[ Technically, Naminé does have a pencil in hand when she registers that a message has come in. Still, she hardly waits to finish that latest sketchy line before setting the little stick of wood aside in favor of her journal. The sender, when she discovers who it is, is not an expected one, but apart from her brief moment of blinking realization, the pleasant surprise doesn't delay her much. ]
Well, that's ominous. Her pen hovers a moment; there really isn't any way to interpret that offer that makes it sound like good news, is there? But, er, maybe she can approach this... delicately... ]
I wouldn't pass up the opportunity, as long as no one's getting hurt on purpose. Is someone in trouble?
[ Naminé's shoulders sink as she lets out her half-held breath as a hum. The situation doesn't sound too urgent, so perhaps she was worried for nothing. (This thought does not, in fact, stop her from worrying.) ]
I see. In that case, I'll do my best to alleviate them.
[ If nothing else, she feels a bit more comfortable with the probability that she'll be able to manage to do so successfully, reading that. Already setting aside her art supplies, she pauses to respond to the additional message. ]
It's no trouble. I can come to you wherever you are if that would be easiest.
[ If he - or any other hypothetical patient - isn't in proper shape to move around too much. But she doesn't like that idea, and he seems the type to try not to cause inconvenience, so-- maybe it wouldn't hurt to put forth another option. ]
Or if you're close to the housing district, I'm already at home. I wasn't expecting any guests, but I think I might have some leftover cookies.
[He exhales, giving her words a few thoughtful moments before he responds.]
I'm not far. I'll come to you.
[That much is true enough, at least; he had been on his way to the housing district anyway when he realized he needed help. He could have gone home, probably -- maybe he should have. But the thought of Princess Zelda fretting and unable to help...well, he's caused enough of her frustration to last a lifetime, he thinks.
Nonetheless, it's not lost on him that he's exchanging the princess's concern for Naminé's. If he could step back a few moments and change his actions, perhaps he might decide differently, knowing that. ...Hm. For the moment, he doesn't have the bandwidth to worry about it overmuch; even if he wanted to, that's not a power he's ever had.
True to his word, it's not long before she'll hear a soft knock at her door.]
[ She's poised during the delay, still seated but with her feet pressed into the floor, ready to stand, as she watches the open page of her journal. Maybe she'll have to stand either way, whether he comes to her or she goes to him, but somehow it feels as if she'll miss something, somehow, if she moves too soon. It's a silly notion on its face, yet she's relieved nevertheless to have an answer, when it comes. ]
Okay. I'll be waiting.
[ And, in fact, she will be. The treehouse she's directed Link to is a quiet one, modest in size but tastefully designed, with a wide window that overlooks the walkway below. Most notably, there's a special bridge connecting its side door to the much larger, more haphazard treehouse nearby. For every degree of boisterousness the appearance of that more sizable homestead might possess, Naminé's smaller house has an equal measure of cozy serenity.
But that doesn't mean she's one to stay idle. Almost as soon as Link knocks, there are delicate footsteps from the other side of the door, and presently Naminé draws it partway open to meet him with an expression held carefully in check. She's been anticipating what she might find out about his state, has already trying to steel herself, just in case - yet there's really no hiding the immediate, searching look in her eyes as they seek him out past the edge of the door. Whatever she finds... well, she'll just have to try to keep her reaction to herself, right? ]
... Hello. [ Ah. Perhaps she should have thought more on what she'd say. What comes to mind first is a slightly awkward, yet no less sincere, ] It's-- good to see you again.
[For a moment, Link simply stands at the doorway, surprised. The proximity to Sora's home was...unexpected; he gathers, from the connection point, that they may know each other. It's not unheard of, he supposes -- he knows someone from his home, too, after all. All the same, it serves as a reminder of how small this world really is.
He nearly holds his breath, waiting for a response at the door, frantically sifting through his mind for what to say when she opens it.]
Hello. [It seems silly to start off so casually, doesn't it? Perhaps strange, too...this small corner of peace, after the intensity of a fight. This is the moment when he realizes he hasn't thought this through, that he's still wearing the torn, bloody tunic from his fight with Asura, that he hasn't even spared a moment to clean himself up, and so, stupidly, the next words out of his mouth--]
... It's not as bad as it looks. [--are said hastily, but perhaps not as convincing as they could be. In spite of the damage to his clothes and his untidy hair, he is steady on his feet, at least, and he's not struggling to stay upright. He has Mipha's Grace to thank for that, for the fact that any lingering damage is minimal -- little more than inconvenient spots where wounds previously closed have opened again. He opens his mouth to begin an apology for-- for what? For his presence? Barging in? For not cleaning up beforehand? But he stops short as he registers her words. Starts again.]
I... [He scrubs a hand along the back of his neck.] It's good to see you, too.
[Just as sincere. Perhaps a bit more awkward, though.]
[ For some, the sight of Link's ripped and bloody clothing alone would have been enough to prompt an outburst. But Naminé, no matter the fragility in her own appearance, has witnessed a thing or two in her time, and purses her mouth shut against the instinctive gasp as her eyes follow the visible trail of what must, at one point, have been significant injuries. Her grip on the door tightens, brows pinching together, yet gives her greeting just the same.
Because he is still upright, isn't he? That's the logic she uses to comfort herself, at least, in spite of the way her skin pales just a little in what could be dread as she registers the sheer amount of damage to his clothing - and potentially, then, his person. Her color doesn't really recover even with his verbal reassurance, but it softens her expression nevertheless as she pauses, forcing her fingers to relax. And maybe it really is silly to behave so casually, but it's better than the alternative, isn't it? Whatever's just happened to this poor fellow must have been pretty bad to experience in the first place, so why make it worse with a strong reaction? No matter her own feelings, her own distress, she can try to keep a straight face for his sake - bite back the questions and the fretting in favor of action. Hesitating as she watches his self-conscious motion, though, Naminé's more sure of the course of action than how to apply it. Finally, falteringly, she manages to admit an almost-wry, ]
If it were... I suppose I would have had to meet you at the bottom of the stairs instead.
[ It's hard to imagine him having made it to the door of her treehouse otherwise - or to the walkway at the base, either, but... there's a limit to how far she'll stretch the strained humor at a time like this. Her attempt at an accompanying smile is weak and quick to drop; making no further delay, the young lady steps back from the door, pulling it along with her enough to open it for Link to pass through. ]
Please, come in. Everything's ready in the kitchen.
[ What she means by that, he'll find, is that she's already taken the liberty of retrieving a few of her medical supplies and setting them out on the kitchen island, so as to be prepared in case there's an injury she can't mend magically. It's a precaution more than anything else - although there's also a plate containing a meager number of days old cookies, as mentioned. (They're not lollipops, but perhaps they'll do in a pinch.)
