Chapter Text
A terrified scream yanked Malachite from his uncomfortable dreams—the blinding lights of a stage faded from his eyes, and he blinked his bed canopy into focus and rolled over to grab his sword—
The scream cut off abruptly, and Malachite did not lay in his bed. Or in his room at all. Instead, lily-pale light filtered through rough canvas walls, suffusing the small space. The light highlighted the outline of an unfamiliar body, one that had left a cold spot under the blankets and on Malachite’s shoulder.
No… not unfamiliar, just new, that wafer-thin failure of a hero they'd saved last night. He'd named himself Aconite.
Malachite let his head fall back down and rubbed at his eyes. “You good?” he asked, voice creaking with sleep.
With a sharp turn, Aconite looked at him, both hands clamped over his mouth. His eyes glistened, as did the jewelry that Malachite—wasn’t thinking about yet.
(There were rings in the skin of his back. Malachite had seen stupid piercings before, even some similar to these, but they hadn't ever lasted long. They couldn't be comfortable. Aconite’s were still reddened around the edges.)
“Did… I do something?” Malachite said next, getting up onto his elbow, worried that he might be the cause of the screaming.
Aconite swallowed, but his imminent tears faded and he pried his hands away from his face, instead going sit still in his lap. The large gem at his forehead sparkled when he shook his head. “I get nightmares,” he said softly.
“Oh.” Malachite knew about those. He frowned. “About me? I mean, did I make them worse?”
“Not about that,” Aconite responded with a press of his lips that could almost be a smile.
Malachite didn't prod. He might've liked to rest a little longer, but he wouldn't fall back asleep now that he’d woken. He could hear movement outside the tent—presumably Talon or Link, though the early light of the morning didn't cast any clear silhouettes on the tent walls.
He sat up, ignoring the shivers that coasted over his skin as the chill air stole away the last heat of sleep, then tugged his bag over. He'd had a bit of time to pack when Link and Talon came to get him a day ago, unlike Aconite, so he first fished out some of his extra clothes. Warm ones: long, dark sleeves and trousers.
“Here, you can wear these,” Malachite said, handing the bundle over to Aconite. “It's cold here. There's underclothes, and”—he retrieved his extra pair of boots—“you can wear these, too. It's all probably way too big, but there's a belt and thick socks. We can see about getting you something that fits later. I think Talon already got a few things for Link.”
Aconite took the bundle with lowered eyes, and Malachite just started dressing himself. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Aconite pulled on the dark undershirt and pants (he was careful of the rings in his back, so at least he knew about them), and then he reached for the golden… things that he'd worn last night.
It surprised Malachite to see that he wanted to wear those again, they looked so much like fancy manacles, but, well, let the kid do what he wanted to do. He and Mal were now coworkers, colleagues, both wearing the weight of a decaying destiny on their shoulders. They all had their hangups, and Malachite wasn't going to tell Aconite what to do every moment.
It… probably wouldn't be good for him, Malachite reflected, thinking back to that dark room with such a strong floral smell that he had a headache instantly. He, Talon, and Link hadn't been there for long, but the bit they'd heard, and what Malachite had managed to see past the thick stalks of giant flowers…
He and Talon had butted heads the moment they met, but their eyes found each other, hidden there in the overwhelming scent of growing things, and they'd agreed silently to get this kid out of there as fast as possible. Aconite didn't have time to grab much, which was a disadvantage. Malachite had some money, though, so hopefully they'd be able to manage. If any shops from other times would accept his money…
Malachite pushed his arm through his gambeson, but only did up the top tie for now to keep it on his shoulders. Aconite wore the thicker, warmer tunic on top of his gold jewelry, but the shoulders of it draped down his arms, which just emphasized how much it didn't fit him. He and Malachite stood at roughly the same height, but definitely were not the same size. They needed a market, or someone willing to barter.
Once dressed for the morning, Malachite dumped as many of his things as he could into his bag, not bothering to organize it yet. He didn't like being caught unaware, and he couldn't afford to lose his armor or blankets this early in the game. His bag held more than it should, and he took it with him when he exited the tent.
Though Aconite hesitated, Malachite didn't wait for him. If he couldn't figure out that he should come out of the tent to eat and get going, then that was on him, and they had bigger problems.
The air was even chillier outside the tent, but with his clothes on, Malachite thought it felt bracing rather than punishing. Morning birds sang in the dense cover of oddly violet trees around them, and the cloudless sky overhead slowly warmed to a crimson red.
