How I think the Links from Linked Universe Would Die - Part I
Or in Other Words: Birdy’s Deep Dive into the Morbid; Linked Universe Boys Edition
Preface: I’m a sucker for tragedy, and as someone who has a brother who entertains her each and every thought (I’d go as far as to say even prompts them himself), this is me yapping about a question he gave me: how do you think the LU guys die? Also, I don’t doubt someone’s done this before, so if anyone’s seen something like this please shout them out to me! This is simply my version ദ്ദി(⎚ᴗ⎚)
Sky:
This dude passes in a bed surrounded by his family. I imagine he’d long be king of the newly established Hyrule and have a ton of grandkids at this point, and they would probably all go to say their final goodbyes to him as he graduates from unc status to heaven resident.
It’s really made to seem a peaceful death out of most every other kind that people can have, and I think it’s pretty fulfilling for Sky; a proper passing for a proper hero. Maybe someone strums a lyre harp all the while, and the moment is accentuated with the softest of lullabies. I feel like there could be a vision or two thrown in there as well, it just seems appropriate for Sky (Hylia’s number one boy).
Four:
I’m spotty on the Four lore, but from what I’ve heard, Legend (in one of his games at least) fights this crazy entity in this temple that seems to quite literally be Four, so unfortunately, I’d say his passing is pretty rough. Four himself seems to have this wariness of magic, especially when it comes to his own blade, so my guess is the magic of the sword turns on him in the end and gets back at him in a proper double-edged sword matter of way.
How exactly he transforms into that craziness is something I’ll leave to the expert Four whump writers to depict in full detail (you amazing people), but I’d say it probably happens to him fairly young, definitely not past his 20’s, and is just another curse that even a hero could fall to. And yes, I’d say that it spells death for him. I personally wouldn’t envision there being any consciousness left to him in that form, but then again, Four whump writers be going crazy ! I’d think of his existence at that point being more zombie-like, and less so Hero’s Shade- who is conscious and literally just a dude. Either way, he’s not alive.
Time:
He dies swinging his sword to his last breath. As far as I’m aware, it’s never been a confirmed fact as to what the hero’s shade faced to have died in armor, but according to my brother (he’s @sabezer, so if he’s wrong about this theory everyone go throw tomato’s at him), the supplemented lore is that Ganondorf was banished when Time came back and called him out as a kid, only for him to come back with a full army in an assault against Hyrule- wherein Time fights him for a second time- and Ganondorf ultimately gets sealed in the Twilight realm while Time dies somewhere during the conflict.
Ignoring discrepancies in canon and whatnot, I imagine he would die wickedly with a tight grimace of a grin to his face. Maybe something insane like King Richard III of York (war of the roses moment), who got stabbed by swords simultaneously by multiple men at arms after being brought down to the ground. Yeah. Wicked.
Legend:
Washed up hero goes for one final score. This one can go down three ways: one where he never marries, one where he marries and lives as a humble apple farmer, and one where he marries Zelda (aka the most self-indulgent one). I see you Legend and Fable sibling truthers, I just favor their relationship as a romantic one so much more! Anyway, I envision him growing old enough to be a grouchy old man that looks weirdly too alike to his uncle, and a beast of sorts catches his attention.
Revitalized by the chance to relive the glory days, I can see him tracking it down to its lair only to be mortally wounded and just die by a simple error. He’d be rusty, and the monster would probably still die, he just wouldn’t be walking out of there upright. He doesn’t necessarily have to die on the spot either, he could just suffer an immense wound that eventually kills him months later. Bonus points if it’s one of the married routes and he has a son who he boasts to like ‘get ready to see your old man in action, boy!’ only for his son to be aghast at his pop getting cut down in front of him lol OOPS
Something about it being worth it anyway because of getting a tiny taste of a life once prided yet lost and just getting the chance to relive what once was even if only for a fleeting moment... Leg things.
Hyrule:
He disappears into the forest and is never seen again. I’m obsessed with the fae Hyrule headcanons, so brace yourselves for how I go about that with his death.
I imagine after everything, Hyrule marries Zelda (birdy stanning more ZeLink? shocker I know!) as the honored hero of course, but maybe the kingdom isn’t as safe as everyone thinks. Maybe after everything, Hyrule is still being hunted by Ganon’s remaining goons and the curse that seems to be over the land never truly fades. After years go by, Hyrule starts to worry that in his older age he won’t be able to fight off any attacks/assassins that come for him, so he self-exiles himself with that fear in mind.
He wanders off until he stumbles upon a fairy grove of sorts, where a great fairy welcomes him home like a lost child, and then he just Obi-Wan Kenobi’s out of there and fades into nothing like a force ghost, and there’s just a pile of his clothes left behind. When I pitched this idea to my brother he laughed out loud, and every time I think about it I also laugh out loud. Something about becoming one with your inner magic or other- I don’t know! I think it’s hilarious!
But that’s part I for now! Absolutely feel free to call me out on any misguided information about lore (I’m spotty on everything in truth), though this post is essentially all personal interpretation about possible future events- hence the title- and so is mostly headcanon-based anyway.
Thank you for reading! Double thanks if you leave a comment- I’d love to hear other opinions!
