The Becoming Moon

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/62650405.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Relationship: Ganondorf/Link (Legend of Zelda)
Characters: Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda), Link (Legend of Zelda)
Additional Tags: Slice of Life, Quiet Scene, Established Relationship, post-victory AU I
guess, original gerudo characters in the background, Memories,
Nightmares, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Slow Romance
Language: English
Collections: Apocrypha Malum
Stats: Published: 2022-07-30 Updated: 2023-12-09 Words: 6,007 Chapters:
14/?
 The Becoming Moon
by Fault (StudioRat), SaltySaph

Summary

Life is lived in these little moments. Kingdoms rise and fall on a lover's pout, after all.

Notes

These are not precisely chronological, but neither is poetry, and we love it no less for that.
 Mornings Come After

"You are up early."

As if he hadn't be awake for hours, if he had gone to sleep at all. The ink betrayed his hands.
It would be washed away before any of the servants were awake, but for now the streaks of
his newest colour were permissable. A subtle way of telling his ever-stressing spouse that this
ever-shadowed king was enjoying things.

Link, despite his own haunting, smiled to see it. It was a beautiful colour.

"It's the tenth." Hour of morning, Link meant, but Gan would know that - sparing him the
wind and effort of saying it.

"Yes, which means you're up two hours earlier than coffee normally persuades you in spring.
What was it about?"

The nightmare memories, he means, but Link knows that, sparing Gan the discomfort of
naming them.

Link shakes his head. I don't want to talk about it. As if he ever does. The silence stretches.
Bad things. And the silence stretches still, because when are the nightmare memories not?

Tonight the king is His King, patient and immovable, and likely has spirits ready for
sacrament in case the nightmare is one of those he deems worthy of it.

"It's not about you." Link finally relents, hoping that is enough to move the day on. If it is not
about the king, then he cannot take offense to it. If it is not about the king, he cannot inspect
it for a thousand ways it may still manifest still.

But instead Gan's face softens, and he is more rooted than ever. "You do not have to protect
me from what hurts you."

Link furrows his brow, but it doesn't make his question into words, so he can't ask.

"You do not have to be the hero, not with me. If you let me, I can help you set it down for a
little while."

Link rolls his eyes, but he cannot help the bashfulness of his expression or the little bit of
weakness in his knees.

It is all too easy for his king to gather him up into ink painted hands (and wrists, and elbows,
and now that he's close it is also on his nose).

He does not have all the words to tell his beloved about the memory that haunts him today,
but is is a beginning, and somehow Gan is able to make happiness out of horror. It is what he
does.
 Moonletters

Vo'jacheli
Eiju says if I am to spend time spoiling the rocs, that I must also give them work. Hylian
is awful forever. I hope she doesn't send this but if I ask she will send it for sure...
Maybe if I am not late to anything may I petition you not to look...?
Link Yadaj
 Salash Kaluviratitu Shuvid

Link found his beloved whistling in his office, rearranging the furniture in the scaled model
of their home. The Hylian had come up here for a reason, but that could wait a few minutes.
These moments were important to cherish.

"Oh-!" Gan turned so quickly his braids whipped his own shoulders. "I am debating
expanding the northern wing; but then it will interfere with the herb garden. Then again if I
expand the other wing it may be too far from the deeper well for her..."

Link pushed off the doorframe to cross the room. He leaned over the table to see what new
project had interrupted the old one. Gan had part of the servant's quarters into a little library
with tiny, garish bookshelves. There was not a single chair, but little felted blobs implied a
comical amount of floor pillows.

"I think we can move the herbs to a terrace," Link suggested. He hoped it was as helpful as it
sounded. "Why the sudden library?"

The radiance in his face said everything. "Minetta is expecting."

Link looked back at the model. It was more than the library. There was the first suggestions
of a new garden like the ones Nialet would nurture. Link couldn't help beaming himself.

"They will be the first born here." Gan whispered into the little wooden promises below. He
glanced up at Link wish a sheepish grin. "Well, first human anyway."

"The foals would argue." Link snickered. "Can't tell any of them they're not people."

"Then there's the kittens."

The two chuckled over the fond memories of cuccos hatching in their first spring, and the
goats that had followed shortly after.

Gan caught his lip in his teeth and suddenly stopped laughing.

