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The sea is harsh the day that they find Link’s ship. Washed up on a sandy beach, rain pouring down around it, sail in tatters and mast shattered, the remains of what was once a proud vessel, gifted by Nayru herself, lies nothing more than driftwood on the sand in the midst of the storm. Just another broken ship to be found and either burned for heat or left to rot on the shore. Just another untold story to the coast-dwellers, but a long familiar one. It’s hardly the first.
The only difference is that when it washes ashore, it does so at the same one that they visit. Nayru’s eyes are bright as lightning as she stands beneath the downpour, laughing, enjoying the way it runs though her hair, makes sand stick to her feet, makes her clothes cling to her and whip water about when she spins, enjoying the wild storm as though that’s what it’s made for. Ralph himself, wrapped in a heavy cloak and holding a second for her when she finished, was of no such opinion. He wasn’t particularly interested in the storm, so when something had touched on the shore, been tossed up by thrashing waves, he’d strayed from her side to go investigate it.
It was a ship, it was just another ship and hardly anything new to the redhead who’d watched a dozen wash ashore over the years of traveling down to the coast with Nayru and his family to enjoy the air and the waves and the brief rest from duties and struggles in the capitol. Still, with nothing else to do until Nayru had had her fill of the storm, he’d glanced it over, trying to guess at what type it may have been, at how it may have come to be resting on Labrynna’s shores. Singed wood and a shattered mast told him it was likely a storm, the mast having caught the worst of the strike from heaven above and likely decimating the rest of the ship. It wasn’t enough so that he couldn’t try and look for the name of the thing, try spying out what little smack had been called, on the off chance that he might be able to hunt down the owner when they returned to town and warn them of the loss and to be on the lookout for the sailors on the off chance they’d been out on the thing.
His hands has stopped brushing away sand and his mind had stalled though at the sight of the little vessels name carved into the side. The Nayru’s Blessing, a ship he’d seen off himself bearing a hero back to his own land. Link’s ship. Link’s ship that now lay empty and destroyed and singed by lightning on the same shores it had departed from not a few weeks before. The very vessel that had given them cause to travel out to the coast weeks before they usually would in order to see off said her as he returned home after saving their lands from Veran’s influence and wrath.
Link’s ship.
His yells had drawn Nayru from he frolicking, the sight sending both back to town as soon as possible, hiring out a ship and sending out word to any and all who could aid.
The hero was lost, taken by the sea. The people he had saved must band together to search for him, to bring him home.
It’s their turn now to save him, to bring him back home as he’d done for so many of them and Ralph will be damned if he’s not on the frontlines to help, hence why he now stands on the deck of a ship, caught in a storm just as fierce as that day as he watches the waves.
Nayru had been left on shore, his duty to her thrown temporarily aside as he’d turned his focus tio the task fo finding their friend. He owes as much to the hero. Owes as much to a bright soul that shone like a star to offer lght to the lands in their darkest of moments. Owes as much to the people who love Link and taught him to love as he does, enough to risk life and limb for strangers and fools in order to preserve the safety of all, no matter what struggles or trials they may put him through. No matter the insults they may have heaped at his feet, or the snide remarks, or the heavy glares and scoffs and countless ill-intended actions against him.
Regret pools at the very thought as he dashes hair and rain from his eyes, straining himself to look out into the waves.
He ought to have been a better friend. He ought to have been a friend point blank! Link was always out there struggling and fighting and all he ever did was make the poor kid’s life miserable by insulting and hampering him at near every turn, going so far as to become a pawn in Veran’s game, entirely without his own knowledge, and nearly getting the hero killed. Not that the idiot didn’t walk himself into similar situations all of the time but the point stands; he needs to be enough now. Now it’s his turn to help Link and he needs, in his very core, to be enough this time. He needs to find Link and bring him back home, to make sure he’s okay.
