#fic fight

[forthetriforce]

Announcing a Fic Fight style Legend of Zelda event:

For the Triforce!

This event is open for registration from now until June 25th! Check the pinned post on this blog or refer to the full rule document for details.

[starwolfie]

Legend and Apples, the Blupee for @kitchencatposts fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/87729216

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[whyareyoudo]

The one where Warriors and Wild learn Skulltulas are Poisonous

Read on Ao3 - The first of my submission for the ‘For the TriForce’ Fic Fight 2026!! @forthetriforce

Summary: What it says on the tin. Plus, they have a little talk

(Fic under the cut: )

Now that that stupid dungeon room was finished, Warriors couldn’t help but wonder what waited in store for them next. And since neither of them had been in dungeons like this, it was essentially walking straight into the unknown.

Why no one had brought up the fact beforehand, he’ll never know.

Wild had gone silent since they entered the long stone corridor. Maybe Warriors was too proud to admit it, but the Champion had been a huge help in that last room. He’d been quick on his feet, and even quicker in his strategy. Had Warriors been by himself back there, he might not be standing now. So maybe the two of them hadn’t been such a bad pair-up after all.

At the very least, it was a lot harder to look at Wild in any sort of bad light, even after the fight with the Iron Knuckle. There was still plenty he disagreed with when it came to the Champion, and perhaps there always would be. But the air between them had been thick and tense; now it was so much lighter after their bit of exchange -Something in common other than this mysterious quest and that dastardly Shadow.

It was still a quiet affair, their little duo. This temple was almost made as if to amplify every sound, every breath. Unnecessary chatter felt unwelcome, and Warriors was raised to be respectful and reverent in holy sites. Even if this one was swarming with monsters.

The hall finally opened into a circular room; a dead end. In the middle sat a dusty old chest, not unlike the one Hyrule had found near the entrance of the temple. It was very conspicuous.

Wild moved to step into the room, though Warriors stopped him before he could get any further.

“It could be a trap.”

The Champion paused. “Oh, that’s true. I’m used to chests being rewarded for solving my Shrines.”

Scanning the room, nothing struck him as odd. Nothing ready to drop from the ceiling. The walls were clear of sigils and curses. Then, dropping down to the ground to check the height of the flagstones, none stood out as looser or taller than the others. Either the room was just as it seemed, or the hidden pressure plate was very professionally installed.

Well, why not check it out, then?

They walked slowly, Warriors setting the cautious pace, ready to spring into action at any indication of a trigger going off. Luckily, the Champion followed his lead and stayed a pace behind him, his feet even lighter on the stones, barely present.

The chest just sat there, innocently waiting. Upon reaching it, Warriors checked again for anything off. Call him paranoid, but he hadn’t lived this long without (at least most times) thinking things through.

Warriors set his hand on the latch. Then, flipped it open. He was expecting, perhaps, a ‘click’ of a mechanism, or a tripwire pulled taut that led to something else.

For all his caution, he somehow wasn’t expecting whatever was inside to jump out at him and sink its teeth into his forearm.

“Ack!” Warriors jumped back, half out of surprise, and half out of fear, not for any true pain. Frantically, he swung his arm back and forth to knock it off. The skulltula held firm.

“Captain!”

Warriors held still long enough for Wild’s arrow to pierce through its body and force it off him. The skulltula shrieked and convulsed on the ground before shriveling up and going still. He stared at it for another moment before it disappeared in a plume of smoke as all monsters did.

It was unlike the ones he was used to. Whereas the ones from his era seemed to be made of gold, this looked as if born from a real skull, with only its legs ringed in gold. And killing it usually left some kind of reward. This one died as simply as any other monster. Very strange.

Wild put his bow away, walking up to the Captain and gesturing for him to surrender his arm. He complied, letting Wild look over him. “It bit you?!”

“Yep.” Somehow, it had done so by sinking its fangs right through the leather and in between the metal plates of his vambrace. Two little red dots marked his arm. Certainly smaller than he would’ve guessed its fangs were, but they’d never tried to bite him before, so he never thought too hard about it before. “I might have overreacted a bit.”

“You sure you’re alright? I’ve never seen a… monster like that.” Wild paused, twisting Warriors’ arm this way and that. “Its legs kind of remind me of a Guardian.”

The Captain pulled his arm back to himself. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll be fine. It barely stings.” He reassured, “Those are skulltulas. Though mine are golden, usually harmless, and always leave some kind of treasure behind. But it doesn’t look like it did. How inconsiderate.” Just to make sure, he leaned over to peer inside the chest and… oh well, there was a little something in there.

Sitting at the bottom of the chest lay a key, one that looked remarkably in the image of the strange Skulltula. Not a boss key. But a key nonetheless. He reached in and grabbed it without any fanfare.

