“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings
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One Week In
For @meanlesbean!
CW: body horror
--
It was an honest mistake. That was the best thing that could be said about the situation.
“What’s happening to him?” Warriors demanded, staring at the crystal laying mere inches from Time’s shadow-cloaked body. “What is that thing?”
Twilight snatched the crystal up before anyone else could touch it. The urge to transform pulled at him, dark magic prickling beneath his skin. He was able to resist only due to experience. “It’s a magical item. I didn’t mean for—”
“It’s cursed!” Legend snapped. Several of the rings on his fingers flashed threateningly as he took a step back.
Suddenly, the shadows around Time condensed and sharpened into little black prisms that dimmed the light around them. When they fell away, they dissipated like spun sugar on the tongue.
Time’s skin melted much the same way.
“Sweet Hylia,” Sky breathed. Then the screaming began.
Time doubled over and howled, the sound too guttural to be Hylian. The flesh of his hands peeled and curled, large splinters of wood sprouting from the joints of his fingers. The vertebrae along his back fractured, each loud pop accompanied by a protrusion of heavily keratinized skin. He clawed at the sides of his face as if reaching for something, the pits of his eyes—first blue, then orange, then a depthless black—leaking jelly and blood. He grew and shrank and grew again, his clothes splitting at the seams. The muscles between his ribs parted as though from a sharp instrument, the overlying skin fluttering with every pained, shrieking exhale.
“The Master Sword!” Twilight ordered frantically, his pulse racing from fear. “Sky, touch him with the sword! Hurry!”
After that, it was over almost as quickly as it began. Sky pressed the flat of the blade against one of Time’s spasming legs, and they all watched in horror as the transformations ceased; scales fell away like confetti, claws sloughed from weeping nail beds, fibrous roots slithered out of abused veins. Time wailed where he lie.
Before Twilight could summon his wits enough to move, there was a metal rasp, then a blade was held to his throat. “You better have a good fucking explanation, dark,” Legend hissed, ignoring the startled sounds from the other heroes. “I’m not inclined to give a second chance.”
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Every time I go to hyrule castle I remember that video about the royal guard weapons and how they were shiekah tech created to mimic the master sword (and failed - they're powerful but brittle and no more effective against the calamity than anything else). And I just remember the little detail of the wings on the hilt. On the master sword, they face up when the blade points down. On the royal guard weapons, they face up when the blade points up.
And to me, that little detail is very indicative of what they thought about the hero and the cycle.
The wings face up when fi is at rest. Waiting. Sealing. Not lifted.
For them, their swords face up when they brandish them, when they raise them against their enemies, when they wave them around and cheer.
That's what they think the hero does. That's what they think they can replicate and take for themselves.
That's not what a hero does at all.
Sure, he spends a lot of time doing that, but it's a fraction of the whole. The hero does not do it for glory or pay or fame. He is kind. He helps everyone who asks. He gets things for little kids and listens to their stories and helps people find their pets and goes out of his way to leave the stranger a little happier them when they met. He spends hours crawling through mazes and enemies to find something he can use later.
He does not raise his sword in anger. The job is not done once the villain of the day is skewered on his sword. It needs to be sealed, the darkness pushed back until the next generations can take up the call. It's passing on the torch to yourself. The master sword must seal evil during those intervening centuries.
The heroes soul is one, by breath of the wild, long forged in faith and love and determination and the flames of war and loss. The curse of demise makes it so that only one strong enough to stand against it can push it back. The heroes soul is one that is pure. It's a long reset game, and everyone knows the way it plays out.
And under rhoam, hyrule believes it knows all there is to know about the hero and the cycle. It thinks that it can shove the pieces where it wants them, that with the aid of the ancient technology it can force the warnings of history to bend to it's desire. It thinks enough violence will solve the problem entirely. It makes the master sword mimics with the blades facing up.
And it gets it wrong.
The hero reduced to a silent weapon, a shadow of the royal family, the princess helpless and unable to act, unable to access her own power.
It tries to force the issue with manpower and restrictions and piling societal pressure on the children, and hyrule falls.
Immediately, zelda is able to unlock and channel the full extent of her power, she can make a plan and not have it dismissed, she sends link to safety and travels hyrule setting the parts of a constantly moving puzzle into place, she meets ancient spirits and talks with the master sword and seals ganon on her own for the century it takes for link to return.
When he does, rhoam does not order link to save the princess. He does not pile titles and restrictions and pressures on him. He asks him to save his daughter. The hero finally gets to act at his own pace, and he chooses kindness. He chooses to go out of his way to talk to people outside his station, to listen to kids stories and leave strangers a little happier than when they met. He gathers allies loyal out of trust and not forced respect for things he hasn't done yet.
By choosing kindness and not violence (though there is an incredible amount of both), link becomes able to defeat the calamity and save zelda and the kingdom. Zelda is able to guide him and trust him to come. By working together as respected equals, they save the world.
And afterwards, the master sword is returned to her pedestal, triumphant, blade down and wings raised high.
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