Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Generally speaking, Legend loves getting his hands on magic items.

What can he say? There’s something nifty about an object that defies the expected constraints of reality. From rings that function as armor, to feathers that make jumping a breeze, to musical instruments that cast spells better than wands, they all come in handy.

Even when they’re not his (as in, are explicitly someone else’s) he can’t help but do some admiring. He’s spent a fair share of nights appraising the other’s inventories over the warm glow of a bonfire. But there was always one item that he could never seem to glean any substantial information on, no matter how slyly he pressed.

Four has historically been… skittish… about discussing the Four Sword.

Look, Legend knew it held some powerful magic the second he laid eyes on it. It was obvious. He could feel it. Even if he couldn’t, half of the swords in the chain’s possession are, or had once been, one-of-a-kind weapons of incredible power. Hyrule’s Magic Sword shoots beams, and Wind sometimes jabbers on about how (no really, he swears) the Phantom Sword had once held the ability to stop time dead in its tracks. That’s not even getting into the Master Sword. The Four Sword, though? Oh, Four could tell you about how it was once broken, and the techniques used to reforge it, and he could even tell you about every material in its make, but any inquiry into the why is it magic and how and what for always made the smithy clam up.

Even after smithy’s full colors had come to light, Legend wasn’t expecting to get many details on its true nature. Telling Vio that he’d love to try it out for himself had been a joke.

A joke that had been received with pricked ears and a knowing smile instead of laughter, worrisomely.

Anyway. Cut to a week later. Small town, Time’s Hyrule, smells strongly of cow patties. The captain and Twi walk behind him, all heavy bootfall and hefty poise. Wind skips ahead, hehehe–ing suspiciously the whole time. Legend walks beside Four, trying not to stare at the sword too much.

Twilight is here because Four trusts him so damn much.

Wind is here because he apparently got ahold of the sword at one point (fucking how!?), and already has experience with it.

And Warriors is here because he overheard them making plans and decided that his no-snitch condition was supervising the fun. As far as the old man knows, they’ve all headed out to find a nice place to spar together.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually letting us do this,” Legend says as they hop a fence.

“I’m not sure that we can believe it either,” Four replies, measured and a little distant, the way Legend mostly remembered them being before the colors came to light.

If you caught them on a mellow day, sometimes Four ended up staying the same color from sunrise to sunset. Excitement prompted more rapid switches. Portal sickness, visiting new people and places, the heat of battle — those things usually resulted in a rainbow stare and frequent mood shifts.

And shot nerves. Nerves did that to them too. Right now, Four is staring over the overgrown field before them, mouthing a thought to themselves. Legend, along with Twilight, Wind, and Warriors, waits patiently for the smithy to finish whatever internal conversation they were having. They’ve all learned that this is more polite than trying to shake Four out of their thoughts, like they used to do.

“It is a relief to know that Four’s attention lapses aren’t, say, micro-seizures or anything of that nature,” Wars admits quietly.

Legend’s brows furrow. “Never thought about that.”

“I did. I was honestly starting to get worried, before we figured it out. Hyrule and I were discussing ways to stealthily conduct an examination.”

Warriors says “we,” but Legend very much did not figure it out until suddenly there were four Fours in front of him, providing a full explanation for why smithy had been red-tunic’d and strangely sobby for half of a dungeon expedition. Him and Sky had been convinced that the dungeon had turned Four into a child. At least Red had forgiven them for the babying pretty quickly.

A town clocktower chimes once in the distance, ticking face in full view of their field. Four exhales, shaking their head as they turn back to the group.

“So, how we gonna do this?” Twi asks. “Just pass the sword around, see what happens?”

“Hold on. We — as in, we and you — must have a proper conversation first,” Four says. It’s Vio talking, maybe. The words have his cadence to them. Not that it matters; the smithy draws their sword, and in a blinding flash of light, they divide.

All of Four sighs in relief and stretches their separate bodies.

Green steps out of the lineup first, looking more displeased than anyone else here. “So, let’s get one thing straight. We’re letting you guys do this because someone can’t keep his curiosity in check, and it’s starting to get distracting. I wouldn’t be approving this if humoring you wasn’t necessary to keep us functioning. The Four Sword is a weapon, and you need to respect the danger it poses in the same way that you would respect a firerod, or a nocked bow. Understood?”

At the word ‘someone,’ Vio straightens with offense. “You cannot tell me that you don’t feel at least a little interested in the nature of the sword’s magic too. Especially not after the revelation we had during the Four Winds Incident.”

“That revelation is exactly why I don’t want to poke at this.”

“Coward,” Blue casually calls.

When Legend raises an eyebrow at them, Green looks away, and the other three silently and very vigorously shake their heads. Okay, so ‘the revelation’ was not up for discussion today. That was alright with Legend. Today was about the sword.

