ㅤTwilight was an odd time of day. It's not labeled as a true time of day, like the morning, afternoon, evening and night. It was a state of the sky, where light from the sun was below the horizon, causing a fraction and scattering of the suns rays. Technically it was between sunset and dusk, not quite day or night hours, a state of in between. Which was also, ironcially, what shadows were. A place between the light and dark, a thing cast in the light. His mother used to say that the brighter the Royal Family of Hyrule shown, the larger the shadow they cast. In Impa's opinion, the stronger Zelda's and her family were, the stronger the Sheikah would become. The irony in that? Was that there wasn't any Sheikah left because of the Royal Family. It made one wonder, truely, if there was actually an in between when it came to anything.
ㅤHis fingers darted along the rope, tracing the woven lines of it, the tight feeling and the heaviness of the fibers. Rope like this was meant for farming, where the rope Sheik was actually familiar with was used for carrying around. For crossing larger distances he couldn't safely throw himself. Like the grappling hook the Hero of Time used, since he was far to heavy to throw himself at all. Actually watching him jump around was rather amusing back then, he could barely leap a small stream without getting wet somehow.
ㅤThe conversation with this hero today had been rather—enlightening if that was the word that he wanted to use. Leaning more about the hero who replaced Time was always a fascinating thing. Often he finds himself wondering more about the journey he had under taken, the way that Hyrule had changed between the Era he remembered and the one that he was awake during now. Link was always an enigma, forthcoming yet restrained as well, giving enough that Sheik could get an answer but repressing the details at the same time. It was more open than the way Sheik himself spoke, but it kept enough at bay that he always found himself wondering more. In a way, it was like how the legends were passed down.
ㅤThe Legends of the Heroes of Hyrule, the records that the Sheikah were meant to preserve and pass down, only ever carried the surface details. Ganondorf, Triforce, Sages and saving. A Hero, cloaked in green, appeared and with the Sword of Evils Bane stopped the Evil King. In a way, all the legends actually read the same, told the same story, but how they did it was different. Yet, there was never any detail either. The legends in a way were meant for bed time stories to tell small children, to build their hope and belief in the world, rather than appear as a warning. And that, to Sheik, was honestly what they should actually be.
ㅤA warning of what could happen, of what could come, of what the Hero would go through.
ㅤ"Names are… a bit like legends to the Sheikah." He finally explained, wrapping his long slender fingers around the rope and holding it tightly. "In my tribe, every single leader of it had been a woman. A woman leads the Sheikah Tribe, and it's not blood related. Any woman could become the tribe leader, though it is more common for one to be chosen from the previous leaders family. However, it is a common practice for the first born woman of the Tribe Leader to be named Impa. The leader of the tribe before my mother was Impa and if she had a daughter the name would be passed down to her. In that same line of speaking, the Leader of the Tribe has always directly served the Queen and Princess of Hyrule. My mother was Princess Zelda's nanny and the Queensguard. They carry it like they do the title of Tribe Leader, with pride and dignity."
ㅤThat was the way that it had always been, the way that it was discribed in the books that he had read, the way that the world worked for them. To the Sheikah Tribe, that connection to the Royal Family was always more important than the Tribe itself. But there was a reason for that, that oath that their tribe lived by, the promise to Hylia that they would always uphold no matter what, no matter the sacrifice.
ㅤEven when it made one become the Survivor of the Sheikah.
ㅤHonestly, in the eyes of his ancestors. The fact that Sheik was spending all of his time here? Like a house cat for the Hero of Twilight? Putting all of his time, effort, training and resources into helping him? Bent over that book for long nights trying to decipher it instead of going to the Castle and seeing if the current Princess Zelda needed anything? It was probably an insult somehow. The Sheikah were servants of the Royal Family of Hyrule. Upon being revived, for a purpose for the Hero or not, he should have offered his services to the Royal Family first. And yet, just like after the Hero of Time's journey ended—he had absolutely no desire to go anywhere near the Castle. Something about being here made him quite content, even as frustrated as he was at certain points with the book and that cursed rock. He didn't mind trying to help the Hero or mucking it around in the forest. Some days he could get quite bored, Sheik always longed for a more… moving type of life style, but he wasn't unhappy either.
