#had sudden intense feelings about Legend and the Master Sword

[skyward-floored]

The Lost Woods aren’t so bad.

Not after traversing them more times then Link can count, at least. Sure the paths shift, and monsters occasionally slip their way inside to hide in the bushes and trees, but Link knows the way to the clearing where he needs to go.

The forest only needs to let him.

His boots cut through soft grass, an occasional crunch belaying a leaf. The song of the woods is on the wind, and Link follows its winding tune, the pipes of water, strings and drums of leaves and branches. Quiet giggles make his ears twitch, but Link knows to ignore them.

He plays the game of the Woods, walking its paths, watching poes with a careful eye to see where they lead. The song dances by, high and low, loud and soft, and the flute that sometimes joins it makes his heart ache.

Time stretches strangely under the canopy of trees and fog— Link feels like he’s been here for hours now, but the glimpses of sunshine that peek through the branches are no different from how it was when he arrived. Link passes through another clearing, doubt beginning to nip at his heels. They’re not called the Lost Woods for no reason after all, and he’s starting to wonder if he hasn’t passed their test this time.

Is it because of what I’ve done since last I’ve been here?

But then something in the air, in him, clicks, eases, Link doesn’t know the word. But it’s like a fog lifts from his vision, and the path he needs to take is suddenly obvious. Link follows the pull past flowers and stones, over a barely-there path. It guides him through the yawning mouth of a log, and birds softly chirp as he emerges into a familiar clearing.

Fog drifts past his boots as he looks around, and a single shaft of sunlight breaks past the trees, drawing his vision to sparkling blue.

Link exhales, and steps forward, squirrels and other small creatures darting away into the bushes. He steps up onto the small stone platform, and doesn’t move for a long moment, looking at where the Master Sword sits with wisps of fog and sunlight dancing around her. Waiting for him.

“Hey old girl,” Link says softly, and for some reason his throat aches as he rests a hand on her hilt. “Been a while.”

The metal under his skin is both hot and cold, warmed by the sun’s light, and cooled by the stone it rests in. Despite years exposed to the elements, the Master Sword isn’t covered in greenery like it was the first time Link found her. Nor is her shine diminished in the slightest. Her blade is dimmed only because she rests, her power waiting for the next hero who needs her.

Who just happens to be Link again.

A shaking sigh escapes him, and Link puts both of his hands around her hilt, the electrifying hot-and-cold sharp-and-soft thrill of her power zipping through him as he pulls.

The Master Sword slips loose just like it did when he pulled her the first time, and Link raises her to the sky, the fog parting and fading away. The sunlight brightens somehow, making her sparkle and glow, and Link’s throat tightens again.

He hadn’t realized until now how badly he’d missed her.

Link lowers the blade again, running a hand over her cool steel as he studies her, looking over her finer points to familiarize himself with the weapon once again. Something is different, he realizes after a minute or two. And when it finally dawns on him what it is, he holds the Master Sword tighter, almost hugging her.

“I’ve grown,” he says quietly.

The blade fits his size now.

Instead of the still-pudgy hands of a child grasping at her hilt, there’s the worn hands of an adventurer ghosting along the metal, scars catching in her grooves. There’s blood staining his hands now that wasn’t there before, yet she still allowed him to pull her.

“You fit better, now,” he continues, voice shaking a little. “Hopefully this’ll... make things easier.”

His breath hitches, and Link swallows it back, clasping the sacred blade in his arms like one would an old friend.

He squeezes his eyes closed.

“I guess I thought I wouldn’t be doing this again,” Link whispers, ghosting his fingers along the gem in her hilt. “Not... not after the last one.”

Not after what I did.

The metal seems to warm just a hair, like the sunshine got pulled into it, and Link rests his head against the Master Sword, allowing a single drop of saltwater to trail down his cheek.

“Thanks,” he croaks, and the softest, faintest of chimes echoes in his heart.

It’s enough to pull him from the grief that was threatening to swallow him up again, and Link sets aside the weight of an island, and focuses instead on the weight of the sword, and his kingdom.

He’s needed. He can’t get lost in grief.

Link breathes out, running his hand along the steel one more time, and then he gently sheathes her, stepping down from the platform.

“Here we go again old girl,” he says as he steps outside of the clearing, weary with grief, but determined to stop the evil returning yet again.

He closes his eyes.

“One more time.”

A single pure note chimes in his chest, and Link feels something other than grief wrap itself around him, urging him forward to take another step, to press on despite the weight.

It feels a little bit like hope.

[azthedragon]

Slip of the Tongue

I am so (not) sorry for this. Just recently discovered this LinkedUniverse AU and fell in love with it. And while I can’t draw to save my soul, I can certainly write something.

Hopefully they aren’t too out of character in this...

(also, friendly reminder that my stuff is not beta-read. Expect errors, typos and whatever weird thing I did without realizing)

“I don't know you guys, but the more I try to figure this out, the more it gets complicated...”

The voice that filled the afternoon air was so soft that it went almost unheard due to the incessant sound of pouring rain. It had been a grace that when the downpour started they had been very close to a Stable.

Now they were sitting at one of the small tables, huddling together due to lack of space, and trying to figure out where what piece of what Hyrule went. It was a maddening task, one that they had been trying to tackle since first coming together, and not even their most experienced adventurer was even remotely close to figuring it out.

Hence why Legend was filled with worry, frustration, and almost ready to throw everything up in the air. Table included.

“You think it's complicated?” The young voice belonging to Wind was heavy with deject as he laid the side of his face in a minuscule space of table that was free of supplies, maps, and whatever else they were using at the moment. “I lost track of things the moment I crossed three... worlds? Timelines? Time periods?” At the confusion, he hid his head behind his arms. One hand instantly went to pull at his messy hair. “It just... it makes no sense at all.”

Time couldn't blame the kid. Even he, with the experience of time travel and everything that it implied, was at a loss. Sometimes it was just... portals. Invisible doors that hid themselves in the land, connecting two 'worlds' together in a seemingly seamless way until you walked a bit further and noticed that something should not be where it was, or something was missing from that spot.

And sometimes it was just entire zones thrown into the wrong timeline without so much as a show of light. Warriors had witnessed that sort of thing before, but not to this magnitude. And certainly not without shows of magic lights crossing the lands before it actually happened.

“I think I can use some of the Sheikah Towers to force another scan of the surrounding area.” Wild was staring at his Slate with a gaze so intense that it felt like he was trying to burn the thing out of spite. “Maybe they can pick up some of the... foreign lands? Would be helpful if they picked up these portals, too...”

“That would certainly help,” Twilight muttered. He looked ready to go curl up on the nearest soft surface available and sleep till the next morning. “Then we can know where we are going before we actually get there.”

At his left, Four and Hyrule nodded in agreement. To his right, Sky was already sleeping and blissfully ignorant of the others' struggle. Everyone was slightly frustrated and envious about his ability to fall asleep anywhere, but they had come to accept it after weeks of traveling together. The boy was never really good at handling tiredness like the others could.

“Well, I guess...” Wild mustered up his courage and placed the Sheikah Slate on top of the dozen of maps taking up most of the table. The small screen was displaying the map, in particular of the zone around the stable they were taking shelter in, and he was slowly moving it so that it also encompassed a blue dot. “I guess we can get to the nearby tower and try it out.”

His finger moved across a road, then took a turn into the wilderness and through a thick cluster of trees for a direct path to their destination. “We can go this way and be there in the afternoon if we move out in the morning, but there might be some monsters along the way.” His finger then drew an alternate path, one that winded around hills, streams and the occasional ruin. He looked up at Time, knowing the man was better at deciding what was best for the group as a whole. “This is safer, but unless we get horses or run all the way, it'll take a whole day to get there. Maybe more if we encounter monsters. What do you think, dad?”

After the word 'dad' was out of Wild's mouth, silence descended among the heroes as they just... stared.

Then things happened.

Warrior scrambled for the Sheikah Slate, grabbing it out of Wild's frozen hands and holding it up. He looked red in the face, and his shoulders shook with the effort to keep his laughter contained long enough to take a photo. A soft snap later and he was throwing himself onto the back of his chair, laughing loudly and almost tipping backwards.

Hyrule, having spat water out of his nose after almost chocking on his glass of water, was bent over and trying to survive a coughing fit.

Legend was torn between staring at Wild with wide eyes, staring at Time with amusement, and helping Hyrule not choke by gently patting his back.

Twilight looked stunned for a moment, until a smirk appeared on his lips. It was that sort of mixture between amusement and knowing that sometimes frustrated the hell out of anyone that was on the receiving end.

Sky woke up with a startle due to the boisterous laugh from Warrior. He looked ready to jump into a fight, one hand going to touch the Master Sword's hilt strapped to his back. Until he saw Warrior and relaxed. Then proceeded to look at the others in confusion. “What? What did I miss?”

Four was biting his lip. Probably trying to not smirk as much as Twilight was doing. And he was trying to keep his eyes fixed on the table while his hands idly smoothed one of the maps. All so that he wouldn't see whatever glare Time was throwing at them.

Wind, the most expressive of them all, had the strangest reaction. Instead of showing whatever emotion he was feeling at the moment, he just froze there, mouth agape and doing an impressive imitation of a fish out of the water. The kid must have been really shocked because he wasn't even blinking.

“Oh Hylia above and beyond! Time!” Warrior was still laughing between gasps, one hand pressing on his stomach to ward off a stitch while the other waved the Sheikah Slate in the air. “You... you should see your face!”

Time had no idea how to feel. Part of him was irritated at Warrior's reaction, especially since Wild had troubles opening up with others and would instantly jump back into his shell the moment he felt he did something wrong. But then... then there was that other part of him that he couldn't figure out how it felt because he was still trying to get past the shock of being called 'dad'.

He cast his eye onto Wild and, just like he had guessed, the boy was hiding under his hood, probably feeling horrified and embarrassed at his slip.

This... this had to be corrected immediately.

He placed a hand onto Wild's shoulder and squeezed gently. The gesture meant to draw his attention more than anything else. Time knew that it would take more than a touch to get Wild out of his newly erected barricades.

“Watch,” he mouthed when their eyes locked. He felt a small smile appear on his lips at the sudden curiosity pushing past the fear on Wild's face.

It was a small step, and Time did not waste this chance by lingering. He released Wild's shoulder, poised himself tall against his chair, turned his attention to the still smirking Twilight and smirked himself. “Twilight,” he called. His voice was the epitome of collected calmness despite the playful revenge glinting in his single eye. “Tell your younger brother that he should not laugh at the expenses of his own father.”

The effect was immediate.

Twilight snorted, almost chocking on air as he tried to not laugh himself raw.

Warriors lost his balance and ended up on the floor with his own chair.

Legend lunged over the table, grabbing the now flying Slate before it could crash somewhere. A moment later and he was the one snapping a photo out of Warrior's sprawled form.

Sky looked more lost than when he woke up, turning confused eyes around until he met with Hyrule's, who waved a hand in the air and mouthed a 'tell you later' to him between coughs.

“Does that mean I'm the little brother then?” Wind's voice came from somewhere in the background. He sounded confused, but also elated. “Cool!”

Four looked like he had lost his personal battle and was now laughing into his folded arms. One of his hands was frantically slapping the table's surface in a vague semblance of what he had been previously doing.

Satisfied, Time looked back at Wild and was happy to notice that he had stopped trying to merge with his chair. He still looked troubled, though, so he gave him a soft smile. One that Malon elected as the most beautiful due to, in her own words, 'being full of kindness and love'.

“Don't worry,” he whispered. “I don't mind.”

Wild's own shy smile was something he found treasuring.

[drabbledragon]

Home

Another fic inspired by the LinkedUniverse AU. This piece was written for Sky Week over on Discord and I was surprised to see the length it reached (5.7K words!). It was honestly so much fun to write.

Summary: Throughout months of travel, Sky finally has the chance to go back home.

Warnings: Some violence and a minor mention of animal abuse. 

Wrapped in his sailcloth, Sky dreamt about memories from the past. He dreamt about running around Skyloft with his Zelda, marvelling at the Skyloftian Knights as they soared by on their birds; he dreamt about jumping from the island to the clouds below, his Crimson Loftwing catching him before he could so much as blink; he dreamt about flying with Zelda after the Wing Ceremony, a fond smile on her lips as she looked at him with so much adoration and fondness that it made his heart melt; then he dreamt about falling - about being knocked off his Loftwing and Zelda mercilessly being ripped away from him, tears filling her eyes as she reached out for him but couldn’t quite grasp his hand. He saw the pure fear in her eyes as she was brought further and further away from him and soon enough, she was gone from his sight. He yelled out, calling Zelda’s name over and over again as if that alone would bring her back but his pleas were left unheard. He was falling alone now, plummeting towards a world filled with monsters and demons, the screams from the Surface threatening to cancel out his cries.

Sky jolted awake with a yelp. With adrenaline still pumping, he frantically pushed himself off the ground, whipping his head around as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Tall trees towered over him and panic started to seize him as he realized that he wasn’t in his bed in Skyloft anymore but somewhere unknown - somewhere that wasn’t safe; however, once he caught sight of Legend softly snoring beside him, his pounding heart started to settle.

