An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Crown of Memory
Summary:
When is Theseus's ship no longer the same? As long as Wild has one part of his former life that remains, he is himself. Warriors can respect that. But can he protect his brother in such a violent life as theirs?
Notes:
For ZippingBee07. @zips-quips
Beta read by @hotcheetohatredwastaken and @not-freyja (but all mistakes are my own)
Part 1: Crown of Memory
“STOP!” Wild screamed at the Captain, squirming in his arms. Warrior’s breath rolled hot against his stomach as the knight struggled to hold onto Wild’s waist and keep them both from overbalancing.
“C’mon, Champ!” Warriors yelled, his previous amusement replaced with a hard, decisive edge. One arm gripped Wild’s like a vice, tight around his waist, nearly crushing, “You can do this!”
“I WILL NOT!” Wild shouted, clinging desperately to the Captain with his legs. “Some other way!”
But Warriors had his blade in one hand, lifting it closer to Wild’s head.
“NO! Warriors!” He panted, his hair pulled hard above his head. “Get my slate! Use the stasis rune!”
Flying enemies shadowed the prairie road. With no trees to shield them, the group was completely exposed to six bear-sized, whirling air-born flowers, and their pea larva. The plant monsters bobbed and dove at the heroes.
Peahats. What a ridiculous name. Wild had never been so angry at a plant in his life. No matter how he pulled, wrenched, and twisted, he could not get his tangled locks free of its roots.
Warriors groaned under his weight. “Wild! I have no idea how to use your magic box! I could kill you by accident! I can just—”
Wild snarled down at him, and tightened his knees, earning a pained oof from Warriors.
“We can’t risk using anything strong enough while you’re face-first in its underside, Wild!” Four shouted from a few meters ahead, “I could suck it in, but it might suck you both too.” Four helpfully demonstrated the suction power of his gust jar by pulling one of the smaller flying flowers, a pea larva, into it and then shooting it out against a nearby rock, splattering the creature into oblivion.
The peahat above Wild lurched violently. Warriors dropped his sword, cursed, and wrapped both his arms around the Champion, feet skidding along the path as it dragged them both, barely keeping on the ground. If they could only get the damned peahat to hold still long enough to get Wild’s hair free….
Wild groaned, straining to hold on to the peahat’s roots with bleeding fingers and clinging to the Captain’s waist with his knees. “I’d rather not get sucked, thanks.”
Legend took a break from the fight to smack his face in exasperation. “Din’s breath,” he muttered. “Word choice…” But he did not have long to rest. The air swarmed with dozens of the little blights, and two more huge peahats floated nearby, mercifully untangled in anyone else’s hair. “It’ll have to rest soon, right?”
Hyrule Jumped, and aimed his sword down. The peahat veered away, dragging the totemed heroes with it. Time dodged aside as they passed.
“It should have done so by now.” Time grunted, parrying a pea larva with impressive accuracy onto Hyrule’s sword.
“Too bad I can’t blow it,” Wind grumbled loudly.
“Holy! Mother! Hylia! WIND!” Legend shot a quick glare at their youngest. “Phrasing!”
“What?!” Wind retorted, whether genuinely oblivious or feigning it, Legend couldn’t tell.
The soldier’s sword in Wind’s hand chose that precise moment to fail, shattering against a rock as he missed a wily pea larva. “At least your sack didn’t get grabbed by thieves!” He snarled, glaring at the broken handle of the sword Wild had lent him. “AARG!” Wind screamed as he hurled the naked sword handle at the larva with more force than needed. The little monster never had a chance. It crashed and burst into purplish smoke, leaving only a few roots and ash in the grass.
Four scoffed. “Well if someone hadn’t exposed their wand to the Chancellor…”
“He deserved to get blown onto his ass! He pulled that little girl’s hair! Only a villain would—”
“Boys! Argue later! Free Wild, clear the monsters, get to the castle. Then argue,” Time chided, barely blocking the volley of poisonous barbs the massive peahat spat at him, the tips bouncing off his shield, staring at the spear-like barbs in confusion. “This is new.”
Wild tore at the roots, those grasping, dead-looking things here ruining him, ruining what he’d earned. He pounded at them with closed fists. One root broke, and he struck again and again, ignoring his own splitting, sheared skin.
Wind grabbed a root and hurled it at another pea larva flying high above, damaging one of its rotating leaves. It burst in a puff of smoke like the other. “TAKE THAT!” Wind yelled. “Hey! I need a weapon!”
Time threw a boomerang toward the boy.
“Something sharper!”
A pea larva collided with it, throwing it off course.
“We have to get Wild free without stabbing him!” Time answered.
Wild shouted in pain as the gargantuan flying flower looming above tugged upward, drawing Wild and Warriors off the ground, the pair dangling mostly by Wild’s hair.
“Dammit!” Warriors groaned. The peahat had noticed Wind. Sharp spines emerged from its bulbous stem. It shivered, and aimed poisoned barbs towards the smaller hero. “WIND!” He shouted, unable to break free of the Champion’s hold.
Wind somersaulted and snatched the boomerang up. He rose, flung it, and cheered as the weapon collided with a wet thwak against the fibrous hide. The peahat stopped, dipped, and bled a dark ooze.
But at least it stopped wobbling so violently.
“Bring it down!” Legend shouted.
Hyrule Jumped high, even higher than the leafy monstrosity, and aimed his sword down. It struck, but the creature bucked and flung him off before he could gain a proper foothold. On the way down, he swung his blade, taking out a trio of fresh pea larva. Hyrule landed in the smoke, rested his sword on his shoulder, and smirked at Legend, showing off.