He spent a few moments staring at that sky. It didn't smell too much like smoke, so he wondered what caused the warm color.
Talon already fussed about the campsite, fully dressed in his several heavy layers and working with some supplies of his own near the campfire’s ring of stones. He'd gotten up first yesterday morning, too, and been disgruntled when Malachite waited until true dawn to get up himself. He was disgruntled about everything, it seemed.
“Is your sky always this color?” Malachite asked, cracking the silent ice around them.
Talon looked up, too, then shrugged and dumped a measured handful of rice into an iron bowl—rice from the supplies that Malachite had managed to steal from his castle. Talon had made it clear that he preferred to be in charge of food, which suited Malachite just fine. He couldn't cook more than bad porridge, at least not without a specific recipe.
“Used to be blue, like yours. But it changed, and I stopped looking up,” Talon answered. He went back to setting up the fire.
Malachite rolled his eyes at the melodrama and settled down near the ring of stones. The back of his neck itched, with nothing but thick trees around them, but he had his sword nearby in case anything happened. Talon probably chose a quiet spot.
Talon snapped his fingers and threw several candle-sized flames into the cold logs from last night, which he'd filled in with some dry leaves. Those caught easily, and the fire soon heated into something Talon could cook with.
“What kind of magic do you use?” Malachite asked next, curious. He crossed his legs and worked through his curls with his fingers.
“Some.”
“All right, well, any specific spells or rituals?” Malachite pushed. “I'd like to have information to properly plan our strategies.”
Talon grunted and waved leaf smoke away from his face. “You want strategy? Run away. Or punch it ‘til it’s dead. Noses and eyes work rather well.”
Wonderful. Someone who didn't want to work as part of a team. Malachite groaned, then turned the sound into a pretended cough to disguise it. He twisted his hair back. “That might work if you're alone, but you aren't anymore. We have one, maybe two, noncombatants. We need strategy.”
“You don't even know if I plan to fight. Maybe I'm a pacifist.”
“Right, a pacifist with blood on his knuckles,” Malachite retorted. He leaned back to press his twist of hair into a rock behind him, keeping it secure while he arranged the pins in his crown correctly—each in the right spot, strengthening the subtle protective magic of the whole thing.
“You never know.” Still, Talon self-consciously rubbed at the stained wraps on his hands, ones tied and woven specifically to brace a punch.
Malachite changed the subject, speaking toward the red sky as he worked on his hair. “We need to stop at a market. Is there one nearby? Within walking distance?”
…On second thought, Talon’s walking distance was probably a bit different from Malachite's. If Talon had ridden anything other than a workhorse, Malachite would eat his empty sleeve.
Gods and spirits in the clouds, Malachite missed his horses, even only after a day. They'd be all right. He knew from experience that the King wouldn’t assume the worst, even after a month or two. His Epona, the Hero, Princess. Malachite mostly trusted the royal stables to take care of them.
“Market for what?” Talon asked, instead of answering.
Malachite scowled. At least he could defer to Talon on things that he clearly didn't know much about! Couldn't Talon extend him the same courtesy?
“Supplies,” Malachite answered back, just as vague and hopefully just as frustrating.
Talon made a thoughtful noise. “With the rice you brought… and the venison I have left over… some extra food wouldn't be a bad idea. But I don't have a lot to barter with, and preserved foods are expensive.”
“I have salt,” Malachite argued. He poked his hair into a final place and sat up, arranging his bangs. He felt a little better, more secure, with the crown in place. “And we need more than just dried herbs. We’ll figure something out.”
“You don't have any idea how food works, do you?” Talon glared at him, but set his pot on the fire and stirred it around with an old metal spoon.
“I studied logistics. I know what I'm talking about.”
“And I've had to manage my food stores while traveling for multiple years, I know what I'm talking about. If we can find some vinegar, we can do some pickling. Your rice could stretch with some forage…”
Malachite wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to push a little more, to find their best option, but he closed it when he heard the slight crunch of dirt that meant Aconite had finally emerged. He glanced over and noted with some confusion that Aconite… hadn't chosen to wear the boots.
Aconite settled on the ground with his bare feet tucked under him, looking down as if he hoped they wouldn't—or he didn't expect them to—notice him.
Of course they did.
“Do you like potatoes or radishes better?” Talon asked right away. “And do you know what I can call you, yet?”
