To See The Sun Smile - Part 4

[zeffyface]

DISCLAIMER: All of The Legend of Zelda Characters and Places belong to Nintendo, and maybe some other equally important organizations/people. They are not, nor have they ever been mine. I just write silly fics.

Notes:
Okay, guys, I’m sorry. This chapter wouldn’t write. I poked and pleaded and tried… *sigh*.
I can’t even tell if it’s worth posting, honestly. Well, maybe the next one will come easier.

Oh, this accidental cuddle dedicated to my LJ buddy, muse, and partner in crime sometimesamuse. Go give love.

I love you guys, I’ll try to be better.
Zef


Part Four

Plea

To call a battle with a Deadhand unpleasant would be like calling Death Crater a tad warm, Sheik decided wryly. Gripped from behind by a clammy hand he watched the grotesquely elongated neck bend, bringing the grinning face down to eye level. With a final effort he ripped away and sidestepped the bite aimed at his jugular, hearing the fabric on his back tear in response. Taking advantage of the lowered head, he yanked his hand up and thrust a dirk straight through the top of the creature’s disturbingly soft skull, using the downward momentum to bring the blade out the bottom jaw and pin the entire thing into the dirt. The undead twitched for several minutes before finally stilling and returning to ash. Retrieving his weapon, Sheik suppressed a shudder and turned to the door.

“Sheik.” At the crisp, commanding tone he immediately spun back, dropping his stance into a full formal bow. He did not need to see the figure in the center of the dim room; there was only one person who could sneak up on him in such a situation. He sometimes wished she would do it a little less; it would be better for his nervous system.

“Lady Impa.” The sage made a miniscule motion of dismissal, waiting for Sheik to straighten before fixing him with a stony gaze.

“You are aware of my position as the Sage of the Shadow Temple.” The elder Sheikah spoke levelly, arms crossed against her powerful figure. Not waiting for a reply, she continued. “I will retire from this plane, so as to directly combat the tainted flow coming from these grounds. As always, however this is a temporary solution.”

Sheik gave a curt nod. “I have complete faith in the Hero’s abilities to defeat the host.” His voice held a subtle strength with the conviction of the statement.

One of Impa’s eyebrows twitched, the rest of her face remaining impassive. “And your reason for entering beforehand… your faith?”

It took a great deal of willpower not to cringe. Even under the cowl, he knew his superior would see it. “My reasons do not include doubt. Time presses forward; it is logical to rid the path of monsters that serve little purpose other than distraction.”

“You are injured.” Almost instantly Sheik became aware of a painful, warm sensation on his back. It seemed not only cloth had torn, then. He pondered briefly if he would have noticed had Impa failed to mention it before stubbornly pushing the new discomfort back to the numbness it came from.

“My welfare is unimportant in comparison.” He dropped his gaze, looking off to the side at a stray memory. Impa watched unblinkingly; head tilting as she considered the Sheikah before her. After a long minute, she let out a barely audible sigh.

“I offer my apologies.” Startled red eyes snapped back around, watching her in dumbfounded disbelief. “We were unaware.” Impa dropped her arms to hang loosely to her sides. Small flickers of purple light blinked around the Sage as she slowly dissipated. Sheik continued to watch, mouth open slightly.

“Lady Impa; my purpose has always been clear and necessary. We do not regret what must be done.”

“Truth.” Her final words carried after her form vanished from view. “We made what must be.”

“…but we did not know you would have a soul.”


His first aware thought was of the warm, comfortable mattress; the one the muscles of his abdomen had apparently melted into. This may have been a pleasant sensation, were it not eclipsed by the definite knowledge that he had dropped unconscious on some combination of dirt and stone. Instinctively wary, Sheik remained just as he was, waiting for his senses to clear before stirring. The faint sound of clucking cuckoos reached him along with the distinct smell of ranch and horses. Sheik let out a slightly relieved sigh and allowed his eyes to open; there was little reason to be on guard at Lon Lon.

