Chapter Text
They are called to a meeting chamber on the west side of the castle, a room mercifully, miraculously spared from the devastation that wracked their country. The worst it has suffered was broken glass in the windows, and there is a chill that the walls alone cannot keep at bay.
As he follows Princess Zelda into the chamber, three paces behind as is customary, Link looks to those empty windows and feels some measure of concern. Privacy is a rare commodity in the castle now, but it still worries him. There’s no telling who could be on the other side. He would feel more at ease if the walls were collapsed and crumbling. At least then he could listen, and react more readily.
There’s only a handful of people here. Four of King Rhoam’s trusted council – he doesn’t recognise them beyond a passing familiarity – and one knight standing as guard. While Princess Zelda engages in the ritual of greetings with the councillors, Link and the Captain keep a practised silence, and do not acknowledge each other beyond nods.
Link is still so tired; the sword on his back is empty symbolism at this point, and he doubts he would be able to draw it if a threat did suddenly emerge. He does try to pay attention to what the councillors are saying, but too much of it is wrapped up in vague pleasantries, platitudes, our-best-wishes-for-the-recovery-of-your-father, all too hollow for the words to make any impact on him.
Surely, any of the others would have made a better ally to Zelda in this room. But these people had insisted – or their messenger had, anyway – that they had to meet with the princess and her knight, specifically, and nobody else.
Link should have known there would be something amiss.
It doesn’t take much longer for the reason to come out. One – a Sheikah woman Link vaguely recognises; Impa’s aunt, perhaps – finally gives up on circular speech and states, almost bluntly, that the King’s recovery is less than certain, and that the Princess may need to think less of the present and more of the future.
Princess Zelda demurs, her hand curled tight in the stiff fabric of her gown. She tells them that she has every faith; Link knows that she’s talking more about her allies and her trust in their guidance, than a man to whom she hasn’t spoken more than a few words in months.
That’s when the old priest steps forward. He’s been quiet until now, and his voice is gentle when he speaks, though his words cut deeper than any blade could: “It is our solemn belief that the Princess should consider taking her sworn knight as consort.”
As the words sink in, Link feels the blood drain from his face. Next to him, Princess Zelda goes crimson. “What?” she manages to squeak, all her dignity momentarily forgotten.
“Princess Zelda–”
“How is this possibly an appropriate time?” she demands, steadfastly refusing to look at Link. “The kingdom...”
“...Needs stability, and continuity,” the blunt-voiced Sheikah woman says, and Link doesn’t even want to think of what she means by continuity.
Somebody else adds, “If misfortune were to befall you, princess, the kingdom would be left without heirs or leadership…”
“That’s no different to the last ten years!” Zelda points out. “And too many lives have been lost… I cannot agree to this.”
“Nobody would begrudge you for seeking happiness,” the old priest says. “The fondness between you has long been known.”
That catches Link off guard like a blow to the chest: is that why it’s felt like people have always been watching them these last days? Looking for any hint of warmth or – unprofessional conduct?
“I...” Zelda trails off. He waits for her to deny it.
She doesn’t.
Link looks across at the other knight, as though to beg for assistance. This must be why this person, of all those it could have been, was here. The older man is still avoiding his stare.
The officious-sounding one clears their throat. “Yes, well. If you have no other objections…”
“–No,” Link chokes out, his mind still reeling. He has several objections. He has two in particular. He can’t find the words.
He can’t find the words, and from their pleased murmur, they think he’s agreeing.
Zelda, though, Zelda knows him well enough to hear that for the refusal it is. “This is very sudden. We must think on it,” she says, recovered enough from her earlier alarm to adopt a more diplomatic tone. Then she adds, pointedly, “I ask that the subject doesn’t leave this room.”
“Of course,” the officious one agrees readily – too readily, in Link’s opinion. It sends a discomforting chill down his back.
Zelda still doesn’t look at him. Her eyes are locked on a point very far away as the chamber’s other occupants take their leave; her hands are once again pressing creases into the fine cloth of her skirt. “I would like to be alone for a moment,” she tells Link, and in it he hears instructions to leave.
