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When the portal appears, Ravio knows what to do.
In the span of ten minutes, the house has gone from an ‘organised mess’ to just plain ‘mess’. Chests sit with their lids flung open. Boxes are emptied and discarded, entire rooms disassembled in the race against the clock.
Ravio makes sure to quickly inspect the quality and durability of each item before passing it to Link to pack neatly away in that magic bottomless bag of his. Anything that shows too much sign of wear and tear, or seems like the magic within it is starting to fade gets quietly tucked to the side and out of view. Link may die to many things on his quest, but Ravio will be damned if he dies due to faulty equipment.
“You’d think being the Goddesses’ favourite would mean a nice, cushy life, but no, that would be too fucking easy, wouldn’t it?” Link’s grumbling has long been tuned out. He’s not actually expecting anyone to answer, or really be listening. It’s mostly just to get his frustrations out without breaking anything, Ravio has learnt over the years.
Ravio answers anyway.
“It’s not too late to head to the castle and have Zelda officially crown you as prince you know,” he points out. “I’m sure that would be cushy.”
Link makes such a disgusted face that Ravio can’t help but laugh, a note of lightness breaking through the heavy atmosphere.
Link is leaving. The Goddess beckons and her chosen Hero answers the call, with creaking joints and aching scars earned long before they're due. And Ravio will help him pack and wish him luck and then…
This is where Ravio becomes unsure. Link has never left before. Not while Ravio has been living with him. Not for another adventure. Not with the uncertainty of when he’ll be back.
“You’ll need to keep an eye on the orchard,” Link says as if reading Ravio’s mind, even as he shuffles things around in his bag. “Autumn is coming, the apples will need picking. I’ve shown you how to make the cider, but take the freshest apples to the markets to sell. Financially, you should be fine. Write to Zelda, let her know that I’m gone, and if there’s any trouble go straight to Irene or the castle.”
He’s stopped packing now, and just stares down at his bag. Ravio realises with a sinking heart that he’s packed. All that’s left is to go through the portal that sits patiently just outside their front door.
Ravio isn’t sure what to say. What does one say in this sort of situation?
Link is strapping his sword to his back now. Time is nearly up.
“I can’t… I can’t promise I’ll be back,” Link begins, not making eye contact. “You know how these things go. Anything can happen.”
“You’ll take care of yourself though, won’t you?” Ravio asks, and there is no keeping the undertone of begging from his voice. Link just looks at him with sympathy.
“I… You’ll be okay, don’t worry,” Link tells him with uncharacteristic softness, as if Ravio being alone is the problem here.
Ravio nods, and tries not to make it obvious that his eyes are watering as he steps forward and tries to memorise the feeling of Link’s lips against his. It’s warm, and right, and Ravio isn’t sure if he’ll ever feel it again.
“Good luck,” Ravio whispers, and Link smiles, takes a deep breath, and steps through the front door and through the swirling abyss of the portal. The air shimmers, the gateway collapses in on itself, and that’s that.
Link is gone.
Ravio feels like this is where something should end. Or something should begin. He’s not quite sure which. This isn’t his story.
He’s just the one who stays behind.
He wonders if anyone ever thinks about what becomes of the family and friends of the protagonist when they head off on their adventures. Of those left behind. Ravio wonders now.
The dishes need doing. Ravio steps back into his now messy home and carries on with his day.
The light is grey when Ravio stirs the next morning. He can tell it’s been raining even before he opens his eyes because Link always insists on sleeping with the window just that little bit open, and it allows the petrichor to drift through the room.
The fact that Link is gone doesn’t hit him suddenly. Instead it creeps up silently to awareness, like the way things do on a foggy day, taking shape and becoming clearer the closer it becomes.
For a while, Ravio simply lies there. He tries not to stare at the spot where Link should be. He tries not to think about the odd sense of emptiness there is, or why it feels so different from the many times he’s woken up alone when Link has visited the castle and his sister without him.
He tries not to think about how quickly he has grown accustomed to someone curled up beside him, snoring softly throughout the night, when he has spent most of his life prior all alone, or what that means.
He must have stayed in bed too long, because eventually Sheerow flies over and hops incessantly over his prone form, chirping loudly in his ear.
Ravio gets the message, though begrudgingly.
Tea. He needs tea.
The house is still in a state, and he has to step over several self-made messes on his way towards the kitchen. He’s going to have to clean all this up soon, he knows, but not today. Something about the mess that he and Link made together— proof that he was here, perhaps— is comforting to him, so for now he’ll leave it be.
It’s mostly routine that makes him his morning tea. The actions of heating the water, measuring out the leaves, brewing the tea.
He pulls out two mugs and sets them on the bench. Pours one cup, pauses, then puts the second cup away.
Maybe he’ll finally finish that book he’s been slowly chipping away at today.
He settles himself in his favourite armchair, and allows himself a quiet day.
Outside, it begins to rain again.
The next morning, the bed is still empty. Ravio really isn’t sure what he expected. The bed will likely be empty again tomorrow. And the day after that. And for as many days as it takes before he gets to see Link again.