Hyrule needs her star. The world needs Link’s light and passion, his insurmountable spirit, that warm smile that’s just the slightest bit crooked, that makes his nose wrinkle up and eyes flash with something bright in their galactic depths. They need the stern furrow of his brow when faced with struggles, those already aging hands to wield a blade in their defense and to reach out and offer aid, steady and sure when they’ve fallen.
He’s watched. He’d watched once his mind was cleared some, once Nayru was at their sides and his worries didn’t stir him away from aiding and further towards causing further struggle to the hero. He'd watched and he’d seen the impact that Link has on the world. He’d seen the worry for even the smallest of troubles, the time Link had taken to aid in small matters even when greater ones loomed, threatening to crush them; he’d take time to help a child retrieve the toy on his way down to fight the worst of dungeons. He’d watched and fumed and scolded and still Link had only met him with a scowl and something sharp and steely in those fantastic violet eyes, fingers spinning and twisting to craft a scolding of his own.
“What’s the point of saving the world if everyone in it is miserable?”
Because he was like that. Because Link cared so deeply because he was- is, the brightness to the world personified and given to them in blessing.
He's heard Nayru speaking with Din, had heard the sisters discuss the hero many a time. Their consensus seems to be the same as his own.
Link is a star, providing light in the darkest of nights and hope for those so far sunk down that all they can see in the night sky. He’s not the burning sun that is the Hylian princess, keeping light far spread, but rather the faint glimmer that travels where she does not to bring smiles to faces, hope to souls and inspire joy and faith in those who look to him.
Even Ralph can’t escape his influence, much as he’s fought it.
Now though, he’d give anything to have that light turned on him, bright and stunning and making him complain and turn away. To hear Link huff and sigh, hands spinning complaints right back at him even as his voice, softer, more hesitant, sweet in ways no mortal human ought to be, laughs at him or grumbles so soft he can’t understand the words.
In the depths of his own mind, Ralph can’t help but admit that he misses Link.
He misses those grumbles and the quick signs. Misses the laughter as Link had taught him the blade, had watched him fall time and again on his ass while training. Misses the sight of the Master Sword of Hyrule dancing in the hands of her hero, the fluid motions and bright smiles, the look of eyes that match the blade’s hilt as battle rages. The strength of his voice when calling others to battle, a sound he’d rarely heard before, but which had risen naturally to call to the people of the past to bring them to fight at his side.
He misses Link.
It’s been only a short time since the other had left, and still he’s found himself half turning to speak to him, moments from asking Link’s thoughts or making a jab at him that would end up going unheard, no response lifting with a dark scowl that made the grass beneath them wither, or laughter that would make flowers bloom at their sides.
The sense of loss is stark, and if the stupid hero makes it a permanent thing, he’s going to search ‘till they find his body for the sole purpose of bringing him back to life just so he can smack him in the face and kill him all over again.
And then bring him back once more, because Hyrule needs her shining star.
She needs him, and while Ralph can’t claim a similar need, the mere thought of the world going on with one less star in it feels wrong.
He has to find him. Even if that means standing out in the rain all night, even if that means watching the waves until his eyes fall closed of their own accord and won’t open again no matter how much he strains them. Even if that means clinging too tight to the bulwarks that he leaves permanent imprints in their wood from his hands.
He will watch.
He will find Link.
And he will bring him home. He'll watch the Oracles fuss and bother and scold and cling, and he’ll wait until there’s a pause in the fussing to let loose a scolding that Link will only roll his eyes at. He’ll roll his own eyes when Link responds that he had it handled, that he didn’t need their help, that he was fine, because he has to have been fine. It’s just them worrying. It’s got to be.
Link has to be okay.
His hands hold a bit tighter to the bulwarks, nails digging in and leaving small crescents pressed against the wood. Link has to be out there, has to be fine. He has to be already sitting on the shore somewhere, waiting for the teams that Nayru and Din pulled together to find him, laughing at their worry and turning starlit smiles on the in assurance. Nayru’s owls will come flying the horizon any moment now to bring Ralph back, to tell him that Link’s been found, that all is well.
They've got to.
They will.