Beside the island are a few seats that clearly belong there; judging by the way Naminé proceeds that direction, Link's free to take his pick of them to sit down on. ]
[In the slight, stilted pause that follows his words, Link finds himself unable to meet her gaze. There's something so difficult, so uncomfortable, about that aspect of friendship. He doesn't shy away from battles, not when they're necessary -- that much, he knows, has been true for longer than he can remember. But the aftermath, knowing you've caused someone to feel scared or worried...that part has always been difficult for him, even before the Calamity.
He's grateful when she manages such a light comment, offering a faint, somewhat tired smile.]
Yes. That-- [he glances back toward the stairs] --would have been tough.
[Maybe it's silly, because he's not exactly in the cleanest state at the moment, but the first thing he does when she invites him inside is wipe his shoes before going in. It's hard to say why, whether it's some awkward need for politeness or making up for how messy the rest of him is.
He ducks his head in a small nod and then enters, hands kept firmly at his sides, perhaps a little afraid to touch anything until he gets to the kitchen. His eyes linger on the medical supplies for a moment --it strikes him as something Princess Zelda might do-- and then on the plate. He didn't realize she was serious about that, at the time, but the thought brings a small smile back to his face. He gingerly sets himself down in one of the chairs, mindful of the supplies she's set out.]
[ It's hard not to watch Link closely, as rough as the appearance of his clothing is; the evidence that he's fine - or fine enough - might be right there before her, but she hasn't yet determined the how of it, and it leaves her unsettled. There are plenty of reasonable explanations, though, to be sure; more importantly, the blonde catches sight of his turned-away eyes and reminds herself not to stare too openly, lest she cause him some further discomfort.
Still, she can't help a glance back upon realizing he's lagged behind to wipe his feet. The step she'd been about to take falters, her concerned eyes lifting from his shoes to his face, as if ready to protest, but-- no, there's no need to rush him, if that's what he wishes to do. It's a thoughtful gesture on his part, and though the line of her mouth sets a bit more firmly to hold in the, 'You don't have to do that,' she does quietly appreciate it.
Patient, the young lady stands to one side until Link's chosen a place to sit. Only then does she move forward to the seat next to his, hands busying themselves with a last-minute sorting of the arrayed items, perhaps more for the sake of her nerves than anything. Her movements still for a beat at his words of gratitude, which draw her attention and the turn of her head. There's a natural answer to this, the, 'We've all got to look out for each other around here.' But since they're trying to be friends, now - and given that she can sense his hesitance about all of this, she swallows the pat response in favor of a wan smile back. ]
It's the least I can do. Besides... you're helping me, too, remember?
[ Practice does make perfect, as they say, and to look at him, it seems there'll be plenty of that to gain from this. Accoutrement finally settled, Naminé pauses at last to look down at his bloodied clothes. The mess makes it difficult to know where to start, and despite herself, her brow pinches as her focus makes the arc from one of his arms to the other.
Perhaps it's best for him to direct where she begins. He ought to know what hurts most, right...? ]
Well-- [ For a second, she fumbles for the proper phrasing. ] ... May I see what's wrong?
Ah. He had forgotten about that. He offers a small nod, a faint half-smile ghosting across his expression.
Relying on others is strange, and can be very difficult. It became second nature with Mipha, over time, but...there was something different about that. Perhaps because he had known her longer, or because they fought together...it's hard to place. He never felt bad about asking for healing from her. Others, though? Well. He still has trouble asking for help, even now.
At the request, he nods once more, fiddling with the buttons on his tunic so he can pull the torn shirt open. If he had been wearing his Champion's tunic, it would have likely been a lost cause, so he's at least grateful for that.
Beneath the torn shirt is a map of old scars. He no longer remembers where he got all of them, but the least silvery he knows are from his last stand during the height of the Calamity. The wound in cuts a long, jagged line over top of some of those older ones, from shoulder on the left to sternum on the right. It looks mostly closed up, and even healed in a few places -- a few small areas seem a little fresher, perhaps indicating the trouble.]
I healed most of it, [he explains quietly. The mechanics of how he's able to use that healing ability are still difficult to explain, so he foregoes it for now.] ...but a few areas opened up again.
[After this, he really is going to have to work on that. It would be easier if he were able to use that ability less infrequently.]
[ Initially, Naminé's eyes are drawn to the wound of the moment, to the angry red that she's meant to help soothe. It's in better shape than she might have expected, and the confusion she's had percolating under the surface of her mind both contracts and then expands as one question is answered and another arises. The new, healed skin makes it clear enough why Link was still able to make it this far, but begs clarification as to how that miraculous recovery came to be there; his explanation, when it comes, helps stitch up that hole in her understanding.
Her reaction to the information, however, is delayed by the fact that about then, her focus shifts far enough for her to realize just how many other marks litter his skin. Lips parting, her expression otherwise grows still as she takes them in.
Out of a great many people, Naminé is perhaps one of the most qualified to recognize the real cost of being a hero. Not because she's ever been the one fighting to the death against the innumerable forces of evil with only a blade and one's will - no, she's had the benefit instead of peering deeply into the hearts and memories of more than one such individual. And as an observer acquainted intimately with both the outside and the inside of that particular brand of duty, with how it's affected the lives of those people, yet separated enough from that reality to fully appreciate the contrast between such an existence and a more peaceful one, she...
There's such a profound sadness in her eyes, then, when she looks at him. Not at his face, but at his history, as it's written on the surface of his flesh. She should have expected it, she realizes suddenly; from what she knows of him, his heart has surely been through just as much.
She can't very well tell him that, though. As her distraction fades, her shoulders rise slightly with her deep inhale, near-silent and through her nose. When she finally lets it out, it's with faint words that tremor only the tiniest amount, for she has spent entirely long enough speaking honestly to people battered for the sake of others to keep her voice level. ]
I didn't realize you knew how, [ she comments gently, eyes late to dart back up to his for just a second or two before she leans a fraction closer to examine the current wound itself. ] Whatever you did, it must have been impressive.
[ To manage so well in healing his wounds himself, that is. Perhaps there's more to that story; she endeavors not to feel inadequate in the face of such a significant part of the work already having been done. Inspection finished, the lass sits back to reach over and pull a wet cloth from the basin of water she's already got prepared and carefully wrings out the excess. ]
But I think I can help with what's left.
[ Judging by the state of his clothes, it's almost certainly best to make sure there's no chance of infection, just in case. As she turns to face him again, though, the lass hesitates, hand hovering with the cloth in it.