If you get to see Link again, something bitter murmurs in the back of his mind. Ravio chooses to ignore it.
It’s still grey outside, but at least the rain seems to have eased up. Ravio lies and watches the overcast sky until Sheerow once again has to encourage him out of bed.
The mess throughout the house, despite the strange comfort it brings, is beginning to become a hindrance, one that Ravio cannot put off rectifying any longer. It’s become a workplace hazard, and he will not be held responsible if a customer trips within his shop.
Many of the boxes and chests are now mostly, if not completely, empty, and Ravio sees no point keeping them in the house. It takes at least five trips to get them all down to the cellar and stacked in a way that they aren’t going to topple over and crush him the next time he’s down there.
In his rush to pack, Link had pulled out almost every item of clothing he owned, packed a few magical vestments to take but ultimately opted to stick with his standard green and red tunic combo, as usual. The rest has been haphazardly scattered across almost every piece of furniture they own.
Despite the careless treatment given to them in the urgency of the situation, Link takes good care of his clothing, so Ravio takes time to properly fold or hang each garment and place it back in its rightful place.
He goes to collect a discarded cloak that sits in a crumpled heap by the wall, and ah, that’s right.
Beneath it lies an assortment of rods, rings, weapons, items of all makes, and clearly well used. The items Ravio had tucked away to prevent Link from taking them, the items he intended to do maintenance on.
Not today.
He runs back down the stairs and into the basement, and drags an empty chest back up again, piling the rundown equipment into it. It’s a tight squeeze, but he manages to get it all to fit. He drags it across the wooden floorboards and behind the counter. It can be his little project on slow days between customers, he decides.
The house is starting to be pulled back into shape. It should be nice and tidy for when Mr Her—
It should be nice and tidy again soon.
Sheets are stripped from the bed, and any clothes pulled from the wardrobe that are looking particularly musty are carefully hand washed and hung up to dry on the rack by the fireplace. It’s still too overcast outside to put them on the line proper.
It takes Ravio all day, but eventually the house is spotless. He’ll need to go to the markets tomorrow to stock up on some more food, but for now his mind is tired and his body aches pleasantly from a day of good, honest work. It doesn’t take long for him to put the dried and fire-warmed sheets back on the bed and climb in for a good night's rest.
It never comes. It’s only after hours of restless tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable and unsure why, that he realises the bedsheets no longer smell of Link.
It’s a late start the next day. The rain spits and stutters in small bursts, but not quite enough for Ravio to use as an excuse to stay indoors.
Instead he keeps his favoured hood firmly over his head and basket covered with a beeswax cloth to keep dry.
The less than ideal weather has done little to keep people away, and the markets are almost as busy as usual. Ravio bypasses most of the stalls he knows he will need to double back to and makes straight for the bakery on the corner.
The bell chimes a familiar jingle as he pushes open the door and makes his way towards the counter. The smell of oven-warm bread and sticky-glazed pastries flood his senses and reminds him that he hasn’t had breakfast yet. Perhaps he’ll grab himself and Li—grab himself a little treat while he’s here.
“Ravio! How are you, lad?” Mary, the portly old baker greets, all smiles and rosy cheeks. “Is it a trade today or am I actually going to get some money out of you this time?”
Ravio knows this game—and his role—well by now. He flips his hood back, places his hand over his heart and directs at her his most charming business smile.
“Why my dearest Mary, I would never squander you of your most well deserved compensation, surely you know this! But, it just so happens that I picked some of the first apples of the season earlier this morn, and brought with me only the finest of the fine with me today.” He pulls the beeswax cloth away from the basket with a flourish, presenting a pile of deliciously ruby red apples. “Fourteen, to be exact! Which, if my mental maths is correct, is about the same price as say… A loaf of your finest rye and two of your lemon tarts?”
Mary laughs and shakes her head as she picks an apple from the top and inspects it carefully.
“Ravio, you dirty scoundrel! Well, lucky for you, I was just thinking this morning that I’d like to make a nice apple pie to sell tomorrow if this sodden weather continues.”
Ravio grins and hands over the basket happily for her to empty. Mary grabs the freshest rye loaf from the back of the rack and wraps it up in paper, before grabbing two of her famous lemon tarts.
“Taking a treat home for that troublemaker of yours?” she asks as she carefully wraps the tarts so the filling doesn’t smear all through his basket.
The temperature must drop suddenly despite him being indoors. It’s the only explanation Ravio can think of for the sudden coldness that starts in his chest and spreads through his veins.
“Link’s out on another quest, actually. Off to save some princess or fight some dark overlord or save the kingdom once again, you know what these hero types are like!” he says with a light chuckle and fights to keep his mask on; but there must have been a crack, something slipping through unbidden because Mary’s face softens as pity takes over.
“Any idea when he’s coming home?” she asks gently, and Ravio can only shrug.
“When the day is saved, I suppose.” The cold inside is growing heavy now. He can feel it begin to weigh down his limbs, and it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain his charm.
“Well, if you need anything at all hon, you know where to find me,” Mary reminds him, and hands over his basket. Ravio merely nods in thanks and makes his way back out the door.
The cold feeling follows him outside.
