#the arrows make very satisfying whack sounds

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 13/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Carly Diggle, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Malcolm Merlyn Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

If there was one thing Carly hated the most about closing, it was taking the trash out back. And not just for the smell.

The back of the building let out into a darkened alley with no street lamps. It reeked of garbage thanks to all the times the truck just simply hadn’t shown up, and was usually populated by all her smoking coworkers during a rush.

This late, the alley was empty. Or so she’d thought.

Just as she heaved the bags up and over to throw in the dumpster, she felt the barrel of a gun press into her side. Carly froze.

“Who’s inside the restaurant?”

“My- my manager. Couple customers.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, I have a son.”

“Give me your tips,” the mugger growled.

“He’s not even ten years old, father shot on the job. I’m all he has, I swear to you,” Carly continued as she slowly reached into her apron for the money. Her mace was in her purse hanging from a peg in the back of the restaurant.

“Give me the money!”

Her hand closed around the bills, shaking in fear and anger. Didn’t anyone in this town have compassion? Pity at the least? “I’m begging you. It’s for his lunches in the cafeteria. They don’t give him food if he’s in debt.”

“You think I give a shit? Give me the money!” The gun pressed hard enough into her back that she thought it might bruise.

Carly took her hand out of her apron.

Whack!

Suddenly the gun left her back and she heard a thud of someone hitting the ground behind her. She whirled around, backing up several steps.

Her attacker was on the ground with a woman all in black standing over him. She carried a long stick which she’d clearly used to knock him out and wore a mask over her face.

“How- how did you?”

The masked woman looked up at her and gave a nod but no answer before running down the alley and out to the street. Carly stood there gaping a few moments after.

Had that really just happened? And to her? Sure she’d been grabbed earlier last winter by that military whacko who knew John, but this was something else.

The man on the ground gave a groan of pain, and Carly hurried back inside. She quickly explained to her manager, and the other woman agreed to phone the police.

John had stopped by in the time she’d been outside, it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t staying too far away even if their sort of date hadn’t worked out. A.J. needed a good role model.

Her brother-in-law stood from the booth he was waiting at and came over. “Everything alright, Carly?”

“For the most part. The police are gonna be here in a little while. This guy out back tried to jump me.”

John’s fists clenched at his sides. “Where is he?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get in trouble over this. Anyway he’s already hurting pretty bad. There was this woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was all in black except her hair. A blonde. And she wore this mask. I guess she must be some other vigilante?” Carly shrugged. “Least the guy’s still breathing.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” John frowned. “She say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t even know how she knew to be there. I mean I’ve been hearing things about a woman — wasn’t sure if they were true. But I’m so glad it is.”

Getting mugged tonight wouldn’t have been the end of her world. But it would have been a setback she would have struggled to come back from for a long time, even if she’d borrowed from John for a time. Now she didn’t have to. She had her own money and her pride along with it.

If that’s what these vigilantes wanted to be about, she couldn’t say she’d complain about it.

---

John didn’t get home until after the police had left with Carly’s statement and her would-be attacker. They’d asked her to come in the next morning to describe the woman who’d saved her to a sketch artist as well, so he’d be taking her there. Just as well, since he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about his success in finally taking down Deadshot with Oliver’s help. Lyla had been mad as all hell at him for showing up until the Hood had kept what had ended up being a setup by Lawton from turning too ugly. Then she’d just pretended to be mad, though John was pretty sure he could still tell the difference.

In the present, he placed a call to Oliver to update him on the situation. “I’ll be late getting to the house tomorrow. Have to help Carly with something. Police matter.”

“Is she okay?” His friend asked.

“Fine. But she wouldn’t have been if that Woman hadn’t shown up tonight. She’s definitely real, Oliver. Carly’s giving them a description tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. “See if you can sit in on it. I don’t know if this Woman’s done enough to get her sketch on the news.”

They both knew busting up the odd small crime here or there didn’t drive up ratings. Then again, perhaps the novelty of a woman being the one doing so might be enough to pique media interest.

“You think it’s time to step in?”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admitted, and he sounded discomfited to do so. “She’s not the Savior, she doesn’t look to be doing this for her own gain… I’m not sure what to make of her or how to find her except to get lucky and spot her out some night.”

“Well, luck be a lady,” John remarked. “And ladies tend to be mysterious.”

Oliver snorted, then said, “Keep me updated about the police sketch.”

“Alright.” He hung up and eased himself back up out of his chair. If he was going to the precinct tomorrow, he wanted to have some research already done to see if he could pick up on anything else they might be talking about regarding this Woman.

He went looking through some recent reports out of the Glades. Just as Raisa, Detective Lance and Carly now said, there were rumors growing about a woman in black. Taking on gang bangers, putting a stop to a rash of bus hijackings...the more he read, the more it sounded familiar.

John went through each of his suits, digging deep into the pockets until he came across a folded piece of paper. The list Laurel had written up for Oliver weeks ago.

It was almost identical.

He sat back on his bed, hand running down his face. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was a damning coincidence at the very least. And what was he going to do if it was more than a coincidence?

He’d warned Oliver that the problems in this city were many and varied, that people wanted to see more than some billionaires getting knocked down a few pegs. Laurel had warned him, too. Now it seemed she — or someone — had taken matters into her own hands. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree.

That was the trouble that came in signing up for this kind of crusade; it was a slippery slope. How did he support Oliver while condemning Laurel? The key, he supposed, was in learning what her motivations were. If she was even the one doing this.

One thing was certain: there was no way he could suggest the Woman and Laurel were the same person to Oliver unless he had real evidence or a confirmation. It would only start another argument otherwise, judging by how fiercely protective he’d become of his mother. So he was going to have to confront her on his own.

He kept his suspicions to himself while he sat in a chair at the precinct with Carly. The sketch artist drew up a picture of a beautiful blonde in a black mask. It didn’t look just like Laurel, but it didn’t not look like her at the same time. Still, no reason for him to voice his concerns just yet. Especially when doing so would paint a big target right back over Oliver, and himself by extension.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove Carly back to her apartment, still unsure how to address the news he’d intended to give her last night. Eventually, he said, “There was an Op the other night. The Feds. And, uh… they got him.”

“Him?”

“Andy’s killer.”

He heard Carly turn her head and chanced meeting her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in custody now.” Lyla had held him back from doing something he knew he’d probably regret, as much as his anger was telling him Deadshot should be dead in the ground for good just like his brother. “He was wanted for a lot of stuff by the government. Sensitive stuff. So there’s not really gonna be a trial or anything, but I wanted you to know.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside her building. Carly didn’t get out right away.

“Were you there?”

John nodded.

“Thank you.” She leaned across the seats and hugged him. “I don’t know what I’ll tell A.J., or when, but… I’ll sleep better, knowing he’s getting what he deserves.”

John swallowed down the little of his disappointment that remained. If Carly was satisfied, then that would have to be enough.

She got out, and he continued through the neighborhood to his next stop. He’d have to hope she was in.

John knocked on the door of Laurel’s place but received no answer. Soft music from around the back drew his attention, so he circled around to the small yard.

Laurel was crouched beside a very rough-looking bike, looking to be struggling with a tuneup. She sat back with an exhale.

“Roy, great, I could really use some help—” Laurel stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry, not Roy,” he said unnecessarily. “But I might still be able to lend a hand.”

Laurel stood rather than keep working, wiping her hands off on a towel that had seen better days. In the tank top she wore, John could definitely tell she had truly dedicated herself to the training Oliver had mentioned she’d picked up.

“Is Oliver okay?”

“He’s fine. Was glad to get your tip on Rasmus.”

Laurel nodded.