Allowing himself to adjust to the light peeking through the closed curtains, he slowly eased off his stomach to a sitting position. It hurt a great deal less than expected, and at the sudden, unfamiliar draft on his arms he discovered why. The top half of his uniform had disappeared, leaving only fresh bandages covering his torso and shoulder. After a quick check he noted his boots missing as well, although whoever cleaned him up thankfully left his pants on. Surprisingly, the cowl and wraps still covered his face; the former he pulled up higher out of habit. After some small frustration attempting to remove the rock fragments and grit from his head wraps, he relented and unwound his hair, dropping the long strip of cloth beside him on the bed. Freed from their clutches the locks immediately sprang into unruly spikes, but it was worth it to shake out the dirt pestering his scalp. Running one hand through the mussed blond, he suppressed a lazy yawn.

The shift of covers and a heavy exhale brought Sheik back to the room, freezing every muscle while his newly adjusted eyes settled on another bed a few yards away. A figure-sized lump under the blanket rolled over towards the wall, an assortment of items littering the nearby floor. Shield, pack, boots, gauntlets, and a very familiar looking green hat covering the hilt of a sword. Sheik promptly forgot how to breathe, although his mouth formed several surprisingly colorful curses. Link.

So the hero had found him; that would explain the skillful treatment his injuries received. One question answered, Sheik began the delicate process of having a silent outbreak of panic. Should Link awaken, he would ask some explanation for the injuries – one Sheik could not truthfully give. It would mean too much to say, even more for the other to hear.

But it was possible Link had just saved his life, and he wasn’t sure he could simply slip away. He owed more than that. The hero stirred again, mumbling soft nonsense.

That, Sheik added, and he had no idea where his clothing and equipment had moved to, and walking barefoot and half dressed through Hyrule did not seem wise.

When Link flipped yet again Sheik felt his eyebrows draw into a frown. From the hero’s new position an amount of light hit his face, revealing the pained expression that looked incredibly out of place on one usually so optimistic. The Sheikah winced in response – he knew a thing or two about nightmares, and considering everything Link had seen the imagination would not need to stretch far.

Silently, he swung his legs out of bed and settled on the cool wooden floor, using both hands to push himself off the covers. The room lurched and rippled at the movement, but he gritted his teeth and kept the backs of his legs pressed against the side of the mattress until he was sure his center of gravity would hold. Not quite adept at walking yet, he slid his feet across the boards in a slow shuffle, making his way to the opposite bed. After a minute or two of eternity he managed, easing himself down on the edge and watching the closed eyes flit around at unseen enemies. He reached over and rested a hand on the blanketed chest, applying just enough pressure to add warmth and weight to each breath. Noting the state of the bedspread, he freed the other’s legs from the twisted snares of cloth folds, spreading it back to cover his feet.

After a minute or two Link’s breathing began to even out, phantoms dissipating from the sleeping face. A small spot of diluted red trailed from the corner of his mouth - most likely from a bitten tongue. Sheik hesitated a moment, then reached up with his thumb to clean the blood off. His fingers brushed smooth skin in the process, sending a shiver through the tips. Link’s lips parted slightly under the caress, and Sheik found himself entranced by their fullness. He had almost gone back to touch them again when he realized himself, face tingling. The hero was fine now; he should escape this situation before he did anything regretful. Carefully he stood, finally removing his hand from the sleeping chest and turning back to look for his things –

- And suddenly finding himself reclaimed by something with a very strong grip. Startled, he looked back in time to see Link roll in his sleep, taking the imprisoned arm with him and nearly sending the Sheikah sprawling across the bed. Biting back a cry of both surprise at finding his arm stolen for a comfort object and muted pain at the pull in his back Sheik simply stared, flabbergasted, at the peacefully asleep eyelids now a good deal closer. Without the blue fabric of his sleeves he could feel the warmth of the other’s arms against his skin, only separated by Link’s tunic and thin white undershirt. Cheeks heating up, he attempted to ease out of the accidental embrace. Link only cuddled the captured limb closer to his chest, sighing contentedly.

