Chapter Text
It takes a while to realize that it’s over.
To stand there on the battlefield, looking at each other with wide eyes as the dust clears, the blood flows, and the reality finally crashes down around them that it’s over. They won. The shadow is beaten, the world is saved- again- and they’re once more the heroes who saved it.
And that initial relief, that overwhelming realization that they can be done now, strikes them all in a way that has laughter breaking out, first from one- Legend couldn’t tell you who, but he thinks it’s Wild- and then picked up by another, and before you know it, swords are being raised by those who still have enough strength to bother, and cheers are sounding amid hysterical laughter and heaving breathes.
He thinks some of them are crying too, tears washing the grit off their faces as an arm will find it’s way around the shoulders of their brothers. No one says anything about that though, not when relief and victory clash in such a sweet harmony within all of them, not when the realization that it’s finally over- they're safe, their homes are safe- crashes into them like a freaking dodongo and leaves them all stumbling and leaning heavily on each other until, at long last, Warriors is shouting something startled and fussing in that way of his about injuries that need tending.
The captain’s eyes glow softly as he works over each of them though, Hyrule following behind to do what he can for wounds that their fairies and potions do little good against still. It's only a small help, really, but it’s something. No one’s as hurt as their rancher had been that first time when they’d realized just how potent their foe’s magic could be, if anything, it’s mostly just shattered bones from too harsh a blow here and there, wounds that need stitching up and binding, leaving them all hissing and seathing but still able to (mostly) stand, even after the captain’s finished with them.
Sky’s got two broken ribs and a nasty bite on his arm, now matching with Twilight, who’s scars have long since set. The two men even compare the wounds- like idiots, Sky drawling how his is more impressive before the rancher gives him a light shove, laughing still, only to wince as his own injuries make themselves known again.
The adrenaline crash hits them all hard, but still, somehow, the sweet aftertaste of victory softens their hurts still, even as they all sit around a fire while Wild and Wind finish making dinner, the sailor minding the pot on behalf of their scarred chef, using the hand not mittened by bandages, even as Wild himself chops and cuts away from where he’s been seated, weight off a twisted ankle and not stressing the stitches Warriors had had to lay across his midsection after a spear had nearly made the man into a kebab.
Hyrule is taking his turn to fuss at the captain, who’s finishing up with his own injuries, most of which are to legs and arms, his chain-mail sturdier apparently then the rest of them, though there’s heavy bruising underneath even that, and the traveler keeps muttering things about the captain’s neck.
Not that Hyrule has room to talk, not with black and purple blossoming around the column of his own, in the shape of a moblin’s hand too, after his foe had lost their weapon. It'd been a blast of fire to the face that freed him, but not before damage was done, and muttering is really all he can do now, voice hoarse and strained pretty badly whenever he tries talking properly. He’s also nursing some broken ribs, which the captain is keen to remind him of as he runs a needle through his own skin to close a smaller gash in his forearm.
Four, in Legend’s opinion, was one of the worst. He’d taken not one, but two swords through the middle and still made it out alive, although now quite confined to his bedroll, watching the rest of them with glassy eyes and a faint smile. He’s lucky nothing vital was hit, but there’s no doubt he’ll be left with some nasty scarring, both to his stomach and his face, as the blow that nicked off the top of one ear got his face pretty badly too.
He almost matches Time, who’s supporting him with one hand, the other bound up tight to the elder man’s chest with a sling made of the captain’s own scarf. The arm was broken quite cleanly, in that horrid, terrible way that had meant Warriors had been trying to push the bone back under the skin and then had to stitch up the exit wound when he’d done so. That’ll be a scar too, and a nasty one. The captain’s face had twisted up rather badly apparently (not that Legend had seen, vomiting as he’d been after seeing the initial wound), as he’d pronounced that it’s never likely look quite right.
Malon won’t mind though, their leader claims, before having murmured something that had gotten him a scandalized look when Legend had raised his head again, the captain only a hairsbreadth away from swatting the older man, and likely only because there’d been no doubt their leader was concussed as was.
Twilight’s, somehow, the best off, cuts and gashes, bruising blossoming vivid and harsh against his skin, but nothing too worrisome, leading him to be last in the triage list the captain had rattled off hours ago now. He claims it’s because he’d been the first, already gotten his share of physical abuse from their foe, but Legend can still see a flash of guilt behind midnight eyes when it’s said, like the idiot hound feels bad for not being near butchered like the rest of them, guilty for being okay.
He’s dumb.
He should be glad he can still walk!
Legend can’t. He’s not as bad as some, but not as well off as others. A shattered collarbone and a mangled leg- which hadn’t broken near as cleanly as the old man’s arm did- have him stretched out on his bedroll and watching the rest while trying very hard to not breathe too hard. There’s almost nothing more than the leg that’d needed stitches though, and while his shoulder and neck are held carefully to avoid grinding bone together, there’s no fear of his lungs getting punctured by something floating loose amid his ribs as with the skyloftian and traveler.
In the long run, his injuries are more frustrating than dangerous. Crippling in the sense that movement will be hard, but there wasn’t too much risk of him bleeding out while waiting for his turn for treatment.
All in all he’s had worse. They’ve all had worse.
They laugh about it too, sitting or lying and just generally ltting it sink in.
It’s over.