“Surprised you didn’t just take care of him yourself,” he added casually, watching her freeze for a crucial instant. John nodded to the bike. “Is the Woman gonna be spotted on this any time soon?”

Laurel hung her head for a moment, then leaned over to switch off the music playing from her phone sitting on the ground.

“Okay, great. Everyone knows I’m a vigilante. I guess Oliver has a better handle on the whole ‘secret’ thing,” she muttered as she straightened up.

“There’s a reason he acts the way he does in public,” John pointed out. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Laurel. Of course you’d be doing this.” He took a step closer, looking out to make sure they truly were alone. “What I have to ask is, why didn’t you say anything?” Did she really not want them to know? And was it because she wasn’t interested in working with them or some other kind of reason?

“How do you think Oliver would react if he knew?”

John grimaced. “Not well.”

Laurel nodded. “Exactly.”

“But, him finding out you decided to take on the problems you pointed out might make him decide to take them on himself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.” She heaved a sigh. “Since doing this, I’ve realized just how much it is, and expecting one person to tackle it all would be impossible. Oliver has his mission, and I get why. If that’s what he needs to do to absolve himself of survivor’s guilt over his father, he needs to do it. And it does help the city.”

John frowned, unable to deny her point. He was privy to just how overwhelmed Oliver got at times. Expecting him to do it all was an unfair burden.

“It’s the only way left I have to help, too,” Laurel added. “Isn’t that why you work with him?”

“Yeah, but I work with him. However he would react, he’s going to find out eventually, Laurel.”

“I know,” she admitted, looking down. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. You got the same look in your eyes when you talk about going out there that he does.” He wasn’t sure he understood it fully, how two otherwise civilians could decide to throw all caution to the winds night after night in an effort to clean up the streets. Maybe it really wasn’t about the training; maybe it was just about the person. “If he asks, I have to tell him.”

“I understand.” She at least didn’t look angry with him, merely resigned. So there they were.

John bent down towards her toolbox. “This wrench will work better for what you’re doing.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“So who all knows? This Roy?”

“Yeah. My old trainer, Ted. And you. That’s really it, but you know, not great for that number to keep going up.”

“From what I can tell, it only keeps going up. Secrets always get out.”

“Maybe. That’s a risk I knew going in, I guess.”

“Have you thought about what happens when your father might be forced to arrest you some day?”

“He’ll have to catch me first. And it can’t hurt worse than a rubber bullet, so.” She shrugged. “Believe me, John, I’ve thought of all the reasons not to do this. You don’t need to walk me back through it.”

“Guess I can’t help trying.” He turned and began walking back to the street. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.”

John still hadn’t decided if he was going to wait for Oliver to bring up the topic or if he was going to just get to the point on his own by the time he reached the base. But then it didn’t really seem to matter when his partner of sorts was already gearing up for a serious brawl.

“Felicity thinks she has a hit on Walter,” Oliver said the minute John cleared the steps, hope in his eyes for the first time in a while when it came to talking about his stepfather. “There’s a large sum in Dominic Alonzo’s account that’s dated the same night of the abduction. If we can get to him, we might have a lead on what happened.”

Faced with Oliver’s rare optimism, John just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Telling him about Laurel would only throw him off of what they were working on now, and the information on Walter wasn’t getting any more recent. They needed to act as fast as possible if they had even a prayer of finding him alive.

So John held his tongue and told himself what Laurel was no doubt telling herself: Oliver would just have to understand.

---

Tommy stood by his father’s bed, fingering the vial in his pocket. According to the woman who’d called herself Athena the other night, the contents of this vial were all that could save his father from death or from life as a vegetable. But could he risk it?

He didn’t have a way of verifying her word or her identity. But she had at least shown him her face. That was more than the Hood had done. If she wanted to poison his father, she likely could have snuck into the hospital and done it herself, considering how she had slipped past the mansion’s security team with ease.

Visiting hours were almost over, which meant that he needed to choose. What did he have to lose? He knew, active as his dad had always been, he would hate spending the rest of his days on life support, stuck decaying in a hospital bed. And Tommy did not want to pull the plug until he had tried everything.

So, with a look to the door to ensure he wasn’t about to get walked in on by a nurse, he took out the vial and added the liquid inside to the IV feeding down into his father’s arm. Tommy watched the liquid slowly descend and disappear beneath the paper tape covering the needle. He held his breath for as long as physically possible. Watching, waiting.

No change.

He deflated, even as he reminded himself that Athena had said it would take time. He needed to let the vial’s contents work through his dad’s system before he decided if this had been a waste of time and hope.

For now, he returned to his new office inside Merlyn Global. He both loathed and craved being in this place at the same time; this was where he had nearly lost his father. Yet that same night had shown him just how much his father loved him, that he had fought and even killed to keep Tommy safe. 

If this mysterious cure worked and he had the chance to speak with his dad again, Tommy knew he would apologize for ever assuming his father hadn’t cared. They had grown a lot closer in the time before his father’s injury, and he wanted that to continue. He wanted to understand him. Perhaps this Athena, if she was sticking around, could help him.

With one call on the special phone he had been given, it was not long until the very woman he had been thinking of entered his office. “Very elegant,” she remarked.

“That’s down to my father’s good taste,” Tommy said. “I gave him what you told me to about an hour ago. How long?”

“It is not an exact science. I am confident he will show signs of improvement before the night is over. Now,” Athena said, walking further into the room. “What is truly on your mind?”

Tommy smirked to himself. Was he really that obvious?

“This wall,” he answered, walking up to it. He revealed the panel of buttons hidden under a piece of artwork. “It’s false. My father was keeping something behind here, but I didn’t see what. I also didn’t see what code he put in.”

“I have been trained in code breaking,” Athena said. “But I do not think it will be necessary in this case. You are your father’s son, Thomas. You know him better than those who think they have seen his true face. What drives him?”

That was an easy question after the speech his dad had given shortly before the attack that had landed him in a hospital bed in Starling General. Which could leave only two dates, though Tommy quickly dismissed the birthday. Neither of them had felt much reason to celebrate that milestone, not without her there with them. It was the death date that he entered in on the panel instead.

1-0-0-3-9-3

The light turned green for a moment, and the wall slid aside.

What waited behind the wall caused him to back up with a startled cry. It couldn’t be real.

But the evidence remained before him. A black suit with a head covering, a quiver of black arrows and a bow. The copycat archer’s armaments and more were in his father’s possession.

“His uniform,” Athena said with warmth and reverence. “I knew he would keep it close.”

“His? He’s — he can’t be,” Tommy insisted, even as his mind went to the two Triad men his father had fought and killed without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you your father belonged to an ancient order,” Athena repeated. “It is one based on the oldest form of justice known to man: evil must be replaced by death.”

“But the- that’s — he took hostages!” None of those people to his knowledge had been criminals, not even of the embezzlement kind.

“And were any of those hostages harmed?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Your father waited to engage the Hood until after the hostages had been sent back to the authorities, according to the reports I have read. Their only purpose was to draw this vigilante out.”

“But… why? Why do any of it?” He just couldn’t seem to grasp that his father had taken on that crazy vigilante at Christmas.

“Your father has been attempting to retrieve Starling City from the brink of decay. Crime, corruption and apathy rule its citizens. Even the attempts of the local relief efforts have failed to improve its citizenry. Your mother learned this the hard way.”

Tommy swallowed. Yes, he could agree that Starling City was a festering pile of shit most days, and the Glades most of all. Something should have been done about it a long time ago. But the idea of taking that knowledge and acting upon it with violence in return, was that really the way?

The Hood seemed to think so, he supposed. And Laurel believed that particular killer was a hero. There were rumors of others beating the snot out of these gangbangers and robbers. Was his father’s old form of justice really so far removed from their society when they were letting Robin Hood and his ilk roam free?

