Chapter Text
It’s a testament to his life that when one moment he’s helping Malon herd the cattle inside and the next he’s in a forest with eight people gaping at him that the only emotion he feels is annoyance.
Talon, for all that he’s a doting and loving father, is a bit of an idiot in the farm, and he’d rather stab Ingo in the ass with a rusty shovel than let him get any job in the ranch. So he tries to help whenever he can, and it irks him to no end when he’s pulled away from that with no say whatsoever. Malon doesn’t deserve that kind of bullshit.
(He doesn’t deserve that bullshit either, but he’s used to it at this point.)
“So, anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he sees someone incredibly familiar. The scarf is a dead giveaway. “Or are you gonna gape at me like scrubs the whole day?”
He looks down and wrinkles his nose. “And what the fuck am I wearing?”
It’s clanky and heavy and far too big for him to wear, like someone gave him clothes that were a size too big. Which in most cases wouldn’t be a problem, but too big armor feels awful.
(He’s going to ignore the thought that the armor looks similar to the one he wears when he dons the mask.)
“Well?” He presses, he rolls his eyes when they still stare at him. He’s not in the mood to deal with idiots. “Do I need to bring out my sword and stab someone to make you dumbasses start talking?”
“Holy shit,” one of them says, a kid that looks older than ten. His voice is pitched high, a combination of panic and amusement. “It’s like seeing a fusion of Warrior and Legend.”
“I don’t know who they are, but fuck you anyways,” he replies amiably.
They introduce themselves as Link and explain they each have nicknames for each other and that he shouldn’t panic (incredibly effective, he’s amazed) because there’s a logical (doubtful) explanation for this.
He looks at Bigger Him, who has said nothing, content with letting the group flounder on explaining the concept of other versions of himself and time travel like those things were new to him.
When he takes all their jumbled word garbage in stride, pointing out he kind of figured they were all different heroes from different times because he’s had a similar adventure before, and was literally asking where he is and what, specifically, happened to him in the last few minutes.
“You all know we’ve met before,” Bigger Him says, amused at the glares the group are giving him. “What did you think that would entail?”
Really, and people called him a gremlin. The captain had a bit of mischief (and sadism) himself when he felt like it.
So he was actually thirty, or forty, or fifty. They’re not sure. They have the conclusion he’s older than all of them, but beyond that they don’t know. Older him took great pleasure in making them guess (it sounds like something he’d do).
They were ambushed by the enhanced monsters, and he took a blow from an energy blast from a wizzrobe, and poof, he was younger.
“How old are you now?” One of them asks. Jack, he thinks. “And do you feel off beyond, er, being younger?”
He hums. “I’m sixteen, physically.” Give or take. Malon’s sixteen so it shouldn’t be far off.
He never bothered to keep track of his exact age until he started living in Hyrule, where age factored into a lot of things. Getting work, going places, talking to people.
“I don’t feel any different, though a change of clothes wouldn’t hurt.”
The plan boiled down to finding the wizzrobe that cursed him, then convince them to turn him back (there will likely be violence).
Makes sense.
If all else fails, go to the local Princess Zelda.
He’s given clothes, thank Farore. The armor was getting annoying.
The one with long hair, Wild, gave him a set of clothes. He’s the closest to his body type and size, so it makes sense (he’s a little peeved that Bigger Him is still the taller of them). He’s grateful for the hair tie as well.
Green tunic with matching shorts, alright then. The clothes are enchanted, he could taste the familiar sugary magic of fairies the moment he put on the tunic. So that’s nice.
He wears the cap more for nostalgia than anything else. The sleeves are a little tight, but overall not too bad. He keeps the ring on, something in him screams at the thought of removing it.
“Alright, now that I don’t feel like a walking bucket, what was the plan for-” He frowns as he sees all of them gape at him again. “What is it now?”
“What the fuck,” the kid from earlier says.
“Looks like you’ve got a contender for the title of pretty boy, captain,” one with a red tunic, Legend, snickers.
“What the fuck.”
Wild looks at the man with the wolf pelt, Twilight, then back at him, then he looks at Bigger Him.
“Green suits you,” the small one, Forge, comments.