“Come on, Champion! Just do it!” Legend groused.
“NO!” Wild bellowed. He broke another root, and stabbed it up at the monster’s underside, cracking the root instead of the monster.
“Is this about the ball?!” Time groaned, struggling against a second massive peahat now trying to squash him. He thrust the Biggoron sword through its roots, power-gloves blindingly bright. “Wild, I’m sure you’ll look fine even without long hair—“
“It’s not about that!” he snapped as Warriors pulled them to the side and used a foot to drag his sword from where it fell. “I am NOT losing my hair, Captain!” he snarled.
“We’re losing Time!” Warriors shouted. “Wild, come on!”
He couldn’t lose it. It was the only thing left of—
The memories, sweet and bitter alike, stuck him in a split-second cascade of terror and desperation.
For a moment, the prairie looked familiar to Wild. Like Hyrule field.
☁️☁️ 🌤️ ☁️☁️
He stood in the whispering grass, the ashes of Calamity Ganon falling, but Zelda’s eyes held him.
She smiled. His heart raced, from battle rush or something else, he tried not to think about it. She thanked him, sharing her worries and her hope as he cautiously approached. And then she turned. Piercing blue eyes caught his own. He paused, held entirely in her power.
“Do you really remember me?”
She reached out to him, smiled, and touched his hair. Her fingers gently held the muddied strands. She smiled. Letting them fall, she cupped his cheek. “It’s really you.”
He felt alight, full of fluttering little shivers, and he leaned in, lightly bowing his head in deference, and no small measure of relief.
At last, he could truly rest.
Zelda had looked around the lush field, not only with sorrow, but wonder, absently stroking his cheek with her thumb.
“It’s over,” she’d whispered, and he’d felt the words release a deep ache, warm as a healing elixir, a break in the grief for the world they’d both lost. Her words were a glimpse of the earliest light of dawn, pale now but inevitably set to grow stronger, and more now than ever he relished the hope that new life would spring up from the rubble.
☁️☁️ 🌤️ ☁️☁️
A swoosh passed over Wild’s head. Metal teeth of a clawshot clamped onto the stubborn roots beside where Wild’s hair knotted within them. It slowed the peahat even more, but caused no apparent damage to the bulbous plant monster.
“Twilight! Sky!” Hyrule greeted their designated scouts. “Just in time for the fun!”
Sky rummaged in his bag, smiling at Wild’s predicament. “Need us to cut Wild free?” he asked, then swiftly ducked from a swooping pea larva, eyes wide. “Huh! I didn’t know they could do that!”
“Try pinning it!” Hyrule called in a brief pause. He hurled a boomerang at an approaching pea larva, its course set for the Captain, but immediately after he had to dodge another, and could spare no more aid.
Sky slipped on one clawshot, cinching it tight. The ranch hand had already fired another, the claw grasping the roots at the edge, and he planted his feet to keep the vegetal fiend from wobbling so widely. "Hurry, Champ! Can you cut it? We can’t take it down until you’re clear!"
Sky fired at the beast’s petals, but the shot missed as it lurched backward. He tried again, grasping the roots on the edge opposite Twilight’s.
“Can you pull it down?”
“Almost.” The Chosen anchored his clawshow underfoot and uncoiled a long, colorful whip with a round ball on the tip. He wrenched it back, the pastel blue and pink arcing over his head in a graceful loop. It soared as he cracked it forward. It slammed into the peahat’s whirling leaves, and caught a bundle of it’s propellers, and tangled the creature up.
“HOLD ON!” Sky called to Champion and Warriors. He pulled hard, and it fell, thrashing in the whip’s grip, but the struggle was already decided.
Warriors, catching on, turned them both to face the direction it fell, letting Wild fall with it but keeping him from crashing too fast and ripping out the poor kid’s hair.
The peahat collided with the ground in a spray of dirt, bouncing as it thrashed, sharp leaves still struggling to spin, and it began to rotate limply as a flailing top.
Warriors leapt up in a flash and stabbed his knight’s blade deep into the roots. The bulbous creature shuddered, deflated, and disappeared in a nauseating puff of smoke: an unpleasant mix of rotten vegetables and sulfurous malice.
Wild sat up and held his rat-nest of matted hair, grimacing at it. Zelda would have picked it free in no time. It always took Wild ages.
“Some vanities are a bit high maintenance, aren’t they?” The captain as he stumbled over and offered a hand, feet unsteady after holding Wild up for so long.
Wild looked skeptical, but let the soldier help him up. Wild finally pulled out his sword again, and stabbed a remaining peahat root with enough force to skewer a lionel.
“So. No haircuts?” Warriors queried, eyeing the absolute wreck of hair that bounced around Wild’s face.
“No haircuts,” Wild confirmed, and swapped the sword for bomb arrows.
“Understood,” he replied, and turned to shout, “GET CLEAR!” as Wild aimed at the furthest peahat. He felt relieved to have the Champion back in the fight.
The battle ended soon after, once friendly-fire was off the table.
“Finally!” Wind groused. “Now let's crash that party and get my bag!” And off he tore down the road, setting a grueling pace. The others lumbered after him.
“You look like a dog’s dinner,” Legend wheezed, patting Wild’s back with mock-comfort. “I’ll have my work cut out to make you look like the belle of the ball.”
Wind folded his arms and gave one of his biggest, least-convincing scowls. “Why can’t I be the one to dress up as a girl?”