“You said you had knowledge of his plans,” Tommy began slowly. “What were they?”

“There is a phenomenon referred to by your National Park Service as ‘natural fire’, she explained, walking away from the secret room and instead turning to the windows overlooking the city. Tommy followed. “In order to revitalize nature and the lives of those creatures who dwell in such places, humanity allows these fires to burn away the parts of the forest filled with debris and detritus. They then flourish anew. So too will the Glades in your father’s vision.” Her eyes were fixed on that part of the city, which always stood out as an ugly mar beyond the tall, pristine buildings and clean streets of downtown.

“He wants to… burn them?”

Athena’s lips quirked. “Not quite. But a similar act of nature will do the job.”

If the copycat archer’s suit — his father’s suit — wasn’t standing in a case behind him, he would think she was making this up. But there was evidence to back up her claim. His father had closed his mother’s clinic after how many years of increasing crime in the Glades — why now unless he knew something was coming?

“These aren’t trees or animals, though. There are people down there. Families, children.” Laurel, he thought to himself.

“People who have chosen lives of crime and substance abuse. You have multiple stories in your culture’s religious tract of various peoples being punished for the actions of the collective evil. Is this not so different?”

“Nobody’s even sure those things really happened. They’re stories or warnings. I don’t know.” He hadn’t really done the whole Sunday School thing after his mother died. “Look, the Glades are beyond saving. The Hood and anyone else who thinks so are just delaying the inevitable. But this isn’t the answer.” He backed away, leaving the office and placing his head in his hands as he rode down in the elevator.

Was this really what his father wanted? Tommy wouldn’t know, not until his dad healed enough to ask. All he had was Athena’s word, and the matter-of-face way she spoke of this unnerved him.

He needed to get out of here, needed to think, needed — a friend.

He didn’t have very many of those. And after their last conversation, would Oliver even want to see him? But he didn’t know who else to turn to.

Tommy jumped in his car and traveled the familiar route to the club. Inside, he asked around for his friend, avoiding Thea’s busboy friend, and learned Oliver had been around but had gone down to his private office as per usual.

Tommy had never been to that part of the building himself. Oliver had been a much more private person upon returning from the island, and he had always gotten the impression that he was not exactly welcome. But after the attack on the club by that deranged firefighter where Oliver had gotten lost in the building, Tommy had had a copy of each of the door keys made for himself to make sure that he could get to his friend in an emergency if need be.

So he went around to the outside of the club and the back door he had never used. It took a few moments for him to find the right key, but he turned it in the lock and entered.

“Ollie?”

The room was dark, which likely meant no one was in. Tommy searched around for the light switch on the wall.

“I could really use some— advice,” he finished, the last word dropping almost soundlessly from his lips as the lights came on, suddenly illuminating the space.

The room was sectioned off into smaller areas, one with what looked like a mat like the kind the gym teachers put down when they were practicing tumbling in grade school. Other workout gear was around there as well. Then another section was made up of a table with computer monitors and other technology.

Tommy’s eyes, however, were fixed on the last section. A table upon which stood a row of arrows not unlike what was waiting back in his father’s office, but tipped in green. The Hood’s arrows.

Oliver was the Hood.

He wanted to reject the evidence before him, and yet it was all too obvious now that it was staring him in the face. Why would the Hood have been around in the middle of the day to rescue them from those thugs? Oliver had killed them himself, then made up the story. Why was Oliver always making excuses to be somewhere else, leaving his mother and sister behind to worry? Because he was out there in the streets hunting his chosen prey. Why would Laurel have fallen for him so completely? Because it was the man she loved.

And he had left her to fall, Tommy realized, his shock disappearing in a flash of anger. Oliver had been the one to lure her onto that roof, get her shot at, taken her away while Tommy had searched and worried — probably to this very place.

She knew. Laurel had known Oliver’s secret from at least then on, and kept it from Tommy. They both had. It was the two of them as always, shutting him out. How could he have ever dared to think Laurel even cared about him, when she would throw her own career and life away for Oliver’s sake, even after all he had done and become? They deserved each other, and it was a vicious thought. He almost wished his shot hadn’t missed the green-clad archer that night in his father’s office — that night Oliver, his own friend, didn’t save his father. He’d been lying this whole time to Tommy, pretending to be a sympathetic ear all the while never telling him the role he had played.

He needed to leave. If Oliver discovered him here, what would he do? Was Tommy allowed to know, or would he be silenced? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know his own best friend anymore. The man he’d thought of as a brother had truly died out at sea, and a monster had taken his face.

Tommy sat in his car, having no idea where he could go. His friends had all betrayed him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about what Athena had told him. He needed guidance, yet there was no one in his life who could provide it.

His phone range. And Tommy answered it with a weary, “What?”

“Thomas Merlyn? This is Dr. Adams from Starling General.”

He sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Is my father okay?”

“He is. He’s doing better than we truthfully expected. He seems to be responding to some stimuli. We think it would be helpful for you to come in and sit with him, at least for a little while. Coma patients respond best to family and loved ones.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It had worked. The miracle liquid Athena had given him had worked. Or was working. He raced to the hospital and up to his father’s room, heart in his throat.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyes were just barely open. Tommy was ushered into the chair at his bedside, and he took hold of his father’s hand. “It’s me, dad. It’s Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. You need to be, cause we have stuff to talk about, alright? Stuff to do. I know- I know everything now. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay when we can talk.”

Very slightly at first, and then more rapidly, his dad’s eyelids fluttered. The hand Tommy held squeezed his fingers.

Grateful tears sprang to his eyes. “He’s really there. Oh, thank God.”

He stayed another hour, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the company and the house, old forgotten childhood memories. His father never quite managed to fully open his eyes. Eventually, the doctors decided it would be best to leave him to rest some more and asked Tommy to come back in the morning.

“I’ll be here first thing, dad. We can talk then, okay?”

Getting back into his car where he’d crookedly parked it in the garage, Tommy wiped at his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No matter what shocking things he had learned today, he had meant what he had said to his father; it would be okay now that he was getting better. Tommy could talk to him, reason with him about just what this whole plan was and if it was truly necessary. They could work it out together as father and son.

If nothing else, he had his family.

---

Moira wished she had her family here at home with her, but life seemed to find its ways to make that impossible. 

Oliver kept incredibly late hours thanks to the club he was running out in the Glades. She worried about him and knew that hiring Mr. Diggle to protect him especially as he traveled in and out of that neighborhood had been the right call.

Then there was Walter. At times, she didn’t know how she kept breathing let alone kept up her day-to-day obligations and appearances all the whole fretting over where he was, what he might be thinking. Horrid as it was, sometimes she had to force herself to stop thinking about his situation in order to just make it through the next board meeting or the next meal.

Thea was home tonight at least, though she’d been staying out rather late as often as not. It had begun shortly after she had started the community service at CNRI. Moira suspected a boy might be involved, but considering how little she had done to curb Oliver’s dalliances with the opposite sex, she couldn’t reasonably do so to Thea.

Were things different, she might have been worried about all the time her children were spending in the Glades and how to make sure they were not there once Unidac completed its work. But that had been one less worry on her mind for the last month now, even if the attack at Merlyn Global had not ended precisely with the result she had wanted.

Best not to think about that, either, Moira reminded herself. She and Thea were both relaxing in the sitting room after dinner, the television on low for something to look at more than anything.

The front door opened, and two sets of footsteps indicated her son and his bodyguard had finally arrived home. Moira looked up as they entered the sitting room, but whatever wry remark had come to mind died on her lips at the sight of both their expressions. She stood. “Oliver?”

