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Link pressed his horse to run faster. It was a rainy and overcast day, the sky sending down cascades of water every so often. The raindrops fell in puddles on the muddy road only to be sent flying by Epona’s hooves.
Link pretended not to notice his rain-heavy cloak and soaked tunic. It was cold but he could manage. The same couldn’t be said for the northern keep if reinforcements didn’t arrive soon.
Link didn’t like to think about it, but it was entirely possible that it might already be too late. The courier had taken two days to reach the eastern keep where Link, Mask, and Tune were stationed with news of the enemy attack. It had taken them and twenty men two days more to get this far.
A billow of smoke rose above the tree line on the horizon. It almost blended in with the clouds. The fact that anything at all was burning in this weather was a bad sign in Link’s opinion. He signaled his men to stop. Tune’s horse trotted up to Epona.
“Doesn’t look good,” the pirate remarked. His unruly mop of blond curls was weighed down by the water.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed. Normally Link tried to refrain from damaging morale in his men – it was, after all, his job as a captain to make sure that everyone was performing their best. With Tune it was different, though. He had already been through several quests, and despite not knowing the details Link felt quite confident that he was used to terrible odds. Bad news wouldn’t send him panicking like it would some of the ordinary soldiers. It came with the so-called hero gig.
And Link had, admittedly, grown close to the sailor. He liked all his men, of course, but with the turncoats among them it was difficult to really let his guard down. Tune and Mask were different. They were like him. They were his brothers; he was their legal guardian. He could trust them in a way he could trust almost no one else.
“What are we waiting for, then?” Mask asked. He looked ridiculously small on his horse despite having been given the smallest one. Link opted not to tell him that. It wouldn’t go over well.
“We have to decide on a plan of action,” Link said. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.” Normally they’d have sent scouts ahead of them to explore the terrain, but due to the urgency of the situation there hadn’t been time. Link wanted nothing more than to rush into battle, but he was well aware that would be foolish.
“A battle, probably,” Mask said indifferently.
“He’s right, Mask,” Tune sided. “An easy battle can be lost by using a bad strategy.”
That was the advantage of Tune being just a few years older than Mask. While Mask was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, he still had a lot to learn about life. Some things were just learned through experience. Link wondered what Tune knew of strategy, though. He sounded like someone who had been taught and, as far as Link knew, pirates didn’t usually concern themselves with classes in military tactics.
“We’ll proceed with caution,” Link decided. “That will also give us time to send out scouts.”
Link ignored how Mask bounced in his saddle with anticipation. Instead, he pointed out two of the soldiers and sent them off. He couldn’t ask Mask to scout ahead, he reasoned. If Mask saw an enemy, it was entirely possible he would engage them. Which wasn’t exactly desirable if Link wanted to do a surprise attack on the enemy forces. And okay, he was, admittedly, worried about Mask’s safety.
The sky was beginning to grow dark when the scouts returned. The reinforcements had indeed been too late; the northern keep was lost. There was hope that some of the soldiers stationed there had been successful in fleeing. The scouts had found a track which led south from the keep. If there had indeed been survivors, it would make sense for them to move toward friendly territory in the south. If there hadn’t, then the tracks could be a sign of the enemy preparing to make a move on Castle Town. Link decided to turn to the track with haste. The keep would have to wait.
The next day Link and his men caught up to the people who had made the track. Enemy scouts, no more than ten men. Link kept his expression on his face calm through sheer willpower, but he felt a heavy stone of despair sink into his stomach. There would at most be a handful of survivors from the keep then, probably scattered to the wind. The number of soldiers stationed in the keep had been smaller than to the east and south where most of the fighting had taken place, but this would be a devastating blow to the Hyrulean army, not to mention the staggering loss of human life. There wasn’t much to do about that now, however. Cia was clearly hoping to use this opportunity to press south toward Castle Town and that had to be prevented at all costs. The keep was the best defensive position in the area. Somehow, they would have to retake it.