“If we waste time debating, the Chancellor’s ball will start without us,” Time countered.
Twilight shooed Legend and Wind away. “He’ll clean up fine.”
Sky smiled brightly at Wild. “That veil. That wasn’t Zelda’s, right?” He looked askance at Wild, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Twilight and Sky, of all people! Wild flushed crimson, irritation prickling and his nerves already strung out.
“Ha! I agree. Champion will clean up fine.”
Wild pulled up his cloak. He wanted to be alone. Walking faster, he left them behind.
Warriors caught up with Wild, and opened his mouth to say something with a focused scowl on his face, but Wild harbored no patience for chastisement from the very man who had snooped and teased him about the veil in the first place. Wild jogged ahead, settling to walk in Time’s shadow. Play-acting as the Captain’s significant other for the ballIt was going to be a chore.
Mercifully, the others left him alone. Wild searched for something to distract himself.
Wind, already pouting over his missing Wind Waker, walked ahead of Time. No one had seen the knights take it, but Chancellor Cole had glared daggers at Wind as he held the tool aloft, laughing at the windblown little man. The next morning, his bag had disappeared..
Chancellor Khole left town late in the night; an odd occurrence, according to the city watch. Castle town lay only a few hours away. Something spooked him, they’d said, eyeing Wind pointedly. He added, in a quieter voice, that they could find him at the ball that night, and ran inside. He’d handed them an invitation. Wind spied the girl from yesterday’s encounter in the guardhouse, peering out.
Wind had crowed that there was something fishy about the man, and the townsfolk seemed to agree. With the trail of monsters left in the Chancellor’s wake, Wild agreed.
🔸🔸🔶 🔶🔶🔶⭕|▬▬▬▬▬►▪▪▪◄
[Non-graphic Linkshipping ahead for the rest of the fic]
Part 2: Braided by Gold
At the Castletown inn that afternoon, Wild hunched over his crossed legs in the bath like one of Twilight’s Ordon primates, grumbling at his puzzle of knotted hair. Bubbles blanketed the water in little peaks and valleys, but made little difference in loosening the strands. He’d made no visible progress after a quarter hour in the bath, and the water had grown cold and uncomfortable. Still, he persisted, fingers picking and twisting at a particularly dense knot in his bangs.
The Heritage Ball would begin at sundown. He sighed, thinking back to that morning when Time left to look for the missing Wind Waker and returned with nothing but an invitation. There had been no debate, really, about who would go as the Lord and who would go as his fiancée. Warriors knew court etiquette better than anyone, except Four, but since he’d already been called a child by multiple merchants—to his rising frustration—Wars rose up as the obvious choice.
And Warriors volun-told Wild they’d be going together.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d played this sort of role, he thought with a flash of pride, though he hadn’t needed or wanted any partner back then. Now the Gerudo welcomed him—or her—without question.
He should be convincing.
The idea of dating Warriors, even for pretend with this strange little quest, did something funny inside his stomach. A ticklish sort of swirl he tried not to think too much about.
At a knock on the door, his head shot up so fast his neck cramped.
“Wild? Are you still alive in there?” the captain’s voice called.
He was up next for the baths, wasn’t he? Wild chided himself for taking so long. Zelda would have finished these tangles by now, or Twilight, but Wild didn’t have Zelda’s talent for subtle intricacies, not unless there was a weapon involved. And he didn’t have Twilight or his goat-fat smelly detangler. The Rancher left early on reconnaissance for the ball, disguised as a server. Wild thanked Hylia that he’d have their backs.
The Chancellor seemed like a sly bastard, but not so humble as to believe servants and ‘dirt diggers’ could cause his plans any concern. Wild looked forward to his friends proving otherwise. They certainly could, especially with the Wind Waker at stake.
“Wild?” Warriors called again. “Can I come in? I have some things we can use…”
How had he already gotten so lost in his thoughts to forget that Warriors waited at the door? The swooping of his belly grew infinitely worse. He didn’t want to answer.
His companions had no qualms about seeing each other undressed, and Warriors didn’t even sound angry or impatient, to his relief.
No point in delaying. Still, despite assuring himself, Wild sunk his body under the water and spread the bubbles evenly.
“Come in!”
Warriors cradled a bouquet of glass bottles, combs, gilded brushes, silk ribbons, and a fire rod in his arms. He carried so much he opted to open and close the door with one foot. It proved a humorous balancing act, especially for a dressed-down soldier with such a look of grim determination on his face.
“We have four hours until the coach arrives. The clock is ticking.”
“What in Hylia’s name is with all that inventory?” Wild teased.
“You’re one to mock me. If you want to keep all that hair, Champ, then you need to learn to take care of it properly, so help me, Farore,” he griped. “Also, I spied a flock of court ladies in town, and I have a good idea for how to fix your hair to stand out the right way. Something classic, but eye-catching.”
Wild had no chance to object before the Captain made himself comfortable, glass bottles scattered like fallen rupees, and equally as bright in color. He put the fire rod at the end of the tub, warming it slowly. And then a heavy comb was nip nip nipping at his ends. Wild’s head bobbed with the force of it.
Wild had pride and dignity, of course, but for today he decided to leave it outside the bathroom door. This felt too blissful to lose. Besides, there were still plenty of bubbles. The tangles slowly unraveled.
Warriors pulled forward two strands from around Wild’s ears. “Zelda’s side braids, but with gold ribbon binding it into a shape to match Tetra’s zigzags. Legend has some.” He dropped the sides and pulled back the middle, gave it a gentle twist, and pulled it atop Wild’s head, the wet strands dripping down his neck. “The rest pulled up, curled with a little firerod heat to make it fancy, then topped with one of your gem circlets, depending on whatever gown Legend and his team whip up.”