“Mom. Thea.” His voice, normally quite steady and strong these days, barely carried. “There’s um, something we need to talk about. About Walter.”

Beside her on the couch, Thea perked up, but Moira felt frozen.

Mr. Diggle spoke next. “I reached out to some contacts I have in the FBI on Oliver’s behalf a while ago to see what they might be able to turn up for the case. The thing is, they’ve gotten word back.”

“No.” It took her a moment to realize she had been the one to speak. “No, it can’t be.”

“Did- did they find a body?” Thea asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“He’s gone, Thea. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Moira repeated. Oliver stepped towards her but she got up and moved back. She couldn’t allow him to comfort her. That comfort would make it real when it obviously wasn’t. There was a mistake or a misunderstanding of some kind. She knew Walter was alive, had to be, because of her deal with Malcolm. And yet, could she really trust Malcolm to begin with?

Her first impulse was to leave, to seek out someone, something to set the record straight on what had to be an error. But who could? Malcolm could not answer to anything, and she had no way of her own to contact his associate. No one at Merlyn Global would either. Malcolm had always kept everything separate from the company, and Tommy of all people was running it. Tommy had no idea of the things his father had done.

No, as far as she or anyone else knew, this was the truth.

Standing as she was, Moira instead retreated up to her room to get away from her children and their stricken looks. She knew they thought she was crumbling. Well, she wasn’t. Or couldn’t. Not until she had had a moment to think. How could this be happening?

Had Malcolm’s people killed Walter once he had fallen into the coma and been unavailable to command them? Or had her husband been dead all this time? Either way, she was a widow once again, and the blame lay at the same man’s feet.

The blood pounded in her ears as one thought echoed through Moira’s head: no more. She was done being the victim, standing by as her family was picked off one by one. Malcolm slept in a hospital bed, utterly helpless. Why hadn’t they followed through? Why shouldn’t they?

Part of her had been afraid, but what did she have to fear now? Another part of her had thought leaving him to his fate in the hospital was enough. After all, without Malcolm in charge, she could put the Undertaking off indefinitely under the presumption that they should wait for his recovery. The rest of Tempest would have fallen in line. But it was not enough to scupper his plans now. Oh no; Moira had promised Malcolm what would come were he to harm her family, and Moira, at least, was a woman of her word.

She got out the phone she used for these sorts of discrete communications and dialed the number Frank had given her to arrange for the contract hit at the award ceremony. She waited three rings before it was picked up.

“Jade Dragon, how can we be of service?” A woman’s lightly accented voice spoke.

“Yes, I placed an order about a month ago that was never completed. I’m asking for it to be done now.”

She had waited too long to save her family from Malcolm’s madness, but Moira would protect what she had left and avert his horrific vision for the city in one fell swoop, the way she should have done years ago. For Robert, and now for Walter.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

[thelastpitchbender]

The Bone Merchant

Summary: When Beedle isn't busy selling quality arrows and insects to the good citizens of Hyrule, he dreams of founding a glorious business empire and publishing a bestselling book. It just so happens that an angry, shirtless kid with a bag full of monster parts might be able to help him out with that.

Notes: A goofy BotW oneshot, written because I love Beedle and because I’m a sucker for fics from NPC POVs that feature Link acting like a total nutjob. Did I mention that I love Beedle? Because I love Beedle.

Read on: FanFiction | AO3

The Bone Merchant

It was a pleasant walk from the edge of the Great Plateau to Riverside Stable, so long as you ignored the monsters.

This was something Beedle was very good at doing. You couldn’t just casuallywander Hyrule for several years without getting good at avoiding them, or sneaking past them, or running away from them. That was no small feat with the amount of goods he was carrying.

Beedle suddenly gasped. How had he not thought of that one before? Coming to an awkward halt, he fumbled around in a front pocket of his pack for his notebook and pencil, then flipped it open to the last page he had written on. He scribbled down a sentence while grinning like a maniac.

Rule #57: Get good at running. Especially with a really big backpack.

Beedle snapped the notebook shut in satisfaction. Beedle’s Guide to Modern Hyrulean Commercewas bound to be a bestseller, once he had the capital to print more than seven copies.

And once he had the book finished. That would also be helpful.

But really, the universal and pragmatic advice contained in the finished product would be invaluable to any traveling salesman –

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he flipped the notebook back open.

Addendum: Also get good at running with a dumb horse or donkey or whatever.

Yes, that was important. Beedle was somewhat unique in that he didn’t have an animal with him, but many other traveling salesmen did. He thought some more.

Note to self, he scribbled. Find someone who knows about horses and/or donkeys.

Satisfied with his progress, he put away the notebook and pencil.

He wandered down the road with his massive pack, humming an indistinct melody under his breath. It was a little after noon and the sun was beating down on him, but a pleasantly bracing breeze was coming off the Hylia River and cutting across the road. Not to mention that he wasn’t facing that eyesore of a Malice-infested castle, which did a lot to make his day better.

It was a beautiful day, really. There were a lot of people out on the roads, taking advantage of a day without rain. He recognized many of them as traveling salespeople and waved a greeting at them as they trotted by on their horses.

Beedle liked his pack better than horses. It made him look more distinctive and gave him a sort of brand, if you will. He liked to think that one could recognize his beetle-shaped pack even in a Hebra blizzard –

A sudden cacophony of noise sounded behind him. The ground shook under his feet.

Beedle turned around and peered at the ashen cloud cresting the hill he had just passed. Birds flew from the trees, the fluttering of wings fading as they left the area far behind.

Explosions. Probably coming from the East Post Ruins, he mused. Exactly what did those monsters think was going to happen if they kept explosive barrels lying around their camps? He rolled his eyes and kept on walking.

It wasn’t long until he reached the stable. Ember, the owner, called out a greeting from behind his counter. “Good to see you again, Beedle! Hylia knows I need some arrows to fight off the monsters.”

Beedle automatically smiled and waved at him, setting his pack down with a thunk, but beneath his mind was whirring. This stable was never threatened by monsters. Unless… He glanced over at the East Post Ruins a little nervously. He’d heard the rumors about monsters getting more aggressive in the past few weeks.

But regardless of his feelings on the matter, Beedle did what Beedle did best: sell lots of shit.

It was nice to finally sit down in front of his pack, shaded by the eaves of the stable. He folded down his colorful makeshift table, and soon enough the denizens of the stable lined up in front of him to stock up.

The pragmatically-minded bought bundles of arrows (at quite a bargain!) and the adventurous selected from a wide variety of quality insects (very cheap!) to cook elixirs. Well-worn rupees changed hands with one of his trademark excited hoots for every transaction, and Beedle soon found himself in possession of a very small fortune. He grinned delightedly, sifting his hands through the pile of rupees when he thought no one was looking.

Unfortunately, someone had been looking.

“There you are, you greedy-guts!” the Annoying Traveler yelled, stomping his way over from where he’d been in the stable. Beedle suppressed a scowl. That snake.That stupid weedy man with his dumb greasy black hair. Beedle didn’t even know his name, and he was sure the stable dwellers didn’t know it either. All he knew was that the traveler was, to put it nicely, the worst.

The traveler shook a bundle of arrows right in Beedle’s face. One end of an arrow that had snapped off but was now dangling by a thin strip of wood whacked him in the face. To Beedle’s infinite credit, he did not flinch.

Definitely not because the traveler was intimidating. It was his iron willpower. Definitely. It was one of his rules, even.

Rule #15: The modern Hyrulean economy is cutthroat, sometimes literally. Get good at standing your ground.

“I don’t see anything wrong with the arrows,” Beedle lied.

