Comfort

It was strange, how Link always felt the need to knock, even though his first entrance had been nothing short of criminal, and Renado’s house had become something of a second home to him over the past weeks. Still, he knocked.

And still, his stomach did a little flip over itself as he waited, only a moment, for the soft, cultured voice within to respond. Renado had never turned him away, and yet every visit began with this little bout of nerves. He simply didn’t understand it.

As the door opened from within, Link smiled, forgetting for a second what a mess he looked: blood seeping through at least half a dozen slashes on his tunic, dripping down his face from a cut somewhere between his left eye and his hairline; bruises dotting every visible portion of skin (and even many covered by layers of clothing and armor that didn’t work quite as well as he would have hoped.) He even had a sneaking suspicion that something, somewhere, was broken.

He should have simply soaked in the healing springs; he knew well enough their curative powers. Now that he thought about it, a brief rest in their warm waters did sound comforting.

It simply wasn’t what he wanted.

Renado took him in with passive eyes; an impressive feat indeed, although he rarely saw Link in peak-condition. Perhaps he had come to expect the lad to always present himself broken in some way. Nevertheless, as Link limped his way over to the taller man, he tsked quietly to himself, closing the distance between their bodies so that he could assist Link to his bed.

“You shouldn’t wear yourself down like this,” it was an empty reproach, and they both knew it; one of Link’s major flaws was his inability to spot his own weaknesses, and the word “retreat” wasn’t in his vocabulary. “One day, you won’t win, and you won’t pull back in time to save your own life.” Link was silent; he wasn’t a man of many words, and never had been. “…what would the children do if you were gone?”

Link stared at his feet for a moment, unwilling to meet Renado’s eyes. He raised his arms obediently as the older man motioned for him to do so, and barely winced as his tunic was pulled up and over his broken form. His armor was next, then his undershirt; each layer hurt a little more, peeling a bit more dried blood away with its departure. His hat sat beside him; he clenched it between sore fingers, but made no sound.

Renado sighed quietly to himself, pulling the green material out of the hero’s hand as he gently tugged off his gauntlets. Link’s hands were cracked and dry, his palms calloused and bloody in places. He didn’t make a sound as Renado gently examined them with his own fingers, searching for broken bones.

When Link was bare from the waist up, Renado stood, retreating for only a moment to fetch a bowl of warm water and a cloth. Link wondered, fuzzily, if it was from the hot springs; the blood had begun to flow again with the removal of his clothing, and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy. Perhaps Renado was right; this certainly wouldn’t be a good state for battle.

“I notice you never let the children see you like this.” Link exhaled softly as Renado pressed the damp cloth against his back, gently cleaning one of his many wounds. “You always sneak in, unwilling to greet them until you are once again fit…” Renado’s tone was soft, conversational, but Link suspected this wasn’t simply small talk.

“Are you afraid?”

Link blinked once, confused. Blaming it on the blood loss, he turned his head to look at Renado, eyes questioning. The older man met his eyes for only a moment before returning to his work.

“Are you afraid of letting them see that you are, after all, only human?”

Oh.

Link looked forward once again, unconsciously hunching over slightly. Renado didn’t say a word.

They remained in companionable silence for a while; Link’s dizziness became drowsiness, and he allowed his mind to wander to silly subjects, such as how nice the warm cloth felt against his skin, and how incredible it was to be treated like something precious by a man such as Renado. He was so refined, so wise, so… tall. Link couldn’t help but giggle softly to himself. He could understand why Telma had a crush on the distinguished shaman. “What’s so amusing?”

Link merely shook his head, still chuckling silently to himself. He could never share such a ridiculous thought with Renado; surely he would laugh.

Before Renado had even cleaned half of the wounds Link had sustained, the youth had fallen asleep, chin resting on his chest and bangs falling forward to cover his eyes. Renado couldn’t help but smile as he made quick work of the rest of the boy’s injuries before lying him down fully on the bed to finish resting; he could use a few solid hours of uninterrupted sleep, and Renado certainly wouldn’t be the one to take such a treasure from him.

As he stood, however, he couldn’t help but glance back at the youth, the innocent lad destined to save the world. He looked so innocent; so young. His hair was just half-way between golden and chestnut, and his eyes, when they were open, were a clear, innocent blue. He didn’t look like a hero; he looked like a boy who had a heavy weight to bear, and that was all the more evident during these precious few moments when he was unaware of it.

Renado sighed softly, sitting down on the side of the bed. He reached out, gently, to brush the youth’s bangs from his face. He would need to be bathed, but that could wait. Much could wait, for the hero of the gods.

Until then, Renado would wait, and watch over this innocent boy to whom he owed his life.