Green continues to talk, clutching his fragment of the blade close to his chest.

“Before anyone else draws our sword, I need to lay out some rules. Firstly; before you split, I need all of you to keep one thought absolutely burning a hole through the forefront of your mind. You do not leave this field. The Four Winds Incident reminded us that your different parts are going to have some impulses and instincts to wrestle under control the first time they separate, and your inhibitions might not be distributed equally. I don’t want Time to chew us out because someone’s mischievous side got loose and started causing property damage.”

“Did that happen, Wind?” Wars whispers.

“There wasn’t any property around to damage in the middle of the wilderness, so no, my mischief did not commit property damage.”

By a bare technicality, Legend intuits.

“Secondly,” Green continues, “you are all going to have to get comfortable with the idea that you might see facets of yourself that you don’t fully understand, don’t know are there, or just plain don’t like.

“Thirdly, you each get about three minutes with the sword, and three minutes only. This is in part because…

“Fourthly, and finally, you’re going to be talking to yourself for a little bit after you separate. It’s completely normal, but also pretty overwhelming the first time it happens. Wind took a few hours to wind down last time, because he was split for an entire afternoon. If you’re only separate for a few minutes then it won’t take as long.”

“We think,” Blue adds helpfully.

Wars has already whipped out a journal. “It sounds like you’re experts on the sword’s function.”

“Well duh!” Red says. “We’ve been using this thing for years. We reforged it with our own hands! So of course we know at least a little bit about it.”

“The question is less a matter of how the sword functions on a practical level, and more a matter of how it chooses to divide individuals who are not us,” Vio says, hiking onto his tiptoes in a fruitless attempt to read Wars’ notes. “Wind’s separation gave us plenty of new insight, but it’s still only one other perspective on the sword. Seeing what others look like when separate will help us see if there are any recurring patterns. Now, are we ready?”

Red, Blue, and Green look at each other, then nod. Legend shields his eyes from the flash of light as Four reunites. With a self-steadying exhale, they hand off their sword.

“Wind goes first, as a demonstration.”

Chapter Text

The distant clock tower tick tick ticks up to a new minute. Their little sailor considers the Four Sword, and lifts it skyward. Light flashes over the field, painting the grass with a metallic shimmer. The four Winds that shift apart from each other are pearly white, oil-slick purple, rose-gold, and just plain normal gold — nothing like Four’s colors at all. Rose-gold Wind immediately starts to take off, but the pearly and dark Winds grab him by the collar.

“Hi!” says the pearly Wind. “My name’s Gust. We’re named because we’ve been through this song-and-dance before. I’m our navigator, and apparently the only one with any sense.”

“My name is Breeeeeeeeze!” the golden doppel bursts out before flopping over in the grass. He giggles. “Four named me! We’re forecasts. It’s really nice being me this time. Last time was mostly lonely. We should visit the sea like this, we could be a whole pirate crew all by oursel—!”

“Gale,” says the dark Wind. “I can kill.”

“Kill monsters,” Gust corrects. “Monsters specifically.”

“So, do we count Ganondorf as a—”

“Yes.”

What about Li—”

“We fought him, we didn’t kill him. Why would you even bring that up.”

“That bother you, nav? Maybe you should think twice before saying that I’m senseless next time.”

Wars catches Legend’s eye and mouths, making a note of that. Legend nods subtly back. Him and Wars have their disputes, but Wind’s wellbeing? They’d both die for that.

They all have to stare at the rose-gold Wind for a bit before he stops squirming and bothers to introduce himself too. “Well, mateys, you stand before Hurricane, infamous pirate-hero of the Great Sea, doer of many very splendorous and daring deeds. I think I deserve to spend my three minutes away from these idiots basking in freedom! You are all so cruel to me, lashing me in the metaphorical chains of your iron grip. Let me at least steal Wars’ scarf. Is it really a scarf? It’s honestly more of a cape, huh? Biiiiig scarfy scarf.”

Breeze sighs. “Big and soft.”

“Was Hurri always this eloquent?” Gust asks.

Gale wrinkles his nose. “Maybe we’ve been hanging around Wars too much.”

From where he stands, Warriors raises an eyebrow. “Now willing to admit. To rascally intentions. Directly,” he notes. “All of Wind. But. The happy one… continue to backsass relentlessly.”

“Am I the happy one?” Breeze burbles, rolling in the grass.

“Yes?”

“Yay, Wars like me best!”

Wars flusters, smiling from behind the journal.

When Twilight chokes back an obvious snicker and flops in the grass next to Breeze, grinning, Gust just gives everyone a tired look. “Look, Green wasn’t joking when he said that you might not like everything that you see.”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm,” Wars says. “So, does the timing of this statement imply that you find the happy part of you less likable than the murderous one, sailor? Or, say, the horrid little miniblin in need of restraint?”