So Link took his hand to kiss each of the knuckles on it. "Varesh would gladly accept our
invitation. Nialet would complain that we waited so long. They *should* be here. Especially
if we want the herb garden to survive the goats."

Gan's hand tightened around Link's, but in radiant blossom of healing, he did not argue. He
did not even pull away.

"Perhaps just for a season, at first."

"Mm." Link nipped at his fingers in taunt. "It will be much more tolerable for Takra to teach
their sibs to steal all of the honey than their sire."

Finally true laughter erupted from the man. "As if you won't teach them first."
"Let's make the library bigger, ja'cheli." Link pointed not to the wing, but the middle of the
garden. "Make it a well insulated shed. A little hideaway for the ilmaha, for games and
learning and discovery of their own. They will love it."

A single stroke of lightening struck the model of their estate to stamp the king's thorough
approval. They played with their dollhouse of Peace and Dreams for hours.

Link cherished every breath of it.

 Spying on the Moon

Awnings and trees were the only shade he could wield in this sun, and even those were thin
for how daylight spilled to overheat the sands. He could lie to himself rather easily that to
take a break from drills for water, to breath between matches, was only to honour the healers.
It was good to show them respect for the good of other warriors to follow his example in
maintaining their strength.

Especially since none of them saw him slip through the thinnest shadows to spy on the
gardens. From his hidden place he watched the lone hylian sweat under a tree, cursing the
needle with each stitch.

At least he was supposed to be, but the interruption was not his fault, this time.

"Please do not," Link pleaded, to no avail. "I need this thread to finish these damned flowers,
which I am too hot to remember the name of. If you chew on the thread they will surely
fray."

A cat sprawled in his lap. Claws wrapped around the hoop and hind paws kicked against
Link's arm. It was intent on hunting the needle in Link's fingers.

"I don't want to stick your paws on accident." But the cat heeded the exalted moon with less
regard than the man himself. "But I must finish this before tomorrow morning. Perhaps if my
punishment were more rounds of sparring in the noonday soon I could manage, but I swear if
I have to write another lecture as Eiju dictates it my hands will come off and run away."

The exhaustion in his tone was one thing, but Gan instead remembered the strange
nightmares he'd found in the man's spirit of cursed hands scranbling the depths. The chill Gan
felt had nothing to do with breeze. Fortunately, the change in tone also pulled the cat away
from its mischievous intent.

Link set the needle and hoop aside to work his fingers behind ears and shoulders. Gan
watched the cat melt under the hero's touch, fond of his own memory and jealous of the
moment in the present.

He wasn't sure how long he watched his champion indulge a storehouse cat.

For days he wondered the merits of changing his own shape to steal such attention in a way
no one would see. Even if it was as painful as Link confessed the mask to be, it would be
worth it.

Link never did finish his sewing project, and come morning, Gan used a passing spell to
soothe the man's hands.
 River Dreams

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but waking so many hours before dawn was redeemable. He
could be in his workroom before anyone noticed. The night covered every footstep.

But it was so hard to leave.

The moonlight was thinned by the coming new moon. The Hylian beside him reflected
radiance anyway. He couldn't have been unconscious long, but that Link stayed asleep at all
was a blessing. Gan pulled away, keeping his touch veiled by sheets or leather or anything to
prevent a horrid memory from ruining the moment.

But then the man giggled in his sleep.

He froze. Link still smiled into the sheet. Maybe he was only pretending, trying to goad the
king into another round. Bad enough we fell asleep before bathing. Bad enough that much
longer and someone might question why the King was not in his own quarters. Much longer
and-

Link rolled over and tucked his face into Gan's upturned palm.

A strong river, slowing in the bend, a branch arched over silt and stones. Boots beneath him
beaten bare- Gan already knew this once-boy had travelled everywhere -and the bluestone
flute in his hands- making him dizzy just to see it -knelt into the mud with no regard for the
scrapes on his knees. The boy, the war, the bearer of nightmares, plays a single note over the
branch.

Gan braced for horror.