He needs it.
Because Link may be many things, but a strong swimmer isn’t one of them. Not against a storm like this, not with a puny little body like his. Not that Ralph himself could muscle well against the waves, but at least he isn’t built like a twig! At least he can hold his own against the storm for some short while. Link however would be plunged beneath the waves, and it’s been weeks since his ship washed ashore, likely longer since it was struck, and there’s no islands in this part of the sea, there’s no land to cling to or find, but Link didn’t wash ashore with his ship so-
He has to remind himself to breathe. Has to dash, away more than rainwater from his eyes. It’s not the time to be thinking such thoughts, not when the sea thrashes against their sides and the wind makes to sweep them from the deck. Not when the sky howls and a storm rages about them, leaving them to fight through it, the sailors’ feet pounding against the deck, lifelines singing taunt as they strive against the waves, binding up sails lest they be torn through and send them flying off of course, two men at the tiller to hold her steady, to outlast the storm they dare not fight but cannot allow to control them.
His duty in it all is to stand in his place, out of the way and with eyes turned to the sea, watching, waiting. Prayers have slipped from his tongue into the winds so many times, silent pleas to heaven and also hissed words at Nayru, who can’t hear them, to please let them find their hero.
The sea is dark beneath them, at least where white foam doesn’t crash and ripple about. It’s near inky black against a sky that seems almost green in its ire. It swirls and makes his gut do the same as he watches it, scans out over it, wats and olds tight, rope tight at his waist and hands tighter on the ship’s side.
There.
He lifts a hand, peering out into the waves and the storm. There’s something drifting. Something small and pale, brought alight by a flash that shatters the sky overhead.
Something golden and green on the waves.
Ralph’s heart skips a beat.
He can’t look away for fear of losing sight of it, but he can’t do anything to pull from the waves what he hopes is golden hair and green cloth unless he has help. Help which runs about the deck even now, trying to outlast the storm. Still, what is the purpose of their being out here if not to bring back Link? What point is there in setting sail if it’s just to ignore what they seek when at last it comes to them?
He dares lift his eyes for but a moment, turning his eyes out to the ship and lifting his voice to levels even he didn’t know himself capable of. “Captain!”
The man turns to him, ire making one eyes twitch and stern features settle harsher still. The man doesn’t like him, and the feeling is most certainly mutuals, but there hadn't been many ships he could hire to take him out this far who would dare face anything the sea might throw out at them save this. He paid them well though, so the man must listen to him to some extent, although it clearly irks him to do so.
“Out there, he turns back to the sea, scanning for but a moment before motioning to tossing waves. “Starboard bow!”
The man’s presence at his back acts nearly as a shield against the wind, although one that eeks disgust at him and leaves his heart stirring up in similar disquiet.
Dark eyes follow his hand, catching at last on what he sees, a grunt his answer before the man returns to his men.
Ralph isn’t sure what he expects, but an order to watch and follow the floating figure isn’t all that shocking. Throwing a small boat down into the sea below would be promising death for the sailors aboard, and their best bet is to wait until the sea quiets before they can send out any to retrieve what Ralph has been seeking.
Until then, he keeps an eye on it. On what he hopes is Link, clinging to a small piece of driftwood for his very life, sword brought alight on his back from another splitting bolt across the sky. He watches and the moment the storm abates, the sky clearing as stars begin to peak through to watch them, to watch one of their own trapped on the sea below, he turns back to the captain with a stare that needs no words, the man already calling for a boat to be prepared, for blankets to be brought and the men to offer any aid Ralph may need to care for his hero.
The moment the little dinghy touches the water, Ralph is already moving for its ladder, climbing down into its prow as two sailors follow after him, readying themselves at the oars to push the little craft across the water, he shouting directions to them, bringing them ever closer to the drifting gold and green.