Aconite was still. It took him a moment, and his voice came out in a whisper at first. “You can…” He stopped and tried again, this time with an actual voice, repeating what he'd said to Malachite the night before. “I’d like you to call me Aconite.”
Malachite nodded in satisfaction at the assertive phrasing. “You didn’t like the shortened Acon, though, did you?”
“It's fine.”
Well, it wasn't a no.
“Acon, then,” Talon said. He pointed. “I'm Talon. That's Mal.”
“Malachite,” Malachite corrected without much fire. Nobody had ever bothered to give him a nickname before—Link didn't need one, and giving one to General Malachite would've been an offense. Having equals like this… It had been a while.
He didn't mind it.
Talon snorted. “He likes Mal, don't worry.”
“Oh, so you know me so well now?”
“It's been what, twenty-six hours? Yeah, I do. You're Mal. And Link is… uh…” Talon leaned back to look into the trees. “Link! You around?” he called, at a very careful volume, then shrugged. “He's just Link, nobody else wants the name.”
Malachite glanced behind him. Talon’s caution was not making him feel safer, and neither was the fact that their singular connection to their home worlds was a very vulnerable corpse. “You let him out of your sight?”
“He wanted to explore and said he wouldn't go far. I'm not his mother.”
“Ugh.” Malachite rubbed at his budding headache. “We can't afford to put him at risk.”
“It's not like he can die twice,” Talon retorted with a roll of his eyes.
“That isn't the only thing that could happen.”
The sound of a slightly awkward gait caught Malachite’s attention again. Part of him seized up in panic at the sight—well, more like the feeling. Undead creatures had very a specific sort of presence, and Link had it, too.
“Link, you have to be careful,” Malachite said, forcing his shoulders to relax. It felt a little strange to address someone else by the name he'd given up, much less someone so definitely not alive.
Malachite had already seen, more or less, what Link was like: Most of the time, Link was a shambling corpse, not slow but definitely not fast. He needed direct and simple orders to do things like follow, or sit, or hide. Malachite had taken it upon himself to give those orders, and so far had figured out a few of the more efficient ways to do it.
Sometimes, however, Link’s dulled eyes sparkled with life, and he spoke on his own. Like now.
“I was careful,” he said. He sat down on the fourth side of the fire, still jerky but not as bad as a moment ago. “I barely went a few steps out. Have you seen the trees here? They're purple, but not dead. It's interesting.”
“I have,” Malachite answered, brushing it off. “What happens if you get hurt? Do you heal?”
Link blinked. “Not on my own, no, but I'm very damage resistant. The King couldn't have his new toy breaking the first time someone tried to fight back. I'm going to be fine, it's you fragile living people that I need to worry about.”
Malachite blinked, trying to process that ominous statement.
But Talon interrupted. “So, no healing. Do you need food or water? Sleep? Any other… uh, maintenance?”
“Nothing like that. I'm an excellent night watchman.”
“So you always pay attention?” Malachite asked, doing his best to catch up. “Even when you're…”
“More dead?” Link finished, and the way his face stretched in a smile didn't exactly look natural, like he hadn't done it in a very long time. “I’m a spirit, didn't you get that? When I'm not possessing my body to talk to you, I'm walking around making sarcastic comments that you can't hear.”
Malachite snorted and responded to the only part of that that made sense. “Having a night watch without sacrificing our rest or any extra time is an advantage.”
“And only three people to feed,” Talon agreed. “Speaking of which, let's hold off on arguing until after we have food, all right? Mal?”
“I’m not arguing with anyone,” Malachite muttered, but he sat back.
“I should rest.” Link heaved a dramatic sigh. “It takes a lot of effort to teleport between timelines. And to talk, isn't that annoying?”
“We do need to have a conversation, though,” Malachite said quickly. “About what, exactly, we can expect from this whole thing. We're expected to help heroes, aren't we?”
“Food first!” Talon insisted.
“I'll be back, then, after.” Link—or more accurately, Link’s body—slumped a little, and his eyes picked a spot and stared out into nothing, face going slack. He stayed sitting upright, at least.
So it took him a lot of energy to teleport them, and presumably somewhat less to… possess his body. Resting meant not talking. Hm. Inconvenient.
Talon, stirring the food he’d put on, turned to Acon again, who’d been quiet and still enough that Malachite had sort of forgotten he still sat there. “You didn't answer my question, Acon: potatoes or radishes?”
Acon remained staring down at his hands, his expression quite the collage of conflicting feelings, not that any of them got through with any clarity. “I'm not particularly hungry.”
