Chapter Text
The thin walls of the large tent did little to keep out the chill winds sweeping through camp, and everything to keep out the light of day. In the cool darkness, all was unmoving; the small form taking shelter under the mass of blankets thrown haphazardly over a sizable bed dared not stir. If he squinted through the gap in his protective cocoon of quilts and afghans, then he could see the image of the royal Hyrulian crest emblazoned on the tent's exterior in brilliant gold. If he listened, he could hear the trudging of weary boots through mud and pick up indiscriminate chatter from passing soldiers. If he breathed too deeply, he'd choke on the harsh perfumes and fragrant shampoos that permeated his flimsy cotton comforts. Beyond that, he'd discerned the harsh odors of brandished iron and demoralized bodies – a far cry from the familiar forests that should've been his next destination upon leaving Clock Town once and for all.
Link felt so cheated.
This wasn't a new sensation – not by a longshot (or any other item he didn't possess anymore). Even still, coming off so fresh from his previous adventure and into an active war zone had left him rattled. Evil forces he understood. Dark magic and bloodshed and unrelenting battles were to be expected.
But he was supposed to go home. He was still waiting for the childhood that Princess Zelda had promised him when she'd sent him back to live out younger days. He already knew that such an idealistic outcome was beyond his reach when he'd failed to come to terms with the loss of Navi and had set out on his own. He couldn't abide the fact that his body did not match his experiences, and his bones held aches and injuries that were no longer real. His mind played memories that no others could confirm, and he felt himself to be a liar for suggesting that anything about him was different from what outsiders perceived at first glance.
How foolish, he seemed in retrospect, when he'd dodged and slashed his way through a hoard of small, unusual moblins – bokoblins, they were called, and evidently he should've been familiar with such a common enemy – only to find himself in the fringes of a massive encampment. How hopeful, he'd been for a fleeting few seconds, when he'd laid eyes on someone who looked so much like what he'd left behind and knew that it was a hero.
A young man donned in a forest green tunic who radiated magic, exuded strength, and had a little blue fairy hiding under his pointed cap. If not a hero, then surely a friend of the kokiri!
Link wasn't prophetic the way that Zelda was when she'd first laid eyes on him when she'd spoken of a fairy boy from the forest who would help her. But he couldn't possibly deny that this person was someone he needed, for reasons he didn't yet fully understand.
“You! You must know what's happening!” Link had gasped, stumbling before the taller figure. He'd yanked his boots from the churned mud and adjusted the keaton mask on the side of his head. It'd been a parting gift from Kafei, when he'd explained to the newly wedded man that he'd given away all his masks.
The green-clad hero with sharp blue eyes and wavy golden hair had crouched down, his words gentle. “Hey there, little man. How'd you get to a place like this? Where are your parents?” He'd reached his hand out, and there was pity in the gesture. “I know we're near a village, so if that's hard to answer… we can have someone look out for you. It's too dangerous on your own.”
Link had only stared at the hand as gears grinded in his head like the mechanisms of a clock. “What? No, I'm…” He'd gestured to the sword and shield on his back. “I'm a hero. Monsters are no issue to me.”
He'd watched the man poorly conceal a laugh, and his hopes had greatly diminished.
Link was taken in. He was warned not to go into the fields, where battles were underway. He was told to use his sword only in defense, lest he injure himself on it.
Conversations with the hero – Link, he just so happened to also be named – were never long enough to communicate all he wanted to say until the fighting died down.
“How long have you been doing this?” Link had asked early on, gesturing to his sword, his tunic, his… everything. It was all so uncanny, and it instilled him with curiosity.
The Captain, as he was called by soldiers, had smiled so easily back then. “I've only been appointed for a few weeks, I confess. But I've been training with a sword since I was a young lad like yourself. Maybe someday, since you seem so eager to fight, you can rise up the ranks yourself.”
Link had frowned at the duel-edged comment. “I did all that, though. I already defeated every monster in my path.” And he'd grown frustrated because of it. “And I am no child. Please don't mistake me as such; it undermines what I've been through.”
“And what would you call yourself instead?” Captain Link had asked with a mildly forced chuckle.
“A hero.” Link knew that in his heart. “An adult.” He'd been told as much, and so it must be true. “Courageous.” His spirit ached with an ancient longing.
