Archive of Our Own

It isn’t the first time he’s been spotted standing in one place, staring blankly. 

It isn’t the first time he’s looked at the figure of Calamity Ganon circling Hyrule castle and felt dread pooling in his stomach.

His neck itches and tingles and burns with the memory of scars long past, as he watches the Guardians crawling the bridges and walls connecting the once-upon-a-time marvel of architecture.

His hands twitch, missing something. He just can’t seem to grasp what it is they want, his memory comes up blank. An event that’s happening way too much for his liking, he finds. They long for something familiar, but no matter how many cliffs he climbs and jobs he does, the feeling doesn’t stop.

The only thing that has been familiar to Link in this world has been the sense of duty weighing on his shoulders, heavy enough to crack collarbones. Yet, he never can find it in himself to fulfill the only thing he has ever known.

He stills, feeling the wind pass him by, watching as the loose strands of his hair stick to his sweat covered forehead. He isn’t really there, though. Not fully. He feels as though he never has been.

Champion, part of his soul stirs and murmurs to him. It’s a moment before he pins it down as Daruk’s voice. (How cruel is it that he can’t even remember his own friend’s cadence of speaking?) What are we waiting for? The words hold no mirth, none of the typical teasing or brotherly scolding commonly associated with the feelings of protection-safety-hope-comfort that pours from Daruk’s soul and into Link’s. 

These words aren’t lovingly concerned, much like a gentle hand on the shoulder before a confrontation. They’re unsettled, by both the circumstances and the world at large.

Link doesn’t respond, his ears pressing flatly to the side of his head. He doesn’t lift his hands to respond or think in the direction he keenly knows Daruk is in, instead, he pushes his feelings of apprehension from his mind and into the space between them.

The air shifts, and Link can almost remember the feeling of Daruk moving closer leaning against him comfortingly. We’ve done all that we can. There is no more work to be done other than face the problem head on.

Daruk is trying to be comforting, Link knows it. He knows he should smile, nod, and set off for the final battle. His feet don’t move, regardless of how much he knows this. Regardless of how much the concept of following orders and duty should be burned into him.

Having second thoughts, Champion? Revali’s sour voice pushes into the conversation. In tow, the familiar feeling of Urbosa’s spirit rears and smothers whatever prideful feelings Revali was about to flaunt. There’s a silent argument between the two, before both feelings leave.

Little guy! Daruk’s affectionate nickname feels more wrong than it should. We’ve seen you in battle, Ganon has nothing against you. 

Link has to purse his lips in order to stop himself from frowning.

This time, he raises his hands to respond. “What if I’m not ready?” He tries to hide the fear causing his hands to shake, if only for appearances. The Champions always seemed to be able to read his hands, no matter how awful he actually signed. He supposes that was divine intervention on Hylia’s part.

You are. You do not lack any physical prowess, and should the worst come to worst, you have us here with you, Urbosa’s spirit returns, Revali’s is silent, but Link can still feel him keeping a burning stare into his very being.

He can almost imagine Daruk clapping him excessively on the shoulder, from the way he shouts Yeah! Something close to a smile tugs at his lips from the idea, but it’s dragged away before long. Zelda’s already weakened him. So, you’ll be able to beat him like nothing!

This, of course, does nothing to calm Link’s worries. In fact, he begins to chew on his own lip as the anxiety he knows is radiating off of him and well into the Champion’s radar. He worries, for too many reasons to count.

“What if I fail? I have already done so once. We have no room for mistakes here.” His frown deepens as his hands form the words. “Zelda has held Him for so long, I can not risk another hundred years healing.”

Images of wrecked towns fill his mind, the scent of smoke and wreckage and sweat and burnt flesh try to push their way through to him. The memory whispers and tugs, begging Link to come view it once more.

He refuses. He has already lived through that moment, he will not watch his death again. 

I have not believed in anyone more than I have believed in you, Link.

The lack of title brings him back from his swarming memories, the soft voice slowing his forever-racing heart. Mipha, he thinks distantly, you can always trust Mipha.

His hands shake, as he struggles to think of a response. He lifts them, time and time again, to try and formulate a defense.

You have won against the blights, you have brought peace unto so many parts of Hyrule., Mipha continues. Part of Link snorts at the rewording of the Goddesses farewells, but he’ll never say that aloud. If there is anyone who can bring an end to the tireless battle, it is you. She finishes.

(It subtly strikes him then, just how similar Mipha and Sidon truly are, as he remembers having this exact conversation once. They each carry their own full-hearted encouragement.)

If only talented birds sang, the forest would be dead quiet. Wouldn’t you say?

Link frowns at Revali’s words, wordlessly wondering what the phrase meant. Maybe it was a Rito thing. Revali was the one Link was most surprised by in terms of speech patterns, so it wouldn’t be a first he said something Link didn’t fully understand.

Ha! For once, I find myself agreeing with Revali. Urbosa barks a laugh. Daruk makes a rumbling noise, something they’ve grown to know as a chuckle. It reverberates through Link’s body, and seems to settle his shoulders. 

“That isn’t just it.” He frowns as he feels the Champion’s spirits press closer, like they’re leaning over his shoulder in interest. His hands come to a still, and he wishes for once that they couldn’t read hands, if only so that they’d never know what he had to say.

Go on, Mipha prompts in that gentle voice that radiates peace-gentle-kind-soft, the way her soul has always felt like cool water lapping at his feet. We have the time. I promise you.