Talon and Malachite shared a look through the smoke. They both saw that at least some of Acon’s frailty came from malnutrition. I'm not hungry? Yeah, right. The question was whether that was a lie, or somehow true. Malachite frowned to himself.
…But who was he to judge, really? The four of them were all in this same sinking boat.
Well. Sunk.
Seven years sunk, in Malachite’s case. No wonder he felt like he was drowning more days than not.
“I didn't ask if you were hungry,” Talon replied. “I asked what you liked better.”
Acon shrugged one shoulder, still staring somewhere at the base of the fire. He did answer, though, to Malachite’s relief. “I'm not sure I’ve ever had a radish. Or if I did, I didn't know what it was.”
“Potatoes?” Talon prompted.
“They're fine.”
“How do you like them cooked?”
“I don't know.”
Malachite frowned when Talon opened his mouth again—Acon sounded like he'd reached his limit for the moment.
“We can have both for dinner, then, one of these days,” Talon said. “So you can try a radish.”
Acon blinked, the only outward expression of whatever he was thinking. “I'm not—”
“Hungry?” Malachite guessed.
“That’s a load of dirty laundry,” Talon interrupted. “We all know it. If you don't feel like you can handle something more, at least have a little bit of rice. We're going to be walking, and maybe fighting, and it's chilly, so you need something.”
If possible, Acon made himself even smaller, bringing his arms closer and twisting his hands into a tight ball. “I'll try.”
Malachite sighed sharply through his nose. He needed to be patient. It was hard, though, he was used to being listened to by his soldiers.
These boys weren't soldiers.
But they still needed to be led by someone. And Malachite knew of at least one imminent issue that they needed to address sooner rather than later. One that had an actual, concrete solution—even if it would push Acon a little further. Maybe it would help break his thick shell.
“How long until it's ready?” Malachite asked Talon, nodding to the food.
Talon glared at him, out of principle, it seemed. “A bit of time.”
“Then while we're waiting, Acon, do you want those rings out of your back?”
Talon looked up at the unexpected question. He gave Malachite a look as if to warn him off, but Malachite couldn't be bothered to respond.
Acon’s fingers curled into the fabric of his borrowed tunic. His face flushed, like he hadn't expected Malachite to call him out on it. “They’re… going to be a problem, aren't they?”
“I expect so, piercings on the surface like that don't last long, from what I've seen.” Even if the piercings didn't look brand new and inflamed, Malachite couldn't imagine they were comfortable to wear under clothes. “Talon, I think we'll need your help.”
“Why?” Talon frowned.
“I think they'll need two hands to open. Unless you’d rather Link do it—”
“Obviously not,” Talon snapped. “Fine. Watch the food. Stir it sometimes.”
Malachite rolled his eyes, but took Talon’s spot by the food with a spoon, and Talon settled behind Acon, who obligingly removed the tunic. Goosebumps erupted on his arms in the chill.
Talon pushed up the undershirt and tucked it around Acon’s neck to access his back. He paused. “What the…”
“What?” Malachite asked, suddenly worried that things had become much worse since he last saw the piercings—infection or tearing or—
“I've just never seen this kind of jewelry before,” Talon said in a controlled voice. “That’s all.”
Acon pulled his knees up and rested his forehead on them, hiding his face. Malachite expected him to fight, struggle, something, but… he just stayed still while Talon inspected his back. His shoulders flinched when Talon touched one of the rings.
“Yeah, I think I can do it. You want them out, Acon?”
Aconite nodded, and Malachite let out a breath. He'd agreed. That was good.
And Link said that this group was the best off of the fallen Hyrules? What could be worse off than them?
Talon began at the top. He dropped the opened rings on the ground once he pulled them out, twisted and misshapen. He got better as he went, Malachite thought, judging by the way that he had to mutter fewer apologies as the minutes ticked by. Malachite stirred the rice with the spoon, bored.
A little while into the process, Acon let a sound escape his throat, and Malachite glanced over in worry. White knuckles, shoulders that trembled, nails digging into skin—he was in pain, though he still hadn't moved.
Malachite met Talon’s eye over Acon’s shoulder, but Talon just shrugged and kept going. He was probably right to. It needed to be done, and Acon would say something if it got to be too much, wouldn't he? Malachite knew what it was like to go through necessary pain like this, so he had sympathy. It would be better when it was over.
Eventually, Talon leaned over toward Malachite. “Hand me a rag and potion from my bag, would you?”
