Chapter Text
“It’s a sacred instrument, Groose. You’re not going to break it.”
“If you say so,” Groose mumbled, and started to pluck at the strings a little harder. “Are you sure I’m not too clumsy for this?”
“If you’re deft enough for mechanics, you’re deft enough for this,” Zelda said. “Don’t worry about how it sounds just yet. Memorize the notes first.”
Groose nodded distractedly, and for a few minutes, all three of them were quiet as Groose attempted the first few bars of Zelda’s lullaby. He winced when he messed up and shook his head. “Uh, is there a time limit or something?”
“No,” Zelda promised him. “Take as long as you need. You’ll be doing it quite a few times, after all.”
“I’m gonna be an expert by the end of it,” Groose said, and held it out to her. “Uh, can you show me again?”
“Of course.” Zelda took it and played, slow and deliberate so each note was clear. Then she chuckled softly, watching the strings of the harp. “Goodness. Who would have thought that this was where we would end up?”
“I’d’ve laughed,” Sky said with some amusement. “It doesn’t suit us.”
“It didn’t suit us,” Zelda corrected. “We’ve grown up.”
She handed the harp back to Groose, and he settled it in the crook of his elbow, brow furrowed in concentration. Sky leaned back to watch, hands in his lap, and felt Fi flicker reassuringly without leaving the sword.
It was hard to look back at how far they’d come from where they’d been as children – like trying to retrace your steps on a winding path, every thought seemed to lead back to where they were now. Everything that had happened, everything they had learned.
“Hey, Groose?” Sky asked suddenly. Groose grunted. “Why did you hate me?”
“Huh?” Groose missed a note and cursed, starting over. “Jealousy, I guess. Alright, it was definitely jealousy.”
“Of me?”
“Yeah, obviously.” Groose frowned at the harp, and then started over again for no apparent reason. “I hate to break it to you, Link, but you were incredible even as a kid, and we all knew it. You were the best at flying, the best with a sword, best friends with Zelda, the most popular- it was ridiculous. And I might be a superstar now, but as a kid I was like, I don’t know, slightly below average.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Groose,” Zelda chided softly. “You’ve always had your strengths. None of the rest of us had your knack with tinkering; I was always surprised you didn’t apprentice at the repair shop.”
“Convinced myself that didn’t count,” Groose said. “No idea why. Anyway, being a knight seemed cooler.”
“Not everyone liked me,” Sky said quietly.
“Yeah, well, your parents got voted off the island for neglect, didn’t they?” Groose closed his eyes to concentrate, and didn’t speak again until he’d finished his first full run of the song, off-beat and with a few errors. “I’m not saying it made sense or anything. But man, I was frothing-at-the-mouth pissed at you for it, and twice as much because you didn’t even hate me back.”
Sky snickered. “Sorry. I wasn’t good at paying attention.”
“Yep, noticed.” Groose shot him a grin, then started over. “Didn’t help that I was kind of a natural asshole even then. I wasn’t exactly making a lot of friends.”
The corner of Sky’s mouth twitched. “So you got more mean?”
Groose rolled his eyes. “Kids are dumb, Link. I don’t know what to tell you.” He held the harp out to Sky. “You show me. I want to see it from someone other than Miss Goddess.”
“Watch your tongue,” Zelda said, with a smile that took all the heat out of it.
Sky took it, shifted to let Groose see, and played, frowning in concentration. Despite everything, Sky still didn’t have Ocarina’s musical talent; it required too much focus to interest him.
“Man, you’re still obnoxiously good at things,” Groose complained when Sky was done, but he accepted the harp back and played again, a little more smoothly. “It’s like you don’t even have to try.”
Sky cast him a faintly resentful look. “I try,” he said defensively. “Different things are hard for me. Focus and boredom are easy for you.” He rolled his shoulders. “Impa didn’t get it either. Focus takes effort. Wears me out fast.”
“I know, buddy,” Groose said, smiling gently to take the sting out of it. He finished the run carefully, started over, and added, “Even as a kid I kind of knew it, honestly. It just didn’t make sense. You did more in a day without paying attention than I ever could with it.”
Sky shrugged. He didn’t really get it, either. But Zelda was smiling, soft and fond.