It’s only after he makes it to the next stall and goes to put away his dozen eggs (Link refuses to keep cuccos on the property) that he notices the still warm chocolate croissant that Mary must have slipped in without comment or charge.
He’s not sure why, but the small gesture is enough to choke him up a little.
A week after Link leaves, it finally starts to show the finer side of autumn. Ravio has kept himself busy running his shop and maintaining the orchard, making as much cider as he can store within the cellar. The air is crisp and fresh but the sun still beats warmly upon his back, leaving Ravio more often than not ridding himself of his floor length purple robes and wearing a much lighter tunic for gardening. Sheerow seems pleased to see him outside, and happily follows him around as he works, hopping from branch to branch and feasting on any small insects she finds within the foliage.
It’s not easy work, especially with only a single pair of hands. Ravio honestly has no idea how Link managed all this by himself before. He also has no idea how he is supposed to transport all this into town on his own.
Well, one problem at a time.
His current conundrum lies in safely getting the barrels down into the cellar by himself.
He starts by stacking the barrels by the cellar door. They’re heavy, and awkward, and Ravio can’t rush this. Luckily he manages to empty out the old wheelbarrow and uses that to transport them most of the distance. It takes the better part of an hour.
Then, it becomes a matter of lugging them down, one very slow and careful step at a time. The steps are sturdy, but they are steep, and it’s nothing but cold stone at the bottom. The liquid sloshes with every movement, constantly throwing his balance off. Sheerow chirps nervously as she supervises, but keeps her distance so as not to get in the way.
She’s a good bird.
After the sixth barrel, Ravio’s arms are starting to truly ache. He has to mentally psych himself up to grab the next one, and can’t help but pout when he notices he’s only half way through.
With a huff, he hauls the next lot of cider up, leaning backwards slightly to shift his centre of gravity to something a little more stable, before beginning the slow descent down the stairs.
He reaches the bottom sooner than he anticipated.
On the fourth step from the bottom, he puts his foot too far forward and it slips. For a moment, Ravio feels as though both his mind and body are suspended as he tilts towards the floor, and very calmly thinks to himself, I’m going to have to wash this tunic now, aren’t I?
The ground is cold and jarring. He hits it at an awkward angle, and cries out as he both hears and feels his arm fracture. The barrel cracks against the stone and rolls in a wide arch, now leaking sticky cider everywhere, staining the stone and Ravio’s robes.
Sheerow’s chirps are shrill as she swoops down to check on him, not caring if her feet or feathers get wet. Ravio manages to push himself up, slowly, using his good arm.
The arm he landed on is definitely broken, but luckily for him, Ravio knows where Link has a few spare potions. That should handle the break, and time can deal with the bruises.
“I’m okay, Sheerow,” he tells her, trying to sound reassuring. “Didn’t hit my head, don’t worry.”
Sheerow stops hopping around, but still looks at him with concern. Ravio surveys the mess he’s managed to make. The barrel lies haphazardly on the floor where it had rolled, still leaking, though more slowly now that most of its contents are all across the cellar floor.
The barrel is beyond repair; it will have to be chucked.
Ravio isn’t exactly sure what it is about the broken barrel that does it. Maybe it’s not the barrel at all, but the pain, or the cold cider soaking his clothes.
Maybe it’s the fact that no one will come if he calls for help.
But one second Ravio is sitting there, assessing the damage he’s done, and the next the tears are spilling from his eyes unbidden. He’s powerless to stop the sobs from tearing free of him, loud and broken. His lungs feel like they are too big for his ribcage, and all he can do is curl up as tight as he can on the floor, in the pool of cider, clutching his broken arm and sobbing through the pain and heartbreak.
Because that’s what this is, Ravio realises as he gasps for breath between each unbidden sob.
Link is gone. And Ravio is not.
He’s been left behind, and he’s all alone. No one is going to come running down those stairs, calling his name in panic, chastising him for being so careless even as he handles Ravio with such care and gentleness. Ravio is going to have to haul himself back up those stairs, heal himself, and then deal with this mess.
It’s not that he can’t, or doesn’t want to. It’s the fact that he has no choice.
Link is gone.
Link is gone gone gone gone gonegonegonegone—
And Ravio isn’t certain if Link is ever coming back.
Sheerow comes fluttering down right in front of his face, carrying a red potion. Ravio didn’t even notice her leave. He sips from the bottle, and feels his bones knit back together as he curls up even more on the cold wet ground, tears still streaming down his face.
Ravio doesn’t get up for a while.
The shop hasn’t been open for over a week now. So Ravio is a little startled when there’s a knock on the door one quiet afternoon. He pulls himself off the couch and creeps his way over to the window, peeking through the curtains.
As soon as he recognises who it is, he scrambles to yank the door open.
Zelda smiles kindly at him, dressed in that simple blue dress of hers and holding a basket of what look to be blueberry muffins. Ravio’s mouth drools a little. It’s probably not good that he struggles to remember when his last meal was.
“I wish I could claim to have made these myself,” Zelda says as a way of greeting, “but fortunately for you, these come directly from the palace kitchens.”