ㅤNot like when he first woke up.
ㅤNot like when he asked to be put back in the ground.
ㅤBut being just content doesn't make for a stable life either, and he often finds himself wondering what happens after he finishes whatever Link needs. If he even can. The Hero from how he spoke doesn't even know all the details of what he did. Was there a chance, in some twisted way the Goddesses worked, that eventually his spirit would be called back to the spirit realm? Or pulled back to the Shadow Temple? With how long he spent there praying, playing, worshiping as a Sage—he doesn't wish at all to return to that place.
ㅤVery little can actually make Sheik uncomfortable, but the thought of the shadow temple—that place of torture and bloodshed for his family, of impossibly infinite darkness, that could always make him uncomfortable.
ㅤIt had gotten quite dark now and Link's lantern had just about ran out. The lack of light didn't bother Sheik, his family and their eyes could see quite well in the dark. A gift or a curse of the Sheikah Tribe, the blood red of the Eye of Truth, it was good for some things. He picked the rope up and started folding it up to put away. No need to continue to work on it in the dark, his hands were sore from weaving all day anyway and he still wanted to work on that odd book tonight. Ever the lack of sleep functioning person he was, he rarely bothered to rest at night and it made it easier to keep an eye on the Hero while he slept. A habit from following Time around, watching over the reckless man who slept out in the open and had no sense of self-awareness to danger.
ㅤ"The way you talked about your mother earlier. I'm going to guess that something rather awful happened to her. I don't believe surnames are rather important, but that was the way that I was raised. You could have been raised in a different way and if not knowing hers bothers you, that is your own feelings. I will not pry unless you wish to talk about it." It's impolite in his opinion to force someone to open up more. What he had let slip earlier could have been an accident, but if he ever wanted an ear to listen to—well, the Sheikah had very good hearing.
ㅤ"That being said," the folded rope is placed beside him and Sheik turned his head to the side to look at Link. "The person you have become, and I don't strictly mean the hero part, I am certain she would be rather proud of. The people of this strange little hole in the forest are very fond of you, and your kindness toward them and everyone else is easy to see. You're an open and giving person, you value others and their well being far above your own and you truly only wish for the best for those who matter to you. You give and give without a bit of hesitation for if it's to much on you and you put forth the effort to strength the bonds of those who you hold close. It's admirable, how much you're willing to do." For everyone, for Sheik, for this odd Twili Princess he was trying so hard to get back to. If it wasn't for Link, the whole resurrection thing aside, Sheik doesn't know what he would have done on his own here. He's not good with people, not in the way Link was, he would have crashed and burned and probably panicked in a place like this.
ㅤHe turned his head away and tilted it back, looking up at the dark sky above them. It was easy here to see the stars. Despite the rather dense forest area that Ordon was in, the place where Link had built his home was a bit more open. There was even a stream down the dirt path that was entirely open, and according to Link was typically where he bathed Epona. A different Epona, but a familiar Epona, a very complicated feeling. A lot of this was familiar and yet not and he's tried hard to fight that feeling. To view Link for Linkand not Link for Time. It's harder than it seems, harder than it should be some days. And often he finds himself falling into old habits that he had with his Hero, entirely accidental and the guilt at that often eats at him for days.
ㅤHe's started to keep a mental log of all the differences that the Hero of Twilight had from the Hero of Time and there were quite a bit of them. Though they looked similar in appearance, Sheik found that this Hero was taller than his own. It was the first realization that he had when meeting him, because he had actually been taller than the Hero of Time. A thing he didn't have on this one. The second instant thing he noticed was that this Hero's eyes were a darker shade of blue than his own. When the sunlight hit him while he was working though? They seemed a closer shade to what he was used to. An almost startling amount. But it was that same light that made him realize Link was a lot darker skinned compared to the Hero of Time. Either a product of his birth or the sun he worked constantly in, perhaps both.
