Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.”

Chapter Text

Packing up camp after clearing an area was always a nightmare, but the operation required that they press on in a timely fashion to prevent needlessly burning through resources. It was understandably hectic, getting everything in order while still nursing the wounds of battle; Link should've been prepared for challenges like this. And he was, but it didn't help that he'd been saddled with additional responsibilities on top of his already brutal schedule. 

He would never say as much aloud, but Mask had a knack for getting on people's nerves. And he wouldn't speak poorly about whoever raised such a child, but the little fiend was very good at putting himself in other people's business and reaching for things that did not belong to him.

Link was irritable, he knew it: he'd not slept in his own bed for nearly a week, his shoulder still ached from the injury several days prior, and keeping an eye on Mask throughout it all was a headache in itself. If the little hero knew that the Captain had been promoted to a glorified babysitter thanks to him, he'd have strong words to say. Mask did not like being watched and fretted over. But he feared that if he turned a blind eye, that the nosy child would land himself in trouble.

Already, he'd had a few disgruntled soldiers bring Mask back to him with complaints that he'd been rooting through their supply storage and opening up chests.

“It won't happen again,” Link emptily promised to his men with an easily faked smile, leading Mask away by the shoulder. This was the third time already. It would surely happen again.

The moment the soldiers were out of earshot, Link swiveled on his heels and crouched next to Mask, staring into his keaton mask. “Come on, I need you to level with me. Take off the mask and tell me why you keep going through things that don't belong to you.”

The small hero moved his mask to the side, but only so that he could glare daggers at him. “You don't hafta crouch down to talk to me, you know. Just talk to me like you would anyone else.”

Link stood back to his full height, towering over the boy with his arms crossed. “How am I supposed to do that when you're all the way down there?”

Before the captain could blink, a sharp kick connected with his shin. Link bit back a curse as he was bent double, hobbling back a step to favor his leg.

When he looked back up, he was met with those same judgmental blue eyes from before.

“C'mon, soldier, don't you have a leg to stand on?” 

Link let slip an annoyed scowl before taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. It would do him no good to let the little hero get under his skin… though with how quick he was to resort to kicking, Link wouldn't be surprised if he found himself being held at sword tip one of these days.

He settled his weight to one side and adjusted the scarf around his neck, maintaining a look of regal dignity that would not be felled by a meager kick. “Are you mad because you were caught? You don't seem the least bit guilty… about anything, for that matter.” His voice hardened at the end; try as he might to conceal the edge concealed like a knife in its sheath, he'd always been quick to draw.

Mask balled his fists at his sides and tilted his chin up defiantly. “I asked you where the supplies were, and you didn't answer me. And then I told you that I needed them, and you still wouldn't tell me. So I'm getting what I need myself. Is that so wrong?”

Link resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The child didn't understand these things, and that was fine. He'd just have to learn, like everyone else in service to the Hyrulean army. “It is when you're traveling with a large group of people, alright? Because we have finite resources and we need to keep tabs on everything that passes through our ranks.” For a moment, his balance began to wane, and he sat down heavily on a wooden crate stacked outside of the small tent where their conversation was being held. “You have a sword and you have a shield. Presumably, you can use them well enough, and you're never going to wind up on the frontlines. You get two square meals and a canteen of water each day just like everyone else. So just tell me, what do you want? Because rupees, empty bottles, and shields that are too big for you can't be it.”

Mask's face crinkled with distress, and he quickly turned his body to the side so that the captain wouldn't see it. Too late already, but the little hero could keep up his own walls as much as he damn well pleased. That seemed to be what his titular mask was there for, anyway.

“I… spent a long time honing my skills with items that I couldn't bring back. I spent an even longer time trying to get back the things that felt like they were taken from me. Those are gone now, too.” The admittance felt too heavy coming from someone half his size. “It's not enough for me to have my kokiri sword and deku shield. If I don't have the tools needed for whatever happens next, then how am I expected to get through it?”