They had not come across any locked doors on their path, and since they now reached the end, it must be for one of the other heroes' group. They’d have to turn around and head back to the Central Room and hope that everyone else would meet up as well.

Warriors relayed to Wild, who easily agreed.

Back to the center of the temple.

- - -

It wasn’t long after that before the bite started itching. Wild had noticed, though he was trying to pretend he hadn’t, trusting the Captain’s word. Which was still true. It didn’t hurt; it wasn’t halting their progression forward. It was just annoying. He was used to his burn scars acting up at the most inopportune times, and knew how to handle them. This little bite would be no different. However, Warriors still let himself fall out of step with Wild, trailing behind him rather than beside. He still couldn’t help but think he was rubbing at it too much. Not scratching, mind you, but just rubbing the edge of the bite. It helped. And after all, he knew better.

But clearly he didn’t, as the itch grew warm until the warmth almost felt a bit too warm. Until it burned almost as if he drew his arm too close to an open flame. It was bringing back memories of Volga. Of the burn scars that ran down his dominant arm. That had not been a fun recovery; even still, the scars tugged and pulled and made the skin never feel like his own.

How long had they been down here, again? They’d made it through at least three rooms filled with monsters, one with a puzzle, the stupid ‘fake chest’ room… It had been a few hours by now. Overall, they hadn’t truly been exploring all that long. They were already doubling back, too.

But then why had he grown so exhausted? Those first few rooms should merely have been a warm-up. Warriors had marched across the country in worse weather conditions, wounded from battle, and with much less sleep before. Then again, he’d never had a Wild to keep this close an eye on before. But wait… Wild hadn’t really been any trouble thus far. He’d actually been great; there was much less babysitting than he’d been planning to do and much more quiet camaraderie, fighting side-by-side like he would do with any other knight. Even though Wild was far from the average knight. Didn’t even wear chainmail or armor.

Man, Warriors really wanted to pull off his vambrace. It was feeling a little tighter than usual. Had he tightened it too much when readying himself this morning? Taking it off would help with some of the heat, wouldn’t it? Maybe he could loosen his scarf a bit, as well. Nor was the chainmail doing him any favors…

“Hey!”

Warriors blinked, and suddenly Wild was standing directly in front of him, clamping his hands on his shoulders. “Hmm?” How had he turned around so fast? Of course he was an agile thing, but Warriors hadn’t even seen him move.

A hand went to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Give me that arm.”

“Bossy.”

Wild grabbed it himself. When his fingers brushed the bite, it sent sharp pain both down his fingertips and up to his neck. Warriors tried to pull away. Wild frowned and held on tighter. “Hold still.” Deft fingers began working on unbuckling his vambrace. Oh, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing, it was rather warm down here. Somehow. He wasn’t sure.

Vambrace off. Sleeve rolled up. The sudden lack of pressure over the bite felt like a breath of fresh air. But also kind of like a terrible thing. The fire did ebb or smother out, it merely looked for more to devour. It hurt. Where the two little dots had sat, were now two really red, really angry welts. His forearm was swollen, too, no wonder it was so sensitive.

Wild frowned, “That thing must have been poisoned. Captain, let’s sit down. You look like you’re about to end up down there anyway.”

He had enough sense to be offended. But not quite enough to act on the suggestion. Wild grabbed hold of his uninjured arm and led him to rest on the floor. But supposedly that wasn’t enough for him.

The Champion continued to fuss over him, muttering under his breath as he did so. First were his pauldrons, his gloves, and pulling off his overtunic. Then came the fighting with his chainmail until Warriors was able to show him that it too, had a buckle to unstrap first.

In the matter of a few minutes, the only article of clothing on his torso was his undertunic. His limbs felt like they were tied to millstones when finally, he was leaned against the wall, which was all chilled and rough as stone could be. Every muscle was weary and tired. He felt as if he’d just taken on an army by himself.

The wound (the bite?) on his arm was hot and he could feel his heart thrumming in his arm instead of his chest. Except now, the lack of his layers made him feel cold cold cold everywhere else. Of course it was; stupid underground tunnels were drafty and hardly well-heated. Where his flesh met the air felt bitter and made him shiver, though the blood underneath his skin felt fit to boil. That was great. He was burning alive but would die out in the cold.

Woe was life. Everything sucked.

However, he had to admit that the cold seemed to bring some sense back to him, brightening the fog that had begun to settle over his thoughts.

‘Poison.’ The horrid Skulltula had been venomous. Whoever’s time that thing belonged to was going to hear some words. If Warriors makes it out of here, the nine of them are going to have a meeting and go over each and every era’s monsters and how to properly fight them. At the very least, a heads-up about poisonous creatures would have been nice.