ㅤIt felt like they had lapsed into a silence for quite a while now and Sheik started to get worried, wondering perhaps if he had over spoken in the thing about Link's mother. It's hard to speak on someone you don't personally know but he was rather confident in his words too. No woman who raised a son like that would be ashamed or disappointed in them.
ㅤNot like his own.
ㅤHe's always been a disappointment to Impa.
ㅤSo he tries, rather hard, to give something personal to perhaps balance out his words. "You—never asked about what happened to the Sheikah. I don't know if Impaz told you something, or if they even knew themselves. Honestly, I'm not even sure if something happened between my time and this one with them. Rather hard to… know things when you're dead and—" his lips thin a bit and Sheik clasped his hands tightly together in his lap. "It's weird but… it feels like the longer I'm out of the Shadow Temple, the harder it gets to remember my time in it. But my memories from before that are still easy to recall." A reflection for later, on if his time as a sage would be something he eventually forgets entirely.
ㅤ"The Sheikah though. Before I was born and when my mother was little, there were quite a few of us. We actually made up a rather large number of the Hyrule soldiers. My tribe was known for serving the Royal Family, and one of the titles we carry is the Protectors of the Royal Family. It's said that we swore and oath to Hylia to protect them." Unclasping his hands Sheik rose his right one up and pressed the tips of his fingers to his chest, over the Eye of Truth stitched into his stealth suit armor. "The teardrop in our crest is a symbol of what happened to us, as is the inscription near the door of the Shadow Temple. If you saw it, I don't know if the temple stood the test of time to preserve it. However, it did read; Here is gathered Hyrule’s bloody history of greed and hatred."
ㅤAn inscription that was designed as a warning and a reminder.
ㅤ"What we did for the Royal Family was beyond revolting," Sheik said slowly, dropping his hand back down into his lap. His gaze fell with it, staring impassively at the grass beneath the two of them. "And what they did in turn was massacure us all."
twilight , again and everything feels half-formed. it wasn’t quite dark , but the light had begun to retreat , dragging its golden hem behind the hills. the sky bloomed with that uncertain blue-violet , the color of bruised fruit ( of sorrow caught between breath and word ): that hour that doesn’t belong to the sun or the moon — an hour that stands alone , humming. link had always known it intimately , the in-between and the hush — a breath before the wolves howl , the hush before swords meet. this land , so familiar and strange , curled around him like memory ( or maybe like a ghost that had learned how to walk beside him ): and sheik — silent , precise , unreadable as ever — sat nearby , folding the rope like it was sacred ( like it held all the hours between them ): the quiet had lengthened , but it wasn’t empty. it was filled with what had just been said. a spilling of names , of burdens stitched into red thread , of a past soaked in shadow and misery and blood. and link — hero of twilight , bearer of dusk and beast — sat with all of it heavy in his lungs , not choking but just present. because the words weren’t light and they never had been , with sheik. they were always measured like weapons or prayers. and yet this time … it was a bit softer , like a sinning man's confession and like blood drawn under moonlight instead of steel. link doesn’t speak right away ( because it doesn’t feel right to answer sacred things quickly ): the sheikah’s voice still echoes in him , curled in the bones beneath his skin. ❝ the person you have become… ❞ link swallows , eyes dropping to his calloused hands. they rest over his knees , dirty from the day , from the field , from this life he never planned to live but somehow keeps choosing.