Suddenly, she feels a little awkward. Giving a small, 'um,' ]
Do... [ Under more urgent circumstances, she might not think much of it - but there's a peculiar sense of social anxiety that she's not accustomed to that arises here as she considers his chest. If this were one of the boys from her worlds that would be one thing, but-- ] Would-- you rather clean the wound yourself, or should I--?
[There's something so deep and clear in her expression that Link can only bring himself to meet her eye for a moment. It...it's not precisely that he doesn't want people to know about the things he's done, or what he's been through. But in the aftermath of the Calamity, he's become something very different than the hero he once considered himself to be. He has sometimes questioned whether he can still call himself that, or whether Princess Zelda could still call him a knight. Indeed, he has even questioned whether he is still worthy of the Master Sword. Naminé's concern over a fate he chose himself, and in the end failed to uphold, feels somehow...a little unsettling. Who is it she believes him to be? Is he still that person? And...was he ever that person, to begin with?
He's lost in those thoughts for a moment, enough so that his response is a little delayed.]
It... [Hm. How to describe that power?] That power was lent to me by a friend. I can't use it as well as she could.
[... He had always wanted to ask how she learned it. What inspired her to want to heal. In the end, he never had that chance.
Her small, awkward um brings him back to the present. His eyes move from the cloth to her face, and he briefly shakes his head. Perhaps the awkwardness is catching, because it sounds in his voice.]
[ Link's pause is noticeable; for her part, Naminé sits patiently through it, holding very still as if for fear of disturbing him further. He's perceptive enough, she thinks, to have recognized her expression; belatedly, she regrets not controlling it better. Nevertheless, a certain strain lurks around the corners of her eyes until he finds his words again and Naminé endeavors to let them distract her. ]
A friend... [ That seems like the last piece that needs to click into place, because-- ] I think I know the kind of power that you mean.
[ Sora always did have access to that sort of thing in a few different forms, so it's not hard for Naminé to assume something similar was at work here as well.
But she's got no room in her mind to consider it further as Link answers, setting her task in stone and prompting Naminé to momentarily hold the breath she'd just drawn in. No matter how flatfooted they might both find themselves in this situation, though, she's more than able to remain professional when it's called for, and presently nods. ]
I understand. In that case - I'll try to be gentle.
[ It's harder to know when something hurts without being the one to experience the pain, but caution does come naturally to her. When she leans forward again to set about the task of dabbing away the blood from his wound, she does so with the utmost consideration for his comfort. Still - her mouth is pursed with a sort of silent hesitation for a long moment or two before she finally becomes focused enough on the task to speak properly again. ]
I'm relieved, then, if you have such powerful friends.
[ So much the better, isn't it, that they can look after him too? The fact that that's not the whole story isn't immediately clear, and before she's had a chance to consider it, she finds her curiosity gets the better of her. ]
The one who helped you - is she...? [ In Reverein? Yet no, even as she says it, Naminé trails off thoughtfully, evidently deciding she's answered her own question. Her murmur thereafter sounds more musing than actually inquiring. ] No, I suppose if she were here, you'd have gone to see her.
[ Or perhaps had said friend along as a companion instead of borrowing the power in the first place. ]
The subject is a wound that sometimes feels fresh, and sometimes feels like it's beginning to heal, tender but manageable. Does Link regret bringing her up, talking about her at a moment like this? Would she be surprised to find that he thinks of her? He can only hope she would be happy.
His brow furrows, both at the question and as he puts on a brave face while she dabs at the wound. It's certainly not the worst pain he's ever felt, nor the greatest wound, but-- it does still sting. Perhaps it's an apt metaphor for his feelings about the Zora princess; indeed, for the loss of all the Champions. Something that still hurts when you get too close to it. It's a pain he's familiar with, though; he doesn't hide that it stings, but the wince of his reaction is still fairly mild.]
No, [he says softly, after a moment of consideration. Maybe, in order to heal, one must expose a wound to the air.] It's been a long time since I last saw her.
[That much was true even before he came to Reverein; as a spirit, it...had not been as long, perhaps, but in life? It had been months since he woke in the Shrine of Resurrection, and a full century before that...
... Hm. Perhaps this is too much air for that particular wound. Link keeps his eyes averted as he speaks, watching Naminé's hands work. He's uncertain whether he wants to say any more, though; she's already doing so much to help him, and the rest is, as the kids say, "kind of a downer."]
[ Though Naminé is focused on her work, part of that work is making sure she doesn't cause undue discomfort for her patient. Her gaze, therefore, makes an regular circuit between the part of the wound she's tending to at the moment, the areas she has yet to move on to, and Link's expression itself. The blue irises that regard him through her lashes still have that strange clarity, as if she's aware he's doctoring his reaction - but there's nothing for it save to go on as efficiently as possible, and Naminé provides no comment.
Her hands, for their part, make careful but timely work of clearing the blood away from the section of his wound she's tending to. Apparently satisfied with the results, she sets the cloth aside for a moment and turns back with delicately outstretched fingers. They hover over the injury, close enough to touch with little effort, but never quite do; instead, after a beat of concentration, a warm glow envelops them. It spreads to the injury without delay, rippling across skin to help it seal again, and carries with it a sensation not unlike the sparkles of dreamotion light that she produced a few months ago when her joy shone through, that warmth like basking in the sun. Here, though, the sentiment is slightly different; if it were possible to compound sympathy and concern for another into a palpable experience, this would be it.
And she doesn't know the whole of what's gone on in the past, but there's an implication of some unfortunate cause in the way Link describes the gap between the present time and when he last saw his friend. That's what finally makes the pinch in Naminé's own brow more noticeable as her eyes break the order of their businesslike path to flick up toward his, just for an instant. And she says, sincerely, ]
... I'm sorry. I'm sure you must be very important to each other, if you're connected even now.
[ To speak as much, though, might only make it worse, mightn't it? Thinking so, Naminé lapses into silence for a handful of seconds as her work proceeds, faltering only briefly in her distraction. Her mouth purses into a brief, self-conscious line; maybe it would help to change the subject. The most obvious is the one she seizes, more out of desperation than for any other reason, despite it already having been on her mind. ]
Do you... want to talk about what happened?
[ Only after another beat or two have passed does she realize the question could be taken more than one way, pursuant to which-- her late but hasty clarification, ]
What happened today, I mean...!
[ Not that she would discourage him from speaking further of his friend, of course, but if she has to pick only one thing to pry about... ]
[In truth, many of Link's reactions and expressions are doctored, and have been for a very long time. Perhaps less so, since losing his memories...but as he regains scraps of his own history, so, too, does he regain remnants of those old habits. They become more natural, and so, he has to remind himself more frequently to let go of them.