A frog hops up onto the branch, and repeats the note. The boy laughs- Link laughs into his
fingers -and plays another note, and up comes another frog, until all five frogs are just as
happy to see him as he is them. One song is not enough, nor is three,- and it is so absurd that
he is not sure if it the same man who dreams. -There are no peahats or octorocs, no rivers
turning to blood. It is only a boy using a holy relic to play with frogs, until they give him a
relic of strength and health in the shape of a heart.

Gan finally manages to slip away, but it takes longer to calm his heart. He tucked it away in
his memory as another aspect of his strange champion. If he liked frogs so much, perhaps he
will not be so conflicted should Gan make a gift of one. Maybe a whistle, or a brooch, and if
Link was excited about it enough, he might even babble about a happy memory or strange
adventure instead of the Bad Things one.

He did nothing productive, instead lost in his dream of frog-things, in his workroom until true
dawn. No one could spy on him to do it, so it never was.

Perhaps, he thought, only Nialet would have been able to catch me in this folly.
He puttered about with references and possibilities and notations, still achieving nothing
whatever.

Perhaps, he thought, she might even encourage it.

And that made him smile, too.

 Gentle Order

He knew better than anyone how much the spirit would resist giving up a good game for
something so mandatory as lessons. He'd also had enough lessons take him by surprise to
know how valuable the scheduled ones were. He considered trying to shout like their teachers
were now, or perhaps loom like Gan might. These children had no fear of him, and only the
beginnings of respect for his skills- not enough to command.

An odd memory of an mean dog and some chickens gave him a thought.

It was weird, stretching time so much to travel as deftly as he ever did over something small,
but in the moment it was important. It might even be clever enough to make Eiju's eyes
wrinkle. That would be nice. It would be nicer if Eiju told Gan about it over supper and he
smiled and made a warm little joke about it.

That would be very nice.

The children gasped when Link seemingly teleported to the opposite end of the garden. (Only
a little out of breath.) One whispered a question- was it the moon's own power or the king's
favour that moved him? The teacher did not have an answer, and instead of Link giving one,
he started to play the song that activated the mask.

The magic of a cheerful melody, actual magic, and the idea of falling in line with their peers
collected the children as he marched through garden and trees to their teacher. She covered
her laughter, but not very well.

On the way to the lessons, the mask rounded up three cats, a few other children not old
enough for this lesson, their mothers, and a gardener who was lost in thought at the time. He
was only glad they never passed any cucco chicks. Sorting out the people he picked up by
mistake was one thing, but explaining how chicks were magically chickens and roosters
would be another.

Eiju did laugh, even if it was at his expense. While the children made it to lessons, sorting out
the extra people made him late to his own. She did tell Gan the misadventure over supper, but
he did not made a joke of it.

He only said, "Clever."

And that was the best part of all.

 The Flute
Chapter Summary

An earlier version was posted separately as “the Flute”, but upon reflection I think this
quiet moment with our dear star-crossed beans properly belongs here.

It is always difficult to get anything done when the hero Worries, but as tedious soothing his
spirit always was, his nightmares confessed that they were never so baseless as Gan wanted
to imagine. So, for the third time today, he let Link drag him away from his new project to sit
in the garden where the children played for a little while. Half an hour at most, he promised
himself, and just over an hour later he retreated back to his workroom with a grin tugging at
his lips and a new toy to improve in his pocket.

It helped that the project was one of joy, not necessity. It helped that it was hard to keep a
straight face when he swore secrecy against his champion's constant questions. It was a good
project, not a mournful omen, that he spent his hours on. He made sure to be only a little late
to supper to enforce the claim. In the champion's memories, both the old and recent, refusing
to eat was always one of the more worrisome signs. If it meant Gan had a ready excuse to
indulge himself a little more in sweets to convince the man of his good humours, well the
best victory was a multi-faceted one.

He wrapped it in a green sash — not a proper forest color that would provoke frowns from
his champion, but a subtle celadon, almost yellow, delicate and hopefully unobjectionable —
when it was finished. He couldn't wait for it to be a sensible hour. Link would be up anyway.
When Gan stepped into the room (by shadows, which were faster), he startled the man out of
his active meditations completely.

It took the man a few beats to calm, and shake off the rigidity. It took thrice as long for him to
find his tongue to greet his king. Murasa stole his tongue meanwhile, and he frowned at the
bundle in his hands rather than answer. Only then did Link realize that his beloved had come
with a gift.