Well. Whoever was familiar with these Skulltulas, if any of them actually were, was not here. Any knowledge on how to treat the bite did not lie with Wild and himself. There was no room for experimenting, either. A wrong herb might have an adverse reaction rather than a positive one.

He was truly in unknown waters here.

“Go get help… I’m not going anywhere.”

Wild shook his head. “No, they’ll notice we’re not there soon, right? I’m sure they’re all heading back to the start already. Help is coming.”

Warriors frowned. No, that was an empty promise. There was no way to know if any of the other paths were as straight forward as theirs had been. The other groups might still be venturing down, and they were all blissfully unaware of Warriors’ situation. “No there’s not. You have to, have to grab them-”

“I’m not leaving you here! No one deserves to die… alone.” His voice trailed off. Before he caught himself and hurriedly added on: “Not that you’re going to die! You’ll be fine, you will be fine.”

“Sit down.” He commanded, voice shaky and tone not as stern as he might’ve liked. But Wild’s tone was resolute, and even Warriors knew not to fight someone so determined. “If you’re not going to leave, come sit with me then.” While that might’ve signed his death warrant, something deep down assured him otherwise. He couldn’t name the source of it, but peace greeted him as Wild settled on the ground beside him. While it sucked, this bite wouldn’t claim him.

Silence demanded the moment. So there they simply sat. Wild was fidgety, though that was nothing new. Warriors half expect him to change his mind and bolt down the hallway for help. But he didn’t. Instead, he bundled up his scarf (Warriors did not know when he had unwrapped it from his neck) and set it next to his side. Slowly, the Champion took his injured arm to set it on the new cushion. But just that small movement sent sharp pain up his shoulder and neck, and made needle points dance on his fingertips. He might’ve cried out. He wasn’t sure.

Warriors closed his eyes just to focus on breathing.

Eventually, the pain began to ebb. The arm was still burning, spreading from his wrist to elbow. It wasn’t as concentrated as before, less like fire, more like a hot day in the sun. Still uncomfortable.

This was like being sick with the bonus perk of being injured. And naturally, Warriors hated being either of the two.

“Remind me not to get poisoned again.” He mumbled into Wild’s shoulder.

Wait…

Warriors forced his eyes to blink open, and found himself leaning heavily against the Champion. Whoops. He didn’t mean to black out, of course. And he surely didn’t mean to cuddle with Wild. Was this… did this count as cuddling?

The thoughts were met with laughter. “No, I wouldn’t count this as cuddling.” Wild teased. Dangit, had he said that outloud? “I only cuddle with Wolfie."

Warriors hummed in response. Good.

With that sorted out, the Captain nearly fell back asleep. Until…

“Y’know, I forget sometimes.” Wild said suddenly, warding off the silence. “That all of you have lived painful journeys, and you all bear scars, whether visible or not. But you’re the only other one who’s been burned like I have. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about that.”

Oh. Warriors looked down at his arm.

It was kinda gross, right now, actually. All swollen and red, burning and… anyway. But the scars from the fire attack still sat etched in his skin. Ragged and messy. Carved without care and left to heal in a way that was never quite right. Warriors couldn’t blame Wild for forgetting about them, because Warriors tried his best to make the world, including himself, forget about them.

Long sleeves, even in the summer, luckily the nobles just wore lightweight clothes, not less of them. Even with nightclothes and undershirts; if the cuffs sat over his knuckles, it was all he could ask for. Gloves when he could. His arm was bundled up whenever it could be. It was not the kind of heroic, courageous scar that one might think it was.

Wild’s scars were all that. He had faced his foe and proven his courage and determination. They were a testament to his victory over certain death itself.

Warriors’ were none of that. They were due to a lack of action. Others had to come to his rescue. And then he had been utterly useless while in the infirmary healing. Even now, he would hardly say he was back at one hundred percent.

The wound had changed him.

His dominant hand wasn’t as nimble as it once was. His handwriting looked different now, if only by a little. He fumbled with his sword in battle more times than he cared to admit. He had not even dared to try to pick up a needle again, not for quick mends, or for sutures, let alone for the elegant needlework he’d once begged his mother to teach him.

It was pitiful, really. He was pitiful.

“So, what about you, Captain?”

“Hmm?” Oh, had he missed something?

Wild took a slow breath, measured and steady. “In five years? Where do you want to be?”

He supposed that was kind of a loaded question, wasn’t it?

If the question was asked when Warriors was 17, at the start of the war, the truthful answer would be that he didn’t think he had five years to look forward to. It was a blessing in and of itself to make it to camp each night with the prayer of just one more day repeating on his lips. He was inexperienced. Impulsive. Surely nothing more than cannon fodder that would fall to the enemy.