Link’s mind softly tells him that it’s already been a century. It tells him that by making Zelda wait he is decreasing his winning chances. That he is cruel for forcing her to hold on for that much longer.

He looks down at his hands, still and shaking, before he can finally will them to take his thoughts and turn them into symbols. 

“I worry about what comes after.” Defeating the Calamity is one thing, learning to live is whole other. “I do not know what comes next, and for that reason, I am… terrified.” His hands stumble over the last phrase.

Link has always been afraid of the unknown, as much as he hates to admit it.

“I’ve spent so long preparing for this. I only know how to survive, how to prepare for the next big challenge. Once this is all over, what am I meant to do?” Link tries to numb his mind as he signs, he tells himself if he doesn’t think about the words, they’ll come out easier. That wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to himself for his own comfort.

That does not matter. Daruk rumbles from beside him, though Link cannot see the physical manifestation of his spirit. What matters is that we get things done. There will be time for breaks after the Calamity is over. 

Mipha’s soothing aura settles in front of him, and Link can almost imagine her gently kneeling to avoid bending her jewelry or wrinkling her sash. You will learn to live. I trust that people will assemble to help after the threat of Calamity is purged. The burden will no longer be only yours to bear. You are in all of Hyrule’s good spirits, they will want to help you. They always have.

In any other universe, Link knows she would take one of his hands in both of hers, gently brushing her fingers over his scarred skin. She does not in this one. She cannot, and she never will again. 

Daruk makes a noise of agreement, And Zelda will be there! She’s probably made plans already, knowing the little princess! She’ll be excited to see you, and then you’ll see that things will be okay. (Somewhere, Revali murmurs a snide comment.)

He shifts his weight between the balls of his feet, glancing away. It’s a sore attempt of him hiding the anxiety that writhes and snakes through his whole body before settling around his throat. The thought of Zelda shouldn’t make him feel like this. After all she’s done for him, he should be excited or grateful at the prospect of seeing her again.

Now, he just feels like he might throw up, if the bile rising in his throat is anything to go by.

“What if she isn’t happy to see me?” He regrets the words as soon as his hands are still. The air around him stiffens. “I will fail her expectations, won’t I?”

What would make you think that? Urbosa offers, in the logical-prepared-mighty-strong way she always has approached problems. 

Link tilts his head, a habit he learned was highly similar to the ranch dogs when they watched the stablehands. “I am different now. The ‘me’ in her memories is not the same as the ‘me’ I am now,”

(He doesn’t realize it, but the way he signs in reference to himself formally, like ‘me’ and ‘Link’ are completely different people, doesn’t go unnoticed by the Champions.)

“She will expect her knight.” Link no-longer bears that title. He’d lost it when he’d fallen in battle. The people of Hyrule still called him as such, but no longer did the little Koroks call him ‘Sir Hero’, they’d taken to calling him ‘Wildling’ since he’d emerged from the Shrine. 

And her knight will be there. Urbosa gently assures. People change, especially if it’s been more than 100 years since they last saw them. Our little bird will understand that, I’m sure of it.

Her words do nothing to stop the war raging inside Link, the one where two parts of his mind (one from a near century ago and the other freshly formed) argue with each other. 

“Zelda…” He finger-spells her name, instead of using the sign Purah had taught him (Z-scholar, the one he didn’t deserve to use after failing her) when he first came across her lab. “Zelda was stuck in the past, long before the Calamity erupted. I do not think she has the chance to change as the world has. She will be scared.”

It was a common misconception that abused animals will bond, that they would stick together, that they would not snarl or bare teeth against each other. Link did not want to be a victim to that. 

She will be scared. You are right in that regard, Urbosa’s spirit settles on his shoulders like hands, but she will need you to help her with that fear. Show her what you see in the world. Show her that destruction can bring growth and goodness. That if her land can recover, then so may she.

Link almost stops breathing. He bites his lip, waiting until he can taste blood to let go.

“I don’t know, I’m not good at this-” He starts, before Revali cuts in, a sense of pride-joy-accomplishment-fulfillment flooding Link’s senses.

With all due respect, which I have little of for you, he starts, almost angrily, you have built towns, united families, found full-on historical artifacts from the Heroes of Past, and that’s just scratching the surface of what you’ve accomplished in this short time. Zelda would be thrilled to learn about any of it.

And! Mipha speaks, after a lull in conversation, The people will be there for you. You have homes offered unto you in every settlement in Hyrule. They would be glad to host you.

There’s something wet on his face now, tears, he thinks vaguely, he is crying. Link leans forward, arms coming to wrap around himself as his throat struggles to get enough air in around the intense pressure. 

“Thank you.” He signs, one of the first phrases he remembers learning. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The movement is easy, repetitive, and gives him something to do.

There we go. Urbosa says softly, Daruk humming in agreement. We wouldn’t be very good Champions if we weren’t able to give our everything to Hyrule, including our support.

Once the thank yous stop spilling out of Link, he straightens his back, sets his shoulders, and looks back to Hyrule Castle.

Calamity Ganon still looms over it, and he still feels that familiar dread in his stomach, but it’s manageable. He can cope with it. He can set it to the side, because for now he has a duty. 

If there's one thing Link has ever known in his life, it is duty. Duty is a familiar friend to him, a comforting weight like a sword strapped to his back. He knows duty, sometimes more than he knows himself.