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Link is not like the other children.
He is nearly six years old, and he barely speaks. He spends his time alone, preferring the company of the rustling leaves and chirping birds to the excitement of his noisy peers. Danger lurks beneath the shade of the woods, but Link does not fear the dark, at ease amongst the strange energy of the forest.
Changeling, the other mothers whisper when they think she isn't listening. Fae.
Medilia doesn't believe in such stories. But sometimes, she wonders.
"Link!" she calls out, pushing past unsuspecting market-goers in her panic. "Have you seen my son?"
The fruit vendor shrugs. Medilia's motherly instincts clamor for the man's blood, but her more reasonable side reminds her that she's questioned him four times already. Her repeated attempts have availed no new information.
No matter how hard she tries to keep track of the boy, Link always slips away. She'd squeezed his hand tight, keeping him in her line of sight, but with a single distraction, just one wayward glance, he was gone. She's lost him, perhaps, this time for good–
"Ma'am?" someone prods.
"Have you seen him?" She whips around, voice pitching in her frenzy.
"No," the woman grimaces at the sight of her wild expression. Medilia almost walks away. "But–that son of yours, isn't he always playing near the woods?"
Of course. Medilia bites her tongue to keep herself from screaming.
"Just might be worth checkin' there, is all…" the woman mutters. Medilia mumbles out a thanks, too frazzled to focus on anything but her son and her frantic rush to his side.
He is there, unsurprisingly–staring into the woods with a far-off look–but he isn't alone. A small ball of light with crystalline wings, similar to a large butterfly, flutters near his head.
"Link!" Medilia howls, tugging off one of her sandals and hurling it at the creature. The fairy shrieks, the makeshift weapon barely scraping its delicate form, then darts away into the forest with an angry chime. Link turns his head as if finally noticing her, expression bewildered.
"Don't ever go near those things!" she scolds. "They're dangerous! Do you understand?"
They'll take you back, her fears scrape against her throat, unspoken.
Flinching at her harsh tone, Link's lips tremble, eyes watering. Anxious rage abates, replaced with guilt, and she gathers her son into her arms.
"I'm sorry," she says, cradling him close to her chest. "I didn't mean to yell. I just want to keep you safe."
Link hugs her back, sniffling into the thin material of her dress. He understands, she realizes. Maybe better than she does.
Link rocks back and forth on his heels, restless energy buzzing beneath his skin. Mom won't let him play outside on his own–too dangerous, she claims, but she can't entertain him right now, either. She hunches over the stove, intently stirring a pot over the heat. He tugs at her skirt.
"Dinner will be done in an hour," she answers, knowing his question without him even asking it.
He huffs, ambles over to the windowsill, and curls up against the wall. An hour is a really long time. He stares at the clock, the pendulum swinging back and forth with a tick, tick, tick , but the hands barely creep forward.
He wishes he were outside. Outside, in that endless expanse of new and interesting things to be discovered. There, you can run around as much as you want, and nobody ever scolds you for it. Unless, of course, you stray too close to the woods.
A chime rings out from amongst the trees. Link raises his head to look out the window, questioning.
Little brother, the light blue flame calls out, flickering gently in the wind, won't you come out and play?
Link glances back to his mother, still stirring the pot. She hasn't noticed his friend yet–can't seem to hear them. Carefully, he crawls onto the windowsill and peeks his head out.
"I can't," he whispers. Despite the distance between them, the fairy hears him perfectly.
Just for a little bit! they plead.
He glances back again. Still stirring, still looking down. He swings his legs over the windowsill and slips outside.
"What game?" he asks, pushing aside overgrown branches as he follows the dancing light into the woods.
Hide-and-seek, the wisp answers, tinkling like a bell. I'll hide, and you seek!
He nods, grin tugging at his cheeks. This is much better than sitting back at home, waiting.
Count to ten, the wisp directs, splitting into four distinct sparks. And no peeking!
Link does as directed, counting the numbers under his breath. When he opens his eyes, the tiny lights are nowhere to be seen.
He had thought glowing fire would be easy to find, but he is quickly proven wrong. He searches for a very long time, peering inside tree hollows, lifting up rocks, and rummaging through leaves, but he never finds even a single one of the wisps. His stomach growls, and the sunlight begins to dim.
"I can't find you," he admits. "You win."
The wisp doesn't respond. A cool breeze rustles the leaves overhead, and he shivers. Link rubs his arms in an attempt to warm them up and decides he should head back home.
Except, he can't remember how to get there. He spins, scanning the trees for some sort of clue, but every direction looks the exact same. No matter where he walks, he only finds more forest.
"Hello?" he calls out.
Something distant howls in response. It doesn't sound like any of his friends. Nervous, Link scans the area, but under the rapidly darkening sky, he's having trouble seeing. He tries climbing one of the trees, but he's not strong or tall enough to reach the higher branches.
He finds a hollowed-out stump and squeezes himself inside amongst the rotting plant matter. It's damp and a little itchy, but it's much safer than standing out there. He trembles, stomach aching.
"...Mom," he whispers, voice swallowed by the darkness.
