#so. hey. wave 1 out of how many belated drafts

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Yoichi: I know everything there is to know [contextually speaking: life lessons] from Captain Hero.

Kudou and Bruce: *speechless*

[a-table-of-fics]

Chapter 1, Draft 1

[[From now on, once all the pieces of the first draft of a chapter are complete, they’ll be put together like this, and all subsequent drafts will be in one piece.]]

Link was not having a restful sleep. How could he? In all the decades of his life, he had never dreamed anything as real as the visions he was getting now.

Black and purple clouds swirled in the skies, their darkness bringing a stark contrast to the flames that were razing a nearby village. Hyrule Castle came toppling down in the distance, to be replaced with a colossal shadow. Link couldn’t quite make out what it was, but he saw it wave a hand and heard screaming.

Of course, people all over were screaming in terror, but this screaming was…different, somehow. Familiar, but he had never heard these voices before. Something about the two voices seemed to matter to Link more than everyone else around him.

Wait, three voices…?

He recognized this third voice as that of his grandson. As these screams seemed to swirl around him, he was unable to move. There was no way to stop this, or to escape. He couldn’t even hear his own voice join the choir of pained and panicked wails…

He awoke to the sound of his grandson loudly crying in the cradle near his bed. Normally he would grumble about having to get up for the kid, but it was a relief this night.

Link groaned as he carefully swung his legs over the side of his bed, and felt for his cane, which was leaning on a small table nearby. His legs creaked almost as much as the floorboards as he carefully hobbled over to where his grandson was crying.

He could tell by the way Link Jr. cried that he wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t thirsty, and he wasn’t dirty or cold.

He was scared. But of what…?

He looked around. No, nothing changed. The weather was still quiet outside, and there wasn’t really much here to rob. No one was outside anyway. The kid must have had a nightmare.

Grandpa sighed, carefully scooping Junior up in one arm. He remembered doing the same thing with his daughter a few times when she was still Junior’s age. He smiled sadly at his grandson, and began to bob him up and down gently.

“Hey, hey,” he said, softly, “it’s all right, I’m here.”

Junior slowly stopped crying, but he still looked unsure. He gripped onto his grandfather’s tunic tightly, not willing to sleep again.

Grandpa carried Junior over to his own bed, holding him close to his chest. As he slowly sat down, he rested his cane, and used his now-free hand to gently stroke his grandson’s head.

“Yeah, ‘ve been having a bad dream too,” he said, sympathetically. “Let’s see if it goes away together, eh?”

They both had a fitful sleep for the rest of the night. No more panic, but neither one was well-rested the next morning.

* * *

A cucco rose and crowed with the morning sun in the distance. The two Links, however, did not rise until the morning sun became the afternoon sun.

Junior was the first to stir, immediately clambering off of Grandpa’s chest and onto the floor below. He started off for the table, but realized he needed Grandpa to reach the food. Grandpa, however, was still snoozing.

“Pa!” Junior called. “PA!”

All that happened was Grandpa snored louder. Junior huffed. He didn’t want to cry just yet, especially since just last night Grandpa helped him with that nightmare, but he needed to eat.

He toddled over to Grandpa’s thin, bony arm, which was dangling off the bed, and started to tug at it. There was no way he was going to be able to drag his grandpa out of bed, but darn it, he was going to try. He pulled and pulled, with great effort, until finally he slipped and fell to a sitting position. Grandpa’s arm fell back to the bed with a soft thud, and he seemed no more awake for it.

This called for desperate measures. Junior turned to where the now-cold fireplace was, and began walking to where the pot was.

* * *

“…Eh…?”

Grandpa awoke to a cold, wet slapping against his hand. He looked down to find that Junior was repeatedly hitting it with the wooden spoon he was using to stir soup last night.

“All right, all right,” he said, simultaneously amused and annoyed by this, “you win. I’m gettin’ up.”

He groaned, swinging his legs over as Junior took some awkward steps back. As he started to stand up (after a moment to wipe his hand on his tunic), he scooped the eager kid up with the hook of his cane and put him in his arms.

“Right, so time to eat, eh?” he cheerfully asked, bouncing Junior a little. Junior said nothing, but happily pointed at the cupboards.

“Yup,” Grandpa laughed, “you remember where they are!”

After a hearty meal of milk, mushed apples, and scrambled eggs, Junior was ready to go out and start the belated day. Grandpa, however, insisted on making sure Junior bathed and they both got a change of clothes.

Junior remained tight-lipped during all this, but he beamed as Grandpa put a little green hat on him and donned a matching one. He couldn’t put it into what few words he could say, but the hat felt right over his scruffy blonde hair. And he was proud to match Grandpa as he covered his own mostly-bald head.

And with that, the two of them were ready to leave.

The two walked down the familiar road, on their way to the nearby Lon Lon Market. Junior toddled on ahead, and often looked back, as if proud that he knew the way at such a young age. Grandpa, on the other hand, kept an eye on his grandson as he hobbled behind. He waved a hand encouragingly each time the kid looked back. It was slow going, but they would get there.