At least -- that's often the case. But when it comes to pain and wounds, he's fine with his tendency to seamlessly slip back into that habit.
He keeps his eyes on her hands as she works, thoughtful in his quietness, but not strained from trying to speak. In truth, he doesn't entirely know what to say. He thinks on her words, of course, on her sentiment of importance and connection...and he's a little bit surprised to find that the thought does make him feel a little better. Loss can be a difficult thing; when you experience enough of it, do you become numb to it? Has he? And if not, would it be better if he was? For a long time, he's been wrapped up in trying to act on all the ways he regretted going wrong with his relationship to the Champions. He never stopped to think that maybe his memories of them --thin as they may be in places-- could just be...enough.]
I knew her longer than any of the other Champions. Or even Princess Zelda.
[The words slip out before he registers that there's no context for them. He rarely speaks of them even now, to anyone other than the princess. Maybe a little bit of vague, offhanded talk with Beat or Sora, but...that's been it. Maybe he should try that more.
Her next question catches him by surprise, enough so that the surprise is quite evident on his face. When she clarifies, the expression abates a bit. Caught unaware by a sudden sting of antiseptic, he flinches a bit.]
... I went to investigate the explosion outside of town. When I got there, a man attacked me. It was as if...he was looking for a fight.
[There's a certain gravity to the quiet that follows. Even to the thoughtful neutrality of the expression he puts on.]
[ Context or no, Naminé knows there must be some meaning to the words for Link. As such, though she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes, she still gathers those names carefully into her memory, tucking them neatly into place for later. To some extent, it's always the case these days that she has to learn other people in bits and pieces, but with Link - she gets the feeling that the segments of that particular puzzle will always be small and numerous and oddly shaped, and that forming them into an accurate picture will take patience and effort. (She's not at all reluctant to face the challenge; if she had cause to compare it to that all-at-once knowing her powers foisted upon her back when she used them more often, she'd probably find that she prefers it this way.)
So, although in this moment she can't form an entire and coherent idea in her mind of what he intends to say, she'll still offer a thoughtful nod. Whatever he's talking about, it sounds an awful lot like he's grieving, and the least she can do is be kind.
But speaking of heavy topics... It shouldn't come as a surprise that the answer to her question is approximately as much so. She's quick to murmur an apology as he flinches, hand momentarily drawing back from his injury. Her arm hovers where she's left it as she listens, brows smoothing first in understanding and then lowering slightly as she recognizes his tone. ]
Then I suppose he found one, [ she notes finally, grimly, after a beat of solemn silence. There's no humor or bravado in it; she's already picked up on the implication of what the end result was, even if she'd prefer not to solidify it in her own mind. Her shoulders sink as she exhales, eyes far off as she considers things a moment, hand still lifted. ]
That must have been what all the commotion was about. [ It's the end of a thought; the one that follows, when she looks up, is-- ] The man, was he...
[ Perhaps to keep herself busy just as much as to ease what remains of Link's discomfort more quickly, she takes that beat of hesitation to return to her work, carefully dabbing at the new section of his wound again. ]
... Out of his mind? It wouldn't be the first time that someone lost control.
[ And frankly, she'd prefer to imagine that being the reason for it all, rather than that someone deliberately wanted to do harm to others at random. ]
[There's a finality in her words, a grimness that he's not sure he's ever heard, but...is nonetheless familiar with. Perhaps he even feels a bit the same, at the moment, trying to reflect on what happened. Trying to piece it together in a way that makes sense. In the end, all he can do is nod; as grim as her tone is, she's cut right to the heart of it.
Link has never been the kind of person to see himself as the strongest, or the most skilled, or the best. He's always just done what he could, learned what he could, fought in whatever way he was able to. Perhaps he could be called perseverant, in that way, but the idea that someone might see him as a worthy challenger...well, it's not what he had planned for himself, not really. All he wanted to do was protect the things that are important to him.
... Well. In the end, perhaps he's done that.
There's a slim note of reluctance in his expression as he nods. Yes, the man found a fight. Yes, that was the commotion. And as for her question?... He has to think about it for a moment. The man was frenzied, to be certain, fighting to kill and not to hurt. But out of his mind...?]
I don't think so, [he says finally, his voice soft and thoughtful.] He wanted to be beaten. He wanted me to... [Hm. He trails off; he's sure he doesn't need to finish the sentence.] ...but it seemed very intentional.
[ Indeed, there's no need to finish a statement which has such an obvious conclusion, and Naminé's expression is as serious as it ought to be to communicate that when she pauses at his description, head tilting subtly. ]
How strange, [ she remarks finally after her eyes have shifted a few times in thought, gaze turned inward more than at him. They grow a little sadder thereafter, then, more quietly, ] He must have had his reasons.
[ Madness isn't always an all-or-nothing prospect, after all - sometimes portions of self-awareness linger. But it's a lot for anyone to handle, whether as the person who's gone mad or someone who has to try to restrain them, and presently her attention refocuses to Link's face. The angle of her head only increases then as she considers him, searching his features a moment. It's not hard to imagine that he might have... regrets, as she knows she might. (As she knows someone who's dedicated so much of their life to others might.)
She isn't the type to put a hand on another's shoulder to provide comfort, but... the tone of her voice is the same as it would be if she'd made the gesture, every bit as gentle despite how her palm lingers close to what remains of his wound instead. ]
Either way... you were able to help him.
[ Regardless of how it was done, the word still applies. Breathing out a slow sigh, she lets her eyes fall to the resultant injury, urges her magic to start again. It'll be done soon, and as much is obvious at a glance; the new skin is close to covering it over after her efforts. ]
Maybe later you'll be able to find out more about why it happened. [ A beat. Kindly, ] If that's what you want to do.
[ After all, for all the weight that death yet carries here, it's not nearly as permanent as it would be outside of this world. ]
[Help. It's such a strange word to use, and yet in this case, he understands. Help, in the same way it's kinder to end the suffering of a wounded animal. In the same way that a small lie can be gentler than the truth. Yes, he does believe that may be so -- that he was, perhaps, able to help someone who was facing a more difficult fate. In some small way it makes him feel a little more at peace.]
I think so, too, [he says at last, voice quiet as he does. People like that, he imagines, don't look for death so easily. If the man had to go that far...maybe it really was a help.
He remains quiet as her magic works. Until the Champions lent him their abilities, he had never had any magic of his own, and he always imagined it to be such a difficult, unwieldy thing. Princess Zelda seemed to find it that way, at least, and so whenever someone else was using magic, particularly for his sake, he tended to fall into an anticipatory silence. Mipha had teased him a bit about it, had said that he didn't have to worry about her ability to concentrate...