❝ what do you do with a kindness like that? ❞ because , truly , link wanted to know. he wanted to know how to let the kindness everyone else saw and felt be given onto himself. he wanted to know how to just be selfish , for once. for once link wanted to only care for himself and not worry about a kingdom or deities or duty or the curse of the soul inside himself. but , sheik was not a selfish man either and just what are you meant to do there? how do two self-sacrificing and giving people , learn to take what they wish to receive? but link knows neither of them can : so they just give and give and give. link had heard praise before , from children pulling at his tunic , from villagers offering bread and meat and quiet thanks. from midna , sharp and unyielding , in those especially rare moments where she let herself be soft. but this felt different , this felt like being seen. not just as hero. but as link. and that — goddesses above — now that was terrifying. the ordonian lets the quiet linger a moment longer. the stars are beginning to show , silver-pricked and watching. a few of them wink through the canopy overhead , distant fires bearing witness. he breathes deep ( the scent of rope and moss and old wood clings to the night air ): somewhere further down the slope , the stream is still singing its low lullaby. he doesn’t look at sheik when he starts speaking , the words might vanish if he does. ❝ i ain't kno' it asa child bu' my ma wa' of da desert people , da gerudo. its why i neva knew her las' name. ❞ the words come slow , raw-edged. ❝ its why ion look like anybody from ordon eitha. my pa was a knight of hyrule. ion kno' everythang bu' from wha i learnt from telma n shad n da mayor , da knights was sent dere afta day wa' 'pposed to kill ganondorf. ❞ a pause. ❝ day got sent dare ta kill all da people. my ma was a descendent of da ones that got away. da knights was 'pposed ta track dem down n kill dem all but she ended up meetin' my pa n' day ended up wit me. i 'member lik' nunin' befo' ordon but i kno' we ain't move 'ere till i was three , maybe four. ❞
link doesn't normally speak this freely , he keeps these thoughts locked inside but with sheik ( with someone that knows him for him and not his actions nor title … it feels easy , it feels like home ): ❝ ion remember my ma sometimes. don' even kno' 'er given name. jus my momma. ❞ a beat then , softer — ❝ bu' i 'member the way her arms felt. when she carried me da las' time. she was runnin' bu' ion know why. ❞ he closed his eyes. it rises up , faint and flickering — half-memory , half-dream. ❝ i think she was crying. she was hummin' sumthin' , ta 'eep me calm. its da same tune i 'se for epona. ❞ his breath stirs the grass in front of him. ❝ but its why 'm so angry. its why ion give two fucks 'bout them gods. day made me kill a man that was lik' a cousin or sumin' ta me , kinda fucked , right? ❞ for link he was an outliner , not really hylian , not ordonian , and he definitely wasn't gerudo ( even his mother wasn't full blooded ): but he feels sheik shift beside him , maybe just slightly. maybe not at all and he doesn’t dare look.
the night wraps around them , close and soft like a shroud. because , surely the gods saw all his killing , surely the gods knew his genetic connection to the demon king and they still chose him. link thought that was the most cruel aspect of his quest , his journey , his life. link gave respect to all life , even the ones he consumed to keep his moving forward but ... he had to end the life of one man to save millions : but link still did not see how that was warranted , how that was even fair. ❝ ion think i am but , ❞ link continues , voice steadier now. ❝ i try ta make othas proud of me. ❞ a faint laugh escapes him — not bitter , not mocking but just quiet. ❝ its why i give fa othas. its why i go outta my way for folks. i neva wan' someone else ta suffer like i do , sheik. i jus wan' everyone ta be happy , even if i can't be. ❞ and he finally lifts his gaze , lets it drift toward the darkness beyond the treeline. ❝ most important thang my 'rents ever taught me wa' dat i can neva assume somebody else gonna do it , i gotta be da one. ❞ another empty laugh escapes his lips. ❝ teh , thinkin' 'bout it now , like this. guess i been a 'ero long before da title. ❞ and it hangs there. a choice link didn’t mean to make , a wound he let scar over without realizing. he glances at sheik now , not searching for pity but just anchoring himself. ❝ guess ... i never needed her name , i carry it. ❞
he studies the warrior across from him — the curve of his spine , the way his fingers now rest still against the coiled rope , as if listening. ❝ ion question if my ma or pa would be proud of me , sheik. i kno' day would be but ... am i proud of myself? ❞ but link also wonders if his parents would be scared of him , of what he became. he thinks this of the friendly faces of ordon too. how in his wolf form , that didn't notice that his eyes where the same in either appearance , they only saw him on the surface level ( as a wolf , as a weapon ): link was just a boy far too willing to bleed for strangers , that wouldn't do the same for him. but there’s something else behind his eyes saturated from their customary cerulean but it is not doubt nor is it in grief. but from something much older. something like — faith , in a world that never deserved it. link looks up again and notices how the stars are out in full now , draped above like a second sky. the trees sway ( murmuring secrets in a language only they remember ): he draws in a breath , then speaks again but far more slowly and reverently — like offering a piece of himself back in return.