Up ahead was a familiar crossroads. To the right was the path to the market, and to the left, Hyrule Castle could be seen in the distance.

As always, Junior waited for his grandfather at the sign. Grandpa, in return, gave him a playful tussle on the head and started to turn for the market.

Junior seemed to have other plans, though, as his face grew as serious as a baby could muster and he started to march towards the castle. However, his apparent quest was cut short by Grandpa grabbing him with his cane. He swung Junior over to his arms, with a stern expression on his face.

“Now, you know that’s not the right way,” he said softly. “Why do you want to go over there?”

But Grandpa had a feeling. He had had a dream partially about Hyrule Castle last night. What if…?

Bah. That sort of thing only happened in legends.

He had to shake off those thoughts, as there were more pressing matters. For instance, Junior started wailing and grasping for the distant castle as Grandpa carried him to market.

“No, no, shh, you like the market!” Grandpa cooed, trying to soothe Junior. “You want to see Ishamu? Huh? You like Ishamu…”

Lon Lon Market was quite a large place. The only thing more colorful than the awnings and merchandise that seemed to stretch to infinity was the populace. People from all over Hyrule, regardless of species, could be found. It came as little surprise, as the marketplace was well-reputed to supply nearly every good or service you might need. It was not uncommon for someone to buy a carpet from one vendor, then go to the vendor next door to browse the swords. There seemed to be little organization for what kinds of products went where. It was suspected by many that the vendors just took whatever stand they could that day. If asked, any one of them would nod sadly. It was how life worked here.

Grandpa reflected on this as he searched for a stand. With a bag of whittled figures over his shoulder and a crying baby in his arm, he hoped he could get to it soon. Passers-by occasionally gave him looks, but once they saw him grimace at them, they remembered it was none of their business.

He kept trying to bob Junior up and down, but the baby’s eyes were still fixated on the still-distant castle. Suddenly, his vision was blocked by a tall elderly woman. In surprise, he stopped wailing and looked up to her face.

The face of a Gerudo looked at him with a calm smile and a twinkle in her amber eye. Her short grey hair and small wrinkles in her face betrayed her age, but her still-solid muscles distracted from that quite well.

“Aww,” she said in the voice people use when patronizing babies, putting a hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. She grinned smugly as the old man sighed in annoyance. “Is Papa giving you a hard time?”

“Him?” Grandpa asked, snarkily. “What about me?”

“Oh hush,” she laughed, lightly pinching the baby’s cheek. “You wouldn’t do that to your old, old man, would you? Would you?”

Junior, however, remembered that he was being taken away from the castle and began crying and reaching for that direction again.

“Now see what YOU’RE doing, Ishamu!” Grandpa retorted, pulling Junior closer to himself. “You forget your own strength?”

“HA!” Ishamu laughed. “What strength? I can barely lift an average Hylian above my head anymore! I have to use BOTH arms now!”

As Grandpa saw Junior was unharmed, he laughed in return.

“Ah, why don’t you sit down with us, rest those poor weak muscles of yours?”

Ishamu smiled knowingly.

“Oh, I’d LOVE to,” she said in a slightly dramatic voice, “but, goodness! I’ve forgotten where your shop is! Could you take me there?”

Grandpa fell silent, as she knew he would. He didn’t need the reminder that he was late.

“Oh, and here!” she said, pulling a few sugar cookies from a bag and holding them out to Junior. Almost immediately, he seemed to forget all about Hyrule Castle as his widening eyes saw the treats. He happily grabbed one and started to put it in his mouth, making “ahm” noises as he bit into that goodness.

“Thanks,” Grandpa sighed, relieved. “I dunno what came over him!”

Ten minutes later, they found empty stand and Grandpa began to place his figures on the table. Ishamu, meanwhile, held Junior in one hand and the rest of the cookies she brought out in the other. She gazed at him with concern.

“Link,” she asked calmly, not taking her eyes off the baby, “How long was he like that?”

“Since he tried to run off to Hyrule Castle today,” he replied, shaking his head. “Dunno what came over him, but he really wants to go there now.”

Ishamu took a closer look at Junior. “He seems kind of tired. Maybe he’s cranky?”

“Who knows?” Grandpa shrugged. “He DID have a nightmare last night, I think.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Grandpa did NOT say “Because I had a nightmare too.” She would think he was an idiot for that, if not think it was a vision. Which it wasn’t. And he wasn’t.

“Well,” he said, “there was no other reason he could have been crying. Had to take ‘im to sleep in my arms!”

That mostly truthful answer seemed to satisfy Ishamu. She grinned devilishly at him again.

“And you thought that would stop his bad dreams?”

“…Shaddup.”

Finally, Link’s figures were all set up, with a little plaque asking five Rupees apiece. The most common of the wood works were soldiers, but there were also carvings of Hylians in other professions, from farmhand to royalty to no obvious job at all. Some were even other races, shown the same way. The monsters were whittled to scale, and some of these had individual prices to reflect this.