“His team?”
“Hyrule found a flock of very chatty fairies who insisted on helping. Apparently fairies here adore fashion. They’re also begging to tag along in your hair. I had to deny that one. Too much attention will expose us.”
Wild hummed in answer. He barely listened. It felt… amazing.
He sighed in contentment. He leaned further back, and let himself sink into the gentle sensations reverberating up the strands of hair, stark in contrast to the pain from earlier, while Zel—no, he emended the automatic thought—while his friend and fellow knight fussed over the long strands. Zelda had a talent with hair and undoing a tight muscle in a pinch, but this rivaled the Gerudo spas. The ch ch ch of the comb, the gentle sensation of bubbles rising and popping as the thin film of bubbles popped softly.
Wait.
The bubbles.
He opened his eyes, and found nearly all the bubbles gone.
Warrior’s pace hadn’t changed. Perhaps the captain didn’t care: had surely seen far more and far worse. Why should he worry?
His stomach lurched in that swooping sensation again at the thought: like riding Revali’s gale for the first time, like the first time Sidon winked at him.
Wild decided to discreetly cover his hips with a large wash rag.
The flush in Wild’s cheeks and the flutter of his heart eased, made all the easier with the repetitive brushing. He leaned heavily on the tub’s slope.
“So, tell me about the hair. What’s got you so attached to it?”
“It’s… a long story,” Wild warned.
“It’s also a lot of hair. We’ve got plenty of time to fill.”
“Fair,” Wild laughed as he conceded, “In that case, I guess it starts with the first time I died.”
Warriors hesitated, comb falling still. He deeply, desperately wanted to pry, to ask questions, the desire to know more tantalizing him ever since the Champion first summarized his past, but he swallowed his thoughts, bit his tongue, and let the Champion continue, slowly forcing himself to resume his routine, as his own mother taught him: from ends to roots, lightly tease with almond oil as needed, spread it throughout with the comb…he prayed to Farore he’d have enough almond oil for this.
The Champion felt his companion’s brief pause. They were all a nosy bunch, weren’t they? But unlike most of the others, the Captain had enough tact to respect privacy. It was a comfort; and truthfully, endearing.
Wild cleared his throat, and spoke the words outloud, the ones that sent shivers up his spine, no matter how often he said them. “Zelda fought off Calamity Ganon for a hundred years, a divine princess, reduced by the end to a being of spirit and pure will. She waited all that time for me to wake up and join her.”
Warriors swapped the wide comb for a finer one, a glistening silver tool embossed with the flower design his mother had once loved: lilies. He’d salvaged them from the ruins of her—a sharp stitch hit his chest. He breathed deeply and slowly. Far from the only one to lose family, especially in this group… he was fine. He resisted the pull of his worries, giving his attention again to the puzzle of knots while his mind focused on Wild’s tale. Rosemary water rinse, chamomile rinse, mint rinse…
Wild scrubbed and picked at his nails, anxiety nipping at him. “I fell in battle, failed to save her from the guardians, but in the end she saved herself, and me. The Sheikah discovered this ancient shrine…” and for the first time since one bittersweet, late-night talk with Sidon, he shared the full scope of the tale: waking to an unknown world, memories lost, fighting to survive and to remember scraps of his past, Zelda’s memories, Impa’s revelations, his victory in the final fight, Zelda’s joy at her release, and the badges of survival they each wore: Link’s hair, and on Zelda the faint triangles that gleamed like scars on her hand, safely hidden under her gloves.
Warriors listened, pieces falling into place, questions answered. He brushed steadily, the draw lengthening and relaxing Wild’s nerves each time the tale grew stressful. Warriors knew he’d hit the right rhythm when Wild’s shoulder would unclench and his hands would dip back into the water. He switched the fine comb for a sturdy boar-bristle, and it shush-shushed as he worked a healthy shine back into Wild’s hair.
“So, the hair…” Wild began, but struggled to find the words. He made two aborted starts, but at last on the third, he found the beginning. “It’s… it’s the only part of me that seems to remember… everything. While the rest of me forgot. If I cut it, it’s almost as if the last one hundred years weren’t real. Or were forgotten. My mother, whoever she was, or my father, they brushed this hair. This hasn’t changed, while everything else did.”
“I suppose, of course, there’s my scars.” Wild suddenly sat up in the bath, and the Captain sat back.
Warriors had seen the scars before, but never this up close. Champion rarely held still long enough for it, even on a slow day. “No risk in losing those. But they’re different. They’re each from one event, and I appreciate them, but… they’re not all of who I used to be. I don’t want to lose him.”
“May I?” Warriors leaned forward, fingers hovering.
Wild sighed—a sound so weary and resigned for someone so young—and nodded.
The Captain’s hands were warm, and surprisingly soft for a soldier.
He pressed carefully at the scar edges on his back and shoulders, marveling at how much had been regrown. The depth. It hadn’t been a wound around his torso, as he’d always assumed, it had gone completely through. A wound like this could kill a man several times over: the initial impact, the shock, rapid blood loss, and if a person somehow survived the immediate danger they faced infection from the grime and sickness of battlefields and camps.
Dead. Not injured. He fell in battle, and through the Goddesses’ Grace he somehow came back. Warriors wasn’t used to such things. In his experience, short of supernatural powers, the dead stayed dead. But somehow, Wild’s era had managed the impossible.