"Hey!" a voice chimes, a small warmth nudging his cheek. Link opens his eyes, his puffy eyelids heavy, and winces at the light of the morning sun. The fairy coos, concerned. "Are you alright?"
He's not. Shivers wrack his thin frame, despite the daylight, and his stomach gnaws at his insides. He doesn't remember falling asleep, only anxiously staring into the night until his body couldn't take it anymore. Everything aches, and he's exhausted, as though he hasn't slept at all.
"Children shouldn't play in the woods," the fairy says, echoing the words and tone of his mother. "Are you lost?"
"Yes," Link admits, voice cracking as it leaves his dry throat. He rubs his face, trying to remove the sticky, dried tears tugging at his skin, but smudges dirt across his cheek instead. The fairy drifts closer, offering what comfort she can.
"I don't know the way to your home," the fairy says, "but I know the way to the Great Fairy's fountain. The Great Fairy knows everything. She can help you."
Perhaps after being led astray once, Link should be more wary, but he isn't. The fairies are his friends, his heart assures him. Some of them are just a bit more mischievous than others.
He staggers to his feet, unsteady. The fairy watches him with patience, flying slowly to ensure Link is following her. Despite his earlier fears, the frightening sounds of the night had fled from the light of the sun, the woods returning to their peaceful, familiar state.
As promised, the fairy guides him to a spring hidden within a small clearing, dappled by soft sun rays and surrounded by the peaceful chirping of songbirds. Many fairies skim along the surface of the water, chattering and giggling. They fall silent at Link's approach, floating a safe distance away to observe their visitor.
"Come along, little brother!" the fairy urges him forward. A woman, much larger than the other fairies, but also much larger than his mother, raises herself from the pool. Despite her entrance, she appears untouched by the world, her hair completely dry where it brushes against her ankles.
"Petal," the woman greets, voice echoing with mystical force. "Who have you brought to the fountain?"
Link shifts behind Petal, overwhelmed by the woman's presence.
"A child," Petal explains. "He's lost. Oh, Great Fairy, can't you help him?"
The Great Fairy's expression softens, gaze warming as she glances him over.
"Of course," she finally says. "This boy is special. Did you feel it?"
"Yes." Petal nods. "He shines."
"He carries the Spirit of the Hero," the Great Fairy explains. "And the Hero is a friend to all fair folk. Of course we will aid him."
The Great Fairy urges him forward, bidding him step into the fountain. The cool water gently laps at his scraped skin, easing his weariness. She places a hand on his shoulder, light but firm, and leans down to address him directly.
"Now, Hero, where is it you are trying to find?" she asks.
"Hero" is a lofty title, one for people on grand adventures or fighting evil. He is simply Link, lost and afraid.
"Home," he answers.
"I see," the Great Fairy chuckles. "And where is home? Is it near these woods?"
He nods.
"There is a village nearby," she explains. "I will bring you there."
"Thank you," Link says. Mom always says you should tell people that when they do something nice for you.
"Of course." The Great Fairy smiles. "For when the day comes when you must set out on your own, I will grant you my blessing. You are one of us, and my kind will always come to your aid."
Link nods. He doesn't fully understand what she's saying, but it seems nice.
"Return home," the Great Fairy says, waving her hand, "and be at ease."
When he blinks, he is no longer in the woods. Instead, he finds himself surrounded by a sparse collection of cottages. A village.
But it isn't his home.
Link wanders the streets aimlessly until someone finally addresses him, concerned to find a child unaccompanied. He struggles to explain his plight through the anxious tightness in his throat, but once he manages it, the man's gaze softens in sympathy. Link can't provide much in the way of direction, but he's certain his home village is somewhere nearby. The man hands him a snack, helps him hitch a ride to the next town over, and wishes him well.
The next town isn't right either, but everyone's heart bleeds for a lost child. They help him along to the next town, and then the next. With each passing day, he gets dirtier and hungrier, the bones of his ribcage beginning to protrude, and the townsfolk become less and less welcoming. No one has any food to spare for the suspicious stray, and he drifts away from civilization, unable to handle their rejection.
The fairies help him along on his journey instead. They explain which plants are safe to eat, heal his wounds, and bring him gifts to keep him going. With their guidance, he travels far–so far that the words of the townsfolk no longer make any sense to him.
Time blurs, but Link hasn't failed to notice the gradual changing of the leaves, the chill in the air–the cruel bite of winter, followed by the warm rays of spring. When he finds home, Dad's weird, bitter juice will probably be ready to bottle. It takes so long to make; Link had always wondered how the man ever had the patience for such a thing.
"But that's why people pay so much for it!" Dad would say.
His heart aches at the memory. The land he's found himself in resembles nothing of home–too dangerous for an adult to travel alone, much less a child. Monsters roam the roads night and day, searching for easy prey. Link knows they wouldn't hesitate to gobble him up in one bite, so he finds them first. Hunting has made him proficient with a bow, and he's quick with a knife.
One day, he comes across a band of monsters, jeering and yowling at something–or some one. Link spots the terrified expression of the old woman and leaps into battle without a second thought. Frightening they may be, monsters are just overgrown bullies. They never expect a small human to be bold enough to get the upper hand on them.