Ah-- it does feel strange, though. The way your body repairs itself at high speed.
He thinks a moment on Naminé's words. If that's what you want to do. It's true that death seems to be something people come back from, here...that may be its own particular type of unsettling, but it does open the opportunity.]
I think it is. [There's a word for it, after all -- closure, yes? He doesn't even know the man's name. It would be nice, someday, to learn more about him...and what happened.]
[ The term is deliberate, for Naminé knows well enough that helping can involve inflicting some amount of pain just as often as purely alleviating it. (Or at least, so she's learned through her own complex experiences with the process.) Though she busies herself with this more direct form of healing for the moment, she's still not totally settled into that task until she hears his answer. Taking it as acceptance on Link's part of what she'd meant by the phrasing, the young lady gives the faintest of nods in confirmation.
For her part, magic has always come easily to her - in the general sense, that is. Taming it into proper spells like this one, shaped and devoted to achieving a particular socially acceptable function, has been more challenging in the absence of a proper teacher. Memories might serve that role, yet do so in a fragile, inefficient sort of way, limited as they are by her personal ability for recollection.
But applying such abilities that they've been learned is easy enough, and Link's silence isn't entirely necessary for her concentration; perhaps it would give her a gentle laugh if she recognized the purpose of his keeping mum. As it is, the quiet doesn't bother her. It's an old friend, and she's typically at peace with its presence. (So, too, is he a friend, and as such, she doesn't fret over what might be lurking under the surface of his mind, save that she hopes it isn't troubling him.)
When he does give voice to his other answer, she's finally got the last of his wound closed up. She takes an extra handful of seconds to observe, just to be sure she hasn't missed anything, and as she does, notes aloud, ]
That's good, I think. [ Or at least, such is her opinion. Turning a faint smile up at him, ] It's usually better, isn't it - not to have to wonder?
[ But maybe the sooner that topic's left behind them, the better. Clearing her throat with a small hum, the lass finally lets her hands fall to her lap, her endeavor finished. ]
... There. All done. [ With what she could see, anyhow. But he'd know far better than she, so she makes the gentle inquiry, ] Does - anything else hurt?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carisma_sensei
no subject
Date: 2023-02-13 08:28 pm (UTC)Not at all.
Is there something that you need?
no subject
Date: 2023-02-13 09:18 pm (UTC)I was wondering if you'd like to practice your healing magic.
[... It's going to take him a few minutes to realize that this might be the dumbest way possible.]
no subject
Date: 2023-02-13 10:24 pm (UTC)Well, that's ominous. Her pen hovers a moment; there really isn't any way to interpret that offer that makes it sound like good news, is there? But, er, maybe she can approach this... delicately... ]
I wouldn't pass up the opportunity, as long as no one's getting hurt on purpose.
Is someone in trouble?
no subject
Date: 2023-02-14 01:23 am (UTC)No. The trouble has passed.
Just one or two lingering concerns.
[A beat.]
Thank you. Where can I meet you?
no subject
Date: 2023-02-14 05:54 am (UTC)I see. In that case, I'll do my best to alleviate them.
[ If nothing else, she feels a bit more comfortable with the probability that she'll be able to manage to do so successfully, reading that. Already setting aside her art supplies, she pauses to respond to the additional message. ]
It's no trouble. I can come to you wherever you are if that would be easiest.
[ If he - or any other hypothetical patient - isn't in proper shape to move around too much. But she doesn't like that idea, and he seems the type to try not to cause inconvenience, so-- maybe it wouldn't hurt to put forth another option. ]
Or if you're close to the housing district, I'm already at home.
I wasn't expecting any guests, but I think I might have some leftover cookies.
no subject
Date: 2023-02-15 04:23 am (UTC)I'm not far. I'll come to you.
[That much is true enough, at least; he had been on his way to the housing district anyway when he realized he needed help. He could have gone home, probably -- maybe he should have. But the thought of Princess Zelda fretting and unable to help...well, he's caused enough of her frustration to last a lifetime, he thinks.
Nonetheless, it's not lost on him that he's exchanging the princess's concern for Naminé's. If he could step back a few moments and change his actions, perhaps he might decide differently, knowing that. ...Hm. For the moment, he doesn't have the bandwidth to worry about it overmuch; even if he wanted to, that's not a power he's ever had.
True to his word, it's not long before she'll hear a soft knock at her door.]
no subject
Date: 2023-02-16 02:46 am (UTC)Okay. I'll be waiting.
[ And, in fact, she will be. The treehouse she's directed Link to is a quiet one, modest in size but tastefully designed, with a wide window that overlooks the walkway below. Most notably, there's a special bridge connecting its side door to the much larger, more haphazard treehouse nearby. For every degree of boisterousness the appearance of that more sizable homestead might possess, Naminé's smaller house has an equal measure of cozy serenity.
But that doesn't mean she's one to stay idle. Almost as soon as Link knocks, there are delicate footsteps from the other side of the door, and presently Naminé draws it partway open to meet him with an expression held carefully in check. She's been anticipating what she might find out about his state, has already trying to steel herself, just in case - yet there's really no hiding the immediate, searching look in her eyes as they seek him out past the edge of the door. Whatever she finds... well, she'll just have to try to keep her reaction to herself, right? ]
... Hello. [ Ah. Perhaps she should have thought more on what she'd say. What comes to mind first is a slightly awkward, yet no less sincere, ] It's-- good to see you again.
no subject
Date: 2023-02-16 05:20 am (UTC)He nearly holds his breath, waiting for a response at the door, frantically sifting through his mind for what to say when she opens it.]
Hello. [It seems silly to start off so casually, doesn't it? Perhaps strange, too...this small corner of peace, after the intensity of a fight. This is the moment when he realizes he hasn't thought this through, that he's still wearing the torn, bloody tunic from his fight with Asura, that he hasn't even spared a moment to clean himself up, and so, stupidly, the next words out of his mouth--]
... It's not as bad as it looks. [--are said hastily, but perhaps not as convincing as they could be. In spite of the damage to his clothes and his untidy hair, he is steady on his feet, at least, and he's not struggling to stay upright. He has Mipha's Grace to thank for that, for the fact that any lingering damage is minimal -- little more than inconvenient spots where wounds previously closed have opened again. He opens his mouth to begin an apology for-- for what? For his presence? Barging in? For not cleaning up beforehand? But he stops short as he registers her words. Starts again.]
I... [He scrubs a hand along the back of his neck.] It's good to see you, too.