Link wasn't good at providing comfort, let alone promises. The likes of don't worry so much and everything will be alright felt like pointless diatribe. Mask was too smart – and too suspicious – to ever believe such things. “Alright. Alright. I'll see what I can do. But you can't just steal things from other people. Even if it doesn't have their name on it, if you grab something from the storages without permission, that's considered thievery. So inform me of what you need , and I'll tell you upfront if I can get it for you.”

Mask sat down on the ground, back pressed to Link's crate seat, and stared out into the distance. “I need potions.”

“You're not injured,” Link politely informed him. “If something happens, you can always seek medical aid. In an encampment this large, we don't hoard potions to ourselves.”

Mask curled in tighter on himself. “Then why are you still injured, if it's true that you have people who are supposed to look out for you?”

Link grimaced, his hand reaching instinctively to his shoulder. “It's just a tad sore – not worth wasting anymore red potion on, when plenty of others were hurt worse than me.”

“And that's exactly why I want my own,” Mask gritted out. “Because I don't wanna end up stuck in a bad situation if nobody's around to help me the way that they help you.”

“Medical supplies are always in high demand,” Link reaffirmed, his tone stern. “If you want them for yourself, you'll have to buy them yourself in the next town.”

Mask settled his chin on his bare knees. “...I don't have any rupees.”

“I wouldn't expect you too,” Link sighed.

“I used to have plenty, it was never an issue. ”

“Mm-hm.” Link planted his chin in his hand, mulling over his options. “You'll have to earn your rupees. Try helping out the people around you to earn your keep, if you care so much about your wallet.” He watched the way Mask's ear twitched in irritation and moved on from the subject of monetary compensation. It wasn't as if he'd be getting a soldier's salary anytime soon – more like an allowance. Hero though he might be, children weren't meant to fight the wars of adults. “What else are you trying to find? Surely there's more.”

“...Milk. And fruit would be nice, too.”

“We don't have very much of that,” Link glumly confessed. “Those are important rations, and we're nearing the bottom of our stock. The cows we keep with us aren't producing as much milk as before with less grain to feed them, and we have very few apples left.”

Mask scowled into his arms, folded as they were upon his knees, and let out a groan. There were too many things that he either couldn't have or hadn't earned, and he was growing frustrated because of it. Starting over from scratch was the hardest part of starting any new adventure. Mask just hadn't expected he'd have to do it all over again so soon.

“Anything else?” Link asked, growing weary with the nowhere direction they were heading in. “Give me something I can level with.”

Mask sighed. “I miss my bow.”

That caught Link's attention. He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “Fancy yourself an archer, do you?”

Mask whirled around, sitting up on his knees and peering over the edge of the crate. Link startled, his immediate thought being if he'd upset the young hero yet again. Instead, he found that there was an earnest gleam in Mask's eyes that hadn't been there before.

“You wouldn't believe what I could do with a bow!” he wholeheartedly insisted, gripping the crate so hard it began to splinter. “I had perfect records in all the shooting galleries. I got the highest score possible at the gerudo archery range. I could shoot a poe from halfway across Hyrule Field! So yes I consider myself a good archer.”

Link hadn't seen him express such open enthusiasm for… anything since getting here. He'd lit up the first few times Proxi had gone near him, before getting used to her. And he'd been clearly relieved when his little chestnut mare had been brought into the stables. Other than that, though, he could more often than not be found in a dour or downcast state of being.

“In that case, let's find you a bow,” Link suggested. “There should be a few not in use.”

“Really? You're not lying?”

Self-proclaimed adult though he might’ve been, watching Mask perk up and hop to his feet with an eager grin was downright adorable. If Link ever said as much, that fleeting happiness would be just as swiftly robbed, and he didn't want that.

Link stood from the crate, testing his weight on one leg to make sure it wouldn't wobble beneath him before proceeding forward. “It's not a guarantee, but let's see what we can do.”

