Chapter Text
“Goddess alive, Link,” Luv exclaims, one hand on her hip and the other stirring a massive green pot of stamina potion. “You need more potions? What in Hylia’s name are you doing out there?”
Link tries to look sheepish. “A bit of this and that.”
Luv’s unamused stare is what Link imagines a mother’s would be like, but so are the words that follow. “I hope you’re being careful. We all miss Zelda, but I’m sure she’ll be home from her trip soon.”
Zelda is thirteen thousand feet below them, sleeping in glass. She won’t come home until Link finishes his quest. The familiar pang of solitary pricks his chest. Link gives Luv his best smile. “I’m being careful. Thank you.”
Bottles refilled, Link weaves between patrons and picks up his freshly mended shield from Gondo, buys a new crop of bombs, and exchanges some items with Peatrice (as well as finally getting his mended shirt back) when Peatrice says, “What time can you come over for dinner, sweetie?”
Link drops his slingshot. “Huh?”
Peatrice giggles. “Dinner. You have to ask Dad for permission before you propose.”
“I’m—” Link looks over his shoulder for an escape. Batreaux is on the other side of the stuffy bazaar, laughing loudly with a few people. He’s made fast friends, despite his unique appearance. “Peatrice, I’m not sure I—well, I’m really sorry but I don’t—I think we, uh—”
Peatrice giggles again, but this one is less saccharine. It sounds genuine. “Relax, Link. I’m teasing. I know you’re not into girls.”
“You do?” Link asks, relieved. “Wait, how do you know—I mean, I’ve never said—”
“I’m observant. I think Fledge has a little crush on you, if you’re interested.”
Link says wearily, “Fledge has a little crush on everyone.”
Peatrice giggles a third time, leans against her counter and sets her chin in her hand, eyes sparkling. “True. But not everyone leaves Skyloft for days at a time and comes back having gained twenty pounds of muscle. You know you look crazy good, right? Maybe my own knight will come along soon.”
Link’s ears are hot. “I don’t look that different.”
“Ugh, don’t do that. Look in a mirror once in a while. You look good . You’ve filled out. That uniform suits you, and I mean that. Not interested in Fledge? Someone else on your mind? Who’s the lucky guy?”
Link’s whole face is hot. “Peatrice, it’s not like that.”
“Say that when you’re not blushing.” She pats his arm. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough. Be safe out there, yeah? You mean a lot to everyone here.”
Link has the sneaking suspicion Luv has rallied the bazaar business owners for the sake of chastising him, which is oddly endearing. Since his quest to find Zelda began, Link has connected with Skyloft in a way he never thought was possible. Not before he was given the Goddess Sword and named the chosen hero.
Link shakes the thought away before it can turn dark with doubt. Focus. He’s so close to the end.
Link procured part of the Song of the Hero easily from Faron. She was eager to give it, actually, but still forced Link to swim around and collect individual notes for the score like a damn errand boy. Eldin, he hopes, will be easier. After everything Link has done, he deserves to have one part of this task be simple.
Clouds swirl below him as Link’s loftwing glides through the sky. It’s a nice day. Good weather. He’s rested and ready for more. So close to the end. So, so close. Link drinks in clean air, wind combing through his hair, rippling beneath his clothes. He will never not love this feeling. Above the gap that leads down to the volcano, Link pats his loftwing on the neck, smiling at its gentle caw, and leaps.
The sensation of temperature changing from cool to blistering is one that surprises him every time. It wraps around him as he plunges through clouds. It’s dark today. Rivers of sluggish lava glow like veins of fire far below. Ash the size of snowflakes swirl in superheated cross breezes. Something isn’t right. Link deploys his sailcloth, anxious for his feet to touch the ground.
The earth splits apart.
Rumbling, thickening ash and glowing embers. A horrible sound, like the world is shaking apart. Link twists in time to see the crater atop Eldin Volcano explode in a rain of molten rock.
“Fi!” Link shouts over the noise. “What do I do?”
Words, but he can’t hear them. A shower of jagged boulders flies right toward him, some as large as he is. There’s a lake of magma below his feet, the wind only pushing him farther over it. Panic, like none he’s felt. Death by the blade he would take any day to boiling in lava. He has to figure this out, has to move, to—
Darkness.
