#in which vicente isn't winning any father of the year awards

[ginneke]

already too late (if we arrive at all) - #3

It's a little late, sorry, but here's part three! I know it's late, but firstly, I wasn't at my best yesterday. Secondly, it's longer. Those are my excuses.

Technically no Revali in this one, and only indirect Link. We've got some other perspectives this time. (Including insight into a certain character that some of my readers have met before, in a different story. Minor perception check ahoy for A Seed of Song.)

Note: there's hints at [hylia / the spirit of the hero] and zelink in this one, but only hints.

–

Pairing: Link / Revali Rating: T

(A soulmate AU, sort of.)

– Prompt #3: was it something i did? –

It is said that once, a very long time ago, so long ago that any records have faded into legend, and legend slowly morphing into myth…

Once, a long time ago, a goddess fell in love with a mortal.

But while she gave up her divine powers and came to live as humans did, for love of that brief life, still she could not overcome his mortality. He fell in battle and her hands could not turn back the blow, nor stem the fast elapsing time that raced towards a sunset when her own lifespan was an eternal dawn.

She grieved. Oh, how she grieved: for a goddess, half-mortal yet still half-divine, it must have been the first she felt of such an emotion. Sorrow, for the love she’d lost. Yet joy as well, for the happiness even a few short years had wrought.

And so it was writ upon her, a hope and a prayer to be reunited with that lost soul again as fate’s wheel turned; and to know, this time, just how long they might have: that she might know to be grateful for each day, and not waste time waiting for that inevitable end, hands spinning out a spool without knowing where the thread might snap.

—

Ah. But then the marks started appearing on others, too.

—

Link is twelve years old when the mark appears upon his wrist.

It's the first time in a very long time that one of Hateno's children has been so blessed, and some people point out -- well, of course it would be that child; why, he'd been marked out as special for so long already, since the day he claimed to see mighty Naydra in the sky above the dragon-god's mountain home; to say nothing of his strange self-possession around weapons, the one thing that everyone agreed was odd, but some children were like that, figuring out their interests from very early on and clinging to them tightly, without deviation. 

Well, that's besides the point, really. The point is this: at first, Link's soulmark is something positive, something innocent. Nobody in Hateno has the skill to read the threads, and there's no time to detour all the way to Zora's Domain, where their priest and their princess both have a reputation for being able to understand the mark of years, the unspooling thread and the countdown of time. How long the mark might bear the touch of gold, and just when the span of potential time would fade to ashen grey.

Bless her, but Hild tries to advocate for that anyway. Vicente knows her well enough to see through to the ulterior motive — to give Link the chance to see his friends among the Zora youths, since he's… always struggled, somewhat, at connecting with other Hylians. (The army’s cadets tend to see him as a threat.)

But duty calls, and Vicente cannot be away from his post much longer — and there are, at least, still options, even if they’re not the choices his wife thinks best. Still, he makes his promises: Hild is stubborn, and won’t be satisfied unless he agrees to have Link’s soulmark read. He has to know, she says - insists really - and Vicente can understand why. 

There might not be anyone capable of reading the threads here, in Necluda, but it’s different in the heartlands of Hyrule. So many hold the potential of the sages’ bloodlines, there. Better that they find answers for LInk soon, and from friendly quarters. 

Still, it isn't until their return to Central Hyrule that Vicente learns just how mixed a blessing the soulmark really is.

He argues for and wins a day’s leave further, long enough to take Link to the temple on the banks of the Regencia, and the sage who meets with them blanches at the sight of the gold around Link’s wrist. She’s quick to bid the boy sent away; she refuses to proclaim it within his earshot.

…The thread, she whispers to Vicente in hushed tones, is... a lot shorter than any other she's seen or heard of; why, she fears it won't even last six years.

--

Link's ears are sharper than the sage suspected. 

Link is, understandably, quite upset.

These things… aren’t unknown, though. And so Vicente can only repeat something he heard, once, from his own father, whose wrist had been marked by an ashen smudge by that point — “Not every bond is one of romantic love, lad…”

Link looks at him with an expression of fierce betrayal and refuses to talk to him for a sennight.

…Vicente should have seen this coming. A child like Link, so unlike the other children his age, would surely be attached to the thought of his bonded even without the reality of that person in front of them; and to know that that person wouldn’t survive much past his own entrance into adulthood…

Link always has had such a strong sense of justice.

Still, though there’s always that faint sense of a strain in their relationship now, his son does lapse back into obedience for a time; and if he refuses to speak to Vicente about the soulmark, well — that’s something he probably deserves, and something he hopes to fix with time…

Then his son goes missing.

Sending him to the training camp near Eldin was a mistake; it almost leads Vicente to blows with the man who’d ordered it. For all Link’s adaptivity, for all his skill and all his certainty with each and every weapon that finds its way to his hands — he’s just a boy, and Hild was right: he’s too young by far to be here. 

Vicente pleads to be allowed to leave his post; his commanding officer refuses. He petitions somebody else, and his requests fall on uncaring ears. 

He’s on the verge of leaving anyway, duty be damned, when Link reappears, a full week later, trailing an unfamiliar sword that’s almost as tall as he is. 

Unfamiliar to Vicente. The kingdom’s Sheikah allies, steeped in the histories and the dark whispers of their nation’s past, recognise it at once: Blade of Evil’s Bane. The Sword That Seals The Darkness.

The blade which, according to legend, answers to but a single hand.