And yet, here he was.

Even one year ago, the question would have been simple: At the castle performing his duties. Maintaining peace. Helping Hyrule recover from the aftermath of war.

Now, it wasn’t all that different. But Wild’s answer had made him think. Anything he wanted to pursue in the future was missing a vital piece. He’d known it all along, but perhaps he had never wanted to truly admit it. But first…

“I think I’ll probably become even closer to a stuffy noble than I already am. Filling out paperwork and being stuck inside while all the younger knights get to goof off. Maybe yelling at them to quiet down from my office window.” Warriors paused as Wild laughed again. Well, now it's time to get serious, “But before I get that pleasure, well… I want to keep rebuilding my home. Restore it to the glory it was before the Great War broke out. Make sure every unnamed soldier that fell does not remain as so; each and every one will be properly honored.

“And…” Man, was he really going to say this? “I’ll, I’ll be with Zelda. Working alongside her, until my dying breath.” He felt the heat rise to his face. It was the fever, not a blush.

Wild grinned down at him anyway, “Hey, you took my answer! You truly are a sap, aren’t you?” He sighed and leaned back. The smile faded from amusement to a soft one. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought, then.”

Hmm. Well, he supposed they were both doing the best for their kingdoms, trying to rebuild what had been torn down, and upholding their oaths. Sure, the Champion could get on his nerves at times. He could be reckless and impulsive at the worst of times. And loved to completely disregard his orders if he disagreed.

But Warriors had been 17 once, too. And if he looked closely, he could see bits and pieces of himself in the Champion.

“Yes. I suppose we are.”

[void-confusion]

The King of Legend

Rated T; No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: Wind and Wild both have opinions on kings. It turns out that Legend has some opinions, too.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[needfantasticstories]

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.”

🏰 ✨ 🏰 ✨ 🏰

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.

[fever-project]

What One Does to a Sleepover | For The Triforce FicFight Event Fic

*note, art is not 100% fic accurate :p

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87744266

@forthetriforce And entire fic under the cut as well!

Zelda had it all planned out; the perfect sleepover was going to happen right here, right in her very room. It was going to be the greatest sleepover she, and her two sleepoverers were going to ever have!

At least, that was Zelda's hope. She never even had a sleepover before, if you didn’t count the times her cat snuggled up to her in bed. Or if you didn’t count those times out in the wild, cuddling up with Tri as she tried to get a brief respite from Null’s hunt for her.

Good thing she never was sleeping outside for long. She always had a bed back then, with an Ignizol echo nearby for warmth, too. And now that whole mess was all over with, she was back in her impeccably soft bed with the comfiest pajamas in all of Hyrule!

And the only trial this princess had to deal with now was to make sure that the “perfect sleepover” was to go off without a hitch. She had done her due diligence in sleepover research—snacks from various domains, a list of spooky stories curated by Impa and Lefte, various crafting materials, board games, and more.

She might've prepared a bit too much for the sleepover. But, too many options were far better than too little! They were going to have fun, Zelda and her friends, she was going to guarantee it!

A knock sounded on Zelda's door as she was going over her sleepover plans, ruminating over a checklist at her vanity.

“Yes?” Zelda called out as she hopped off of her stool. A guard opened her bedroom door, saluting at her.

“Princess!” The guard shouted, “Your friends have arrived at the castle! Your father—th-the king, I mean, he should be greeting them in the throne room right now.”

“Yes!” Zelda cheered, “Thank you for informing me, guardsman. I’ll be out in a moment.” She had to put her pajamas on, after all.

The guard than left, saying that he’ll inform her friends of that statement. After the door closed, she quickly changed into her sleeping garments, doing a little spin after once properly for the night's events.

The sun was setting, and her excitement only grew.

“Sir Catsalot, Head of Room Security,” Zelda addressed her cream colored cat that sat sleepily upon her bed, “I trust you'll be watching over us when the sleepover occurs, correct?”

The cat meowed back at their human, earning a few loving pets from the princess.

“Very good! I’ll be returning soon—watch over the room until then!”

Another meow from the cat, and Zelda was out the door.

She spun down the halls in glee, greeting the guards as she made her way to her friends—and to her father too, of course.

Entering the throne room, Zelda saw her friends chatting with her father, Impa, and General Wright.

“Zelda!” They cheered upon seeing her, with the exception of Impa and the General, who cried, “Princess!” instead.

“Hello!” Zelda waved as she skipped her way down the room’s red carpet, towards her father and her friends.

“You're wearing your silk pajamas!” Dohna giddily exclaimed, “Look! I'm wearing mine too.” And that she was, doing a small spin in her glee.