Wild looked over his shoulder, completely exposed, reading the captain’s reaction to his bout of sentimentality. Was this a good idea? What had possessed him to do this? He’d not blame the fellow soldier for mocking him, or not fully understanding what Wild himself could barely articulate. But he dreaded it.
Warriors wanted to say he was glad—no, grateful—with that reverent sort of thanks that makes limbs shiver, hands tremble, knees bend, and prayers escape lips, but how could one put such things into words?
Wild found neither fear nor disgust in the Captain, only a calculating look.
Warriors reached into his bag. “I have oils and salves for scars, if you ever need them. Do they hurt?”
“Not often. Whatever the Sheikah did, it worked wonders.”
“You’re a walking miracle. Champion.”
Wild blushed, and sat back down. “Thanks.” Tension bled into him, cold and isolating.
“Halfway there. Let’s get this hair put up.”
Deft fingers separated his hair. Wild unclenched his hands, swayed them in the water. His breath came easier in the warming water. He closed his eyes, enjoying the mystery of Warriors’ method. Warm hands lingered on his head, massaging with his palms, and tight muscles he hadn’t known existed let go of their iron grip. Warriors rubbed his scalp as he separated out more strands of hair.
Wild resisted the urge to push into the comforting touch, to ask him to never stop. The world shrank into the stillness of the water, each tiny ripple from his breath profound, and a softness grew thick between them.
“Feels good?” Warriors whispered.
Wild hummed, content to melt into the water. The firerod’s crimson glow cast a slow dance of light on the ceiling, mesmerizing him.
Warrior’s hummed, a deep and pleased sound.
Far too soon, Warriors shook him awake. “All done.”
Wild sat up with a splash. “Wha…”
“Evening, sleepyhead. I think Legend will kill me if I take any longer. Here.” He passed him a mirror. “Take a look.”
Wild hunched over himself, suddenly very aware of the missing bubbles and the rag that had drifted far away. He held up the mirror, and marveled at the handiwork—exactly as promised, except for the gold thread. But his hair fell in a cascade of curls behind him.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of hiding a few of your scars on your shoulders with something I use. If anyone notices the scars anyway, say it was a monster attack.” Warriors smoothed out a smear of something creamy on his face, and a thrill shot down Wild’s spine. He managed not to jump out of his skin, and Warriors rubbed it in further.
Finally satisfied, he sat up and began gathering his things. “Alright. Now, my lady, your Lord is ready for a nice long soak. Legend is two doors down.”
🧚 ✨ 🧚 ✨ 🧚
Legend pinched three needles between his lips, head cocked to one side, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Six fairies floated around him, equally contemplative.
“What do you think, girls?”
“Make it pink!” one chirped.
“No! Keep it blue!” ordered another.
Legend sighed, weighing the options.
Wild waited, holding still, arms stiff out to his sides.
“Blue suits him best…” the veteran decided with a snap, “but let’s make it match the Hytopian Sword Suite.”
“Got it!” little voices chimed.
A shower of sparkles fell around him, and when it cleared his clothes had changed to a shade more like Zelda’s court dress, long lost now.
By late afternoon, Wild ate apples sliced for him by Hyrule so as not to smudge his lip coloring.
He could barely breathe in the corset Legend squished him into. But the fairies cheered and swooped approvingly when it was all finished: blue and gold gown with a skirt so wide he could hip-check a hinox, sapphire circlet, opal earrings, and enough lace to trap a bear like a net.
It was flattering, Wild admitted to his own reflection.
“‘Course it is.” Legend smirked. “Now go break hearts, scout for Wind’s bag, and maybe we’ll get lucky and find a way to put some egg on the Chancellor’s face.”
A yellow fairy chimed in, “And find if he’s the one sending monsters on the road! They always get worse when he travels!”
🏰 ✨ 🏰 ✨ 🏰
The castle towered above, dressed in banners, and its thousand windows looked down on the town. Their carriage rattled, though not as bad as it had at the start; Sky learned quickly from Time how to steer the large “hair beasts” into the courtyard.
Hyrule helped Wild out of the carriage, winking at him for luck. Warriors took his hand, and Legend followed behind, Four peered out of the Captain’s scarf briefly, then ducked down again.
Twilight and Wind had procured jobs as servers. The rest had to get creative.
Wild stepped cautiously in the tall shoes Legend had insisted he wear. He could only walk on the balls of his feet. It was going to be a long night.
The herald took the invitation, and blew a short, quiet blast on his trumpet to introduce them, “Lady and Lord Lincoln of Hytopia!”
The hall was so full with patrons already that few paid them any mind save a few glances.
All save the host.
Chancellor Cole, a diminutive man bursting with energy, scrambled through the crowd to greet them.
“Hello again! Good sir, I believe you are the gentleman that discouraged that little hellion from causing a further scene in Mabe Village, are you not? My good sir, your courage is deeply valued by myself and my knights, you know. Not that that little urchin matters much anymore. Oh!, I do not recall seeing this lovely young lady,” he raked Wild with sharp eyes, smirking. “Is she your sister?”
“My fiancée,” Warriors answered curtly, but with his biggest people-pleasing smile and a slight bow. “Lady Marin de Maude.”
“Oh! That is a regal name! What a fine catch, good sir. You have a true eye for beauty. Please, come in and enjoy a true Hyrulean celebration!”