“That was what made Link a good choice,” she explained, eyes focused on a faraway memory. “Someone more task-oriented would have gotten most things done faster, but they wouldn’t have done as much. They wouldn’t have helped Bartreaux or looked for Kukiel or...” She nudged Sky playfully. “Knocked down the chandelier at the Lumpy Pumpkin and paid Pumm back for it.”
Sky grinned, unabashed, and Groose laughed.
“Yeah,” he said fondly. “Link’s something special. I’m man enough to admit that.”
“I’m only sorry it ended up like this,” Zelda said quietly, without looking at Sky. Sky’s smile faded. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be.”
Sky exhaled, dipping his head just enough to hide his eyes.
I didn’t even agree to it, Sky signed stiffly, terse and unhappy. A thousand lifetimes of battle, for fighting a monster I never offered to. He shook his head sharply. I wasn’t mad about this lifetime. Really. But I didn’t choose it. I didn’t choose to do it and I didn’t agree to suffer for that choice for so long.
“I’m sorry,” Zelda repeated softly. “...And for the record, Hylia is too.”
Sky smiled, weak and tired. How much difference is there, really?
Zelda actually thought about it, surprising Sky, and Groose played two nearly-perfect renditions of the song before she spoke again. “To be honest, it’s really only a difference in scale. Hylia is very grand, and Zelda is very small.” She gave Sky a small smile. “You’re Zelda’s best and oldest friend, and Hylia’s most trusted knight. But I love you either way.”
Sky softened despite himself, reached over, and squeezed her hand. “I still love you too,” he promised quietly.
They did the ritual at dusk, in the chamber where Fi had passed the centuries. Ravi and the mask salesman painted the triforce and goddess sigils on the floor, large and clear, and the salesman placed a true effigy in the central triangle; it gave Sky chills just to look at. Then he joined the rest of the group against the wall of the chamber, watching attentively with his same eerie smile.
Sky, Zelda, and Groose placed themselves at the three corners of the triangle. Groose looked as nervous as Sky felt, but Zelda looked so focused she might well have been tuning out the rest of the world.
Fi chimed reassuringly on Sky’s back, and he took a breath. Then he played.
“In the center of the forest/Mother, can you hear the wolf cry?” Sky’s voice wavered through the words, straining in odd places; he couldn’t help it. The cadence was strict and his attention split between his mouth and his hands, fingers plucking gently at the cords.
He took a step and let the room spin around him, and landed flawlessly on the courage-wisdom midpoint, eyes on Zelda’s long, blonde hair. The light in the room started to darken and warp, something purple reflecting off her hair, but he didn’t dare look and interrupt the ritual.
“He’s been wounded by his efforts/And he’s tired to the bone.”
He knew that Hylia hadn’t meant anything by it; at its core, her choice had been the highest statement of faith and trust that anyone could possibly receive. He was still humbled by the thought that out of everyone that had ever lived, she’d wanted him, goofy ditzy Link, to be her knight.
But Goddess above, he hadn’t wanted this.
He stepped away and spun again, landing at the second midpoint with his eyes on Groose, who was still so tense that Sky could see it in his shoulders.
“His hunt is at an end tonight/And now he needs a place to rest.”
Despite all of that, Sky thought this was the most eviscerating and awful thing about the curse. It wasn’t Demise that he had been cursed to fight for all eternity; it was Groose, his friend, being puppeted by Demise’s hatred.
Even before his journey, before Groose had grown and matured, Sky wouldn’t have wanted this for him. They’d grown up together. He’d watched Groose meet his loftwing for the first time, sparred with him in the training hall. Groose had come looking for him when he’d wandered off almost as many times as Zelda had.
He didn’t want to fight Groose.
He stepped away and spun, and landed back on the point of courage, eyes on the center. His breath caught.
There was an orb of glowing malice hovering above the effigy mask at about knee height, small and flickering, such a concentrated ball of evil that Sky could almost feel it sucking at him. Even worse, there were traces of malice swamp along the lines of the courage shard, following his footsteps. He’d stepped in one, saved only by his thick boots.
Zelda made the tiniest desperate gesture, and Sky forced himself to focus.
“There’s a lonely cave by a stream/The wolf can sleep without a care.”
His voice wavered so sharply that it almost broke halfway through the first half of the couplet, but Sky forced himself through; it would either work or it wouldn’t. He’d done his best.
He held the harp out to Zelda, and she accepted it without looking and played. She played a little differently from Hylia – crisper, quicker, like she wasn’t as patient. The corner of Sky’s mouth twitched. That was Zelda.