The traveler scowled, which made his stupid face even uglier. “Can. You. Not. See. What’s. In front of. YOUR FACE?” He punctuated this last shout by throwing the bundle of arrows dangerously close to Beedle’s feet. Upon hitting the ground, the bundle rudely broke apart, broken arrows rolling everywhere. Beedle grimaced at the mess.

Thisjerkfaceprobably broke the arrows on purpose, just to demand a full refund.

“I tested them all myself,” Beedle lied again. Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie – he’d once watched his Rito supplier test them. He was very…thorough about it.

“Well, I demand a refund,” the traveler said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Beedle pointed to a small sign at the corner of his table. ALL TRANSACTIONS FINAL.

“They’re broken! They’re defective!” the traveler spluttered indignantly, his face going darker red by the second.

Beedle just sighed. It was too bad he had to follow his own cursed rules.

Rule #2: The customer is always right. Always be a paragon of excellent customer service.

Instead of arguing with the traveler, he rummaged through one of the front pockets of his pack, pulled out an inkwell and a quill, and then grabbed the sign. When he was finished writing, he put the sign back with a delicate yet deliberate motion.

THAT MEANS YOU, DEAR TRAVELER, it now read. Beedle gave him a guileless grin.

Rule #3: If customer service is not enough, strictly enforce store policy. (If you know what I mean.)

Ah, yes, Beedle reflected as the traveler stomped away, leaving the arrows at Beedle’s feet. His book would be quite the bestseller.

The traveler was now sitting by the cooking pot, able to shoot the occasional venomous glare over at Beedle. Ha! If he thought that was going to faze Beedle, Hyrule’s greatest traveling salesman…

Then Parcy walked out of the stable, and Beedle hastily scooped up as many of the broken arrows as possible and dumped them behind the pack before she noticed him. She looked rather severe, but she was much, much nicer than the Annoying Traveler, thank the Goddess.

She finally noticed him and strolled over, and Beedle laid on the charm. “Hello, hello! How’s my favorite treasure hunter doing? Find any good royal guard gear?”

Parcy smiled. “Not yet. Actually though, I wanted to talk to you about these arrows.” She pulled a bundle of broken arrows from behind her back.

Noooooooo, Beedle whined internally. They were actually bad?

“Did you shoot these at something?” he asked.

Parcy shrugged. “I broke a lot of them by shooting at hay targets. I don’t think they’re supposed to be that brittle.”

Beedle grimaced. He would have to have some strong words with his Rito supplier. “Ah. Well. I know I’m not supposed to do this,” he said, voice dropping conspiratorially low, “but I’ll give you a refund. I feel bad about selling things of poor quality, you know?”

Parcy’s gaze darted to the traveler for a brief instant, and Beedle knew that she’d heard the entire exchange earlier.

“I’ll do it because I like you so much,” he said, sending a wink at her.

Beedle was gratified to see a slight blush dust her cheeks. “Oh,” she said. “Well, I don’t need the refund. Can I just get a new bundle of arrows instead?”

“Sure can,” he said, gleefully noting the piercing glare he was getting from the traveler.

Things were going just the way they should be. Beautiful, sunny weather, flirting with Parcy, sticking it to the Annoying Traveler, getting filthy stinking rich –

“Hey, why don’t you put some clothes on before you start shoving people around, you little creep?” Parcy snapped.

Beedle blinked. “What?” he asked, startled by her sudden outburst.

But Parcy hadn’t been facing him. While Beedle had been totally zoned out, a kid had run up and tried to squeeze past Parcy. The kid shot her an irritated look.

That took a lot of guts, considering that he was wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of shorts.

What in the name of the good Goddess Hylia…?

The kid was now bent over and gasping, hands on his knees. He had dropped a suspiciously large burlap sack and a boko bow in front of him. He was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises. His hair might have been blond, but it was hard to tell, messy and streaked with dirt and soot as it was.

“Mister – “ Beedle tried, determined to seem unfazed. He couldn’t deny service to anyone, suspicious or shirtless as they might have been!

The kid held one finger up while still catching his breath. Beedle waited patiently.

Rule #24: There will always be a customer weirder than you. (Beedle always debated whether or not to put that one in the book, because he couldn’t have potential customers thinking he was weird, after all.)

He finally straightened up and looked at Beedle, who immediately had to choke back a laugh and then feel terrible for having that impulse in the first place. His gaze was sharp, intense, and forbiddingly angry, but the effect was ruined by the fact that one of his eyebrows had been singed off and that he was shorter than Parcy. And also by the fact that he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

The kid seemed to realize that he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted because his expression shifted into something almost indignant. He planted his dirty, burned hands on his hips and continued to glare at Beedle.

Parcy was backing away slowly, reaching a hand behind her in an attempt to feel out where the stable wall was. Her brows were still furrowed, but she was rightfully being cautious about someone who looked insane. Ember was nowhere to be seen, and the traveler seemed frozen in alarm by the whole situation.

Ah, well. It seemed it was all up to Beedle now.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he said, letting a smile plaster itself onto his face.

“I’m Link,” the kid replied. For a brief moment, Beedle caught a strange look of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly he brushed it off as his imagination.

“Link,” Beedle echoed. “Pleasure to meet you. The name’s Beedle, but you can call me – “ He chuckled a bit awkwardly. “Actually, let’s just stick with Beedle.”

Beedle desperately wanted to give his whole explanation about traveling around Hyrule, even in these very dangerous times, and offering a high price for gemstones, the quality insects, etc. etc., but now really did not seem like the time. The kid – Link – was puffing himself up, like he was holding in a torrential outpouring of words, or maybe just a really, really big breath.

Either way, the stiff, wide-eyed look on his face was funny, and Beedle’s smile grew more genuine again.

“Sell me arrows,” Link finally blurted.

Now this was something he could deal with. “How many?” Beedle asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

Link thought for a second, then answered decisively. “All of them.”

Beedle raised an eyebrow. He kept a list of people who liked to buy up his whole stock of arrows, and he wasn’t sure that Link would want to be on it. “I’ve got…three bundles of five arrows left. Then twenty more arrows,” he said, rummaging around in his pack for the arrows and doing some quick math in his head. “That’ll be…210 rupees.”

Link frowned. “Rupees,” he muttered, looking down at the ground.

“Yes. Rupees,” Beedle said, feeling his smile freeze on his face. He considered himself to be a pretty easygoing guy, but if this kid was trying to buy up his entire stock without actually having any money…

After what looked like some careful deliberation, Link scooped up the burlap sack and dumped its contents out in front of Beedle, who immediately did a double take. In the corner of his eye, he saw Parcy clap a hand over her mouth.

There was a massive pile of monster parts sitting in front of Beedle now. The blocky shapes of bokoblin fangs, razor-sharp lizalfos talons, and the spirals of moblin horns, all gleaming bone-white in the midday sun.

“Um,” Link said, bringing a hand up to his mouth in thought. “How many…?”

Arrows? Rupees? Fangs? Monsters murdered in cold blood? Aghast, Beedle glanced from the pile of bones to the scrawny, short kid behind them, then back to the bones.

Then an idea wormed its way into his mind. A wonderful idea. A glorious, insanely profitable idea.

“Let me sort these out so I can get you your rupees,” Beedle said while reaching out for the monster parts. He ignored Parcy’s alarmed glance in his direction.

Beedle also ignored his vague nausea at the idea of touching fangs and horns from dead monsters, overcome by visions of the fortune he could make. Piles of shimmering gold and silver rupees glimmered beneath his eyelids when he blinked.

