Chapter Text
“Why me?” moaned Twilight, too defeated and too appalled to move as he stood like a petrified stone, while one of his traitorous brothers dressed him in the captain’s attire.
“You look like Warriors,” Legend said dismissively, squinting at the long garment Warriors dared to call a scarf, muttering furiously to himself as he tried to figure out how to drape it around Twilight’s neck without accidentally strangling him.
“Warriors looks like me,” Twilight griped. “I was born before him. Like, millennia ago!”
The vet gave a callous shrug.
“Tamato, tomato. That’s why you’re his perfect body double.”
Twilight secretly wished for Warriors’ Hyrule Castle to collapse and bury them all alive, putting him out of this misery that wasn’t his fault to begin with.
And whose fault, you may wonder?
The culprit still looked unrepentant, happily emptying the captain’s fairy food at the foot of Warriors’ bed, while the captain lay pale and comatose.
Hyrule must have sensed the heat radiating from Twilight’s glare, because he looked up—face still smeared with sparkling, colorful sugar powder—and gave him a thumbs-up of encouragement.
Hyrule rarely got sick. And it wasn’t because of his healing spell. No.
His body had simply grown immune to illness, thanks to a life of constant travel and a heroic-level passion for rolling in mud and rotten leaves. Now, with time travel added to his long list of feats, the traveler’s body had become the perfect breeding ground for every germ across the ages.
Hence, where no battle had ever managed to defeat the captain, Hyrule sneezed once—and down went Warriors.
And whenever a Link got sick, a Link got sickly sick. No potion, fairy, milk, or soup could save them. They had to ride it out naturally.
Which didn’t make any sense, considering they could bounce back from being maimed and cursed, but somehow not from the flu.
Sky once chimed in with something about a divine balancing act—that there needed to be something in nature that could eventually kill a hero, or else they’d live forever, and that was “exhausting.”
Twilight found the idea of the deities secretly engineering a flu to take them out quite disturbing.
But maybe that was just because of how Sky had phrased it in his bubbly, absurd way.
Anyhow.
Getting sick shouldn’t have been a problem if they’d been in any other era. They could’ve just booked an inn and chilled while waiting for Warriors to return from his dramatic vacation in the spirit realm.
But just the captain’s (utter lack thereof) luck, he had to fall ill in his own era.
And that had become everyone’s problem.
Specifically, Twilight’s problem.
Twilight was about to pet a goat in his dream when he got yanked back to reality.
Wind, apparently believing that knocking the air out of a sleeping man was the best way to wake him up, had jumped onto his stomach.
“Sailor!” Twilight wheezed.
“Wake up, wake up!” Wind yelled.
Twilight dropped back onto his pillow with a groan. Then he decided Wind wasn’t the boss of him, so he rolled toward the wall, determined to return to his dream goat and flatten the tiny sailor against the wall in the process.
Wind yelped and cussed. Twilight ignored him.
Then Legend pulled out and blew his bloody conch horn.
“The captain has fallen!”
Twilight heard shuffling around him as groans erupted across the room. Understandably, no one wanted to get up from the velvety-carpeted floor and warm hearth of the captain’s cozy quarters in the Castle.
But Warriors had a mountain of duties as the era’s Captain Hero.
Duties he was expected to perform come morning, or else he’d get devoured alive by his vicious noble court.
As Twilight dragged his feet into the captain’s little study room, he still wasn’t worried.
They’d figure something out.
Little did he know, his brothers were about to throw him under the canoe in a river rapid.
It was unanimous among the Chain. Warriors had the worst Hyrule.
They would rather face Wild’s unforgiving climate or Hyrule’s trap-filled dungeons than get roped into his era’s politics. His noble court had its own special brand of nastiness that reminded Twilight of a school of bloodthirsty skullfish.
Warriors agreed. He’d once said the bloodiest battlefield he’d ever had the misfortune of fighting on was the noble court.
“Because you couldn’t just bonk a stupid lord on the head like you could a moblin.”
That had sent the younger Links into fits of laughter, but Twilight suspected only a few of them truly understood the desperate, deprecating undertone of it.
Twilight remembered stepping into Zelda’s court after peace had been restored and instantly feeling like a beast in captivity. Politics had once been fun to sneer at or ignore when he’d stood on the periphery, not at the forefront of its play.
It was fouler than a bulblin’s hide.
Twilight heaved a deep sigh for the umpteenth time as he remained imprisoned in the dresser chair.