“Frankly? I’m the only one that’s not embarrassing.”

“Wrong,” Hurricane and Gale snap.

“Hehehe.” Breeze rolls over to hug Twilight. “Just relax, guys. Everyone thinks we’re embarrassing anyway.”

Twilight squints at him, then hugs him back real hard.

It is at this point that Hurricane realizes that his legs aren’t restrained, and can theoretically be used in the service of shenanigans. He kicks Gale and Gust in the crotch, making a renewed escape attempt. Four tackles him themself and declares Wind’s turn over thirty seconds early.

Chapter Text

They give the reunited Wind a while to lay in the grass and wait to knit together again. He’s unusually subdued while they wait; eyes closed, silently mouthing a conversation to himself. Then, the kid leaps back to his feet and snappily offers the Four Sword up. His grin belies his haste. It’s a little like he wants to get it off of his hands as fast as possible, honestly.

Legend feels like he should reassure him or something. “Fun demonstration, sailor.”

“Thanks! Who wants to go next?”

Twilight, Wars, and Legend all look at each other. None of them exactly leap at the chance. Curiosity burns in all their eyes, but so does the understanding that they might not handle the sword any better than Wind does.

“I think that Legend should go first,” Wars volunteers, sweeping an arm magnanimously. “If he ends up having a horrible little miniblin personality inside of him, like Wind—”

“Hey!”

“—then him being smaller means that he will be easier to subdue than, say, I or Twilight, should we also happen to have an unexpectedly rowdy sense of self.”

Wow. Fuck you. “Firstly, I’m not that small. Secondly, I think you’d find me harder to subdue than you think. Thirdly, it kind of doesn’t matter the order, we’ve all agreed to do this anyway, for the sake of magic-science. Fourthly, I think Wars should go first ‘cause he’s clearly scared. Might as well get it over with, captain.”

Wars inhales, preparing to lob a retort.

“Y’all’re both scared to cuccoshit,” Twi interrupts, deadpan. “Don’t worry, I’m goin’ first.”

He plucks the sword from Wind’s hands and raises it to the sky. The flash of light that follows reminds Legend of the glare of a falling sunset, casting the triple-mirages emerging from him in shadow.

Immediately after they separate, one of the Twilights sinks to his knees, stifling sobs behind his hands. The other Twilights startle back. Few of their tunics have any color, weirdly enough. There’s a pale off-white one, a black one, and a warm shade of gray — this one is the crier. Then the last one is a soft orange, for some utterly inscrutable reason.

“Twi?” Four asks, kneeling beside the crier.

“I’M FINE,” he says between sobs. “Fine.”

Lege crosses his arms. “Aw. Buddy.”

“Oh my good, good goddesses. Note. To. Self,” the captain scribbles with a furious concern. “Some part. Of Twilight. Is deeply not okay. Do you need anything, Sad Twilight? A hug, a visit from your horse, anything at all…?”

“I-I just— Ordon. Ordon! ‘N some other folks I left. ‘N I miss things makin’ sense, and I’m tired in an itchy spot in me, and I wanna go hooooome! Don’t y’all wanna go home?”

Wind’s ears twitch sympathetically. Legend’s too.

“Deathly homesick,” Wars notes under his breath. “Potentially incurable with our current resources.”

And just like that, their sailor starts looking around shiftily. “I hope not. We need a way to shush him before Time magically gets wind of this and comes running.”

A cringe wracks Legend as his imagination conjures the disappointed Look that the old man will give them if he ever realizes that they somehow managed to make the big lug sob like this. The guilt inflicted by such a Look could kill a man stone-cold-dead. Before he can think of a way to help, though, the ivory Twilight doppel eyes Wars’ scribbling and launches himself at the captain with an ornery, canine-sharp grin.

“Warsy! I needa DO something. Let’s wrestle!”

“I am taking NOTES you reprobate!”

“Not anymore, you ain’t!”

Legend catches Wars’ journal and pencil as they’re flung out of his hand. He half-wonders if ivory Twilight did that to try and keep anything else embarrassing off the record.

The black-tunic’d Twilight is thankfully helping Four to soothe the crier now. He seems tired; a little softer around the eyes, but a little feral in their center. Kind of parental, kind of fierce. When Legend meets his gaze, he tenses, guarded. “He’ll be good,” this Twilight says, referring to the crier. “Don’t go makin’ fun of him — me? — for this.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. He really, really doesn’t look good,” Legend says.

“He’ll be good when we fold ourself back up and let him rest.”

That sounds a bit like repression to Legend, but what does he know? He has nothing bottled up, no siree.

Fierce-soft Twi just pats the other one, lowering his voice. “Alright, shhh now, shhh, you gotta pull yourself together. C’mon. What d’ya think she would do if she saw us bawlin’ like this, cub?”

The crier sniffles. “Laugh.”