The king laughed, “Ah, how wonderful it is to be matching with your friend, my dear Zelda. It was a good idea to let them change before the sleepover party. Although…” he looked over at Link, who was wearing a simple white under tunic and trousers.

“Well, it’s a good enough sleeping outfit for anyone, I suppose!” The king laughed again, with the General joining in. Link looking like…well, how he always looked—slightly angry. So he was likely feeling just fine.

“Maybe we can get you some silk pajamas of your own, Link,” Dohna suggested, “But it won’t be easy! You’ll have to earn the comfort. I’ll have the soldiers create a trail just for you!”

Link looked extremely determined to earn said comfort, and a giggle escaped Zelda's lips.

Impa spoke up, “I hope you all will have a grand time, children,” she said, “I hope your ‘perfect sleepover’ will be as perfect as you imagined it to be, princess.”

“Thank you Impa,” Zelda replied, “and it will be perfect! I promise.” She aimed the last words towards her two friends, who looked excited.

Honestly, Zelda was getting more nervous from that excitement. Would this sleepover actually be as perfect as she promised? And if not, would her friends be disappointed with her?

“Follow me Dohna, Link,” Zelda then proclaimed, ignore her internal panic, “The perfect sleepover awaits!” Zelda did a spin, and trotted over to her room, the footsteps of her friends pitter-pattering right behind her. Not to mention her also telling the others goodnight, before she left.

Opening the door to her bedroom, she exclaimed, “Welcome to my room! Make yourselves at home here!”

“Ooo,” Dohna murmured as she looked over the room, seeing the various boxes and items strewn somewhat messily about. Link was already examining the boxes, finding things such as board games and snacks within.

“I see you’ve prepared quite a bit for our sleepover,” Dohna noted.

“Ha ha, yes, I did,” Zelda nodded, “Although, I think I might've done a bit too much.” It was definitely too much, now that she looked at it all.

Dohna set a hand on her friend's shoulder. “Nonsense!” She claimed, “It's just more opportunities for fun to be had.”

Yes, Dohna was affirming her! And judging by the way Link was going through the boxes and items, he seemed rather excited about the preparations Zelda made, too.

“Now then!” Zelda skipped over to her vanity, grabbing her notebook where her plans laid written, “Let’s get this sleepover started!”

The two looked over at her, until both of the girls attention shifted towards Link, who was halfway in a box, with a hexagonal chess board sitting atop his head. A very giggle-worthy scene.

“Do we want to start with chess?” Zelda asked, “I was gifted a three-player board for this sleepover specifically!”

“Oh! What fun!” Dohna clasped her hands in glee, “Although, I can’t recall the last time I played a game of regular chess…”

“Don’t worry!” Zelda assured her friend, “I can teach you both how to play as we go. Link, have you ever played chess before?”

Link crawled out of the box and set the board down on the floor. He shook his head no, before returning to the box and fishing out three bags full of chess pieces—a green one, a red one, and a blue one.

“Now,” Zelda started to explain as she took the blue bag, “three-player chess is a bit harder than two player, but I’m sure it’ll be fun!”

It was not very fun. It was okay, but trying to explain how the game and trying to remember how it worked—she had to go on a brief but fun hunt for the game's rule book—led to Zelda having a less than ideal time, personally.

But, it was definitely worth it. Link and Dohna seemed to enjoy the game—even though Link was the first to get out. And seeing Dohna’s eyes light up with as much glee as it did when she won was a blessed sight.

“Since you won the chess game,” Zelda said to Dohna, “Would you like to choose the next activity?”

“Oh, that sounds great!” Dohna replied, “But, I do wonder how I’ll be able to choose only one thing in this vast array of boxes.”

“Oh! Well, um…we have snacks! And various other things we could do instead of just board games.”

“It seems like our adventurous friend has already found some of those ‘snacks’ you speak off.”

Sure enough, Link was innocently munching on some thin pretzels, ones that Zelda helped make with the Royal Chef a few days prior.

“Ha!” Dohna laughed at Link’s visage, “It seems that the snacks are quite tasty, eh, Link?”

Link nodded as he started to munch on yet another pretzel.

Zelda snorted. Then she suggested, “Would you like a smoothie? I have many smoothies.”

“I’d love one! Do you have any smoothies made with Warm Peppers this time?”

“Of course I do!” Zelda quickly fetched three Golden Piping-Hot Smoothies, “They’re made with Golden Eggs too!”

“Golden Eggs!” Dohna repeated with a gasp, “Those are hard to find!”

“No kidding. Link, would you like a smoothie?”

The swordsman nodded, confident in his spice tolerance. Too confident, one might say, but he managed to drink the whole thing. Even if his face was a tad concerningly red and wet.