Wild had just finished covering his face tattoo with Warriors’ makeup kit before joining Wind and Time on the carpeted floor, inside the pillow fort Wind had proudly declared his crow’s nest.
They were attempting to connect the champion’s Slate sensor to Wind’s gossip stone.
From the way Wild huffed and violently slapped the Slate against the floor, it was going exactly how Twilight had expected.
Disastrously.
“Hey, be careful! If you break it, we won’t be able to communicate with the ranch hand!” Legend snapped, sitting at Twilight’s feet as he angrily wrestled the captain’s long scarf into cooperating.
Across the room, seated at the long table Warriors had probably once used for war strategy, Four still argued with himself, now buried under stacks of the captain’s paperwork he’d attempted to sort into color-coded categories.
“Why can’t we just tell his Zelda?” Twilight wondered aloud. “Maybe she could find a wiser, better solution?”
Every conscious Link in the room turned to give him a funny look.
“That sounds like a quitter,” Wild said. “Weren’t you born with the Triforce of Courage, Rancher?”
Twilight refrained from facepalming. He couldn’t risk ruining the makeup and getting imprisoned as a dress-up doll for another hour.
He would lay down his life for the captain, no hesitation. But this?
This was where his help might do more harm than good.
Warriors would agree. But sadly, Warriors was busy being in a coma, and Twilight was the only one normal enough to see the flaws in the plan the other Links insisted was “the best they’d ever conjured.”
“This isn’t a matter of courage,” Twilight said slowly through his gritted teeth. “I don’t know how to play him. I don’t know his job. Or his Hyrule that well.”
“You’re in luck. You’ve got us,” Wind grinned, radiating the unearned confidence of a 14-year-old. “Time and I know the captain’s Hyrule like the backs of our hands.”
Time raised his hand for a high-five, and Wind clapped it enthusiastically. They were far too happy about their team-up.
Twilight worried.
Twilight despaired.
“You’re whiny today, Rancher,” Legend noted, just as he finally figured out what the golden pin in the captain’s bag was for. With a triumphant “A-ha!”—like he’d just solved a great puzzle—the vet wrapped the captain’s long, heavy curtain-of-a-scarf around Twilight’s neck and clipped it in place with the pin.
Dusting off his hands, Legend admired his work. “I don’t know why you keep complaining. You’re not the only one doing the captain’s job.”
Four nodded, nose still deep in the paperwork as he seriously debated whether one particular document should go into the red or green pile.
“It pains me to say this,” the smithy said, “but Legend’s right. We’re handling his paperwork, since only he and I can read the captain’s language.”
“I’m always right, Smithy. Get used to it,” Legend huffed. “And my skill is authentic. I don’t need a magic nut for it.”
Four immediately put his hands on his hips. “And who among this peasant lot received royal tutelage? Oh right, me. I’m the most well-educated Link. All you bring to the table is your ability to forge handwriting and a poor command of formal language.”
“Oh yeah?” Legend arched his brow challengingly. “Then the public speech for this afternoon—you draft it yourself, Smithy.”
“I admire the high spirits,” Time interjected from Wind’s crow’s nest. “But conserve your strength. The day’s still young. You’ll have plenty of time to fight later.”
“What speech?!” Twilight asked, panic rising.
Legend snapped his fingers in front of Twilight’s face. “Okay, Rancher, pay attention. Almost done. Just one little touch. Champion! The headgear!”
Wild tapped the Slate. A golden-haired headpiece styled exactly like Warriors’ hair materialized in thin air. He tossed it to Legend, who caught it and began fastening it to Twilight’s head.
“Where did you get a headpiece styled like the captain’s hair?” Twilight groaned. “Don’t tell me you found it in some random chest like you did with my old tunic set.”
“Well, it’s a long story. But it’s from Sidon, actually. Craziest thing—YES!” Wild exclaimed with a shout as both his Slate and Wind’s stone finally let out a synchronized ping and turned blue.
Wind cheered. Wild nodded smugly and turned to Twilight.
“Long story short, he said he dreamed about going back to fight in the war against the Calamity, met me there, and asked for a souvenir to bring to present-me. And this is it. The Hero Attire.”
“It’s your attire. Why don’t you dress like him and go out instead?” Twilight begged, while Wind stood on tiptoe and fastened the gossip stone to his collar, tucking it neatly under the scarf.
Wild looked up from his Slate and rolled his eyes. “Twi, just give up and embrace your destiny. I would do it if I weren’t an inch shorter than the captain.”