Thiswas what he had been missing this whole time, he thought. As much as he loved his insects, the elixir market was in desperate need of sellers. So many missed opportunities to harvest the requisite raw materials just because traveling salespeople weren’t usually handy in a fight, especially not Beedle –

He abruptly realized that Link was now bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, eyebrows drawn together again. “How long is this going to take?” he asked, aggrieved. Link glanced over his shoulder quickly. Toward the East Post Ruins, Beedle realized, suspicion dawning in his mind.

“I’m sure you realize that all these different parts have different market values,” Beedle said with a frown. “I have to sort them out and then do the math.”

Link hesitated, then nodded, but it was clear by the brief surprise on his face that he hadn’t known that before. By Hylia, this kid was a bad liar. What kind of rock had he been living under?

After a couple of seconds, Link glanced up, staring out into the middle distance, tense as a bowstring. Beedle felt a sudden uneasiness sweep over him at Link’s change in demeanor. He couldn’t hear anything. Why –

He couldn’t hear anything. No birds were singing at all, as if something had scared them all off. Had Link…pissed some monsters off? Who were now coming for him? To this very stable?

“Can I just take the arrows now and do the whole other thing later?” Link pleaded, reaching for the boko bow at his feet.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

“If you’re going to bring monsters right to this lovely stable’s doorstep, I feel compelled to warn its owner,” Beedle said while lifting up the table in front of him and crawling out from under it.

Link’s eyes widened in alarm. “I never said – “

“You’re a bad liar, kid,” Beedle cut in, not unkindly. “I’ll get you the arrows when I come back out.”

No guarantees on how long it would take him to inform Ember, he thought, twisting his hands nervously.

A quick glance at the counter inside the stable revealed it to be empty. The traveler had fled, too. “Ohhhhh,” Beedle said to himself, quietly, more a groan than his usual declaration of excitement.

How? Why? Just – how? Why did Link have a bow but no arrows? How did he amass such a large collection of monster parts without any functional weapons? Where did all those burns and cuts come from? And why was he running around in his underwear?

Beedle’s private moment of panic was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek of “IT SET ME ON FIRE HELP – “

Beedle froze for a second, somehow thinking nothing but how can Link be on fire? He’s barely wearing any clothes!

Shortly after, Parcy yelled, “Beedle!” She sounded like she was calling for help while staring down an angry lynel. At her shout, Beedle ran back outside and gaped at the scene.

Well, it wasn’t a lynel, but it wasn’t pretty either.

Link was rolling around on the ground, swatting furiously at his shorts. A red bokoblin was looming above him, stamping its feet and shrieking in anger, looking for all the world like a child having a tantrum. It was hefting a heavy moblin club, which was currently on fire, just like Link’s shorts were.

The situation was so stupid that Beedle was immediately irritated rather than scared. For one, it was now clear to him that Link had been responsible for the explosions at the East Post Ruins and that these monsters were angry enough to chase him.

“Is this some new teenager thing?” he asked Parcy, who was pressed up against the wall of the stable and staring at the bokoblin with very wide eyes. “Sneaking into monster camps and throwing around explosive barrels? I bet it’s a stupid teenager thing.”

Parcy ignored him, which was uncharacteristic of her. While still flat against the wall, she slid down a bit and dragged Link’s boko bow toward her with her foot until she could scoop it up without having to get any closer to the monster. “Link!” she called out.

Link finally stopped rolling and scrambled to his feet. Parcy tossed him the bow, and he fumbled at it a bit before it was secure in his hands.

“That’s nice of you,” said Link while ducking under a mighty swipe from the bokoblin, “but I kind of need arrows!”

Parcy glanced at Beedle, imploring, and he groaned in frustration. Math. How was he supposed to do mathwhen a bokoblin was in the middle of attacking his customer?

This wasn’t in any of his rules. Any of them. They all stressed the utmost importance of not being around monsters at any time!

Well, when life gave you spicy peppers. Time to throw the rulebook out, Beedle thought with a huff.

“I’ll make you a deal, Link,” Beedle yelled at him. “I’ll trade you one monster part for one arrow.”

It was brilliant. Most of those monster parts were worth more than a single arrow. Now he just had to hope Link wouldn’t catch on –

“I’ve been asleep for the last hundred years, so I might be wrong–“ The bokoblin smacked Link in the back with its club, and he sprawled face-first into the dirt. “–But aren’t they each worth more than a single arrow?” he finished while rolling away from another strike.

Goddess curse him. He was insane and knowledgeable about the elixir trade.

“The bokoblin horns are only worth 3 rupees each,” said Beedle, no longer feeling bad about watching him get smacked around. “So essentially you would be getting two arrows for the price of one. Can’t beat that deal!” If Link played his cards right, anyway. Beedle eyed the pile of monster parts greedily.

The bokoblin was now straying a little too close to the very flammable walls of the stable, and Link said, “Fine, fine! Give me one!” He snapped his fingers at Beedle and held out his hand, the expression on his face suggesting a mix of irritation and determination.

Beedle deliberately picked a lizalfos talon out of the pile and deposited it near his pack. Ha. That was two and a half arrows right there. That would show him to be rude to Parcy.

No sooner had Beedle pulled an arrow out of his pack and placed it in Link’s hand did Link nock it, draw the string back, and let the arrow fly right between the bokoblin’s eyes. The monster spun around and staggered back while screaming.

Parcy and Beedle both gaped at Link. He moved with a warrior’s grace and brutal efficiency, the likes of which Beedle very rarely saw. He wordlessly held his hand out for another arrow, and Beedle complied, pulling a bokoblin horn out of the pile. Half price for an arrow.

Boy, had he made a mistake in assuming Link was just a short, scrawny kid.

The second arrow hit in almost exactly the same spot as the first and felled the monster. As it vanished in a sickly purple cloud of smoke, Link picked up the fang and horn that was left behind and dropped it into the pile. “There’s more,” he said quietly.

“What, more monsters?” Parcy’s disembodied voice sniped. Beedle looked around wildly before realizing that she had hid behind a crate after seeing what Link could do. “What did you do to them?”

Beedle was about to point out that his comment didn’t necessarily mean there were more monsters coming, but he shut his mouth at the gloomy look on Link’s face.

“For starters, I blew up their camp. But they started it!” he amended hastily, eyes wide and innocent.

Normally that would have been true, but Beedle somehow doubted that Link hadn’t provoked them in any way. “So where’s all your clothes?” Beedle asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

Link had the grace to look embarrassed. “They stole them. While I was swimming.”

“Right. And where did that bow come from?”

Beedle half expected Link to say something like, Oh, I just clubbed a bokoblin to death with his dead buddy’s weapon, then I took the bow, but he chimed in with, “Oh, I had it with me.”

“With you. While you were swimming,” said Parcy from behind the crate.

“For target practice,” said Link evasively.

“In the middle of a river – “ Parcy shouted.

Beedle cut her off before she could strangle Link. “With no arrows?” he finished.

Link’s brows furrowed in faint indignation. “Well, I realized that, but by the time I got back to shore they were running off with all my stuff!”

“I still don’t understand how you thought you were going to be able to shoot a bow in the middle of the Hylia River, but okay,” groused Parcy.

Link ignored her comment, turning to Beedle. “Give me…” He frowned. “How many can I fit in my mouth…?”

It took Beedle a second to realize what had been said. “What?”

“Five arrows,” Link decided.

Beedle decided that it was nothis business to know what sort of weird things his customers were into. He shrugged and counted out five random monster parts (with an aggregate value of…36 rupees, so worth six arrows, his mind automatically calculated).

He handed the five arrows to Link, who promptly tried holding them between his teeth.

“Ohhh,” Beedle said, feeling a bit stupid. What else was he going to do, stick them down his shorts?

He noticed that Parcy was snooping around the crates for something. She was looking for weapons, he realized. He paled.

