Chapter Text
I want your company…I don’t want to be alone.
These were the words that constantly cycled through Link’s head nowadays.
A soft, metallic ring whistled through the air. Link put all his strength into a double-handed swing with a claymore, boots sliding against stone granules as the weight of the blade threatened to carry him off. An instinctual shift of his torso, moving the full weight of his upper body against the swing of the sword, kept his balance in check, fluid and seamless. Another quick shift of his grip around the hilt brought the sword to a sudden and practiced stop. The sparring dummy was left intact, barely a scratch against its wooden neck.
In the quiet of the vast, empty arena, Link’s heaving breath sounded too loud. Every now and then, he caught himself glancing at the doorway, half expecting to see Ganondorf wander in, yawning and grumbling about the midnight hour. Instead, the noise of his pounding heart rate and dragging muscle fatigue felt intrusive amidst the smothering quiet, only noticeable when he stopped swinging a sword.
Link wiped sweat out of his eyes, hanging up the claymore to drink heavily from a pitcher of water by the armory. Swords and shields and a slew of weaponry he didn’t recognize filled the wall, no longer kept locked away by magic. For a moment, Link felt daunted by the amount and the ultimate futility of the collection. There was no throne to defend with these tools. No purpose, other than keeping away nightmares and whispering ruminations.
The cup clapped too loudly against the small table when he put it down. He winced at the sharp sound, embarrassed by such absentmindedness, though no one was around to witness. Nights like these were long when he couldn’t sleep. Even training himself to exhaustion only worked to a point. Link rubbed at his eyes, glancing toward the empty doorway again and feeling a twinge in his heart.
The feeling urged him back to the bedroom, back into warm blankets and a warm body to match. The ache hurt like loneliness and denial, with something wistful in the mix. Link shook himself of the confounding emotion, pretending to instead feel calm, steely focus as he grabbed the claymore again. It felt heavier this time.
Without further delay, he threw himself back into swinging the massive sword as if he knew what he was doing. Muscle memory did most of the work, filling in absent enemies with harrowing recall. Despite his successes in sword fighting, Link couldn’t help feeling like a fraud, knowing he had zero practical training. Nothing like Ganondorf’s years of practiced experience.
Every now and then—and only when he was alone like this—he privately tried to imitate some of the complicated stances he observed from the other man, seeking to copy how he used his massive strength to wield a weapon even larger than himself. If nothing else, Link was adept at observation, and was occasionally pleased when he noticed how a particular swing was made less chaotic or taxing when he managed to follow the positional balance or precise arc as his once-enemy.
Link sliced a level, horizontal line through the air, maneuvering the blade into a vertical position on the back swing, using nothing but pressure on the pommel. Just as he’d watched his unaware teacher do.
Teacher. Once-enemy. Companion. So many terms and roles that were never supposed to apply to Ganondorf. The sentiments of them all created a churning sensation in his gut, like a frothing potion that wouldn’t settle.
Link jumped high into the air as he brought the sword down, heedless to the reverberating impact, lost in thought. Not bothering to recover from the energy-intensive blow, he moved the blade through a series of swings usually reserved for one-handed weapons. The muscles across his shoulders stretched and strained, comfortably familiar and painful. Link took only a cursory notice.
Everywhere, particularly amidst pressing thoughts within the privacy of his own head, Ganondorf was boldly present. This had been his reality, his own special hell, for longer than Link could recount anymore. Time had grown into a chronic wound, dividing his life into distinct chapters marked by novel ways of suffering, each more terrible than the last. The scars left behind never seemed to fully heal, festering constantly under a yoke of childhood fears.
And at the center of it all, there was Ganondorf, the source of his ever-crumbling composure.
Link stumbled, nearly thrown off balance. He cursed quietly, breath coming in ever deeper, heaving pants. The pressing silence of the arena was hardly noticeable over the blood pounding in his ears.
There was nothing to do, no one to help or distract from the increasing pressure of long-avoided anxieties. Except for the source of them. Except for the one person who had no business offering such help, even as he dared to extend his hand, possessing the nerve to look so vulnerable and honest, so human .
Link yanked harder than necessary on the upward pull of a swing, shifting into another malformed stance with the sloppiness that belied his lack of training. It was embarrassing and obvious that a sheer desperate will to survive had taught him how to fight, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
There wasn’t a name to put to the feelings Ganondorf inspired nowadays, at least none Link could identify. They weren’t always particularly good, but at least abject terror hadn’t been part of the equation. Instead, the inspired sensations reminded Link of times long ago, before even the nightmares of destiny began, when he used to amuse himself in the Lost Woods by antagonizing wolfos and dodging their sword-sharp claws for fun.
The claymore pulled harder at his overworked muscles. Link distantly felt the strain in his shoulders.
Interacting with Ganondorf nowadays felt like casually flirting with mortal danger, rather than drowning in it. Link still carried nightmares of how the larger man had previously wounded him, and how he most certainly still could. He still felt the bone-deep ache of poorly healed trauma that only came from such significant injury. He felt it in his wrists as he pivoted the weight of the claymore through a series of swings, once observed. He felt it across his back, lines of scar tissue refusing to stretch and yield. While the nightmares and the past they wouldn’t let die remained mostly confined to the murky realm of diseased fear, it was many of those such dreams that drove him into the training arena at night. They wouldn’t let him sleep. They wouldn’t let him rest .
His stance was unstable now, dangerously so, but Link noticed too late.
With a wild heave, he overcorrected as the sword whistled through the air, feeling a burning sensation suddenly shred up his back and ignite across his shoulders. Link cried out upon the shock of swiftly broken focus, nearly screamed as the pain flashed white hot and put him back in chains deep within a living, underground tomb.
The flashback was strong enough to knock him blind. As the claymore clattered loud and heavy to the stone floor, its beveled edge caught against his spasming elbow and cut a deep slice into jointed skin. Link cursed just as loudly, falling to his knees and clapping a hand over the injury. Hot, slippery blood flowed between his fingers. The stench filled his nostrils as he struggled to stay in the present moment. Panic doubled the pounding in his ears, fatigue and disorientation keeping him stuck to the floor like a useless, confused child.