Oh, that’s right; we’re in Warriors’s Hyrule, he reminded himself, willing his uneven breaths to come out slower and more controlled. They had settled for the night after hours of wandering through the dense forest that covered a majority of Warriors’s land; they were hoping to find at least some kind of clue connected to their sudden meeting but to no avail. Judging by the height of the moon over their makeshift camp, it was around three in the morning, meaning he could still get a good three hours of sleep before Time would force them to keep moving again.

But then memories of his recent nightmare started to resurface and his heart clenched painfully as he remembered the terrified scream that escaped Zelda’s lips. There was no way he could fall back asleep with that sound haunting him.

He stood up instead and made his way over to an overhang not to far off from camp - maybe gazing at the night sky would bring him some peace of mind. Securing the Master Sword across his back, Sky gently shuffled through the camp, careful not to wake the others.

With his knees tucked comfortably underneath his chin, he gazed absentmindedly at the full moon above. Combined with the slight breeze that ruffled his hair every so often, the moon’s shine replaced his unease with a sense of longing. The sight reminded him of his younger days  in the Knight’s Academy when he would stay up late to watch the stars twinkle over his dorm. There would be unfinished papers and books strung haphazardly along his desk, long since abandoned once Sky caught glimpse of a shooting star crossing the sky; after that, he would spend hours admiring the beautiful night, thanking Hylia for bestowing such a beautiful scene for all of Skyloft to see. A soft sigh escaped his lips at the fond memory. He missed his home dearly.

“I knew I saw someone walk off from camp.”

Sky perked up at the voice, turning around just in time to see Twilight emerging from the bushes. He watched amusedly as the newcomer dusted off the stray leaves sticking to his clothes and hair before a sudden thought dawned on him: "Oh! I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nope, just saw you sneak out while on watch duty. You’re quiet but hard to miss." He replied casually before settling down next to the flustered man. He observed the night sky silently for a few seconds before turning his attention to the other. “So didn’t feel like sleeping tonight?”

His embarrassed expression dropped into a sorrowful frown. “Not quite; just woke up from a bad dream, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.” Twilight grimaced as he felt a pang of sympathy. It wasn’t unusual for each of them to have bad dreams every once in a while, whether it be from recent events or from memories long ago. They’ve all been on various quests - have all seen their fair share of pain and agony and there was no doubt that it affected each one of them deeply. It was upsetting, but there was nothing they could do about it. The air filled with a mournful silence.

“Do you miss your home, Twilight?”

Sky watched as the other’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a quizzical look on his face as if he couldn’t believe the question was even asked in the first place.  

“‘Course I do; it’s where my friends and family are. I would give anything to see them again.”

He felt his throat tighten in response. Of course Twilight missed his home - everyone did. He’ll never forget the way Time’s face lit up when he saw Malon for the first time in ages, or the way Wind chatted endlessly about his time spent with his grandma and sister on the island, or even the way Warriors spoke about a few members of his team as if they were family to him. They all missed someone dearly back home - they all wanted to go home. He could feel an overwhelming sadness start to take over him.

“I miss them.” Sky started softly as turned his gaze to his boots. “ I miss Zelda, Pipit, Gaepora, - everyone. I miss flying around on my Loftwing, I miss going to Knight School, I miss the Wing Ceremony, I miss -” His voice caught in his throat and he could feel tears start to form in the corner of his eyes. He buried his head into his knees as his whimpers were reduced to a soft muffle. “ - I miss Skyloft.”

Twilight was at a loss for words. He knew the pain Sky was feeling and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same way. However, before he could say anything, a piercing screech echoed through the air.

Sky’s head suddenly lifted with so much force that he surely would have headbutted someone into unconsciousness. His breath ceased as he stared wide - eyed into the distance with such intensity and concentration that it appeared that nothing other than himself and that sound existed. He knew that sound - he’s heard that sound all throughout his life - but the simple thought of one being here, in a place where they would never dare to venture to - it was nearly impossible.

Although nearly didn’t mean completely.

Without a second thought, Sky stumbled to his feet and sprinted towards the ledge of the overhang. He tugged off his sailcloth hastily, as if the sound would disappear from his memory if he took too much time to actually think the situation over.

“Hey, what are you -?”

But Twilight’s startled exclamation was lost to the wind as Sky began his descent down. From what he could tell, the call came just a little ways north of where he just was so it shouldn’t take too long for him to locate the source. He chanced a glimpse at the mass of trees below and tightened his grip on his sailcloth. The size of the forest beneath him was unnervingly large and would undoubtedly make his search a little harder if he turned out to be wrong - but he couldn’t let that thought deter him now. He would make sure he found the source of that sound no matter what, even if it took searching all of this Hyrule.

As soon as his feet lightly touched the ground, he was back into a sprint. He had half the mind to whistle to see if he could cause that cry to sound again but he couldn’t risk it in unknown territory; for all he really knew, he could have mistaken the sound for an enemy’s howl or the screech of some animal but the sound brought up so many memories from his time in Skyloft that he couldn’t think otherwise. At the sight of a blue mass flickering just outside a mass of trees, Sky felt his pace quicken at an impossible rate.

As soon as he pushed past the underbrush, he immediately came to a halting stop. Before him stood a large bird with bright blue feathers and beady yellow eyes - a Loftwing, his mind helpfully supplied. He stared in awe at the creature, his breath stolen by the feeling of wonder the bird possessed, and a million sights, sounds, and feelings bubbled up to the forefront of his mind. He could distinctly hear the cheery screech of his Crimson Loftwing as it flew to him at his whistle, the feel of its soft feathers in his grasp, the wind combing through his hair as they soared through the sky without a care in the world - it was home. However, before he could take another step, he caught sight of the mess of ropes around the bird. Tangled around its feathers and beak were strands of thick material that pinned the large creature to the ground, immobilizing it save for the few scratches its claws managed to make in the dirt. By the way it was set up, it definitely had to be a hunting trap of some sort. Sky could feel his awe start to flare outrage.

Just out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Twilight come to stuttering stop next to him, taking a moment to catch his breath. Before he could berate Sky for taking off without explanation, he caught sight of the strange bird a few meters away from them.

“What is that thing?” He wondered allowed. It was definitely something he’s never seen before and judging by its sharp beak and talons, it was definitely not something to be messed with; but before Twilight could express his concerns, Sky was already striding towards the large creature without hesitation. He watched with unease as the bird made a distressed squawking sound as it noticed the Skyloftian slowly approaching and struggled frantically against the binds holding it down.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Sky soothed as he carefully moved his hands up in a placating gesture. He inched forward with a calm air around him, unhindered by the bird’s hectic movements; no matter how much the creature screeched in warning, he would keep moving forward. As soon as he was close enough, Sky gently grabbed onto the course rope holding the bird down and removed his carving knife from its pouch, starting to slice through the thick binds.

A sense of recognition seemed to flash in the Loftwing’s eyes and its frantic movements ceased as it eased its way back down to the ground. It watched the newcomer with weary eyes but didn’t utter another sound otherwise.

Twilight marveled at the scene. The distressed creature, easily twice the size of himself, yielded to a complete stranger with a knife. Even if the bird deduced that Sky was here to help, it didn’t explain how all hostility seemed to leave its eyes in such a quick amount of time. Maybe they’ve met before? He mused, although the notion was highly absurd.

Another bind snapped free and the Loftwing’s right wing slowly rose. It curiously watched as it flapped its limb a couple of times, almost as if it was testing to see if it still worked. Sky had caught a glimpse of a few feathers out of place and gently moved to smooth them down with an easy touch; once he was satisfied with the result, he moved to untangle the rope from the bird’s neck. He worked like that for the next few minutes, the Loftwing never once protesting.

His work was suddenly interrupted at the sound of multiple screeches piercing the air and both Twilight and the Loftwing seemed to tense in fear. The Loftwing’s once serene expression turned into a frenzied panic as it blindly flapped its wing around in an attempt to defend itself, knocking Sky off his feet. Twilight gritted his teeth in annoyance as he pulled out the Ordonian sword from his back, already moving into a defensive stance.

“Those are Aeralfos,” Twilight stated as the aforementioned enemies flew into view. “ they’re fast and hard to hit so stay on your guard.” And then a muttered: “ Wasn’t fun to fight them the first time around.”

Sky gave a curt nod, unsheathing his Master Sword and positioning it in front of him. He situated himself close to the Loftwing, determined not to let a single enemy lay a claw on the bird.

Before they knew it, the enemies were diving towards the clearing they stood in, a fierce snarl on their faces. The Aeralfos flew with such precision and accuracy that it was hard to even land a hit on them, nevermind actually attack them. Sky managed to scratch a few as they sped past him but other than that, his attempts were fruitless. One second, they would take a stab at the hero, managing to nick his clothes or land a slice on his arms, and in the next, they would take off to the sky and ready themselves for another attack. It was dizzying to him; he’s never seen an enemy move so quickly in such short a time. He glanced at Twilight to see how he was managing.  

He was defending himself almost perfectly, moving about skillfully as if he’s been battling Aeralfos all his life. He swiftly dodged a stab to the head before rapidly spinning and slicing an enemy diagonally across the chest; it fell with a deafening screech and disappeared into black ashes. Not even a second later, another enemy attacked from behind and Twilight responded with a quick crouch, turn of the heel, and a stab of his sword through the monster’s neck before it also met the same fate. Every movement was calculated - perfectly executed - and it showed.

Just as Sky drove another enemy away, he heard the Loftwing give out a distressed screech. Fearing the worst, he quickly whipped around to see an Aeralfo’s clawed hand rip through a few of its feathers. A sudden sense of rage overtook him and he rushed at the foe with ferocity; before the other could react, Sky raised his sword skyward before bringing it down through the enemy, another howl of pain joining the chorus of the battle. He smiled triumphantly as he watched the monster before him disappear to a pile of dust. Unfortunately, another Aeralfo saw Sky’s distracted state as chance to attack and charged towards the hero with its claws poised to kill. Sky felt a surge of panic race through his mind as he knew he wouldn’t be able to defend himself in time but just as he was ready to take the hit, a large gray wolf leapt up and seized the enemy by the neck, killing it in an instant.

“Thank you, Wolfie.” Sky sighed in relief. The wolf responded with a huff before turning to attack again.

Sky grimaced at the red gash across the Loftwing’s body; thankfully, it didn’t look too deep. Just before he could turn to join the fight again, he saw some of the rope holding down the Loftwing snap and fall loosely around the bird. It rose to its full height and spread its wings before moving in a panic, clearly still frightened by the enemies.

In an attempt to calm the Loftwing down, Sky held his hands in a placating gesture and tried to soothe the bird once again. He heard the snarl of an Aeralfo behind him followed by a wolf’s bark and he caught sight of yet another enemy dissipate into ash. Despite the relief Sky felt, the Loftwing only became more frightened and flapped its wings about faster, most likely aggravating the injuries it already had. Sky frowned. Seeing no other option, he leapt onto the Loftwing’s back and took hold of the Skyloftian reins circling its body, trying desperately to regain control; however, the bird responded by lifting itself and its rider into the air albeit unsteadily. Sky was taken aback by the sudden movement and held onto the blue feathers for dear life as the bird flew about erratically. Again, he tried to calm the creature but his soft words were drowned out by the frantic screeching. Suddenly, the bird dove down into the fight below and plucked the gray wolf off the ground, earning a surprised yelp. It took the Skyloftian and wolf into the air and flapped its wings irregularly as it soared. Behind them, they could see the Aeralfos start to take flight as well.

Loftwings aren’t meant to fly during the night, Sky recalled as he felt his stomach drop at the sudden altitude change. Ever since they ascended into the air, the Loftwing changed elevation every two seconds or so and despite all his flying experience, the constant motion was starting to make him sick. From what Sky could observe, one wing flapped faster than the other, causing the bird to make uneven turns and unnecessary dives; it also didn’t help that they were being chased down by enemies capable of flight. He didn’t quite know what to do. Jumping off with his sailcloth would definitely save himself but he wasn’t too sure what Wolfie’s or even the Loftwing’s fate would entail; other than that, there were no other options than to attempt to fly to safety. Sky was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the sound of angry snarls accompanied by monstrous faces right behind him. In a split - second decision, he took hold of the bird’s reins and leaned to the side, just narrowly avoiding a sword to the head. That must have put too much weight on one of the bird’s sides because the next thing he knew, they were flying sideways towards the forest floor below. He then pulled the reins up to lift the bird once again, hearing the creature squawk in surprise before changing direction. He smirked as that sudden movement caused some of the Aeralfos to crash into the underbrush below. However, his relief was short - lived as he saw the remaining enemies get even angrier and speed up by an unimaginable amount. He eyed the remaining monsters warily. For a brief moment, he thought about taking out the Master Sword and defending the three of them that way but that would surely leave the bird without a pilot and most likely lead to all three of their deaths. But before he could come up with another plan, he saw the moonlight enshrouding them suddenly disappear and the enemies slow their pace. Albeit a little confused, he grinned triumphantly, glad to see that they were no longer being chased. When he turned his attention back to the front, he didn’t even have two seconds to notice the wall of rock in front of him before he made impact and lost consciousness.