Ravio, as he always has in the presence of Link’s twin, begins to ramble.
“Your Highness! I wasn’t—Link isn’t here, I sent you a letter, did you get the letter? He’s off on another quest right now, but I can let you know as soon as he comes back home? I’m not sure when that will be, it’s been about three weeks so far, but you surely know what these things are like, who knows how long he’ll be this time. Oh! But you are more than welcome to come in, if you like? I wasn’t expecting company, so the place is a little ramshackle at the moment. Not to say I don’t enjoy your visits or anything! I just assumed you’d gotten my letter and so there’d be no need for you—”
“Ravio,” Zelda cuts in, amused but patient, in that way that only nobility can pull off. “I got your letter, thank you so much for letting me know. But I’m here to see you.”
“Oh.” Now the words flee from Ravio’s mind. “I—Come in? If you’d like?”
The smile Zelda gives Ravio is kind as she steps over the threshold. She doesn’t comment on the dust or dirty cups, or the pile of blankets clearly dragged from the bed onto the couch. She doesn’t say anything about Ravio’s unkempt hair, or the dark circles under puffy, tear stained eyes, either. She simply places the basket down on the coffee table and perches herself on the lumpy blue armchair that Link is so attached to but never sits in.
The blue matches her dress.
Ravio shuffles over to the couch before remembering himself and stumbling over in haste to put the kettle on. Nothing is said between them as the water boils, and while Ravio certainly feels awkward, the silence does not. He remembers a similar feeling with Hilda. Perhaps it’s a princess thing.
Two cups of tea in hand, and Ravio makes his way back to the couch. At Zelda’s inviting nod, he helps himself to a muffin and tries to refrain from stuffing the whole thing into his mouth when he notices they are still warm.
“So, Ravio,” Zelda begins, causing him to startle slightly. “How have you been?”
“Um,” he answers, eloquently, “Good? The harvest went well, and I only lost one barrel of cider. The shop’s been doing well, too, though it is the slow season at the moment…” he trails off, not sure what else to say.
“I’m glad to hear, although that’s not exactly what I asked,” Zelda tells him with infinite patience.
“Um…” Quite the vocabulary you have there, a sarcastic voice, sounding suspiciously like Link’s, echoes in the back of his mind.
“How are you doing, Ravio, really?” she asks again. “I’ve been worried about you, all alone here.”
Alone.
That’s right. Ravio is alone.
Ravio breathes deeply through his nose and tries to plaster on his most convincing business smile.
“I’m doing just fine! Sheerow is with me after all, and it’s nice to have some peace and quiet, you know?” Ravio manages to refrain from wincing at how unconvincing he sounds, even to his own ears. If Zelda has any doubts about his honesty, she has the courtesy to keep them to herself.
“Well, I’m glad that you are making the most of the situation. Things are quiet at the castle as well. Times of peace like this are a blessing to us all, but by Hylia do the council members find the most benign, petty things to complain about when there are no life or death matters to concern over.”
Ravio manages a chuckle at that. “Hilda complains of the same thing. As things continue to improve, the complaints she receives become more and more… creative.”
“I really must catch up with her soon. It’s been far too long since we’ve spoken of things besides politics,” she hums, and Ravio see’s the moment an idea hits her. It’s the same expression Link makes when he’s figured out a puzzle, after all. “Ravio, you must join us! The three of us could have tea together in the gardens before the winter sets in!”
Ravio loves tea. He loves seeing Hilda. He loves talking to Zelda, as awkward as he may be about it.
Right now, he can’t think of anything worse.
“Oh! Um, that sounds like a lovely idea, Your Highness, and I’m certain Hilda would be thrilled to see you, but things are pretty busy here at the moment, what with winter preparations and seeing to the orchard and the shop to run. You two have a lovely time without me!” Ravio rambles, making sure to sound cheerier than he feels. Than he has felt in weeks.
A small furrow forms between Zelda’s brows. Softer than the ones that Link perpetually has, but somehow more prominent. “I think getting out would do you some good, Ravio,” she sounds almost cautious, like speaking to a frightened child. “I’m concerned about you isolating yourself.”
The mask cracks further. “I’m not! There is nothing to be concerned about, Your Highness, I assure you.” It comes out sharper than he would have liked, but Ravio is too busy trying to keep his breathing steady and eyes dry to truly care.
“Ravio…” she begins, before a sigh escapes her. She leans forward, reaches to hold his hands between her own (smaller than Link’s, but with the same slender fingers) and runs her thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “I know it’s hard, but we must be strong. Let’s not have Link have to worry for us when he returns.”
When.
When Link returns.
He speaks before he fully comprehends the words he’s saying, or what they truly mean. “When? We don’t even know if he’s coming home.”
Zelda’s thumb falters to a stop across his knuckles, her grip tightening by a fraction. “You don’t know that, Ravi. Link is strong, and he is smart. He’s done all this before.”
The laugh that leaves Ravio is bitter and cynical. “Yes, and every time he comes home more and more broken. How much has he got left to give, Zelda? How much until there’s nothing left to come home?”
