Chapter Text
As a general rule, Malon appreciated a bit of peace and quiet in the evenings. Mornings were all business, what with feeding and watering the animals and maintaining the corrals and stables. Daytimes were similarly rushed, between the livestock and the small patch of crops and the steady stream of customers coming in and out of the ranch, there was no guarantee of a break and she was lucky if she got to have lunch at the same time as her husband, if at all. Even their evening meal was often late, and there always seemed to be something more to do.
So she didn’t think it too much to ask that after she and Link finally found time for dinner, and before they did the final rounds, she was able to take an hour to sit on her porch and enjoy the sounds of a country evening.
Sometimes she sat alone, feeling the breeze on her face as she enjoyed the sound of birdsong. More often Link would join her. Sometimes in silence, often talking over the day, occasionally playing his ocarina or one of the other wide array instruments he had picked up over the years. Sometimes he would even tease her into joining in, though she was a terrible singer and a worse musician.
But not this evening. This evening she was alone, as it was the first time in a week that they had had a break from the torrential rain that had been plaguing them, and Link had wanted to spend some time exercising Epona in the yard before it started up again. Instead, Malon had poured herself a glass of wine and was listening to the sound of a woodpecker in the nearby trees. She wondered if she could convince Link to build a swing-seat in time for summer. It would be a lovely spot to wind down going into the warmer evenings, and they might even make time to take the occasional breakf-
Malon was cut off from her thoughts by, in order, a crash, a horse neighing, and a shout somewhere between a war cry and the yowl of a very angry cat who has just been unexpectedly and forcefully introduced to the concept of a bath.
Malon sighed.
“Never a dull day.” she muttered, putting down the untouched glass of Kakariko White and abandoning her comfortable seat on the porch. Whatever this was, there had better be a good reason she was letting her wine get warm.
Upon arriving at the paddock, the first thing she noticed was Link’s horse Epona, who had jumped the paddock fence - they really should make that higher - and was cheerfully chomping her way through Malon’s marigolds.
Inside the paddock, Link stood up to his knees in mud, position aggressive, holding a shovel like a spear. Opposite him, a shorter man - boy? - with pink hair and apparently no trousers held a similar position, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. Both men were snarling at each other, circling as they looked for an opening to attack. Well. Perhaps not circling, as the mud was proving an obstacle, but they were at least making an effort. As she watched, Pink hair lunched forward to strike but was artfully parried away and the attempted circling resumed.
Malon leaned against the paddock fence, nonplussed.
“Hey hun,” she called. “Who’s our guest?”
She could see Link narrow his good eye and clench his jaw.
“Malon, get back.” he bit out, lunging at his opponent but finding himself blocked. “It’s some sort of monster. Get inside!”
Uh huh.
Malon tilted her head, examining the apparent ‘monster’ in her paddock. He was short and slight, and well dressed in an embroidered red tunic and decked out in jewellery, with necklaces and bracelets and rings glittering on each finger, not quite obscuring the mark on the back of his hand. His swordwork, while constantly rebuffed, was neat and practiced. Definitely a creature of darkness.
“Monster?” the newcomer spat, going for a slash and being dodged. “That’s rich, from the guy who used dark magic to summon me here!”
“Boys-” Malon tried to interrupt, but was cut off by a further clashing of swords. Well. Sword and shovel. To be fair, Link was holding his own remarkably well, although the shovel had more than a few dents in the handle. She was going to need a new one at this rate.
“Why are you here? What do you want with us?” Link demanded, using the shovel as a vault to launch himself, kicking, towards the Pink Man. Points for innovation, but deduction for the landing.
Pink Man parried his kick and rolled away, nearly completely obscuring the pink with mud. Pity. Mud Man didn’t sound nearly so appealing.
“Boys.” Malon called, more insistent now. She really didn’t want to have to wade into the mud but it was looking inevitable. Sighing, she hitched up her skirt and made her way into the mud. Both men were apparently too busy antagonising each other and trying not to slip to notice.