________________________________________________________________

Once again, Sky dreamt about memories of the past. He dreamt about falling endlessly through a black abyss only for a purple light to break through the overwhelming darkness, a distant voice informing him that he had a dire mission that needed to be completed; he dreamt about waking up to Gaepora’s worried expression hovering over him and the look of anguish that painted his face as he was informed that his daughter was missing, most likely trapped somewhere on the Surface; he dreamt about following the mystical voice that echoed in his head, leading him to the Goddess’s Sword as well as Fi. He regarded the spirit with apprehension as she introduced herself; however, when Fi informed him that Zelda was still alive, he felt hope swell in his chest. He was informed that he was Hylia’s chosen hero - that he was the only one that could stop the demon Demise from his terrible reign. As he raised the sword skyward, he felt an overwhelming sense of power and courage course through him and together with Fi, they journeyed towards the Surface, ready for any tribulation they would face.

Sky slowly blinked his eyes open to the fuzzy world around him. He could tell it was somewhat dark here and small brown smudges littered the area along with an oddly - colored blue smudge a bit closer to him. The more he stared at the blots, the more they came into focus and soon the brown blurs turned into rocks and the blue mass shaped itself into a scabbard with the Master Sword tucked into it. Funny, he doesn’t remember falling asleep here. He racked his brain for answers but he found that the harder he thought, the harder a headache pounded in his head. He mindlessly reached out to the Master Sword, grabbing the hilt with a weak grip and begging for Fi to come out and explain the situation he had gotten himself into. He let his eyes fall close as he let a breathless “Fi…” escape his lips.

Instead of a mystical voice answering, he heard a set of footsteps walk briskly towards him and a set of scratches scurry away from him. When no other sound was made, Sky managed to open his eyes just in time to see Twilight’s apprehensive expression morph into a relieved smirk.

“Glad to see you’re okay.”

‘Okay’ was a bit of an overstatement. Although Twilight’s voice was at a normal talking level, Sky couldn’t help but wince as a jolting pain shot through his skull, no doubt a result of the splitting headache he had. With a soft tsk, Twilight searched through one of the pouches on his belt and brought out a glass half - full with a red potion.

“Here,” He began quieter, offering the bottle to the Skyloftian. “ it’s not much but it should help a little.”

With a shaky hand, Sky took the bottle and let its contents dribble down his throat. Within a few seconds, the pain in his head lessened to a manageable amount and he was able to muster enough strength to push himself off the ground and lean heavily against what felt like rocks behind him. He glanced to Twilight again, about to thank him, until a nasty - looking cut caught his attention.

“Your face…” He rasped.

Twilight’s smile dropped into a pout. “ Well you’re not looking too good with that huge bruise on your head either.”

He had a bruise on his head? That cleared up a few questions. “ Where are we?”

“A cave in the cliffside,” Twilight began as he made to stand up. He regarded the area with caution, almost as if he was expecting something to come out and attack them. “ the bird you helped took us into the air and flew away but the Aeralfos had the bright idea to chase us down anyways. A big chunk of them ended up crashing into trees and rocks so we got most of them off our tail; only downside is we ended up crashing into this cave, too. I just got a couple of scratches, the bird looks fine, but you ended up smashing your head on that rock wall over there.” He took a second to point his head towards a nearby set of boulders before returning to observe the injury that stood out so prominently against the Skyloftian’s tan skin. “ You’ve been out for two hours; we should really get back to camp to have the Old Man take a look at you.”

Sky nodded, his head tipping just a little too forward for his liking. As he started to stand up, he felt a heavy hand push him back down.

“Easy, we’re still surrounded. We did ditch a lot of those Aeralfos back there but there’s a good number of them flying around, probably searching for us. I don’t have a bow on me so we really can’t do anything right now - we just have to wait until they leave.” With that said, he walked back to the opening of the cave, eyeing the sky cautiously; at least the rising sun made it a little bit easier to see now. As he crouched down, Sky could hear him mutter “the Old Man is going to kill me”.

Sky mulled over the recount, connecting Twilight’s summary with his own muddled memories. The fight, the Loftwing - speaking of Loftwing, he heard the same sound of scratches echo through the cave again and he shifted his gaze sideways to see the bright blue Loftwing inching towards him. It moved about curiously, moving its head every which way almost as if it was trying to investigate the situation itself. When it got close enough to Sky, it picked at his clothes and hair and made curious sounds every so often. He chuckled as it nuzzled his neck before returning to look at him inquisitively and Sky would be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of his own Crimson Loftwing back home.

“It looks like that bird really likes you.” Twilight stated with a soft smile.  

“Yeah,” A fond smile crossed his lips as he felt the bird nudge his side again. “ Hylia gave us these Loftwings as a sign of protection. As little children, we meet our Loftwing under the Statue of the Goddess; once we find the right one, we feel complete, like we found our other half.” He smoothed over the blue feathers; a few of them were displaced but the bird’s coat looked relatively alright. Once he caught sight of its talons, a few of his memories started to clash with Twilight’s earlier summary. “ Twilight, where’s Wolfie?”

Twilight immediately jumped at the question, turning to meet Sky’s questioning gaze. “ Huh? What do you mean?”

“Before we took flight, I remember the Loftwing grabbing onto Wolfie.” He paused for a moment, the headache threatening to come back as he thought harder but he continued regardless. “ Now that I think about it, I don’t remember the Loftwing taking you -”

“I’m the one the bird grabbed; I was fighting a few Aeralfos before it swooped in and took me.” He answered back hastily. He saw the confliction cross the other’s face so he quickly covered up with a more firm: “ You hit your head pretty hard so it looks like some of your memories got messed up; just take a nap and I’ll wake you up when we’re ready to move.”

Although not completely satisfied with the response, Sky heeded his advice anyways, leaning against the bulky rock wall as he felt the need to sleep overtake him. He glimpsed tiredly to the Loftwing’s curious gaze one more time before catching sight of its tied tail. It was still heavily bunched up in rope and if Sky’s assumption was correct, that may have caused the lack of stability on their flight. Although he was deeply tired, he still reached for his carving knife again and shifted to have a good hold on the Loftwing’s tail. The bird tensed at the sudden contact but did nothing more as it watched Sky cut through what remained of the trap.

When the last bind snapped off, the bird unfurled and furled its tail a couple of times, similar to what it first did with its wings. Satisfied with his handiwork, Sky let out a long sigh and curled back onto the ground, using his sailcloth as a blanket; he was determined to get some amount of sleep, even if it was just for a few minutes. However, before he could do so, he yelped in surprise as he felt the Loftwing violently yank on his clothes, instantly making him alert. He sat up in a panic but that clearly wasn’t enough for the Loftwing because it pulled at his clothes again, hauling the disorientated Skyloftian to his feet. The bird sounded as he gripped onto its neck to steady himself and the call reverberated throughout the entire cave, causing Twilight to look back in concern. The bird suddenly crouched down and Sky fell onto its back with a thud before it gently shook to ease the rider onto its back. Despite Sky’s bewildered look, the bird rose up and started to flap its wings, causing small clouds of dust to rise up. Sky tightened his grip as the flapping became more frequent and soon enough, he felt the bird moving its long legs towards the opening of the cave.

Twilight immediately rose to his feet as he saw the creature near him. He spread his arms out in an attempt to block its path and scowled as he yelled out: “Hey -!”

But he was quickly cut off as the Loftwing abruptly grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic and placed him on its back, just behind the disconcerted Sky.

With only a few flaps of its wings as a warning, the Loftwing pushed off the cave’s ledge and took to the air at an incredible speed. Sky gripped onto the reins as soon as they changed altitude and he felt Twilight behind him hold onto the back of his tunic in a death grip. As he looked down below, he was astounded to see how much height they had gained in such little time. From what he could see, there were a few Aeralfos glaring angrily at them with a few starting to chase the bird; fortunately, their speed was no longer a match for the Loftwing’s steady ascension. Before he knew it, they passed through a layer of clouds and he felt the water vapor gently spray over his face. As soon as he felt the drop in his stomach settle, he looked past the Loftwing’s head to see the sight ahead of him.

Before him stood an endless sea of blue sky with the sun casting a soft glow across the land as it rose to start the day. Countless bundles of clouds lie underneath them and just as many floated lazily above. The cool air caressed his face and tousled his hair and he felt that same feeling of home he had felt before when they first escaped the forest clearing. With years of practice coming to the forefront of his mind, he eased his grip on the reins and leaned to the side, feeling the bird underneath him recognize his movement and gently shift its wings so they flew at an angle. The weightlessness, the feeling of rushing air, the calmness that came with weaving between the air currents - all those feelings rushed back to him as if he was meeting with a long - lost friend. He flew in silence for a few minutes, just admiring the tranquility it brought him.

A sudden shrill whistle caused his breath to hitch. That sound - he could place that sound at a moment’s notice: it was the sound of a Skyloftian calling their Loftwing. They were close to Skyloft, he realized and although he knew that there was something deeply wrong with that statement - that Skyloft shouldn’t be this low in the sky, that Skyloft shouldn’t be possible to get to without a Bird Statue - he couldn’t help the sudden homesickness that rushed through him. Throughout his journey with the other Links, he never went a single day without thinking about returning home - even when he was sent off on his own quest by Goddess Hylia herself, he still thought about his home every day. Groose’s constant teasing, Owlan droning on about the various plant life in SkyLoft, Zelda’s airy laugh as she teased him about being late to the Knight Academy again - he missed everyone so dearly, and now - finally - he had the chance to go back home.

As he signalled for the Loftwing to fly higher, he felt the grip around his tunic tighten. He glanced back to see Twilight looking down with a frightened expression and Sky felt his heart drop. He can’t go home, not until him and the other Links figure out why they were brought together. He believed in his Goddess and he knew that she wouldn’t merge timelines and dimensions together if it wasn’t for a reason, and there had to be a good reason.

He turned his head back hastily to the front. But he was so close to home! He could practically feel Skyloft’s soft ground! Maybe he could go to Gaepora and explain the situation - see if he could give him some guidance - or maybe find Zelda and see if the Goddess sent her any messages of what’s going on, or maybe reawaken Fi - she would certainly be a valuable asset to their team. His grip tightened on the reins again. Maybe he’s not meant to be back in Skyloft yet. There has to be a reason as to why throughout the past months, they had visited everyone else’s land except for his. Maybe his arrival… might not be what Hylia wants. He’s meant to stay with the other heroes - he’s meant to follow their travel regardless of what he thinks or feels. He has wants and needs and desires but his mission always comes first.

Another whistle sounded through the air, this time louder and longer. They were getting close to Skyloft now. He hesitated, mulling his decision one last time before bowing his head in sad realization. He can’t abandon his mission.

“Let Hylia guide you safely back to Skyloft.” He sadly whispered as he let his fingers graze over the plumage one last time. He heard the Loftwing give a soft coo, almost as if it was disappointed to see its rider leave, but he didn’t have a choice. He tugged at the sailcloth wrapped around his back and gripped it in his two hands. He swiveled around again and asked with a louder voice: “ Are you ready to leave, Twilight?”

The other’s eyes widened fearfully and he was starting to wonder if Sky actually did lose his mind when he hit his head. Just as he was about to protest, he felt the soft feathers from underneath him disappear and his stomach dropped at the sudden feeling of weightlessness. He didn’t even realize he closed his eyes until he opened them again to see that he was now gently drifting through the air. He looked up to see Sky gazing at the Loftwing with a sentimental look as it disappeared into the clouds - almost like the same look Twilight gave at the sight of dusk: a longing, fond expression. Once the bird was gone, they slowly began their descent down, drifting their way back to camp.

[writing-in-verse]

The Angel and The Seraph

Another fanfic for you all; this time I decided to look at Jace and Kit’s first training session, and what it would be like to have two Herondale’s share the same space.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed wriiting it, as this one was fun to get right as it was a bit more involved than the last Fic I wrote (Remembrance of a Dead Boy, if you’re curious) so it was  nice step up.

Any and all feedback is welcome, but I just hope you love it and enjoy it and all that good stuff.

Enjoy!

The sun was setting in Devon as Kit Herondale stepped into the whirling portal, exchanging solid ground for infinite nothing and then, in mere moments, hard gravel. From green fields to the concrete jungle of New York, Manhattan to be precise, in the blink of an eye.  Kit absently brushed the blonde hair out his eyes as he took in the Institute rising before him. He’d come to master portal travel as well as any experienced Shadowhunter, but he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the suddenness of the method. The midday sun shinning off the Institute spires reminded Kit he’d just gained an extra five hours to spend how he pleased, if he didn’t crash around seven. America, his homeland and the place he’d spent most of his life right up until he moved to Devon with Tessa and Jem. He thought he’d be happy to back in the country, albeit on the opposite side to where his life took place, but he just felt a wave of sadness at all he’d lost here. His father, barely a body to speak of, and the Blackthorns, one he still felt the presence of at his side. He wondered how they were doing, and if Dru had tormented Julian to tears with her lockpicking skills yet. With a small smile and one final glance round out of sheer habit, he stepped through the main doors, on the hunt for Jace Herondale.