After having dealt with the enemy scouts, Link sent two of his own men off. Trusted men, on whom he could rely. Or as trusted as the situation allowed for. Link never fully trusted anyone but a select few people, but he needed to send couriers to General Impa and Her Majesty about the development at the keep and he couldn’t send Tune or Mask. He needed them here with him. Because they were invaluable in battle, he told himself. Not just because he wanted to keep them in sight, though that was undeniably a bonus.
They set up camp in a small clearing, most of the ensemble in a foul mood. Link put a strict no-fire policy in place, considering they were so few. Fire attracted unwanted attention and they couldn’t afford that tonight. So, dinner was a cold and uninteresting affair consisting of their most boring rations. The ground was still wet and muddy from the repeated rainfall. And as icing on the cake Link insisted they double the watch – they were in enemy territory now that the keep had fallen, after all.
Link lay awake that night, thinking about his family. The keep wasn’t far from his hometown. So far his mama and sisters had been safe from the war. There was always the shortage of food and supplies which came with conflict, of course, but they had been physically safe from the fighting until now. That might change if Link didn’t deal with this swiftly. Link buried his head in his pillow and cursed himself for being such a useless son.
The next day the battalion moved north once again, hoping to cut off any enemy forces before they got too far into Hyrulean territory. Link kept them from the keep itself, however. It would be futile to attack it without reinforcements, no matter how antsy Mask was getting from the anticipation. It was two more days before a larger force of friendly troops arrived from the south. With them came the soldier Link had sent to Castle Town with news for Her Majesty. He carried with him orders from the queen herself to retake the keep through any means necessary.
“Stop tryin’ to push me away,” Tune grumbled and pulled Link’s arm back over his shoulders. “That leg will only get worse if ye keep trying t’walk on it.”
“I’m fine,” Link panted, though he didn’t feel like it. He had a bloody gash across his thigh, and while it was nothing life-threatening, it hurt like hell. Volga had been among the forces at the keep and he had managed to graze Link with his spear before Mask intervened. The younger hero hadn’t left his side since and now he trailed behind Link and Tune, scowling all the while.
“You’re not,” Mask hissed, but Link recognized the harsh tone as his younger brother being worried.
Tune kicked open the door to their room. While most soldiers in the army slept in dormitories or shared tents, Link, Tune, and Mask had gotten their own quarters fairly early into the war. General Impa had deemed it a priority after the second attempt on Link’s life when it became clear that it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. It was easier for him to stay safe if no one but Mask and Tune were around him while he slept.
Tune let go of him as they reached one of the bunks. Link gratefully let himself sink down onto the mattress.
“Ye better get yerself a red potion,” the pirate said, slightly out of breath from half-carrying the captain.
“I’m fine,” Link repeated and tried for a smile. Based on his brothers’ unimpressed expressions, he gathered they didn’t buy his lie. He sighed.
“Supplies are a little unsteady right now. I’ll have a potion if there are any left when everyone else has been treated.”
“When everyone in critical condition has been treated,” Tune corrected. He didn’t pursue the subject any further, however. Instead, he turned to the door when someone knocked. Mask put his hand on his sword.
Part of Link wanted to comfort Mask and joke that an assassin probably wouldn’t bother knocking. Another part wanted to draw his own sword, or at least one of the knives he kept in his boots. He did neither as Tune opened the door.
Outside was a soldier. He carried a package under his arm, a letter tucked under the twine which kept the wrapping together. Link recognized him as the man who had carried Queen Zelda’s message to retake the keep.
The soldier stood at attention and couldn’t quite meet Link’s eyes.
“Sorry to bother you, sir! I carry a package and a letter addressed for you.”
Link frowned. “A letter and a package? How did you get those?”
The soldier’s cheeks reddened. “I had them with me from Castle Town yesterday, sir. Along with Her Majesty’s orders.”
“How come I haven’t heard of it until now, then?”
“I forgot in the commotion before the battle. I’m sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused you, sir.”
Link assured him it was alright but made a mental note not to trust that soldier anymore. It might have been an honest mistake, but even those were dangerous in a military camp. He could also have withheld the post on purpose, a tiny voice whispered in Link’s head. For the nefarious purpose of … doing something which might turn the war in Cia’s favor. Even Link’s paranoid brain couldn’t come up with a believable theory.