"Finished a new design?" Link spread the blanket near him for Gan to sit, and pressed a kiss
to his shoulder when at last he bent enough to obey the suggestion. Gan fidgeted with the
bundle, and thrust it at him suddenly without further explanation — a sure tell of the intensity
of his investment in the thing. He kissed the hands that gave it, but hurriedly. He was as
excited to unwrap the treasure as Gan was to give it.

Inside was a whistle, somewhat like the ancient bluestone flute he carried, but it was off-
white like fog, and more importantly fashioned in the shape of a fat little frog. Its mouth
puckered to make the mouthpiece, and the spots on its back were also holes to shape the
notes. Link glanced up at Gan, who was clearly too excited to do anything but nudge him on,
eyes bright with secrets upon secrets.

So Link kissed the frog and played a single, low note. The flute turned indigo. As the note
faded so did the colour. Link's eyes glittered, wide with true surprise. So little under the sun
was ever new to him. His ears flicked the tiniest excited wiggle that Gan could never get
over. To find something that evoked both shock and delight was beyond priceless.

Another note was yellow, another purple, another was blue- nearly silver. The last one was so
pink he burst into giggles and the note was a rapid staccato for it.

He was still grinning when he set the flute in his lap. "Sarq'so."

Gan could only press a kiss to his fair hair and bask in his happiness. He wondered if this
memory might become a ward against the nightmares like the frogs who had inspired it.

Then he played a song that was soothing and warm, but in his hands carried a meloncholy.

Gan tried to swallow his worry. It didn't work. "What was that one?"

Link stared at him moment. "It was the song Malon taught me, for Epona. But... I only ever
play it on the ocarina because I haven't learned it on the strings yet- so of course you've never
heard it!"

"I can hear your flute," Gan lied. And Link knew it to be a lie and ignored it. As if perhaps
not acknowledging it made it unhappen.

Link played another song instead, reverant and haunting, even on a whistle. "That's the song I
play to stop time. Well, slow it down a lot, anyway."

Gan took a breath. "What is the one you play for rain?"

And so Link played it, and for the first time Gan heard it.

No clouds gathered over the garden, no rumble nor rain trembled the golden afternoon. The
only features the frog shared with the bluestone were the dimensions of its belly and the
shape and position of its spots. The only enchantments woven in its walls were the cantrips
that leashed a captive rainbow to the Pattern of music.

And so Link played all sorts of songs the most powerful sorcerer in the world had never
heard before. There was a song to bring the sun, a song to fly with wooden owls, song that
summoned giants and a song that cleaned malignant magic from its host. All now perfectly
harmless melodies, innocent of any design but beauty.

And it became a very good memory indeed.

 Carving
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

By the nature of amateur work, the pieces were unmatched and askew. He expected it to
bother him. However, the clever hands had added an assortment of artful differences to each
piece to offset the anticipated uniformity. The one set of pieces were carved into little figures
of blin, and the other lizal. Halfway through carving the lesser of each tribe the craftsman had
lamented his ambition.

Link was determined to finish the set anyway.

"It is after\ Victory," Link waved about the abused knife for emphasis. "It is time for art. You
promised."

Promised was not the word he would have used, but he was too charming to argue.

"And," he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin to mimic his beloved's voice. "No one
starts a master of their craft."

"You deliberately misunderstand me." But Gan could hardly keep a stern tone through his
smirk. "I only question why you have added wigs."

Link blinked at the little lizal bishop in his hand. The ponytail was suspiciously similar to
those of Rocs. "Folks like having fancy hair. You do."

"Then why not feathers for Lizal?" He picked up a pawn with their horn sticking out of their
bowl cut. "Many feathered crests have the same decorative potential."

Link wrinkled his nose. "Feathers harder. Maybe next set."

The brief vision of tables in nearly every room with its own set, monsters and peoples and
figures, each improving in quality and expression, warmed him before the details could
invent themselves.

"Would you like to have feathers and leaves brought to you for reference?" He waited for
Link's knife hand to rest before kissing the parting of his hair. "Perhaps sketches from the
different schools to help inform the art?"

A smirk pulled at the man's lips. "Could I trick you into fetching them with me?"

Gan settled in on the bench beside him. They watched the horses mill about in the yard, the
wood shavings fall from Link's work, the breeze tease the flowering blossoms of the season.