He'd been called other things, too: a child, a brat, a street urchin… He chose not to think of those names now.
The Captain didn't seem to understand, but he made attempts. They would sit in the quiet of night, over shares of stale bread and bitter tea that made Link's face scrunch up.
“What makes a hero?” Captain had asked, sipping from a chipped cup of his putrid beverage.
Link has prodded his meager offerings, already growing nostalgic for the bread that Anju would bake on the first morning of every cycle and the milk from Romani Ranch.
“Saving those in need,” had been his answer. No hesitation was to be found as he solidified his resolve. It was something he would always do – always be, so long as he had a sword to strike his foes and a shield to defend the innocent.
Another night, another question. “Why call yourself an adult?” Captain had asked, wearily pulling his tunic over his head and removing the chain mail underneath with a heavy sigh. “You don't want to grow up too fast.”
“It's too late for that,” Link had calmly explained. “If you had your rank pulled from beneath your boots, wouldn't you lament what was lost? When so much had hinged on you being something more than what you were?” He'd hefted Captain's shield into his arms, appraising the new dent in it. For Din's sake, his arm wasn't even big enough to comfortably equip it! So much for borrowing standard-issue gear, when he'd been left with his old kokiri sword and deku shield.
“So how old are you, actually?”
Link had considered that in all thoughtfulness. Deciding he could trust the young man, he'd made the mistake of answering honestly. “I was seventeen a few years ago. But I'm not sure which years are meant to count. And my current age… I lost track. I think I was meant to gain another year at some point.”
“Well, I'm seventeen,” Captain had kindly informed him. “And I'd say we're a bit different. It's fine if you don't know your age – I'd say you're… about twelve? Probably on the cusp of going through changes, Squirt.”
And if Link had given him a downright admonishing glare, then so be it. Link already knew changes. He knew the creaking of bones and flex of muscle and movement of limbs longer than what he currently possessed. He knew more changes than any one person was ever meant to know.
On this evening, the third night since Link had first stumbled into an era he realized was not his own, he wondered if anything would change. His words only ever seemed to fall on deaf ears, and he grew weary of repeating himself. He'd been told that the camp would be packing up soon, and when they reached the next village, that he would be safe.
But his place was here, for why else would the flow of time place him in such blood-stained territories? It was his sword that was needed in these never-ending fights. It was his experiences from numerous dungeons and monsters and challenges that had summoned him here. And if a child was not what this war asked of him, then he would be something else. Some one else. Whoever he was required to be, every time without fail.
The tent entrance rustled, and Captain Link stumbled inside. He dragged his feet with every step, and he dropped his weapons off to the side with little care. There was a bandage on his right shoulder that Link quickly recognized as a glancing blow off his shield. He could viscerally empathize with that.
Link watched him lumber throughout his personal tent. When he'd suggested he stay with other refugees staying in the camp, Link had scolded him profusely. And rightly so, to think for even a second that he could get rid of him like that!
The Captain had called it a tantrum. The audacity.
“Hey, kiddo, you still under there?” Captain asked as he collapsed into one of two chairs situated around a small table.
“Were you thinking I'd slip away in the thick of it all?” Link snipped back, shifting under the many layers to inform him that he was, in fact, still present.
“I wouldn't put it past you – you tend to get underfoot as it is,” Captain shot back. That was the thing about him: past his charming smiles and friendly laughs, he had a sharp tongue that was more than capable of landing him in trouble. The way others saw it… neither of them were very good with words. It was by the graces of the Goddesses that Proxi would often talk on their behalf.
The little blue fairy that reminded him so dearly of Navi alighted on the edge of the bed, and Link couldn't help but feel reassured. “You look so snug! But you can't just stay inside all day – is there a game you want to play?”
“Not particularly,” Link hummed. “I've just been thinking, is all.”
“More like sulking,” Captain observed.
Link pushed himself up into a sitting position, the blankets hanging off him like so many ceremonial robes. “You haven't questioned if I'm courageous. If you don't believe I'm a hero and you've decided an age for me, then why stop there? Are you just waiting for me to prove myself? Do you need to see me raise my sword? Because I will.”