This is one order he’s happy to obey. He has to speak to–
The other knight is still in the corridor when Link steps out, his shoulders a stiff, rigid line.
Link blurts out, startled, “Father.”
At the sound of Link’s voice, he turns. His stern face doesn’t give anything away. Link has never been able to read this man easily; only when his walls come down, those handful of times in Hateno, the visits home that got rarer and rarer until Link left home too.
“Link…”
“I can’t,” Link says, desperately. A few months ago, he might have submitted to their designs, and would have quietly hoped that an unideal situation might become more tolerable; but that was then. Now, he has far more to lose than just the illusion of choice. “There’s someone...”
A long, weighty pause, as Link fails to find words, as his father’s inscrutable face hides whatever thoughts he might have on the matter. “You may have… promised yourself to another,” Link’s father says at length, trying awkwardly to be sympathetic, “but duty comes before all. The princess knows this too.”
He doesn’t know whether his father’s attempting to offer sincere advice or just empty platitudes; what Link hears is this: You are sworn to the Royal Family. Your duty to Hyrule comes first.
Set your lover aside.
Link’s lover will probably throw him into Lake Totori for the insult.
“I’m already–” The words stick in a throat too accustomed to quiet, and it is a struggle to free them. “–In the eyes of Hylia,” he says, hoping that his father will understand what he means.
From the shocked expression that slips, for a moment, past the Captain’s walls, it’s clear that he does.
But Link was too naive. His father’s face returns to its grim line, and with it, Link gets the sense of support dried up. “...Even the Goddess’ sight can be mistaken,” his father tells him, a heavy emphasis on the final word. He starts to say something else, but Link can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears.
Deny them, Link hears.
He can’t do that. He won’t.
He stays rooted to the spot, even as the Captain leaves, even as Zelda slips out from behind the door, able to look at him again now. She’s wearing a troubled expression, and Link fears she must have heard every word of that exchange.
“Oh, Link,” she says, and that confirms it. Now he’s the one who cannot look at her. He’s almost certain that she knows of the regional custom he’d referred to, that his father had advised him to ignore; Central Hyrule’s traditions would undoubtedly be given precedence, and he doesn’t know why he’d thought…
“Let’s go back,” Zelda says, a thin edge of anger under her words that says she’ll be looking for any possible loophole for them to escape this trap. “We’ll talk to the others.”
But when they return to where the others are waiting, there are two things that Link notices right away.
The second is the expressions on their allies’ faces, suggesting that some manner of rumour has made it here before them. It’s not even been an hour since Link and Zelda were called away, and they returned here as quickly as they could. Link is able to think a little more clearly now, and it’s enough to make him suspicious.
...The first thing he notices, though, is this: Somebody who ought to be here is now absent.
Zelda sees it too.
Mipha takes a hesitant step forward; but before she can say anything, Impa rushes past her. “Princess. I promise, I had no idea–”
Zelda shakes her head, gently catching Impa’s hand in hers. “Nobody did,” she says, her gaze shifting from Impa to the others gathered in that small garden. “It was a surprise to us all.”
Mipha’s expression fades into uneasy relief. “So it isn’t true?” she asks. Zelda shakes her head.
“I don’t know whose idea it was… But we do not agree with it, and we do not wish for it,” she says, with a small glance towards Link. He nods. He feels incredibly awkward under the others’ attention – Urbosa’s thoughtful frown in particular, given her advice to him about duty in the past – and dearly wishes to be gone from this conversation.
“Well! That should be the end of that, then, huh?” Daruk says with an uncertain grin; but Urbosa shakes her head, and says to him, “It’s not that simple.”
“Seems to me it’s the simplest thing...”
Meanwhile, Zelda gives Impa’s hand a little squeeze before dropping it. “Impa, I want you and your aides to investigate. Find out the source of this, and report back to me.”
Impa murmurs agreement, and signals to the maidservants sat waiting on a nearby bench. The three depart, leaving Zelda and four of her champions as the sole occupants of the garden terrace. Urbosa crosses over to Zelda and exchanges some quiet words with her that Link cannot make out, and doesn’t care to. He wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away.