“Oh whoops, he got you, huh?” At the familiar voice Sheik’s head whipped around, finding Navi drifting slowly from Link’s hat to perch on his bare shoulder. She rubbed her eyes, wings flickering with a dim glow. “That’s why I don’t sleep within reach anymore.” The fairy spoke softly, settling close to Sheik’s ear. “He’s always like that after a nightmare; just grabs on and curls up.” She paused, then blinked and looked over accusingly. “ Hey wait, you’re not supposed to be walking yet and… wow, your hair looks different all out of that head thing, maybe you should - ” Sheik sent her a look from the corner of his eye. “Oh, right, freedom first - chat later, sorry. Just pull back when he lets go.”

Navi jumped easily from her perch, floating over to hover directly above Link’s pointed ear. Flying just close enough, she beat her wings rapidly, skimming with every pass. After a few seconds Link let out a noise of complaint, releasing his grip to swat haphazardly at the annoyance now safely out of reach. Navi giggled softly, both at the trick and the Sheikah examining his freed arm like he expected pieces to be missing. She flew back over when he slid back a small ways, within safe whispering distance. “This happens often?” Determining his arm unbruised, his red eyes rested back on the figure in the bed.

Navi shrugged, although her wings drooped slightly. “He’s getting better now; when he was a kid he used to yell and thrash and fight until I could wake him up.” She hovered close enough for Sheik to hear her sigh. “At least now he sleeps through. Oh, Um…” Sheik looked back over to where the tiny figure now fidgeted in the air. “We got your harp thing, and those really long knives you used.” She pointed at a dresser near the door, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. “I’m… I’m sorry I made you try to get away – I just knew Link would know how to help – um, I’ll go ask Malon about your clothes, okay?” She left no room for reply, zipping out of the room via the slightly ajar door. Sheik watched the deserted space for several seconds before dropping his head and closing his eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” he muttered dejectedly. “I should have seen this long ago.”

The floor had begun its tilting sway again as he moved over to the dresser Navi indicated. He caught sight of his lyre on the other side just as the rock turned into a full on lurch, sending him banging against the sturdy wood with a frustrated hiss. The noise, apparently, was enough, as a familiar, sleepy voice sounded from the other side of the room.

“Sheik?” A scant few milliseconds and a much more alert-sounding hero had reached his side. “Hey, you shouldn’t be moving around.” A warm hand rested on his bare shoulder as concerned blue eyes locked on his own. Some little voice in Sheik’s head commented that Link should really go hatless more often, as the blond hair fanning gently around the hero’s face made for a very appealing picture. But of course, that would get into his eyes while fighting, he supposed. It was then he realized that instead of replying he had simply been staring at the other like a hungry child in a shop window. He swallowed quickly, pushing away from the dresser to stand.

“It is fine, Hero. I do not wish to be a burden longer than necessary.” The statement lost its credibility when he swayed slightly. Link, catching this, stepped to his side and wrapped his arm low around the tan waist, supporting the other’s weight without disturbing the bandages.

“People who are fine can usually stand, Sheik.” Sheik flushed, both from the amused jab and the hand against his bare stomach muscles. Link appeared to notice as well, softly clearing his throat before beginning to lead the way back through the room, his tone purposefully light. “Anyway, Malon’s used to me showing up in pieces by now; it’s probably nice having someone else to take care of for once.” Sheik sat back on the bed gratefully, drawing up a knee and resting his arm on it while leaving his other foot to dangle off the side. He could still feel a tingling sensation where Link released him, but this was quickly eclipsed when his bangs were brushed aside and the soft skin of a wrist pressed against his forehead. His eyes widened in slight shock, the faint scent of earthy spices brushing his senses at the close contact. “You’re still pretty warm,” Link murmured, brows coming together in concern, “do you feel feverish at all?”