Jace was Kit’s long-lost relative and a living legend in Shadowhunter society, a common occurrence among Herondales if Tessa’s dead husband Will (another legend tied to the Herondale name) was anything to go by. Jace had sent a fire message a few months after Kit moved to Devon to escape the boy with the depthless grey eyes that kept him awake, alert, like there was some threat looming. The words to describe it didn’t come; all he could sense was the ache in his chest.

Kit shook the cobwebs out of his mind as he took the rickety elevator up to the main institute levels. He stepped into the corridor and reminded himself why he was here: to train with Jace. It was Jace’s idea; the letter stated he wanted to make sure all his kin were kept up to scratch, but Kit had heard the stories and knew Jace wouldn’t let any of the surviving Herondales come to harm. Kit was just interested to get more training and to connect with someone who was as close to a blood relative as he’d had since the death of his father. He had Tessa, of course, but she hailed from a different line, meaning they probably shared very little blood. Of course, she was over a hundred years old and had kept up with her own descendants as best she could, but Kit’s own ancestry had been hidden away in secret so not even the Fey could find them.  

He’d been so inside his own head, Kit had barely registered the mostly quiet halls as he’d passed the kitchen and come to the library, doors open slightly to allow Kit an unobscured view inside. He peered in, glancing around the room, but found even the vast shelves lacking much of the life he expected from the building that was now the centre to Shadowhunter government and society. He’d heard Alec Lightwood hadn’t wanted to uproot everyone too quickly, instead putting everyone where they could stabilise and maintain the infrastructure. Alec himself went between the Institute and the loft of Magnus Bane, The High Warlock of Brooklyn, to meet with the Shadowhunter-Downworlder Alliance. Alec was a status symbol, and someone Kit admired not just for being openly gay and dating the most powerful warlock in Brooklyn, but Kit for the work he did that had earned him the role of Consul.

Then there were the friends and family who supported Alec unlike any Kit had ever experienced himself, one of which was the only beacon of colour among the dimly-lit library; Clary Fairchild. Clary was the other prodigy everyone heard about, and the love of Jace’s life. Her long red hair shone from the chandelier’s candlelight making Kit understand the feeling of warmth and hope she resonated to the people she fought alongside.

She seemed in the middle of researching one thing or another, so Kit quietly left Clary to her studies and went in search of the training room where Jace was no doubt waiting for him. Along the way he passed a few Shadowhunters going about their business, but apart from a nod and welcoming smile, no one intercepted him before he finally found the entrance to the training room. He stopped just outside and took a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The training room was large, placed within one of the bigger spires that rose up out of the Institute’s main body. Smooth wooden floors with various markers vaguely reminded Kit of a sports hall, which would have been apt if it wasn’t for the large, church-like windows across the outer wall and racks of weapons of various shapes and sizes covering the other. Benches ran below the windows, allowing people to rest and spectate the forging of a warrior in real time.

Kit stepped towards the centre of the room, doing a half-turn as he scanned for his distant relative turned personal trainer but found the place empty. He kept sliding his gaze around out of the sheer appreciation of the room, running eyes his up into the rafters where he finally caught sight of a golden head of hair and matching irises staring down at him out of the darkness.

“Christopher.” Jace was leaning against one of the vertical beams, swagger practically radiating off him.

“Jonathan,” Kit replied, his blue eyes holding Jace’s blazing gold ones.

Without a word, Jace pushed away from his leaning post and without so much as a thought for his own safety stepped off his perch and dropped.

Kit’s eyes went wide as he watched him fall at least thirty feet to the floor. Kit expected to hear a loud crash, followed by howling pain, or just a crumpled heap as the dust cleared, but Jace hit the ground with a thud, bouncing on his feet once before stopping barely five feet from Kit.

“It’s Jace,” he said by way of explanation. His face serious but his eyes still held some of the humour, the challenge. Kit just stared, trying to come up with an appropriate response to…that.

“Kit,” he decided on. “So, the legend is true: Jace Herondale really doesn’t take fall damage. It’s almost impressive.” Kit returned Jace’s challenge, his blue eyes keeping up with the warrior’s intensity.

“Almost?” A look of mock offense appeared on his angular, handsome face. “Although what could truly impress Mr Light Show, making horses vanish in battle? Cavalry everywhere are quaking in their boots.”

“Better than your acrobatics; are you going to show a Raum demon ‘The Magnificent Feats of Jace Herondale’ and tightrope walk your way to victory?”

At that, Jace turned on his heel, giving Kit some breathing room, and went over to the weapons wall without so much as a retort. Kit had asked on several occasions what he should expect from Jace, and every time he’d been given the same answer: expect a Herondale. Kit wasn’t well-versed on what that meant but he was fairly sure Jace backing down wasn’t usually a part of it.

He about to speak up and apologise when Jace spun like lightning and something whistled past Kit’s ear, embedding itself in the wall behind him. He turned to see a throwing dagger hilt deep in the wall.

“Not just party tricks,” Jace remarked, and Kit saw the amused glee in his face at catching Kit off guard.

Not one to concede defeat after the first round, Kit asked, “As much as I enjoy watching you show off your angel-given gifts to the rest of us mere mortals, any chance we could do some practical training? Or are there any other contests you’d like to me to measure myself against?”

“There is one other way I’d like to compare your worth, but I wouldn’t want to make you feel completely inferior on your first day of training. I’ll spread out the humiliation, let you appreciate it bit by bit.” The swagger was back in Jace’s step as he walked towards Kit with a steel sword. “It’s blunt, but better to learn the real weight of a weapon. Plus, if you mess up, it’ll hurt like hell and I’ve heard pain is a great motivator.” He smiled innocently as Kit took the sword.

“I wouldn’t know. Although when you’re on your ass, take notes for me.”

Jace’s mouth curved into a predatory smile at Kit’s retort, he squared his feet and pointed his sword.

“Hit me.”

Kit swung. He’d had some prior experience with basic swordplay – enough to know how to handle the blade without cutting himself – so he was fairly confident he could do competently in his first session with Jace.

Kit had certainly miscalculated Jace’s willingness to go easy on his kin. By the time Kit’s sword found the space where Jace should have been he’d already dodged left, earning Kit a smack across the jaw.

“Too slow.”

Kit recovered and swung again. Jace dodged right and punched him again, this time across the shoulder. Pain stung Kit’s arm, enough to hurt and for him to nearly drop the sword, but not enough where he couldn’t recover quickly.

“You need to be faster,” Jace told him impatiently.

Kit lunged a third time, but when Jace dodged and went in for the counter Kit brought his arms up, absorbing the hit. Not one to waste an advantage, Kit attacked and earned a satisfying hit to the arm that Jace had brought up as defence.

“Clever,” Jace commented. “If you can’t be offensive use defence to your advantage.”

Kit made to attack again but feigned, baiting Jace into a dodge. Kit lunged for his leg, aiming to get him down, but Jace produced his own sword and blocked the attack. Steel clanged and Kit stumbled as Jace pressed the advantage, sweeping Kit’s leg out from under him. Kit’s eyes flashed with pain, and when he recovered Jace was stood over him, sword pointed at his neck.

“You know most people keep spare change on their person, where did the sword come from?”

“You should have spotted it,” Jace replied with a smirk.

Kit scanned Jace, cursing his lapse in observation, and spotted the concealed scabbard just poking out from his lower back. He’d clipped it on so the hilt would be hidden behind his leg, not over the shoulder where Kit would expect it.

“Any foe you’re fighting will attempt to outsmart you, even if it might inconvenience them. The advantage could be huge. A concealed weapon could win a fight, as your ass is now reminding you.” Jace moved the sword and held out his hand. Kit took it, hauling himself up onto his feet.

Jace looked at him, his eyes bright, and Kit realised Jace wasn’t just an exceptional fighter, but he was taking pride in the training, at being able to have an impact on his family in ways he hadn’t experienced yet.

Kit opened his mouth to ask for a rematch when the training room door opened, and a head of fiery red hair appeared cautiously around the door. “I hope the pair of you haven’t torn the entire room apart. I’ve been dreading the day two Herondales locked swords.”

Jace’s features visibly softened, his shoulders relaxed, but the swagger remained as he made his way over to Clary.

“I was thinking if you both want a break, I could order Chinese,” Clary said, looking Jace in the eyes, her love radiating so powerfully it make Kit want to give them some privacy.

He watched their slow, deliberate embrace. There was no wanting, no passion for more, it seemed to Kit as though they were content in the presence of each other, as if their world only made sense with each other in it. He wondered if this was what love was, this uncompromised happiness, and if he would ever get close to that. As he watched their perfect bliss, everything else vanishing around them until only they were left, Kit couldn’t help but think back to the slender boy who had pinned him to a wall with grey eyes as much as the blade in his hand. He thought about the mornings he’d see the head of black hair resting amongst blankets and books outside his door, how it was a sentry he never asked for, yet wouldn’t have traded for the world. Yet he did, he traded it all, all that love, for Devon.

We was pulled out of his thoughts about his recent mistakes at the sound of Jace’s clear voice echoing around the room.

“Sure,” replied Jace. “But you…” he said, pointing at Kit, “Have so much more to learn. You’re representing the new age of Herondales, and I won’t let you give the legions of hell the impression we’re slacking.”

“Oh please, you dropped all pretence of training at the mere mention of Chinese food. So much for that Herondale stoicism I’ve heard so much about,” Kit replied with a mock sigh and followed them out of the training room toward the kitchen.  

As they walked through the halls, Jace and Clary side by side in quiet contentment, Kit knew that even though they put the swords down, the sparring between him and Jace was far from over.

He smiled at the thought.

[loruleanheart]

The Legend of Hilda, Chapter 33

Rated: M

Pairing: Princess Hilda and Yuga

Fayre opened her eyes. The chilling voice inside that sounded so much like hers echoed through her mind.

She'd felt the need to reach out to that which had spoken to her that day she'd gotten lost in the temple's maze-like corridors. It had said she could take 'his' place, but what did that mean? And now, sensing that dark, unsettling voice clearer than ever, Fayre had received an answer that only left her with more questions. It had said: I am... the calamity...

The Princess supported Yuga's limp body in her arms as she knelt beside him on the floor. Her cold, vacant stare was fixed on Fayre. Fayre was sure her expression was equally as blank and distant, wondering if the Princess knew she was the one that held her in place when Twinrova brainwashed her. Fayre lost all sense of self and time as she stared back into that soulless crimson gaze, until….

As Fayre feared, Twinrova materialized in their midst, made possible now that Yuga's magical barrier had faded.

The sorceress of fire and ice turned on her heels towards Hilda, seething, "Worthless girl! You were the one who was supposed to fall by his hand! Why couldn't you have just played your role all along? What is it with you two? Not even he could play his role because you've had him wrapped around your finger all your life! Both of you, bitter failures! What a waste! At least I have comfort knowing you'll never be whole again. Even if you live to be an old queen you'll have to live with this the rest of your -."

Hilda screamed over Twinrova's rant. It was probably the foulest curse in the Lorulean language, and Fayre experienced pure catharsis with the Princess. Hilda gave another primal scream that dissolved into a cry as she thrust her hand up into the air and released a dark wave of magical energy that tore through Twinrova, clearly meant to annihilate in the most devastating and swift way possible. The atmosphere around the witch rippled, but she had only been forced back a single step.

Twinrova regained her footing. "Is that all? Pathetic girl..." she said cooly.

Hilda gave a frustrated moan and buried her face in the folds of Yuga's cape.

"All of these centuries of planning... squandered!" Twinrova lamented. "What a shame my black magic would be ineffectual when used on the most important variable: His Grace... Well, whatever... There are other ways. The moment His Grace is reborn into this world - no matter how long it takes - we'll be there. And we'll see to it that your future incarnation is nothing to him.

"His Grace?" Hilda sniffled, taken aback. She looked up again at Twinrova, perhaps briefly hoping Yuga could be revived, but knowing better.

Twinrova paid her no mind, continuing on her unhinged rant. "And we won't make the same mistake next time..." Twinrova settling her reproachful gaze on Fayre. "Fayre, so help me… You will pay the ultimate price for what you've done! Don't even think of reincarnating back into my tribe. May His Grace choose a suitable woman to be his mother! Any woman! Just not you!"

Fayre said nothing, she simply raised her chin in a challenging manner. Her lips were pressed so tightly together and her eyes welled with tears of rage.

Ravio drew his sword, taking a step forward, coming to Hilda and Fayre's defense. "There won't be a next time. Yuga's reincarnation cycle has ended. He suffered a mortal injury and the Demon King was revealed. Your plot did indeed backfire. You couldn't fathom that Yuga would rather die than harm Hilda. It is solely you who is responsible for his demise. Not the Princess or this woman. Yuga's blood is on your hands."