The figures were particularly popular with Gorons. The two Links saw many familiar faces come by that day, and Grandpa suspected they were buying replacements for carvings that were either burnt or blown up. Not that he could complain, though; his customers put food on the table, after all.

Ishamu gently put Junior back into his grandfather’s arms and leaned against one of the support beams. She idly looked around, .

“Hey,” she whispered, nudging Grandpa, “here comes one of your favorite customers!”

Grandpa grimaced. He could guess who it was.

A young, somewhat scruffy-looking Hylian with dirty brown hair approached the stand. He had a brown tunic that he seemed to always be shifting in, as if it would crawl off of him at any moment.

Grandpa put on his best professional grin and gestured towards his wares.

“Hello, Denian!” he said, as calmly as he could, “Here to look again?”

Junior squinted at him, and seemed about ready to try and pull the figures back. Grandpa didn’t seem to notice, and kept his grip on the baby.

Denian didn’t seem to notice Junor and nodded, eying the figures as if they were the delicacies from that nice Kokiri kid a few stands down. His eyes darted from figure to figure, finally stopping on a purple-painted farmer in the corner.

“That one right there is remarkable,” he said, leaning in to take a closer look.

Junior noticed his hands seemed more interested in the soldiers in the front, and tried pointing this out to Grandpa. Grandpa, however, glanced down at him once, and then simply looked back at Denian and nodded.

“I see you have an eye for this,” he noted.

“I should hope so! After so many visits, anyone should become a connoisseur of whittle-work! How much?”

“Five, as always.”

Rustles.

“I’ll take it.”

Grandpa smiled as he put the rupees in his pocket. His grin grew even wider as Denian immediately tripped after turning to leave, scattering several foot soldiers and a sculpture of a princess across the ground.

Grandpa pulled his cane back out from under the table and stood up, setting Junior down on the chair.

“I thought it was you,” he sneered. “You’ve gotten careless…”

He took a quick glance at his surroundings. People were stopping to gawk at the scene. They always liked a show.

“For shame,” he continued, shaking his head. “Pulling one over your elder, and with his grandson there, too!”

He gestured toward Junior, who had crawled over and started picking up the figures.

“Y-you tripped me!” Denian said, feebly trying to defend himself. Who was he kidding? It was obvious what had happened.

Ishamu sauntered over, lifting Denian onto his feet with minimal effort.

“And you stole from him,” she said, evenly. “You know what we Gerudo do to those who steal from their neighbors?”

Denian paled. Junior never knew eyes could get so wide, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“N-no, ma’am.”

“Well. It’d be a good idea to leave then, wouldn’t it?”

Danian nodded, slowly backing up, and then running as fast as he could out of the market. He didn’t even notice that his legitimately purchased figure was left behind. Grandpa shrugged, putting it back in its place in the corner.

After the crowd dispersed, curiosity got the better of Grandpa.

“Hey, Ishamu, what do you do to people who do that?”

Ishamu shrugged.

“I dunno. Should prob’ly come up with something.”

* * *

Other than Denian, the day was pretty uneventful. Figures were sold, Ishamu left to wander around the market some more, and the two Links would occasionally take breaks to look at the local stands, especially the catering ones.

Grandpa was sure to purchase several wooden blocks and paint, and he spent some time gawking at the newer brushes, carving knives, and chisels. Junior, on the other hand, had no interest in these. Instead, he begged Grandpa for a miniature pair of bongos. Even if Grandpa could say no to that face, he figured an instrument as subdued as the bongos would be a nice thing for his grandson to play with, and possibly learn.

Grandpa grunted as he slung his overstuffed bag over his shoulders. He never really had issues carrying it, but it was heavy. Finally, the two were ready to go.

Junior never really had issues staying awake until they went home. While Gramps was carrying his things, Junior was happily striding forward in what would have been a march if he wasn’t still a clumsy toddler. All the while, the bongos hung by a nice leather strap around his shoulders, and he was playing them all the way home.

It was about five minutes before Grandpa regretted buying them. But, it made Junior happy, and he sounded like he might almost get a rhythm going if he kept at it. Maybe he’d learn to not bang on the things.

It was evening when they finally made it back to their house.

“Alright,” Grandpa finally sighed, “that’s enough of that.”

Junior didn’t resist as his bongos were lifted from his shoulders. He yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“You tired now?” Grandpa asked, affectionately picking Junior up. “You ready for bed?”

Junior simply wriggled in response, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Grandpa smiled warmly, humming softly to keep his grandson relaxed as he gently put him into his crib.

“G’night,” he whispered, before turning to his supplies. He spent the next several hours whittling new figures, painting them, and re-painting the old ones for good measure. Occasionally, he would turn to see his grandson still soundly asleep, and smiled. It was just a nightmare, after all.

Finally, he set the figures aside to dry, hoisted himself up, and went to bed.

* * *

The soil stirred in the still air. No one was around to see this, as this patch of land was so infertile as to seem actively hostile.

Perfect, the soil thought, before sending some of itself to fly into the winds.