He led the way through the bustling camp with Mask hot on his heels. The captain easily greeted his fellow men in passing, observing their progress as they made their way to the armory. A bow and quiver, he rationed, would be good for the little hero. He wasn't quite ready to believe the bold claims regarding his archery prowess that were being thrown around, but Mask seemed eager enough for the challenge.

Link himself was formally trained in archery, but it wasn't generally his weapon of choice, considering he was normally put on the frontlines. If Mask truly wanted to fight in these battles, then a ranged weapon – besides his little slingshot – would certainly be best.

They entered the weapons tent, and Link gravitated to the back where older, unclaimed weapons awaiting maintenance were being held. He began sorting through a crate of unstrung bows. Most were straight or recurve longbows, and even at a glance he could tell that these would be far too big for someone of Mask's size. His arms weren't nearly long enough for the sort of draw required from bows like these.

And yet Mask looked through them as if each one were viable options. “Yes, something like this!” he decided, pulling out a wooden recurve longbow with a blue riser. Without the string, it was nearly as tall as he was.

“Mask… that's not going to work.”

His ears drooped, crestfallen and he looked up to the captain with a face of abject betrayal. “But you said you'd find me a bow, and this one is so much like what I had before!”

“Before you lost a few inches?”

Mask glowered at him, clenching the bow tightly in his small, calloused hands. If he didn't know any better, it looked like he was about to get smacked. It was by the graces of the Goddesses that Mask managed to restrain himself this time.

“Back when I was an adult,” he stressed, pacing the ground with a foul expression. “I learned on the fairy bow, and everything was fine for a while. A-and then the hero's bow… it was different, but it still felt right in my hands. Why couldn't I just keep it? Why don't I ever get to hold onto anything?!” 

Link only watched as Mask's frustrations continued to build, and his tongue felt slow to respond. What was there to say, anyway, to someone who already looked and acted so defeated despite the youth they carried on their cheeks? 

It was Proxi that slipped out from under his cap and rushed to Mask's side, fluttering around his head. “Hey, don't worry so much! There should be some shortbows around here – I'm sure they'd be a much better fit for you, don't you think?”

Mask calmed down quickly. He dropped the bow on the ground with a clatter and nodded silently, his face devoid of expression, and followed Proxi as she began to flit about the room. Link picked up the forgotten longbow, his nerves prickling from the interaction. He didn't know how to deal with people younger – Older? More experienced? Emotionally immature? – than him when they got like that. Mask in particular left a lasting impression that spoke volumes about deeply rooted anger and grief. And Link was not ready to try unwrapping all that. He was busy enough as it was.

“Oh! Here's something!” Proxi announced, alighting on a bow of dark-stained wood. Mask carefully pulled it out of the barrel it was being stored in. This one was still strung, and Link grimaced when he saw that there were a few blood splatters still on it from its last holder.

Proxi hesitated, noticing the signs of battle a bit late, as Mask eagerly appraised the mid-range weapon. “It's perfect!” he said, testing the draw on its string and holding it with practiced ease. Even at a glance, it was evident that he had done this before.

“Care to test it out?” Link asked, reaching for a spare quiver and tossing it over.

Mask caught it without issue, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Of course!”

At least he wasn't too difficult to please, now that Link was beginning to learn what to look out for. And if anything else, Proxi would always know what to say or do. He responded best to the little fairy anyway, rather than any sort of authority.

Link guided him out the tent, thanking the guard stationed there on the way out, and followed a short path to a small target range. The targets situated a ways out seemed a bit far, and Link debated bringing them closer in. Instead, he turned to questioning Mask, who was already nocking an arrow.

“So you've done all this before?” he asked, encouraging a conversation.

Mask grunted out a noncommittal answer and fired his arrow. It landed on the target, just shy of the center ring, and he clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.