I have brown hair (really dark bc Asian genes). I’m over 5′6″ tall. I wear glasses/contacts. I have one or more tattoos. I don’t wear makeup very often. My hair is currently dyed. I wear pants more often than skirts. I have at least one piercing. I paint my nails. I have a tan (sorta?). I have freckles on my face. I have blue eyes. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I wear something for religious purposes. I have straight hair. I have/had braces and/or a retainer. I don’t care how other people think I look (ehh usually). I wear yoga pants.
HOBBIES AND TALENTS
I know how to swim. I can do a cartwheel. I draw or paint for fun. I can do at least one pushup. I play a sport (used to do karate). I can cook or bake something without a recipe (fried rice is all intuition). I read and/or write fanfiction. I enjoy singing. I can play a musical instrument. I have started a new book series or tv show this year. I can touch my nose with my tongue. I have a reading goal for this year. I like to go hiking. I can knit or sew (hand stitch but I suck sooo). I could survive in the wild by myself. I like backpacking as a form of travel. I have won a trophy in a competition. I know more than one language (viet).
RELATIONSHIPS AND SEXUALITIES
I am in a relationship. I have been single for over a year. I have a crush. My parents are together. I have at least one sibling. I have a long distance friendship (ONLINE FRIENDS ARE FRIENDS TOO). I get along with most of my family members. I have a best friend I have known for at least five years. I am LGBTQA+ (bi and probably gender apathetic). I have a big family. I am out to my friends and/or family (only 4 friends). I don’t intend to enter a romantic relationship for now. I have made a friend through a hobby or sport.
AESTHETICS
Autumn is my favourite season. I practice meditation. I listen to music to fall asleep. I like misty, rainy days. I enjoy the smell of freshly laundered linens. I have a colourful bedroom. I have slept under the stars. I like the sound of birds chirping in the summer. Jazz music calms me. I enjoy cloud watching. I like the sound of waves crashing on a beach. I have posters on the walls of my room. I have attended a bonfire. I enjoy thunderstorms. I have watched the sunrise. I prefer the countryside to the city.
MISCELLANEOUS
I am double-jointed (9/10 of my fingers). I can fall asleep anywhere. I can recognize constellations in the night sky. I live by a certain quote. I can drive a car. I sing in the shower. I have a pet. I attend a postsecondary school. I am the mom friend. I am the class clown. I wish I lived in a video game. I am multiracial. I daydream a lot (I space out way too much too). I have/had a mental illness. I am active on social media other than Tumblr. I volunteer for a nonprofit organization. I sleep with a stuffed animal. I have one or more dream careers.
Imma tag back @junebishopwrites @dioramic @crystallized-ink @dazed-night-lights @alcego-writes and anyone else!! <3
"Link." She says, and Link sinks into it, into the roll of his name from her lips. "You have."
Link can feel his heart pounding in his neck with his swallow. She is close, and gentle, and her touch fits him better than any, and it is so torturous the way Link wishes for another chance, for a life where this alone was his destiny. No prophecy. No war. If only he could be the man he can see reflecting in her eyes.
If only he could stay.
Or, my ZeLink arguing. Again.
Under the Cut: ZeLink angst and beef, some yearning here, some lashing out there, explanation in end notes!
Welcome readers, readettes, and everyone who's never been here before! I'm going to word this little intro notes for the sake of those who have no idea what this could possibly be, and start by saying that this is a oneshot written for my Legend of Zelda au, 'Upon Crimson Wings!' It's based off of Ocarina of Time, except if Link and Zelda were not the Link and Zelda from the game, but a pair of my own making.
I've written a break-down and explanation for this oneshot at the end, but to put it simply here before you get started, Link is the son of Ganondorf- King of Hyrule- and Zelda is the presumed-dead princess who escaped during Ganondorf's claim of Hyrule.
If such a concept interests you at all, go here! It's a bit of a spewing of lore, but I'm currently putting together a big ol' masterpost for this au, so I hope this could peak your interest to stay tuned for that!
Happy reading :)
Zelda’s eyes held a hue of blue to them.
From afar or from a glance, her eyes were green. It was a shade not entirely unlike the far sea, nor the bodies of ponds Link used to visit just beyond the borders of Castletown’s wood. Link remembers finding solace in their glassy surfaces, a quiet respite from his mentor’s tongue and the endless clashing of ringing, training iron. Sometimes, Link would go and skip rocks across their water.
Sometimes, Link would think of his father. Any shadow he’d cast over their lapping grace was dark. The ponds would remain quiet against it, rippling at the intensity of his guilt and stirring their lily pads adrift. The Link reflected back was always harrowed. Grim.
But the Link reflected in Zelda’s eyes merely shine his own back at him; quiet. Warm.
Her gaze is as the windswept treetops of a shivering forest, beheld only from the highest peak and made to seem an ocean of green from sight alone. Or, perhaps like two windows to a lost garden, her glance is laced with a labour of vines and leaves, entangled with the remnants of a stained glass long shattered by the rough of time. Unlike any watery mirror, Zelda is alive. She stirs away no floating lily’s, holds no looming, grim bearings. She breathes and she blinks back, and Link meets it all with suffering silence.