“Nice shorts,” the one with that sword, Sky, points out with a smile.
“What the fuck.”
Bigger Him shrugs. “It’s the hair.” And the face, and the eyes, and the jawline.
He gives a lazy grin. “I was mistaken for your brother a lot. Bet you, if it weren’t for the nose I’d be like a double.”
“What the fuck, he even smiles like-”
“Wind, you gotta let this go.”
“Not Cia?” He asks, because this right here? A couple of Links in one place? He’s sure even Lana would swoon at so many of them.
“No.” A pause. “It doesn’t fit her profile. The portals are different, there's no large raids, and the monsters with black blood are something she never did.”
It wasn’t worrying, but it wasn’t comforting either. “Fuck.”
“You shouldn’t swear.”
“Fuck you, I’m not a kid anymore." A side-eye. "And who do you think I got it from?”
Warrior is the new nickname Bigger Him has in the group.
“Very on the nose,” he comments, because anyone who has seen the man fight would know deep in their blood and soul that he’s a warrior through and through. Anyone who's seen him on a battlefield. “Did I give you that name?”
“You did.”
“What’s mine?”
“Time.”
He snorts. “Very on the nose.”
Better than Young Link, he supposes.
“I didn’t believe the old man when he said he was faster in our ages,” Forge comments, kicking the moblin on the ground when it tries to get up. “I mean, he wasn’t slow.”
Older Time definitely wasn’t. He was fast even with all that armor on, even with his heavy sword, even with his constant complaints of having to keep up with them (like the gramps that he is). And yes, maybe he wasn’t as quick as Sky or as nimble as Wind, but he made it up with the power and skill he had.
Younger Time fought differently, in a way that it was like Older Time’s style, but with a twist. There’s a pep to each swing and step he did, almost floaty. He switches his tactics with a grace that seems so un-Hylian.
He’s not above using moves beyond his sword and shield, wrestling like a Goron, throwing projectiles like a Zora, zipping at one point to the next reminiscent of a fairy. He can change his fighting style like it’s as simple as removing or donning a mask. A layer of skin he can peel off at the drop of a hat.
Forge is reminded of stories about changelings, of children taken by fairies because they wandered too far in the forest, of people who came back who looked normal on the surface but were a level of uncanny the more you spent time with them. Creatures disguised as Hylians.
And there is a level of uncanny with this younger version of their leader beyond fighting. With the way he casually disregards societal rules, something he’d expect from Wild (who has amnesia) or Wind and Sky (who’s Hyrules are so different that their cultures differ as well). With the way he smiles and laughs like Warrior. With the way he could act like he’s (still) older than them, or be so incredibly childish that only Warrior is the only one who can reign him in.
The older Time did not have those quirks, he realizes the old man mellowed a lot with age.
He wonders if there’s a truth in those stories.
A part of him scoffs at believing a childish tale, a part of him berates himself for making assumptions without facts, a part of him pipes up it isn’t nice to think of a friend like that, and the last part suggests to just ask Time instead.
“He’s terrifying,” he concludes. They all are, but there’s something unnerving at seeing this Time, something that makes his hair rise.
“He’d be a skeleton and still keep up with us,” Twilight says dryly.
“Well, the good news is that we’ve defeated the horde,” Warrior announces. “The bad news is that we’re not in the same Hyrule anymore.”
Which means losing any leads of that wizzrobe.
“Plan B?”
Warrior sighs. “Plan B.” He looks around. “This is my Hyrule, so I’ll take the lead.” He frowns. “It’ll take a few days before we reach Castle Town.”
Time perks up. “Can we stop by the Bazaar?” He asks. “I never completed those medallions.”
“Badges,” Warrior corrects.
“Hill-i-an, High-li-an.” Time waves off. “Same thing.”
Warrior raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s High-li-an, we don’t call our country Hi-rule and the goddess isn’t called Hilly-a.”
Sky looks incredibly guilty for snickering.
They remember the old man laughing when asked to spar, saying he wasn't as fast like he used to.
"Ask me that ten years ago," he had said, eyes twinkling. "Then I would consider."
The old man doesn't really spar.
They know he's stronger than he shows, have seen him kill monsters ruthlessly with his giant sword.