When Link wakes, the night is black as pitch. Hours, he thinks. He’s been out for hours. A milky film covers his eyes, lashes crusted at the corners. He rubs them clean and takes stock of his injuries. The back of his skull throbs horribly. His hip and back are tender, painful to move. Every joint in his body aches. The volcano erupted. He’s lucky he was close enough to the ground that he didn’t break over the rocks, or fall into a pit of lava and melt. The touch of death is a chill, uneasy thing. Link shivers and gets his bearings.
It’s late. Or maybe with how thickly ash has coated the heavens, it’s early. No way to tell.
“Fi,” Link says, “what time is it?”
This is not the first time after waking up from a deep state of unconsciousness that Fi hasn’t answered Link. But last time, he was in a bed. This time, he’s lying on his belly on a stone floor, solid rock walls on either side of him, a gate blocking the only exit. A cage. He’s in a cage.
“sh*t,” Link murmurs. “Fi? Are you here?”
She’s not. In fact, there’s nothing in this tiny cell save Link and his knight uniform. His bag is gone. His wallet. His bombs. The beetle, clawshot, everything.
“sh*t,” he murmurs again. “sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.”
Link drags himself into a sitting position, wincing at the soreness radiating through his back. The round shape of a bokoblin hovers outside the cell door. Guarding him. Damn volcano. Nothing can be simple, can it? He can’t just collect the Song of the Hero and be on his way, no. He has to be knocked out by flying rocks and wake up in a cell. Once he gets to his feet he tests the walls. Impassible. He rattles the makeshift gate, only to have the bokoblin shriek and smack his fingers with the hilt of his sword. Link glares at it and rubs the pain out.
High up the wall is a slit of open rock where a sliver of sky peers down at him. It’s three grown men tall. No way to reach it. Link stares at it for a few minutes, tests a small outcropping with the tip of his shoe, only to have it crumble flat. Link lets out a heavy breath, backs all the way up against the gate, and takes a running leap. He doesn’t even make it halfway up the wall and, when he lands, the throbbing in his skull worsens. It’s so intense he doubles over and dry heaves, guts wringing themselves inside his belly. Nothing in there to throw up, at least. His throat is parched and scratchy. He may have swallowed smoke.
Every part of him smarts. It’s a miracle he survived the fall. Link did not come this far only to rot. He gets back to his feet. Back pressed against the bars. Breath shaky in his screaming lungs. Runs. Jumps. Falls, a second time.
The bokoblin shrieks at him again, banging his sword against the gate. A warning. They haven’t killed Link yet. Where have they taken his things? Why are they keeping him alive? Think. He has to calm down. Link sits to catch his breath. One guard. No gear save his chainmail shirt for protection. Maybe he can lure the bokoblin inside, use the element of surprise to steal his weapon. The thought of using any blade other than the Master Sword is an uncomfortable one, but needs must. Okay. He’ll fake being ill. But maybe the bokoblin will simply watch him suffer.
“Psst. Hey. Mister.”
A mogma head is sticking out of the ground. Link jumps.
“Can’t stay long. Those freaks are wreaking havoc all over the mountain. Figured you could use these.” The mogma dips below ground and resurfaces, tossing a pair of mogma mitts at Link’s feet.
“Thank you,” Link whispers.
“Give ‘em hell for us, Link. Gotta go—my nose says there’s treasure they’re hidin’.”
As suddenly as he appeared, the mogma is gone. Link deftly slips the mitts behind his back to hide them from view and counts to one hundred. It’s painful, waiting for his window. But if he’s not careful and his guard raises the alarm, whatever fate awaits Link may come swifter than he’s ready for. Minutes pass. The bokoblin’s shadowed head bobs. It’s falling asleep.
Not believing his luck, Link dons the mitts and works on widening the hole left behind by the mogma. Making friends with them was the right move, it seems. A lesson he’ll take to heart.
Link digs downward until he finds a narrow tunnel system. He hates going underground. Didn’t like it before, doesn’t like it now. It’s so claustrophobic in these dark, dry caverns, but they’re his only chance at getting out of here. He crawls, knees sore from loose stone. A sigh of relief tumbles from his lips when he finds an upward shaft at last. He sends a silent prayer of thanks for mogma kind and ascends.