When they reach it, he can’t help the gasp of relief as he sees that it is indeed a person, as he leans out over the sides of the craft to catch hold of a soaked woolen tunic, the other hand wielding a knife to cut loose ropes that Link must have tied himself to keep himself bound to the boards. He’s sawing through shrieking rope that’s waterlogged and shrill on his knife. He’s pulling at the limp form of what he hopes is his hylian companion, straining every muscle to pull a limp body from the sea and into his arms even as the sailors hold their craft steady, backs turned to him in the front as they keep their oars ready for his word, leaving him, at his order, to fight and pull and finally have a pale face resting against his shoulder, one arm wrapping under thinner ones, around the back of his friend to pull, pull and-
His heart stammers in his chest as the weight of his friend falls into his arms, as out of the sea rises something that ought to be impossible.
A wide fin, pale and tattered, shimmering scales slithering against the wooden sides of their boat, rises from the sea and Ralph’s breath cuts off.
Link never told him he was mer.
But it is Link. It's Link’s upturned nose and freckled cheeks and long ears, even if scales do touch his features, even if long ears are webbed, even if the hands that fall against his sides have claws, are discolored and dark. It’s still him though, it’s him and Ralph just knows it is because there is no other it could be, even if he’d expected dark hair and a hylian body when he’d been searching the waves. If gold is what brushes his shoulders through, and a tail is what he pulls aboard, then he doesn’t care.
They will care though. His heart twists up, brows furrowing as he pulls a blanket over to wrap around the hero, around treacherous scales that, the moment they are seen, will have the sailors at once turning their minds away from his offering of gold and towards the possibilities that having a Mer at their disposal would provide.
They can’t know, he tells himself, tucking the fin out of sight and covering it, wrapping both arms tight around Link’s skinny frame. They won’t know, he determines, shouting orders for them to return to the ship, they have what they came for. He thanks heaven that the men’s backs remain turned, that they don’t glance back as he wraps the body of his friend tightly in blankets, praying silently to himself that the tail will fade, will go away before he must lift the limp from of the hero back aboard the ship.
Link had legs when he saw him last. If he’s Mer, then he must be able to change, right? He must be able to make the tail fade in order to allow himself to walk on land. Link has to be able to change.
Ralph hisses as much beneath his breath as he ducks down, pressing an ear to a barely moving chest, listening, praying and breathing a trembling sigh when a heartbeat, slow and weak, sounds from within.
Link is alive.
Getting the hero aboard is a struggle, but by some blessing from above the tail is indeed faded by the time they reach the ship again, fins and gills gone as weak breathes stutter across Ralph’s chest from where he holds his hero close. Once on the ship he’s all but snatching Link into his own arms, defying any to try and take him as he stalks back to the cabin provided for them, allowing only the opening of the door as he heads within and bolting the moment Link is laid on the bed.
The men must not know. They will not tread close enough to find out, and Ralph would rather slit their throats than allow their gold seeking eyes to trail to Hyrule’s Star as their next prize.
His breaths are uneven as he checks the cabin, likely looking and acting like a madman as he seals off any entrance or window save those at the back of the cabin, which only gulls and sea can peer through as spray rises up to kiss its panes. It’s necessary though, and he only breathes easy again once he’s sure of their safety.
He owes Link his life; he won’t hear of any taking the heroes own for their profit.
That said, he rather regrets not asking a medic along beside him as well when at last he moves back to his hero’s side, staring for all of a moment at paper pale features. Cruel looking feathered marks trace against the skin of the other lad, crawling down his neck and plunging beneath the neckline of his still soaked tunic. He winces, but steels himself. He’s been all Link’s had in past; it won’t be his first time treating things beyond his skill. His job is only to keep the hero alive until they reach the coast and how hard will that be?
It’s hard. Harder than he’d thought and more strain on his soul than even watching Link fight the worst of all monsters atop Ambi’s tower.
Seeing Link weak is perhaps the single most painful sight of his life. The hero is strong, is courageous, is a flashing smile of steel and galactic gaze turned to the field, turned to battle. The hero is hands strong on the hilt of a sword that stretches out as though an extension of the lad himself. The hero is light and power and grace that holds in awe those who watch him, dancing across the battlefield with magic swirling on his heels, starlight in his eyes and a surety that settles the hearts of any he fights for and stirs fear in the hearts of those he stands against.