“–Where is he, anyway?” Zelda asks, a little louder than her previous exchange with Urbosa, and oh, that keeps Link’s feet locked in place. He’s been wondering the same since they got here and found Revali was missing.
“Said the li’l tyke was getting overtired,” Daruk offers. From the look he exchanges with the others, though, it’s likely Revali said rather more than that.
Possibly at some length.
…Link has to find him. Now.
But of course, Zelda has to notice his attempt to sneak away. “Link?” she calls out.
He freezes, and glances back.
Zelda is looking directly at him, something in her expression that he can’t decipher. She says, very carefully, “Nobody who’s seen you together could doubt what she is to you.”
Link is unable to keep the gratitude from his eyes. There’s a reassurance in the deliberation behind her words; it clears away the anger from his father’s careless suggestion of a mistake.
Nobody could doubt it.
If Zelda says it, then maybe…
He mouths a silent thank you to Zelda, trying not to notice the fresh confusion in Mipha’s gaze as she glances between them, or the glitter of curiosity in Daruk’s. This is a conversation he isn’t ready to have with others yet. He turns again, and goes off in search. It shouldn’t take him long. Revali is, in many ways, quite easy to predict.
Somewhere high, somewhere isolated, somewhere private. And somewhere a Rito with an injured wing can still reach easily enough.
Even so, that still leaves a few options, and Link does end up with a couple false starts before he finally locates his husband. The first spot he thinks to check is devoid of anything more than a particularly lazy cat, basking in the late afternoon sun; the second turns out to be too difficult to get to, with rubble blocking the stairwell. Link could climb past easily, but he knows that Revali wouldn’t have taken that route.
Finally, he sees a flash of dark blue at the far end of a little-used corridor, where a door opens out onto a little balcony that’s not much bigger than a ledge. It might just about fit two people on it, if one of them had a disregard for personal space.
He approaches, slowly, cautious. When he draws level with the door, Revali glances back over his shoulder, a sardonic twist to his brow. His eyes are hard and humourless.
“Look who finally bothered to show up,” he drawls, before Link can find words of his own. Link almost wants to point out that Revali is the one who hid himself away up here, but saying that won’t go over well, so he refrains. For now. Still, he is almost grateful for Revali’s anger. It makes his own simmering frustration that much easier to bear.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Revali continues, his voice caustic. If Link knew him any less, he might have mistaken the venom in Revali’s tone for sarcasm; if he knew him better, Link might not have left him room to doubt. “Or have they finally figured out that they need to keep you on a tighter leash, hmm? Have you as their perfect soldier your whole life.”
A little one-shouldered shrug is all the reply Link can muster for now. That might turn out to be the reason; it might not. They won’t know until Impa and her aides can find out more.
Revali’s crest feathers bristle, and Link regrets reacting at all; he’s given Revali entirely the wrong impression. He dearly wants to reach out, soothe him, smooth his feathers down, but Revali might just try to take his hand off if he tries it right now.
“In case you supposed you could have both options,” he says, and his voice is low, vicious, hurting, “I refuse. I’ll not bow to the whims of a princess and share–” and Link has to consciously fight off the frown that tries to creep onto his face at that suggestion; it’s not a thought that had crossed his mind, and he dislikes it almost as much as Revali does.
“And I promise you: If you go through with this, if you set so much as a toe in Tabantha, I will eviscerate you. And while there is still breath in your body, I will throw you in Strock Lake and use you for target practice.”
Link can’t help himself. “...Not Totori?” he asks.
Revali blinks, startled by the sound of Link’s voice, at the thin attempt at humour. Right. He’s broken the script.
For a moment, Revali rallies: “And why would I be so foolish as to resort to murder in the heart of my own territory?” he demands; but the effect is ruined further by the cheep that comes from the sling-wrap across his chest, as their chick stirs from her doze. The little down-grey head peeks out from behind the embroidered cloth, red eyes searching for her second father. When Link takes a half step closer so that he’s fully visible in the late afternoon light, and the chick can see him, she trills and cranes her head around. Revali makes a low sound in his throat and tries to nudge her back into the sling, but their chick is determined and stubborn.
...No guesses where she got that from.