Even at his seat near the fire he thins his lips, trailing his sight past the slow cooking of meat and villagers seeking crackling warmth, and instead to a profile that turns her attention elsewhere. The fire burns hot enough to bathe the clearing in honeyed orange, and it shines across Zelda’s face; a haloing ray that colors the rounds of her cheeks and shadows the tilting bridge of her nose. Link blinks, and forgets all about ponds. The quiet murmurs of the evening are lost to him, and Zelda turns her head.
She speaks in quiet to a pair of swordsmen, their tunics loose and freshly freed of mail. Knights of their own accord Link muses, and swirls his cup. They stand at a prideful attention, a dutiful hand resting upon the blades at their hips, and Link brings his drink to his lips. Knights of her accord, rather. It’s dimly amusing, and Link savors the sweetness of his wine. They seem softened by her prescense, a lift of content just barely visible beneath their mustaches. Amusing.
He watches the cold that befalls their focus as Zelda gathers herself to turn away, leaving them to their tankards with purposeful steps as she skirts the fire. Link thinks himself more sluggish than a snail, late to understand where her footfalls lead her, for one moment he expects her to pass, and the next she is standing before him. He understands nothing, and not still as she settles herself beside him. Her dress drapes over the log in a cascade as elegant as soft rain, and when she opens her mouth it melts the air in a puff of fogging breath.
“You kept it.”
Link stares, his chin tilting. She tucks her hands against her thick sleeves, and Link thinks it an action gentler than that of a dove as she fluffs her downy feathers. If she had noticed his eyes before she makes no hint of it, her lashes fluttering as she blinks, and Link feels a flash of uncertainty waver in his throat. He isn’t sure what to say. Zelda inclines her head.
“Of the tree.”
Link trails his eyes to hers, and to where his right hand clenches tightly over the rigid frame of something small. He unfurls his fingers and there a Deku nut rests, rocking gently across his palm. The same one Zelda had given to him many a moon ago, and that he had kept pocketed for a sake as sensible as a bulblin sprouting wings. He had not even noticed pulling it free from his belt, nor that he had been clenching it between his palm as if clinging to prayer beads.
In truth, Link knew not or why- even now- he had kept it. It had its use, but not one Link ever figured to need. To say he’d simply forgotten he had it was as plausible an excuse as any; that something so small was easy to lose amongst supplies. Taking it further, he could even deny it being the same one, and that another had given him one with the same intent as she. The itch to insist and to claim it a nothing so small beyond its purpose twitches along his jaw. By Din’s hot coals Link could’ve tossed it into the fire right there and then.
“I wanted to.” Are the words that leave his lips, uttered more honestly than any he had ever shared with her.
The feast does not end around them. The remnants of House Sheikah claim themselves knights. If not so in honest vows, then still as so in their manners. Their voices carry loud, and their laughter louder, and even so, the air at Link’s ears drains into a white silence. He can see Zelda shift herself at the corner of his eyes, her hands readjusting in her lap.
“… I see.” She murmurs, softly as butterfly wings.
The fire seems warmer than it had been. It is as thick in the air as smoke, but as Link glances to its flames he sees no black smog. Only golden light. Link scrambles to fill her ears with anything, and not with the voice of the joker he has suddenly become. It seems he remains a snail yet, but perhaps he’s fallen as low as a slug, now. With no shell to hide in, he clears his throat, and breathes.
“I wished to honor our promise.”
He begins slowly, awkward around the burning thrum in his throat. Perhaps he’d had too much of the drink. Perhaps Zelda was too close. His pulse stutters at the thought, and he goes on, hoping his own words can save him from the tingle flushing over his ears.
“As you gave this to me, you told me you had no faith in trusting me. Now, I suppose I… still hope to prove your words otherwise.”
Link feels the weight of her gaze, but when he lifts his chin to meet her she has turned her head to the fire. A look of focus holds in her bearing, and Link feels a spark of foolishness shoot down his spine as quick as lightning. Surely, he’d had too much of the drink.
“I did not know.”
Her voice meets his ears as her eyes burn into the flames. Link says nothing, and she turns her cheek, taking his gaze within hers with a demand so earnest he feels as if her fingers have suddenly grasped his cheeks to hold his regard.
“That you could think in such a way… I did not know it.”
Link finds himself lost once more to a forgotten garden, swallowed by a shrine of worship and crumbling stone Goddesses. Zelda’s eyes are the fragments of a framed deity, and Link falls to his knees.
“I am sorry.” Her mouth works around the words like a confession, and Link watches her brows weaken.
“I held such anger for you. To believe that all that I had carried hopes for- that all the promises I had made to my people in honor of those hopes were-“
She pauses, her shoulders softening.
“I was afraid. I… misjudged you.”
Link truly understands nothing at all. Time had passed since then and those vicious first impressions. When she’d given him the seed he holds now, he had still believed he knew what the right thing to do could be. Zelda’s brows had held a pinch to them, one far unlike the one they hold now. Untrusting, angry, violent, and Link had been the same. Had he not wanted her dead? Had he not drawn his blade against her? Link swallows at nothing. Seasons had slipped by in a cycle slower than any he had faced in his life, and everything had changed. Where they stood now was a ground Link had never meant to find. The mission he had begged of the King was lost, and so was Link.
But watching her make such a face, as if offering her very heart to him, Link cannot help but stop her short.