“Hey, that was a good shot!” the captain commended, quick to praise one of his peers.

“No, my aim was off,” Mask huffed, waving a dismissive hand at the offending target. “I can do better, just give me a few moments to practice.”

Link watched as several more arrows were fired in quick succession, each one closer to the center than the last, until two arrows were planted squarely on the bullseye.

Link whistled in appreciation. “You could take a bokoblin's head off with a hit like that.”

He didn't miss the way Mask's mouth twitched into a satisfied smile, and the small archer reached for another arrow. “Thanks. But I can do more than that.”

“More than a bullseye?”

A strange aura enveloped the bow, and Link watched with widened eyes as the arrowhead became engulfed in flame. Mask released the arrow, and it struck the target with searing precision that quickly enveloped it in licks of fire. 

His mouth fell open. Magic. This child was using magic.

“Mask…?”

“But wait, that isn't all.” Before Link could question his abilities further, he drew another arrow. This time, it was pulsing with a frigid ice magic. Mask felt the way it tingled on his fingertips and sapped at his magical reserves. He'd gotten so used to using these in combat, especially during times where it felt as if his magic might last forever. It was a raw sensation that fueled his strength, and he truly felt that he was back in his element.

The ice arrow left his bow, smothering the flames that'd been eating away at the target, and he felt a prickle of pride to see that it'd still found its way into the smoldering remains of the bullseye.

The captain called out to him again, vying for his attention when he was just getting warmed up. He was tired of the bossy hero not believing in him and deciding what was best. He knew, of course, that he'd have to work with this man if he was going to get anywhere, but he wouldn't allow his abilities to be trivialized after everything he'd done to attain them twice over.

“Hey, Mask, were you ever going to tell me that you had…?”

“I'm not done yet!” Mask snapped, once more pulling from his magical reserves. The light of day dimmed around them as it was transferred to his bow at his bidding. A searing, divine light erupted to life on his arrowhead. The bow creaked under the weight of his draw, and the magic condensed on the arrow flickered like a stuttering torch.

Mask concentrated, sweat gathering on his brow as he struggled to pull the light forward the way he always had before. For whatever reason, this use of magic was proving more difficult to maintain than the fire and ice that'd come before it.

But he fired it off anyway, a searing projectile of divinity that obliterated the remainder of the target.

Mask gasped, staggering away, as his vision turned fuzzy and his limbs suddenly felt leaden. His steps were clumsy, and he sat down heavily on the dry grass beneath him as a pounding headache overcame him.

“Mask!” 

The captain crouched at his side, checking his forehead and reaching for his wrist. Mask pulled away with a groan, opting to hold his head in his hands rather than be doted on.

“Was that a Hylia-blessed light arrow? How is that even possible with a normal bow! U-unless you're a sorcerer or tied to the royal family or…!”

Mask groaned louder, aided with readily available annoyance. “You talk too loud!” he complained, clamping his hands over his ears instead to block out the offensive noises. “Why does it hurt so much? It was never like this before!” 

Link sat down next to him, lowering his voice to a gentle whisper while Mask rided out the sensations plaguing him. “Hey, hey, it's alright. I've seen this before, you just have a bit of magic exhaustion is all. Stay put for a moment, focus on breathing, and then I'll go find you a green potion, alright?”

Mask's eyes stung, and he tasted bitterness in the back of his throat. “But that doesn't make any sense. I should be able to pull off more than three lousy elemental arrows!” He sank his nails into his scalp in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building there.

What's wrong with me this time?!

There was an odd sensation at war with the magic in his chest, sapping his strength like a fever, and he silently begged to be rid of it. His fingers were numb from where the radiant light of his magic had grazed them, and he could hear his own heart beating loudly in his chest like the ticking of a clock.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

All the while, Link rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Light magic has historically been a very… difficult magic to handle. Why don't we step back from it for a while? It's still a very impressive feat, possessing magic that's not tied to a weapon or item but rather comes from the inside. You don't have to prove yourself.”