Link takes another step closer, and lifts a careful hand so that their daughter can knock her beak against his knuckles in a greeting. She lets out a satisfied chirp and ducks back into the warmth of the sling: Link might owe her attention, but Revali is warm and that clearly makes him the superior father at present.
Link doesn’t lower his hand. He tentatively lifts it to Revali’s face, but doesn’t touch him. Not yet. Not unless he indicates it would be welcomed.
Revali’s gaze flickers down and to the side, just now realising how little space there is on the balcony, that he’s got nowhere to retreat to while his healing left wing is unable to support him in flight. Link starts to back off. He doesn’t want to make Revali feel any more trapped.
But that’s not the right choice; Revali makes a frustrated sound, and Link gives up on caution.
“Just you,” Link whispers hoarsely, brushing his fingers over Revali’s cheek feathers. He trails them round to the back of Revali’s head and wraps them, gently, around the delicate curve of his neck. Revali exhales shakily and lifts his good wing to Link’s forearm – to hold him in place, not to shove him away. That emboldens Link further. “Princess Zelda, she – doesn’t either. Want this. We’ll stop it.”
“I truly despise you sometimes,” Revali grouses, but there’s no heat in his words now. Link dredges up a small, tired smile as Revali continues muttering, “Would it have been so impossible for you to mention that earlier?”
Link turns his head and nuzzles at the side of Revali’s beak. Rests his other hand on the small body between them. Marvels at the way their lives changed just a handful of months ago.
…If we can’t, he thinks, then—
a few months ago
It takes just three letters to alter the trajectory of Link’s life.
...Technically, the first had been four: near-identical missives from the princess to her Champions; for strategy or support, he hadn’t known. The second, meanwhile, had been a surprise that the King had been remarkably unsurprised by. It came from the Sage Temple, by the banks of the Regencia River – they had extended an invitation to the princess, as the place where the late Queen Zelda had spent part of her youth and grown into her powers.
And that was how Link came to be here, by the Regencia River, holding the third and final letter like it’s a snapping, feral thing. It might well have been, for all that it is written by Link’s own hand. The third letter is addressed to somebody he’d never considered he might need to approach for help.
Someone he may yet regret asking for help.
Princess Zelda’s maidservant looks at him askance when he hands it to her. Really? says her frown, though like Link, Maca is much too wary to say such aloud. (That’s her sister Dania’s role – while it’s practically a paradox, Dania’s natural reserve means that she’s almost chatty by comparison.)
Emphatic, Link nods. He might not want this, but it’s the only true option he has.
…That they have.
It’s a strange consolation, that so small a signal is enough for Maca to believe him, but with one last glance at the sigil sketched on the front of the letter, she turns and mounts her horse, and disappears. Link watches her go, knowing that the letter will be read by at least two pairs of eyes before it reaches its recipient. But he’d rather that than official channels. The sisters report to Impa, whose position grants a certain leeway. If she knows exactly what he’s asking, so be it. They’re people he’d much rather have as allies than not.
Once Maca is out of sight, Link retreats. The Sage Temple is barred to him. He has to entrust Princess Zelda’s safety to her maids, as the temple attendants insist that a warrior’s bloodstained hands cannot be allowed within their halls; it does quietly amuse Link that they presume the princess’ servants are so unlike him, but with their hair covered, even Maca passes for fully-Hylian, and the Temple doesn’t realise that they’ve invited two Sheikah-trained bodyguards into their midst.
In a way, he has to thank the temple for their stubbornness. If he’d been at the princess’ side, as he’s meant to be, then he wouldn’t have been by the river that morning. He wouldn’t have found the strange pouch tangled around the branches of that fallen tree. Wouldn’t have found it.
And though duty says he shouldn’t find it a good thing that he wasn’t at his appointed post …
As he ducks back inside the hut he’s taken up temporary residence in, and checks that the object he pulled from the river is safe within its cocoon of blanket and fire-warmed stone, there’s some small part of him can’t help but be relieved.