Outside his rocky prison is chaos.
Eldin Volcano’s eruption disturbed more than just Link; bokoblins swarm the mountainside. New sentry lookout towers have been erected, bright spotlights sweeping across ash-covered pathways, more guards patrolling in pairs in the distance. Link tears himself from the opening and rolls behind a rock wall just as a spotlight passes over, pulse thundering.
A lazy river of lava meanders a short drop and slow death to his left. His hiding place is a shallow dip into the cliffside, bokoblin guards wandering the pathway at the top. The sentry tower’s spotlight keeps a tight circle. Getting caught in the beam will mean death, if those bokoblins have arrows. The timing has to be perfect. Link takes a deep breath.
A hand rests on his shoulder and a voice whispers into his ear, “Lost, are you?”
Link starts so badly he nearly tumbles off the ledge and into the lava. That same hand turns iron-hard and pulls him back, a second gripping his waist until Link sits heavy on a lap, chuckling ringing through his head.
“Ghirahim!” Link hisses.
“You share similarities to a flighty keese. So easy to startle.”
Link retreats from Ghirahim’s lap, fights against the heat sweeping up his neck that has nothing to do with lava. Ghirahim’s grin is a sight to behold. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! Hylia, you nearly got me killed.”
“If only,” Ghirahim laments. “You look a mess. How’d you get in this sorry state?”
“The eruption. I was flying down when it happened. I think a stray rock knocked me out.”
“And you actually allowed yourself to be parted from your blade? For shame.”
The spotlight nears. Link shrinks backward behind his fragile cover, his back pressing flush to Ghirahim’s chest. Don’t think about their last lesson. Don’t think about their last lesson. A sword is made of stone—no, sand—no, steel. Goddess, he’s a mess.
“I’m working on it,” Link murmurs. “I woke up in a bokoblin prison underground. I think they have my gear. And Fi.”
“Unless she fell into a river and melted,” Ghirhaim says, easy as anything.
Link feels sick. Like he’ll throw up again. No. What if she—but he can’t have lost her. But he was over the lake when he passed out. His strap could have snapped and Fi fallen into the smelting, boiling stone. What if she’s—what if—
“Link.” Pressure on his arm. Grounding.
He’s dizzy from holding his breath in his panic. Link sucks in air, but it’s not enough to get the volcano to stop swaying.
“Oh, you poor, foolish creature. It was a jest. Fi is fine. I sense her.”
“You… you do?”
Ghirahim’s presence is a solid weight against Link’s back. “Yes. So calm down.”
“I thought—” Link swallows.
Ghirahim helps Link to his feet, brushing gray ash from his shoulders. “Don’t crumble to pieces now, mighty warrior. I still have use for you.”
His tone is a touch suggestive. Goddess, but it’s hot on this mountain. Link fights against the shame that threatens to consume him and peeks back at the sentry tower’s spotlight. Later. They can talk about what happened last time later. “I need to get my things. If the bokoblins have them, I have to get them back. Where are they?”
“Why should I know?”
Link sends a disbelieving look over his shoulder.
Ghirahim crosses his arms. “I can’t sense the precise location of everything you own, Link. I have better things to do than be your personal fetch boy.”
“Don’t bokoblins technically work for you?”
“In a manner of speaking. They’re loyal to the demon king, so they’re loyal to me.”
“So you should know where they put prisoners' confiscated belongings. Can’t you ask for them back?”
“I’d be overjoyed,” Ghirahim says flatly. “I’ve always wanted to reveal an illicit, unsanctioned truce with my enemy to the foot soldiers who serve me. I can’t see any negative consequences involved, can you?”
Link turns back to the tower. “Ass.”
A low chuckle. “I’m as much of a stowaway as you, tonight. I’ll get you to Fi. Secretly.”
That dangerous thought, again: Ghirahim standing with the light. Against Demise. Standing by Link’s side. He pictures it clearer than ever. Link waits for the spotlight to pass and the sentry to face away and bolts from his hiding place, racing across a narrow lip of dirt to sink behind the next bit of cover. Everything glows red and orange. Ghirahim appears beside him in his trademark shape.