Acon mumbled something into his knees, and Talon paused while Malachite hunted.
“What?” Talon asked.
Acon shook his head.
Malachite suppressed yet another sigh and finally found a stained but soft rag in Talon’s little first aid bag. He offered that over, then went on the search for a potion.
“Acon,” Talon continued, “if you want to say something, say it.”
Slowly, Acon lifted his head, and the glimpse Malachite got of his reddened face was not exactly encouraging. He sniffed and spoke, each word wrung from him like a drop of milk from a rock. “I… would prefer… if you… didn't use a potion.”
Talon raised an eyebrow—or maybe both, the other was hidden. “But you're bleeding.”
“I'll… I'll heal. Without it.”
“Mm. Your choice, I guess. I don't have any good bandages, though…” Talon trailed off, looking at Acon’s back.
“What?” Malachite asked, abandoning his search for a potion bottle.
Talon gingerly pulled the rag down Acon’s skin. “Huh. You heal fast.”
Malachite got up to look over Talon’s shoulder. Sure enough, Talon wiped away drops of blood from Acon’s back, but nothing replaced them. The skin there, darker than Malachite’s but nowhere near as brown as Talon’s, was nearly smooth once again, save for the few thorn-shaped stripes of scars. The small wounds at the top had healed over already, and those near the bottom were on their way. As Malachite watched, though, even the redness there receded, bit by bit.
“Are you even Hylian?” Malachite asked incredulously.
Acon sniffed again and loosened his grip on his knees enough to wipe at the tears staining his cheeks. “It's my… my ring. It will help heal little wounds.”
“Impressive.” Malachite meant it: his kingdom had very little magic so powerful. Sure, they had some basic enchantments to ward off fire or ice, but most of that had been replaced by technology, which was more serviceable in the long run. “So is all your jewelry magic?”
“Most of it, yes.” Acon rubbed at the gold around his wrists.
Those still looked like blatant restraints to Malachite, but what did he know? It was pretty. Maybe Acon wore all of it on purpose. He wondered what it did.
“The food!” Talon barked, stumbling over them both to get to the pot. “Malachite! It's burning!”
“What? I can't control the heat of the fire.” Malachite clicked his tongue and took his former seat.
“I asked you to watch it.” Talon wrapped his hands up in his scarf and pulled the pan off of the fire. “It's fine. We’ll… just have slightly crunchy rice. And I won't ask you to cook again, my mistake.”
Malachite rolled his eyes.
Acon rearranged and replaced his clothes, the borrowed tunic guarding against the chill. Malachite finished tying off his gambeson, and though Acon offered his help with it like he had last night with Malachite’s armor, Malachite waved him off. He wasn't helpless, not with most of his usual clothes. He'd ask for help with the armor itself after breakfast, most likely.
Talon divided up the food into two rough wooden bowls and a cup, but they didn't have enough utensils for everyone, so only Acon got a spoon. It wasn't much, just a few bites of plain rice. Malachite set his bowl in his crossed legs and dug in his bag—he knew he had a bit of salt.
“You don't have to waste this on me,” Acon said quietly once Talon had settled again, staring at the bowl he held. “I'm not hungry.”
“Dirty. Laundry,” Talon repeated with a jab of his finger. “You're skin and bones, and if you don't eat something soon, I swear that one good wind is gonna knock you off the mountain. We could tie a rope to your waist and fly you like a kite.”
Acon’s lips twitched. A smile? A wince? Neither gave much insight as to what he thought of eating, or why he wasn't, even now that he wasn't… where he'd been.
“Did they not give you food?” Malachite said without really thinking. “Whoever it was that held you?”
No response. Acon’s face went still, a practiced mask falling over even the light in his eyes. It reminded Malachite of the moment just now when he'd seen Link’s spirit enter and then vacate his body.
All right, message received: don't talk about it. At least Acon wasn't panicking.
“Well, eat what you can,” Talon said into the silence. “And give the rest to Mal.”
Malachite crumbled a bit of salt over his bowl, and offered more silently over to Talon, who just shook his head.
They ate in silence—or, well, Malachite and Talon did. It really wasn't much, which was fine for a breakfast, but the precedent worried Malachite somewhat. They'd need to find more food, especially once Acon started eating more. He had one spoonful of rice and pushed the rest over to Malachite, who took it only once it became clear that Acon really wouldn't eat any more.
Link still hadn’t animated by the time they snuffed out the fire, so with a bit of bickering, Malachite and Talon started to break camp.