Mask listened to the easy words as best he could, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of a black cloud hanging over him, smothering the brightness of day. There was a darkness present where it hadn't been before, sitting at the bottom of his bag, and it did not like the light.

Chapter Text

A darkened sky promised rain, and soldiers grumbled and left curses in their wake as they set up camp for the evening after another grueling day of marching. Battles had slowed them all down, leaving the hylian men and women tired and irritable, with little progress to show for. The days only ever seemed to get longer, despite the time for sunshine becoming briefer as winter crept up on the traveling army.

Mask did not envy the soldiers and their lack of horses.

Although the air was cold on his exposed skin, he was kept warm by his company and the feeling of peace that he'd cultivated amongst these bitter lands, where not much else grew.

A gentle, comforting melody that never failed to settle his nerves flitted from his ocarina as he breathed life into each note. If he focused hard, he could almost hear the singing that was meant to accompany his playing.

He wondered if Malon ever thought about his playing the way he thought about her singing. Or… or Romani and Cremia, wherever their lives had gone after the festival.

Epona snorted into his hair as the music lulled in time with his drifting thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile. At his back, the cow that he'd been leaning against let out a dismal moo , as if to ask why he'd stopped. Mask patted her side and tilted his head back to stare up into the darkening sky. He hummed in consideration, answering the cow after a moment. “You too, huh? I don't suppose you know that song, do you? All the other cows seem to.” He turned, smiling to his talkative companion. “Which means it's alright if I have some milk? Is that a fair trade?” If he sounded a bit pleading, then so be it. It wasn't as if anyone else was around to hear him making idle chitchat with the cattle the army carted around.

The cow huffed in his direction, causing him to scrunch up his face. She then stood up, taking her warmth with her, and Mask flopped onto the ground, where cold quickly seeped between his shoulder blades. A moment later, the sounds of chewing suggested that the cow had far more interest in the small patch of springy grass that was still remaining in the churned fields of dirt and mud.

He pushed himself back up and patted the cow's spotted flank once more, a grin spreading over his face. “Is that a yes? Does that make us friends?”

Another moo escaped the cow between moments spent chewing, and she looked back to blink at him with her big brown eyes.

Mask gave her a sunny smile. “Thank you!” he said, swapping his ocarina for an empty bottle.

He was fast about it, not that the cow really noticed, and then he parted ways with Epona in tow so that the cow could be left to her usual business. With the night catching on, it wouldn't be long until the soldiers came to deliver the livestock their feed and get them settled for the evening.

Epona followed loyally after him, all the way back to the tent he shared with the captain. Along the way, he sipped on his bottle of fresh milk. The soldiers acted like it was a luxury, when the cows were right there. The captain had told him that they weren't getting much milk right now, but Mask couldn't help thinking that the claim might've been an exaggeration to keep him from asking for things.

The captain made it seem as though he was so much more demanding than he really was. These were just essentials, at the end of the day.

Mask tucked his bottle away, saving the rest for later, and entered through the large tent flap. 

Captain was slouched in his little chair. In front of him, a stack of papers sat untouched. In his hands, he put far more urgency into polishing an already spotless shield.

Mask kicked off his boots at the entrance, leaving them muddied and flopped together next to Link's own, which had already been scrubbed of mud. A rather pointless task considering that they'd only be sullied again the next day. But if it was the repetition that kept him sane, then Mask could understand that.

He hummed as he crossed the floor, dropping most of his gear next to the table and plopping down onto the edge of the bed.

The captain spared him a tired glance, if only so that he could still his hands for a moment. “You're looking awfully chipper,” he noted dully, before resuming his mundane task.

“Would you rather I be miserable?” Mask sniffed, falling back onto the nicely arranged layers of blankets.

The young man rubbed tiredly at his brow, massaging his fingers into the crinkles forming there. “No, no. It's just… usually there's not much to look forward to in places like these.”