“ Shit… ” Link hissed, trying to remain grounded amidst the roar of pain that pulsed corrosive panic.
Blood continued to spill around his hand. It took a long, difficult while to breathe through it and remember where he was, where he wasn’t. The cut was deep and large enough that he couldn’t stem the flow with hand pressure alone, hands that were not chained behind his back; one hung useless, and the other was desperately trying to keep his flesh pressed together. Navi would be flying around in a tizzy by now, urging him to use a potion or even a fairy. Much to his continued regret, he’d relied too heavily on them during his travels, taking the time to learn as little first aid as possible. Shiek had badgered him about it constantly.
A small, hysterical laugh bubbled out as the silence of the arena pressed in, making him feel a touch light-headed. He didn’t know how to help himself. He never really did. Link knew he had but one person to rely on now, and it certainly wasn’t himself. He tried to stand and stumbled again, hearing Navi’s voice in his ear.
“Link, stop messing around! You need to get help!”
“I know, I know. Quit pestering me, Navi. It’s just a cut.”
The stench of blood was unusually debilitating, making it difficult to take accurate stock of his surroundings. Fatigue dragged hard on his body. He felt twice as heavy as he should, trying to stand up. Another voice, unfamiliar and peppered with concern, urged him to keep trying, to resist the exhaustion pulling him down. Things were spiraling out of control. Things were always spiraling out of his control.
Link ambled out of the training arena, exhausted and detached. His arm ached. His back ached. He needed a shower. Possibly a tourniquet.
He shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard. The resultant injury was significantly worse than it needed to be because of his own stupidity.
Though it was a short walk to the bedroom, it felt unreasonably long, and lonely. The blood from his cut slowed, possibly, though his arm remained drenched. Link leaned against the wall a few times, breathing deep when the smell of incense and earthy spice grew stronger. It was more potent than the blood and helped cool the disoriented panic still buzzing in his mind, grounding him more effectively than the pain flaming across his back and elbow.
Link followed the scent long associated with a kinder, more helpful version of his generally cantankerous companion, keeping his thoughts as close to the surface as possible.
“Gan…” He mumbled, just shy of the doorway. The room was spinning a bit as he tripped against the threshold frame.
The shared bed—their bed—which looked insultingly comfortable now that he was unable to use it, remained several paces ahead. A slight pinch of irritation nagged at his brows. The room was indulgently big from this perspective, tired, drained, and dripping blood on a rug likely worth more rupees than his life.
The mountainous form tucked under the blankets hadn’t moved. Link couldn’t remember if he’d called out to him yet. He tried again, but the effort to yell felt more exhausting than simply letting gravity lead his tipping, stumbling form towards the frame. Link fell against the nearest bedpost, more than half a mind to slide down to the floor and deal with all the forthcoming fuss in the morning.
“Hey…” he mumbled again, yawning and nearly losing balance. The blankets shifted, but Link was having a hard time focusing in the dim light. “Wake…wake up. I need…Gan-“
“What in Din’s name did you do!?”
The entire room was immediately awash with light. Link whined in clear annoyance, eyes squinting against harsh contrasts. He tried to move an arm to shield the light and screamed. Awful agony took away his vision as the floor fell out from under him. When he came back seconds later, Ganondorf was out of the bed, holding him up, cursing in equal parts Gerudian and Hylian.
“Don’t move it, you imbecile! How in the blazes —No, doesn’t matter. Lay down here, I’ll be right back. And Link— don’t. Move .”
The intensity of pain raging from his arm had a powerful clarifying effect. Link was lifted with ease as the words floated above him, laid on plush bedding in swift, urgent movements. Ganondorf’s large, unfocused form was gone from sight before Link could fully shake the disorientation from his eyes, grateful when the fog in his mind evaporated.
He looked down at the pulsing wound and winced.
The injury he’d given himself was objectively… bad .
“—Absolutely ridiculous. No sense of self-preservation.” Ganondorf returned from the bathroom in a rush, muttering furiously and looking more harried than Link had ever seen him. None of his braids were cleanly organized; thick hair stuck out at odd angles. No jewelry adorned his face or body. An assortment of haphazard supplies spilled over his arms. He seemed about as prepared for sudden emergency medical treatment as Link ever was. Which is to say not at all.
“ All of the red potions are gone by now, do you realize that? What were you even doing? How did you manage to practically cut your own arm off ?”
Link opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out.
“I can’t fix this with what I have on-hand, Link. Not—” Ganondorf stopped talking only to glue his jaw shut with grinding teeth, looking not quite angry but… scared .
Link blinked, wondering how much blood he’d lost and if he was hallucinating.
“…You can fix this, can’t you?” He croaked, not meaning to shed doubt.
“Of course I can.” The man scoffed, hiding an important detail behind his usual ego-bluster.
Link waited for him to clarify the problem. Ganondorf avoided the opportunity, instead taking a seat and wrapping his arm with twice as much bandaging as Sheik would have used. The expression of discomfort remained steady on his brows, pinched in a strange angle of concern and anger.
“This is a serious injury.” He finally bit out. “What happened?”
The look he pinned him with had the force of a shame-cast cleaver. Link stuttered to find an explanation, feeling another strange, unidentified emotion grow. The closest name he could give the feeling was embarrassment, but the pull on his heart straddled more than that.
“I-I was training, and—I was distracted with the claymore—”
Ganondorf made another pained, exasperated noise, rubbing a hand over his face. A flush stole across Link’s cheeks.
“It was an accident.” He bit out, voice smaller than he intended.
“Of course it was an accident.” The larger man groaned, finishing the tight wrap with multiple layers of compression. “I didn’t think you’d do this on purpose .”
Something in his voice didn’t quite instill the most confidence. He sounded more like he hoped Link wouldn’t hurt himself on purpose.
A tense silence thickened the air between them. Ganondorf used a few pillows to elevate his arm and then cleaned the remaining blood as best he could, tending to wayward lines that had dripped down his skin. Link watched, feeling increasingly stupid and useless.
