillness between them, and neither of them break it, except to settle back together to ward off the evening chill. Wild’s sure they make an odd pair pressed together: a crownless princess with a pearl woven into her hair, and a disgraced knight with the hero’s braid in his hair.

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