“You two look like each other. It’s uncanny,” Sky added lazily from the bed, cuddled up next to the comatose Warriors, unbothered by the threat of catching a cold. He was one of the few Links who rarely got sick. (Legend claimed it was divine compensation for his piss-poor stamina.)
He was also doing absolutely nothing.
Twilight thought it was the most unfair thing. Sky was an adult Link too, and nobody ever forced him to take responsibility!
“I’ll keep Warriors company,” Sky said, as if reading his mind.
“You’re going to take a nap,” Twilight seethed.
“I can achieve both.”
“Maybe you should come observe our work, Sky,” Four suggested. “One day, you’ll have to do this paperwork too.”
Sky flopped over and pulled the blanket over both himself and Warriors, blatantly ignoring the call of duty, present and future.
“Why me?” Twilight said mournfully. “I wasn’t even the one who gave him the nasty flu.”
“Well, I’m repenting alongside you,” Hyrule said with a guiltless smile. “We’re going to be the best team ever, Twi!”
“Wars is so going to lose his job,” Twilight muttered.
The rest of his brothers tilted their heads.
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Time said in the blandest tone. No one could tell whether he was joking or completely serious. “I’ve long wanted to set him free from the political circus his Hyrule put him in. He keeps being stubborn.”
“You did try very hard back then,” Wind nodded solemnly. “He was dumb not to see the charitable motives behind your tantrums.”
The old man sniffed haughtily.
“I appreciate your understanding, Sailor.”
Everyone had long suspected there must be something deeper going on beneath the surface of the predecessor-successor thing. The captain had once looked him dead in the eye and said that if Twilight wanted to poke a beehive, he’d better go bother Legend’s bees.
So, Twilight decided to tone down his curiosity.
Twilight stared into the mirror.
His reflection—now wide-eyed and very much Warriors—stared back.
Needless to say, Twilight was beyond disturbed.
Did they really look that much alike?
Legend took off his cap and bowed dramatically as the rest of the Chain clapped and congratulated him on his handiwork.
On the bed lay an unconscious, red-faced Warriors, in the most terrible Twilight disguise imaginable. A fake face tattoo doodled by Sky and a dark-haired wig loosely fastened to his head, courtesy of Wild’s dubious wardrobe.
Four had called it the perfect alibi. Just in case they got an unannounced visitor, they could claim the rancher had gotten sick again.
If he weren’t so tired, Twilight would’ve screamed in indignation.
He didn’t get sick that often!
And the last time, he wasn’t even sick—he was dying.
Time cleared his throat, calling the room to attention.
“All right, Heroes of Hyrule, let’s recap our duties.”
Sky and Wild, sandwiched on either side of the unconscious captain, raised their hands.
“We will keep Warriors company. And alive,” they chirped in unison, before going back to pouring hot soup down the captain’s throat through a funnel.
If Twilight weren’t so concerned about his own unjust suffering, his heart might’ve bled for Warriors.
Legend raised his hand next.
“Four and I will tackle the paperwork. With a combined nine adventures under our belts, it’ll be a piece of apple pie.”
Wind jumped in, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Me and Time will stand by at headquarters with Wild’s Slate and give you and Hyrule intel and briefings!”
“Hyrule will repent his crime by playing Proxi,” Four added, answering for the traveler, who was still slurping a magic potion. “Because we are definitely not dragging an innocent spirit into this mess.”
“I am the innocent spirit dragged into this mess,” Twilight said dryly, and was promptly ignored.
“Okay, I’m ready!” Hyrule announced, licking the last drop of green liquid from his fingers, finally finishing restoring his magic reserves. “How do I play Proxi?”
“If any noble says something nasty about the captain, make them bleed,” Time instructed, his smile cold.
Hyrule gave a cheerful thumbs-up. “Got it!”
Twilight narrowed his eyes. “Wait, aren’t you green in your fairy form? Proxi is blue.”
“That’s a problem for you to solve. Think of it as practice for playing the captain,” Time advised sagely, which, honestly, wasn’t good advice at all.
“He means, be like Wars and just bluff and bullshit your way through,” Legend translated, then started listing his own concerns. “Don’t forget to smile demurely like you’re only slightly amused. No toothy grin! You’ll give away your identity with your fangs. Pinky finger always obnoxiously out when drinking tea with the snobs.”
“And be careful not to drop the accent,” Four added. “Say something in Wars’ voice.”
“Ordona’s Udders, I can do his accent!” snapped Twilight. “I can also do goat, horse, cat, dog, monkey, and hawk! His accent is nothing to me!”