Sheik was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation, dropping his eyes from the hero hovering over him in an attempt to rein his thoughts back to some familiar path. “My welfare is unimportant,” he repeated his own words on automatic, using the innate arguments of duty to snap himself from the spell. Link pulled his hand away, stepping back a pace. Sheik continued, reclaiming his familiar, detached tone. “I have wasted the precious little time you have on your mission with my own petty concerns; for this I apologize. Please, do not bother yourself with me.” He refrained from pulling up his cowl, preserving his appearance of stoicism, and glanced up to gauge the response.

Link was simply watching him, face shadowed in the dim room. It appeared the Hero was attempting to decide something, his eyes locked on the patch of viewable face Sheik’s cowl and bangs did not cover. “You shouldn’t think of yourself that way, you know.” The softness of his voice alone carried sincerity - as if the words were too valuable to be spoken at any higher volume. He walked over and sat on the other end of the bed, far enough to keep a comfortable distance, and mimicked Sheik’s sitting position. “You were practically dying, Sheik. Nobody can call their life petty, and I don’t consider helping a bother. Hell, I’ve probably spent a week hunting Poes if you put it together; patching up a friend seems like better time management to me.” He shrugged, offering a small smile before glancing at his feet. “…Hey, Sheik?”

The Sheikah pulled himself from his warring emotions, clinging to the part of his mind that kept his face impassive. “Yes?”

“How’d you know I was afraid of the Shadow Temple?” At the shocked, cornered look sent back his way Link smiled again, a hint of playful triumph sparkling at his eyes. He waved a hand at the other’s back. “Only one kind of monster does damage only fairies can heal. I was pretty surprised when I didn’t find any after the one in the well, but when all the traps were broken, I started wondering.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Every torch in the place was lit, too. Almost made it look cheerful.”

Sheik fidgeted, playing with a wrap on his hand. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard. “It was not my intention to discredit my belief in your competence – I am certain you would have completed the task without any interference.”

At the response Link practically beamed. “That’s why it matters.” He stood from the bed, stretching. “Come on, I’ll let you argue with me about leaving after you sleep some more.” Sheik blinked, realizing for the first time that he was in fact on Link’s bed, not his own, and quickly pushed to his feet. The move stretched his back uncomfortably, and he staggered, cursing the sudden swimming feeling in his head. Strong hands gripped his good arm and waist, supporting him before he fell. “Hey careful - you’ve lost a lot of blood. You okay?”

He nodded, leaning a little farther into Link’s chest until the room stopped moving. Link obligingly stepped closer, allowing Sheik’s head to rest on his shoulder and carefully circling his arm around the other’s back. The floor continued to rock, and Sheik sagged more into the stabilizing embrace, weakly clutching at the green tunic. A deep, soft chuckle vibrated through them both. “Change your mind about being fine yet?”

This closeness was wrong, Sheik knew. It was unfair, to the both of them, and would only end in pain. He needed to stop, to leave, to somehow push away.

But, he thought as Link’s hand released his arm and hesitantly rested on the top of his head, it felt so wonderful to feel him breathe…

“Hey Sheik?” The hand had begun weaving soothing patterns through his hair when Link’s voice came beside his ear, low and careful in its seriousness. Link nudged softly at the exposed temple with his forehead. “Thank you.”

By the gods, he was going to hurt the only thing he cared about – and he couldn’t bear to stop himself.

Ignoring the physical discomfort, Sheik wrapped his own arms around the warm chest and pressed his face farther into the other’s collarbone. A single, soundless sob shook him. “I’m sorry Link – I’m so sorry.”

He vaguely heard a question of surprise, a slight jolt of confusion, but the fingers’ soothing caress on his scalp had already worked its magic, guiding him gently into familiar unconsciousness.

Can forgiveness be given to a fabricated soul?