“All I want to know,” Mostly-Pink-Man snarled, “Is how to defeat you and your rusty-ass spade so i can go back to being retired in peace!”
“BOYS!”
Now, Malon knew that in nearby Castle Town ladies had a reputation for being delicate and defenceless little flowers, needing protection from the big dangerous world. Malon, however, was not from Castle Town, and as a child had won Little Miss Cow-Hurler three years running. So, when she planted a hand in each man’s chest and shoved them apart, they both tumbled backwards to the ground, either winded or shocked into silence. Good.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and put her hands onto her hips, raising a single eyebrow in disappointment when they tried to give some half-baked excuse. Both men averted their gazes, having the decency to look embarrassed.
“Now I don’t know what precisely brings you here,” she spoke sweetly to the vaguely pink newcomer. “But I do have a rule about weapons on my ranch, and I’m afraid I do have to enforce it.” she raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Pink-ish scowled at her, looking vaguely like a drenched cat under all that mud. “He attacked me!” he spat, but still dropped his sword next to him in the mud where it was still easily within reach, but was at least not raised.
“You little-”
“Boys!” Malon interrupted again before Link could finish whatever he had been about to say. He was still clutching his shovel despite her glare, but it was very hard to find him threatening all covered in mud. “I don’t suppose either of y’all noticed you both have a triforce on your hands?”
That did the trick. The shovel was dropped in surprise, along with two jaws.
Pinky leaned over to peer at Link around Malon.
“Wait, what?”
Both scrambled to their feet, weapons forgotten. Now satisfied that they weren’t going to immediately attack one another, Malon took both her husband and the newcomer’s left hands in hers and held them beside one another, pulling the two together.
There was no doubting it. She was used to the mark on the back of Link’s hand, the slightly faded triforce with one segment seeming a little more defined than the others. It was just another part of him, a relic of a past he was trying so desperately to leave behind.
And there it was again. Pink-Man’s hand was smaller than Link’s and callus-hardened, and on the back was an exact replica of the marking she was so familiar with.
“What the fuck.” Pink eloqently demanded, poking Link’s triforce and leaving a streak of mud on Courage.
“Seconded.” Link replied absently, twisting the other man’s hand around to get a better look.
The two men looked up at each other, brows furrowed in remarkable similar expressions of confusion.
It was Link who spoke first. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Link.” the Pink Man said. “Who are you?”
“Link.” Link said.
Malon threw her hands in the air. “Time shenanigans!” she turned from them and began to stomp back to the house. “Why is it always time shenanigans?” she shook her head as she exited the paddock, reaching to guide Epona back to her stable before she completely destroyed the petunias. “You two better clean off if you think you’re getting inside my house. I’ll have cocoa ready when you’re decent.”
The Two Links stared after her for a moment before Link - Time, he’ll eventually come to be known as, and we will call him that, even if he hasn’t quite got there himself yet - raked a hand through his hair, getting mud everywhere.
“Do you… want to wash up?” he offered, gesturing to the water troughs where they kept a small cupboard of soap and towels for just this purpose.
Pink Link - let’s just call him Legend, he’ll catch up soon enough - nodded faintly. “Yeah. Yeah that sounds good.”
Soon enough they were (mostly) mud-free and heading towards the house and the smell of freshly cooked cocoa.
“So.” Legend began, still scowling but not at anything in particular, which was definitely progress. “Time Shenanigans? Happen a lot to you?”
Time huffed a small laugh, though he did not meet his gaze. “On occasion. More than enough to be doing with. You?”
Legend grunted in sympathy. “On occasion. Probably would have less if Ganon would just stay dead.” he sniffed as they entered the house into the kitchen, scowl softening. “That smells amazing.”
“Malon’s hot chocolate is famous.” Time also seemed to soften. “I’m lucky to have her.” he looked down at Legend. “Ganon? You’ve faced Ganondorf?”