“We can go home now,” Wind breathes, grinning, absent as he watches the soup bubble in front of him.
And some of them smile to that, he can see it on their faces; the relief, the delight at the mere thought. Twilight and Sky both have that glow in their eyes that they get when they een think about home, and Warriors, finally finished doing his own stitches, smiles. It’s just a faint thing, more distant then the other two, but it’s there all the same.
It’s Hyrule though that sends those smiles slipping away again, unintentional though it is. “Wait,” and it’s tense again, a faint rasp despite the tea Wild’s already tried handing him twice ow to soothe his damaged throat, “does that mean.... this is goodbye?”
And just like that, all joviality in the air is swallowed by a new chasm of darkness, hands ceasing their motions, heads lifting and eyes finding one another across the camp.
Goodbye.
Realistically, they all know that’s what happens at the end. Eve in their own eras, adventures tend to end with a goodbye as the people who band together against chaos go home to where they first came from, often-times scattered across the kingdom in a way that makes it hard to ever hope to gather again. Legend would know; he’s had more adentures than the rest and all of them ed with some kind of a goodbye.
The thought makes the heart he’s finally accepted the existence of ache somewhere inside him, and unlike before, back wen they all first joined up, he can’t just excuse it as some kind of internal injury this time, though in a way it is one.
“It’s...” the champion’s voice sounds slowly, breaking the stillness of staring and newly averted eyes as he offers what tries to be a smile. When he’s tired, the scars on his bad side tend to drag the rest of his features down more than they do usually, and after their last battle, exhaustion is most certainly settling over the lot of them- all the more so with the joy seeped from their hearts. “It’s not like we can leave right now, right? There’s no portal yet.”
And there isn’t.
So, they can pretend for a second, smiling and smacking each other on the back or leg or wherever they can reach as they laugh off their own worries, acting- the lot of them- like there’s nothing to worry about.
Except they all know the rest don’t believe it any more than they do.
Still, Wild is right. There's no portal. There wasn’t one after the battle finished, and there’s not one that night as they all slumber under the stars, the watch-sifts just a bit more easily, a bit more playful with each other as two by two, they sit up under the stars. There’s not a portal in the morning either though, when Warriors brews tea and coffee while fetching and carrying for Wild who he’s forbidden from standing up. Nor is there any simmering hole in reality springing up as they eat; as they sit around, some leaning on others for support they’ve all become accustomed too, and all caught in the shocking ease of the moment.
There’s no battle coming, no threat to go looking for. There's no pressing need stifling them all at the moment, and... it’s nice.
It’s really nice, Legend muses, resting his weight against Twilight’s side, taking the pressure off his own ones and muscles and relying on the rancher’s own for a moment while he sips tea sweetened just perfectly, and watches the rest mill about and chatter. It’s only temporary; he knows that. There's that dull cloud still hanging over them that threatens ‘goodbye’ coming ever closer, but in the moment, for now, there’s nothing needed from them.
This isn’t his world; it’s Time’s. It’s the one they started in, and it’s the one that everything ended in too. It’s a world at peace, with only small bands of monsters left in it, somewhere they can’t see or know about. Unlike back home, there’s no immediate need for him to do anything at the moment.
There will be- when he goes back. But, for the moment, it’s alright, the veteran supposes, to enjoy this. To enjoy tea and a warm body next to his own, to enjoy laughter and easy chatter- the kind they only rarely got to have before; the kind without monsters or missions or plans or anything to dampen their spirits or make them tense. Wind’s chattering about his sister, Warriors tuning in with a few tales of his own. Wild’s got that sad smile on his face as he recounts what he remembers of the one he once had as well, and every so often, the rancher at his side will pipe up here and again with tales of Ordon and its people. Sky’ll join after that, and then Time drops something to confuse them all, some reference to the thirteen sisters he claims to have but whom they’ve never heard a name for or seen any signs of (not any more than they’ve seen anything of his fifteen brothers).
It’s easy, it’s sweet. It’s him meeting Four’s eyes from across the coals and shaking his head while debating joining in with something about Gully, maybe Zelda, maybe just cutting past all that and talking about Bip; his godchild, and throwing them all for a loop instead.
It’s something he’s not eager to see gone.
So, he pretends that he doesn’t have to.
Soon, they will go home, and they’re be duties and roles to fill aplenty, and people turning to him once again as their hero. But for now, for just a little while longer, Legend’s just another one of this weird party of crazy hylians, just another sword and sharp tongue, sitting around a fire and trading easy words and smiles and laughter. He’s sipping tea like he has all the time in the world, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing at all, that requires his attention any more than snarking back at Warriors or chucking random things the captain’s direction, or teasing Hyrule and Wind, all while savoring the smells and tastes of the breakfast Wild slings together for them all; something that’s not rushed, that’s delicious and delicate and not at all what they could afford to spend time on before, and which tastes oddly like victory.
No gate opens while they savor it. Nothing shifts while they sip tea and chatter.
There’s nothing pushing them home just yet, and so, for the moment, they savor the seconds they’ve still got- thankful, if anything, that it’s for just a little bit longer.
It’s not until they’re on their second day at camp, with no monsters, no portals, and nothing changing, that anyone even begins to question the thing they’re all avoiding.
“Is there something we didn’t finish? Why are we all still here if it’s over? It is over, isn’t it?”