"Perhaps."

Link's brightness warmed their companionable silence for hours.

Chapter End Notes

Gan: Link has been quiet for too long.

Nialet: For once, it's fine, my king. He is very intent on sanding down a horse out of
molduga bone.
Gan: Thank fuck

Link: -Wrings hands-

Nialet: It's fine, he's in the stables measuring the horses so he can make a perfect scale
tool.
Link: Oh thank fuck.
 Persimmons

He was certain the cuts of fruit were just here.

There were plenty of persimmons to practice the art with. Gan and Nialet nurtured them as
well as they nurtured everyone else to flourish. Link could just grab another for the recipe. It
would give the oven more time to heat anyway.

But that wasn't the problem. Link licked his lips. If he had absent-mindedly eaten the fruit, he
would still be able to taste it. As his lips still tasted of wine and unbaked dough instead, he
himself was not the culprit. If an animal had stolen it, they would likely leave the little clay
dish behind. Except that was also missing.

Link sighed. He lit another lantern in the kitchen, then stepped outside with a fresh dish to
put persimmons in.

He cut them neatly, the way Varesh taught them. He arranged them in the dish according to a
pattern he didn't have a name for, but felt right all the same. He picked up the damp cloth to
clean the knife. He breathed deep.

He hummed to himself, and let movement pull into impossible slowness.

Takra had grown another few inches. They might be taller than Link next year. Between
lanterns, they reached up the table's side with fresh juice all over their face. Still they reached
out just inches from the newly cut fruit. They wore a grin of delight and mischief that
reminded Link of the best of times.

He cleaned the knife, set it down, and moved the dish further from the little gremlin. Then he
pulled them into a hug, away from table and knife and prize.

"Gotcha."

"Shit!"

"Language." He tucked them under his arm and carried the little gremlin out of the kitchen.
He set them down in the hall, to speak with them in natural time. "You can have some when
it's done baking."

"But then it'll be burnt." They wrinkled their nose. They were right, but it still hurt.

"I won't get any better at it until I've had time to practice. Same as everyone else." Link
leaned against the doorframe, hopefully to keep them from charging back in. "What are you
escaping this time?"

"I'm not."

He waited patiently for truth.

Takra rolled their eyes. "Calligraphy."

Link could only nod. "Go slower."

"I'm going so slow I'll never finish." They whined. "I don't want to do calligraphy forever!"

"A deal?"

That hawk-like tilt of curiosity, in miniature.

"I'll only bake some of the pies. Small ones." Link stuck out his pinky for promise. "Show me
your calligraphy and we can have all the fresh cut persimmons and the raw dough together in
secret."

Locked fingers and a conspiratorial grin sealed the deal.

Link stepped back into the kitchen, only to find Gan standing there, eating the persimmons.

Link went outside, wish a fresh dish, and fetched another fruit to cut...
 Gentle Vigilance

He is in excellent form, today.

To watch his champion dance through the steam of his tea was a luxury in every aspect. The
sunlight cast colours across the terracotta cobbles, split on the very edge of his beloved's
blade. Every ray of light that touched him- his armour, his clothing, the mica across his
cheeks- accented his own radiance in every reflection.

Link shattered Gan's peaceful meditations with a knowing wink.

His memory rushed to accent the gesture with the echo of the man's laughter. Shards of grief
floated among them eternally, but in this one instance, for the first time, the shouts of the ugly
could not survive the radiant sight before him. Cries of grief shifted to cries of pleasure, and
the bitter taste of tears carried the aftermath Gan knew to be the relief of healing done well.

It was the agony working backwards, a break setting in the correct place.

Sunrise crept deeper into the balcony where the king hid in shadow. Warm sunlight teased his
bare feet. The garish colour on his toenails made him chuckle- another few days and their
ilmaha would surely choose another colour just as striking. He wiggled his toes and counted
the virtues in idle habit. Maybe he could nudge them in the direction of gold, this time.
Perhaps he might even persuade Link to paint his own in silver to complete the pattern.