❝ but maybe dats a good thang , ❞ link's voice is so soft now , low like the wind threading through branches. ❝ not havin' ta 'member all the bad. ❞ he lets the words rest between them like stones in a river. because link wishes he could forget ( he wishes every death and blood splatter wasn't etched onto his flesh like his own vanishing song ): but again , there's that same silence and shoving everything down , he wonders how long he'll keep having to keep his sorrow deeper inside him than the depths of lake hylia. then adds— ❝ ion think only focusin' on the good is so bad , ya kno'? maybe it means ya healin'. ❞ link thinks he sounds kind of corny but his voice doesn’t tremble , it’s not a sword either , not tonight. it’s a hand offered — palm up , fingers loose — not asking nor demanding , just there. the fireflies have returned , dotting the air between them in slow pulses of gold. link watches one land on the rope that sheik had so carefully folded , as it clings there for a breath ( like it’s listening too ): then lifts , leaving nothing behind but that hush again. he doesn't know if sheik will answer but maybe that was never the point and even so , link isn’t afraid of silence , not anymore. he grew up in it. he was molded by it ( living all of his tragedy without the sound of verbalized sorrow or screams ): he learned to speak in the language of animals and earth , of wind over wheat and hoofbeats down dirt paths. he learned that quiet could be oh so kind and that it didn’t always mean absence. sometimes it just meant presence , in a different shape and that’s what this feels like ( not absence but weight ): and meaning and a truth , heavy as an oath.
sheik doesn’t look at him right away. his eyes are on the stars — or maybe on a lifetime lived far beyond them ( on something older , on something nameless ): and link he doesn’t press. he just waits and in that wait , something inside him unfurls , slow and careful. not aa revelation , not quite. it is more like recognition. because what sheik said — about names , about legacy , about the bloodline of impaz long deceased kin , and about oaths that bound tighter than family ever could — it echoed. it reached the hollowed places in link that he never showed ( not even to midna ): but then link also had to wonder if such a maw in him existed before she left or mayhaps it was born because of her exit. even so , link had spent his time over the past decade sometimes ranting to ordona or lanayru but not even to the spirits of light , who once touched his wolf-shaped soul and called him chosen , did he dare reveal the darkest parts of him that stayed eclipsed by the light. when they addressed it was only as 'brave link' because he had no lineage and no title to be passed down ( that wasn't tied to his soul , that wasn't tied to his duty ): there was no unique moniker to anchor him. only the quiet kindness of villagers who'd taken in his makeshift family and invited them in as their own. but to the world , to the ancient golden gods — link's legacy was only a sword he pulled from stone when the world was already bursting and dying and burning. it was only a princess who looked at him and saw something holy. and in that respect link knew that he and sheik maybe they weren’t so different : in their destiny and duty and fate in regards to hyrule. not mirror images , but as echoes ( different songs sung in the same key ): because link , too, had been expected to bleed for the crown.