[Just as sincere. Perhaps a bit more awkward, though.]
no subject
Date: 2023-02-17 12:09 am (UTC)Because he is still upright, isn't he? That's the logic she uses to comfort herself, at least, in spite of the way her skin pales just a little in what could be dread as she registers the sheer amount of damage to his clothing - and potentially, then, his person. Her color doesn't really recover even with his verbal reassurance, but it softens her expression nevertheless as she pauses, forcing her fingers to relax. And maybe it really is silly to behave so casually, but it's better than the alternative, isn't it? Whatever's just happened to this poor fellow must have been pretty bad to experience in the first place, so why make it worse with a strong reaction? No matter her own feelings, her own distress, she can try to keep a straight face for his sake - bite back the questions and the fretting in favor of action. Hesitating as she watches his self-conscious motion, though, Naminé's more sure of the course of action than how to apply it. Finally, falteringly, she manages to admit an almost-wry, ]
If it were... I suppose I would have had to meet you at the bottom of the stairs instead.
[ It's hard to imagine him having made it to the door of her treehouse otherwise - or to the walkway at the base, either, but... there's a limit to how far she'll stretch the strained humor at a time like this. Her attempt at an accompanying smile is weak and quick to drop; making no further delay, the young lady steps back from the door, pulling it along with her enough to open it for Link to pass through. ]
Please, come in. Everything's ready in the kitchen.
[ What she means by that, he'll find, is that she's already taken the liberty of retrieving a few of her medical supplies and setting them out on the kitchen island, so as to be prepared in case there's an injury she can't mend magically. It's a precaution more than anything else - although there's also a plate containing a meager number of days old cookies, as mentioned. (They're not lollipops, but perhaps they'll do in a pinch.)
Beside the island are a few seats that clearly belong there; judging by the way Naminé proceeds that direction, Link's free to take his pick of them to sit down on. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-02-22 06:25 pm (UTC)He's grateful when she manages such a light comment, offering a faint, somewhat tired smile.]
Yes. That-- [he glances back toward the stairs] --would have been tough.
[Maybe it's silly, because he's not exactly in the cleanest state at the moment, but the first thing he does when she invites him inside is wipe his shoes before going in. It's hard to say why, whether it's some awkward need for politeness or making up for how messy the rest of him is.
He ducks his head in a small nod and then enters, hands kept firmly at his sides, perhaps a little afraid to touch anything until he gets to the kitchen. His eyes linger on the medical supplies for a moment --it strikes him as something Princess Zelda might do-- and then on the plate. He didn't realize she was serious about that, at the time, but the thought brings a small smile back to his face. He gingerly sets himself down in one of the chairs, mindful of the supplies she's set out.]
... Thank you for this.
no subject
Date: 2023-02-28 09:47 pm (UTC)Still, she can't help a glance back upon realizing he's lagged behind to wipe his feet. The step she'd been about to take falters, her concerned eyes lifting from his shoes to his face, as if ready to protest, but-- no, there's no need to rush him, if that's what he wishes to do. It's a thoughtful gesture on his part, and though the line of her mouth sets a bit more firmly to hold in the, 'You don't have to do that,' she does quietly appreciate it.
Patient, the young lady stands to one side until Link's chosen a place to sit. Only then does she move forward to the seat next to his, hands busying themselves with a last-minute sorting of the arrayed items, perhaps more for the sake of her nerves than anything. Her movements still for a beat at his words of gratitude, which draw her attention and the turn of her head. There's a natural answer to this, the, 'We've all got to look out for each other around here.' But since they're trying to be friends, now - and given that she can sense his hesitance about all of this, she swallows the pat response in favor of a wan smile back. ]
It's the least I can do. Besides... you're helping me, too, remember?
[ Practice does make perfect, as they say, and to look at him, it seems there'll be plenty of that to gain from this. Accoutrement finally settled, Naminé pauses at last to look down at his bloodied clothes. The mess makes it difficult to know where to start, and despite herself, her brow pinches as her focus makes the arc from one of his arms to the other.
Perhaps it's best for him to direct where she begins. He ought to know what hurts most, right...? ]
Well-- [ For a second, she fumbles for the proper phrasing. ] ... May I see what's wrong?
no subject
Date: 2023-03-15 09:03 pm (UTC)Ah. He had forgotten about that. He offers a small nod, a faint half-smile ghosting across his expression.
Relying on others is strange, and can be very difficult. It became second nature with Mipha, over time, but...there was something different about that. Perhaps because he had known her longer, or because they fought together...it's hard to place. He never felt bad about asking for healing from her. Others, though? Well. He still has trouble asking for help, even now.
At the request, he nods once more, fiddling with the buttons on his tunic so he can pull the torn shirt open. If he had been wearing his Champion's tunic, it would have likely been a lost cause, so he's at least grateful for that.
Beneath the torn shirt is a map of old scars. He no longer remembers where he got all of them, but the least silvery he knows are from his last stand during the height of the Calamity. The wound in cuts a long, jagged line over top of some of those older ones, from shoulder on the left to sternum on the right. It looks mostly closed up, and even healed in a few places -- a few small areas seem a little fresher, perhaps indicating the trouble.]
I healed most of it, [he explains quietly. The mechanics of how he's able to use that healing ability are still difficult to explain, so he foregoes it for now.] ...but a few areas opened up again.
[After this, he really is going to have to work on that. It would be easier if he were able to use that ability less infrequently.]
no subject
Date: 2023-03-26 12:02 am (UTC)Her reaction to the information, however, is delayed by the fact that about then, her focus shifts far enough for her to realize just how many other marks litter his skin. Lips parting, her expression otherwise grows still as she takes them in.
Out of a great many people, Naminé is perhaps one of the most qualified to recognize the real cost of being a hero. Not because she's ever been the one fighting to the death against the innumerable forces of evil with only a blade and one's will - no, she's had the benefit instead of peering deeply into the hearts and memories of more than one such individual. And as an observer acquainted intimately with both the outside and the inside of that particular brand of duty, with how it's affected the lives of those people, yet separated enough from that reality to fully appreciate the contrast between such an existence and a more peaceful one, she...
There's such a profound sadness in her eyes, then, when she looks at him. Not at his face, but at his history, as it's written on the surface of his flesh. She should have expected it, she realizes suddenly; from what she knows of him, his heart has surely been through just as much.
She can't very well tell him that, though. As her distraction fades, her shoulders rise slightly with her deep inhale, near-silent and through her nose. When she finally lets it out, it's with faint words that tremor only the tiniest amount, for she has spent entirely long enough speaking honestly to people battered for the sake of others to keep her voice level. ]
I didn't realize you knew how, [ she comments gently, eyes late to dart back up to his for just a second or two before she leans a fraction closer to examine the current wound itself. ] Whatever you did, it must have been impressive.