"No, I refuse to believe that! As if that vile goddess, Lorelle would allow her precious Demon King to cease reincarnating."

"I fear it's true…" Hilda said. " It was Lorelle… or rather I, who cursed the Demon King to reincarnate time and time again as a mortal as divine punishment for his pride. But Lorelle had a secret motive- she wanted to live countless mortal lives with him. But... I don't know what will happen now… I was so confused and full of hatred... I fear even that part of myself - Lorelle - has forsaken him."

"No! No! If His Grace can't come back I will throw Lorule into darkness myself!" Twinrova screamed.

The hero spoke up again. "I won't allow it. You've already ruined two lives. What made you think you could interfere with-" The air was knocked out of Ravio as he was backhanded across the face with enough force to send him to the stone floor in a heap, the Master Sword clattering a few feet away from him.

"Ravio!" Hilda screamed.

"Don't lecture me, you irritating cur! I'm not as stupid as you seem to believe. You never trusted His Grace. Don't try to pretend that you didn't secretly dream that he would show his true colors so you could have the Princess's trust and admiration all for yourself." Twinrova approached the fallen hero and held out her hand, drawing Reason in. It lifted from the back of Ravio's hand and rose up so that Twinrova could claim it. Before he could wriggle away, Twinrova brought down her sandaled foot on his head, holding him to the floor.

Twinrova set her sights on Hilda once again, smiling cruelly. "Oh, Princess...You don't deserve a happy ending. I think deep down even your hero would agree." Twinrova ground the sole of her sandal into his temple. Ravio's features distorted into a grimace.

The Captain made to move in on Twinrova, but the sorceress shot him a caustic glare. "Take one more step, and see what happens." She hissed. The Captain did as told, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

Twinrova addressed Hilda again. "Admit what a foolish girl you are, and I will let him live."

Sadness registered in Hilda's previously vacant expression. What good was pride at a moment such as this? She knew she and Yuga could never be together again."

"I admit it. I am a disgrace… Even in the hero's eyes." Hilda said dimly.

"Hilda, no… That's not true." Ravio managed, through the pain.

Twinrova, seemingly satisfied, released Ravio, but not before giving him a swift kick in the ribs. A sharp gasp escaped the young hero. The Captain went to Ravio's side, helping the boy to his feet. Ravio tried to shake the throbbing pain in his temple. He took up the Master Sword once again, setting a determined gaze on Twinrova, who had returned her attention to Yuga's lifeless form that laid across Hilda's lap.

"Feeling sorry for yourself, Princess? Don't you dare… Because of you, I will never be able to experience the glory of the Demon King's perfect world. Even though the Triforce of Hope seems to be out of my reach, I can still have Beauty. His Grace's piece of the Triforce rightfully belongs to me now! Hand it over!"

"Don't touch him! Get away from us!" Hilda hissed, summoning a barrier of Nayru's love around herself and Yuga.

Twinrova thrust a palm through the barrier, shattering it. She grabbed a fistful of Hilda's hair and pulled her up and away from Yuga, holding her in a headlock with her right arm. In her other hand was the broomstick of ice, and she brought it dangerously close to Hilda's face. Twinrova cackled ruthlessly anticipating her victory. The frigid air wafting from the staff threatened to numb Hilda's skin to the bone and eventually freeze over in a slow and torturous death. Hilda was about to resign herself this terrible fate when she heard Twinrova let loose a sudden scream. The witch flailed and dropped Hilda, who crashed to the floor unharmed. Twinrova reached behind her to grab for the Master Sword, which was impaled in her back. Twinrova sneered at Ravio and he began to backpedal

"Oh no…" The hero mumbled under his breath, his face pale.

In one quick motion Twinrova sent the sword flying back towards its owner's head. Ravio just managed to dodge, missing him by mere centimeters. Ravio helped Hilda up and pulled her to safety, his heart still pounding. Hilda struggled, "Don't let her near him!"

Twinrova held out her hand to claim Beauty, but nothing happened. And then Twinrova noticed there was no trace of it on the back of Yuga's hand.

"Where is it?" Twinrova huffed, still in debilitating pain from her injury.

The Captain raised his hand, with some hesitation, showing off the golden relic. "Now I'm the fairest of them all!"

Ravio gave a weak laugh. "Captain, I can't believe it!"

"And neither can I… I guess the goddesses saw fit to manifest it in me in Yuga's stead."

"So that's why you've been so quiet all this time! A baleful affront to His Grace!"

Twinrova sent a pillar of flame in his direction. He quickly sidestepped the flame, feeling intense heat at his side. Next, Twinrova attempted to freeze him as he closed in on her, sword in hand. This time the Captain quickly raised his shield to block the blast of ice. The shield froze solid on impact, causing him to drop it just before his hand could be frozen to it. Twinrova huffed sending another torrent of flame at the Captain - this one too wide to sidestep. He froze in terror. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the woman, Fayre step between him and Twinrova, raising her palm to summon a protective barrier. The flame collided with Fayre's magic, causing it to ricochet in the opposite direction, hitting Twinrova. Twinrova shrieked in agony but recovered quickly. She disappeared her broomsticks and rushed at Fayre, grabbing her by the throat, holding her up single-handedly.

"What are you still hanging around for, you old whore? I have no further use for you." Twinrova's grip tightened. "Now, succumb to my fire which can burn you to your soul."

Fayre closed her eyes, bracing herself for death's sweet release. Fayre's lips curled into a faint, spiteful smile.

No longer under their thumb...

In an instant Fayre was ignited, beginning at her throat where Twinrova held her in place and spread throughout her body. Yet her smile did not waver.

The Captain, Ravio, and Hilda looked on horrified as they watched that poor woman immolate before their eyes. Her pale skin began to bubble and ripple, becoming blackened and charred.

"Goddesses, have mercy!" The Captain exclaimed, losing his resolve.

Twinrova shrugged her shoulders, letting go of what was left of Fayre - a burnt husk of a woman. Fayre landed next to Yuga. She was barely conscious and in unimaginable agony as she laid her gaze on Yuga, who appeared beautiful even in death. It reminded her of when she used to watch him sleep as a young child.

Fayre sits in a carriage bound for Misery Mire. The cobbled streets of the town give way to a dusty rural road. She places her hand on the small bump of her belly and smiles. Her sisters will be happy to see her after these long months away.

It sounded distant to Fayre, but she could hear Twinrova and Hilda having another row.

"Tell that Captain of yours to hand over the Triforce of Beauty, or I'm going to bring down the curse on you all over again, except this time, there will be no hope of coming back from it, not even in your future lives! You will have nothing but hate and contempt for His Grace, no matter how many lives you live!"

"I will never stop loving him, even if I perish and become a shade!" Hilda shouted, ready to fight Twinrova herself, staff in hand.

These were the last words Fayre heard as her eyes slowly glazed over. Malice began to form in those eyes and spread throughout her body, regenerating her. A red miasma spread out, billowing around her as she rose into the air, gaining the attention of Twinrova and the princess.

When the spectral woman's feet met the floor once again, her eyes locked with Twinrova's, and her lips curled in a caustic smile. The being that had been Fayre held out her hand towards Twinrova, drawing in, sapping her power. The great sorceress of fire and ice gave an enraged scream before an intense burst of light consumed her, and the twin diminutive, ancient women stood in Twinrova's place, dazed. "W-what have you become? Aren't you Fayre?" Koume asked.

"Have mercy on us. We are merely servants of His Grace." Kotake implored.

"I am the calamity in the Demon King's stead." The dark being said. Then Fayre's voice cut in. "Love made me..." The Calamity's voice overlapped with Fayre's. "Hate made me…" The cold, dark voice continued. "The Demon King chose me as a vessel for the demon king's mortal form to be reborn in this life. While we shared a body for only a short time, the Demon King left a permanent imprint on me that allowed me to transcend into this form in death. It is comforting to know a part of my son has been closer than I thought all along, lying dormant in my cells even decades after birth. In death, I can see that all mothers share a similar connection with their children… Something you will never experience or understand, you disgusting old hags. You put me through so much… More than I could bear… I believed I was powerless and inconsequential. I can see now that your impact on Lorule's history will be but a speck of dust in comparison to mine."

"Sister… We have… failed... the Demon King." Said Kotake, as if in a trance.

"Indeed. We have failed..." Koume agreed, no anger in her voice, completely given to horror and despair. "Please forgive us, Fayre... Allow us to serve...you."

Calamity Fayre gave a cruel giggle, she held out her hand to take the remainder of the twin's power. Slowly, it became apparent that Kotake and Koume were disintegrating, their existence being erased. A powerful unseen force hung in the air between the twins and Calamity Fayre. Blood and organic matter became magic and flowed through the air being absorbed by the Calamity.

The Calamity laughed, "I can feel their power in me. A pity it's not much..." And then the Calamity turned her attention to the Princess, who had returned to Yuga's side the moment the Calamity turned her wrath against Twinrova. Hilda's eyes widened in fear. Sensing her unease, Fayre spoke using her own voice. "I will not harm you. I only wish to be near my son one last time. With my connection to him, he can live again."

Hilda blinked, speechless. She rose and moved back a few steps, her eyes never leaving the Calamity or Yuga.

The being that had been Fayre knelt next to Yuga's form, placing a spectral hand to his forehead. A fine matrix of energy flowed through her and into him. Damage to his mind was undone. Shattered bones were mended. His heart began to beat again. The spectral woman appeared visibly weakened from this feat as she stumbled away.

Hilda raised her hands to her mouth, coming apart again as she returned to Yuga's side. His chest was rising and falling once again. She hugged him as he began to stir. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a golden gleam and exhaled softly when she realized it was her piece of the Triforce manifesting on her once again. At the same moment, the Triforce faded in on the back of Yuga's hand.

"Hey, where'd my beauty go?" Hilda heard the Captain remark, although she could tell by the tone in his voice that he had a pretty good idea.

Hilda looked to Ravio to see him examining the back of his hand as well, appearing relieved, but looking at the Calamity with apprehension, ready to pull the Master Sword from its sheath at any moment should the being pose a threat.

"I have no interest in your Triforce, Hero of Lorule. I only expect to see my descendants on Lorule's throne. You won't interfere will you, Hero of Lorule?" The boy was silent for a long moment, an incredulous look on his face. "I see… You anticipated this outcome as you watched them grow closer. You've come a long way… Even grown to accept that which you originally could not. Yet, you can't believe that is all I desire. In exchange, I will ensure peace in Lorule - freedom from fear of your responsibility as the hero.

Ravio remained silent, overwhelmed.

The Calamity smiled. "Then this shall be our agreement for the next 10,000 years. A promise between the Calamity and the Hero."

Ravio's emerald eyes held a heaviness about them. This was all so much bigger than himself or even future lifetimes he could fathom. "10,000 years?"

"In 10,000 years the last traces of my memories will be completely gone. Only the calamity will remain. I have loved so intensely that I have given everything; even my life and become evil itself. And I have no regrets." Calamity Fayre looked to the Princess who was trying to awaken Yuga. A single tear slid down the spectral woman's cheek. "Princess… Take care of him… My son…" The Calamity let loose a soul-rending cry, almost a howl, and vanished in the blink of an eye, her rapid departure causing the castle walls to shake.

The rumbling awoke Yuga, who opened his eyes and smiled at Hilda. "Your Grace…?" Hilda exhaled and smiled back. He wiped away the tears cascading down her cheeks and they embraced silently for a long long time.

"I knew the goddesses would renew their restraining order against him and he wouldn't stay dead," The Captain mumbled to Ravio.

Ravio said nothing at first, merely looking at the Captain blankly.

"I can't believe it's over… For a time, anyways…" Ravio finally said. "A mother's determination can be a frightening thing… Especially when she is the mother of the Demon King. What a relief that a being so powerful only wants peace for her son and the princess. And so, I will also let them live in peace. I can only pray that the goddesses have mercy on Fayre's spirit and that she finds rest. Someday…"

[devilmaycry5games-blog]

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Fic: Gemini Chapter 10

AO3

Bilbo may be a Baggins of a Bag End, but his twin sister Bella inherited all their mother’s Tookish tendencies. If one Hobbit burglar is good, surely two will be better… right?

Rating: G

This is going to be a huge multi-part fic. I’ll be tagging it #HobbitGemini for anyone who wants to follow it, or shoot me a message if you’d like me to tag you specifically. Updates are Sundays and Wednesdays. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Late for Dinner

Chapter 2: An Unexpected Party

Chapter 3: No One West of Bree

Chapter 4: A Gentledwarf

Chapter 5: A Much-Needed Ally

Chapter 6: Petunias

Chapter 7: Wild Things

Chapter 8: Right Next Door

Chapter 9: Axe or Sword

Chapter 10: Eavesdropping

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ‘ere break of day,

To find our long forgotten gold.”

 The other dwarves joined in the song one by one, until the whole room thrummed with the intensity of it.

 “The pines were roaring on the height.

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red. It flaming spread.

The trees like torches blazed with light.”

 Though there were more verses to the song, Thorin realized singing was making him feel both better and worse at the same time, and he trailed off.