He helps the old woman to her feet, offering her some of his water and spare provisions. She doesn't accept, instead frantically rambling in a language Link doesn't understand. At his confused expression, she pulls out sheets of parchment and begins drawing.
Three triangles. A princess. A monster. A map of some sort, a dungeon hidden in a tree root. She can't ask him directly, but she hopes her message makes it through loud and clear.
Link accepts the quest, and receives his first sword.
Hyrule Castle, for all its glamour, is a poor reward for saving the world. The princess is kind–she's been teaching him Hylian, helping him assimilate, but he just can't get comfortable. The nobles of the court sneer at his dirty clothes and his strange way of speaking, and those who don't instead shower him with useless, shiny things. He hands them off to the staff once they leave, uninterested in the burden of supposedly-valuable treasure.
He longs for the simplicity of the wild, the belonging he'd found amongst the fairies, and the comfort of being understood without ever having to speak. The harsh syllables of Hylian slur off his tongue, and no matter how many times Zelda explains them, he just can't tell the difference between the many vowel sounds, much less pronounce them. Frustrated, he slumps over the desk, head sinking into his arms.
"Your accent really is unusual," Princess Zelda muses. "You said you traveled here by land?"
He nods. He peers out the window over the Hyrulean countryside, flat and plain.
"No Hyrulean province speaks such a language, but none of our neighboring states do, either," she says, considering.
Home had been rolling hills, grazing animals, rows upon rows of vineyards. Or, at least, he thinks it was. His parents are nothing more than a distant haze in his memories now, even less clear than days spent playing by the woods and fairy fountains. Maybe, none of it ever existed in the first place.
Time marches on. New adversities, new adventures, new challenges. Conflicts, faced within himself. Hyrule may not be his home, but it is a land he has come to love nonetheless. He's proud to come to its aid whenever duty calls.
When the swirling dark portal appears, accompanied by strong and unusual monsters, Link happily clears them out and wastes no time directly investigating the source. On the other side, he finds not monsters, but people. Heroes, much like himself.
Compared to them, the humble Hero of Hyrule isn't terribly impressive, but he's competent where it counts. His Hylian lessons finally have a practical use beyond navigating awkward conversations, and the more he practices, the more fluidly it comes to him. He'll probably never lose his accent, but unlike the nobles, the quirky band of travelers comes with many different ways of speaking. He doesn't stand out in the slightest.
"You from out west?" the hero of Legend questions one day–not interrogative, just curious.
"Huh?" Hyrule tilts his head, confused.
"Your accent," Legend clarifies. "There's a small kingdom in the far west of Hyrule. You sound like them."
Hyrule's throat goes dry, mind reeling. His mouth hangs open in his attempt to answer, but all he can think is it's real, it exists–
He knows where it is.
"What's it called?" Hyrule finally asks.
"Calatia," Legend answers, thoroughly confused. "Don't you–?"
Calatia. Calatia. Hyrule laughs in disbelief. This entire time, it's been right there, and he'd never even considered–
"How'd you know?" Hyrule asks. "Princess Zelda didn't even recognize my accent!"
"Well, yeah, I guess she wouldn't," Legend muses. "She only speaks with nobles. In Calatia, the dialects change with every village. Between provinces, they're practically different languages."
Hyrule laughs again, breaths coming in strangled gasps. Legend furrows his brow, concerned.
"Is… something wrong?" he asks.
"No, no," Hyrule says between sobs. "Everything's right."
He has a home. Like Time with Malon, or Sky with his Zelda. Something to look forward to, something to live for.
"Thank you," Hyrule says, voice thick with gratitude. He pulls Legend into a hug, the other boy's eyes widening in surprise. Awkwardly, he hugs Hyrule back, still confused.
Some time later, after goodbyes have been said and Hyrule once again becomes Link, he travels to the west. With nothing but hazy memories from more than a decade ago, his chances of actually finding home are slim. Still, he has never known the meaning of giving up, and doesn't plan to learn today.
He travels to village after village, comparing the musical lilt of their speech to his own, but finds no leads. When he passes through the forest, he confides in the fairies, recounting the few details left from his memories–a fairy named Petal, his parents, the days spent playing by the woods. To his surprise, they recognize them.
"Arn and Medilia, the winemakers!" the Great Fairy smiles fondly. "Their offerings carry such full body and flavor."
Sooner than he ever imagined, and yet too soon, he finds himself walking up the path to the cottage, its shape and finishings familiar yet alien. He's been gone for too long–there's no way to know if he's in the correct place. He steps onto the worn welcome mat and knocks.
The door opens to reveal a man and a woman, middle-aged but lively, and they stare at him, curious and perhaps a bit wary. Link opens his mouth, but no words come out, a familiar anxious tightness gripping his throat. He doesn't see himself in their features, their hair the wrong color, faces the wrong shape. He's in the wrong place–
"Who is it?" a little boy asks, peeking out from behind the woman's skirts. Calmly, she hushes him, urging him to wait just a moment longer, and the gesture is so familiar that it hurts. The dizzying rush of recognition releases his tongue, and he finally speaks.
"Mom, Dad," he chokes out. "I'm home."