Tune carried the package over to Link when the soldier was gone. Link curiously turned it in his hands. It was bulky and fairly light, perhaps a new tunic or cape. He took the letter and looked at the seal. The letter T was crudely imprinted in the wax. Link felt his breath hitch slightly.
“Will you two go out and find me a few oranges for dinner?” he asked. Mask opened his mouth to protest, but Tune cut him off, a knowing look in his eyes.
“Sure, come on, Mask. We’ll see if we can find ye a potion, too.” The sailor led Mask out the door and closed it behind them.
Link turned back to his letter, letting his careful expression fall now that he was alone. His family didn’t have a seal, but his mama tried to use her knitting needles to form a T in the wax every time she sent a letter. So that he’d know it was from them.
Link stared at the wax for a moment more before he gently broke it and unfolded the letter.
Dearest Link,
I wasn’t sure where you’re stationed these days, so I didn’t know where to send the letter. In the end I decided to send it to Castle Town, where it will hopefully reach someone who can pass it on. I hope it reaches you.
I was relieved to hear that you’re doing alright. Here, things are mostly the same. We don’t have as many customers in the store these days. I think people have less money to spend on clothes with the war going on. Don’t worry about us, though. We’ll pull through.
In the package you’ll find a gift from all seven of us. Emmalina wove it, but we’ve all pitched in to buy the color and dye it. We hope you like it. We wanted you to have something to remind you of home.
Love, mama
Link untied the twine and undid the package’s wrapping. Inside was something soft and blue. He held it out at an arm’s length. A scarf.
He pulled it close to his face and breathed deeply. It even smelled of home – oranges and freshly tilled soil. A burning sensation crawled up his throat. He hadn’t visited his family home since enlisting a year ago. He was an awful son and brother, too scared to face his family at all. And yet his sisters and his mama had taken the time and effort to make him something to remind him of them. A scarf to hold onto when the going got tough. Link was suddenly very happy he’d sent Tune and Mask out of the room. He laid down on the bed and cried.
“Wild!”
Warriors’ cry came out slightly more strangled than he’d wanted it to. He generally tried to remain calm in front of the others, Time being the only exception. He saw it as his job as the self-appointed older brother.
They were currently visiting Hyrule’s era, which was, in Warriors’ opinion, objectively the worst era of them all. The place was crawling with monsters and even the hylians backstabbed each other without a second thought. Today had lived up to Warriors’ expectations so far – it hadn’t even been lunchtime before the Chain was attacked by a large group of monsters.
Wind, Four, and Sky had been injured in the battle to various degrees. Wind had several bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. Four was down with a concussion. Sky had taken an arrow to the shoulder. Needless to say, the Chain wouldn’t be travelling any more today.
Warriors and Wild were currently on patrol duty, Hyrule, Twilight, Time, and Legend occupied with the wounded. Their only job was to make sure the area was clean of monsters so that they wouldn’t be attacked again later the same day. But of course, it was never that easy.
The lizalfos had come out of nowhere. Two of them, both bleeding black blood when Warriors and Wild managed to hit them. On a normal day, two lizalfos pumped up on black blood shouldn’t have been too much of a problem for two members of the Chain. Warriors and Wild were already exhausted from the earlier battle, however, not to mention being on the road for three weeks straight without a single break. So, in a moment of distraction, one of the lizalfos managed to slice its jagged boomerang across Wild’s abdomen. The teen made a noise that sounded more like something coming from someone surprised than someone in pain. Then his legs gave out beneath him.
Fear and desperation fuelled Warriors as he cried out. He managed to cleave his own foe with a single well-timed attack. Meanwhile, Wild’s lizalfos struck again, but Wild’s sudden fall luckily saved his head from being cut clean off. Warriors leapt in front of Wild and took the brunt of the next jab with his shield. He pushed back, forcing the lizalfos to back away from his brother. It hissed in anger, then opened its jaws and dove forward in an effort to bite Warriors. He rolled out of the way. Halfway through his roll he struck out with his sword. The lizalfos gave a pained scream and turned to dust.