Parcy hefted a double-headed axe and said, “Hey, Link – “

“I think you should keep that one, Parcy,” Beedle interrupted. “Two people fighting is better than one.”

Parcy glared at him and opened her mouth, but Link cut in. “He’s right. I’ll be fine with just a bow.”

Beedle’s knees weakened with relief and he let out a breath. There was still time to get more monster parts…

“If you’d let me talk, you’d know that never have I ever been in an actual fight,” Parcy grumbled, but she grudgingly held onto the axe. It wasn’t particularly surprising that Beedle had managed to convince her, what with her constantly going on about the royal guards’ weapons.

“There’s more of them coming up the road,” Link suddenly said, exasperation edging his voice. He put the arrows in his mouth again, then took one and nocked it. Parcy shuffled over to where he was, hefting the axe in an awkward ready stance.

Beedle backed up to his pack. Someone had to keep an eye on the arrows and bones, after all.

A sudden faint screeching sounded in the distance, accompanied by dust clouds rising from the road ahead. Beedle shrank back. This went against everyinstinct he had. Don’t get close! Don’t fight them! Don’t die!

Fat lot of good his instincts were doing now, Beedle thought wearily. He absently sorted arrows and monster parts into piles, ready for the inevitable trades. He ignored the way sweat slicked his palms and the things he was touching.

Curse that Link. Stupid kid.

There were now a group of bokoblins running at full tilt toward them. Some were twirling their clubs above their heads, and some were sending very poorly aimed arrows at the Hylians clustered by the stable. There would be a lot of screaming involved in the fight, Beedle thought with ill humor. At least he could brew himself an elixir to cure his inevitable headache with all his own monster parts.

Oh, but his rules. Rule #9: Never get high on your own supply. (He really did have to change the wording there. He wasn’t a Goddess cursed drug dealer, after all.)

“Damn you to hell, Link,” he hissed under his breath in extreme irritation. “If we don’t get out of this, I’m having some strong words with some of my friends. You won’t even know what’s coming.”

The threat hung in the air for a brief second before the first bokoblin reached Link’s firing distance.

Link’s infallible aim got the bokoblin stumbling back, clutching its face, and Beedle had instant second thoughts. Again.

Parcy’s arms were shaking. She shrieked and took a wild swing with her axe as a monster lunged for her. Beedle cringed as she missed and the momentum of her swing spun her around. The bokoblin screamed and hefted its club. Parcy could do nothing but stare in terror. Even Beedle shot to his feet, pulse racing.

The bokoblin suddenly fell to the ground, an arrow sprouting from its eye. Link was giving its corpse a ferocious stare. The first bokoblin he had shot ran at him, and he immediately pivoted and felled the monster.

Parcy was poking at the fallen bokoblins with her axe to make sure they were dead, Beedle noticed with no small amount of amusement.

Then a shadow fell over her, and before he could stop himself Beedle yelled, “Behind you!”

Parcy whipped around with a shriek, and the force her spin gave her axe swing was enough to send the bokoblin flying to the side. Beedle whooped, feeling secondhand euphoria at her victory.

Link, who had also turned around at Beedle’s shout, scowled at him. “Hey, where’s my warning?”

“You don’t need it, pal,” Beedle said, not unkindly, while Link finished off the monster Parcy hit with a well-aimed arrow.

“Sure I do!” Link still managed to sound indignant while ducking under a boko club and edging his way over to Beedle. “I’m fighting with a bow that’s basically a twig with delusions of grandeur!”

Beedle cast a critical eye at the boko bow, which was starting to show the strain of its use. Some bark was peeling off it, and the bowstring was starting to fray. It really was just a glorified stick, wasn’t it? So it would take more arrows to kill all the bokoblins. Oh no.

Link was holding his hand out for arrows. With the practiced ease of a merchant, Beedle scooped up a bundle of five arrows in one hand and five assorted monster parts in the other.

Fireproof elixirs, hasty elixirs, elixirs that renew your very soul and grant you a new lease on life…

Beedle suddenly had to flinch out of the way of a bokoblin’s club. Parcy chased after it, screaming like a banshee with her axe held over her head.

“You go, Parcy!” Beedle yelled giddily. Link frowned at the lack of attention he was getting, but it couldn’t be helped. This was a special occasion for Parcy! It was obvious Link had been in many fights before.

Before long, there was only one blue bokoblin left. It was the one that had set Link on fire earlier, and its club was somehow still on fire. It stamped its feet and screeched at Link, who hopped on top of a crate and yelled back, “I’ll set your houseon fire!”

Eh. Beedle didn’t need any more proof that Link was certifiably insane, but there was some more anyway.

“Do you have any fire arrows, Beedle?” Link shouted. Beedle resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not because of the question, which was perfectly legitimate. He wished he could carry them, but he was always nervous about putting that sort of stuff in his pack.

No, he choked back a snort because Link was being absolutely melodramatic. If that Kass guy were around, he doubtlessly would have said something about how Link’s shout rumbled with the thunder of vengeance. But really, Link was doing the thing where he was puffing himself up again, and it looked just as stupid the second time. At least he was standing on a crate now.

Beedle sprinted over to another crate on the other side of the stable, ripping a blanket off of it and clumsily tearing a strip as he ran back to his pack. He tied the strip just above the arrowhead, then stuck the end under the still-lit cooking pot for just a brief second.

Ugh, I hope this works.

The strip of cloth was aflame, but there was no telling how long it would take for the flame to spread to the shaft of the arrow. He knew it was treated with some sort of lacquer, but he had no idea exactly how much fire protection that afforded.

Oh, wait. This next part was even worse.

Link had seen what Beedle was doing, and beckoned him forward impatiently. But how was he supposed to get around that big flaming moblin club?

His brief giddiness faded when he realized that now it was histurn to get involved in the fight.

“Parcy,” he hissed.

Parcy seemed to know what he needed without saying a word. She nodded and ran to the bokoblin’s other side, hollering and waving her axe around.

For an instant, Beedle was frozen. The heat of the burning arrow scorched his hand and forearm. Sweat ran down his forehead.

Move.

The bokoblin was distracted. Link was shouting something at him that he wasn’t quite comprehending. The path he needed to run was clear.

Just move, dammit.

He heard Parcy’s scream, and a ball of terror formed in his gut. She had fallen backward and the bokoblin was raising its burning club above its head.

The moment broke, and Beedle ran.

He passed the burning arrow into Link’s outstretched hand and immediately ran back to his pack, gasping for breath and shaking his hand out.

Link nocked the arrow, drew back, and fired. The bokoblin fell forward, and Parcy narrowly scrambled out of its way. She stood up and landed the killing blow on its skull before it could get up.

They all stood there for a moment. Beedle was nursing his hand by his new large pile of monster parts. Link was rolling his shoulders, apparently still comfortable with being nearly naked and filthy, besides. Parcy was staring down at the blue bokoblin’s body in faint wonder. Sweat stuck her dark hair to her face, which was almost prettily flushed. She looked up at Beedle, and he grinned at her.

Link ruined the moment by hopping down from the crate and loudly declaring, “I am going to go find my stuff.”

Beedle could only find the strength to nod before he plopped down by the fire. Hylia, sprinting a little bit and trading for arrows during a fight was exhausting. Parcy clearly had the same thought. She joined him by the fire, letting the bloodied axe thud to the ground.

They sat in companionable silence, watching the sun slowly slip over the horizon and paint Hyrule with brilliant orange, pink, and red. Beedle loved a lot of things about Hyrule, but one of the things he loved most was how the Hylia River became a ribbon of fire at the end of the day. The temperature was rapidly dropping, but it felt strangely welcoming after the fight.