But he doesn't really spar with them. Again, they ask him to spar with them without holding back. Again, he says maybe ten years ago he would.
"You're not that old!"
"I'm not as young," he had sighed. "I need to save my energy for other battles, not practice fights."
Ask him ten years ago, he had said.
This was pretty close.
“You guys seem very excited in beating me up,” he observes, tilting his head as he sees some of the Links cheer when he accepts their offer to spar. “Am I that much of a bastard?”
Time is kind of a bastard when sparring, literally not above pulling punches. And kicks. And flips.
Sometimes he flung dirt and pulled hair too, laughing as he did so.
“You,” Sky growls, breathing heavily, sword pointing at Time’s throat. “Are a little shit.”
Time grins despite sprawled on the ground and sword several feet away from his hand. “You have shit stamina.”
Most of the Links inwardly agree with both points.
“I didn't think Sky would swear,” Wind muses. “That’s impressive.”
“He brings that out of people,” Warrior says dryly.
“The Song of Healing doesn’t work,” Time muses, though he supposes taking off a literal part of himself and condensing it into a mask wouldn’t have been a great idea either way. “Maybe I can fiddle with-”
“No,” Warrior says immediately.
He huffs, glaring at Warrior. “I wasn’t even done.”
Warrior gives him a firm look. “If it caresses the idea of time and the songs you like to toot-”
“Toot?” He repeats, amused.
“-then I swear to Din, the only way you’ll ever get back your Biggoron Sword is by my cold dead hands.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I-” Warrior sniffs. “-am plenty of fun.”
He rolls his eyes. “Pubs aren’t that fun, no matter how much you insist it is. I’m older and I still don’t understand its appeal.”
Warrior sputters. “And sneaking behind soldiers in camp is fun?”
“Keeps them alert.”
“It’s asking to get stabbed!”
He smirks. “Not if you dodge fast enough.”
"How can you insist you’re older than me when you act like this? ” Warrior throws his hands up.
The other Links look back and forth in fascination.
“It’s so bizarre seeing Warrior be so-” Wild gestures at Time and Warrior bickering. “-responsible?” And Time being the opposite.
“Oh, the captain’s plenty responsible,” Twilight refutes. “It’s seeing him being an absolute worrywart that’s odd.”
“Siblings can do that,” Wind agrees. “And also give you the urge to murder them at the same time.”
Warrior feels a tug from his scarf.
“How long has it been since I’ve been here?” Time asks softly, looking at his surroundings in fascination. Empty outposts and abandoned weapons are scattered throughout the field, many have begun to rust.
“Six years.”
“It looks good,” he says, not letting go of the scarf. He tugs it when Warrior lets out a quiet laugh. “It does , fuck what they’re thinking. I’ll kick their asses if they keep making comments on how strange your Hyrule is.”
“Calm down, You-Time. Their Hyrules are different,” Warrior huffs, shaking his head. He flicks Time on the forehead. “So I wasn’t imagining it, they piss you off somehow. I’ve seen you spar, you were never that brutal.”
Time smiles, deceptively sweet. “I was just testing their full strength.”
I was pushing their buttons and seeing how they reacted, seeing if they could be trusted, even with just their temper.
Warrior lets out a breath, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He stomps down the relief that Time’s vigilance hadn’t faded in age. He shouldn’t have that paranoia, he didn’t have that paranoia when they first met (neither did he, but he hadn’t been a child).
He flicks Time’s forehead again. “They’re good,” he says, not talking about their fighting skills. “My word isn’t enough?”
Time grins and shifts his position, turning his back against the other Links and facing Warrior. “If I hadn’t seen you,” he signs. “I would have ran away the moment I had a chance.”
“I figured you got soft from age,” he says airily. “You’ve gotten fatter last time I saw you, you know?”
Warrior doesn’t know what to say, so he pulls Time down and messes his hair, demanding who the heck he was calling soft.
“What if we can’t find a way to turn him back?” Twilight whispers. “What happens if we meet Malon and he’s not back to his normal self?”
Warrior presses his lips into a thin line. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.”
If his Zelda had no idea what to do, he knew one other person who could.