These dwarves, his company, they understood, and they allowed the sound to fade away into the air. They felt it too: the weight of all that past, present, and uncertain future hanging over their heads. Sometimes it felt as though it was enough to crush him into dust. And there was no hope in the song. Only pain and the grim task he’d laid before them.

Suddenly seized with a strong desire to be anywhere but there, Thorin put out his pipe and tucked it into a pocket. Contrary to Balin’s worst fears, the company had not been ejected from the smial following their host’s fainting spell, and Thorin murmured to his dwarves to enjoy the warmth and security. He wasn’t sure where he was going in this home that wasn’t his, but he just needed to get away, to allow his dwarves a chance at reclaiming some of the good cheer he’d interrupted earlier.

He wandered the curving hallways for a while, losing himself in the architecture. He couldn’t help but marvel at the halflings’ skill in delving through such soft soil. He’d expected something more like a rabbit warren, with oozing worms and stinking leaf rot all around, but this place was snug and pleasant, though rather lacking in right angles for his taste.

He was studying the peculiar way a support beam arced around a polished tree root in the main hall, when raised voices drew his attention to the closed study.

“I can’t believe you!”

“Bella, don’t start.”

Master Baggins, arguing with his sister about sleeping arrangements after all. Well, his company were no strangers to sleeping on the ground. With their supplies in Bywater, it would be inconvenient to be ejected from the smial at this time of night, but they had dealt with much worse. He was about to step in and tell the halflings as much, absolve them of any responsibility, but the lass’s next words brought him up short.

“What if it was Bag End?”

“Excuse me?” Baggins sounded exhausted. Thorin couldn’t blame him on that score, knowing now how little warning the halfling had been given of his company’s arrival.

“You heard me. What if it was West Farthing crockery and Longbottom Leaf that dragons coveted? And no Tooks or Brandybucks or even greedy Sackville-Bagginses would help you?”

“Bella, I feel for them. I really do.”

There was a pause, and Thorin felt a flash of hope. Absurd as it was, he wanted the lass to win this argument, to convince her brother to take his side like the clans refused to do. Even if he did not want her on this journey, he found it suddenly important that even one other being in Middle Earth cared what happened to his dwarves.

“No.” Thorin could hear the resolve harden into steel in her brother’s voice. Thorin’s disappointment was tempered with surprise that the little fellow had such conviction in him, after everything. “Bella, it’s just too dangerous! I can’t allow you to go. It’s completely out of the question. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t allow me to go,” his sister repeated flatly. Maker, but he knew that tone… Just as he knew the Look that went with it, though it was Dis’s ice blue gaze he pictured, rather than the lass’s honey brown. He had a sinking feeling the lass meant to follow them, whether he consented to her presence or not.

“Belladonna Baggins, be serious for once in your life! Don’t you give me that look! You are a Baggins of Bag End, for all you pretend at being a Took. And for a Baggins of Bag End to go traipsing across the Wilds with a troop of homeless dwarves… You’d be ruined!”

“You sound like Otho.”

“Now, Bella —”

“No.” Bella cut him off angrily, tears clear in her voice. “It is not for you — or anyone — to allow me to do anything. I will help these dwarves because it is the right thing to do, danger be damned. And if there is not enough room in my precious reputation for such honor as that, then damn my reputation, too!”

Thorin knew what came next.

Conscious of how little his own sister would like to be seen in such a state, he ducked into the nearest room. Sure enough, no sooner had Thorin gotten the door shut, than the door to the study banged open, and the sounds of sniffling and hurried footsteps passed down the hall.

“Not hiding, are we?”

Thorin whirled and realized he’d taken refuge in Balin’s temporary quarters. His advisor continued with his bedtime preparations as though it was perfectly natural for people to burst into his room uninvited late at night.

There was only one bed in the room, but Thorin spied another blanket and a pillow laid out on the window seat. “Are you sharing with Dwalin then?” he asked. The window seat would be a little cramped for the burly warrior, but still a luxury after the journey from Ered Luin.

“Don’t change the subject,” Balin scolded without looking up. He slipped off his socks and tucked them into the tops of his boots. He wriggled his bare toes in the thick carpet beside the bed.

Thorin scowled. “The halflings are fighting about accompanying us.” He didn’t voice his guilty suspicion that the lass had been crying over the matter — though he realized now that there was some larger issue between the siblings that was only being exacerbated by their presence.

Balin sank into the soft bed with a contented sigh. “They both seem hard-headed, in their own ways.” He peered up at Thorin with one eye. “I take it, then, that we have lost our burglar? And you are still set against Miss Baggins for the task?”

Thorin flopped back against the door with an exasperated huff. “Are you going to argue for her? I doubt you could put the matter any more eloquently than she did herself, just now.”

Balin sighed and closed his eyes once more. “Ah, well, probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers… Hardly the stuff of legend.”

Thorin lurched upright, taken with a sudden fit of loyalty to these dwarves who had already proven so loyal to him. “I will take every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills,” he growled, “for when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that.”

“Still,” Balin mused, tucking his hands behind his head, “willing though she may be, I cannot say that I see the wisdom in taking a young, untried hobbit lass across the world with us to face a dragon.”

“Irresponsible at best,” Thorin agreed.

Balin hummed thoughtfully. “We’ve enough on our plate with Bifur’s injury and young Ori and those troublemaking nephews of yours to look after. Speaking of the lads, they’ll take the news hard, I’m afraid. They’ve already grown attached to our would-be burglaress.”

“Too attached. She’s already a distraction.”

“What will you do about Dori and her sisters, then?”

Thorin scoffed. “Meaning what? They’re family. They —”

“—are as warm-blooded as any of the rest of us. I, myself, would ask Dori for an evening stroll, if I thought she’d accept out of anything beyond a sense of obligation.”

Thorin took a moment to consider that. He and Dwalin had grown up with Bori, been nigh inseparable before the dragon, and in the early Wandering Years. All three of them had sworn blood oaths to look after one another’s families before Azanulbizar, though it was Thorin and Dwalin who’d had to follow through. They’d cared for their fallen friend’s three sisters as best they could, as much as the eldest dam’s pride would allow, and Balin’s smooth manner and kindly nature had been invaluable help in that task.

Dori was a force of nature, like Dis, and it was difficult for Thorin to think of her as the object of anyone’s romantic interest. Nori was much the same in his mind, though he had heard plenty of rumors of her various entanglements, both romantic and otherwise. She’d proven time and again that she could handle such matters for herself, so Thorin had found even her current relationship with the miner easy to put out of his mind. She’d be the first one to cut her losses if it became an impediment in this venture. And as for little Ori… He knew Dwalin had a soft spot for her, but he also knew both she and Dwalin were far too focused on their respective goals to allow for any real distractions.

“They’re different,” Thorin said at last, lamely.

Balin let that particular point go, and Thorin was grateful for his charity. “The wizard will have something to say about your decision, too,” Balin mused. “But better that, than have her along for the duration, I suppose. As friendly as he appears to be with the lass, and with the impression you’ve made this evening, she’d be sure to take his side in every little matter. There’ll be enough butting of heads in this venture without the wizard having such an outspoken ally.”

“At least she has some spine,” Thorin countered. He hated to admit it, but he was still stinging a bit from her rebuke at the door. “More than her worrywart grocer of a brother has shown, at any rate.”

“Ah, go easy on the lad, Thorin. Gandalf has used him terribly tonight. I thought it a prank at first, or perhaps a case of shock or second thoughts stemming from meeting Dwalin first, out of us all… But from what I’ve gathered, we were completely unexpected. Thank the Maker your nephews bumped into Miss Baggins before we all got here! She’d have seen us out in no uncertain terms, I’m afraid, if we’d all shown up completely unannounced on her watch.”

Thorin bowed his head. “I’m being unfair,” he conceded. He thought back to what he’d overheard from the study. “Master Baggins is concerned for his sister, though he seems to value their reputation more than her safety.”

“I gather we are not the sort of company one should keep here in the Shire.”

Thorin snorted at that. “No, old friend,” he agreed sadly. “We are not the sort of company most would choose to keep since the coming of the dragon.” He could not keep the bitterness from his voice as he added, softly, “Not even our kin, Balin. Not even Dain.”

“I know, old friend,” Balin murmured.

A knock on the door startled them both out of their thoughts.

“Come,” Balin called.

“Balin, have you seen —” Kili started as he opened the door. “Oh! Uncle! Bella says to let you know your room is ready, and to tell you she’ll be just down the hall if you need anything. She’s sharing with Dori, but she says don’t hesitate to knock if something comes up.”

“Actually, Kili,” Thorin sighed, “ask her to come in here, please.”

Balin’s eyebrows rose in silent question, but Thorin ignored him. He’d made a decision.

[sulfurwrites74]

Dragon

Eighteen years of planning and preparation, ruthless training and days spent running, masters, and guides who came and went; No one thought I could do it. But now, after all this time, I stand just outside of The Beast's lair.

My heavy claymore rests on my hip, my wooden longbow is strung across my back. I have four daggers strapped to my legs, and a fifth hidden in my boot.

Grabbing the cross around my neck, I take a breath and walk into the cave.

As I continue to move deeper into the cavern, all light that may have been able to creep into the stony hall vanishes, and I am left alone in the dark. I am smarter than lighting a torch and rely on my sense of smell and sound to guide me.

I hear my own boots move lightly across the floors. My breathing is deep but unsteady. No matter how intensely I may have trained for this moment, I am still human, and I still fear. I can hear water drops falling from the ceiling of the cave to the ground. I imagine my heart beating in tune with them.

Drip, bump. Drip, bump. Drip, bump.

I smell wet rock and rich minerals. If I concentrate very strongly, I can distinguish hot coals and a new flame.

My mother used to say to me that training was pointless. That any effort I put into my quest would quickly be discarded in the face of The Beast. My father spoke similarly, saying that no matter how hard I tried I would never be good enough to defeat it. Their pessimistic judgments never fail to fall deaf on my ears. If anything, they only fueled my passions.

Every time a warrior sent out to destroy The Beast, it would control them and send them back to the village to spread hoaxes about its innocence. No matter how many people tried to bring the person back to their senses, whether it be family, friends, mentors, even the priest, the fallen warrior was never able to return back to their normal self.

My good friend was one of them. He was determined to put an end to The Beast once and for all but returned only to sing praise for the monster that rotted his mind and independence. I attended his execution as his last hope. I spoke to him below the gallows and pleaded with him to come back to us, but he only stood screaming of the injustice we were doing to him and The Beast.

I had to look away as the executioner pulled the lever.

I have seen far too many good people fall victim to this terrible demon and I no longer

wish to stand by and watch. I will put an end to this devil's reign once and for all.

Up ahead, I see firelight coming out of an aperture in the cave wall. I crouch, and slowly creep towards the opening. As I come closer, I hear The Beast's roars.

Finally, this bloodthirsty villain will fall. I pull my claymore out of its sheath and charge into the room.

Raising my sword high above my head, I slice downward at The Beast aiming for the neck, but it's too fast. It scrambles away from its alter on its hands and knees, screaming in fear.

For a moment, I am confused. I look directly at The Beast, deep into its eyes, and find my own. It is afraid. I see no glint of evil in its image, only a strong will to live.

It seems almost, human.

I quickly shook the thought from my head. Nothing about this monster is humane.

"Beast!" I bellow into the dark chamber, "Your demonic rule of fear over our village is over. Prepare to meet your doom!" Once again, I charge, this time ready to twist the blade into the direction The Beats attempts to escape in.

As my sword swings to meet its leg, it somehow deflects the blade with a small decorative knife.

The monster's athame only a few inches longer than its hand, and the blade is made of carved stone, but my claymore still bounces off of it with great force. The knife must have a curse on it.

"Wait stop!" The Beast cries as I raise my sword once again. It puts its hands out, palms up in surrender, and I raise my brow in confusion.

What is it doing? I think. I've heard the legends of this ruthless monster. "It can kill in seconds" they would say. So why isn't it fighting back?

"Please! I don't want to fight!" I can see tears beginning to well up in its eyes. Suddenly, I feel a shift in heart.

Oh no, I think. What have I done?

"What are you?" I whisper very quietly to this curious creature, careful not to startle it.

"My name is Nimue," She begins very softly. "And I am no monster, I promise!"

"Then what are you?" I ask, raising my sword back up again pointing its tip at her chest.

"I'm just..." She hesitates, "I don't know!" All of a sudden, she becomes angry. Glaring at me, she rises back to her feet and walks over to her alter.

"I'm sick, okay?" She slams her hands on the table and turns her head over her shoulder to look at me, "I'm sick and tired of everyone treating me like some freak!"

I am surprised by her outburst. She seems nothing like the tales told of her. An evil witch, a Draconic Wiccan friend who holds herself above all others. When I see this said to be an awful thing, she seems only scared and misunderstood.

"I don't understand," I begin, lowering my sword and carefully stepping closer. "Why do you hide then? If you mean no harm to anyone why do you isolate yourself from the land?"

"Why do you think?" She has seemed to calm down now. I can see she is right though, she's tired.