Legend snorted. “I don’t know about the ‘Dorf’, but I’ve faced Ganon a few times, yeah. Why, don’t tell me he’s tried changing his name? How many times do I have to kill that bastard?”
His voice was light, but he realised as he entered the house that Time had stopped walking, still standing by the open door. His mouth had turned dry, his one eye wide.
“Ganondorf is gone.” he ground out. “Sealed away. He can’t come back. You’re mistaken.”
“Not mistaken, my dude.” Legend’s words were easy as he also stopped, idling by the dresser, but there was an edge to his voice. He looked down at the mark on the back of his hand. “I’d… heard of other heroes. Before me. Maybe after me too. I hope not, but who knows? Maybe it just keeps happening. Who knows how many of us there are.”
Time grunted in agreement, and would have preferred to leave it at that. Unfortunately for him, Malon had appeared behind Legend and was giving him eyes over his shoulder. He sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sharing, it’s just that he didn’t like sharing.
Wait.
“I’ve… met other Heroes.” he admitted. “In my… ‘time shenanigans’. I’m not sure if they were before me or after me, we were busy and I was… not in a talking mood.”
“Vibes.” Legend agreed, politely not asking any further questions. He was pretty sure that he would have ample opportunity to pry later. Instead he cleared his throat and then gave him a pained look. “Does that mean you’re me? Or I’m you? Cause that’s a lot to deal with before breakfast.”
“It’s evening?” Link said.
“Cocoa’s ready!” Malon interrupted, finally deciding to rescue the two heroes from their own poor communication skills with overflowing mugs of hot cocoa. And a large glass of wine. Because she had earned it.
Legend was put up in the guest room and loaned some of Time’s clothes while his own cherry red tunic dried out. They were a bit (a lot) too big, but as he adamantly refused to wear trousers of any kind, the too-long tunic served as a sort of awkwardly shaped gown.
Over the next few hours they discovered that they both were apparently Hylia’s chosen heroes and bearers of the Triforce of Courage, and were both pretty bitter about the whole thing. They had both been on several journeys which neither of them were particularly interested in talking about, and they both were very, very firmly retired.
After Malon and Time had done their last rounds of the ranch, they set aside time to try and hash out what was going on between them, and were not getting very far.
“So you’re sure you’re not on some sort of quest?” Legend checked for what seemed like the thousandth time. It was well into the night now, and they were all sitting around a roaring fire, Legend in an armchair, Time and Malon curled up on the settle. The rain had started up again and the rattle against the window panes just proved the make the scene all the more cosy, and the fire’s heat pushed any hint of stiffness from Legend’s joints. “You’re not seeking a relic or fighting an ancient unknowable evil or anything like that? You’re absolutely sure?”
Time shrugged. “I mean it’s calving season so there’s a lot of that to get done at odd hours of the night but otherwise no. Like I said, I’m retired. And you’re absolutely certain that you’re definitely not-”
“I superglued the Master Sword into its damn pedestal after the last one.” Legend deadpanned, and Time couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious.
(he was.)
(he hoped that wasn’t going to be a problem for any possible future incarnations.)
(oops.)
It had taken a while for both sides of the story to fully come out. From Legend’s perspective, he had been having a perfectly normal morning, sorting through his assorted magical objects (not junk, thank you very much!) and making sure that everything was in good condition. He had been just contemplating a late breakfast when some sort of dark portal had opened where the floor should have been and he’d dropped into Time’s paddock, for some reason fully armed and with all of his gear in his pack, facing down a very angry, one eyed farmer.
From Time’s point of view, there had been a flash of some sort of dark light and Legend, looking like a small, pink, one man army, had appeared. And Time had just reacted on instinct. Looking back on it, they were both very lucky that Malon had been there to step in, which she was at great pains to point out to them (although Time did respond that it wasn’t fair to tell them they should have just used their eyes, as she clearly had an advantage on him. This had earned him a pillow in the face from Malon and a groan from Legend. Time seemed rather pleased with himself).