The group then partook in a few more games, a few snack breaks, and some crafting activities too. Origami was a wonderful thing that Zelda was glad she stumbled upon in her research of activities they all could do.

During the fun, Zelda even set up a—modified—Gizmol to play music throughout the night. Although, upon seeing the wind-up automaton, the other two wanted to see the rest of her mechanical contraptions.

Unfortunately Zelda only had one Clockwork Key, and had to explain with deep sadness in her heart that it was a one-of-a-kind item, so only one automaton could work at a time.

That did not stop the twos drive to battle a Roboblin. So a brief battle did then commence, before going back to the regular sleepover activities. Zelda would have to get Dampé to fix it, after how badly the poor automaton was pummeled.

The rest of the night passed by without much sadness, the trio of friends enjoying their time with one another. And as the night went on, the sleepier they all became. But Zelda wanted to do at least one more game before she could put this sleepover to rest.

“There’s this card game I found,” Zelda began, an air of mystery in her voice as she fished out a small, rectangular box from the box pile, “One that came from a faraway land.”

“What land is it?” Dohna asked, which was a good question. Zelda looked over her notes, and after a solid minute, realized that she did not write down where this game had originated from.

“It appears the origin is unknown, to me,” Zelda sighed, “However, we can ask Impa about it tomorrow.”

Zelda dusted off the small box, then opened it from what she figured was the “top” of it. She gathered the three to sit in a circle as she dumped the colorful cards onto the carpet floor.

“This game is called ‘Uno,’” Zelda stated, “And from what I've been able to gather, it means ‘one’ in its mother tongue.”

Dohna hummed and nodded as she looked at the cards, with Link grabbing all the green cards he can see.

“And how do we play ‘Uno?’” Dohna asked as she held up a card.

“Well, to win, you need to get your cards down to zero. But, you have to say ‘Uno!’ once you get down to one card.”

“Ahhh, that’s how you deduced that ‘uno’ means ‘one.’”

Zelda beamed with some pride at Dohan’s recognition of her reasoning. Link seemed to approve of it too, if his surprised yet determined look was anything to go by.

Zelda then explained the rest of the rules to her friends, before shuffling the deck—to marginal success—and dealing the cards with the side “Uno” etched onto them facing upwards, seven cards for the each of them. Zelda looked at the rule pamphlet that Minister Lefte had diligently translated for her, satisfied that she’d done things mostly right so far. She'd taken the role of dealer prematurely, but that shouldn't affect the actual game too much.

Zelda looked up at her friends, who were examining their cards with great interest. There were still face down, however.

Zelda got their attention, then said, “You can look at you cards now, but! You can’t let anyone see what they are underneath the ‘Uno’ side, alright?” The two muttered an agreement, and everyone took their cards.

There were no yellow cards in Zelda's hands, but she had at least had two of each other color, with an additional Wild card!

“Everyone understands what their cards do, yes?” Zelda asked. Link was squinting hard at his cards, before then grouping them all into one hand and gave Zelda a thumbs up.

“I…suppose,” Dohna murmured, “Can I take a look at the rules you have there?”

“Of course!” Zelda gave her the pamphlet, “You’ll also start first, since you're to my—the dealer's—left.”

“What joy!”

Zelda then flipped over the top card of the draw deck, with a yellow “one” card starting it off. Did Zelda have any ones, at least? No, she did not, but things could change in her favor before her turn arrived. She wanted to save her Wild card for a while longer.

“I’ll play…” Dohna slowly drew out a card from her hand, then quickly slapped it down on the discard pile. “A yellow seven. I believe it’s your turn now, Link.”

Link slid out a card and set down a green seven. Good, Zelda could save her Wild.

“A green five,” Zelda said as she placed down her card. Next, Dohna placed a green eight, then Link with red eight.

“You don’t have to change the color every time, you know,” Dohna told Link. Link looked at her with a fire in his eyes, like she had accidentally set off a kind of challenge in his mind.

A challenge he had lost on his very next turn. His sullen face was perhaps not entirely congruent with the fact that they were playing a simple card game. It seemed that, just like Zelda, he held no yellow cards in his hand. Dohna had played a yellow eight, and Zelda was forced to play her Wild.

“I chose blue!” Zelda announced. She had blue Reverse and a blue Skip card, her only non-Wild action cards in her current hand.

Dohna smirked, “Well, if you're so confident with blue, then how about you prove it!” She slammed down a blue Reverse, and Zelda had to hold back her immediate smirk.

Zelda retorted, “I’m very confident with blue,” as she then slapped down her own blue Reverse. Dohna gasped at the card unexpected to her.