I began nodding my head as I slowly understand her point of view. "You don't want to, do you?' I close my eyes as I speak and try to imagine a world closed off from all other intelligent beings. "They- we made you an outcast."

She doesn't answer, she only nods her head.

I sit down with her and she explains to me the story of her people. She lived with her parents in my village, but when she was very young the Church began their crusades to rid the land of sin. Her family was forced out because of their craft, her parents died in the forest a year later and she's been alone ever since.

"I promise you your injustice will not go unnoticed," I say to her as I exit the cave.

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep." She whispers in response. And with that, I leave.

I never used to understand how the beast was able to change my friend's mind about something he felt so passionately about, but now I do.

Nimue is just a regular commoner whose common life was stripped away from her along with her only family. My new mission, the one I should have had all along, is now to make my people see how wrong they are about her. Even if I die trying.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Conan Companion, Star Trek, Necromancers, Stanley Mullen

New Release (Amazon): By Crom! At long last the definitive history of Conan the Barbarian paperbacks that fans have clamoured for. 107 pages with detailed chapters devoted to each of the mighty Cimmerian’s publishers. Heavily illustrated with many rare images. Plus complete cover galleries of every US and UK Conan title ever issued. In full colour. An indispensable aid to Conan collectors and completists everywhere. Featuring a specially written foreword by Conan comics legend Roy Thomas!

    Star Trek (Huffington Post): The LA Times recently ran a story about the Child Exploitation Section of the Toronto Sex Crimes Unit, which contained a mind-boggling statistic: of the more than 100 offenders the unit has arrested over the last four years, “all but one” has been “a hard-core Trekkie.” Blogger Ernest Miller thought this claim was improbable. “I could go to a science fiction convention,” he explained “and be less likely to find that 99+ percent of the attendees were hard-core Trekkies.” While there may be quibbling about the exact numbers, the Toronto detectives claim that the connection is undeniable.

    Review (Brain Leakage): That said, if you are looking for a great post-apocalyptic read, I want to draw your attention to the work of Jon Mollison. I read his A Moon Full of Stars recently, with the intent of dedicating a full-length ‘Pocky-clypse Now review to it soon. I do still plan on doing that. But I’m probably going to wait until after our daily news cycle looks a little less like the opening credits to the 2004 Dawn of the Dead remake.

Awards (Kairos): … And enjoy a hearty laugh at the incestuous wasteland the once-prestigious Hugo Awards have become.

Predictions that the Hugo field would degenerate into a circle jerk of olpdub purse puppies beloved by editors in New York–and pretty much no one else–have been realized ahead of schedule.

Here’s a partial list of this year’s finalists.

D&D (DMR Books): The Complete Book of Necromancers by Steve Kurtz was released in the spring of 1995, and came and went fairly quickly. Luckily a friend of mine snagged one shortly after it came out. Ostensibly the book was intended for the eyes of Dungeon Masters only, but of course we were hungry to add the new spells and powers to our player characters’ repertoires. Clark Ashton Smith is mentioned by name in the majority of the chapters of Necromancers. While Smith’s absence from Appendix N is conspicuous, Kurtz more than made up for the oversight.

Fiction (Digital Bibliophilia): Any book that opens Page One with a man being skewered by the broken mast of a sailing ship in the middle of a storm has to be good right? Well, I’m happy to say Oath of Blood by Arthur Frazier lives up to its gory opening scene and delivers a fantastic little novel about the clash of the Saxons, Normans and Vikings during the 11th century (1066 to be precise). Arthur Frazier was one of many pen names used by the prolific Kenneth Bulmer.

Gaming (Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog): Charisma. It’s not just a dump stat, they say. But look, if you don’t have a lot of it, you’re going to be stuck in a career as an assassin. Which is kind of funny, actually. Of course if you were going to actually use that stat in an AD&D game, you’re going to have to flip to the middle of the combat section to find the reaction table. Why is it there right in the middle of sections detailing initiative and missile discharge? Evidently this something pretty important to consider when the players have initiative in a random encounter, right?

Fiction (Dark Worlds Quarterly): Another writer who has left a huge legacy with little recognition is Gardner Francis Cooper Fox (1911-1986). Fox began his career writing for Batman as early as 1939. (It was Fox who gave Bruce Wayne his “utility belt”.) During his decades long career with DC, he would work on such characters as The Flash, Hawkman and The Justice Society of America. He was there when Julius Schwartz revamped DC comics to meet the new “Comics Code”. He was there when DC invented its Multiverse.  Outside of DC, he would pen the first Sword & Sorcery comic called “Crom the Barbarian”.

Fiction (DMR Books): The book being advertised was Kinsmen of the Dragon by Stanley Mullen. I was completely unfamiliar with both the title and the author. A bit of research revealed that this book had never been reprinted since its publication in 1951, which explains why it’s so little-known today. In spite of (or perhaps because of) its obscurity, good condition copies are pricey, usually going for over $50, and signed copies are much more.

Fiction/Gaming Tie-in (Karavansara): Two nights in Arkham: Lovecraft purists often frown at Lovecraft-inspired fiction. The main charge raised by these people is, other writers are either too much like Lovecraft or not at all like him, often at the same time. The second most common accusation is that certain stories are too action-centered and adventure-oriented, filled with guns blazing and chanting cultists. They usually blame Lovecraft’s popularity with the gaming crowd as the main reason for these degenerate pastiches, in which Indiana Jones or Doc Savage seem to exert an influence stronger than Nyarlathotep’s.

Fiction (Mostly Old Books): he Fargo series tell the tales of early 20th Century adventurer and solider of fortune Neal Fargo. They aren’t Westerns as the covers suggest. In this installment Fargo is hired by a rich old blowhard to rescue some Mayan treasures and the excavation team, which includes his son, from the jungles of Central America.

Cinema (The Silver Key): 1917 had been in my “to watch” queue for a long time (aka, floating around in the back of my mind), and last night I watched it with my older daughter, a self-described “film buff” who wanted to see what the hype was all about. Two word review: Excellent film. It’s an intensely personal/soldier’s journey type of story, and also manages to convey the larger tragedy of the Great War.

Fiction (Sacnoth’s Scriptorium): The Inklings and the Mythos (Dale Nelson). So, I’ve now recovered the missing issue of MALLORN* containing Dale Nelson’s wide-ranging inquiry into possible connections between the Inklings and Lovecraft’s circle, “The Lovecraft Circle and the Inklings: The ‘Mythopoeic Gift’ of H. P. Lovecraft” (MALLORN 59, Winter 2018, pages 18-32). It’s a substantial piece, and in it Nelson raises such topics as the following: Did the two groups read or were they influenced by each other?

Fiction (Scott Oden): In the past few weeks, my sophomore novel, MEMNON (Medallion Press, 2006; Crossroad Press, 2018), has received a raft of four-and-five star ratings on Goodreads and a pair of excellent reviews — which, for a fourteen-year old novel is no mean feat.  Author Matt Larkin, in his review at Amazon, writes: “Evocative prose paints a living picture of the Classical world while the sudden, brutal violence serves to remind us never to look at history through rose-colored glasses.” While Scott Marlowe of Out of this World Reviews praises many things, including the battles: “I can only describe [them] as spectacular and right up there with some of the best battles I’ve had the pleasure to read in historical fiction (think Bernard Cornwell, surely one of the best of them all). Memnon gives Alexander such grief I imagine Alexander remembered their contests right up until his dying days.”

Fiction (Tentaculii): Lovecraft’s famous survey of supernatural literature was published in The Recluse in August 1927. Later in the same year Eino Railo published the history of the literary gothic in The Haunted Castle: A Study of the Elements of English Romanticism. A December 1927 review in the New York Evening Post suggests Railo’s book was published in time for the Christmas market and the January book-token crowd, and thus it appeared several months after Lovecraft’s circle had finished digesting his Supernatural Literature. Lovecraft refers to The Haunted Castle, a translation from the Finnish, in admiring terms in a later letter to Barlow and terms it a study of “the weird”.

History (Men of the West): Suddenly the war became fun. It became exciting, carnivalesque, tremendous. It became victorious and even safe. We awoke on the morning of Sunday, the 30th of July, with the feeling that the war was won — in spirit, if not in fact. Patton and the Third Army were away. At the 8th Corps, which held the western sector of the Normandy front, the G2 colonel said: “We’ve lost contact with the enemy.”

Fiction (Tentaculii): The second half of a forthcoming book, No Ghosts Need Apply: Gothic influences in criminal science, the detective and Doyle’s Holmesian Canon (October 2020), attempts to make the case that there are gothic traces in what are often assumed to be the ‘rationalist’ Sherlock Holmes stories. Sifting the extensive blurb for the book, one can eventually determine that the author suggests the following specific points… * intrigue and secret societies. . .

Fiction (M Porcius Blog): Let’s check out four stories by Mickey Spillane’s all-time favorite author, Fredric Brown, that first appeared in beautiful pulp magazines in 1942 and 1943, magazines that you can read at the universally beloved internet archive for free. “Etaoin Shrdlu” made its debut in Unknown Worlds in 1942.  The cover of Unknown may be boring, but the interior illustrations are quite fine, those by Frank Kramer for L. Sprague de Camp’s “The Undesired Princess” in particular.

Sensor Sweep: Conan Companion, Star Trek, Necromancers, Stanley Mullen published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 20: Found family, Blanket

*shuffles feet*

...in my defense, I almost entirely finished this yesterday, I just wasn’t about to go trying to edit and post it at like 11:30 at night (though this note probably would have been a lot more interesting if I had lol).

Anyway. Continuation to day 17! I apologize for the delay and hope the wait was worth it 😓

Day 17

Read on ao3

Warnings: same as day 17, injuries, torture mentions, a short nightmare, just bad times for Twilight

————————————————————

Getting out was a blur.

Link forced himself to stay awake as the leader of the heroes (had he even said his name? ...If he had he couldn’t remember) carried him, but focusing on much of anything was difficult. The ever-present pain weighed him down like a heavy load, old scars and new injuries adding endless layers of suffering, and even just being carried in someone’s arms was agony.

There was the leftover burn from the magic too— though the chains that had secured him were gone, the manacles were still on his wrists and the collar was still around his neck, and they ached, his whole body still shaking from the ordeal of removing the chains.

It was a struggle not to just pass out.

But the part of him that still screamed not to trust stay on alert be prepared for him to come back was stronger. It had been honed from countless jarring awakenings, pain ripping him back from already restless sleeps, and so he stayed awake, no matter how badly he wanted to rest.

The man holding him shifted his grip as he went up some stairs, and Link felt his breath hitch as some of his injuries were nudged. The man whispered an apology, and gently squeezed one of the few spots of skin that didn’t have an open wound on it.

Link flinched anyway.

The touch immediately retreated, and Link was torn between being relieved and crying at the loss of it.

Part of him still expected them to suddenly turn on him, the kind touches becoming bruising ones, gentle hands turned to claws and knives. But... he also craved it. He desperately wanted somebody to pat him on the shoulder and hug him and run their hand through his hair, but any of the touch he’d received so far had been like torture.

He truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a touch that didn’t involve pain in some way. He could barely stomach it now, no matter how well-meaning, and he hated it.

Was there anything left the Shadow hadn’t taken from him?

Voices suddenly rang down the hall, and Link stiffened, straining his ears to try and figure out who— or what they were.

One of the other heroes who’d gotten him out (the one with the Master Sword, he thought. He really needed names) called out, and soon there were unfamiliar faces and words being exchanged and questions directed at him and all he could do was close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden amount of people surrounding him.

How many were there?

“... got Legend pretty bad, but we beat him off and he disappeared,” a polished voice spoke, and Link twitched an ear his direction. What was he talking about? A legend?

“I’m fine,” a sharper voice cut in, and Link thought it seemed younger then the other one. “You didn’t need to use that fairy, that was our last one!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“Save it for the reason we came here in the first place! He’s way more injured than I was!”

“Legend,” a softer voice spoke up, sounding exasperated, “...you were pretty bad. And you know we don’t take chances with injuries caused by the Shadow.”

A sick feeling abruptly surged over Link at the name, along with an intense hatred and fear and horror and too many emotions for his mind to handle at the moment. Link’s breath stuttered against his will, and the man holding him frowned.

“You don’t think the Shadow is still here, do you?” The small hero with the colorful tunic asked, and the voices paused.

“Probably... not,” Link croaked, and they all looked at him.

He swallowed.

“Do you know where he is?” a man in a deep blue scarf asked, and Link exhaled, gathering his strength.

“No,” Link managed to get out, and the voices stayed quiet. “Probably not. But he usually... usually powered ‘self before... fights.”

“...powered himself?” a younger voice asked in an anxious tone, and Link closed his eyes again. Hadn’t they known? Or at least figured it out based on what they’d seen?

All he was was a battery.

“Thank you Link, I’m sorry we brought it up,” the leader apologized, and Link made a noncommittal noise. “We’re almost out, hold on.”