and when link finally speaks again , his voice is as low as the wind blowing in the grass. ❝ i think ‘bout it , sometimes. ❞ he’s not sure why he says it. maybe because the night asks for honesty ( maybe because sheik does ): ❝ what happens after. ❞ he doesn’t need to clarify. he knows sheik will understand. after if and/or when they recontact midna , after hyrule is fully rekindled and in peace , after the world nobody needs someone to save it or act as a political device , and after whatever this is between them finally burns out or is buried beneath silence again. ❝ when the work is done , the hero part. ❞ being a hero was easy , to link. risking himself for others and the common good was light work in comparison to the things he did on the ranch and around ordon everyday but his fingers curl slightly , tugging a blade of grass loose and he watches it fall. ❝ n’ i wonda if there’s anythang left of me. besides dat. ❞ he met midna and it gave him a more grandiose purpose and he can pretend he didn't like it but ... how do you calm a flame inside yourself that had been allowed to burn and burn and burn then put out? link does not think he can and that is why he is still searching for her , for adventure , for meaning. he huffs a small laugh — all quiet and bitter-edged. ❝ i think sumtimes folks forget i ain't ask ta be dis. ❞ he glances at sheik. ❝ but maybe ya kno' what dat feels lik'. ❞ and gods , link knows he shouldn’t say more , that he shouldn’t push , but — ❝ maybe you can't 'member the temple anymores cuz ya was neva meant ta be there in da first place. ❞ his voice wavers , not with fear — but with something softer. hope , maybe. or fear of hope , link wasn't sure ( because to him , bravery also felt like fear ): he finally meets sheik’s gaze. fully and openly. no hiding , no masks. just pure man to man. ❝ wha if you’re alive ‘ere not cuz of some twili magic but cuz 'our meant ta be 'ere , wit hyrule , wit me? ❞
the words settle. warm. dangerous , its not quite a confession. but close and link doesn’t flinch from it. he lets it hang there , between breath and heartbeat , like the space between two stars. inside himself his inner wolf howls. it is a long , mournful and goes unanswered by his predecessor with golden fur. he closes his eyes for a moment , not in fear but just to listen ( the world always speaks more clearly at night ): when he opens them again , the fireflies have drifted higher , like they’ve decided to become stars. the one hailed hero leans back , palms flat against the earth. it’s damp , soft , living. beneath his fingers , he feels roots and beneath his ribs , he feels the same. he turns his head slightly , just enough to catch the edge of sheik’s profile in starlight. he doesn’t expect a response , doesn’t need one. this isn’t about answers. this is about naming the silence and not breaking it. just … recognizing it. giving it shape. giving them shape. he shifts slightly , shoulder brushing sheik’s , not enough to startle. just enough to say: i’m here. i see you. i’m not leaving. the touch is gone as quick as it came. but the meaning lingers ( like starlight. like rope. like long bygone memory recovered ): the forest breathes around them , not loud nor restless. just a slow inhale. ahush of leaves , the distant murmur of water , the sound of small wings brushing the night and sheik still hasn’t spoken but that doesn’t worry link. he knows now that silence from sheik isn’t absence — it’s deliberation , it’s weight , it’s care. there’s a reverence in his quiet , as if every word he’s ever chosen was measured against a lifetime of shadows and if link has learned anything , it’s this: sometimes , waiting is the truest form of listening. so he does. he lets the quiet stretch , not as something to fill — but as something to honor.
his body relaxes by degrees but not all at once. there’s still a tension tucked in his shoulders , the same one he’s worn since the first time he held a blade with purpose. since the first time someone told him the world was on fire and he was the only one who could stop it. link's gotten used to carrying things no one sees. but tonight? tonight , something is being shared. not taken and not demanded but offered and link doesn’t take that lightly. he lets his mind drift , watching the stars and fireflies. thinking of her — midna. her laughter , sharp as broken glass. her sorrow , hidden in smiles and snark she thought he didn’t notice. he misses her with a kind of ache that doesn’t fade , it just changes shape. and it’s strange — he’s never spoken about her to sheik ( not in any real meaningful way ): but somehow , he thinks sheik knows , in the same way he seems to know everything link doesn’t dare speak out loud. and now sheik has told him of the sheikah. of their end and of their blood turned to ink in the royal family’s ledger ( of oaths too old to break and too cruel to honor ): it sits in link’s chest like a second heart , thrumming. he hadn’t known , not fully. not the depth of it nor the sorrow threaded through every syllable of sheik’s voice. but now … he does. and gods , how unfair. how quietly devastating.