“I understand.”
Her lips pause into a small part, and Link angles himself to meet her.
“You need not apologize- not for such a thing. It is of no consequence to you. To say that all was different before is reason enough.” Link is thankful all fluttery feelings have abated, but Zelda holds conflict in her eyes, as if it is unshakable. Link lets a sigh slip from his nose. “… if anything, I can still only hope to prove myself.”
Link raises his hand forward, timid as he presents her the seed, and her eyes soften in a way that Link could never fathom. The tug it rips at his chest is as potent as a spear through his sternum, and the lump in his throat returns. Gingerly, she takes the shell from him. He thinks the brush of her fingers are enough, until she raises her other hand and grasps his hand in hers. Her touch is hardly warm, her fingertips made cold by the night air, but to Link, they may very well have been freshly pulled from the maw of a furnace.
“Link.” She says, and Link sinks into it, into the roll of his name from her lips. “You have.”
Link can feel his heart pounding in his neck with his swallow. She is close, and gentle, and her touch fits him better than any, and it is so torturous the way Link wishes for another chance, for a life where this alone was his destiny. No prophecy. No war. If only he could be the man he can see reflecting in her eyes.
If only he could stay.
He squeezes her hand back, desperation startling his head forward. Zelda exhales a small breath, and Link catches it against his top lip, breathing her in. There is nothing more as she whispers, her knees bumping against his as she turns into him.
“You are good, Link.”
He listens, his eyes held within hers, her forehead almost brushing to his.
“The prophecy chose you; he who will vanquish evil, and be made hero.”
She knows it not, but she has cut to the bone. Link can feel his pulse startle, his breath still. Zelda’s eyes are warmer than they’ve ever been. The sight sears through him as a chill.
He strains back and the cold deepens, as if a ravine had tore across his chest and all the warmth is pouring free of him in blood. It spews over Zelda in a surge, and she takes no heed of it, her eyes fixing on his hand as it pulls free of hers. Link turns to his cup, knowing now that it has gone untouched for long enough, and turns it to his mouth in a swig. The wine has soured, gliding bitterly past his lips, and before he has even lowered his pint it is already pouring back out in the form of words.
“Be made hero?”
Zelda blinks, frozen where he had left her, and Link shakes his head. There lies no heroes here. He manages through the venom, for she is blameless, and he is a hound.
“… I am grateful.”
Zelda lowers her hand, slow to clasp it over the fist where the Deku seed holds. Nothing, and then, words.
“You take offense?”
“No.”
Link glances into his drink, swirling his cup with a flick of his wrist. Zelda straightens.
“You are disheartened.”
And there is no question as before. Link’s hand pauses, and he works his jaw over the many unspoken words he refrains from spewing.
“… I do not hold doubts of you.” The lie is as tainting to the jaw as a hefty leg of ram, catching between his teeth in strands no more desperate to leave the bone then his gums. He chases it with truth, his tone steady. “I merely fail to see through your eyes.”
It quiets her a moment, and Link takes it as opportunity to soothe his wounds, fingers tapping along the lip of his cup. He sees her fidget, turning the nut over between her fingers, and Link is prodded with iniquity. She murmurs.
“You would have him remain King?”
Her eyes flicker, and Link feels overwrought, an edge buzzing over his skin.
“My loyalties are of my own will.”
As vague as he can make it, but a backhand all the same. He eyes her cautiously, and she meets his gaze with a readiness reminiscent of the men at arms he had seen during war.
“Is that so?”
There’s a briskness to her tone, and she presses the seed between her pointer and thumb. The indication is almost as backhanded as his own words, and Link's patience thins into one pointed line.
“Just say it.”
The fire crackles a disquieted sound. The din of the feast has waned into almost nothing, leaving the clearing settled enough to sleep. In the silence Link thinks of his father, for the wound across his chest is still bleeding. How disappointed he would be to see Link has failed to stop it.
“I do not know what it is you want to hear.”
Zelda’s voice is flat. Link returns to the ponds.
“You do not understand. You refuse to.”
He feels a new warmth spark within him, the kind that burns through flesh and bone rather than from within.
“No.” Zelda’s jaw hardens. “I understand entirely. I have seen it as well. The loss, the devastation. The massacre.”
Link’s eyes flash to her, his teeth biting into his words.
“And you are cleansed of your own crimes, of your dangerous ambition? How many men have lost their lives to heed your ‘Sheik’s’ call? To fight his rebellion? There could have been peace.”
Zelda’s breath knocks from her throat, her body as wound as a spring.
“Peace? With that monster? After all he has done- the lives devastated in his name- his reign has been one solely of annihilation. If you cannot see that, then I have been the biggest fool for believing to have misjudged you.”
She pauses, huffing, and Link cannot look at her. Her next words are quiet, almost inaudible. They are the sharpest yet.
“I believed you different. Yet even now, alike so many, his influence corrupts you.”
Link flings his cup into the fire, flying to his feet. His eyes are ablaze, sealing over her stunned face with nothing but swirling fury. The clearing is hushed. Zelda shines red; she is bathed in his blood. Softly, Link speaks. Softly, Link tears the threads between them to shreds.
“I am beyond your judgement. Beyond your trust.”