“I mean— yea.” Fierce-soft Twi takes a seat, suddenly dead-eyed. “Yea, she’d laugh at us real good.”

There’s a hard blue glint in Four’s scrutiny now. “So we have two sad-ish Twilights? That’s weird! Gotta say, I didn’t put any rupees on that happening. At least I get points for calling ‘part of Twilight wrestles Wars’ ahead of time.”

Fierce-soft Twilight bares his teeth. “Y’all made bets?”

“With Vio. Not that it matters when we all share the same rupee pouch.”

Damn. Legend should have set up some bets beforehand too. Well, too late to get anything going now. So, they have two sad Twis, one irrepressible one, and as for the orange Twilight… Legend’s heart jumps in his throat. “Wait, where did the fourth Twilight go?”

“Oh, he’s right here,” says Wind.

Their sailor is currently giving Wolfie — Wolfie? — belly rubs. His tail slaps against the ground happily and his tongue lolls out of his mouth. It’s an awfully tame look for a majestic beast.

Four hunches forward with a clinical interest as Vio takes over. “Different items end up on different colors’ persons. If they’re not the Four Sword or perhaps a shield, and they’re not essential clothing, they don’t duplicate. So, this Twilight ended up with that necklace of his. He hit the ground on all fours and transformed as soon as he thought no-one was looking. Hasn’t said a word yet.”

Legend smirks and makes a note of his own in Wars’ journal. “On some level, some part of Twilight is spiritually a dog. Or, prefers to be one, anyway.”

Crying Twi wipes his nose on his sleeve and reaches out to give Wolfie Twi a scratch between the ears. “Puppy,” he says softly. “Doggie.”

Fierce-soft Twi nods. “Puppy doggie.”

“Puppy doggie,” Legend agrees, writing that down.

“Puppy doggie. Hey, should we give the Twis names?” Wind ponders.

The colors in Four’s eyes whirl in vague turmoil, then get pushed out by green as they glance at the clocktower. “NOPE. His time’s already up. And admittedly, it might ease his merge if we don’t name them. Naming your forecasts was out of convenience.”

Wind sighs. “Alright, shape up Wolfie. Hey, I guess this one already has a name!”

It takes a lot of coaxing and ear-scratchies to convince Wolfie Twi to return to personhood long enough for them to merge again.

Chapter Text

Twilight also spends some time laying in the grass. A little longer than Wind does, actually. Legend’s not sure if he needs more time to reunite himself, or if he’s just sulking because some of that was deeply, deeply embarrassing to behold. So much new ribbing material has been dug up today. And on a less sadistic note, Legend now has a few new things to keep in mind if Twi ever starts getting mopey.

The sword is up for grabs once more.

Warriors moves to snatch his journal back as soon as he’s done brushing off all the dirt and grass flecks from his and ornery Twi’s roughhousing. Legend dances away. “It’s okay, Warsy. If you’re really not scared, then I think it’s your turn. I’ll take some notes for you,” he offers, twirling the pencil.

The captain’s brows furrow. “If you begin perusing the rest of the journal, so help me, I will dump Twilight’s bedazzled insect collection into your bedroll when you least expect it.”

Twi sniffs. Maybe he’s not fully recovered yet. “Oh don’t do that. What did them poor bitty bugs ever do to you?”

“Haven’t you mentioned eating bee larvae before, rancher?”

“Not outta malice! Circle of life, y’know, like when you use ‘em for fishin’.”

Wars looks vaguely confused and apologetic for two seconds before shrugging it off and taking the sword. Light dances through the air as if filtered through a stained-glass window of the royal crest.

At first, Legend is a little confused. Every Wars has the exact same stupid-bright-shade-of-green tunic. He becomes slightly less confused when he glances up a little bit, to the various Wars’ necks. A dark red scarf, a yellow one, a blue one (much lighter than his usual blue), and a silver. It reminds him of the colors on a Hylian shield.

The blue Wars blinks, then grabs his nearest duplicate — silver — and beams. “Oh my goddesses. These aren’t mere phantasms; we’re all really flesh-and-blood. Brilliant. Brilliant!”

Silver takes the manhandling with a surprisingly subdued and appreciative nod. “It is, isn’t it? Imagine how much more I could get done if there was four of me here all the time—”

(“Not always as much as you’d think,” Four whispers under their breath.)

“—but ahh, wait! In that case, we need to organize.”

Twilight, Legend, Wind, and Four all raise an eyebrow, but already the silver Wars is getting to work. “I’m Commander Wars,” he decides with a snap. “You, my blue friend, must be the Tactician in me if I’m not mistaken. You seem to have an analytical mind.”

“I would enjoy styling myself as such!”

Why are they all so fucking chummy with each other.

“You’re not supposed to name yourselves,” Four reminds them.

The Commander beams at him. “Relax, little one. These aren’t names, these are roles. It’s different.”

