Mask and era angst bby!!!!! Mask has changed greatly since the War of Ages. Era isn't sure how to live with that.
It was Era's Link. It had to be. Era watched Mask from across the fire pit with harsh eyes, not even hiding that he was staring. Mask occasionally glanced his way and met his eye, but other than that, the teen had ignored him all day. Era hadn't recognized him at first in the Goddess Statue, but honestly, how could he have? Years had past since the War of Ages, years of Mask loosing baby fat and gaining scars and growing somehow shorter and... and loosing an eye. Of course Era hadn't recognized him.
(Link had chosen to call himself Mask so readily when Era asked his name inside the Goddess, held his head so high when he called himself the Hero of Time. Now wasn't that a thought? Little Link, the tiny squirt from Termina with his too big shoes and too powerful mask, the Hero of Time. How many years had Era spent fighting beside Ruto and Darunia? How many times had he slipped into the Hero of Time's timeline? And all that time, there Mask was. Watching, fighting, sleeping shoulder to shoulder with Era and eating rations elbow to elbow-- raising a double helix sword beside him as Era grasped the Master Sword, his forehead slick with sweat and his face slack with awe just like every time he say the Fierce Deity in action.)
Mask had to know it was him. Mask had to know it was the same General Link from the War of Ages, there was no way he didn't. So why hadn't he said anything yet? Why hadn't he stopped Era, held him, cried in his shoulder just like Era longed to do with him? Six years was a long time to be without a brother. Unless Mask didn't want to see him. It wasn't like Era left him on good terms.
Era winced just thinking about the shit storm of a fight that had occurred that last day of the war, and across the fire pit Mask raised a dark eyebrow.
A singular eyebrow. To go with his singular eye. Era's insides turned, just like they did every time he thought too hard about what was-- what wasn't-- underneath that leather eye patch. Rough scaring poked out when it shifted, and Mask's lip on his left side didn't move quite like his right. Nerve damage, perhaps? And then there were the markings. At first glance they could be tattoos, but Era had been close enough to recognize the tale tell dip in skin of a vicious scar.
'Brother,' he thought as he watched Mask turn away, 'what did they do to you?'
It was his fault after all. He pushed Mask away at the end of the war, and now Mask lived with whatever... that was. Era's stomach clenched. He turned down the spicy meat skewer that Wilds offered him, and while the man narrowed his eyes he made no other comment. Mask reached over, his shoulder brushing Era's arm, and took the offered meat instead.
'Oh Link... what did I let them do to you?'