“You can’t let yourself fall into this trap,” Zelda urges, ignoring his questions completely. “If you start despairing, you’ll only fall to pieces.” She pauses to take a deep breath, and when she starts again, she’s calmer, softer, smiling. “Why don't you come stay with me at the castle for a little while? Neither of us have to be alone while we wait.”
And jus like that, the mask breaks.
“I’m not alone! I’m fine here!” he snaps, ripping his hands away and standing to pace across the room. “If you want to worry about anyone, worry about Link! He’s the one out there, going through Goddess knows what, all alone, and no one there for him if something goes wrong! I don’t need your pity, Your Highness, and I don’t need your unsolicited charity! I’ve been doing just fine since he left me!”
The room falls into a tense silence, interrupted only by the soft, mournful peep on Sheerow from up on the bookcase. Zelda rises from her seat. Ravio feels her violet eyes on him, but refuses to meet her gaze.
“He didn’t leave you by choice, Ravio,” she reminds him, and though her words are kind, they rip through what is left of his heart.
“Just… go.”
“Ravio, I—”
“GO!” he shouts. She doesn't flinch, but he can see her pull back. She brushes non-existent dust off her skirts and clasps her hands in front of her. His sister-in-law is gone, now only the princess remains.
“I can see I have overstayed my welcome,” she says politely, courtly. “I’ll take my leave, but please, if you need anything at all, the castle always welcomes you.”
Ravio doesn’t watch as she walks outside. Doesn’t listen as she murmurs something to the knight who was waiting for her in the yard. Doesn’t wait to hear the click of the door closing before he falls to his knees, Sheerow his only audience to his broken sobs.
The next day, Ravio doesn’t leave his bed.
Or the day after that.
It’s been a week since it last rained, but the pillow is still damp more often than not. The cupboards needed refilling days ago, but Ravio can hardly bring himself to care, let alone head to the markets.
Dust has begun covering every surface, steadily growing as thick as the silence that engulfs the house. He’d expected for there to be some news by now. A rambling letter complaining about the ridiculous design of dungeons, or one of their friends who might have heard rumours of the hero’s last sighting.
There’s been nothing.
He might be dead.
He’s not dead, don’t underestimate him, the stubborn voice inside his head that refuses to get with reality tries to argue. Some of his adventures have taken him to new countries, or even different eras, he might just not be able to get word home.
I must be a masochist, Ravio decides, or these damned thoughts wouldn’t be taunting him with fruitless optimism.
From the hallway, the heirloom grandfather clock chimes. It must be noon. Like clockwork, Sheerow flutters her way into the room and lands softly on the pillow next to his face. She should still have seed in her bowl, Ravio made sure to overfill it the last time he topped it up just so he wouldn’t have to get up for a while. Regardless, she chirps encouragingly, hopefully, but Ravio has no reason to move. Instead he smiles wearily at her, summons the energy to raise his hand and runs a gentle finger over her snow-white head.
“I love you,” he reminds her, because she’s still here for him to say those words to.
She flaps her wings and hops on the spot, encouraging him once again to get up, to start his day, regardless of how late of a start it would be.
Ravio gives her a reassuring smile, then rolls over and goes back to drifting in and out of sleep and grief.
The next day, Ravio wakes from his dozing to the chime of the grandfather clock. Noon, again.
He rolls over with an empty sigh, and lets his mind drift as his eyes trace the familiar paths of the wood grain on the wall over and over again.
He’s alone.
He’s… more alone than usual.
Ravio untangles himself from the sheets that smell only of him just enough to be able to sit up. There’s no fluttering of feathers coming through the door, or insistent chirping that he leave the bedroom.
Worry gnaws at his gut.
Sheerow always comes to see him at noon.
“Sheerow?” he calls, though his voice comes out hoarse from disuse. Still, it should have carried at least to the living room.
When he gets no answer, Ravio swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands.
The living room is muted and lifeless when he enters. The dust dances lazily in the sunbeams before settling on the nearest surface like an ashen snowfall.
“Sheerow?” he calls again, looking around for any sign of her. The answer comes in the form of a soft peep from the armchair. Ravio shuffles over. He’s expecting to see an irritated ball of fluff giving him the silent treatment for his continued neglect, or for her to be jumping for joy at seeing him up without prompting.
Instead what he sees just about stops his heart.
Sheerow lies limply on her side, eyes closed and tiny chest rising and falling rapidly as she takes in short, shallow breaths. She looks up as Ravio approaches and gives another weak peep that sends the merchant crashing down to his knees besides her.
“Sheerow, Sheerow no, no, what’s going on?” he cries as he runs his fingers soothingly over her tiny body. She doesn’t respond, this time, only shivers at his touch.
Oh, Lolia, Ravio thinks as he assess her. He can’t lose her, too, not after Link.
He doesn’t waste time. With an efficiency he’s sure Mr Hero would have been proud of, Ravio yanks on his purple robe, as crumpled and stained as it might be, forgoes the scarf and hood, and grabs the simple tarnished bell that sits upon the fireplace.
“It’s okay, my friend, it’s okay, I’m going to get you help,” he reassures her as he oh-so-carefully scoops her up in his hands. Ravio hates how limp she is.