Four raises an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, Wind steps forward to look at the Commander’s shiny scarf. Commander Wars gives him an unexpectedly soft look and scoops him up. Legend fully expects the sailor to kick him in the stomach and break free — he hates being babied — but Wind rolls his eyes and dangles his legs like this is fine and normal, holding the scarf up to the light to look at it better.

A neatly-manicured hand swipes the journal right out of Legend’s grasp while he’s busy frowning. “I do believe I’ll be needing that after all, thank you,” the Tactician says smugly, already poised to take notes.

Meanwhile, the yellow one squints uneasily at every non-Wars gathered, sticking close to his doppels. Legend is already pinging him as a Vio-type personality; basically, the guy that gets saddled with all the paranoia. Probably the most fun role to have in the history of ever. “What if I am the tactician? I feel like a tactician,” Yellow Wars says, sounding just-barely calm beneath the steady vibration of his clear anxiety.

“No no, my good man, you can be my Advisor,” Commander Wars decides, patting him on the shoulder with his free hand. “It’s also important.”

“Very well. I can accept that.”

“How come all of his parts are actin’ all normal?” Twilight whispers aside, ears pulled back in annoyance. “Even the jumpy one ain’t doing shit. Ain’t he got flaws?”

Four’s multihued eyes slide over, settling on the fourth Wars.

Red scarf Wars hasn’t said anything yet. Mostly, he’s just standing there, gazing at the sky. Twilight nods, sneaks closer, and gently taps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t respond much, except to slightly flinch away.

“Huh,” Twi says quietly.

“So, ‘Commander,’ who’s the red guy?” Legend asks, pointing him out.

Commander Wars appraises him for two seconds, eye widening, then recovers with a grave nods. “Soldier.”

Soldier Wars doesn’t contest this. It’s probably hard to contest things when your only talent seems to be staring, harrow-eyed and haunted, into the distance. This is actually starting to give Legend the creeps. This cutting silence is not a part of the captain that he is in any way accustomed to. Warriors is never, ever that kind of quiet. At least, not around them.

“And are we all sure that Soldier Guy is okay?” he asks the three peppier Wars. “This is not normal Warriors behavior, right? We can all acknowledge that.”

Advisor Wars waves him off, then pulls Soldier closer to the other two, as if to hide him. “Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about him. I compartmentalize things very well. I think he’s just holding onto a few things I’ll want to sort out later. By myself. By myself, especially.”

That… also sounds vaguely unhealthy. Did the goddesses bestow the Four Sword to Four, and not to any other hero, because they were the least fucked up about it? Sure, the colors fought sometimes. But a few squabbles here and there? Not half as fucked as whatever this business is. (Legend is not thinking about his turn, he is not.)

Soldier Wars is staring at Legend now, a little sorrowful and blank.

Almost apologetic, even.

He seems to mouth something to him, and while Legend isn’t a hundred percent sure, the fact that it resembles the words it was all my fault raises a flag as red as his scarf.

…Yeah, Legend is one-hundred-percent ready to tell Sky about this. Sky seems good with emotions. Ish? Better than Legend feels, anyway. Or maybe he should go to Time, Time also seems to understand trauma! Old man at least had lots of experience with going through it.

Legend approaches the Soldier. “Hey, Wars, if you—”

He is immediately interrupted. “Wait, actually, I have something to test!” Tactician Wars declares. Then he winks. “Look away if blood makes you queasy, ladies.”

Legend cycles through annoyance, then confusion, then concern, then horror as the Tactician takes the Four Sword — outside of Four’s hands, it’s practically a Four Dagger — and gives him a rupee red papercut-sized nick on one of his thumbs. Why the f— Oh, wait. He’s testing battle damage, isn’t he? Seeing if the wound sticks around after they merge again? That’s almost kind of smart. Actually, Legend hates how smart that is.

Four, however, doesn’t seem to agree. Their voice harshens. “Do you honestly believe that we’ve never taken battle damage, Wars?”

“Huh? Well—”

“It’s almost a flattering assumption, but come on. The papercut is, in fact, going to stick around after you merge. Trust us. Sometimes, you can just ask the primary source instead of running an experiment yourself.”

“Aye,” Wind says, nodding sternly. “I’m a primary source on that too.”

“...Ahh.”

“Our apologies for the upset,” Commander adds.

“Apology accepted. But in any case, if your time wasn’t up before, then using our sword like that ensures that it’s up early,” Four snaps, beckoning the various Wars to raise their swords. “It’s Legend’s turn.”

Commander Wars sighs, setting down Wind. “Very well.”

Hmm. Legend is feeling fine about this.

No concerns, none at all.