“Weird flex, but whatever gives you peace,” Four shrugged, turning back to a document with a frown. “How many committees and councils has Wars been a member of? Legend… do you know how to audit a garrison construction plan?”
“Where is your confidence in your education?” Legend scoffed, then glanced at the paper and nearly bugged his eyes out. “What in the Dark Worl—?!”
Twilight once again wished he aged in dog years, just so he could turn to dust and be free of this suffering already.
“Cheer up, Twi! You’ve got all of us as your support!” Wild beamed, still holding hands with a grinning Hyrule, congratulating the traveler on his “today’s adventure.”
“Exactly,” Twilight deadpanned.
“Let’s go save Wars’ career!” Wind declared, fist raised in high spirit.
“It looks more like we’re sabotaging his career,” Twilight sighed, painfully aware that the burden of common sense, usually shouldered by Warriors, had now been dumped on him.
Then the rancher glanced at the bed.
And then he remembered.
“She already bailed me out too many times. I can’t miss any duty while I’m in my Hyrule.”
Whenever the Chain was dropped into Warriors’ Hyrule, they could do nothing but helplessly watch as their brother shapeshifted into his charming, infuriating captain persona during the day, only to barricade himself in his study room at night, so no one could interrupt him from drowning in paperwork.
His Hyrule’s noble court wouldn’t accept why the captain of the Royal Hyrulean Army was always absent from his post. Nor would they take a goddess-appointed quest as a valid excuse for the Hero to miss a fundraising ball.
Warriors had once said, drunk and self-deprecating, that his existence was a liability to the crown.
The court circled the queen like moth Gibdos, desperate for any weakness to force her hand.
And the captain believed, wholeheartedly, that he was that weakness.
And he would rather die than let any imperfection reflect poorly on the queen.
They found out that he meant it.
“Why the fuck does he insist on the dumbest way to die?” Legend had groaned once, as he and Twilight dragged the kicking and screaming captain out of his self-imposed prison so Wild could force-feed him and make sure he didn’t actually die from overwork.
They’d come a long way from those early months, back when they met in Time’s Hyrule—the time Four later dubbed (and bullheaded everyone into accepting) as The Forging of the Chain.
A bad, no-good, and terrible time when everyone’s quirks grated on everyone’s nerves.
Twilight could barely recall a single day that hadn’t ended in shouting matches or full-blown fistfights.
Looking back, it was obvious where all the masks and walls came from. They were all terrified their deepest secrets would be exposed, aired out like gutted fish hung in the sun for the others to pick apart with judgment and jeers.
Apparently, the Hero’s Spirit had the courage to be kind to everyone, except themselves. And their own reincarnations.
His ears twitched at the sound of furniture scraping from inside the captain’s quarters. No doubt Wild and Wind were barricading the door to keep castle staff from accidentally discovering their plan.
Twilight let out a sigh, though a soft smile tugged at his lips as he stood in the empty hallway, finally making up his mind.
“Let’s win the day for our brother,” he told Hyrule, now a glowing green orb with fluttering wings.
“That’s the spirit!” Hyrule beamed in his high-pitched voice.
“So what’s our first duty?” Twilight whispered, starting down a quiet corridor and trying very hard not to flinch every time a guard saluted him.
Hyrule piped up brightly. “Barracks inspection!”
They both froze.
“…What’s a barracks inspection?” the traveler asked, fluttering over to settle on Twilight’s silver pauldron.
Twilight pinched the bridge of his nose until a lantern, figuratively, flipped on in his mind.
“Maybe we have to help them inspect and fix their rooms,” he said, brightening. “What a relief! I’m also my village’s handyman. I fix things all the time.”
“Two hundred rupees, Twilight blows the disguise,” said Legend, shaking his rupee bag. It jingled beautifully in front of Wild and Sky, who silently added their own rupees to the betting pile.
“Make it three hundred. And he mauls a pompous noble to death,” Four raised the bet.
Time shook his head. “Four hundred. It’s Hyrule. He’ll bite off a lord’s nose before noon.”
Wind looked between his supposed adults, one unimpressed eyebrow climbing toward his hairline as he crossed his arms.
“Are we not supposed to be rooting for them not to blow the disguise? You know, for the captain’s sake?”
Time chuckled and leaned in to whisper in the sailor’s ear, “The captain’s rupee pouch is left unguarded.”
Wind gasped and dove into the captain’s bag. “Six hundred! And the one who actually blows the disguise is—”