Maker

[timedrummer]

[On the outskirts of Kakariko Village, in a pleasant knoll overlooking Hyrule Field, the Drummer sat on the half-shorn log that served him as a bench, his project in front of him. He'd chosen to finish constructing the harp well away from the village, since the shaped and lacquered wood of the frame still needed to be glued together before the

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[royal_lullaby]

[A young girl who has run away from Castle Town examines Drummer's set up out of the corner of her eye as she is walking past him. She recognizes these different shapes, that they come together to make an instrument familiar to her. She stops in her tracks and clasps her hands together, eyes sparkling.]

You are making a harp!

[timedrummer]

[The Drummer smiled at the little girl who had appeared, his concentration diminished though not broken. There was a trick to maintaining magical spells even with distractions around, and he'd had practice enough.]

I certainly am. Do you play?

[royal_lullaby]

I do!

[She reaches for the pieces of harp as if she wants to play for him, but realizes this is silly halfway there. She frowns and puts her hands on her hips.]

When is it going to be done?

[timedrummer]

If all goes well, within a couple of hours. [Drummer smiles; the harp when finished may well be taller than she is.] But she should have a day to herself before being played. Perhaps you'd like to initate her?

[ordonian_hero]

[A young man in the familiar greens comes tromping up the side of the snowy knoll, tightly clutching the reins of a large grey horse. Although the air all around is bitterly cold and flecked with tiny flakes of wet snow, he seems untroubled.

The winters were fresher and windier in this Hyrule, and not at all like the ones he remembered from his years in Ordon. The harshness of the weather here meant that everything was touched and altered with each passing storm. Every covered tree and newly blanketed rock created alternatively smooth and icy textures that often stretched for miles upon end. Both were equally calming, and helped draw the usual nagging worries away.

The horse alongside the young hero snuffles at the unexpected roadblock of the Drummer and his craft. To Link, however, the interruption is a welcome one. He stops and watches the Drummer work with rapt curiosity. After a moment or two, he speaks:]

What are you making?

[timedrummer]

[The sound of hooves and boots in the snow alerted him to someone's approach, but the Drummer didn't look up just yet, in the middle of the delicate operation of gluing the harp's soundboard and column to its pedestal. He's still humming as he works, but after he sets the two pieces firmly in their places, with glue to bond them there as permanently as man can make, he glances up at smiles--it looks like one of this Hyrule's many Links has come to watch him work.]

It'll be a harp when it's finished. [He offers a hand for the horse to scent.]

[ordonian_hero]

[The large horse is wary of the offering at first, but then he gradually begins to sniff around. Eventually he bumps at the Drummer's hand, hunting for treats.]

[Link, meanwhile, is watching the other man's hands. They were deft and fast-moving, like Rusl's; the hands of a craftsman toiling carefully and lovingly over his work. The simplicity of the ancient relationship struck at a part of his mind that had long since been shrouded by more pressing worries- in light of a Zelda's recent kidnapping, there was precious little time for pursuits like these.]

It..looks like it must be hard to do in the cold. [He observes, in the way a student learning a new skill from a more seasoned practitioner might: with a quieter, polite, and nonjudgmental tone.]

[timedrummer]

No treats here, my friend. [The drummer rubs the horse's nose briefly before going back to work.]

Perhaps a little easier. The glue sets faster. And I've put enough lacquer on the wood to protect it from the snow, if I don't take too long. Do you craft?

[theeyeoftruth]

[The last thing he remembered was dropping off to sleep, communicator by the bed incase something happened. He had anticipated waking to find Zack slung over him, or Impa listing duties, or Link deciding ice fishing at four in the morning was the best possible course of action. He had not expected to wake up...

here.

It had to be another world event. That was the logical course of action. World's End had become Kakariko, somehow. It didn't explain how he woke up - well, no, he just sort of came to, didn't he - in a quiet enclave of the town, fully dressed, but it was the only option he really had to go on.]

How nostalgic...

[Never one to let himself slip into any kind of real shock, he willed himself to walk, lyre at his back, weapons in place as if he was patrolling. And there were people, people he recognised, but each of them was a Hyrulean. No Zelda. No Zack. No Task Force members. No Prince sprinting over rooftops

[timedrummer]

[The drummer smiles, glancing up at the new visitor. The harp is beginning to take its shape now, as he levers the neck carefully into place against the soundboard and the column.]

It will be, soon enough.

[theeyeoftruth]

[There's a heavy sort of irony in the fact that he was crafting one himself back in World's End. Another long moment drifts past as he simple watches, his eyes showing no sign of the tumult sweeping through him. Has he been sent home? Impossible. This isn't Kakariko as it was when he was alive, a Sheikah only village. Nor is it Kakariko as it was the second time, under Ganondorf's reign...

Is this another Dark Tower dream? An illusion cast by the gods? His stance becomes a little warier, but watching the craftsman is a welcome distraction. A dream. It must be a dream. Damn Atra. He wills himself to calm. Instead he works to turn his mind to measuring the one before him.]

You play, sir?

[timedrummer]

The harp? A little bit. [He pats the huge, thick frame made from maple wood, every piece of which he shaped carefully by hand. Crafting things--instruments, sometimes weapons, but usually that which people need or which brings them happiness--has outlasted all other pasttimes for him.]

But I'm more accustomed to the drum. [He indicates the barrel-shaped instrument he is never without, in its canvas bag at his feet.]

What about you?

[timedrummer]

[The drummer glances up at the new voice, and smiles at the sight of the immortal. It's been some time since he's seen him, and the company is welcome.]

That it does, great one. What do you think?

[He indicates the completed frame of the harp, standing beside the bench. All that's left to do is string it.]

[timedrummer]

I should be very pleased to. [The drummer's eyes follow the stroke of the god's hand through the air.] Though she'll need some time to herself before she's ready to play--a night, I think.

[Uncurling one of the coiled wire strings, the drummer begins to thread it, humming that strange tune as he works.]