[ To manage so well in healing his wounds himself, that is. Perhaps there's more to that story; she endeavors not to feel inadequate in the face of such a significant part of the work already having been done. Inspection finished, the lass sits back to reach over and pull a wet cloth from the basin of water she's already got prepared and carefully wrings out the excess. ]
But I think I can help with what's left.
[ Judging by the state of his clothes, it's almost certainly best to make sure there's no chance of infection, just in case. As she turns to face him again, though, the lass hesitates, hand hovering with the cloth in it.
Suddenly, she feels a little awkward. Giving a small, 'um,' ]
Do... [ Under more urgent circumstances, she might not think much of it - but there's a peculiar sense of social anxiety that she's not accustomed to that arises here as she considers his chest. If this were one of the boys from her worlds that would be one thing, but-- ] Would-- you rather clean the wound yourself, or should I--?
no subject
Date: 2023-03-29 11:12 pm (UTC)He's lost in those thoughts for a moment, enough so that his response is a little delayed.]
It... [Hm. How to describe that power?] That power was lent to me by a friend. I can't use it as well as she could.
[... He had always wanted to ask how she learned it. What inspired her to want to heal. In the end, he never had that chance.
Her small, awkward um brings him back to the present. His eyes move from the cloth to her face, and he briefly shakes his head. Perhaps the awkwardness is catching, because it sounds in his voice.]
Ah-- please? I'm...not sure I can reach.
no subject
Date: 2023-04-10 03:56 am (UTC)A friend... [ That seems like the last piece that needs to click into place, because-- ] I think I know the kind of power that you mean.
[ Sora always did have access to that sort of thing in a few different forms, so it's not hard for Naminé to assume something similar was at work here as well.
But she's got no room in her mind to consider it further as Link answers, setting her task in stone and prompting Naminé to momentarily hold the breath she'd just drawn in. No matter how flatfooted they might both find themselves in this situation, though, she's more than able to remain professional when it's called for, and presently nods. ]
I understand. In that case - I'll try to be gentle.
[ It's harder to know when something hurts without being the one to experience the pain, but caution does come naturally to her. When she leans forward again to set about the task of dabbing away the blood from his wound, she does so with the utmost consideration for his comfort. Still - her mouth is pursed with a sort of silent hesitation for a long moment or two before she finally becomes focused enough on the task to speak properly again. ]
I'm relieved, then, if you have such powerful friends.
[ So much the better, isn't it, that they can look after him too? The fact that that's not the whole story isn't immediately clear, and before she's had a chance to consider it, she finds her curiosity gets the better of her. ]
The one who helped you - is she...? [ In Reverein? Yet no, even as she says it, Naminé trails off thoughtfully, evidently deciding she's answered her own question. Her murmur thereafter sounds more musing than actually inquiring. ] No, I suppose if she were here, you'd have gone to see her.
[ Or perhaps had said friend along as a companion instead of borrowing the power in the first place. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-04-14 04:54 pm (UTC)The subject is a wound that sometimes feels fresh, and sometimes feels like it's beginning to heal, tender but manageable. Does Link regret bringing her up, talking about her at a moment like this? Would she be surprised to find that he thinks of her? He can only hope she would be happy.
His brow furrows, both at the question and as he puts on a brave face while she dabs at the wound. It's certainly not the worst pain he's ever felt, nor the greatest wound, but-- it does still sting. Perhaps it's an apt metaphor for his feelings about the Zora princess; indeed, for the loss of all the Champions. Something that still hurts when you get too close to it. It's a pain he's familiar with, though; he doesn't hide that it stings, but the wince of his reaction is still fairly mild.]
No, [he says softly, after a moment of consideration. Maybe, in order to heal, one must expose a wound to the air.] It's been a long time since I last saw her.
[That much was true even before he came to Reverein; as a spirit, it...had not been as long, perhaps, but in life? It had been months since he woke in the Shrine of Resurrection, and a full century before that...
... Hm. Perhaps this is too much air for that particular wound. Link keeps his eyes averted as he speaks, watching Naminé's hands work. He's uncertain whether he wants to say any more, though; she's already doing so much to help him, and the rest is, as the kids say, "kind of a downer."]
no subject
Date: 2023-04-20 05:39 am (UTC)Her hands, for their part, make careful but timely work of clearing the blood away from the section of his wound she's tending to. Apparently satisfied with the results, she sets the cloth aside for a moment and turns back with delicately outstretched fingers. They hover over the injury, close enough to touch with little effort, but never quite do; instead, after a beat of concentration, a warm glow envelops them. It spreads to the injury without delay, rippling across skin to help it seal again, and carries with it a sensation not unlike the sparkles of dreamotion light that she produced a few months ago when her joy shone through, that warmth like basking in the sun. Here, though, the sentiment is slightly different; if it were possible to compound sympathy and concern for another into a palpable experience, this would be it.
And she doesn't know the whole of what's gone on in the past, but there's an implication of some unfortunate cause in the way Link describes the gap between the present time and when he last saw his friend. That's what finally makes the pinch in Naminé's own brow more noticeable as her eyes break the order of their businesslike path to flick up toward his, just for an instant. And she says, sincerely, ]
... I'm sorry. I'm sure you must be very important to each other, if you're connected even now.
[ To speak as much, though, might only make it worse, mightn't it? Thinking so, Naminé lapses into silence for a handful of seconds as her work proceeds, faltering only briefly in her distraction. Her mouth purses into a brief, self-conscious line; maybe it would help to change the subject. The most obvious is the one she seizes, more out of desperation than for any other reason, despite it already having been on her mind. ]
Do you... want to talk about what happened?
[ Only after another beat or two have passed does she realize the question could be taken more than one way, pursuant to which-- her late but hasty clarification, ]
What happened today, I mean...!
[ Not that she would discourage him from speaking further of his friend, of course, but if she has to pick only one thing to pry about... ]
no subject
Date: 2023-04-28 08:25 pm (UTC)At least -- that's often the case. But when it comes to pain and wounds, he's fine with his tendency to seamlessly slip back into that habit.
He keeps his eyes on her hands as she works, thoughtful in his quietness, but not strained from trying to speak. In truth, he doesn't entirely know what to say. He thinks on her words, of course, on her sentiment of importance and connection...and he's a little bit surprised to find that the thought does make him feel a little better. Loss can be a difficult thing; when you experience enough of it, do you become numb to it? Has he? And if not, would it be better if he was? For a long time, he's been wrapped up in trying to act on all the ways he regretted going wrong with his relationship to the Champions. He never stopped to think that maybe his memories of them --thin as they may be in places-- could just be...enough.]