The attendees gathered in clusters, like courser bees on various flowers, some flitting from group to group, others randomly splitting off and wandering between the crowds. As they descended the steps, Wild felt the cloistering press of bodies all around. He had never been in such a dense, unpredictable crowd. Not that he could remember, anyway, outside of battling bokoblin hordes. He gripped Warrior’s arm and focused on taking even steps, not letting the buzz of worry overtake him. Each step reassured him they were energetic but safe. None of them were about to step out with a weapon.
Warrior’s moved his hand to Wild’s back, guiding him through the tide of bodies. His stomach swooped as Warriors guided him by the hand.
“Nervous?”
“I’m fine. It’s just…”
“Busy.”
“Yes.”
“Lets find where the Chancellor got off to. Then we’ll go upstairs and get some air.”
Wild stood straighter as Warrior’s hand settled on his back, gently steering him through the melee.
The Chancellor was huddled near the back of the hall with a gaggle of robed sages or scribes, by the long purple robes they wore. Snippets of their discussion were loud enough to overhear.
“—missing relics perfectly reminiscent of—”
“How could that urchin have acquired such a thing?”
“Farore was long rumored to have some mastery of the wind. The Breath of Life, in some translations.”
“It doesn’t matter who inherited it or which gods created it if we cannot even find out how to activate the—” Chancellor Cole’s scowl ’s face lit up when he spied the pair standing nearby.
“My esteemed Hytopian friends! Greetings. This is the council of Sages.” he waved a perfunctory hand their way. “Now, have you a moment to chat later this evening regarding some matters of trade? His Majesty is always keen on acquiring quality fabric, and I understand your nation is the cream of the crop in fashion.”
Warriors balked, taken aback by the revelation and the sudden change in Cole’s demeanor. “Why, yes. Yes, of course. My family has a thriving network, and connections to highly skilled tailors.” The Captain lied through his teeth masterfully. Wild was tempted to believe him.
“Excellent! I can see it in the glamour of your fiancée’s dress.” He pinched a fold of the gown. Wild resisted the urge to kick him away. “I shall meet you in the lounge upstairs at, shall we say, eleven? Up the hall, third door to the right. Dragon head statues on either side. You can’t miss it.”
And with that the Chancellor ushered his wizened companions toward the staircase.
“Change of plans,” the captain whispered, slipping an arm around Wild’s waist and drawing him close, lips almost on Wild’s cheek. “Balcony, then we search for Wind’s bag before our appointment in the library.”
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The balcony, with its fresh air and view of a sprawling flower garden, calmed Wild’s nerves. He was finally settling into how to move in the tight dress, though his feet ached.
“We need to find that bag first,” Wild decided. “We might not get the chance after. Once we begin the meeting, I can feign some illness to get us out.”
“I like that. You make a lovely and cunning court lady.” Warriors raised the glass of champagne he’d snagged to Wild, and drank.
Wild didn’t want to let on how that made his heartbeats race. “Let’s get started. I’m ready.”
“Then let’s ‘find a room,’ shall we?”
Warriors made a show of doting on Wild, kissing his hand and holding his cheek in a gentle palm: a terrifyingly skilled actor, Wild concluded. The Champion’s face flushed by the time they reached the second floor, and not from exertion as he’d claimed.
They peered into the first room at the top. A sprawling library, empty.
Wild stepped toward the next door only to feel Warriors take his hand and spin him around.
He pulled Wild close. Wild’s heart did a strange sort of flutter that pounded against his chest unpleasantly. The captain leaned forward, and whispered, “I’ll go in first.”
A servant appeared around the corner carrying a pile of pressed dinner napkins.
Warriors dropped the act the moment they realized who it was.
“Fifth door on your right,” Twilight whispered as he passed. “There’s no one else up here. The other servants use quicker passages. If you see a statue, there’s likely a door behind it. So, Warriors? Stop harassing Wild.”
“I am not—”
“Git.”
The room was open when they reached the room. Twilight must have left it open.
They stepped into the small, ornate apartment. Rich velvet furniture, multiple treasure chests, and a portrait of Cole filled the small space.
“I’ll take the chests. You search the closets,” Warriors ordered.
More than anything, he needed space from the Champion, though he was loath to admit it. But the evidence was starting to become apparent.
He picked the locks one by one, lifting carefully, and returning the contents as close to how he’d found them as possible. No one would believe he’d simply wanted to find a room if all their treasures looked rifled.
“I hear something,” Wild hissed.
Warriors did not think. He simply grabbed Wild, shoved him into the nearest closet, pressed him in deeper, and shut the door quietly behind them, the pair of them squashed like sardines inside.
The door creaked open.
“--examine it. We must be sure,” an older voice droned. Several figures grunted in agreement from the hall.
“Strange,” Chancellor Cole mused at the door. “I must have been in a hurry. Gentlemen, come in.”
Warriors carefully shifted Wild, seeing him wincing through the thin slat of light from the doors.
“I cannot see how it could be a fake if that boy used it as you said.”
“Precisely. If there is a way to unlock it’s power, we shall find it.”
Someone rummaged through a chest with considerable noise and violence. “There! It’s somewhere in here…Aha! This is the culprit.”
Peering through the gap, Wild caught a glimpse of the proffered item. The Wind Waker. He looked at Warriors, and opened his mouth.
Warriors clasped a hand over his mouth to silence him. He nodded, showing he understood what Wild was about to confirm.
Pressed to the wall, Warrior’s hand over his mouth, made the swooping sensation turn into a full body squirm inside him. His gown was pressed tight against his hips. Warriors shifted, pressing him back even more, and an aching heat gathered under his skirts. Wild sucked in a breath as he realized he was hard. He sucked in a breath, a tight sound in his throat that was definitely not a squeak.