Link glances at the Deku seed still grasped between her fingers, a testament to his promised faith. He seethes, and feels the last thread rip away with a chunk of flesh.
“… I shall remain beyond you, Princess.”
He leaves the fire and the clearing behind.
The clouds overhead cover the moon, but were its light to be free, its beams would have surely shone on the bloody footprints Link leaves behind with each slacking step.
Welcome to the end!
I know I did some explaining up top, but I have no context to this in truth... other than the fact that it could possibly take place somewhere in the actual story. This is a case of my ZeLink having this very in depth conversation that makes no sense if you don't understand the story- but fortunately- you are not alone dear reader! I too don't know exactly what I just wrote! It was mostly for the vibes, but as a quick explanation:
Link is the son of Ganondorf- who is the current King of Hyrule (and yes he thinks he's a blood son but he's not and he’s not Gerudo- my loophole being that Link believes his mother Hylian and he takes after her traits- like the reverse of BotW and TotK where Gerudo-Hylian children only look Gerudo)- and he sets out on a mission to put down a rebel force of the remnants of the old Hyrulian monarchy aka Zelda and the Sheikah.
Zelda does not know Link's true identity as the Prince (who she absolutely despises and wants to k***), only that he is the prophesied hero because he has- like her- a piece of the Triforce made visible by a mark on his hand. Zelda is desperate to kill Ganondorf and reclaim her birthright, and is very faithful to the prophecy. Link goes along with Zelda's whim only to find the identity of Sheik, a tarnished 'knight' and leader of the rebels (he's in front of your face bozo), and also because he's never heard about the prophecy she's insisting on, as well as for the purpose of learning as much of the Sheikah from Zelda (since she's just some weird prophetic girl part of their House to him) so he can put their attacks to a stop.
Zelda puts him up to taking the role of pulling the mastersword and becoming the hero, and this is where the reference to Ocarina of Time begins to come in, as Link goes through that whole process that takes place in that game/story to access the sword and seek the sages. Through all that, Link begins to fall for Zelda. His loyalties to his father, however, are very powerful, and any reference to the prophecy (which would mean him literally k***ing his own father) really sets him off- as you can see in this oneshot (since he's not planning on following through with the prophecy) and more just doing as Zelda says for the sake of finding and k***ing Sheik.
Long story short, oc ZeLink angst for the au l'm still storyboarding. I actually wrote this piece a long time ago, but l essentially completely revamped it now that I have more of a working story.
If you are interested in this, albeit undoubtedly confused, I plan on releasing lore soon enough in one big masterpost! I hope to see you there :)
Thank you all for reading !
Also, if you want more... this is another oneshot I wrote here...
Link cants his neck back against what feels more executioner's block than tree, and fights against the urge to brace his shoulders, to harden himself with hackles raised and teeth gritted. His sluggish bearings are quickly flustering to discontent, and hurtling him ever close to gasping frustration, to the wolf’s chewing of the leg it’s caught in a trap. He hisses a breath, darting his eye to dare whatever lies beyond him a greeting, and stops still in the face of crystalline, silver blue.
Under the cut: blood, injuries, hostility, growing panic, mutual hatred (it’s a Crimson and Warriors thing)
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Welcome back readers, readettes, and everyone just as equally shocked by my uploading schedule! What’s that? It’s been 97 days since I posted chapter 3? That is an absurd claim that cannot possibly be right! Oh, wait, it is? Oh. Awkward…
Well, what else can I say? I’m literally just a little guy- like- what can I say guys- like- that’s my bad. Oh but seriously, that was not my plan with this story. If anything, I really want to pour myself into bringing this au to life, and I will try to dedicate myself better from here on out. I’m just an aspiring author, I swear! The next two chapters should be ready to release this week (if all goes to plan), since they’re all a hundred words below 2,000, and not extremely lengthy. But anyway! Please enjoy Crimson waking up for the third time since this story began!
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Lulling from thick shadow, a murmur beckons the knight forth.
Time and time again the very same words have reverberated along his ears as a melody. They take to the soil of his heart in patches thicker than briar, seething through the air with a sweetness untainted; as tempting as a candied lick of honey. In a sun-flushed daze the knight follows, and the tune ushers him further forth, past the stretches of angling branches and fluttering leaves and to a soft face that blurs within his mind.
It is yours.
The lips of a stranger bloom into a smile, more tremulous than any beating heart.
I made it for you.
Through the humming of his head Link flushes his tongue over his mouth, and the taste he meets is no saccharine tinge, nor the stickiness of golden syrup. The bitter iron of blood flares between his teeth, and he opens his heavy eye.
Dawn, pale and rising, flourishes before his sight in a stream of brazen light, and Link cringes into a squint that feels as if it tears his face in two. His jaw falls as a want for relief courses through and down to his bones, fingers tensing to grapple with the pain exploding across his cheeks and soothe himself free of hurt, but the comfort of palms never comes. Something hard and tight locks his shoulders stiff. A groan grits from his throat from the effort of straining, bunching arms, and he lolls his head down, squinting against the sunrise latching to his eye. Scraggly and dark and bound about his waist and arms in a breathless squeeze, Link finds himself thwarted by a thickly threaded rope. He stares, aching, and blinks until his eye is dry enough to crack, heaving a careful inhale and huffing a tender exhale.