Warriors hurried back to Wild, who was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The wound itself was obscured by his torn tunic and the red fluid streaming from his body. His breaths were shallow and quick. Warriors knelt by his side.
“Shit,” he muttered, while his gaze flickered across his brother’s fallen form. There was so much blood. A red ocean which threatened to drown him.
Death is a part of life, an unhelpful voice whispered in the back of his mind. It sounded like the army therapist, with whom he had been forced to have a session every time yet another of his comrades had died in the war. The sessions had never really paid off. Warriors told the voice to shut the fuck up. Wild wasn’t going to die.
“I’m cold,” Wild whispered.
“I know,” Warriors said in a sympathetic voice and turned to rummage through his pouch. “Hang on for a second, alright?”
They had left most of their medical supplies with the rest in case Four, Sky, or Wind needed them, but surely, he had one left … there! He triumphantly pulled a red potion out and uncorked it with shaky hands. Everything would be alright. Wild would drink the potion. It would be alright.
Warriors supported Wild’s head as he drank. A few droplets trickled out the corner of his mouth, and Warriors gently wiped them away. The pouring blood slowed. The gash still wasn’t healed, Wild would need both more potions and physical rest for that to happen, but he wouldn’t bleed out. Warriors let out a sigh of relief.
He took a few seconds to breathe through the terror of having almost lost one of his brothers again. It was frightening how often they seemed to have those close calls. Expected given their occupation, perhaps, but each time was terrifying all the same. He mostly tried to be calm about it. He was, after all, the team’s field medic and self-appointed older brother. He was supposed to be calm and comforting. But damn, this was giving him grey hairs ahead of time.
“Wild?” Warriors asked, partly because the teen had closed his eyes and partly because he wanted to assure his own beating heart that the danger was over.
“Mm.”
“Hey, Wild, don’t fall asleep on me. I need to take a look on your wound and then we have to get back to camp, okay?”
Wild nodded slowly.
“I’m gonna lift your tunic. This might pull a little at the wound.”
Wild’s breath hitched as Warriors lifted the shirt away from his abdomen. It was a single, jagged cut across the stomach, but it luckily didn’t look too deep now that the potion had done its work. Warriors wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to carry Wild back to camp, though. The likelihood of that ruining everything the potion had fixed was pretty good in his opinion.
He looked through his pouch again. No bandages. He cursed at himself. He should know better than to leave camp with so few supplies. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
His gaze wandered, searching for anything he might be able to use. It would have to be some kind of cloth, large enough to rip into proper bandages. Something relatively clean, preferably. His stomach dropped. The answer was staring him right in the face.
“I’m gonna bandage your wound now,” he said and tried to keep his voice light. He didn’t exactly succeed, his words sounded strained. But there was no getting around it. His brother needed him, and Warriors wouldn’t let him down.
With trembling hands, he unclasped his scarf and held it out in front of him. Deep blue despite everything it had been through. His last memory of home, his last tie to the family he hadn’t seen in almost a decade. He grabbed the edge of it with two hands and started pulling.
The blue cloth held for a moment, then ripped with a loud sound that almost rivalled the sound of Warriors’ breaking heart. Wild opened his eyes again, no doubt wondering what was going on, and gasped.
“No, no, don’t!” he panted like he was out of breath. His eyes were wide open, his face frozen in panic. He weakly raised his right arm in an attempt to stop the captain but didn’t have the strength to do it.
“It’s alright,” Warriors said, holding up his hands to look comforting and non-threatening. The fact that he was still holding the torn fabric in said hands greatly diminished the comforting gesture, and Wild kept struggling to get up.
Warriors placed a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder to keep him down.
“I still need to bandage that wound,” he said.
“Your scarf,” Wild said.
“I’ll get a new one,” Warriors said, though he knew very well it couldn’t be replaced. No reason to tell Wild that, though.
“Won’t be the same.”