“Whatever the reason for bringing us together,” Time said slowly, absently taking his wife’s hand. “Hylia must have something planned. Nothing like this ever happens just for a nice dinner or a holiday.”
Legend snorted. “Maybe she wants us to kill each other. Some sort of divine sport. Wouldn’t put it past her.”
He was surprised when Time and Malon only hummed in agreement. Legend was, by now, used to people being shocked by his blatant disrespect for the goddess. It had never really occurred to him that his fellow hero might have similar feelings to his own. It was a refreshing change of pace.
As they lapsed into silence, Legend examined the other hero from across the room. In some senses, Time looked just like any other young farmer and his wife, tired after a long day working on the land, comfortable with his lot in life. He was almost sickeningly domestic in how he sat relaxed into his wife as she curled up against him. It could have been anyone.
But.
There were the scars. The missing eye was not unusual in and of itself, plenty of people lost eyes from all manner of mundane things. He’d once met someone who had lost an eye dancing too enthusiastically at a solstice festival. But Legend knew the look of a battle scar when he saw one, knew the look of a wound left by a blade. Just like he knew the difference between badly chosen facial tattoos and the colourful scars left behind by exposure to forbidden magic. He saw - and knew better than to stare at - the small, deep scars on either side of his head, between each eye and ear, as if the hero had tried on more than one occasion to claw his way out of his own face. They all told the story of a life spent in battle, fighting more than just the occasional monster who wandered too close to the ranch.
Legend knew better than to bring any of this up. He didn’t exactly have a blemish-free body himself, and he knew that there was nothing more frustrating than some stranger making stupid comments about your scars or asking questions you’d rather not answer.
Still.
Time was married. He had a ranch, had a life outside of the whole heroing business, and it sounded like he had for a few years at least. Something deep inside of Legend twinged at the thought. Perhaps his own peaceful retirement really could become a reality.
Well. Current time shenanigans aside.
“Well.” Legend said, forcing bravado into his voice. “I’m beat. If you don’t mind, I’m going to hit the sack.” He forced himself out of his cosy armchair by the fire and raised a hand in acknowledgement to the couple’s wishes of good night. He wasn’t overly tired, it had been mid-morning when he had been unceremoniously ripped from his own time, but the spare room they had shown him in the attic was cosy, with a patchwork quilt and its own fireplace, and he knew how to take his perks when he got them. Something told him it would be a while before he got a soft bed with a patchwork quilt again. Besides, he could tell when a couple wanted some time to themselves.
When they were sure that he had gone, Malon and Time collapsed in against each other on the couch, neither willing to be the first to let the other go. Instead they sat there, listening to each other’s heartbeats and the crackling of the fire. Finally, Malon found the strength to speak.
Malon always spoke first. When she first met Time again as an adult (or from her perspective, met him for the first time since childhood), he barely spoke at all. A few grunts or monosyllables here or there, brusque, stiff signs if he was pressed for a longer answer.
In those days his eyes had darted around everywhere but hers, although if he was looking for escapes or enemies or the fairy that had once perched on his shoulder, she hadn’t known. But it hadn’t mattered. Malon talked enough for them both, chattered through his occasional appearance at the Ranch, invited him easily to stay overnight when the weather turned worse, not batted an eyelid when gradually his poor-weather hideaways became regular visits, even when the sun was shining, or when his stays extended into weeks and then months. She had kept up an easy flow of chatter that had invited him to join in if he wanted but also did not demand his participation, and the morning after he first began to tell her what really happened to him, when he was terrified her easy smile would have turned cold, she had beamed at him with more warmth than ever and as always, had known the right thing to say.
Now, in the present, Malon sighed. “You’re going to need to pack.” she said, her head still resting on her husband’s chest. “I’ll have to put some provisions together. I know what your cooking’s like in a fully equipped kitchen, I’d hate to see it on the road. Pink-Link doesn’t need that.”