❝ i neva asked ya 'bout da sheikah. ❞ a pause. the air stills , as if it too , is listening. ❝ but not 'cause i ain't kno. ❞ his voice dips lower. ❝ … jus 'cause havin' da history books confirmed would be too much ta 'ear. ❞ and turns to face sheik fully now. link knew something's , from texts studied with shad and from speaking with impaz ( he drank everything impaz sad as a desert wondering man with huge thirst ): link knew what survivor meant , the last thereof. entire nations didn't just vanish overnight , much like his mothers people , he knew just enough details on the sheikah , on their very tool-like and cruel history. link kept his anger and distaste buried , he had no ill will towards princess zelda nor anyone alive today for the actions of those from hundreds — if not thousands of years ago. but , it made him question all good and the supposed sacrifices one had to do to ensure times of peace ( but if you asked link , if it involved taking lives ... maybe that peace should not exist ): ❝ i see da wat you carry 'em. in yo silence , in yo stories , n' in ‘our hands. ❞ link shifts , his fingers brushing the grass between them. ❝ they’re still ’ere , ‘cause you ’re. my ma's culta ain't fully die cuz she left da sands , yours doesn't eitha. ❞ but link can't fully understand what sheik has went through. he remembers it , the shadow temple and how his trek into the ruins of it had been. the inscriptions on sheik's coffin ( how the temple breathed and how it seemed to watch him ): how the walls whispered in ancient tongues and languages no one living should understand. and he remembers the inscription — half-buried , half-broken , but eternal:
here lies sheik of the sheikah. sage of shadows and guide of time. a warrior of immense fortitude.
but link also remembers the text in the ancient tome , that detailed many aspects of the sheikah during shade's — the hero of time era — but , he hadn't realized outside the shadow temple had also read the same inscription : here is gathered hyrule’s bloody history of greed and hatred. but link , half a year or so ago was still ignorant to a lot of the ways of the royal family of hyrule. impaz , kept a lot secret ( and only how did he understand ): because link , hadn’t understood it then , not fully. but now. now he feels the truth of it in every word sheik has spoken tonight and for only the forth time in his twenty-seven years of living does link truly feel angry. however , he pushes the emotions down , as no great decisions got made when rage overtook the heart. ❝ how could a people be written out so cleanly? ❞ and how could someone like sheik still carry such a loyalty like a blade tucked beneath the ribs? ( and how could link not see the weight of it sooner? ): he turns his head again , not to speak — but to look , really look. sheik sits like he always does — composed , still — all wrapped up in that eerie calm that only someone born of shadows can wear like skin. but there’s something different tonight : not visible , but felt ( a shift , a crack. a light beneath the mask ): there are few things link regrets , his previous statement is one of them. however , the words link says next he cannot bring himself to hold back. ❝ do you want to know what i think? ❞ and its with this that link’s voice is barely more than breath , but it carries in the same way wind does when it moves between pillars in a forgotten ruin ( all soft and sacred ): he doesn’t wait for an answer but just offers it up , gentle. ❝ i think da gods 're cruel. ❞ he says it like a confession , but there’s no bitterness in his tone , just honesty. ❝ day choose folks n' shape them , den call it fate. ❞ he exhales slowly , watching absentmindedly as a small beetle crawl across the top of his boot. ❝ but day don’t stay ta watch wha it costs. ❞
another breath , deeper this time. but he’s not angry anymore. not even sad. just tired , oh so tired. link was tired of bearing the silence alone and if there’s one thing he’s learning — truly learning — it’s that maybe he doesn’t have to. not with her gone and not with sheik here. ❝ you said the sheikah was protectors. ❞ he glances over again , eyes calm and steady but burning , soft and low. ❝ you still are. ❞ link lets that truth settle in. then adds— ❝ but maybe ya get ta choose who ta protect now. ❞ the stars seem to lean closer and the fireflies drift slower now. the night itself seems to listen. link leans forward again , pulling a blade of grass between his fingers ( not to summon epona nor a hawk , but just to play a made up tune to ease the quiet ): he doesn’t look at sheik now. not because he’s afraid — but because some