[Incomplete] Sheik, Link
Who: A fully grown Link, Sheik
Where: The river, Sheik's home
When: Early afternoon
Summary: Sheik was meant to be the guide. He was meant to keep one step ahead. Somehow his feet were failing him.
Rating: PG, probably, just to be safe.
This was better. This was territory he knew, knew by heart even if he never really appreciated it. He found the hero. He found Link. (And even that grated on him, couldn’t even do it anymore, couldn’t even track him now, but he silenced that bitter little voice and let his pride speak up instead. It was for the best. That was what was important.)
If he couldn’t manage it with that Link - the other Link? His Link? Why was nothing clear cut anymore? - then he wouldn’t manage it with this one, but it didn’t matter. There was even some sort of freedom in approaching so openly, walking down the street, lyre and knife at back, dressed in blacks and browns and crimson. He moved in silence over the cold, hard ground, but that never mattered any more. Very little did. All the walls of before had been pulled down, but others had been built, thicker and higher and difficult to scale.
But impossible? Sheik had always balked at that, even when time sobered him, made him wiser and more efficient. And if there was one person Sheik knew he could never give up on, it was Link. The other Link. His Link. That Link. This Link. It was all the same, in the end, and damned if it was going to spiral out of his control (more than it has already, part of him quipped, something he steadfastly ignored).
He felt him before he saw him, and if he’d ever been close to weeping it was now. Briefly, he had to stop, had to duck away out of sight, to calm limbs that trembled more than they should have, to rid himself of the feeling that he might crumble before Link’s feet.
Crumbling had never suited him well. He straightened, swallowed, and went on.
“It’s too cold for this,” he said, eventually, in greeting. “Come with me.”
Where: The river, Sheik's home
When: Early afternoon
Summary: Sheik was meant to be the guide. He was meant to keep one step ahead. Somehow his feet were failing him.
Rating: PG, probably, just to be safe.
This was better. This was territory he knew, knew by heart even if he never really appreciated it. He found the hero. He found Link. (And even that grated on him, couldn’t even do it anymore, couldn’t even track him now, but he silenced that bitter little voice and let his pride speak up instead. It was for the best. That was what was important.)
If he couldn’t manage it with that Link - the other Link? His Link? Why was nothing clear cut anymore? - then he wouldn’t manage it with this one, but it didn’t matter. There was even some sort of freedom in approaching so openly, walking down the street, lyre and knife at back, dressed in blacks and browns and crimson. He moved in silence over the cold, hard ground, but that never mattered any more. Very little did. All the walls of before had been pulled down, but others had been built, thicker and higher and difficult to scale.
But impossible? Sheik had always balked at that, even when time sobered him, made him wiser and more efficient. And if there was one person Sheik knew he could never give up on, it was Link. The other Link. His Link. That Link. This Link. It was all the same, in the end, and damned if it was going to spiral out of his control (more than it has already, part of him quipped, something he steadfastly ignored).
He felt him before he saw him, and if he’d ever been close to weeping it was now. Briefly, he had to stop, had to duck away out of sight, to calm limbs that trembled more than they should have, to rid himself of the feeling that he might crumble before Link’s feet.
Crumbling had never suited him well. He straightened, swallowed, and went on.
“It’s too cold for this,” he said, eventually, in greeting. “Come with me.”