I posted a sketch of Abel being happy so now I guess the tax must be paid and he must have angst again
It didn't take long for the excitement to wear off.
The outburst started gently, at least. Link wandered anxiously, hands held out in front of him as if he were going to grab something or play with something, and then he wrung them nervously. He sniffled, eyes widening and watering.
"Link?" Abel prompted, putting the last of his armor on his bed.
And that was all it took. Abel stared in alarm as his little boy burst into tears, catching the attention of their roommate, Norri, who flinched.
“I want to go home,” Link cried.
Abel knelt down to be at eye level with the boy, trying to settle him quickly. “Link, we can’t go home.”
“But I want to go home!”
“I know,” Abel acknowledged, putting his hands on the little one’s shoulders. Link’s eyes were puffy now, his face red as he stood there and sobbed. “I know you do. But we can’t go home. We have to stay here.”
“I want Mama!”
Abel’s heart clenched. For a moment he couldn’t speak, emotions drowning his voice, but Link’s wails pierced through the fog, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Norri began to look agitated.
Quickly picking his boy up, he hastened outside, pressing Link’s face to his shoulder both to wipe his tears and try to muffle his cries as he whispered again, “Link, calm down. We can’t go home. I told you we would be here a while.”
It was ridiculous to assume a four-year-old would truly understand his words when he had explained the trip and he knew it. It was foolish to think this was going to be fine. But he had hoped… after running into the king himself had managed to not be disastrous, and after Link had spent two days wandering without incident, he’d hoped it would be all right.
Link cried louder, legs wiggling as he started to progress to a full-on meltdown. Abel held on to him helplessly. Tilieth always had more patience for these moments, always knew how to soothe their child when he himself didn’t know how to do so. Abel was of no use in this situation – he expressed his emotions so differently, so quietly in comparison to that of a child. He tried to remember what his sisters did, but Ama always focused outward on their younger sister, and he’d never really figured out how to calm Shola down so much as just argue with her. So he… had no experience in this.
“Link,” Abel said helplessly as he finally made it outside to avoid causing a ruckus in the palace. “Link, settle down. We can’t go home; you have to accept that.”
No matter what words Abel chose, Link wouldn’t accept that. He repeated his displeasure continuously, so much so that Abel was afraid he’d wake all of Zora’s Domain. He tried to hide in a corner somewhere, climbing one of the passageways that twirled around the Domain, ignoring the damp chill that began to settle through his light undertunic and trousers. Link didn’t seem to notice it, though he felt the little boy’s fingers steadily turn to icicles.
Frustration started to pull at him. He couldn’t calm his child, he couldn’t get him to be quiet, he was screaming in his ear—it wasn’t as if Abel himself didn’t want to see Tilieth, as if he weren’t worrying about his wife who was on death’s door with illness—
Abel, stop. He’s a child.
And? He’d stared at his dead father’s face, smelled the stench of rotting flesh despite the perfumes liberally poured around him, all when he was a child. He’d watched it kill his mother slowly for two years before she finally joined him.
You were eight at that point. He’s four. He doesn’t understand and you know that.
The frustration grew, though, despite his arguments, despite him knowing that his boy couldn’t help this. Perhaps it was just because he was angry at himself for even thinking about this, for ever suggesting and fighting for bringing a four-year-old child to a diplomatic mission, for having to shoulder the responsibility of the entire family while his wife was dying—
Abel bit his lip until it bled, trying to ignore the sobs coming from his son. Instead, he held him tightly, rocking back and forth, out of words, out of patience, out of emotions, out of everything. His repeated whispers devolved into hushes, offering what little comfort he could. It didn’t feel like nearly enough. It never felt like enough.
Link cried himself into exhaustion, his wailing finally settling into hiccups, and Abel released a full breath, having been rigid as a board for what felt like an hour. Slowly, hesitantly, he started making his way back to the central part of the Domain, thankful for the lack of people in the area, but hesitated before going to the palace. He himself was too full of emotions and energy now, and he knew he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he tucked Link more closely to the center of his chest, head right under his chin, and continued to sway back and forth with a light bounce to his knees. He wandered aimlessly, mind helplessly full of cotton and unable to process words anymore, before he found himself in front of the statue of Hylia.
It was a small statue, carved in the luminous stones of the area, giving it an ethereal glow. Some aquatic plant was adorning her head like a crown. It was lopsided, like a child had placed it there and wasn’t quite tall enough to get it right.
Abel slid to the ground, back against the railing behind him, Link held ever so closely. The boy was limp with exhaustion, asleep and warm in the embrace. Abel shivered.
He had no words to offer in a prayer. Instead, he just stared. Hylia smiled serenely back.
Abel stayed there, in a strange trance, overwhelmed and underwhelmed, energized and exhausted, until the sun started to reflect on the sparkling stones.
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