things are easier said to the dark. he doesn’t touch sheik and doesn’t move closer. he just lets the words remain. an offering , a choice. because this — whatever lives between them now — isn’t something born from fate or flame or sacred texts written in blood. it’s quieter than that , softer ( a thing built in evenings like this , under sky and silence ): a thing that could be real. if they let it. he doesn't know how long they sit like that. the fireflies rise and fall like tidewater , slow and steady. the stars pulse and the grass bends. the earth turns beneath them , but gently — just enough to remind them that time is still moving, even if the moment feels carved out of it. but link can feel it : that strange stillness that only comes after something important is said. not dramatic. not shouted. but real. a truth planted. not to demand an answer. just to be heard and somehow … that feels like enough , maybe for the first time in his life. he leans back fully now , arms behind him , palms resting in the cool earth. he stares up at the sky ( now , bordering between night and early day ): letting the wee hours soak into him. it isn’t heavy anymore , not today ( it feels like water cupped in gentle hands ): and he can't help but just think and think and think on every important person in his life since he had become more than just link:
i. he thinks of midna , of the sound her voice made when she said goodbye and of the way the mirror of twilight shattered — almost like it had always meant to. ii. he thinks of epona and the quiet way she pressed her forehead to his when he came back broken. iii. he thinks of colin , looking at him like he hung the moon after he had been rescued from king bulblin on the bridge of eldin. iv. he thinks of sheik , a different kind of silence , a different kind of bond. one not forged in fire , but in threads — slow-woven and quiet , strong enough to hold even when no one’s looking.
link doesn’t need a reply tonight and doesn’t need reassurance. he’s said what he meant. and if sheik doesn’t speak? if he never says a word in return? that’s alright ( link’s always known how to read the things people don’t say ): he watches a cloud drift across the moon , its brief and weightless in when it passes , the silver light spills down like a sigh. sheik shifts — just slightly — but it’s enough. the rope is no longer between them. his movement is quiet , deliberate , like a shadow deciding to stay and link feels something unwind in his chest , a knot he didn’t even know was there and for a moment , he imagines a future. not one formed from a past filled with monsters and ancient evils , but something smaller , something much simpler. his home , the stream from ordona's spring , and a certain horse at the edge of the woods. a figure at the door — half-smile , sharp eyes , hands still smelling of parchment and smoke and ink ( not a fairytale but just a possibility ): and gods , he wants that. not in the way he was told again and again in how heroes are meant to want things — not in glory and not with reward. but in quiet and continuity. someone who knows his name , his past , his heart , and all of his actions and still calls link their home.
his throat tightens slightly , but he breathes through it. lets the sky see him , lets sheik see him. he doesn't flinch , not anymore. ❝ 'm more than wha day made me n' so 're you , sheik. ❞ he doesn’t say it above a whisper , but the words ring through his chest like the echo of a blade in a bygone temple of time and he thinks sheik already knows. the sun is just over the horizon now , with a breeze stirring the trees ( a sound like whispered promises in an old tongue ): he turns his head slightly , looking again. the fireflies have begun to drift toward the stream , mayhaps to slumber while light covered the land — carried by instinct or maybe something older , something sacred. and link? he was used to not sleeping so he stays where he is. beside a man shaped by shadows. beside the only person who understands what it means to die for a world that forgot how to remember. he stays and in that staying, in that breathless , rooted stillness — something blooms. not loudly. not brightly. but it’s there.like rope held between hands , like starlight freckled on skin ( like the first soft beat of a heart not meant for war ): ❝ and maybe dat's enough. maybe issa good thang , no more sheikah means ya can't be used asa tool anymore. ya can jus be sheik , ya kno'? ❞ not forever , not yet. but for now? link lets himself believe it could be and that — gods help him — saying these words might be the bravest thing link's ever done.