Chapter Text

It’s almost annoying how quickly Warriors seems to recover from his turn with the sword. Maybe a little suspect too. There’s a bit of distance in his eyes as he hands the sword off to Legend and cradles his nicked thumb, smiling tightly. Legend’s not fully convinced that things are all quiet in that straw-gold head of his yet. Is Commander Wars pulling the strings while the rest of him settles back down?

Well, whatever. If Pretty Boy wants to show off, he can show off.

It’s Legend’s turn.

He readies the blade almost as soon as he has it in his hands, determined not to look like a coward. If Wars, and Twi, and even Wind could do this, then so could he.

…But there was something he was supposed to remember, right?

Too late. The sword is skyward, and bright colors dance in the air. Legend hardly processes them; he holds his breath, a little surprised that the splitting doesn’t hurt. The non-feeling physical sensation of it almost reminds him of slipping into the dark world, or losing dimensionality and fading into a painting. If ‘mirage’ was a physical sensation, then…

He…

He feels…

Huh.

Legend pats his face for a moment after the light vanishes. Yep, still him. There are three other nigh-identical dorks surrounding him, all as expected. (It’s not the first time he’s seen duplicates of himself, and these ones at least have proper faces.) Mostly, he feels… what does he feel? It’s empty, but good-empty. Just-had-a-warm-bath-and-don’t-feel-like-shit empty. Peace. Absence of vertigo. It’s hard not to smile to himself. Did he really, truly have something like this in him? That’s almost as unexpected as it is pleasant.

A quick glance down gives him an eyeful of his new tunic color, a disappointing bright-ass lime green. By the time he’s done admiring the lack of tension twisted up within him, he’s vaguely aware of three things, those being his other selves.

One: An orange-tunic’d version of himself is flouncing over to Four and Wind with a downright devious look on his face. Legend dubs him Evil Legend.

Two: A magenta-tunic’d version of himself is bounding up to Wars and Twi, eyes burning with some unknown grievance. Legend dubs him Potentially Less Evil Legend.

Three: A… familiarly-cyan version of himself is curled up in the grass. Not crying, not glaring, not really doing much of anything. Just closing his eyes, patiently waiting. Waiting Legend.

Waiting for it to be over. Waiting a very, very long time.

Legend freezes for a few seconds, staring at his third quadruplet. Nothing has to be said. He sits beside himself, already knowing the truth. He has a sobbing Twilight in him, a silent Wars, a Wind that carries himself with the numbness of a thousand battles. Waiting Legend stirs very slightly as Legend (what does he call himself now? fuck it he’s still the Legend in the flesh) takes him by the hand.

“So, what’s this do, smithy?” Evil says, twirling an intriguing yellow wand-cane with a looped tip. “Looks like some canes I have. I’ve never seen you use this one, and I have to say, I’m dying to find out why. Is it not any good for fighting, or do you just want to keep it in reserve?”

“Hey, hey, give it back, Lege. How did you even get ahold of that?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No, not really, but we would rather—”

“Cool. Watch this, Wind!”

Four squeaks as Evil flicks the wand, turning them on their head in a shower of gold sparkles.

At the other end of the field, Possibly Less Evil has begun arguing with Wars, who is too busy turning puce to even spare a glance at his journal or pencil. Twilight is red for a different reason, clearly stifling laughter.

“Look, Cap, it’s important that I finally come clean with this, because I’ve been thinking it this whole time — I just have to tell you that you picked the most butt-ugly colors possible,” Potentially Less Evil is saying, gripping the trailing end of Wars’ great, big scarf. “Your tunic? Atrocious. Horrendous, even. Shittiest bright-ass shade of green I’ve ever seen. The scarf does not go with it at all. Oh, and the scarf’s also ugly. We have a couple blue-tunic heroes here, sure, but they’re nice blues. This color belongs on a duke’s fancy pony!”

Warriors sputters. “You can’t even be a little diplomatic about this? It’s not as if you have any room to talk, vet. Your usual colors are all over the place! Pink hair, green undershirt, red tunic, blue hat. What about that, hrmmm?”

“No no, trust me, my color scheme—”

Since everyone else seems pretty busy with the rest of his personality, Legend turns back to Waiting. Waiting is still a near-statue, but for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Legend figures that the others will wrangle his ruder selves at some point. All he knows, looking at Waiting, is that he is not going to abandon himself when he’s hurting. He’s not going to argue with it, or hush it up, or ignore it. Not this time, at least. Unlike the fucking divinities, he’s beginning to develop some sense of duty to everyone saddled with their stupid curse — the hero’s spirit. And he is unfortunately a member of “everyone.”

“You wanna go somewhere quieter?” he asks Waiting.

A few seconds pass. Waiting cracks a calm, blue eye open. He nods.

Legend pulls him(self?) to his feet, eying the fence around their field. It’s not hard to slip away. By this point, Four is panicking because Evil has gotten ahold of the gust jar, and Less Evil is trying to tussle Wars’ scarf away from him, with Twi awkwardly circling as he searches for an opportunity to break the fight up.