The day draws on. Afternoon is just starting to fade into evening. On horseback, the princess’ bodyguard should have made it back to Hyrule Castle within a half-day, and he’s sure his letter should have made it to its intended recipient by now; but Link is still taken by surprise when the wind picks up, heralding the arrival of the one person whose presence he has both anticipated and dreaded.
…As always, Revali knows how to make an entrance.
That’s the most charitable thought Link can muster as the winds scare a brace of wood-pigeons away. He replaces his arrow in the quiver at his hip and shoulders his bow. There’ll be no successful hunting today.
Revali brushes some imaginary dust from his wings after landing, then fixes Link with an unimpressed glare. “I would have thought you might manage to be somewhat more eloquent in writing,” the Rito champion sneers, taking Link’s letter – carefully rolled – from his quiver, “but alas, this was barely more informative than your unfortunate visage.”
At least he read it, Link tells himself. He turns to leave, and gestures for Revali to follow.
Revali makes a frustrated sound behind him. “Aren’t you going to bother explaining yourself?” he demands – though Link catches the sound of his footsteps following behind him anyway. “Hmm? Do you think yourself so important you can order me around? —Link.”
He pauses, and glances back for a moment. Revali’s eyes are narrowed, and suspicious, and wary. Link has one of those fleeting moments where he thinks – ah. Of all the Champions, Revali is the one least accustomed to the trickeries of the court. Mipha and Urbosa are familiar with it by dint of their status, and Daruk… everything just bounces off Daruk.
So Revali probably doesn’t realise that Link put down all he dared, in that letter… And yet he came anyway.
Link almost wants to point that out, but his silence is a long-ingrained habit by now.
He keeps walking, ignoring Revali’s aggrieved splutters behind him. If Revali was curious enough to come in the first place, there’s likely little Link can do to dissuade him from pursuing answers now.
And, he reminds himself, he really does need Revali’s help.
Link leads the Rito to the hut he commandeered at the north edge of Giant’s Forest – some sort of fisher’s lodge, or a hunter’s, he’s not quite sure – and lifts the pouch he’d found in the river, tangled around the fallen tree branches, from the hook on the side of the building, where he’d hung it to dry. He passes it across. It’s a curious thing: a heavy canvas-like fabric with unfamiliar patterns woven directly into it, coated with some substance Link doesn’t recognise, which had kept the worst of the river water at bay. It’s lined with a mixture of fur and downy underfeathers. He’s never seen anything like it before.
“...I thought so,” Revali mutters, peering intently at the patterns across the bag. They’re gentle curved shapes, semi-circles and meandering waves, not the angular-edged patterns Link recognises from his past scant visits to Rito Village. They’d been curious enough for Link to attempt to draw them along one edge of his letter.
The mystery seems to keep Revali’s earlier ire at bay; faced with a puzzle, he’s all focussed, sharp attention. “They’re Rito designs, I’ll grant you that much, but not Hebran. One of the nomadic tribes, no doubt. Though what they’re doing in Hyrule…”
He nudges with one pinion the frayed edge of the braid that hangs, forlorn, from the upper edge of the pouch, tuts at it. His head comes up, frowning. “This wasn’t the only thing you found, was it,” he guesses.
Link gestures behind them to the hut. Revali’s gaze scans across it; he seems as generally unimpressed with it as he does with Link, which is… saying something. Though he does allow Link to lead him inside.
That is also… something. Link has noticed, despite himself, just how little Revali cares for enclosed spaces. It’s an open secret that the Rito Champion has never once stayed in his assigned guest chambers at the Castle, always preferring some out-of-the-way balcony or similar open space. Thinking about how open the Rito tribe’s dwellings are, that doesn’t quite come as a surprise.
The hut is a single-room affair, just big enough for one person to move around comfortably. With two, it feels decidedly crowded. Link points out the low table, silently suggesting that Revali might prefer to stay out of the way, then turns to the oil lantern sat on a crate and lights it. It takes a few minutes to bring to life, but once it's safe to increase the flame, it casts a warm, cosy glow across the room’s interior; together with the late afternoon light streaming through the window, he thinks there must be enough light for Revali to see clearly.