Mask closed his eyes and breathed in the air around him. He'd already grown used to the strong herbal soaps that permeated the threads of each blanket. It was a new sort of homely, in a sense.

“Well… it's hard to stay downcast when you have good music and good company. There should always be something worth looking forward to. Otherwise, the next day will pass us by, and the motivation to keep up with changing times won't last so long,” Mask mused, thinking back on past hardships.

When he cracked an eye open to gauge the captain's reaction, he caught the hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Yes… I suppose that's true.” He looked up from his menial chore. “Were you playing music just now? I didn't hear it.”

Mask stretched out on the bed, rolling onto his side and reaching for a pillow to shove beneath his head. “I was, but that was for my other friends. I'm tired now, so I'm done playing for the night.”

Mask watched the way his shoulders drooped in disappointment. His face remained neutral, though, as he feigned disinterest with a noncommittal hum; his movements slowed, the completion of his task growing further away.

Mask eyed the stack of papers. “Did you still have work to do?”

“I figured I'd get to it after dinner.”

“And when were you planning on getting around to that? The papers are in the way of where your plate would be,” Mask pointed out.

Captain let his shield and rag drop into his lap and looked up at the ceiling as if he might find his patience there. “I'm trying to be diligent,” he stressed.

Mask arched a brow at him. “No, you're procrastinating. That's wasted time,” he scolded lightly.

Captain pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He didn't snip back with a response. Instead, the rumble of his stomach answered for him. Slowly, he let the irritation drain from his face and set the shield aside. “Alright. I'll get dinner ready,” he glumly expressed, getting up from his chair and fussing about. “In the meantime, could you wash up? You're getting the bed dirty.”

Mask groaned so that the other man could plainly hear his disdain, but otherwise roused himself without further complaint.

The bed itself was already rather dirty, without a stream to wash the sheets in over the last several days. Mask hadn't been the most considerate of their condition during his first few days in camp, when he'd usurped the place of rest out from under the captain. It was only recently that Mask had grown comfortable enough to have him sleep near him, since neither of them were fond of using the cot. The bed wasn't exactly big – then again, neither was he, and so they made it work. 

Mask sat himself down next to a water bucket in the corner of the tent and reached for a wash towel. He started with his face, washing up while Link warmed a kettle over a small oil stove. Above, raindrops began to splatter on the tent's canopy.

When Mask had cleaned off as much mud and grime as he was bothered to get, he pulled his tunic over his head and changed into one of the long, silky pajama shirts from the captain's clothes chest. As always, he made sure to strap his belt and pouches securely around his hip before padding over to where the table was being set.

Mask sat down in his chair and scowled down into a bowl of crushed barley and carrot lumps that were being slowly warmed and thinned by the boiling water that'd been poured on top of it. “Pottage again?” Mask bemoaned. “It's been three days of the same slop. When are we going to get something better?”

When Mask looked up from his sorry meal, it was only to see Link tending to his own. His bowl contained a palm-sized chunk of hardtack submerged in warm water, and he poked listlessly at it while waiting for the tough baked staple to soften. In the meantime, he produced a cap of sugar water from a small waterskin on his belt and set it on the table, where Proxi alighted.

“You're a captain. I would've expected you to ask for nicer meals, given your upgraded accommodations.”

While it was true that his tent was larger and more ornate than others, it mostly only served as a symbol – a means of making him easier to find. Link's brow twitched, and he pursed his lips together while jabbing aimlessly at his lackluster dinner. “I've no intention of taking the lion's share of anything. It's only my rank that's higher than most others – not my hungers or needs. I will accept the same meals that my brothers do.” He flicked a spoon at Mask. “You shouldn't complain so much. Someone your age needs nutrients, and that's the best I can provide at the moment.”

