#undetermined verse tag for li.nk.

[balladetto]

cont. from here / @legendarylullaby

     How does the saying go again? Better late than never?

     As Link watches Zelda press the cooled jar to her eye, he presses the thought to his anger: a simmering, swelling thing in the curl of his fists and the set of his jaw. He'd arrived at the tailend of— this. Whatever this is, whatever she was doing here, ears catching all the mockery but hands too far from the fist that dealt the felling blow. It isn't her first time here from what he gathers — isn't her first loss here — but any hurts to his friends have always stung worse than his own; even if it seems she sought these out herself.

     ...Maybe especially when it seems she sought these out herself.

     The tide recedes, momentarily, at her words. His fingers unwind. His shoulders slowly loosen. He moves to crouch beside her, back to the wall, head shaking with a noise of it's fine. She doesn't need to thank him for something like that.

     "'This'," he repeats, voice fading into the faint bustle of the brighter streets. The quiet holds for a moment, stretched like the band of a slingshot drawn to the fullest, before it snaps with the breath that leaves him in an audible not-quite-sigh. He looks at her— keeps looking at her. His gaze hasn't really strayed from that big bruise, now covered, or the tiny patches of scraped skin, or the reddened contours of her face.

     Concern has his brow puckered, his lips pursed. The questions on his tongue melt away for another time — save for one.

     "Where's— where...else...s'it hurt?"

[balladetto]

     Uh-huh. Sure. If that's "a friendly competition", what must an outright brawl look like for her? Link shakes his head again, frown deepening, hands clenched over his knees as he leans a little closer to insist for something more truthful — no way nothing else isn't hurting — except then they've got company.

     Not even the nice sort of company.

     It's with tightening fists that he eyes this stranger looming over the princess, shoulders pinching taut once more at the goading drawl — tauter still at Zelda's snarl. He may not understand everything happening here, but this clearly isn't a friend nor a friendly situation. That she'd try telling him otherwise when he can see it plain as day in the injuries she's collected, in the little pouch passed between too-different hands, in whoever this Roy is...

     They don't need any more trouble than this. They don't. It takes repeating it to himself one more time for it to really stick: the sigh held in the back of his throat releases, more motion than noise. He'll wait for the older boy to leave, drag Zelda somewhere else to patch her up some more, and have a talk about apparently making secret deals that involve her getting unnecessarily hurt. Or something. He shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet, expectant.

     The older boy doesn't leave.

     Link's not sure which is worse. Roy menacing for more or Zelda actually giving it to him. The bubbling beneath his skin reaches a boil as his gaze darts from the caught rupee to that wide grin, Mido-like in the way it has him scowling on instinct, and he's suddenly shooting up from where he's hunched with all the force of an actual, affronted friend.

     He's not looking for trouble — but he's not gonna let her be treated like this, either! His own palm is thrust forward, stiff and unmissable in the teenager's face, the message obvious in the cut of his glare even if it goes unvoiced. Give it back.

She was grateful, when the anger melted from his shoulders like morning snow. It unsettled her, to see it in such a quiet boy. They hadn't gone far from the illegal fight club, tucked into a side alley barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, but curled up as they were, it was fine. A quiet space.

His eyes on her were not unfelt, and an attempt was made to smile, to wave it off. Where else did it hurt?

"No where, really. I'm fine." My heart my heart my heart my pride my head my hand my heart heart heart-

"It's just a friendly competition." She reassured, only to be shadowed by the approach of a tall boy. A teenager, a soldiers son, chewing on straw and bereft of real purpose.

"Yeah, real friendly. We're all good chums here." He leaned over her, arm braced on the wall above, palm outstretched. "Pay up, friend."

The disguised princess glared at the boy- the leader of this little ring- and rolled her eyes. "Piss off with it, Roy." She growled, voice slightly deeper, eyes down. Did the language surprise her company? Still, a small bag, jingling with the telltale sound of rupees, was produced. Roy took the money easily, pocketing it with a hard stare.

"...Castle work must pay well, huh kid." It wasn't a question. He knew this was suspect. He knew she had more. The palm came out again. Zelda stared at him a long time, trppying to gauge what he knew. If he knew. Very little missed Roy. Still glaring, meeting his eyes, she produced a red rupee from her boot, and tossed it at his face. He caught it easily, grinning.

"Much obliged."