That done, he at last reaches for the swaddled bundle on the pallet bed, carefully moving aside the layers of damp-then-dry cloth and removing the stones he’d been using to heat it. Fortunately, the egg is still warm. He hopes it’s been kept warm enough, but he’s been running on guesswork. Careful not to jostle it, he passes the egg across to Revali.
(The Rito’s feathers are surprisingly soft against the backs of Link’s hands. He pulls away.)
Revali’s eyes are dazed and a little unfocussed as he looks at – no, past the egg, at some unspecified distant point. Then he rouses himself with a little shudder, and his gaze snaps back into focus.
“Where did you find it?”
Link gestures to the west, turns the motion into the twisting Zora sign for a river.
Revali tsks and frowns down at the egg. “No good,” he mutters. “Even if you did, by some miracle, know what you were doing — the water won’t have done it any favours. Your little foundling is probably…”
No, Link thinks, feeling rather like he’s been plunged into the river himself.
No, the egg was…
Ignoring Revali’s squawk of protest, Link pulls the shutters down across the window, plunging the room into near-darkness; only the lantern burning lowly on the crate opposite continues to provide some light. He glances back over his shoulder and finds the Rito Champion sat ramrod still, clutching the egg to him. Right. He forgot. The Rito have poor night vision. Still, he can’t increase the flame just yet. He has to prove—
For somebody acting like the egg isn’t going to survive – or has already perished – Revali is remarkably reluctant to pass it back to Link, but eventually Link manages to reclaim it. The contents rock unnervingly as Link cradles the egg in his hands, trying not to let it shake too much. He holds it up in front of the lantern flame. Revali gives him an odd look, or as much of one as he can muster in the gloom.
“Surely even you can figure out that that is insufficient to incubate an egg,” the Rito says, mocking.
Link closes his eyes. If only he could have approached anyone else for assistance.
“Wait, what are you–”
Link disregards Revali’s objections; kneeling behind the Rito warrior, he reaches his arms past Revali’s head and holds the egg out again, directly between Revali’s eyes and the bright speck of lantern-light.
The bristle of Revali’s feathers subsides as he finally recognises what Link has been trying to draw his attention to.
The egg is still alive.
The chick inside is large enough that it’s difficult to see much; but as they watch, its little shadow quivers against the red glow of its shell.
“...You’ve made your point,” Revali says, his voice strangely strained. “Now, move! Have you never heard of personal space—”
…Ah. Link backs off. Cradling the egg to his chest, he reaches for the lantern, one-handed, and increases the flame. Revali doesn’t look at him right away; his wings are crossed tight over his body, his expression gone distant again. Eventually, he glances over. “Which river?”
Link makes the Zora handsign again, but this time, his thumb splits away from the rest of his hand. He might not be able to read the river currents as well as a Zora, but he’s sure of this. Tributary. The egg came down the Tamio River.
Revali nods curtly. “If there’s any chance the egg-parents are still alive, it should be investigated.” The way that he nudges the top edge of the pouch again, though, and rubs the frayed edge of the braid between his pinions… makes it sound unlikely. “You’ll be no help in such an endeavour. Tomorrow morning, make for Rito Village. There ought to be time enough for you to get it there.”
Link can’t keep his frown at bay. Why…?
Revali makes a low noise in his throat. “Sometimes,” he says, with the put-upon patience of someone explaining something to a person they consider very slow indeed, “an egg might be orphaned, or a nest have more eggs than they can feasibly care for. But if somebody else is willing to adopt the egg…”
He trails off.
Link dares to speak. “—If not?” If they make it to Rito Village, and nobody is willing or able to take on a stranger’s egg, what then?
Revali fixes him with an affronted glare. “Rest assured,” he hisses, “ somebody will. Just keep that thing warm in the meantime.”
And with that, he rises and sweeps out of the hut, bristling with irritation. Link half expects the shutters to rattle in the windows, but – there’s no indication of Revali's Gale, and when he peeks through the shutters to investigate, he spots Revali stringing his hammock between two nearby trees.
For a moment, Link considers signalling after him – it’s almost sunset, and it’s unlikely that Revali has eaten. Then he thinks back to his spoiled hunting earlier, and decides against it.
Let him sort himself out.