“So limiting, to have to walk. How do you stand it?”
“Hush.”
The next opening is faster to come. Link picks his way across the volcano’s base, staying in shadow and listening for enemies. It’s a massive relief when Link finds the first stash of his things. The whip isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing at all.
“My, my, my,” Ghirahim says. “What’s that for?”
“I said hush.”
Piece by piece, Link’s items are assembled. It’s easier to sneak about than he thought it would be, though no less nerve wracking. Link sets all his gear into his recovered pack, ticking off a list in his head.
“My beetle.” He squints against the black and red landscape. “It’s still missing.”
There—a small chest atop a tall cliff, the lazy river bubbling below. A guard stands in front of it, the dim shape of a spear in its hands. A weak spot on the ground at the base of the cliff. Link sighs. It’ll be a long, dirty climb upward. He’ll have to make quick work of the bokoblin. Link tugs a mogma mitt onto one hand.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“I have to use the mogma tunnels to get up there. You don’t have to come.”
Ghirahim stares at the top of the cliff, disgust oozing from him in waves. “The mogma tunnels? Absolutely not. No, no, no. I’ll take care of it.”
“How—”
Ghirahim grabs Link’s arm and they are abruptly atop the cliff, diamonds fading from view. Ghirahim lifts a foot and taps the bokoblin guard’s chest, just enough to send it screeching toward its death in the river below. “Oopsie,” Ghirahim lilts. “I’m tired of sneaking around like a rat. Get your beetle and I’ll take us to Fi. Then we can get off this damned mountain.”
Link doesn’t argue. He’ll come back to meet with Eldin once the eruption has calmed down. A few days should be fine. Zelda would understand. He can’t be the hero who saves the world if he melts to death.
Link tucks the beetle into his pack and reaches for Ghirahim, their hands somehow slipping together. Link blinks, and the next thing he knows, it’s dark again. A cave, of some kind. The ceiling is cracked open, orangish light illuminating the spot where the Master Sword is stuck, point first, in the ground. Perfectly unharmed. Link sends silent thanks to the heavens that Fi fell here, where no one could touch her, and steps forward to claim his sword.
He grasps the hilt and pulls. The blade sings free.
Welcome back, Master. Cool and detached as always.
Link finds he doesn’t mind. “Same to you, Fi.”
You are injured. I recommend rest as soon as possible. There is a 66% possibility of detection if you stay here.
“We’ll wait it out somewhere else, then.” Link glances up to find Ghirahim where he left him partially obscured in the cavern’s shadows, a small crease between his brow bones. Ghirahim can’t hear Fi’s voice unless she’s outside the blade. He hadn’t realized. Link sheathes the sword. “We’ll get caught if we stay here. I can’t go back to Skyloft this late. Take us somewhere safe?”
Wordlessly, Ghirahim holds out a hand.
The volcano spins out of view. One moment Link is choking on smoke and the next he’s inhaling lungfuls of clean, forest air. The silted heat of the volcano’s blood lifts, too, leaving him in such a rush his teeth chatter. A rushing noise wraps around him like a blanket of ice. The disorientation fades, slowly. Three teleportations in a row is a few too many. Flecks of something cold his his face, and Link stifles a gasp at what he sees.
Their waterfall.
Ghirahim brought him to their waterfall.
The cave is peaceful. No thick fog of black covers Faron Woods, so moonlight ripples across the curtain of water, bright and warm and silver. The moon is full again, just like it was the night Ghirahim came for him here. It’s been over half a year since then. It feels like a lifetime.
Link sits against the cave wall with a sigh, aches and pains catching up to him. Ghirahim settles beside him. “We made it,” Link says. “It’s like another world here. Do you think the mountain will be like that for long?”
“No longer than a week. A few days, if you’re lucky. You’ll be back about your business soon.”
“And what business did you have there?”
“Tut tut. I didn’t ask for your business.”
Which means Ghirahim was there for him. Link swallows, his throat still raw. “How did you find me?”
Ghirahim doesn’t answer.
“Ghirahim?”
The silence is more comfortable than it should be. That should scare Link. “The string,” Ghirahim says at last. “I followed it to you. It hadn’t moved in hours.”
“It's something you can actually see?”