He rings the bell, once, twice, three times, then races out the door to where Irene's broomstick waits for them in the front yard, Sheerow clutched protectively to his chest.
When he arrives at Irene’s, Ravio practically throws himself off the broom and at the door, slamming his fist against the heavy wood like thunder.
“Great Farore almighty, calm your damn horses, I’m coming!” answers the irritated witch as she opens the door. She goes to complain some more, but bites her tongue when she recognises her unexpected guest and takes in his current state.
“Fucking hell, Ravio? What’s going on?” The merchant doesn’t answer, just gulps down a sob and holds up his hands as they cradle a still shivering Sheerow. "What am I, a veterinarian now?" she scoffs but stands aside all the same to let them in, concern shining in her eyes.
"WHAT'S ALL THE RUCKUS?" comes a shout from the back of the shop.
"It's just Ravio, Grandmother, his bird is sick!" Irene shouts back as she clears a spot on the bench for him to gently place his feathered companion.
"WHO?"
"Oh for fu—LINK'S HUSBAND!"
"LINK'S HERE?" the Witch asks excitedly, finally coming to the front of the store and looking around expectantly. "Oh, bunny boy, didn't recognise you without that hood of yours dearie. Is Link not with you today?"
"Link, he's—adventure—not here," Ravio manages to stutter. "Please, something's wrong with Sheerow, she needs help, please."
He's not above begging, not for Sheerow's sake.
"Well then, shoo shoo, out the way! Let me have a look," the Witch tuts and ushers him out of the way. Wrinkled hands poke and prod expertly as she starts her examination, hemming and hawing.
After several minutes of Ravio's anxiety rising steadily like floodwaters, the Witch hums thoughtfully and steps back, placing her hands on her hips.
"Alright lovey, why don't you tell me what's going on?"
Sheerow lifts her head and glances nervously at Ravio before she lets out a stream of cheeps that just keep going, and going.
Ravio's heart rate skyrockets. Surely there can't be that much wrong with Sheerow, right?
…Right?
The Witch nods along with whatever list of symptoms Sheerow is giving her. "I see, yes, I understand," she mutters to herself.
"Is she okay? What's wrong with her?" Ravio blurts out, unable to wait patiently any longer.
"Your birdie friend will be just fine," the old Witch reassures, and Ravio all but collapses in relief. "But I'm gonna need you to get some things for me."
Irene frowns. "Didn't we just get—"
"You two head into the markets while I get started making her medicine," the Witch interrupts scrawling down a list on some scrap parchment before thrusting it at her granddaughter. The younger witch scans the list, frown deepening the more she reads.
"This is just…" she cuts herself off, eyes widening in some kind of understanding. "Got it, okay, we'll be back soon."
She grabs her basket from by the door and unceremoniously drags Ravio out with her.
"Wait, but Sheerow—" he tries to protest, but Irene doesn't slow her march.
"She's in good hands, don't worry."
The sun is just starting to begin its descent when they make it to the markets. The morning rush has well and truly ended, letting them wander through at a leisurely pace that does nothing to soothe Ravio's anxiety.
"Shouldn't we hurry?" he tries to press, glancing over his shoulder as if he might be able to see Sheerow from here.
"She's gonna be okay, bunny boy, and the medicine will need some time to brew. No point standing around getting in the way." she assures. "Might as well get some shopping done while we're here, too."
The first stop is a stall selling a wide variety of dried herbs and flowers, hanging in bunches from the canopy or displayed neatly in shallow crates on the table. Ravio hangs back as Irene places her order, wondering if he should just head back to the Witch's house and leave the shopping to Irene.
"Here you go, bunny boy!" Ravio startles out of his thoughts as Irene shoves a brown paper bag in his face. He looks suspiciously at the young witch and opens it up with the same care he'd handle a live bomb.
Inside he finds it full of tiny dried flowers.
"Matricaria chamomilla," she tells him, like that is supposed to mean anything to Ravio. "You'll want to brew that into a tea every day, one cup for yourself and one for your bird."
"Wait, why me? Isn't this medicine?" Ravio asks, confused.
"Best to be safe, we don't want you getting sick too. Then who would help Sheerow?" she answers, with a smile that Ravio feels is entirely too mischievous and entirely too knowing.
He knows better than to ask.
"Well, while we're here, might as well grab a few other things," Irene decides for them, heading to a stall of fresh produce. "You should stock up too while you're here." Ravio blanches.
"Oh no, I left my wallet…" he realises with despair. He'd just started thinking off all the ways he could try to negotiate a later payment for Sheerow's treatment when Irene laughs.
"Don't go spiralling out on me there mister, it's no big deal. We'll just add it to Link's tab!" she declares, as if that tab isn't being paid off with the income from Ravio's business anyways.
An hour later, Ravio finds himself back at the Witch's house with a basket almost overflowing with groceries, to a much perkier Sheerow.
Ravio bursts into relieved tears as she flies over to nuzzle his cheek, then immediately forsakes him to investigate his shopping.
"She's going to be just fine," the Witch assures him with a smile. "Make sure you change out her seed and water every day, and that she has supervised time outside daily for fresh air. Take the tea once a day, both of you, and I will send Irene to do a check up in a few days."