Dohna glared at the card Zelda played for a moment, before placing down a blue three. Link sadly placed down a blue one, Zelda skipped Dohna's turn, and Link played yet another blue. And so, the game went on in silence, with no more actions cards being played for a while.

The Uno game was going well, for everyone but Zelda, having somehow reached ten cards now. Her luck with games during this sleepover wasn't going that well, even if she played as smartly as she could. Honestly, it was a bit frustrating. But it was still fun, and her friends were having fun, so it was all worth it. A little frustration was all worth it if everyone ended up happy in the end.

“Uno!” Dohna shouted, triumphantly holding up her final card. Link had three more cards, and Zelda was nowhere near winning.

Link gave Zelda a look of regret, before he played a red skip. Zelda gasped at the betrayal, but a smile still tugged at her lips. Mainly because even if she was feeling not the greatest during this game, Link being so dramatic over it definitely elevated her mood.

But now, the fate of the game was held within Dohna’s fingers. If she had a red or a Wild card, then she would win the game.

Dohna looked at the card in the pile, then at her, and back again. After a few seconds of debate than kept both Link and Zelda on edge, Dohna sighed, and drew a card.

Link placed down another red card, leaving two left in his hand. Zelda thought hard about what possible cards he could have in his hand, and what cards Dohna could have. Zelda still didn’t have a yellow, but she did have a card she pulled earlier that she kept for later use…a Wild Draw Four. The first one to be played this game.

It would be risky to play it now, especially if she was called out on having a playable card in her hand. But, the others could possibly not remember that they could call her out on that. Although, they could also question her on why she didn’t play it earlier…

Time was of the essence, and if she spent too much time thinking, that could spell trouble for her. She had to make her decision.

“Draw four, Dohna!” Zelda played the card and awaited her friend's response. Her friend gasped sharply, appearing offended—which did make Zelda feel bad—but she didn't challenge the card, drawing the four cards she was cursed with.

“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” Dohna huffed as she drew, “Now Link’s going to win! No offense, of course.” Link gave her a nod, before turning his gaze to Zelda.

“…Oh! Right!” Zelda snapped her fingers, “The color is green, your color, Link!”

Link confidently placed down his next card, a green nine; he had a smug smile on his face as he held up his final card.

The issue of what card to play next bore heavy on Zelda's mind. She knew for a fact that Link didn’t have a yellow, but neither did she. Hopefully, Dohna had that in mind as she played her card, but Zelda? What should she do for this turn…

Dohna then suddenly spoke up, getting Zelda out of her own head.

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘Uno’ once you have one card?” She questioned, “And I believe that the penalty for not doing that is to draw two cards, no?”

Link looked shocked, and pointed over at the rule pamphlet, that was still at Dohna’s side. She gladly gave it over to him, and Link stuck his nose right in it.

“Well,” Zelda said, “That's correct, but we don’t have to play by those—” Link held up a hand, stopping her. He sat up and gave the rules back to Dohna.

“Next time,” Link told the two, voice scratchy as he spoke. He grabbed two cards, and now Zelda was a bit less worried about the game ending so soon.

The game went on, and Zelda was slowly chipping away at her cards, and gaining more info on what her fellow players don’t have. For one, Dohna definitely doesn’t have a red. Even with the with the four cards Zelda made her draw, only two of them seemed to be reds; one of those reds was also a Skip card, so only one more red Skip was in play.

Link could have some yellows in his hand now, but he ran out of blues already. Zelda had at least one of each color—except for the titular yellow, of course.

And then, at last! Zelda got down to a singular card.

“Uno!” She cheered. Then, her gaze shifted towards Dohna, who held two cards in her hand. With a smirk, she placed down one of her own cards.

“Uno,” Dohna said.

Sweat was pouring down Zelda's face. If she didn’t win, then Dohna would. Not like that would be a bad thing, Zelda had to remind herself, but she felt a competitive urge to win.

It was rather late in the night, with only a few lamps scattered about, barely setting the room alight. Perhaps that aided in the tension. Or perhaps she was simply tired from the time and all of the activity beforehand.

Link set down a green six, and all Zelda could feel was dread. With the best poker face her sorry state could manage, she looked down at her hand.

A blue one.

She drew a card with a shaking hand, gaining a yellow card at last. She only looked at Dohna after calming down as much as she could in the span of two seconds. Zelda had to remind herself that this was just a silly little card game; a silly little card game, and nothing more.

Dohna had to draw a card herself, and Zelda nearly cheered.

A quiet, soft voice sounded out, “Uno.”

Link had set down a green Skip, and Zelda felt ill. Which was stupid, she reminded herself, but the reminders didn't help to change her mood.