Ghirahim’s eyes are soft, focused on something in the empty space between them. There’s a tiny smudge of soot on his jaw. “Sometimes. It’s thin as spider silk. In the right light, I can catch a crimson glare. Like it’s reflecting the sun, even during night. A red string. A fate string.”
And he followed it to Link. To save him.
“Is that how you knew where Fi was, too?”
“Fi and I share a destiny that yet eludes me,” Ghirahim admits. “The string that binds us isn’t the same hue as the one that binds me to you.”
Link’s heart skips a beat, but Ghirahim doesn’t seem to notice his wording.
“There are others. Threads that appear in the palest hours of sunrise, visible only for moments before they slip from my sight again. Threads I can’t find the other end of.”
“Have you always been able to see them?”
“Yes,” Ghirahim says. “I used them to find my path forward. To find victory. Allies. Enemies.” A spell breaks. Ghirahim blinks, a new awareness in his gaze. He shoots Link an accusatory glance. “Good at making me spill my guts, aren’t you? I hadn’t meant to share any of that.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Of course you are. I spent a long time wondering who would be on the other end of this string. This delicate spider’s silk thread that looked as though it may snap in a breeze. To think, it was you all along. Across millennia. You may not see the string. But perhaps you were also searching for the other end.”
A lump, in his throat. Goddess.
Ghirahim’s gaze meets Link’s. “You’ve ash all over your face.”
“So do you,” Link returns, and laughs a little when Ghirahim’s expression twists into one of displeasure. “It’s not much. I’ll get it.”
Link lets the pad of his thumb linger on the knob of Ghirahim’s jaw, memories of their last sparring match flowing into his body, filling it with fire. Ghirahim’s chest is unnaturally still. Link brushes the soot away, and keeps brushing. The fireshield earring sways on Ghirahim’s ear as he tilts his cheek into Link’s palm. Link traces the curve of Ghirahim’s jaw, touch feather-light, breath shallow. He drags his finger around the inside of the earring, gaze softening as he takes in the hue of orange against gray skin.
“It really does look good on you,” Link murmurs.
“I know.” A pause. They are a breath apart. “Green is a decent color on you,” he continues. “But blue would bring out your eyes. It’d be a shame to keep them muted forever, when their natural color is so striking.”
Link tries not to smile, his conversation with Peatrice reminding him that of all Link’s physical attributes Ghirahim could have commented on, he chose this. “Like my eyes, do you?”
“I’ve always appreciated beautiful things,” Ghirahim says. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Link maintains eye contact. “I do.”
The next pause lasts a dozen breaths. The hint of uncertainty is on Ghirahim’s face again, that fundamental confusion that speaks to a lifetime of mistreatment. All that Ghirahim’s unceasing loyalty has shown him was violence. Abuse, neglect, manipulation. Demise is truly a demon. Ghirahim doesn’t know tenderness because it has never been extended to him. Link presses his palm to Ghirahim’s cheek again, drawing his face close. Their breath mixes. The scent of cologne washes over him. Link waits.
“See something you like?” Ghirahim asks. His tone is flirtatious, but the tremble in his voice can’t be disguised. They both know it’s there, Ghirahim’s control on the conversation slipping. He’s good at deflecting, but not with an open wound. And the wounds Demise left on him have never healed.
“Yes,” Link says.
Ghirahim stares at him. Searching for a lie. At last, he says, “I know how I look. I know I’m beautiful, and different, and alluring. It’s only natural that you’d want me. It’s easy to mistake feelings of lust for—”
Link says fondly, “Shut up,” and wraps his arms around Ghirahim’s waist, drawing them both to the cave floor. Link tucks himself into Ghirahim’s side, presses his nose into Ghirahim’s throat and breathes deep. Body heat radiates between them. Ghirahim is stiff on his back, but Link hugs him tighter, eyes shut tight. Holds him. Wills him to understand.
This is so much more than lust.
Minutes pass. Each second is agonizing, a lifetime packed into a blink. A shaky exhale beneath him. Ghirahim’s arms encircle Link, his touch light and hesitant. Link’s heart swells.
In the morning Ghirahim is gone, but Link wakes to a red cowl draped over his shoulders, keeping out the cold.