(Wind? Wind is now chanting “Fight, fight, fight, fight!” Hurricane must be a pretty big slice of that kid.)

They don’t go very far. Just a quick stumble into the nearest copse of trees. A gust rustles in the branches, shaking down a couple fat, green leaves. Several birds (guay?) squawk in the distance, putting Legend on the alert. Waiting seems too tired to care. The doppel basically just plops right back down on the ground as soon as Legend stops moving, as if the three-minute trek was a monumental effort. Legend crouches beside him.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Waiting closes his eyes again and shakes his head.

“I figured as much. It probably wouldn’t feel as embarrassing to talk about it just with myself, but saying it aloud makes it all real again, doesn’t it.”

Waiting nods.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t think he should ask what, specifically, Waiting is brooding over. Trying to narrow it down would take all day. The birds squawk again as the clocktower chimes twice. Legend doesn’t claim to be great with emotions, but he is a light sleeper some nights. He knows how to do the bare minimum of being there, an awkward-but-somehow-apparently-reassuring presence to cling to if someone starts whimpering and thrashing in their dreams.

After the overwhelm slips away, distractions usually help. “So, how many rupees do you want to bet that our orange buddy gets ahold of that baton of Wind’s?” he tries. “We’ve always wanted to take a better look at that one. Maybe some of the songs we know will work with it.”

Waiting tilts his head thoughtfully and shrugs, flashing five fingers.

“Only a blue rupee? Pssh. Cheapskate.”

A small smile creeps up on Waiting. Legend gets to ramble on for a while after that, just saying whatever comes to mind. That he feels a little bad that part of him is shameless enough to to just start making grabby hands at magic items without asking, that maybe his time in Hytopia and all the interesting jewelry he’s collected over time had given him a distinct aesthetic taste that poor Wars does not share at all, that maybe he does miss the chaos of Hytopia’s fashion scene, that the adventures did come with as many memories as they did pains…

Just as he’s glancing down at his bracelet and starts admitting that he’s actually starting to miss Fable and Ralph and Ricky and maybe even Ravio’s smarmy ass, Waiting wraps him in a squeezy, breathless embrace. Legend stops mid-sentence. Gingerly, he pats his doppel on the back.

Waiting laughs. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “We need to go back, Lime Me. They’ll get worried.”

Lime Me? Sure, there were worse nicknames out there. What are his other hims internally referring to him as? Well, if they’re referring to him at all. They seemed busy.

“They’ll get really worried,” he agrees, pulling his doppel back up.

•△•△•△•

The situation is admittedly less “worried” and more “barely suppressing chaos and panic” by the time Lime Me Legend and Waiting Legend hop the fence back into the field. Evil and Less Evil are both firmly tied up with Wind’s grappling hook. Wind is keeping the former subdued by showing off some kinda purple crystal, while Twilight smirks and nods as the latter whispers to him with the air of a gossipy old hen.

In the meanwhile, Wars and Four pace the perimeter, scouring frantically for any sign of the rest of Legend. The captain jolts and hurtles over as soon as he spots them shuffling back.

“LEGEND!” he says.

“Me and me,” Lime replies, nodding.

“You just about gave smithy a heart attack here. You are an utterly obnoxious man to keep in check when you want to be, did you know that?”

“Captain, I know that better than anyone else.”

Then Warriors places a firm — but not unkind — hand on both of their shoulders, ushering them forward. Four practically barrels into them next, checking their sheaths to make sure that the rest of the Four Sword is there. “Oh thank the Light. Where in Hyrule did you go!?” Their eyes glint an unrelenting green, with flecks of the other colors glittering inside. “We were about ready to ask Twilight to track you down.”

Waiting is quiet again. Lime shrugs, supporting him. “I just needed a minute to myself. Or, however many minutes that ended up being. Cool?”

Wars and Four share a thoughtful look.

“It’ll be ‘cool’ once you return our sword,” Four decides.

“Alright.”

Evil and Less Evil are unexpectedly willing to merge again. Both of them claim that it’s either go back to being a normal amount of Legends in a timely manner, or remain tied up and bored to tears until they relent. Lime can respect that.

Or he can up until the point where he ceases to be “Lime Legend” and folds back into the usual state of Legend-ness. Merging is a much dizzier process than separating. Four sets of memories overlap. Magic items, warm and curious in his hands, an old sense of glee and discovery newly dredged from his depths. Gripping Wars’ scarf, obnoxious color a good scapegoat for the frustrating inability to spit out why the fuck won’t you talk about the Soldier all while shielding Wars’ view of the other him curled in the field. Dry grass under his body. Memories of Hytopia, staring at doppels, paralyzed with the sudden thought that his adventures might hit the double digits. (The people he’s left behind already have. Especially once the Chain joins that number.) Hopping the fence with a grin, radical acceptance of the chaos of his life.