I knew her longer than any of the other Champions. Or even Princess Zelda.
[The words slip out before he registers that there's no context for them. He rarely speaks of them even now, to anyone other than the princess. Maybe a little bit of vague, offhanded talk with Beat or Sora, but...that's been it. Maybe he should try that more.
Her next question catches him by surprise, enough so that the surprise is quite evident on his face. When she clarifies, the expression abates a bit. Caught unaware by a sudden sting of antiseptic, he flinches a bit.]
... I went to investigate the explosion outside of town. When I got there, a man attacked me. It was as if...he was looking for a fight.
[There's a certain gravity to the quiet that follows. Even to the thoughtful neutrality of the expression he puts on.]
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 08:49 pm (UTC)So, although in this moment she can't form an entire and coherent idea in her mind of what he intends to say, she'll still offer a thoughtful nod. Whatever he's talking about, it sounds an awful lot like he's grieving, and the least she can do is be kind.
But speaking of heavy topics... It shouldn't come as a surprise that the answer to her question is approximately as much so. She's quick to murmur an apology as he flinches, hand momentarily drawing back from his injury. Her arm hovers where she's left it as she listens, brows smoothing first in understanding and then lowering slightly as she recognizes his tone. ]
Then I suppose he found one, [ she notes finally, grimly, after a beat of solemn silence. There's no humor or bravado in it; she's already picked up on the implication of what the end result was, even if she'd prefer not to solidify it in her own mind. Her shoulders sink as she exhales, eyes far off as she considers things a moment, hand still lifted. ]
That must have been what all the commotion was about. [ It's the end of a thought; the one that follows, when she looks up, is-- ] The man, was he...
[ Perhaps to keep herself busy just as much as to ease what remains of Link's discomfort more quickly, she takes that beat of hesitation to return to her work, carefully dabbing at the new section of his wound again. ]
... Out of his mind? It wouldn't be the first time that someone lost control.
[ And frankly, she'd prefer to imagine that being the reason for it all, rather than that someone deliberately wanted to do harm to others at random. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-08 09:08 pm (UTC)Link has never been the kind of person to see himself as the strongest, or the most skilled, or the best. He's always just done what he could, learned what he could, fought in whatever way he was able to. Perhaps he could be called perseverant, in that way, but the idea that someone might see him as a worthy challenger...well, it's not what he had planned for himself, not really. All he wanted to do was protect the things that are important to him.
... Well. In the end, perhaps he's done that.
There's a slim note of reluctance in his expression as he nods. Yes, the man found a fight. Yes, that was the commotion. And as for her question?... He has to think about it for a moment. The man was frenzied, to be certain, fighting to kill and not to hurt. But out of his mind...?]
I don't think so, [he says finally, his voice soft and thoughtful.] He wanted to be beaten. He wanted me to... [Hm. He trails off; he's sure he doesn't need to finish the sentence.] ...but it seemed very intentional.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-13 09:00 pm (UTC)How strange, [ she remarks finally after her eyes have shifted a few times in thought, gaze turned inward more than at him. They grow a little sadder thereafter, then, more quietly, ] He must have had his reasons.
[ Madness isn't always an all-or-nothing prospect, after all - sometimes portions of self-awareness linger. But it's a lot for anyone to handle, whether as the person who's gone mad or someone who has to try to restrain them, and presently her attention refocuses to Link's face. The angle of her head only increases then as she considers him, searching his features a moment. It's not hard to imagine that he might have... regrets, as she knows she might. (As she knows someone who's dedicated so much of their life to others might.)
She isn't the type to put a hand on another's shoulder to provide comfort, but... the tone of her voice is the same as it would be if she'd made the gesture, every bit as gentle despite how her palm lingers close to what remains of his wound instead. ]
Either way... you were able to help him.
[ Regardless of how it was done, the word still applies. Breathing out a slow sigh, she lets her eyes fall to the resultant injury, urges her magic to start again. It'll be done soon, and as much is obvious at a glance; the new skin is close to covering it over after her efforts. ]
Maybe later you'll be able to find out more about why it happened. [ A beat. Kindly, ] If that's what you want to do.
[ After all, for all the weight that death yet carries here, it's not nearly as permanent as it would be outside of this world. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-18 03:16 am (UTC)I think so, too, [he says at last, voice quiet as he does. People like that, he imagines, don't look for death so easily. If the man had to go that far...maybe it really was a help.
He remains quiet as her magic works. Until the Champions lent him their abilities, he had never had any magic of his own, and he always imagined it to be such a difficult, unwieldy thing. Princess Zelda seemed to find it that way, at least, and so whenever someone else was using magic, particularly for his sake, he tended to fall into an anticipatory silence. Mipha had teased him a bit about it, had said that he didn't have to worry about her ability to concentrate...
Ah-- it does feel strange, though. The way your body repairs itself at high speed.
He thinks a moment on Naminé's words. If that's what you want to do. It's true that death seems to be something people come back from, here...that may be its own particular type of unsettling, but it does open the opportunity.]
I think it is. [There's a word for it, after all -- closure, yes? He doesn't even know the man's name. It would be nice, someday, to learn more about him...and what happened.]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-27 04:39 am (UTC)For her part, magic has always come easily to her - in the general sense, that is. Taming it into proper spells like this one, shaped and devoted to achieving a particular socially acceptable function, has been more challenging in the absence of a proper teacher. Memories might serve that role, yet do so in a fragile, inefficient sort of way, limited as they are by her personal ability for recollection.
But applying such abilities that they've been learned is easy enough, and Link's silence isn't entirely necessary for her concentration; perhaps it would give her a gentle laugh if she recognized the purpose of his keeping mum. As it is, the quiet doesn't bother her. It's an old friend, and she's typically at peace with its presence. (So, too, is he a friend, and as such, she doesn't fret over what might be lurking under the surface of his mind, save that she hopes it isn't troubling him.)
When he does give voice to his other answer, she's finally got the last of his wound closed up. She takes an extra handful of seconds to observe, just to be sure she hasn't missed anything, and as she does, notes aloud, ]
That's good, I think. [ Or at least, such is her opinion. Turning a faint smile up at him, ] It's usually better, isn't it - not to have to wonder?
[ But maybe the sooner that topic's left behind them, the better. Clearing her throat with a small hum, the lass finally lets her hands fall to her lap, her endeavor finished. ]
... There. All done. [ With what she could see, anyhow. But he'd know far better than she, so she makes the gentle inquiry, ] Does - anything else hurt?