Mask exhaled heavily and planted his head into his open palm. He watched the captain carefully from under his curtain bangs, waiting for his attention to be diverted to his sad supper, before reaching towards his belt. Beneath the table, he uncorked his bottle of milk and brought it above the rim of his bowl to pour into his pottage.

Link looked up sharply. “Did you steal that?” he demanded, his eyes darkening.

Mask froze. “N…no. I did not.”

His fingers clenched tightly around his spoon. “We talked about this. Mask, be honest.”

The small hero pushed himself up out of his chair, feeling his guts churn with a rush of emotion. “I'm not lying – I didn't steal it!” he snarled, feeling his blood boil at the accusation.

“It's a simple question, don't get so mad over it!” he snapped back, his steely facade cracking like ice weakened by flames.

Mask reached for his bowl – he would much rather eat outside with Epona, anyway. Not only was she more reliable company, but she'd probably eat the lumpy carrot chunks in his bland stew.

“Mask, wait!” 

Mask halted in his tracks, taking a deep, level breath as Proxi fluttered over and came to rest on his shoulder. He waited.

“I'm sorry, that was the wrong thing for Link to say,” the little blue fairy apologized on his behalf. Behind them, Link crossed his arms and fixed his sights to the earth. “It was just hard to believe that you got that milk on your own – it's not something that's easy to get right now. Could you please tell us how you got it?”

Mask took a few extra seconds to answer, waiting for his frustration to simmer down into something lukewarm and unassuming. Like his meal. Then he placed the bowl back down on the table and seated himself once more.

“My friend lemme have it,” he mumbled, picking at the unlacquered splinters of the aged wooden table with his nails.

Proxi moved back to her little dish of sugar water, and that was encouragement enough to slowly coax Link back to his own seat. “And who's your friend? Are you getting along with the soldiers?”

Mask shook his head. “Uh-uh, I already know that a soldier won't help me much.” The captain huffed at the remark, but it was the truth; soldiers did what they were ordered to do, was all. If he did something that got in the way of their duty, it would not be taken kindly.

“So then who gave you the milk?” Link asked, his prior frustration replaced by a hesitant curiosity.

“Got it straight from the cow!” Mask declared, just a bit proud. “They're a friendly bunch, and I asked nicely for it. You could have some, too, if you asked me nice enough.”

A frown tugged at the corners of Link's mouth as confusion crept across his face. “But… the cows haven't been producing lately.”

“Then maybe your troops need to find better ranch-hands to keep ‘em happy!” Mask scoffed, pointedly adding another splash of milk to his pottage.

Link's eyes drifted away, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I see…” He drifted into silence, and Mask thought he seemed upset. So he offered some milk to him, even though he hadn't asked, only to be politely declined as he mulled over his thoughts.

Halfway through the meal, he finally spoke up again. “Mask, you should be careful… about getting too attached to those cows. I don't want to see your feelings get hurt…”

Mask only stared back at him blankly. “They're good cows, Link. Nothing will happen to her.”

Link only nodded numbly in return, and didn't push the subject further.

It became something of a routine after that. In the evening, Mask would visit the gentle grazers and play Epona's song to the one cow. She was a bit skinnier and older than the others, so it was easy to find her separate from the rest of the small herd. The days of marching were still impossibly slow and dull, but he always had the evening to look forward to. He decided not to let the smaller portions of food being served to him bother him, either. Everyone just kept saying that things would be better once they reached the next village.

The captain still fussed over him, but his worries were unnecessary. Perhaps he just wished that camaraderie could be so easily found. Mask hardly ever saw the young man hanging around others his age. For all the charm and posh words he used to command his soldiers, once night came he turned into much more of a shut-in.

Mask, for one, had no problems enjoying the company of his friends. 

The nights passed without monster or incident to make them interesting, and Mask was grateful for it. The soldiers were saying that they'd reach the village by the very next day, and they were clearly excited for it.

Mask went to visit the cattle one more time, as he always did. Epona followed, and he saw many a familiar face. But he did not see his cow friend.