“…I’ll have to make more red potions.” Ganondorf finally mumbled, talking to himself.
Another long, silent pause stretched between them.
“Is…that a problem?” Link finally asked.
Ganondorf looked at him, his wild, untamed hair framing an equally unfamiliar, distracted expression.
“No,” he muttered, wringing out a rag of dingy red water. “It’s merely… secondary to a more reliable method. Not to mention tedious. You’ll need to keep your arm completely still while the potion matures. The process takes roughly eight to sixteen hours, depending on desired potency.”
Link crinkled his nose, not exactly looking forward to his butt going numb while keeping the awkward arm-elevation. Still, it seemed a small price to pay, compared to his arm rendered permanently crippled.
“What’s the other method?”
Ganondorf sighed heavily, looking as exhausted as Link by the forthcoming wait.
“Stitches. A lot of them. I assume you’d rather I not sew the laceration shut, so this is the option we’re left with.”
Link fell quiet. Ganondorf had assumed correctly. The trauma-weary hero greatly appreciated how the older man had stayed his usual belligerence on the issue.
“…Thank you.” He mumbled.
Ganondorf grunted something unintelligible and stood, seeming a touch more confident in the situation despite the usual scowl embedded on his face. With the core of chaos abated, he yawned, stretching an arm over his head and rubbing tension out of his face. Link took the moment to notice how very shirtless he was, forcing his eyes away. There was also blood smeared across Ganondorf’s broad chest, from when he had held him. Why these details suddenly compelled Link’s attention fell far beyond his personal understanding.
“I’m going to the kitchen to get started. It won’t take long to mix the ingredients, so for the love of the Sun, Link, stay still until I come back. I’ll need to check your shoulders as well. I think you pulled nearly every layer of muscle across the top of your back.”
After his long-suffering exaggerations, Ganondorf pinned him with a severe stare until Link mumbled a sufficient enough response, promising to stay in the bed. The older man didn’t wait around after that. He didn’t even take time to clean the blood off his chest or put on a shirt. Ganondorf left at a swift pace, as though he doubted Link’s ability to listen for too long.
Link watched him go with a million strange feelings fluttering around in his stomach. Ganondorf had not been a particularly pleasant caretaker, but the sheer force of his attentions had been humbling, to say the least. Link had a feeling the man wasn’t near done nagging.
He was definitely more suffocating than Navi.
The bandaging around his injury was almost comical, wrapped thick enough to look like a pillow encasing his arm. Despite the impish urge to disobey, Link kept even his fingers still, remembering the look of shock and horror on Ganondorf’s face. It’d all happened so fast, and now he was alone again, only this time it didn’t feel defeating like in the arena. He felt something quite different, settled snug into soft bedding that smelled safe and familiar, still warm from the previous occupant. If Link listened closely, he could hear Ganondorf busying around the kitchen; bottles clinking together and soft puffs of muffled magic. The crackling fireplace filled the rest of the quiet, and Link noticed his eyes felt far heavier than he could keep open.
It was the last observation he took before slipping into comfortable sleep, gratefully unfettered by panic and pain.
While he slept, Link dreamed.
He dreamed of all the places where he wasn’t, and they were so crystal clear, so achingly beautiful, that Link knew in an instant none of it was real. With heavy heartache, he let the wanderings of his mind take him through the open blue skies of Hyrule field, sitting atop Epona as if he’d never left. Lon Lon Ranch remained in the distance, and so did Kakariko, and the Korkiri forest, and even Zelda’s Castle. Spring was in full bloom, large patches of wildflowers swaying gently amidst tall field grass. In the dream, he was little more than a ghostly spectator, watching over Hyrule as it progressed through endless sunny days.
He kept waiting for the dream to change, but it never did. He was alone in the far corners of Hyrule, warm under the bright sun and saddled upon his steadfast companion. Removed from the rest of the world, which carried on effortlessly without him, Link realized he was seeing Hyrule as the gods willed it to be—healthy and thriving under an age free from calamity. It was beautiful, even as his heart ached to be part of it. The desire for those green fields, to feel the gentle winds that carried so much hope and light, seared across his heart with an agonizing intensity. Link yearned to reach out and hold close those fair, familiar winds, but they slipped through his ghostly fingers, fleeting and insubstantial.
He understood his place in such times of peace was unquestionably irrelevant, perhaps best suited to the far edges, quiet and forgotten.
The sun felt colder on his back.
Link woke slow and somber, feeling the lingering drag of his melancholic dream.
Numbly roused by the crackling fire, he became aware of splashing water from the bathroom. It was then that Link noticed several bottles of red potion taking up the remaining space on Ganondorf’s desk. Incense diffused throughout the room, carried on gentle curls of steam that snaked from the bathroom doorway.
As Link absorbed his surroundings, the dream-induced ache inside his chest eased on its own, retracting the snagging claws of heartache that had followed from sleep. The hurt was still there, deep down, but for a moment it felt muted. Distant enough that he could marvel at the strange contentment seeking to take its place.
Ganondorf came into the room shortly after, towel wrapped loose around his midsection and arms wrangling long red hair into a casual, unassuming style. Link found he enjoyed those particular hairstyles on him best.
Caught in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Link silently watching. Ganondorf moved through his usual routine, choosing comfortable clothes from the armoire, adorning himself with a cursory amount of jewelry, and then carefully picking around the bottles on his desk to find the usual, well-worn notebook. Link privately enjoyed the opportunity to observe without any measure of expectation or apprehension. The larger man carried such an easy, elemental confidence, nothing gangly or awkward. Link found himself marveling more closely than intended, resulting in a slight start for both men when each realized they’d been caught under observation.
“You’re awake.” Ganondorf announced, recovering more quickly than Link.
For his part, the younger coughed to clear his throat and nodded, glancing at his pillow-bandaged arm for a distraction. Ganondorf took note and immediately turned back to the desk, counting through a few bottles before plucking one from the collection.