“Above the bird chirps a songbird/Her voice as beautiful as dawn.” This time Sky could see the energy gathering and dripping around Zelda’s feet, swirls of it being swished around as she spun to face Groose, leaving little smears on the ground like condensation. Groose’s shoulder twitched slightly, like he wanted to turn and look at her, but Zelda maintained her focus. “The whole forest does hear her call/And too it knows she loves the wolf.”
Sky had been honest while they were teaching Groose; he had never doubted that she loved him, never even doubted that she had never meant this curse to fall on his shoulders.
Intent didn’t fix everything.
Zelda cut across the triforce to face Sky, balanced on the courage-wisdom midpoint, and their eyes met. Zelda had never been especially prone to outright remorse, preferring to fix things briskly and decisively, but there was no mistaking the shadow in her eyes now. The apology written there alone was almost enough.
“She says: my brave one, my sweet one/I never meant to bring you harm.”
Sky inclined his head, just a little, and had enough time to watch her gaze soften before she stepped away, returning to the corner of wisdom to face the center. The orb of malice pulsed and grew, becoming almost the size of Sky’s fist, and Zelda’s eyes sharpened when she saw it.
“I swear to you I’ll ask no more/This oath I take unto my end.”
She held out the harp to Groose, who accepted it with a slightly tremulous hand, and Sky heard him take a deep, shivery breath before he started playing, slow and awkward.
Goddess. Groose tried so hard. Sky glanced over at Zelda without meaning to, and she managed a small smile for him, nodding once.
“The hunter hears the songbird quiet/But he’s a promise of his own.” His voice came out steadier than Sky had expected, for how dubious he’d been about the idea at first. But he meant it. He really meant it. Groose stepped and spun away, leaving behind a faint trail of lavender fog, and landed facing Sky, gold eyes intense with concentration. “It was his strike that hurt the wolf/And he intends to make amends.”
Sky smiled as much as he dared, trying to offer Groose what comfort and reassurance he could. It wasn’t Groose’s fault that he’d gotten caught up in this spell, and Sky refused to believe that anything he’d done under the influence of Demise’s hatred had truly been his fault either. He thought Groose almost smiled back before he stepped across the triangle, spinning to face Zelda.
“He finds the wolf in his dim cave/And he kneels for the injured beast.” Zelda gave Groose a small smile and a nod too, and Groose relaxed, just a little, before he stepped away one last time, back to the corner of power to face the center. The malice orb flashed and swelled again, more Groose’s fist than Sky’s now. “He’s gentle as a young lamb now/And this way soon the wound is soothed.”
Groose tucked the harp under his arm and grabbed the knife from his waistband, and first Zelda, then Sky, then Groose stepped to the center, a half-second of hesitation apart. Sky braced himself, then sliced open his palm and held out his hand. Blood trickled down his palm, then over the length of his ring finger, and dripped through the malice orb together with Groose’s and Zelda’s to land on the blank mask.
The orb turned bright gold, pulsed once, and then slammed into the mask. Sky had to blink the spots out of his eyes before he looked at it again and inhaled sharply.
The mask was no longer blank. Instead, it had shaped itself to match Link exactly, expression set into bitter determination, eyes glazed with the empty look of a doll.
“It worked,” Zelda said, giddy with relief. “It really, really worked!”
She lunged over to hug Sky, deftly avoiding the shallow smears of malice, and then did the same to Groose, tight and relieved. Groose laughed and hugged her back, then Sky, pounding the latter on the back.
“It worked!” Groose echoed cheerfully, looking oddly wan with relief. Sky gave him a grin and a nod. “Feel any different, buddy?”
Sky shook his head instantly, but couldn’t help smiling anyway. “No. Don’t need to.”
He was startled by the appearance of the mask salesman, who had crossed the room silently. He leaned down to pick up the mask and regard it thoughtfully, and the three of them fell hushed and silent.
The mask salesman smiled.
“The Hero’s Curse,” he said mildly, and tucked the mask under his arm. “I’ll look after it.”
There was a surprising sincerity to his promise, and Sky wondered if he’d gotten other masks this way. He must have, if he’d had the effigy on hand.
“Thank you,” he said, and Ocarina might have been afraid of this man, but Sky was nothing but grateful.