They began moving again, and Link caught several people looking at him, though most of them stopped when they realized he’d noticed. A teenager with a stripe of pink in his hair didn’t though, and Link found himself staring, curious about the look of him. He gave him an awkward little nod, and Link tried to return it, though he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

They were all so different, were these really heroes like him?

The Shadow had mentioned other heroes once or twice, but Link usually had no clue what he was talking about, or if he did, refused to say anything.

Besides, he was usually too busy screaming to listen anyhow.

Something bright shone out of the corner of his eye, and Link turned to look at it, his heart speeding up at the sight of a large entryway. The group hurriedly went through it, and Link was almost blinded from how bright it was after they walked through.

He blinked furiously, needing to see what was going on, and finally his eyes adjusted and he looked around in shock.

Sunlight.

Faint, barely-there, dim autumn sunlight that struggled to shine through the trees, but the sight of it nearly made Link sob.

He was outside.

He could see sunlight shining through yellow and orange leaves, eventually joined by the sound of birds and other creatures as they went along, air that wasn’t stale rushing past his face and making all his injuries hurt more but he didn’t care a bit.

He was out.

He was crying he realized, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by it all.

It wasn’t a trick. He’d never gotten this far the few times he���d been brought out, they were really who they said they were, they must be, and they’d gotten him out of the darkness.

Someone might’ve said something to him, but the overwhelming sensation of being outside had finally pushed Link to his limit, and he gave up on his fight to stay awake.

Darkness swept him away, it’s touch more gentle then he’d felt in a long time.

(...)

The heroes didn’t stop traveling until they were plenty far away from the oppressive ruins where they’d found Link, the trip passing in almost complete silence.

Link had passed out in Time’s arms not long after they’d finally exited, tears on his face, and Time couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved.

Watching Link remain in an almost stubborn state of alertness, ears twitching towards any sound, flinching when Time adjusted him, had been agonizing to watch. His body desperately needed rest, but he’d been stubbornly refusing it until they were out.

He’s certainly one of us, no doubt about that, Time thought with a sigh.

Sky grabbed a bedroll the moment they found a safe place to stop, and Time carefully lowered Link onto it, trying to avoid any injuries. He had several on his back, but they set him down as softly as possible, and Link didn’t wake.

“That’s really him?” Wind asked in a small voice as Warriors moved over to carefully look over all of Link’s injuries, cursing under his breath more than once.

“This is him,” Time replied quietly, trying to clean some of the blood and dirt out of Link’s hair. Now that they were out of the ruins, it was even more obvious how badly Link was in need of being cleaned up and cared for, and Time focused on not being overwhelmed by the task.

What all did he go through in there?

“What happened to him?” Legend said in a voice full of quiet horror, and Wild harshly kicked a rock into a tree.

“What didn’t?” he bit out in a fragile voice, and Sky put a hand on his arm, saying something that Time didn’t catch.

Warriors accidentally brushed a hand against Link’s collarbone then, and his eyes shot open, nearly throwing himself backwards away from the touch.

“Get away!” he snarled, voice hoarse, and Warriors immediately backed up.

“Whoa, easy,” Warriors quickly reassured, putting his hands up. “I’m only checking which of your injuries need to be cleaned so we can give you a potion. We don’t want anything healing inside them.”

Link glared at him in suspicion, but when Time moved into his line of sight, he relaxed a little.

“He’s helping, Link, I promise,” he reassured, and Link slowly relaxed, though he remained awake. Time glanced around at the other heroes as Warriors finished his examination, and saw that most of them were either looking at Link, or pointedly not looking at him as they worked on setting up camp.

It seemed none of them were quite certain how to deal with seeing one of their own in such a state.

Wild came over when he noticed Time watching them all, and he looked at Link, uncertainty on his face.

“Can I help at all?” he asked, voice stronger then it had been, and Time looked over at Warriors.

“These all need to be cleaned, and it’s not going to be easy for him,” the captain reported quietly, looking over his chest. “The faster we can get it done the better.”

“Link, we need to clean you up before we can heal you,” Time said as he knelt at his side, and Link gave him a bleary look. “It won’t be pleasant, but it needs to be done.”

Link breathed out and nodded, looking up at Time with shadows under his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

Time gave him a faint smile, and Wild knelt beside him as they got to work.

It took a long time scrubbing all of the dirt out and disinfecting the injuries Link was coated in. They focused on cleaning the actual wounds, but Time knew Link would need the rest of himself cleaned up at some point, dirt and blood and all sorts of grime coated on his skin.

But that can wait.

Link was stiff throughout the entire process, trembling when they got to certain injuries, and trying not to cry out when they used the alcohol Warriors had provided to disinfect. The worst part was his face, which Time carefully washed up, but Link was nearly in tears by the time he finished cleaning the slice that cut right through the dark lines on his forehead.

But they finally finished, and Link sagged, his breathing shaking. Hyrule came forward then, and offered to heal him, and Link gave him a curious look.

“It’s a healing spell, it’ll be more thorough than a potion,” he explained. He faintly lit up his hands to demonstration, but Link immediately recoiled from the light.

“No, no n-no magic!” Link breathed, a flicker of terror in his eyes.

Hyrule immediately backed off, and Link’s cheeks flushed as he calmed down.

“I... I’m sorry, I-I...”

“No, I understand, that’s okay,” Hyrule said kindly, and Link swallowed and looked away, cheeks still red.

“Potions will be enough,” Time said peaceably, and Hyrule took out a few, handing them to Time. Though a fairy or healing spell would be preferable. “Take it slow, Link.”

Sky helped him carefully sit Link up, and Time helped him drink the entire red potion, slowly so as not to overwhelm his stomach. He eagerly sipped at it, and the most intense of his injuries began to knit closed, angry lines and deep gouges, and places that must be barely healed-over stab wounds—

Time exhaled, and lowered Link back to the ground as he finished, anger stirring in his chest.

The Shadow will pay for this.

“Try and get some more rest, Link. You’re safe with us,” Time said gently as he set the bottle aside, and rested a careful hand on Link’s.

He flinched, but after a long moment, slowly gripped it back. His hand shook as Time brushed his thumb over the dirtied triangles on the back, but he didn’t let go, even though Time knew holding on was hard.

You’re safe.

(...)

The next few days trickled by slowly, Link struggling to adjust to life not imprisoned in a hole being used as some sort of dark power source.

His injuries were healing, albeit slowly due to the sheer amount of them, but he was struggling more with the other scars his imprisonment had left him. He still couldn’t handle much touch, or large amounts of food, and he’d rarely sleep for long periods of time, waking up sweating and shaking from memories he hadn’t told the rest of them about yet.

Four made it his personal mission to remove the collar and bands from around his neck and wrists, since all they did was serve as a reminder for all them of the torture he’d endured.

Link wanted them off more than anyone, and he patiently sat through all of Four’s attempts at removal. The smithy finally succeeded with the help of some of Legend’s items and tools, Link nearly crying with relief at them gone, but the pale scars underneath the metal were almost worse.

They couldn’t be removed.

Time tried his best to help Link adjust, but it was hard when he could only give them the bare minimum of what he’d endured, and stubbornly tried to insist he was fine and they didn’t need to fuss over him. Even after he’d wake up gasping from a nightmare, Link would try to muffle his cries in order not to wake anyone, and couldn’t stand even a grounding hand on his shoulder.

It was at times like these Time wished Malon were here. She would know exactly how to comfort the traumatized boy they’d all found themselves with, better than Time ever could.

How do we help him, Malon? he thought one night as he studied Link’s slumbering face. His scars were harder to see in the dark, but Time knew they were there, slashed across his forehead, his chest... and his heart.

How did you ever handle me?

Time didn’t find any one answer, but as time slowly went by, Link did open up, at least a little. As they all explained more about themselves, he was willing to do so a bit too, explaining some of his journey, and telling the dark marks on his forehead actually weren’t a result of his imprisonment, though not exactly explaining what they were from.

His favorite thing to talk about was his home village though, and the longing in his voice was impossible to miss.

Time would have carried him there himself if it had been at all possible, but they were a long ways away from Ordon, and Link could barely walk across the clearing they were camped in without needing a rest. Taking him home would have to wait, as much as Time disliked it.

But in the meantime, the other heroes did their best to help Link as well, Wild figuring out what was easiest for him to eat, Warriors and Hyrule dutifully checking up on his injuries. Wind liked to tell him stories whenever he was struggling not to dwell on memories, sometimes getting Four to tell a few, and Legend even laid out his weapons and offered to let Link borrow one, until they could get him a sword of his own.

Sky often just let him hold the Master Sword, Link’s hands clutching the hilt as he sat in silence.

It seemed to comfort him, often when the rest of them couldn’t, and while Time couldn’t relate, he was glad it helped.

Time could also tell it was killing Sky not to be able to comfort Link with touch, at all, but Link was still working up to anything more then his hand being held. He would just have to do it at his own pace, as hard as it was to watch him struggle.

And things didn’t change in that regard, until all of a sudden they did.

(...)

Link closed his eyes as the tip of a blade pressed against his chin. He wouldn’t panic. This happened almost every day, and he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t give the Shadow the satisfaction of it.

“You’re not going to beg today?” he asked almost curiously, and Link licked his lips, tasting blood. “I might even listen, you never know.”

“I’ve never begged,” he said in a cold voice.

He wouldn’t stoop to that level, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. It was one of the few ways he felt like he had a choice in the matter, and he knew it made the Shadow mad when when he remained silent.

He wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction.

The Shadow leaned in so they were eye-to-eye, and Link stared at the crimson glow of his eyes, trying not to let his breath hitch.

“Well. Let’s see if we can change that, shall we?”

And then the blade flicked down, pain ripping across his chest. At at the same time the metal around his neck lit up like the lava on death mountain, burning into him, searing down the line where the sword had struck, and Link screamed as he felt magic bore into him and sap away every bit of his strength—

He woke up.

Link jerked upright, pain still blinding him, and he might’ve screamed but he wasn’t sure. Darkness was around him, lit only by the Shadow’s glowing eyes and he knew it had all been a dream, he hadn’t been rescued after all and he was never going to get out—

Link breathed heavily, clutching at his neck, certain he could still feel the collar, magic burning into him, feel his strength ripped away as injuries were torn into his chest—

“Link,” a soft voice said, and he heaved in another breath, hands still pressed to his neck. “Link, you’re out, you’re safe.”

He managed to raise his head, and saw Time kneeling carefully beside him, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture.

He swallowed, breathing in another shaky breath, and looked around, slowly recognizing the campsite they’d been at for the past several days. The light he’d seen was the campfire, not the Shadow’s eyes, and he felt relief start to soak through the terror.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t back.

His breath hitched, and Time moved closer to him, offering him a hand to take if he wanted it.

Link stared at it, then began to shake, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at everything again.

He was out. He wasn’t a prisoner. He was out and safe and he’d been there for so long but he was out but he wasn’t home but he was home, brothers he never knew he had saving him and their kindness made his chest ache because he’d done nothing to deserve it and despite waking them up and slowing them down and pushing away their help they kept coming back and he’d done nothing—

A sob broke out of him as the sheer scale of everything suddenly crashed down onto him, and Time’s eye widened.

Then he leaned forward, and slowly, carefully, put an arm around him.

Link’s breath hitched with another sob, stiffening as the touch settled across his back, but as Time tried to move, he clutched at his arm, silently begging him not to let go. The touch was like fire on his back, but it soothed a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been hurting so much.

Time hesitated as Link shuddered, then he lifted his other arm, pulling him into an actual hug, tight and warm.

That destroyed any composure Link had left, and he buried his face in Time’s shoulder, crying harder than he had in a long time. The touch all around him was awful and wonderful and agonizing and pure relief, and the sensation made him shake with how overwhelming it was.

“You’re okay,” Time whispered as Link fell to pieces in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, and Link’s breath hitched on another sob. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Link.”

Link had no clue as to the last time he’d received a hug, but this one, as messy and awful and painful as it was, was probably the best.

(...)

After that night, Link often found himself in a pile of heroes whenever he went to bed.

Wild would curl up at his side, Sky would end up with an arm flung out on top of him, Wind and Four by his head. Sometimes all of them would end up around him, and Link would nearly cry if he woke up and realized, falling back asleep more deeply then he had in months.

It was wonderful.

He was still struggling to get back on his own two feet, building his strength, still dealing with the fact that he’d always have the scars from his imprisonment, that he still sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

But he knew he’d have the others to support him, as hard as it was to let them. He still had moments where he’d push them away, when touch hurt instead of helped, when the thought of giving up crossed his mind, and didn’t seem like too bad of an option.

But he wouldn’t give up. Dark Link may have crushed him, but he wouldn’t be kept down, even though at times it seemed nearly impossible.

He would keep going.

And as Link leaned against Sky’s shoulder one night, Time’s arm over his shoulders, Wild and Four sitting leaned up against his feet while the others sat close by, it wasn’t nearly as hard to believe that he might be... okay.

Ordon would have to wait a bit longer, until he’d regained his strength, and could properly swing a sword, but until then...

A hand ran through his hair, and Link exhaled, the feeling of safety like a warm blanket around his shoulders.

...Link could wait.