Which reminded him of the hour of madness a few weeks ago, when Link sat in the shade,
exhausted and sweaty, and still told the littles the stories of the Exalted Moons before him.
He whispered secrets of how he honoured the beloved foremothers of his title with little
habits of his own- confirming that they had been intentional all along, and not figments of
Gan's wandering mind. Filling his chest with warmth as another little tried to climb all over
him.

As he laughed, to weighed down by armor and exhaustion and ilmaha to stand under his own
strength, begging the Master of Serpents to guide the little storehouse snakes on his shoulders
back to their proper places. Begging the king to untangle the beautiful little dancers from his
frame so that both the moon and all the serpents could claim their supper out of the sun.

Gan had not seen Link climb up onto the balcony. He only saw the concern in his forever
blue eyes and the defensive posture of his shoulders.

He did not speak. He only brushed a fresh tear from his beloved's cheek.

"I'm-" Gan wheezed through the tightness of his chest. He wan't sure if his words escaped
him at all. "I'm okay. Things are good."

The weight of the moon against his forehead told him he didn't have to say anything else.
 A Little War
Chapter Summary

In which the hero and the king play a new kind of wargame. For a treat.

It was a little mean, really, but Gan found that in the context of their victory and the peace
that followed, the occasional startle, to only recognize the moment is a joke- seemed to be
helping. Link was starting to calm himself faster. He was learning to squint at his terrors
more often.

It was facing one's horrors in a controlled context, but less work than bondage might be.

So instead it became an art. It was finding the right tools at the right moment, and finding the
right place to stand to observe war evaporate into comedy. The old trick of startling a cat with
a stick worked wonders. Being chased about with said stick had its own charms. (Especially
since he switched from the stick to the crop, when Gan wasn't looking.)

Far too much work went into crafting the statue of a horse. However leaving it in the stable
left Link on a strange edge until he figured out why something was wrong.

Moving said horse around the yard for the next moon gave Gan a fit of giggles every time.

Until he woke up to it in their bedroom.

Deceptively simple was the open bottles. A bottle without its lid or its cork in various places
left Link to search the premises for... what he never explained. Gan left one on its side for one
particular occasion and the man searched for hours until Gan confessed.

Then the payback began.

Starting a prank war with a man who cradles time in one hand was a mistake. Gan had
precisely no regrets.
 Pegasus Boots

Gan stood in the doorway of their bedroom, dumbfounded. Link had been suspiciously quiet
for hours; and so he feared a hard day (if not a hard week) was ahead. Autumn was around
the bend. Already he had the servants gathering everything they would need to make the most
of each apple.

Except Link was not in a sullen mood at all. He was not angry (at ghosts or otherwise), nor
was he sick (though the peerage would argue), nor was he sobbing. Even better, he appeared
to be smiling at himself, and on the brink of absolute hysterics. He also hadn't noticed Gan in
the doorway yet.

Link was standing on a crate, in spurs, and still not quite tall enough to keep Gan's cloak off
the floor. He had secured it around his shoulders with the golden collar overtop, the golden
cuffs not chained to one another but instead worked into the buttons so that the cloak draped
around his arms to clasp at his wrists. A rather inventive means of attaining sleeves and
eating up length.

When he finally noticed Gan's reflection, he was only embarrassed for being caught for a
moment. He fought against giggles (poorly), twirled the cloak around, and walked off the
crate.

To stand on air.

"This-" Gan waved at the whole thing. "This is ridiculous."

Link's face crunched before it fell. The magic wavered under his feet but did not fall just yet.

"You have been about civilized people enough to know you need the right pants to match."
Gan pivoted to his closet. Surely any length measured for him would drape well past Link's
spurs, nearly completing the illusion. The trick was finding ones wide enough at the knees to
encircle his whole foot. "Go not to the box, but the bed, I would rather you fall on something
soft when the enchantment gives."

Their intermingled laughter and scheming rang through the house for hours.

Perhaps this autumn would be much better than the last.

 Preserving Order
Chapter Summary

It really pulled the room together, that rug.

Link had a knack for finding people who were willing to work. Gan wasn't sure if they were
so willing on their own, or if the madman somehow... inspired them. As they never truly
cowered or wore signs of harm, he wasn't sure he minded. Whomever Link brought were
both eager for any position, and willing to submit to Gan's pattern of the estate. Even if it
didn't make sense to their softlander minds.