The supposedly older, more mature Link buried his head in his hands. “My gods, Sprite, I'm not going to throw you to the wolfos like that.”
“Why not? What kind? Once you know their attack patterns, they're not so—”
“Because clearly you know shit that no normal kid ever should!” he snapped, eyes stretched wide and pleading. “I can already feel that about you. And Hylia knows how quick you are to remind me! As if I didn't have enough on my plate, now I have to worry about some child showing up and telling me how to do my job!”
“Don't call me that” Link shouted back, feeling an unfathomable anger burning under his skin.
Proxi bolted under the green cap he'd left on the bed, and the Captain jolted in his seat, taken aback by the outburst.
Silence sat between them like a dense fog, and Link felt a slimy worm of misery crawl its way up his throat. His shoulders heaved, and he sank deeper under the blankets. Under the older man's scrutinizing gaze, he felt around for his adventurer's pouch to ensure its contents.
The lands of Termina didn't exist the same way Hyrule did. They were foreign and distant, while somehow being only a short ride into the woods away. It didn't border this kingdom, and no book or map spoke its name, not even as a whisper in the margins. Most of the items he'd gained from those lands had vanished as if they'd never existed, returning his old slingshot, power bracelet, and boomerang… but not much else. And yet he still retained a select few masks, to remind him of his time there and prove that it had been real.
The tired soldier clasped his hands together and leaned forward, exhaling deeply through his nose. “Alright. Not a child. Then what, pray tell, do I call you?”
“I have a name,” Link croaked, feeling a wretchedness in his chest.
“So do I, and it's also Link. But my men are starting to wonder about the new… stranger in my tent – they think you're a relative, and we can't both be Link.” He got up, crossing the small space in two strides, and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “You claim to be a hero – what of? Is there something the people of your lands called you?”
Link shrugged off the blankets. His hand cradled the pouch he kept forever tied to his belt, inside which rested the Ocarina of Time.
The Hero of Time. That was who he was. But that time felt distant now. Furthermore, he’d heard the whisperings of the soldiers, and gathered that there was a widespread rumor of Ganondorf's return on the horizon – who else could control so many monsters? He didn't yet know what role that evil man had in this, or what the history books said, but it felt too soon to be declaring himself as someone who might not belong in this era.
“I'm the Hero… of Masks,” Link murmured, letting go of the ocarina's pouch in favor of the gift from Kafei that hid his face when he wished to not be seen.
“Then I'll call you Mask,” Captain Link decided, resting what he thought was a reassuring hand on the kid's shoulder. Mask recoiled at the contact, and he retracted his hand apologetically. “I'll pass that along so that the others know. And if you truly believe you're here to help us, then stay as long as you see fit.”
Mask turned away, sullenly returning to his mound of blankets. “Thank you,” he whispered, inching further away from the Link that this era knew by name. “I'll be sure to count my blessings.”
He felt a tug, and begrudgingly acquiesced when Link wrangled an old, frayed quilt from the bedding. “Say, Mask, before you ignore me for the rest of the night, when were you planning on giving me back my bed?”
Mask didn't respond. He had too much to mull over already without the man's intrusion getting in the way of his tumultuous thoughts.
Link sighed. “The cot was meant for you, you know. Real beds are a luxury few are given during times of war.”
Still nothing. The strong aromas and heavy layers had become comforting to him over the course of the past two nights – a sensation he couldn't remember in a very long time. It had been years, hadn't it? Since he'd last slept in his own bed in Kokiri Forest. And how many sleepless nights had he had since then? Too many to count, apparently.
Here, he could close his eyes. Here, he could give in to the exhaustion that had rooted itself so deeply in a soul that was so much older and frayed than his physical body suggested. Here, in the throes of an ongoing war, he could rest a bit easier knowing that it's fate wasn't on his shoulders, but another.
I need to look out for him.
Link freed a baby blue throw his mother had knitted for him before tucking the rest of the pilfered blankets around the small huddled form. The stubborn young lad still looked and sounded like a child, even in spite of his bravado. The soldier had already decided that he needed to look out for someone so small. If this truly was a hero from another time or place, then he couldn't help but think that the Goddesses must be pulling a divine prank.
“Alright. You can take my bed again. Sleep well.”