Ravio nods and spouts a thousand 'thank you's, then graciously accepts the offer of a lift home from Irene.
The next day, Ravio manages to drag himself out of bed, unprompted, long enough to change Sheerow's food and water, brew the tea, and sit outside by the front door while they drink it. It's all he really accomplishes for the day, but Sheerow is already looking good as new, and Ravio finds that he himself is feeling a little more alive. For a moment, he contemplates the idea that maybe, just maybe, he's been tricked by some of his closest friends into getting out of bed. He quickly dismisses it, however.
He's too smart to fall for that kind of thing after all.
As promised, Irene shows up two days later only to immediately bully him about the state of the house. Before he can even open his mouth in protest, he's dragged into dusting down every room in the house while Irene washes the dishes, chatting to him about customers and town gossip and swapping embarrassing stories of Link. It takes them all morning, but the place does look so much better, Ravio must admit.
It's utterly exhausting work, and the merchant wants nothing more than to collapse face-down on his bed afterwards. He's expecting Irene to head home herself, however much to his dismay, the young witch insists on making him accompany her to the markets. Not that Ravio really needs anything, he's still stocked up after their shopping trip the other day. But still, he keeps her company and tries not to be too much of a wet blanket.
It quickly becomes routine. Every few days, Irene will stop by. Sometimes she helps with the chores. Other times they go to the markets. And some days when the weather is nice they just sit in the garden and talk. The conversations always stay light, and rooted in the present. They never dwell on the what if's, or how things used to be, which Ravio appreciates more than words could express.
But the wondering never leaves his mind. Every morning his first thoughts are questions of Link; where he was, if he was alright, why he hadn't sent news yet.
The loneliness sits at the edges of his mind, muting everything no matter how hard he tries to stay positive.
It strikes him, one night, as he lays awake and staring at the ceiling, that he perhaps wasn't completely alone in his misery. There was one person who could possibly understand.
Someone he owes a long overdue apology to.
It's been a while since Ravio had been any further than the market. He tries to convince himself that it's the being out of practice that is threatening to send him into a panic, and most definitely not the guilt and shame that chews a hole in his stomach.
The guards let him in with zero fuss, but Ravio doesn't get much further than through the gate before he stops. The castle towers over him, both familiar and imposing, and you know, Zelda is probably busy, with running a kingdom and what-not, he should just come back another day—
Sheerow cheeps insistently from where she's snuggled into the folds of his scarf, encouraging him onwards. Ravio sighs, unwilling to let his dearest friend down, and begrudgingly shuffles his way through the gardens, swallowing down his own anxiousness as he does. He nods politely to the knight that rushes forward to greet him upon recognising him.
"My lord, welcome," the knight bows his head respectfully and Ravio blushes uncomfortably at the formality. "What brings you to the castle today?"
"Ah, well, um," Ravio stumbles over his words, "I was hoping to speak to Zelda, if she's here? And available? If not it's no trouble at all, I can just come back another day, she's a busy woman after all…"
The knight doesn't even blink at his rambling, even as he feels himself sink deeper and deeper into his scarf and hood, just flags down a passing servant.
"Please inform Her Royal Highness that Lord Ravio is here and requests an audience."
The servant curtsies with a simple "yes, milord," and hurries off to deliver the message.
They don't have to wait long, because Zelda practically jogs down the hall, skirts hiked up and throws herself at the unprepared Ravio.
"Ravio, oh it's so wonderful to see you!" she exclaims when she pulls back from the hug. The man in question feels quite perplexed at the welcome, considering the last time they had spoken, Ravio had basically kicked her, Zelda, the Crown Princess, out of her own brother's house.
"Can we, um… could we talk?" he summons the courage to ask. Zelda nods enthusiastically.
"Yes, absolutely. What excellent timing, I was just about to have afternoon tea, why don't you join me?"
"But, Your Highness, you have—" one of her ladies-in-waiting tries to interject, but Zelda simply waves her off.
"Like I said, afternoon tea!" she reaffirms and leads Ravio by the arm to a lavishly adorned room. Expertly brewed teas and a veritable buffet of sweets and pastries are brought in not long after and fill the coffee table in its entirety. It's all a rush of action, until it isn't, and Ravio finds himself utterly alone in the silent room with his sister-in-law.
Ravio sips nervously at his tea and tries to figure out how to start. Thankfully, as always, Zelda is one step ahead of him and takes it upon herself to strike up the conversation.
"So Ravio, how have you been?" she asks, and there's no trap in her question, no judgement or hidden meaning. It's apparently exactly what Ravio needs for it all to come spilling out.
"Zelda I am so, so sorry," he cries, placing his cup back on his saucer and throwing back his hood so that the princess can see the sincerity on his face. "I should never have kicked you out like that, or spoken to you like that, you were just trying to help and I will never forgive myself for that!"
Zelda blinks at the outburst, before she too lowers her cup.
"I appreciate the apology, as unnecessary as it may be, although that’s not exactly what I asked.” Her smile is soft and warm, the way Link's is on the rare occasion he decides to share it.