The hero is strong.
Not this weak figure dressed in Ralph’s spare clothes, singed and soaked tunic set aside in favor of bringing warmth to greying skin. Not the pale face against barely paler pillows in the captain’s bunk, blankets raised and tucked about a form that takes shockingly little space in the bed. There’s no glimmer of starlit eyes or strength in gnarled hands. He looks almost lifeless as Ralph sits beside him, indulging himself for all of a moment in pushing back golden hair from lifeless features.
Sun has burnt the skin of the hero's face, salt made long hair brittle. How long Link drifted on the ocean he can’t fathom, but that he breathes at all is a wonder. Truly a blessing from heaven itself, although more for the people who love him than for Link himself,
When at last his skin stops feeling as ice against Ralph’s skin, it begins to burn with fever, weak shifting stirring the blankets as pristine features twist up into agony, Link tossing and turning weakly. It’s all Ralph can do to simply slip water between dry and cracked lips, soothing back sweaty hair and pressing cool rags to burned and burning skin.
The trails of lightning make Ralph wince. They’re worse beneath the borrowed shirt, splintering out from between shoulder blades to wrap and twist possessively down the hero’s left arm and leg, reach up towards hazy eyes as though to snatch the stars from within and quench the light that burns within a bright soul.
There are other scars too. Faded as though ages old but which hadn’t been there before when Raven had bound wounds from arrows and blades both, voice soft as he’d scolded the both of them, worry in his eyes and hands gentle on Link’s head, ruffling dark hair with a tired fondness that made those bright stars burn all the brighter. There are new ones, teeth and fangs and claws leaving trails across skin that is already crisscrossed with so many others.
It hurts. It hurts his soul and his heart and made his hands stutter as he’d dressed Link in his own clothes, as he’d laid the other to rest in the bunk left for them and even now as he dares let his eyes follow their marks across what skin is left still visible.
The scars aren’t the worst of it though. The scars are wounds long past and healed, and it’s the burning fever and long nights that truly make him ache. That makes his heart twist up in worry as he sits awake, leant against the bunk's walls, one hand smoothing back long hair in assurance to himself and in hopes of comfort to his hero. His voice is thick in his throat as he murmurs mindless comforts, either to himself or to Link. The hero trembles and shivers beneath his hands, pained whimpers and straining breathes sending darts of pain to the heart of the redhead at his side. There are weak whispers from between pale lips. Pleas and cries of agony, of “please no” of “don’t leave” that make him bite back his own winces and hurts. They don’t stop no matter how he assures, and pain creases the face of his friend all the worse at night, words slipping out to betray loss and hurt, agonies that Ralph can only just fathom as he’s forced to listen.
He’d never imagined the pains of the hero's title, but the fevered cries to names he doesn’t know, the sobs that leave precious glittering tears trailing down drawn features betray struggles and losses, hurts and sufferings that he can only guess at. How many people have left this hero alone? Back to the bed and one hand still threaded through thick hair, he’s left wondering, staring out across the cabin and granting himself just a moment’s rest. How many monsters has he faced? The fear in Link’s voice, the terror, the whimpers and cries; how much of his strength is a façade? A mask? Something to bring comfort while the soul beneath sobs in exhausted terror? How well does he really know the hero he looks to as such a wonder? How much of the Link that he knows is real, and how much of him is truly struggling beneath the surface to stay strong and provide assurance to the thousand eyes that look to him in need and hope?
Ralph’s eyes trail to the face still twisting up in pain against sweat soaked sheets. A prayer drifts off of his lips, a plea for blessing bestowed on the lad at his side. Maybe heaven will smile at last on this hero and give him peace now that three kingdoms have had his starlight brought to them, have had their darkness destroyed to allow the sun’s light to return over them.
Maybe he can be such a blessing.
He prays he might.