Time frowned down at her. He had markings on his face, people often mistook them for tattoos (and thank goodness for that, as frisky customers often became less inclined to be so frisky when they saw that Malon was married to a six foot six, muscle bound tank with tattoos on his face), and the markings always made his frown look deeper than he intended, as if he was perpetually sullen.
“I’m not going anywhere Malon. Whatever this is-”
“Hon.” Malon said gently, reaching up to gently run her thumb over his forehead, trying to smooth out his worry lines. “I’ve met you. I know that if some great and terrible evil raises its head, you won’t be able to stay away, and you’ll only torture yourself by trying.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone here.” he grit out.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’ve got the ranch handled. You do what you need to do, and keep an eye on Pink-Link. Maybe get him some trousers.”
Time did huff a laugh at this, and if there were tears in his eye as he did, Malon didn’t mention them, if only because he had said nothing about the tears in her eyes.
“Just promise me one thing.” she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, eyes closed once again as she listened to the sound of his heartbeat. “Come back alive. Whatever this is, it doesn’t need all of you. Do what you have to do and come back home safe.”
Time kissed her hair and held her tighter than ever. He didn’t respond out loud, but they both knew his response anyway. As long as he could come home, he always would.
The next morning dawned bright and grey, with the rain reduced to a persistent drizzle. Legend had found himself sleeping better than expected in the cosy little room, and by the time he made his way downstairs for breakfast Malon and Time were already up and about their business. Damn ranchers and their early mornings.
He noticed that there was a bag packed next to the door, next to a shield and the singular largest sword Legend had ever seen. In the kitchen, Malon was setting out a huge breakfast and gestured to him to pull up a chair. Beside him, Time was dressed in a set of full plate armour (where did this guy get golden armour?), rancher persona set fully aside.
“I take it we’re heading off then.” Legend more said than asked, digging into his fried cuccos eggs and bacon.
Time nodded. “I thought we should head to Castle Town. I may not know what’s going on, but Zelda might. It’s as good a place to start as any.” he did not seem particularly enthusiastic as he said it, but it didn’t seem worth bringing up.
Legend hummed. He was right, it was a good plan, and he wasn’t going to deny it. They finished the rest of their breakfast with a light, only slightly forced chatter. Malon insisted they both took seconds and when they were too full to take any more, she pressed a bundle of provisions into each of their arms.
“You both look after yourselves out there.” She told them as they donned their packs and picked up their swords (Time’s massive sword was strapped to his back like it weighed nothing). “Don’t do anything stupid. I know what you hero-types are like.”
Time laughed and pulled her into an embrace. Legend politely moved to the gate to let them say their goodbyes in privacy. He could hear their voices as they exchanged a few sentences and then Time joined him at the boundary of the ranch in the drizzle. His jaw was set in an expression of resignation that seemed all too familiar as he secured his pack to his horse. He wouldn’t be riding her - they’d both agreed that they would walk - but there was no point in carrying their packs when they could give them to Epona.
Gradually, the ranch disappeared into the drizzle behind them, and Legend decided to broach a subject he had been stuck on since breakfast,
“So you have a Zelda too, then?”
Time huffed a laugh, a smile finally cracking through his grim expression.. “It’s a constant, I think. Any other Links I’ve met have also had a Zelda.”
Legend took a beat.
“Well this is going to get confusing in a hurry.” when he got a questioning look from Time he hastened to explain himself. “If we pick up any other Links.”
“Think we will?”
“Wouldn’t bet against it.”
There were a few moments of silence while the two of them mulled this over. Then, finally, Time spoke, so quietly that Legend almost missed it.
“I’m too old for this.”
Legend fought back a grin. Maybe their names wouldn’t become so confusing after all.
“Don’t worry.” he sympathised, patting the older hero on the arm. “I’ll make sure you get your daily nap, Old Man.”
“You little-”
Legend barely dodged Time’s swipe. Yep. That name was sticking around.