Warriors released his mouth slowly, and examined him, sharp blue eyes so close to Wild’s own, his breath washing over Wild’s skin. “You alright?”
Wild nodded, and he could feel the heat rising up his chest, and a fever in his cheeks.
“If we use this wisely, it could speed up our plans.”
“How, Chancellor?”
“If the little princess is swept away in a sudden storm, perhaps we can rescue her. Gain more favor with the King. I’ll claim you helped me to create this too to fight that storm. He’ll be none the wiser, while we rise through the ranks.”
“My lord…” one of the old men whispered something in his ear.
Footsteps quickly approached the closet.
Warriors slid an arm around his waist, and his other hand around Wild’s hair and pulled their lips together, kissing him with fierce, somewhat noisy passion.
Wild held onto the captain for dear life, and tried not to be thrilled by the rush of adrenaline.
All eyes in the room fell on their passionate embrace.
“Lord Loncoln! And Marin de Maude!”
“Ah! My apologies, Chancellor. This is most embarrassing. We tried to find an unoccupied room to pass the time, and I suppose we got a little carried away.”
“I left this room locked, my Lord,” the Chancellor eyed Warriors suspiciously.
“Did you? Then I dare say someone else unlocked it, because the door was cracked open when we found it.”
Wild nodded, trying his best to act demure. They stepped from the closet into the middle of circling sages, eyeing them suspiciously.
“And what did you hear?” one demanded.
“We didn’t realize you’d entered until the closet opened. I swear on the goddesses! We were… somewhat occupied.”
“So you say.”
But the sages looked skeptical.
Cole sighed, looking morose. “I rather hate to do this. But, my friends, I must ensure you cannot tell anyone what you heard. Mages, the crystal.”
Two robed men snatched the pair and held their arms with shocking strength for such old men. Still, WIld had faced stronger. Wild felt confident they could both break free—these old windbags were nothing like Maz Koshia, the mummified monk he’d faced in combat—but he played at struggling against them, assessing the strength of their grip.
“Unhand us!” the Captain shouted, and he easily shrugged off the mage, reaching for his sword.
But his hands never made it.
Blinding purple light flashed, blinding enough to make the captain stumble.
Wild felt the pressure of the magic like ozone before a storm.
As the light finally faded, Wild’s felt sharp rage for the mage that had grabbed Warriors again in a brutal embrace around his arms and neck.
“No!” he shouted in a high voice, letting some of his true worry bleed into the act. Surreptitiously, he slipped a hand into his skirt pocket, clenching a small item in his fist before they wrenched his arms back again.
Cole considered the pair of them, and his face stretched in a horrid, conniving smirk. “We can still make use of them. After all, we need Hytopians to take the fall for our dear King’s demise, and little Zelda’s tragic disappearance, after all.”
Little Zelda? The words sent a shock of terror through Wild. This era had a Zelda, and she was too young to defend herself from schemers like this.
“Wipe their memories,” Cole commanded.
Wild froze. Not from strategy, or to listen or from anything so sensible. Wild’s body simply froze, unable to process the words.
Memories.
Gone.
Gone like Daruk. Mipha. The world he’d lost. Like his own family, their faces still blank canvases in his mind, the essence of them carved out, leaving only a faint outline of something missing.
His fellow heroes. The captain’s face grew pained from straining
For that moment, failure felt inevitable. History rhymes. It echoes down timelines, down the century of his life. It already echoed in the hero’s lives, and it would echo his own story: they would die, all die, and he’d forget their smiles and their camaraderie, their quiet laughter and their pride. He’d only be left with his shame, haunted by the shape of a memory but never the substance. He’d stroke at his hair and wonder, wonder, wonder at what was lost. What lay buried in his head, deep under the roots.
Wild startled when Warriors sucked in a rattling breath, his purpling face straining still against the arm on his throat. The captain’s hands strained, scratched, and pounded, still not giving up.
They were still in the fight. Wild would not give up either. Especially not to cretins like these. They’d have to kill him to take his memories.
He would not lose the captain. Not any of the heroes. He let the pain of their bruising grips steel him—let it sharpen his mind.
Footsteps shuffled ahead of him. The mage slowly stepped forward, dangling a sapphire the size of a fist from a heavy gold chain. That same dark power, glowing purple and red, flared from the gem.
Wild held perfectly still until the right moment, pulse pounding the countdown.
When the mage held out the crystal, Wild grasped the short handle of the ancient blade—an ancient arrow tip removed from the shaft, and he rose up to his full height, throwing off the men holding him. He grabbed one’s hand and turned the wrist, breaking it, then he turned on the other with a snarl. He stabbed the man’s arm.
White light flashed.
With an aborted shout, the man disappeared.
His companion staggered back in pain and horror.
Wild was free.
He sprinted, fairy-blessed skirts granting him speed, and he snatched the dangling crystal from the mage. He plunged it into the bag sewn into his skirt as momentum carried him onward.
Wild grinned viciously at the man. He would make the most of this.
Cole squeaked in alarm as he came into Wild's sights, “STOP HIM!” and covered his face.
Wild swerved around Cole, and raced to catch the Wind Waker from the mage who’d been examining it. He reached, fingers touching the smooth wooden handle.
The mage recoiled a hairsbreadth faster than Wild needed.
Yellow light filled the room. Pain seared up from Wild’s legs to the rest of his body. She shuttered, electricity coursing through him.
His legs buckled, and Wild collapsed. His hands twitched, empty of his prize, as the mage’s spell left dancing sparks on his fingertips.