“Drink this. It’s gone through an initial ferment. It will heal the deep tissue damage, both on your arm and back.”
Link accepted the bottle, nodding silently in thanks. He didn’t trust his voice to work just yet, not with the way Ganondorf was staring at him. As Link pulled the cork stopper with his teeth, the other man took a careful seat in a chair beside the bed, watching. The attention was quickly becoming unnerving. Link finished the draught, drinking deep and coming off with a gasp.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asked, wiping the edge of his mouth with a guarding hand. Ganondorf pursed his lips.
“Just making sure the potion is working, brat. No need to get worked up.”
Link narrowed his eyes, lacking true anger but trying to fake it anyway. He would have replied with something rude if the potion hadn’t suddenly taken effect. Link breathed in with a wild gusto of energy, riding a sudden influx of familiar chemical magic that could be felt flourishing through long-damaged parts he hadn’t noticed before. His fingers twitched, and a shiver ran down his spine as the flush of magic tapered to an end, leaving him significantly better off than before.
“Whoa.” Link breathed, blinking wide-eyed.
Ganondorf nodded satisfactorily, taking the empty bottle from him and tucking it into nowhere.
“What the hell was that?” Link tried not to gasp, feeling more than healed and ready to get back down to the arena.
“It was—Link, wait, not so fast! That potion wasn’t strong enough to have lasting effects if you run off and break yourself again.” Ganondorf quickly put out a hand to halt him from rising off the bed, an aggravated and slightly panicked look in his eye.
Punctured, Link stopped, giving him a less-than-impressed stare.
Ganondorf exhaled relief when Link eased himself back down, matching the younger’s expression with one of his own.
“I haven’t even taken the bandaging off your arm yet. Why on earth do you need to get up so quickly?”
Link shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact and mostly failing. If Ganondorf was anything like Navi, the conversation was about to become the Hylian Inquisition.
Until then, they lapsed into a stranger’s silence. It wasn’t explicitly awkward, nor tense, but the space between still felt cumbersome. Ganondorf retrieved another bottle from the desk, resuming his seat.
“I’m going to take off the bandaging, if you’ll kindly remain still?”
It was bizarre to receive such mundane respect from the man, even iced with a touch of sarcasm as it was. It showcased the unfamiliar side of Ganondorf, one that had come about since the inception of Link’s personal archery gallery and established boundaries.
Ganondorf didn’t move to touch him until Link granted a nod, feeling that flutter in his chest again. With surprising dexterity and mindfulness, he unwrapped each layer of gauze, teasing the bloodied layers off with dabs of warm saline water. Link watched with equal attentiveness, trying to take mental field notes. Ganondorf worked silently until all the bandaging was removed and the remaining extent of Link’s self-inflicted wound was apparent. It wasn’t pretty.
“The first potion healed the worst of the damage,” Ganondorf commented, eyeing the deepest parts of the injury closely. “A second application should take care of the rest.”
He pulled the stopper off the bottle in his hand, dripping a line of red potion along the rupture. It didn’t hurt, and the effect was instantaneous. Link watched with unschooled wonder as the wound zipped closed, leaving a hairline scar feathered by dried blood in its wake.
He wiggled his fingers cautiously, glancing at Ganondorf to see if he’d have a fit. The man watched without a critical eye, urging Link to move with a waved invitation.
There was no pain as Link flexed his newly restored arm, and only a slight lingering tenderness that reminded him not to stress the appendage too soon. In telling contrast, his shoulders and back ached with greater acuity, not having the benefit of two potion applications.
Link leaned forward, folding his right arm closer and marveling at the difference between Ganondorf’s ability to administer first aid and his ability to induce its need. It was hard not to think about the substantially weaker potions once used on him down in the dungeon, after debilitating rounds of a barbed whip. The memory caused a suffocating pressure to well up in his chest, unwelcome and incongruent with the gratitude that withered against it. He was healed, yet an unavoidable poltergeist continued to dog his thoughts, carrying nothing but ruin.
“Why were you training with a claymore in the dead of night?” Ganondorf asked, obtuse and leveling his usual militant bluntness.
Link opened and closed his fist, feeling the pressure around his heart increase reactively. Ganondorf should know the answer to that question, or at least know he wasn’t automatically entitled to an answer. Link couldn’t decide if he really believed that or if he was just angry, speaking from the mouth of the poltergeist that wouldn’t stop haunting him.
“What’s keeping you from sleep, then?” Ganondorf continued quickly, noting when Link had only shrugged in response to his first question and then pushed pillows aside, standing from the bed with the intent to leave.
Link rubbed at one of his shoulders, staring at Ganondorf with an uncomfortable frown. A lick of anger churned in his gut as he took in the other man’s helpless expression, a competing heaviness in his heart. Ganondorf seemed infuriatingly genuine at times, as if he truly didn’t recall the depths of his own transgressions. Meanwhile, Link could still feel lines of scarring across his back as he rubbed the sore muscles there.
“Nightmares.”
Whether or not Ganondorf knew the extent of his trauma, there wasn’t much he could say in response. The silence grew cumbersome again, unbearably so. Link was on the verge of finding a different place to rest his body and thoughts when Ganondorf stumbled out a catalyzing offer.
“I could help.”
The suggestion was audacious, even on the tail of administering two red potions, potions that were so much more potent than they used to be. Link fought the instinct to push him away, schooling the hurt that wanted to rise and lash out.
“… Why don’t you start by explaining why these red potions work so much better than the other ones?” Link clipped, a simmering bite to his tone.
Awkward, guilty silence was his response. It was to Ganondorf’s credit that he didn’t ask for clarification, that he knew Link was talking about the far weaker potions used on him in the dungeon. The man turned stone-like, as though he’d been caught by an unpleasant truth he’d hoped to keep buried. Link watched his reaction closely, noting every brief flit of expression that cycled through the hard lines of his face.
“I… was impatient, at the time. Careless and… negligent, when making each batch.” His answer came halted, with a reproachful frown held at a skewed angle. “The result was a poor-quality elixir, made worse so by lacking ingredients.”