If anyone still doubted the portents of the Calamity’s return, there’s no doubt now. Not now that sacred sword has been found. They drag Link in front of the young princess, who echoes the pretty words of ceremony and looks at him with pain shadowing her eyes: it’s been over five years since Her Royal Highness, the Queen, passed away; and despite her heartfelt efforts to awaken the sealing powers she’s meant to inherit, still the princess’ birthright eludes her. Vicente’s son must be a living symbol of everything she has yet to achieve.

Vicente can only try to watch out for the boy as best he can. 

He writes to Hild. She replies to him with silence. Still, at least Hild does write to Link; Aryll as well, in her clumsy six-year-old hand. Link shares the letters with him, the way he always did, and he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Vicente bears it quietly, the crumbling wilderness that his marriage has become: he reflects, and thinks it fair. Hild had never wanted this for Link. For him to be a soldier was the extent of what she could accept; she never wanted him to tread the path of knighthood. This is something out of a nightmare. There’s no chance at all that Link will be allowed to live out a quiet life in Hateno, now or at any time, and even the opportunities to visit home, which were always few and far between, will soon be beyond them.

The mistakes are his. He let Link follow too long in his shadow.

…But that’s not the only thing.

It would be one thing if it was just the sword. But soon a whisper starts to surge through the court, eyes trailing after Link with suspicion and fear. Not for anything he had done, but because of the mark on his wrist. The bloodline of the Goddess and the warrior fated to wield the Master Sword are entwined throughout history and legend, their destinies following the same path.

Princess Zelda is but eleven years old, still weeks shy of her twelfth birthday. Too young, yet, for any answering soulmark to appear upon her. But if it does —

If it does, and she is tied to Link —

If so, Princess Zelda has less than six years to live. 

—

“What did I do wrong?” Link wants to know, twelve and scared and overshadowed by the fears of the adults around him, and Vicente holds his son like he hasn’t since he was a tiny child, just seven years old. He’s still tiny, tucked into Vicente’s side and shaking like a sapling in a storm. “What did I…”

Nothing — Link did nothing wrong, and it’s cruel, so cruel, for these children to bear such a fate and the burden of an entire nation’s fears. But all Vicente can offer is this. He holds his son and lets the force of Link’s emotions shudder through him, lodging behind his ribs like blades.

He prays — not to Hylia, but to Hild’s ancient goddesses instead. Spare him, he pleads. Isn’t this enough? Hasn’t the soulmark brought Link enough pain? He doesn’t even know who his fated match is, and yet…

Spare him. Please.

—

Vicente’s prayer is answered.

The day of the princess’ twelfth birthday dawns, and her wrist remains quietly empty.

Princess Zelda is the only person disappointed by this. To hear the rumours, she thinks it is just another way that Fate has looked at her and found her wanting. Under other circumstances, Vicente might have felt some sympathy for the girl. But he, like so many others, can only feel relieved, even if his reasons stem from a different source.

The pressure on Link eases, the stares subsiding as though they’d never looked at him or his soulmark and seen the stain of treachery in them. But they can’t pretend it never happened. Even if he’ll never be allowed to act on it, Vicente remembers and quietly nurses the start of a lifelong grudge.

So does Link. Too-young Link, passionate enough to feel an impotent rage over the way they looked at him and inexperienced enough to show it, until Vicente has no choice but to take him aside and to bid him to try to temper his anguish, if but a little.

But Link can’t accept that. He turns wild eyes upon his father and demands, with all the premature grief of a loss Vicente cannot spare him from, “Why?”

Why. Oh, why indeed. What can he say to his son, that might explain the fickleness of people’s hearts? To  the experienced or the jaded it is obvious; because she is the princess of Hyrule, and its last remaining heir. The last potential claimant to the only certain power that stands between their country and the nigh-guaranteed destruction that awaits. 

But that’s not what his son is asking, is it?

In reality, it is only because she is of the royal line, the last of the royal line, and so she matters more, in the eyes of the kingdom, than some nameless, faceless someone.

Link stares at him like he’s a stranger. 

“They matter too,” he insists, that indomitable sense of justice raising its head again and stoking Link to a fury. “They matter!”

“They matter to you,” Vicente agrees. 

But he’s never had the gift of gentle speech, and what he means is this — he’s proud of Link. Proud of him for caring. Proud of Link’s principles and his unflinching sense of justice. He’s so, so proud and he wishes more than anything that he’d been granted more eloquence; maybe then Link would understand him.

That’s not what Link hears: to him, Vicente’s words are the blunt blow of reproach. He sees the way Link goes rigid, and doesn’t know how to prevent the distance that rips its way between them in that moment.

Link pulls away.

This time his silence doesn’t last a mere sennight. A fortnight, a month goes by, three months, and by the time Vicente realises that Link’s newfound silence goes far beyond stubbornness, it’s been more than a year and comes far too late. Link doesn’t speak to anyone, anymore. His secrets are locked up tight behind an impassive mask he learned to wear too young. 

Vicente suspects his anger still burns as fiercely as it ever did. But he cannot say for sure: the young man forming behind his son’s face is a stranger to him, and Vicente has long since lost his trust.

All that’s left to him is his duty and his prayers.

Let Link find that person soon.

Let the legends be true

Let him find a way to value the time they have, and not mourn the lost potential of years.

It’s a foolish hope. But for his son’s sake, Vicente hopes for it all the same.