Triumphantly, the mage chuckled, and held the Wind Waker high as his peers roughly reached down for WIld, tearing at his skirts and trying to get hold of him in all the rumpled folds.
A hand grasped his hair before he stopped twitching. Another took his left arm, and earned a kick for his boldness. He fell, and Wild headbut the man, stopping him from grabbing his other hand.
Wild shoved more of them back, and bought just enough time to snake his right arm to the slate. “Wind!” he shouted into the slate, twisting to avoid the grabbing hands. “Tell Twi it’s here!”
Wind’s reply was lost as Chancellor Cole kicked his hand, sending the slate skittering away.
In the stunned pause that followed, a second mage grabbed his right arm and wrenched it back.
“Who are you?” Cole demanded, huffing and seething.
Wild said nothing. His hair was falling out, sliding down over his face.
Receiving no answer, Cole hurried to fetch the slate.
Wild heaved under the press on sages, weighed down. Warriors was still, face regaining some color, his handler perhaps satisfied he was subdued.
Cole turned it over in his hands. “Another wonder?” The back of the slate pulsed, but no light came on in the front. “This is not the same magic as the wand… and yet it is clearly magic… Who sent you? Who did you speak to?” He demanded, eyes still studying the slate.
His eyes flashed wide, shock and disgust playing over his face. “Lord Lincoln didn’t stop that street rat to help me after all. No! You must be with that urchin!” His face reddened, contorting in a wicked glare. “Conspirators and thieves! Perhaps one of those ridiculous knights we purged….” He turned his arm, and using the slate, he slapped Wild. “Who were you speaking to, foul wench?”
“HEY!” Warriors shouted. He stood tall, light gathering around him like it had around the stone, but his light was white and shimmering: Hylia’s light. It burned brighter, and the mage shouted and released the captain as if burned.
His glow filled the room. Bright bands of holy scripts whirled around him. With terrifying control, he drew his blade and pointed it at the mages.
The mages shrieked, and fell back, shoved by the golden power rising and swirling around the Captain.
“Let. Go.”
They rose slightly, ready to flee. Cole scampered behind Wild and grabbed their cloaks in a panicked rage. “STOP HIM!”
Warriors did not wait for them to decide to stay or flee. He plunged his blade into the hood of one mage, spun so fast he became a blur of blue, and relieved the head off another. Dancing lightning-fast, he spun again and took down a third.
Wild shrugged free of one mage who ran for the door. The one holding his hair pulled Wild back with him and Cole, and he must have had more experience or nerves tahn the rest. Rather than panic, he drew a blade across Wild’s throat.
From behind the last mage, Cole cackled in triumph. “You wouldn’t hurt your fiancée, would you?”
The wind around Warriors eased, and the golden glow dimmed.
Yet he crossed his arms petulantly, and raised one eyebrow, unbothered.
The mage shouted when an arrowhead sparking with electricity was held level with his eye. Wild held it there, then pressed it fractionally closer, and he mage dropped the knife and fled.
Wild turned the arrow on Cole, blood dripping from his cut cheek onto the fine silk dress, and smiled a bloody grin.
Cole shrieked, and ran faster than a winter gale. “GUARDS!” he shouted in the hallway. “Hurry!”
“Whoa, Chancellor!” Time’s voice echoed. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Intruders! Thieves!” he shrieked, pointing inside.
Time grabbed his shoulders to calm him, and steered him back inside. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll take care of that,” he promised with a crooked smile.
Time had little trouble shoving Cole into the closet.
Warriors and Wild scoured the room for evidence of Cole’s treachery while Wind recovered his missing items.
When the real guards arrived, Sky having somehow disguised himself among them, they ensured the King heard of Cole’s plotting.
💙 🩵 💙 🩵 💙
The monster sightings that had led them toward Mabe village ceased. Twilight waited outside Wild’s room, glaring at Warriors when he approached.
“You look as cheerful as a storm cloud, ranch hand.”
“You took your role rather seriously.”
“Any good actor should.”
“You weren’t acting.”
Warriors narrowed his eyes. “What led you to that idea?”
“I got eyes. Your manhood was charged up for a skyward strike.”
Warriors gaped. He’d been a little excited by it all, sure. The thrill of the game, the lies. The smell of Wild’s hair. His waist in his arm, the little scar on his lip…
“Oh.”
“Cap. I can put two and two together, and based on what he’s said, I know I’ve got some duty to him.” He looked back at the door, sombre. The hall was exceptionally quiet as he gathered his thoughts, chewed them like cud until he was ready. “Some sorta mission for keeping that one safe, in my future.” He turned blazing eyes back to Warriors, all bared teeth and glowing eyes. “So if you hurt him, you do anything to make that man miserable, I can’t promise not to rip your throat out.”
Warriors would have laughed had he not been so… unsettled. “Well. Huh. I uh…I…. appreciate your protectiveness, Twilight. But, to be honest, I have no intention of…of pursuing…”
Twilight glared so viciously at him, he balked and took a step back.
He was lying—to himself and to Twilight. They both knew it.
“So soon! You know… so soon after all that…but maybe you’re right. And uh, point taken. Does Time know you’re up here?”
Twilight continued to glower at him.
“Okay, rancher. Point taken.”
Twilight stepped aside, but watched.
Warriors glared. “He’s not exactly made of glass, Twi. He won’t explode if I knock.”
Twilight huffed, but cracked a tiny, predatory smirk, and left the hall. It immediately felt a hundred times larger and brighter.
Warriors knocked on the door.