He stared across the room, a faraway look in his dulled eyes.
“My intentions were different, as well.”
“… Your intentions?”
Link didn’t understand. He’d assumed mixing potions was like cooking, in the sense that a straightforward recipe was followed.
“Yes. Potion making is a kind of alchemy that utilizes the immaterial as much as material ingredients. I… was markedly less concerned, at the time, about the potion’s overall efficacy.”
Link resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could only hazard a guess at what ‘efficacy’ meant, but it sounded like a fancy way of saying he hadn’t given a damn about Link. Not exactly a surprise. It humbly illustrated the stark contrast of his current feelings, however. It made clear that what currently existed between them was not what it used to be, manifested in a potion that had infused his body with health and vigor.
The reactively inflating pressure in his chest began to diffuse. Link stretched out his arm, tensing and relaxing the once-damaged muscle. More incongruent emotions churned in his stomach: pain and gratitude, hope and fear. He felt increasingly cored by the objective truth that Ganondorf didn’t hate him, or even dislike him.
I want your company…
“And now… your intentions…”
Ganondorf glanced at him just briefly, eyes skittering away, silently begging Link not to ask, to spare him the vulnerability of honesty. Link had no interest in indulging such cowardice.
“What are your intentions now?”
The lines in Ganondorf’s face tightened. He glared furiously across the room, avoiding Link’s piercing gaze.
“… I don’t need to see you suffer. It’s… unnecessary.”
Link waited, letting the silence stretch on. Ganondorf grew more discomfited with each passing minute.
“My intentions…” His brow furrowed deeply, and then the man seemed to lose his nerve, waving a hand in the air as if to cast away his own responsibility. “What use are such questions, Link? My past undermines anything I would say.”
Disappointment diffused through him, though Link hardly felt surprised. He didn’t hide his bland expression either, leaning back against the pillows with a sigh. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, or why he’d expected anything at all. Ganondorf looked equally disappointed, almost abashed, unable to smooth over his hard expression.
To make matters worse, they glanced at each other at the same time, causing the suffocation of the moment to balloon. Link felt stubborn enough to maintain eye contact, still hungry for a real answer.
Unfortunately, for all his arrogance, courage was not the Triforce piece that Ganondorf carried.
“I drew a bath for you.” He muttered, looking like he wanted to smack himself silent even as he pressed on. “The water is infused with a soaking elixir, and there are new clothes in the armoire. … I will take my leave, if that might encourage you to stay.”
Link nearly glared at him, a frustrated pressure in his throat fracturing into a red heat that warmed across his cheeks. Ganondorf was trying, in more ways than one. He was trying to help, even as Link rightly fought against it. Despite Link’s hostility, Ganondorf didn’t want him to go away. He wanted him to stay .
Once-enemy. Companion.
Friend was much too foreign a consideration, but the way he offered his awkward, stilted kindness, something about it struck a similar chord. Link felt the anger in his heart rebuke against the idea, quelled by pressure lodged in his throat.
The bath sounded nice.
He couldn’t quite manage an audible response, but Ganondorf got the message well enough by a short, curt nod. The larger man sighed quietly before standing to full height, glancing only once at Link before quietly taking his leave. Link stood, fumbled in place for a moment, looking down at his body and noticing patches of dried blood still clinging to his skin. He didn’t know what to do with Ganondorf’s kindness when it arranged itself so closely to persistent, harrowing memories of his cruelty. There was a familiar anger, but also a yearning that warred constantly against his better senses, eroding them away until an unrecognizable version of himself remained.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do anymore. He didn’t even know what he wanted to do.
“Just take a bath.” Link muttered to himself, irritated with the exhaustive indecision.
Ganondorf had made him a bath. It wouldn’t be a crime to indulge. It wasn’t a crime when he’d indulged in such luxuries before.
Link shirked off his clothes, tossing them into the magic basket by the bathroom entryway that consumed and returned cleaner versions to the closed armoire. The amount of magic threaded throughout Ganondorf’s manifested fortress was constantly boggling.
As he stepped carefully into the heated, fragrant waters, the magic there was deeply gratifying as well. Link sunk down to his neck before he realized it, a low groan easing out when teal waters enveloped his entire body with a velvet embrace. A set of towels had been placed aside for his use, along with the usual glass bottles he typically washed with. The petulant anger still needling his senses dissolved, evaporating with curls of steam rolling off his skin. Link couldn’t stop the scowl from easing off his face, placing one of the fluffy rolls under his head and lying back with a deep sigh.
It didn’t take long to conclude that, despite the darkness of their past, indulging in the luxuries Ganondorf afforded him was certainly not a crime.
A long, unhurried time later, Link awoke again, not knowing when he’d drifted into a calm, dreamless sleep. The waters had suffused into every aching layer of his body, until he couldn’t quite pinpoint where he ended and the magic-infused liquid began. Such bodily sensations created a heady, drowsy effect, easing deep anxieties that Link hadn’t known existed until their seizing tension was gone.
Light movement in the room beyond and the tinkling of bottles let him know why he was awake. Link enjoyed the sense of contentment that couldn’t be bothered. Previous acidic enmity from before his long-soaking nap had been duly alkalized. As footfalls came closer, the thought of Ganondorf witnessing such self-indulgent repose did little but send a flitter of something impish up his chest.
A few sparse knocks broke through the steamed haze.
“The final potions are ready.” Ganondorf announced, keeping himself restricted to the doorway.
His commitment to newly erected boundaries was a continually humbling development. Submerged in tranquil waters, Link felt placid enough to encourage him in. Ganondorf stepped closer, easing into a respectful seat on the floor beside the collection of untouched soaps. Link pulled himself up, stretching lazily through a jaw-popping yawn.
“Are they necessary at this point?” he asked, turning in the waters and leaning against propped elbows upon the edge of the basin, wearing a languid smile.
Ganondorf chuckled softly.
“Oh yes. Judging by your uncommon composure, I’m afraid I might have added a bit too much of the muscle-relaxing elements to the water. They will not have lingering effects once you leave the bath.”