“Uno,” Dohna said as calmly placed down her card with the most serious expression Zelda had seen her have all night. A blue Skip.

Zelda had a choice to make. She always had a choice to make. She could play her blue card, or her yellow card. Her yellow Skip.

She had to deduce the cards her opponents had, and quickly. Dohna played a blue Skip, what was the chances of her having another blue? And Link, he also had poor luck in gaining yellow cards, but what if gained a yellow earlier, like Zelda had?

The yellow Skip was the safest bet, to her, but even if she survived to the next round, could she even win?

Somehow, that realization that her chances of winning were rather slim, helped lifted a weight off her chest. She became one with the world, and knew only one purpose—to have as much fun as she could. This, and her friends’ enjoyment, was all she needed for the perfect sleepover. How blind she had been before…

“Zelda?” Dohna called out her name, taking Zelda out of her enlightenment.

Zelda blinked a few times, then a small grin reached her face.

“Sorry Dohna!” Zelda giggled, “Uno!” She flung her yellow Skip down towards the discard pile, the card barely landing on it. She quickly fixed the pile so that all the cards were aligned with each other. It had been bothering her before, but now she had to fix it.

Dohna had pouted at Zelda’s play, and after Zelda had fixed the cards, the two girls looked over at what Link would do next.

Link drew a card. He played it and…!

It was a Wild card. A Wild! If Link called out “blue,” than Zelda could win this! She could actually win this!

Zelda gave Link the most pleading eyes she could muster, hoping, praying that Link would somehow understand the exact color she needed.

“The rules state that any card-play suggestions to other players causes the suggester the draw two cards,” Dohna stated plainly, a faint smile on her face.

“I’m not saying anything!” Zelda retorted, “Link can do whatever he wants!”

Link nodded, then said, “Green.”

Zelda almost swore. She grumpily drew a card instead. Yeah, she was losing, one hundred percent she was.

“Time to win, Dohna,” Zelda nearly sighed out.

Dohna laughed. “It appears so, huh?” She played her final card…a Wild Draw Four.

“I’ll say that color’s red, now,” Dohna announced, even though she already won—choosing a color Zelda did not have. “Lets see which of you wins between you both!”

Link drew four cards, and he still ended up winning against Zelda, in the end.

“How did I lose so badly?” Zelda questioned to herself, “Did I use up all my luck on my adventure?”

“Maybe!” Dohna laughed, “Maybe not. But I had fun, but that might be because I had all the luck tonight.”

“Hogged it,” Link stated. Zelda laughed, it did seem that Dohna hogged all the gaming luck tonight. Well, for at least a few of the games, at least.

“I had fun too!” Zelda cheered, “I think this was a great sleepover too!”

Link corrected her, “Perfect,” he said in an even more scratchy voice than earlier.

“It seems like someone should go to his voice therapy lessons, hm?” Dohna pointedly stared at Link, who looked at her directly in the eyes and shrugged. Zelda giggled again.

“But yes, it was—” Dohna yawned, “—the perfect sleepover.”

Zelda yawned as well. “And now,” she told her friends, “it’s time for the sleeping part of the sleepover!”

They all cheered, sleepily, sending each other into a fit of giggles. Zelda got out the sleeping bags for the three of them—her cat was to keep her bed warm—and they all got into the bags, drifting off to sleep.

A perfect sleepover indeed.

[waywardjaybird]

posted a post-canon Skyward Sword fic for fic fight 2026

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (7789 words) by WaywardJaybird Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, Linked Universe - jojo56830 (Webcomic) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Groose & Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Groose (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: Chronic Pain, Link Has Chronic Pain (Legend of Zelda), Link Has PTSD (Legend of Zelda), Grief/Mourning, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Link (Legend of Zelda), Depression, Anger, Loss Summary: The world is a world of tears, and the burdens of mortality touch the heart. We are never alone in our pain. OR Link grapples with the aftermath of his adventure.

[megsiepoo]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"My, what an unfortunate situation you seem to have found yourself in, my dear fellow," he chirped, his smile wide with satisfied glee. "Yeah, um... th-thanks for that," Vox murmured. He could feel his body trembling, from fear of his encounter or the sinner before him he wasn't sure. He swallowed, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. The deer, meanwhile, spun to fully face him and hummed in appreciation. "Not a problem at all! I was just considering finding myself some lunch. If anything, this was impeccable timing!" He flicked his wrist, a staff appearing in his hand (or was it a microphone?) and he leaned against it leisurely. "Now, if I might ask, what is a fellow of your, hmm, peculiarities doing here?"

This was supposed to be a short fic... I caught a bad case of wordy bitch disease.

Have an Angel Vox AU! This was written for Helluva Fic Fight.

Thanks for reading! Feedback appreciated as always