Someone takes the Four Sword away, and Legend… lowers himself to the grass, suddenly understanding why everyone else just kind of laid down after their turns. How did Four ever get used to the loudness? Too many trails of thought collide at the crossroads of him and snarl. For a while, it feels like his spinning thoughts will never slow.

Everyone calls him the pretty boy but goddesses why didn’t we notice that he sometimes flinches at it, why does he—

Just abandoned—

That cane COULD be used in battle actually, if Four would just lend it—

Did I sort everything out, why does this feel worse, why do I want to go back to being—

How long should this take?

Wait, I really wanted to see what that gold mask of Wind’s does—

It was so much more peaceful away, separated from—

Besides I’m honestly a much prettier boy—

Sorry, sorry, sorry—

Legend takes a deep breath in. And a deep breath out. When he can finally force his eyes back open again, the distant clock tower is a full half-hour past the time he was supposed to end his turn. He’s not sure how much of that was wasted messing around, and how much time it took him to settle down after it all. Why is he not surprised that he ended up being the one to fuck this up so much more dramatically than anyone else? The others are looking down at him now.

He blinks as Wind helps him onto his feet again. “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” the kid says. “I was way worse the first time I drew the sword! At least your runaway bits had the sense to come back on their own.”

“Oh?”

The sailor shrugs and nods at the same time, not elaborating any further.

Wars is making his final notes. “According to the Four Sword, Legend consists of a… diva, a rabid ‘collector,’ an ambiguously rational side, and… depression? Not a traditionally. Heroic. Bone in his body.” He snaps the journal shut. The levity in his voice seems a little forced, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood. “And not just one, but two horrible miniblins in you. Fascinating development, vet. I can always count on you to do something interesting.”

Legend scoffs slightly and rolls his eyes.

“I think the depressed lookin’ part’s the hero part,” Twilight whispers. “You see how he gets when he talks about that shit.”

A sigh leaves Four. “Believe it or not, they’re all essentially hero parts. All part of a hero.”

“I’m mostly a hero of circumstance anyway, so who gives a fuck,” Legend admits. “I swear, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you, Green.”

“It’s alright. Nobody got seriously hurt, and I have a feeling that this might keep you guys from trying to play with our sword on your own time, right?”

“Right!” Wind agrees, cackling.

Four seems satisfied with this. They all start heading back to their campsite. “This definitely could have gone worse,” they say softly, eyes closed. Legend isn’t fully sure who’s talking now. Maybe it’s a thought that all of them share. “We really did learn something today — maybe it’s common for heroes to be in conflict with themselves.”

Four sputters as Legend treats their head like an armrest, determined not to let anyone else gloss over their misery. “Yeah, no, there isn’t a single one of us without internal conflict. You guys aren’t the only ones. Did you really think that you were?”

“Well… I mean…”

Before Legend knows it, the other three have descended upon them in this moment of vulnerability and betrayed him by smothering both Four and him in a hug. And — is that Wind reaching up to mess up his hat by ruffling his hair? Hey, kid, Legend’s supposed to do that to you, not the other way around, squirt. Why is Warriors joining in. Whatever, he’ll get his revenge later. This is mostly a hug for Four, anyway. Or it could be a hug for all of them. They all stared a little too hard in the mirror today.

“You ain’t. You sure, sure ain’t, Four. But, uh, speakin’ of all that, can we promise never t’speak of what happened here again?” Twi asks after they break it up. “Y’know. For reasons.”

Wars clasps his journal close. “Speak of this? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Why’re you emphasizin’ it like that? What kinda weasely exception do you think you’re makin’, Warsy?”

“If, perhaps, Wild or Hyrule need to be warned away from being careless with the Four Sword, then I could save them the personal experience by pointing them to the right entry and helping them parse my era’s Hylian—”

Twi’s eyes widen. “You’re gonna tell ‘em about the puppy doggie thing!”

“I would never. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

As Twilight lunges for him, Warriors scrambles on the dirt road and starts hauling it back to camp like Ganon himself has resurrected for the umpteenth time and is hot on his tail. Twilight whoops as he gives chase. He’s got longer legs, he’ll catch up at some point. Responsible older brothers — pah.

“Well, I might speak of it, consequences be damned,” Legend says once they’re out of earshot, fixing his hat. “How you think Warriors will react if I mention the shellshocked him to Time?”

Wind shrugs. “He got like that in the war a couple of times.”

“That doesn’t mean that it’s fine,” Four says, red-eyed.

“I didn’t say that it was. If you guys need help ratting on him, I’m game!”

The three of them leisurely stroll back to camp, discussing who had the coolest colors when they divided, and enjoying the show as Twilight finally catches up to Wars. It’s a flying tackle from an inhuman distance of seven feet away. That’s a new record.