“Mm, maybe I should just stay in then.” Link grinned, slinking back into the water.
“A fair choice.” The other smirked, setting down a glittering red potion well within Link’s reach. “Though I suggest drinking this if you’d like the effects of the soak to stick around after you dry off.”
Ganondorf moved to stand up. Link realized, with a quickening patter of his heart, that the man was leaving already.
“Wait—!”
The word came out before he could think to stop it. Link froze mid-rise from the water, struck dumb by his own behavior.
“Um…”
Whatever insanity had urged him to bid that Ganondorf stay quickly dried up in the wake of his subsequent floundering. For his part, the Gerudo man looked equally unsure, hesitating at an awkward perch on the floor.
“Um… you don’t… you don’t have to leave yet, if you don’t want to.” Link forced out, each word blooming an ever-increasing degree of heat on his face.
Ganondorf sat back down slowly, cautiously, like he fully expected Link to fling a bottle of soap at him at any given moment.
An awkward beat of silence passed. The awful blush on Link’s face deepened as Ganondorf dared to look a touch more hopeful.
“You didn’t put anything funny in the water, did you?” Link blurted, narrowing his eyes with cool suspicion.
“Nothing chemically suggestive, if that’s what you’re implying.” The man sniffed, sounding a touch offended.
Link sunk a bit lower into the water to hide the deep-rooted blush, keeping his eyes sharp. Even with his heart doing strange flips in his chest, any tension along his back and shoulders remained well-soothed. As the silence stretched on again, Ganondorf glanced at the soap bottles, picking out a tall rose-colored flask.
“You still have spots of blood in your hair. … May I?”
The flipping sensation spasmed into something else. Ganondorf was asking to wash his hair. Link wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, remembering what it felt like to have his fingers massage against his scalp. The most indulgent parts of him purred shamelessly inside, far stronger than the usual fear. When Link didn’t immediately turn him down, Ganondorf sought to encourage, barely restraining the note of eagerness in his voice.
“I don’t have to get in the water, look—”
Moving carefully, he scooted himself farther away and then placed his hands along the edge of the wash basin. Each hand diffused a warm red glow, suddenly able to mold the marbled edge like clay. In deft movements, he pushed and pulled a new shape into a small section of the bath. Link inched closer to observe the small, head-sized basin pressed into a previously hard edge. A smooth divot for his neck gave way to ample space for Ganondorf to wash and rinse his hair, all from his seated place on the floor. Water had already flowed into the small concave pool, and with a final cup-procuring flourish, Ganondorf was done.
“See? No funny business.”
An instinctual risk-accessing eye had Link glancing between the pool and Ganondorf, whilst a wanting, telling jump in his chest drew him closer. Smothering apprehension was easier than expected. Link swam to the offered seat, leaning back against the newly molded edge and sinking lower to rest his head in the shallow pool. All the while his heart clenched and unclenched, tripping over itself in a stumbling arrhythmia.
It's okay, Link reasoned to himself, watching as Ganondorf moved closer.
His shadow blocked the light but didn’t loom. Broad hands dipped into the water at either side of his head, tangling in the floating strands of yellow hair. Link closed his eyes when he felt the man’s fingertips rub against his scalp, a wild mix of sensations collapsing in on sensible thought. He quickly recognized the absence of fear in his racing heart, trying not to question it.
Ganondorf washed and rinsed his hair carefully, nails lightly scraping at the back of his head. Link allowed each maneuvering touch as they came, trying to keep himself from sinking too deeply into sedation. They didn’t speak, each afraid to break the fledgling harmony that had spawned. The whole event ended far sooner than preferred.
“That should do it.”
As he spoke, Ganondorf eased his head up out of the water, wrapping a towel across his forehead so water didn’t run down his face.
“Thanks.” Link replied, reaching up to hold the towel in place.
After wringing out his hair, he turned to see Ganondorf preemptively holding out a red potion bottle. With a laugh, Link traded the towel for the medicine, popping the cork and quickly draining the glowing solution.
Again, a dazzling effect followed the drink as it travelled down to his stomach, spreading out to warm the marrow of his bones and all the entwining deep muscle tissue. Link breathed out an exhilarated huff, trying to remember if the potions had been as strong in Hyrule. In a different headspace, the thought might have drawn him back into spiraling ruminations. He was thankful that this time, medicated waters kept the darkness of uncertainty at bay.
Link stretched his back and shoulders, grinning with ease of movement. For once, nothing hurt. Not even the long, whip-induced scars pulled with uncomfortable tightness. He felt restored in more ways than he could explain, invigorated, wishing the feeling could last indefinitely.
“Your hair has grown.”
As Ganondorf voiced his seemingly inconsequential comment, Link caught the way his fingers fiddled just slightly. He remained calmly in place, keeping a respectful distance as Link finished towel-drying long, damp strands that now tickled the points of his shoulder blades. An unspoken thought hovered between them, but Ganondorf didn’t seem brave enough to voice it. Link reasoned the man probably didn’t want to push his luck, and it would have been pushing, if circumstances were different.
Amidst the violence of his time in the dungeon, Link hadn’t forgotten those strange moments of buried humanity Ganondorf let slip, when he’d brushed and groomed his dirty, knotted hair with meticulous gentleness. In those times, the man had seemed as exhausted by keeping Link prisoner as Link was with being chained, as if he was equally trapped by a monster within.
Altogether, different circumstances.
Link didn’t want to go back to those times, not in any way. The demonic red had long faded from the Gerudo King’s eyes. A burning resolve imprinted itself into Link’s heart, urging him to lean into what was happening now . He felt markedly unafraid, reveling in the dearly missed feeling. Whether it was a consequence of medicated healing or his own sheer foolishness, Link felt, for a blissful, freeing moment, unafraid of Ganondorf.
Galvanized and without regard to his own nudity, he pulled himself from the bath, drying off before wrapping a towel around his waist. The adrenaline thrumming comfortably in his heart felt similar to the first headlong dive into a cursed temple. He felt eyes on him as he walked to the vanity set against the wall, pulling open a drawer to fish out a brush. Link turned around and held the item out, inviting Ganondorf in.