He remembers firelight and creaking wood; the ever heavy silence of a forest inhabited only by that which he had hopes to seek and find, but remained forever out of sight. How routine had his nights become? A waking smothered by the breath of dying embers, a saddling of suit and blade with a pace as worn as a nag made pack mule, an endless trek amongst the rooted legs of trees too terribly old and vast, and then, a return to embers the same when darkness would fall. The Lost Woods were no forgiving place, and Link had wandered for long, and seen not a thing for longer. A glimpse of ash swirling through smoke and reaching no further than treetops dense and boundless; that had been his last conscious vision. It had smelled of the dew from the lingering mists of dusk and the more bitter of foliages always too quick to burn, and Link had dreamed. Perhaps he dreams still, and the pain throbbing through him is only the tells of wrongful sleep. Had he dozed with his helmet overhead yet again? It surely would have saved him from the scratches of earth and knobs were he to have fallen from his upright rest, and he is upright even now, is he not?
A pressing of flared bark itches at his spine through his tunic, and Link believes it so, swallowing away a cough before it breaks up from his throat. Upright indeed, and restrained more thickly than a miscreant at the calls to the gallows. Lamely, he persists to lathe his tongue once more over his mouth, and smartens against the sting the lick brings him. It seems he has received the beating of a miscreant as well. He flares his nose, cautiously pursing and stilling his lips, and steeling himself against the pulling stretch of a line of slits torn into the skin fronting his teeth. He hums, bleary in thought and focus, and knows them to be the prize of knuckled fists. No dream greets him here, only the price of capture and cursed vagabonds, and an aftermath he is left to puzzle, trailing from one pained expanse of flesh to another.
His nose feels as if a weight hangs from its slope, and the ridge of his right brow holds a heated throb stronger than the beat of his own heart. Were the eye on that side intact, he is sure his seeing would be much of the same. Of all else, beyond the countless nicks and gashes itching along his features, his skull feels the most battered, temples flaring with a dull tension widespread from a single point near the back of his head. In that, he does not find the same ring of a punch, but more so that of metal, of the pommel of a blade. Even a mace or axe it could have been, but Link thinks a swing from a thing heavier would not have been the kind to wake from and ponder over.
The echoes of other blows litter down his collarbone to his chest, but those he feels little against the pressures of rope, and the sudden onset of an unrest more heavy than the blur encapsulating his brow.
Link cants his neck back against what feels more executioner's block than tree, and fights against the urge to brace his shoulders, to harden himself with hackles raised and teeth gritted. His sluggish bearings are quickly flustering to discontent, and hurtling him ever close to gasping frustration, to the wolf’s chewing of the leg it’s caught in a trap. He hisses a breath, darting his eye to dare whatever lies beyond him a greeting, and stops still in the face of crystalline, silver blue.
He could not have hoped to make out the figure at his side, and the sweat that has begun to curl below his nape feels colder than ice at the notion. To be so blind on his right- to be captured and strung up as if a hart from the hunt- induces loathing as much as it does dread. Link tightens his jaw as much as his wounds allow it, his gaze sharpening into deepening scorn, and looks at the man who had begged the Goddess a witness to swears Link could have very well spat on.
The blue cape that had first caught his notice drapes beside the man in a swirl, brushed aside to make way for his crossed legs and the sword laid over his lap. An iron vambrace straps to each of his forearms and over leather bracers, and only one pauldron frames over his left shoulder, stopping short before even a rerebrace or couter to connect the pieces together. Link cannot figure if he is disturbed more so by this bizarre display of lacking armor offending his eye, or that this man too relies on his left as his sword arm. All else values little to him, and Link matches his stare with silent challenge.
The morning is quiet around them, only the softest of rustling leaves flickering overhead with the brushing wind. The caped vagabond holds his eye in blithering stalemate, matching Link’s disquiet with a flicker of his thumb over the guard of his blade, and at last, he speaks.
“Have you run free of what to say, or has the strain of assault exhausted you?”
The point of his words flutter and fall dead against Link’s ears, and all at once it feels a bow before the fence. But Link does not bow, and only draws his rapier high.
“I would not speak to a squire without his knight present.”
It is bit out as quickly as the flick of a wrist, and Link could envision it a swing that cuts free the loose, curling strands of hair beside the man’s cheek. There is a widening flicker of brow and lip that twitches over the vagabond's face, and a curling of mouth as he sets it into a line.
“Is that so?”
His tone is lighter, as if a smile has pulled across his face. He turns his head in the shake of an invisible scoff, and returns with glittering eyes and a sharp parry.
“Well, I admire the sudden prose of patience that has come over you.” His hand clenches down over the grip of his steel, and Link stiffens as he moves at once to stand, as the rapiers clash together. “I wonder where such hesitancy lay the night before?”
He straightens to his height, tilting his head down and holding his sword low. Link clenches his teeth, his eye a searing brand on the face that leers from above, and gnaws out his next jab.
“I fear it was lost to your lackey. I could not think much of such a thing whilst crushing his throat.”