He played Epona's song, and, sure, a few cattle raised their heads. But still his friend did not appear. His ears drooped in dismay, and he wondered if she'd drifted away from the others to find better grass.

But it was nighttime now, and it was dangerous to leave camp. The howling in the distance troubled him, and he wandered the camp perimeter in search of her, playing on his ocarina all the while.

One of the tents he passed had a loud assortment of soldiers inside. They were laughing and singing and clattering their dishes against the table. They must be celebrating the fact that their days of marching were almost at an end.

A strong, mouthwatering aroma drifted from the tent, and Mask felt his stomach rumble in protest. He paused, staring at the silhouettes of the men inside, and felt his chin start to crinkle.

Mask marched through the encampment, abandoning his search for the cow in favor of locating that brightly colored tent. His heavy steps picked up, turning from a measured stride into a sprint, until the captain's tent was in front of him.

Mask tore past the entrance, neglecting to take his boots off as he stomped into the center of their shared space.

“ Where. Is. She.” 

Link startled out of his chair, dropping his pen on the ground and floundering with the paperwork he'd been getting an early start to for once.

“Wha— who?” Link dared to ask, rushing to  his feet and reaching for his sword. If there was an attack inside camp, he had to be ready now. Judging by Mask's glowering expression, put on full display for anyone to see, he thought this must be an urgent matter. For what else could rattle the young boy so fiercely?

“My friend,” he spat. “What happened to my cow?!”

Warriors felt his heart sink into the pit of his hollow stomach. It happened all the time, really; more so during the ends of longer stretches of travel, as this had been. Even still, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He would never rob a meal from the mouths of hungry soldiers, but perhaps he could've done more to prevent Mask's attachment to the livestock from deepening in the first place.

“Oh, Mask… I'm so sorry, but… sometimes things don't always—”

“It's a simple question,” Mask seethed. “Just tell me.”

Proxi whispered a quiet warning in his ear, begging him to be gentle. But that's not what Mask had asked for, and Link took a deep breath before answering with the full honesty that the self-proclaimed adult deserved. “That cow was probably dinner for the soldiers. We are out of food, and there were mouths to feed.”

Proxi gasped at the bluntness of his words. She would surely chew him out later, after whatever catastrophe came next.

Link expected yelling. He anticipated harsh words and colorful swears that had no right falling from the mouth of one that appeared so young. He was thankful, at least, that there was nothing breakable in the tent, beyond maybe the cheap wooden chairs and ceramic bowls. The temperamental kid hadn't broken things in a fit of anger before, but he didn't doubt that something like this would push him over the edge.

So he was surprised when the yells didn't come, and the tremors of rage housed within the boy shifted to something less restrained – more vulnerable. His bottom lip quivered, and each breath came out choked and uneven.

Link felt the defenses he'd built in anticipation for a fight crumble. “Mask… no, please, I didn't mean…”

The child burst into tears. Fat drops trailed down his round cheeks, meeting at his chin, and the choked breaths evolved into ugly sobs. “You bastard! I had a friend and you took her! I was happy, but that's not allowed in a shitty fucking war!” he wailed, pawing at his eyes to stem the flow of tears.

Link's hands hovered uselessly in the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Proxi, help!

The fairy hid under his hat.

Fuck! He'd just have to talk the kid down.

“ Sshhh , it'll be okay, nobody meant any harm,” he tried to sooth, choosing whatever words of comfort were likely meant to placate someone in the throes of grief. “I'm sure she was happy, too, but there comes a time when—”

“Don't fucking talk to me!” Mask snapped, stomping past him. 

Link raised his hands away and stepped back, giving him plenty of space to reach the bed uncontested. 

Mask crumpled onto the mattress, his fingers curling into the blankets, and sobbed without restraint.

Link went quiet. Like a storm, it would pass. But for tonight, the rainclouds spilled their burdens.