"It's—it's been hard," he admits, surprising himself with how easy it is to tell her the truth. "I haven't heard anything since he left, I don't know if he's okay…" He tries and fails at keeping the tears in his eyes.
Zelda doesn't assure him that Link is strong and capable. She doesn't shower him with words of optimism that he can't bring himself to believe, or makes promises about how everything will be just fine. She stands and moves to sit beside Ravio on the stupidly ornamental chair in colours too bright for this conversation, and holds his hand.
"I don't know what I'm going to do if he doesn't come back. If this is going to be the rest of my life," he admits, choking on a sob at the end.
And there it is, he realises.
He has no idea if this grief will have an end. If he will live out his years waiting for the love he once had to come back home, or if he will die waiting. Link could very well still be alive, he could walk through those castle doors tomorrow, victorious once more, but the fact of the matter is that he's not here right now, and Ravio is unsure whether he is supposed to wait where he is, or keep moving. Both options feel unbearable. How is one supposed to live like this?
The despair overflows, and Ravio doubles over in an effort to contain it. Zelda—not the princess—drapes herself across his back like a comforting blanket, rubbing his back in a soothing circular rhythm as he cries, and cries, and cries.
"It's awful," Zelda murmurs into the fabric of his robes. "I feel so helpless every time he leaves. So guilty that it has to be him, again, while I sit comfortably in the safety of the castle."
"How do you do it?" he asks, still curled in on himself. "How do you just… continue living like normal?"
"I don't," she answers simply, and Ravio sits up in confusion. "My life when Link is away is not the same when he is here. And I don't try to make it be."
"I… don't understand?" It comes out more as a question than a statement.
"Everything is… less, when he is away," she elaborates. "I miss my brother, I would much prefer that he is here with me. But he is not my whole life, just an aspect of it, even if it is a large aspect. I have friends, I have duties, I have interests that I can use to help fill that space and continue to live. It's a different life than the one that has Link in it, but I'm still living and moving forward."
"I don't… think I can do that. I don't know how to live without him," Ravio admits softly.
"You do, Ravio, I promise you do. You did it before you met Link, and you can do it again until he comes home." He looks at her, and his face must show how lost he feels, because Zelda wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close. "You run your shop. You visit me far more often, and your other friends. You build up the life that exists outside of Link so that it's strong enough to last, but we continue to hope that it never has to."
Ravio thinks he understands. He sniffles and leans further into Zelda, kicking himself for not coming to speak to her sooner.
They sit together like that for quite some time, in a strange, comforting, sorrowful silence. When they finally untangle, Ravio notices the tear tracks along her cheeks and without thinking reaches up to wipe them away with his thumb.
Zelda smiles.
Ravio finds himself feeling significantly lighter. Giggles bubble up unbidden and burst out uncontrollably, not taking long to infect Zelda as well.
"Goddesses, I'm a mess," Ravio confesses as the laughter subsides. "And now the tea is going to be cold!"
"Oh, please," Zelda scoffs, "I'm the princess, there will be fresh tea in this room before I can even finish asking for it." Not a second after the words have left her mouth, a knock comes at the door and a maid pokes her head in.
"Pardon the intrusion Your Highness, can I get you more tea?" she asks. Zelda and Ravio both glance at each other and burst out laughing once more.
When he leaves the castle, hours later, it's with the promise to come back next week for more tea. A promise he will make, and keep, with every visit that follows.
The autumn rains turn to winter snow and frost, then thaw back to spring showers.
Most days, Ravio can make it out of bed. He can have tea with Zelda, manage the shop, or do grocery shopping with Irene and exchange gossip.
Occasionally the weight of the unknown keeps him under the covers and his pillow tear-stained. But those days are growing fewer and further between, and now spent with the comfort of Sheerow or the kind understanding of his friends who would visit him instead.
Not a day goes by that he doesn't miss Link, that he doesn't worry or wonder what if? But he's learnt that no matter what, the sun will still rise, the world will carry on, and Ravio is better for moving with it than trying to stay in place. So he keeps busy, he lives, and tries not to just wait.
The rain has slowed to a sporadic sun-shower when a knock comes to the door in the late afternoon.
Ravio opens the door, unexpected visitors a very common occurrence these days. He's a little surprised that it's not Irene or Zelda, or even one of the friendly townsfolk that he finds standing there, but a lanky fellow bearing a strange flagpole on his back.
"Delivery for a Mr Ravio!" the gentleman says, chipper. Ravio blinks the surprise away.
"Oh, yes that's me," he says, and is promptly handed a plain envelope. The postman doesn't wait around to see him open it, just gives a quick salute and then races off back down the road.
Sheerow flutters over curiously when he comes back inside and lands on his shoulder.
He's not really expecting anything when he opens it. So when he immediately, intimately recognises the scratchy cursive on the page, his heart almost stops.
Dear Ravio,
Din's fucking tits, you would not BELIEVE the bullshit I've been dealing with on this adventure…
Tears stream freely down his cheeks as Ravio bursts into joyful, relieved laughter.
Outside, the rain starts to fall once again.