“You wanna help me out with this?”
The astonishment in Ganondorf’s posture was expertly contained, visible only in the way his eyes opened a fraction wider than usual. In swift response, he moved closer, taking the offered brush and gesturing opulently for the younger man to sit before the vanity.
They’d done this before, too, Link noted as he situated himself in front of the mirror, looking at Ganondorf’s towering reflection and the way it filled the frame, dwarfing him in size. Ganondorf hardly seemed to notice, focused solely on teasing out buried knots Link hadn’t bothered to fuss with for the past few days. Every now and then he’d make a funny noise of exasperation, or tsk with displeasure upon evidence of a particularly kinked knot.
“Do you actually brush your hair in the morning, or do you just hide everything in a ponytail?” The man grumbled, looking to be deeply enjoying himself.
“I used to have a hat to help hide it all.”
Ganondorf snorted, wearing a crooked smile.
“May that hideous cap never darken your head again.”
Link let out a blistering sound, twisting around to swipe for the hairbrush. Ganondorf anticipated this movement, holding it high out of reach.
“Let me finish. I’ll convince you a traditional Gerudo style will suit you far better.”
As Link narrowed his eyes and slowly turned around, a quiet smile eased onto Ganondorf’s face. He brought his hands back to Link’s hair with the same careful touch, teasing out all the knots until a fine-toothed comb was able to glide easily through the drying strands. Each drag was methodical, almost meditative, lulling them both into a rare, quiet headspace.
Link felt hands partition his hair, felt them feathering against his back as the many strands were gathered into a low braid. The fingers that manipulated these many damp strands occasionally wandered, but never far. There was a telling hesitation when they sometimes brushed against uncomfortably textured lines carved into his skin. Link shivered, acutely feeling each lacerated scar when a lingering touch brought them to attention. The flesh had healed poorly, resulting in an uncomfortable tension across his back, tension that returned and redoubled when the hands braiding his hair went still. Link felt Ganondorf’s stare burning into the old scars.
“These wounds healed as poorly as the potions I made.” He murmured, hovering his hands. “… I… believe I can fix that, if you are willing. Though I can’t promise the scarring will wholly fade.”
Link half turned to look at him, fighting off the sensation of crawling ants returning to march across his back, a flickering warmth sputtering sadly in his chest. It seemed like Ganondorf was attempting to apologize in his usual piss-poor way, through offerings that addressed the ugly consequences of his actions but skirted around the humility of saying “I’m sorry”. Still, it was certainly better than nothing.
Link nodded once, turning back to face the mirror.
Moderately more infused by his reply, a quiet determination settled into Ganondorf’s yellow eyes.
He carefully returned to braiding and sectioning his hair. Link shivered when the point of the comb began to gently trace a line behind an ear, moving horizontally to the other. With a light touch against his jaw, Ganondorf bid him to tip his head to the side. Deft fingers braided the hair at the side of his head, keeping it pinned at the back of his skull as he repeated the same knotwork on the opposite side, pulling all the collected strands into a ponytail. This he also braided, which was then coiled around itself and pinned in place. He finished by brushing out the hair that still hung loose, feathering against his back and shoulders.
Link’s stubborn bangs couldn’t be tamed, of course, but somehow, they didn’t look out of place with the arrangement, which was overall neat and somewhat casual, despite the complicated-looking braid work. Link moved his head around to get a better look at the small, braided bun secured tightly at the back of his head, surprised to find that he didn’t hate it.
“Not bad.” He commented, earning a scoff from the man above him.
“Please,” Ganondorf rolled his eyes, reaching around to the vanity and looking for something in one of the smaller drawers. “It looks excellent. Now all you need is the traditional—”
Link saw him lift a delicate gold chain studded with jeweled hairpins.
“ No. ”
Ganondorf turned to pin him with a supremely disappointed pout, still holding the jewelry as though there was a chance in hell Link would wear it.
“I’m not wearing that.”
“But why ?” The man groused, looking utterly put-out.
“I don’t want to.” Link replied blandly, standing and readjusting the towel around his hips. Ganondorf crossed his arms, still pouting. Link got a closer look at his reflection, realizing with a sudden lurch just how much longer his hair had grown, long enough that it fell past his clavicle.
“… How… long have we been here?” He asked, talking to the unfamiliar reflection.
He didn’t really recognize himself anymore. Link hadn’t made much of a habit noticing his own reflection in Hyrule, but there was still something off about the man who looked back at him now. It certainly wasn’t a child who stared back.
Ganondorf filled the view behind him, failing to inspire the same sense of fear from before they fell into their pit together. From this perspective, he was just another man, tired as well, and equally defeated. Link watched his larger form shrug helplessly, eliciting a sigh.
It didn’t really matter. They’d been here long enough, and they’d be here longer still.
Link followed Ganondorf out of the bathroom, his body restored. There was nothing to do for the heavy miasma that clung stubbornly in his mind, a sadness so intense it felt like an entity unto itself. Link shuffled a little closer to Ganondorf as they came to the armoire, trying to turn away from the miserable darkness.
“You mentioned something different for me to wear?” He asked, trying to keep the malaise out of his voice.
With entirely too much energy, the man turned and looked down at him, a sharp smile upturning one edge of his mouth.
“Nothing obscene.” Link glared, ears flattening back. “Comfortable. Practical.”
Ganondorf snorted a laugh, turning to pick through piles of brightly colored fabric.
“I know what will suit you.” He replied confidently, which neither inspired confidence nor eased the tumultuous flipping in Link’s gut.
“That’s what I’m generally afraid of.” He muttered, eyeing the colorful fabric collecting in Ganondorf’s arm with increasing distrust.
The Gerudo man waved away his concern, clearly enjoying himself, and oddly not at Link’s expense. When he tried to furtively add a modest gold jewelry chain to the pile, Link shut him down with another hard no. Ganondorf was only moderately dismayed as he closed the armoire and brought the outfits to their bed, which was clean and remade as if Link hadn’t bled all over it.