Another slash, another slice. It draws blood this time, and the vagabond’s face falls before he can hope to stop it; swirling with the malice of a hopelessly withheld animal and the dribbling blood of a worded wound. Link basks in the sight, in the hatred that replaces the throbs of his bruises and which beats in his ears more fiercely than a war drum. And still, the bait is left to rot. The vagabond sweeps his cape into place with a jerking hand, and the duel is finished.
“Worry not, you will meet the authority you seek.” His pale eyes flicker over Link, and the sneer that only just wrinkles his nose is enough to want to chase. “Remain here and wait, won’t you?”
Link merely blinks, and trails both turning retreat and flurrying blue fabric as it billows out with the pivot. His eye darts to leaving boots as the sound of their falls lessen and allay, and just as quickly as they do, so too does Link spring to life. His arms lock against rope as he shoves himself forward, a heave crushing between his lips as he searches for leeway, for the loosening of this accursed binding. Blood taints over his tongue as his mouth stretches in a grimace, and he can only hope to thud back against the tree, yet even that is futile. There is no space to find, no gaps to widen, and Link pants, flushed with effort and the panic beginning to swell in his quickly rising breaths. He is forced still by an uproar of vertigo spinning in his head, and he shuts his eye, legs kicking out in a final push of resentment.
He breathes against the pain twinkling behind his sight, and softens at the swirling of stars dancing beneath his eyelid. So long unseen, he reflects distantly, and his gums ache against the lingering pressures of a too tight bite. The sudden thumping of approaching leather does not shake his dizziness loose, but only worsens the thumping of his heart, and with all the desire to do no such thing, he blinks back into the light.
The caped vagabond has his sword free yet, and the furrow of his brow is impossibly thicker with vehement disapproval. Still, Link cannot look to him for long. His eye is drawn instead to the man at his side, and to the way in which he lowers himself to a knee without a beat of hesitation. Link stares into the shine of one singular eye, and turns from coat of wolf to lamb as the newcomer speaks.
“Hello, Link.”
✦•┈⋅⋯𓅃⋯⋅┈•✦
97 days later and here we are with 1,882 words. I’m just a little guy…
But MAN I wonder where all this tension between Crims and ‘The Boss Man’ (trademark symbol) stem from! What truths will we unravel as this story goes on? Will Warriors hate Crimson any less? Will he get better? Hm…
Questions are welcome as always ! As long as they don’t include possible spoilers… hehehe !
The Black Prince of Wales and How I (might’ve) Romanticized Him
Hey everybody! It’s been taking me quite a while to post the things I’ve been working on (preybirds, wings, legend of zelda), so after lamenting on my positively atrocious schedule, I thought to myself, “hey, why not post something from your personal work history? You know, just for fun!” So here I am. Yippee?
I dunno, I guess I was majorly inspired by a mootie of mine who’s posted work outside of the central themes of their blog (if you’re here reading this, you know who you are), and I really want to post my writing because- hey- this is a writing account! For my writing? I guess this is me making up for being slow to the draw, but honestly, I’m still on vacation, so I’m doing vacation things all day and sitting in a car or sleeping the rest of the time.
As for everything else, the goal is to have Preybirds chapters 4 and 5 out in the span of this week (did I really post chapter 3 all the way back in August? Oh dear…), and have the Wings Masterpost up before the year ends (everyone pray for me please). Yay. To my loyal fans… Preybirds soon… I pinky promise!
And now, for the context of what the title of this post could possibly mean, and where this is coming from:
I am a history nerd. I take pride where I can in knowing what I do, and always do my utmost to learn and suck down all the information that I can about something that particularly peaks my interest. In this case, I took major notice to one of the most- in my humble opinion- coolest figures in the history of England’s Medieval Age: Edward of Woodstock, otherwise known as ‘The Black Prince.’ I talked about him in this post here (where I actually got to see his tomb!), so I won’t go into too much detail on his history here, but Edward was essentially a major part of the 100 Years War between France and England throughout the 14th and 15th centuries. He was just 16 years old when he won his first battle against the French, and continued on to win many more battles throughout his time across the English Channel.
To put it plainly... I thinks he’s neat. Super neat, in fact, and to the point that I came up with an entire historical fiction novel about him falling in love with a French girl who disguises herself as a French knight to fight for her country. Aka, I put the ‘enemy’ in enemies to lovers with this idea because I love tragic romance and it spoke to me (and no this is not a self-insert!!!). I can’t really provide much more context because I never finished the novel… alright, listen. I was taking college classes at the time, and the amount of research I was doing to make sure everything was historically accurate to a ‘T’ was incredibly grueling. I do not recommend memorizing the millions of rules in chemistry while analyzing what the map of France looked like in the 15th century. That stuff was brutal.
Anyway! Now that we’re mostly on the same page, I guess… I hope you enjoy it? There’s nothing I love writing more than pouring as much emotion as I can into one scene shared between two people who are beginning to feel tethered to one another. I would love questions if anyone has any! It would make me very happy to talk about this old project :) the heart grows heavy with how many ideas it can hold sometimes, and this story is another of so many that hasn’t had its time to shine yet. That day will roll around sometime! In the meantime, storyboarding, storyboarding, and more storyboarding…
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“And you were never married?”
There is a pause, before Céline shakes her head.
“No.”