Wild looked at him stubbornly, holding out his arms trying to fend off Warriors’ newly made bandages. Warriors considered pointing out that now the scarf was torn, they might as well use it. They couldn’t exactly sew it back together.
“No, it won’t,” he said instead.
“You care about that scarf.”
“I do,” Warriors confirmed. “But I care more about you, Wild. I can live without the scarf. I can’t live without my brother.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then Wild relented and let Warriors wrap him in the blue cloth.
Warriors found himself reaching for his scarf only to find it wasn’t there several times during the next few days. It was weird not wearing it; it had been draped around his neck almost constantly ever since he got it. It felt …unsafe. Wrong.
The scarf had come to symbolize a great deal of things during the time he’d had it. It was his good-luck charm in battle. It was the symbol of his status in his own era. It was the proof of his family’s love despite everything he had put them through.
Warriors tried not to let his downcast mood show, but he saw Wild shoot him several guilty looks. The champion was no doubt feeling somewhat responsible for the untimely end of Warriors’ beloved scarf. He didn’t quite know how to tell the teen not to worry about it. If the choice was between his scarf and any of his brothers … well, it wasn’t much of a choice, really.
It was late afternoon, when Wild sought out Warriors himself. The sun had passed behind a cloud and it was chilly for a summer’s day. Warriors thought longingly about his warm scarf.
The conversation started roughly the way he had expected it to.
“So,” the cook said, nervously bouncing on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with his restless energy, “I never really said thanks for getting me back to camp.”
Warriors shrugged. “You don’t have to. I’m just glad it worked out. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m alright, thanks.”
There was an awkward pause in which both wondered how to breach the real point of the conversation.
“So, uh, about your scarf,” Wild finally said. “I spoke to Time.”
Huh. That wasn’t what Warriors had expected him to say.
“And I think I finally understand why it meant so much to you,” he continued.
Warriors subconsciously reached for his scarf for comfort, but obviously didn’t find it. He rubbed the back of his neck instead like that was what he had wanted to do the whole time. Wild didn’t seem to buy it.
“Time told me it was a gift from your family,” Wild said. “And that you don’t really see them anymore.”
Warriors’ head snapped towards him with a sudden intensity as he wondered how many of his secrets Time had been dishing out to everyone else. Wild seemed to get the message and hurried to add, “he didn’t give any details! He just said the scarf held great sentimental value!”
“Yeah, well, he was right,” Warriors said with a slightly bitter chuckle. He looked his brother in the eye. “But I don’t regret it, Wild. Like I said the other day, you matter to me. More than the scarf did.”
“You matter to me too,” the cook said quietly, and Warriors smiled a genuine smile. Social interactions didn’t come naturally to Wild, probably by virtue of him having a total of one and a half year of memories. It meant a lot to Warriors that he went out of his way to make sure he really was okay despite the scarf.
“I know an item like that can’t just be replaced,” Wild said, hands fidgeting with his slate. “But the others and I bought this today, before we left town.”
Blue sparks fizzled across his hands and piece of cloth materialized out of thin air. Warriors took it gently from the champion and held it out in front of him. It wasn’t entirely blue. Instead, grey, black, and blue patterns swiveled across it, weaving intricate patterns on the fabric.
“It isn’t homemade like yours was,” Wild hurried to say. “And I know it isn’t the same, but I thought you might like to have a scarf to wear, you know, when it’s cold and everything…”
“Wild,” Warriors cut him off, before his words turned into full-blown rambling. “I love it. Thank you.”
Wild smiled a nervous smile, which grew wider and more genuine as Warriors fastened the scarf around his shoulders.
It was funny, Warriors thought. His old scarf had been a reminder of his family’s love and when he lost it, it had felt like losing his family all over. Now he had a new family and a new scarf, and it felt great to know he was loved so much that they went out of their way to get him such a personal gift.
He threw his arm around Wild’s shoulders. “Whaddya say? Want some help with dinner?”
Wild lit up in a grin. “Sure thing.”
Together, the two of them made for the cooking pot.