Like most peaceful moments of this particular day, it was interrupted by Link. He was coming back up the road, genially calling out, “Hey, anyone want some food?”

Beedle wanted badly to say yes, but he was momentarily startled by Link’s appearance. He had clearly taken a bath in the river at some point, as Beedle could now definitely tell that yes, Link was blond. He no longer looked so small when he was armed to the teeth, either. He had amassed quite the collection of wooden clubs, along with a broadsword and a knight’s bow, all of which were strapped to his back. He carried the weight like it was nothing.

But Beedle was most interested in his clothes. Not his trousers or boots, which were torn and muddied garden-variety clothes that one could buy at any town in Hyrule. It was his tunic. It was as blue as the sky, and although it looked to be in fantastic shape, the tunic had clearly been meticulously, even lovingly mended many, many times. Maybe by Link himself, Beedle suspected, noting how clean it was compared to everything else he was wearing.

He really did not mean to dwell on the tunic, but it was some of the finest tailoring he had ever seen in his journeys around Hyrule. Rito craftsmanship, perhaps? With a visit to Kochi Dye Shop? Wherever it came from, it had to have been exorbitantly expensive. Beedle leaned forward and eyed the pattern of white embroidery around the neckline with great interest.

Then an elbow caught him in the side and he cringed.

“Stop being rude,” Parcy snapped. “Of course we want food.”

Food. “Yes, definitely,” Beedle said hastily. “Thank you.”

Link merely looked amused. It was amazing what a proper bath and some actual clothes had done to make him look like not a lunatic.

He pulled some foraged ingredients out of his bag – Beedle saw some prime meat, what looked like wheat, and a bottle of milk – and dumped it in the pot, humming cheerily as the ingredients sizzled. Beedle watched the pot closely, suspicious that just dumping it all in would do anything.

But once Parcy emerged from the stable with bowls and spoons in hand, Link’s creamy meat soup was finished. By Hylia, was it better than anything Beedle could ever manage to cook up. Link looked far too pleased, almost smug, about how much Beedle and Parcy were enjoying their meals.

When they were all finished, the sun had almost set entirely. Parcy went around and lit all the exterior lamps of the stable, which cast a warm, golden glow on the cooking pot.

“Sorry I was rude to both of you earlier,” Link said, not quite making eye contact. “I was really hungry.”

“Just hungry?” Parcy deadpanned.

Unexpectedly, Link laughed, and the other two cracked a smile as well.

“So do you travel around Hyrule?” Beedle asked, his curiosity about the tunic still not satisfied. “I wonder why I haven’t met you before.”

“Hyrule is a big place,” Link said, sounding curiously unsure of himself.

Beedle shrugged. “You seem like an avid traveler. Where else would you have gotten all those weapons and that really nice tunic?”

Something in Link’s expression shuttered. The temperature seemed to drop just a touch. Beedle immediately shut his mouth, feeling acutely aware that he had made a grave misstep in some way.

“A friend made it for me,” Link eventually said, staring off into the distance. The look in his eyes wasn’t cold, exactly, but it was stony, intent, and suddenly very, very old.

Beedle swallowed, suddenly understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Link shook his head. “It’s alright. I can still save her.”

Beedle and Parcy exchanged worried glances as Link stood up and began collecting his things. “Wait, you’re leaving now?” Parcy asked with a frown. “We have plenty of beds.”

“I’ve slept enough for a lifetime,” Link said, and his smile was too full of melancholy for Beedle to make fun of him for that statement.

“I’m sure I’ll run into you again on the road,” Beedle said. “And bring me more monster parts next time!”

Link grinned and nodded. Then he waved goodbye and started walking north, along the river. Beedle watched until he vanished into the twilight.

“Goddess, he was weird,” Parcy muttered.

“Maybe, but I get the sense he’ll be a regular customer,” Beedle absently replied. Glancing at his pack, he realized that Link had left him all of the monster parts. He shook his head in exasperation. He somehow didn’t think Link would make a good business partner, but at least these monster parts would get him somewhere.

Suddenly, the Annoying Traveler burst out of the trees, out of breath. “Is he gone?”

“Who, nutjob shirtless kid?” Parcy sniped. “Where were you all this time?”

The traveler gave her a condescending look. “Well, when the kid mentioned that he was leading a whole cohort of monsters to the stable, I did what any saneperson would have done and got the hell out of here,” he said loftily.

“No need to be such a jerk about it,” Parcy was muttering, but Beedle was again concerned with the rise in monster activity. In the day’s excitement, he had forgotten just how unusual it was for monsters to have chased Link all the way from the East Post Ruins to Riverside Stable. There was that rumor he’d heard. Yeah, that the monsters were more aggressive, but there was a reason for it. What was it? Something about…uh…

“Apparently, our lives were in danger because the Champion of Hyrule has ‘awakened,’” the traveler said, with exaggerated air quotes and a copious amount of eyerolling. Oh, yeah, that was the rumor.

“It’s just a dumb story,” said Parcy. She was clearly losing her patience with the traveler.

Beedle agreed. It was a dumb story. The Calamity was dangerous, but only if you got too close to the castle. It showed no signs of budging. If it hadn’t destroyed Hyrule yet, was it reallyever going to?

And the stories everyone told their kids about how Hyrule’s valiant princess awakened her sealing power with her love for her appointed knight was clearly romanticized drivel. No one really believed that the princess was still alive, or her knight for that matter.

But maybe…

Link’s fighting skills were unparalleled, and his tunic certainly befit a Champion of Hyrule.

“What if…” Beedle began, but Parcy cut him off.

“Yeah, I really don’t think so,” she scoffed, but he saw the trace of doubt in her eyes.

The traveler scowled. “Oh, no. No way.”

“That’s what I said– “

The traveler kicked Beedle’s pile of monster parts, scattering them about. “There’s no way that kid could be the Champion,” he furiously hissed. “Master Kohga is going to kill me.”

“Hey, take it easy,” Beedle said indignantly, scooping his fangs and horns up while shooting a glare at the traveler.

The traveler completely ignored him. He walked back into the trees from which he came, muttering darkly under his breath.

“Well, good riddance.” Parcy stuck her tongue out in the direction he went, and busied herself cleaning out the cooking pot.

Beedle just sighed and started stowing all of his new supplies in his pack. His fingers brushed against his notebook, and he hesitated for a moment. Throughout the day, he’d totally forgotten about his rules. Certainly none of them had really applied to Link’s insanity.

Was his guide to commerce just a pipe dream? Was his elixir empire just a far-off fantasy? Everything felt like such a long way off. He felt like he would never be able to write a good book if people just kept showing up and throwing his rules out the window.

And he loved his insects. He hated fighting monsters. Today had certainly proven that. How would he ever feasibly be able to make and sell elixirs? Link was clearly a warrior, not a salesman. He doubtlessly had better things to do than be Beedle’s errand boy and bring him monster parts.

In that moment, Beedle felt strangely lonely. He sat down and pulled the notebook and quill out, hesitating over a blank page. What did I learn today?After a moment, he decided.

Rule #58: Don’t be afraid to adapt to new, bizarre circumstances or realizations.

And like that, Beedle had a new business idea.

Totally unrelated to the notebook, but no less brilliant. If he couldn’t bring himself to grind up his insects, why not have other people do it? Make-your-own-elixir gift packs. People would eat that up.

Beedle grinned and was about to pitch the idea to Parcy when suddenly he spotted Ember almost at the stable, leading a horse loaded with saddlebags.

Ember blinked at the absolute mess the fight had left his stable in, nonplussed. “Um. What did I miss?”

#fanfic #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #the bone merchant #link #beedle