She means to leave it at that, but he speaks quickly after her, chasing more from her. It is a wonder if he took notice at all of her tone, or, more so, the singularity in which she spoke; the finality of her voice. Maybe he had noticed. Maybe he hadn’t cared. She feels an itch behind her eyes, wishing he would leave it well alone.
“Was there… a lack of suitors?” He watches her carefully. His poise is not so pointed, though, and a smile lifts his lips, his teeth flashing as he laughs in a short breath. “Or, maybe it is rash of me to presume so quickly that it is to do with suitors at all. As it would happen, I’ve become- well- well-learned, on the matter of your… boundless capabilities.”
Céline looks him in the face, and his mouth springs back to life, one of his hands raising as if to distill the ire in her eyes with a wave.
“I mean to say that you hold more complexities as the woman you are than many women I’ve come to know. Possibly even some men as well.” His tone lightens as he finishes, and a flicker passes through his gaze. “Had they perceived you too strongly in that regard… well… you don’t look quite the part, at least.” He means to tease her. Céline doesn’t feel teased.
“Are you truly so curious on the matters of my courtship that you would choose to align me with what you are in such a blatant manner? You have lost your shame.” She snaps, turning her head away.
“And what am I?” He leans closer, and she deigns him only a momentary glance. She can only do so for so long as he wears those smiling lips.
“A man.”
He feigns hurt, sidestepping to her side and pressing the back of his hand against his temple.
“To reduce me to the simplest of my cores… you wound me. I am much more profound than what you make of me.”
His performance deserves the eye roll she gives it, but his smirk fails to lose its smugness. She says not anything for a moment, and then, against better judgement, speaks again.
“And me?” His eyes are on her. She breathes. “What do you make of me?”
There is a beating silence, and Edward blinks. It is a noticeable pause, and Céline quietly scolds herself. She could not have hoped that such a question would actually find its way into his head and bring forth an answer worth hearing, one that was honest and would finally clean his lips of their grin. But that confuses Céline more. Why should she give care to any words he speaks? What provoked her to ask such a question? As shallow on the surface as it may seem, it was intimate, was it not? To show curiosity towards what a person truly thinks of you. Yes, it is intimate, and knowing it as so makes Céline wish for honesty even more. She can only pray his next words are not as teasing as his last.
“You…” He trails off, and Céline keeps her lips thin. He clears his throat, and she tilts her head in the slightest, catching sight of his back as he turns away and seems to ponder the lining between the bricks of the abbey wall. The quiet lasts, and the laugh forced from his throat sounds more like he is clearing it, and Céline almost does not catch the difference. He turns to her then, the mixture of strain and certainty on his face failing to prepare her for his next words.
“You fascinate me, Céline.”
His voice almost cracks at the end, lilting in a manner Céline has never heard from him before, as if he has just finished reading aloud a text in church that is particularly moving. She can attribute it to his accent, to the true nature of the tone used for his mother tongue, but that does not seem quite right.
His eyes are mellowed, his smile gone from under his mustache. Céline almost tries to squint to catch sight of it, but she chooses to look at his eyes for longer. She must. They seem deeper than they have ever been, the sun of the noon shading them a deep hue of blue. She stares into the swirling ocean of his gaze, and startles at the memory of their voyage from France, of seeing his eyes in the low light, dim and dark and like two pits of ink. She hadn’t seen much of the open sea, but she had felt the pull of the waves, and seen them in Edward’s eyes. She sees no roaring ocean now. That realization startles her more.
It is just the two of them in this little garden, and little it has become. Edward stands near the wall, but he may as well be stood within her chest. It certainly feels that way.
Céline breathes in deeply.
“… I suppose as any man could.”
Edward looks stupefied, as if no level of ridiculousness of any kind could amount to her. Céline regrets it, because she has chosen to play his game, and he has yet to make his move. And then, Edward smiles so big and wide. His eyes crinkle softly at the corners, and he looks back to the wall to laugh, as if finding that the bricks would share in his amusement of her. Céline watches his shoulders shake, and she flushes quietly. Edward laughs between his words, running a hand down his nape.
“Yes, yes. As any man could.” His grin persists, and she lets her gaze trail over the brightness of his face. He tilts his head, his eyes so full of mirth Céline can feel it draping over her, and can find not a thing else to say, lost only to a single line of thought lilting through her head: what a thing it is to be enamored.
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Super quick breakdown: Edward met Céline on the battlefield, hence the ‘boundless capabilities’ line. This is essentially Edward touching on the fact that she was a woman who took up arms, whilst despairing to know if she’s single (the dirty dog). Yup.
Evidently, I have an obsession with writing my characters in oneshot scenarios and leaving it at that. In the case of this story, though, I actually got more than halfway done with the first chapter! And then, I promptly threw in the towel (a temporary towel!) But yeah, this is quite short and sweet, and it really makes the most sense to me as the author since I know basically everything that’s happening in and around this story, but I really am proud of how I wrote this, and I wanted to share it.
Come to think of it, I feel as if I’ve blabbed more than there are words in this snippet. Oops. Well, if I’d said not a word of explanation, this surely would make no sense at all, wouldn’t it?
Either way, to all who made it here, thank you so very much for reading! If anybody is curious, maybe I’ll post the draft of chapter one. In fact, maybe I’ll start posting more of my private writing portfolio? I have… so. Much. Stuff. We’ll see.