“Here, these colors complement you.”
Link was quick to notice the deep green garment, and then, surprisingly, a sky blue arrangement next to it. Both had differing designs of gold embroidered along various edges, and both looked equally comfortable. He liked the blue; it reminded him of Ganondorf’s stories about endless lakes. Closer observation to the accompanying, layered pants revealed a damning design choice, however. Though the pants stretched long to the floor, there was a slit cut into each side, starting at the top of the hip, and running to mid-calf. The opening revealed purple shorts that looked barely long enough to hold his privates together. Certainly not long enough to keep his ass fully covered.
He held up the offending bottoms and sent Ganondorf a dry glare, to which he shamelessly shrugged.
“Can’t blame a man for trying.”
Link tried to remain serious for reasons that increasingly eluded him. Tamping down a smirk, he tossed the garment as Ganondorf picked up the deep green, tunic-like shirt.
He held it out, as if in apology. Link pulled the sleeveless top on, enjoying the wide cut that allowed his shoulders room to move and his exposed neck to breathe. The bottoms were much more practical and easy to slip on under his towel, which fell away as he settled the rust-red material snuggly against his hips. When he looked up, Ganondorf was holding out a golden-yellow length of cloth that Link noticed in the pile but didn’t know what to do with.
It was as beautiful as the rest, inlaid with winding lines of red embroidery. The material was thinner than either the pants or the shirt, tapering off into braided rope lengths at each end.
“May I?” The man asked.
Nothing about the cloth looked suspicious, though of course Link could find ways to make it dangerous if he tried. The inclination was wearisome and unpalatable at this point. He didn’t want to keep looking for danger wherever Ganondorf existed. Ignoring the trill of uncertainty, Link nodded, holding his ground when Ganondorf stepped closer.
“Turn around and hold your arms out. This is a khith sash. It wraps around your torso like so.” Standing behind him, he positioned the center of the long cloth slightly above his navel, holding it in place with a splayed hand as he began to wrap each end around his midsection.
Link was keenly aware of a buzzing warmth radiating from under Ganondorf’s broad hand, hoping the man couldn’t feel his quickening heart. Trails of unseen fire lingered where his hands moved against him, methodical and focused. A special kind of fold was tied into the fabric at the small of his back, which Ganondorf explained but Link was too distracted to listen, not when the man began tucking each end of the sash into various layers, his fingers dancing in small, deft movements around his hips.
“And that’s it. A properly wrapped khith .”
Ganondorf took one of Link’s outstretched hands to gently turn him around, taking a step back and letting go, as if every touch were casual. He looked pleased, gazing upon his own handiwork, not in a manipulative sense but in a much more mundane manner of seeing a task well-finished. Link seemed to be the only one getting his britches in a bunch over the exchange.
He looked down at himself, catching his reflection yet again, this time in a full-body mirror by the armoire. The outfit was certainly more… distinctive than what he was used to. Despite the overall simplicity, Link couldn’t help admiring the way it looked, surprised to find he genuinely liked the style. It was still hard to believe the person who looked back from the mirror was himself, especially with the similarly unfamiliar man who stood behind him.
There were no feelings of threat or dangerous uncertainty as he stood before the once-Gerudo King. Link’s good health was notably unusual, not a single half-healed wound to account for. Cleaned and dressed in distinctly Gerudo garb, Link marveled at how different he looked from the tired, worn-out Hero who sometimes haunted his memory. Ganondorf looked nothing like the mad war-lord of his nightmares either, gazing at their combined reflection in a posture of content repose.
For a small, cherished moment, as he took in all that was within the gilded frame, something about the reflection felt comfortable. Against all odds and despite lingering griefs, what he saw felt almost as warm and welcoming as home.
The realization reverberated through him like a low, electric pulse. He stepped back, almost as if to rebuke the idea, bumping into Ganondorf. The taller man looked down, brows furrowed.
“Are you alright?”
Link nodded hastily, ripping his eyes away from the mirror and all the wonderful, terrible things it promised, things Link knew, deep down, he wouldn’t resist for long. His heart was racing again, but he couldn’t quite discern why. He felt his stomach flip with anxiety, praying he wasn’t being taken for a fool again. Link couldn’t yet shake the darkness that still haunted the innermost cracks of his heart, leaving a rotted ache that refused to give him peace.
“I’m fine.” He murmured, an automatic response.
Ganondorf understood him well enough by now to know when he was full of shit, just as Navi had. And Sheik.
Navi had always wanted to talk about it. Sheik had stared sadly, never pushing, always waiting. The feelings that swirled inside were never easy to pick apart, and often, they had languished unspoken under Navi’s constant pestering or Sheik’s permissive silence.
“No, you’re not.” Ganondorf scoffed, jolting Link out of his thoughts.
His arrogance was utterly unmoved by the glare Link turned up at him. He merely raised a fiery red brow, daring the younger man to argue.
“Come, follow me.” He gestured to the door, already walking away. “I want to see what you did with the claymore.”
“What?” Link snapped in surprise, staring with an unhelpful mix of irritation and damning intrigue.
“I’d like to see how you induced your injury.” Ganondorf announced. “Consider it my own issue if you must, but I’ll feel much better about leaving the armory unlocked knowing you won’t accidentally decapitate yourself.”
“I know how to use a sword, asshole. I had no problem wielding one against you not too long ago.”
“Clearly it was long enough.”
Link gaped in outrage, annoyed, and most strangely of all, possessed by an infuriated willingness to follow. Ganondorf’s dismissive attitude ignited a petulant fire, demanding he follow the divinely ordained bane of his existence to lash back in equal measure. Link ran to catch up, a brackish amusement gripping him and placating his irritation into something much easier to bear, something almost enjoyable .
As he entered the arena, he had to stop short, catching the pommel of a smaller blade thrown to him without warning. Ganondorf stood to the side of the sparring platform, arms crossed with a transparent bemusement rooted to his expression.
“Now show me what happened so I can tell you what you did wrong.”
Link rolled his eyes, smirking despite himself, and stepped up to play along.