Word got around. If one was willing to tolerate the strange estate or the masters of the house,
this was a place to find work. And anyone who could hire people, could be stolen from.

This was how Gan found himself standing over four scrawny cowards at three in the
morning, accompanied by a madman and a mighty headache. Link would slaughter them
right there, and damn the artfully woven rug. The perfection of his obedience was the only
barrier to keep him from doing it anyway.

Which was good, because it was hard enough to think about his rights as King, in what was
technically an Embassy Estate, and his power over the criminals on his property though they
were not employed nor sworn to his people. Could he detain them until morning without
incident? What would weave this event to be both Just and also a deterrent against this
happening tomorrow?

A servant bowed deeply at the door. Whatever Link read of Gan's intention, he gave her a
common signal to proceed. So, she obeyed. "The local watch is on their way, Sun's Ray, and
they have arranged accommodations for them to be brought before the Queen's Court come
morning."

One of the thieves was more arrogant that smart. "The queen? Over some stupid house?"

The servant curtsied. "To divert a war, of course."

Confusion twisted the four of them. Link did not move at all.

"Oh dear," the servant moved to cover her mouth for mock pity. "Did you not properly case
your target? Did you skip all the important preparation? Dear me. What do they teach in
schools these days?"

Link snickered at Gan's side. Gan himself had the great joy of watching the utter horror creep
onto their faces. "Tomorrow will be a tough day, for you. But your Queen is a wise woman.
Perhaps she will lessen your sentence in accommodation. I have seen more deserving
wretches spared by the mercy of these Eastern Winds. For a time."

The local enforcement turned out to be a bit of a ways away, but they were able to use the
time amusingly. The servant made some remark about how a cruel punishment for such an
offense being outlawed, giving Gan the thread to make conjecture of. By the time the Watch
arrived, the thieves were fully cowed and happy to comply.

Link sighed. "All that effort. To preserve a rug."

Gan yawned. "It is a good rug."

 Beholding A Star

Even with him barely casting, even with careful management of resources, his headaches
were going to be the end of his sanity. He wondered if leaving their peaceful sancturary to
return to the desert would help or hurt. He had muttered it over papers to himself. Thinking
aloud was becoming a terrible (albeit) useful habit in his growing years.

So of course the timeless worrywart heard him. Had Gan wanted Link to understand
something it would take diagrams and at least three explanations. Anything private, or not
even a complete thought? The Hylian would already be three steps ahead to fulfill it. So of
course, with more waterskins tied to his saddle than last time, they rode through a frozen
world of dawn to make the journey more palatable.

Link used his unfathomable magic more freely after the peace. He refused to use it at all
sometimes; if he thought it might even cast a shadow on the third path they had finally
discovered. Other times he was like this.

"You can have rest and comfort and pleasure for yourself, and no one need ever know."

It should have been weeks to Nialet's estate- because of course Link brought him here -but
the time flowed for only four. Link still mumbled about the inconvenience of not being able
to carry Gan and the horses and the provisions and treats by song magic. As if balancing
everything on his tiny shoulders was ever at all easy for anything. Maybe if the same man
who grumbled would possibly let him study the flute, perhaps this could be solved. But no,
Gan was never allowed to be made sick from it. Somehow even Zelda agreed with him on
that point.

Arguing with the blonds separately was enough of a struggle. United? No wonder Link knew
so many ends in which the great evil had failed, even with Gan's flesh at his disposal.

They found Nialet in the garden pruning her trees. They were flourishing. Slowed almost to
frozen, Gan could study every note of her health. She was doing well. Her shoulder seemed
to ache, and her ankle, based on how they were wrapped. He didn't think first.

He touched healing to her shoulder first. She startled when the time song ensnared her. Nialet
would be the only soul bold enough to slap the king and she nearly did.

"Frightened the piss out of me!" She spat. She pivoted to see Link dismounting. "You know
better than to bring those hooves to my garden!"

Gan was sure he heard Link mumble a genuine sorry, but Nialet was swearing and shoving
and fussing over them to hear it properly. She knew immediately that they traveled by
unknowable magic for Link's worry. And in one uncounted moment, only Gan's health and
his beloveds' ability to restore it mattered.

In the space where shadows had once clawed at his heart, now the light of their love drowned
it out.
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!