Chapter Text
THE SEPARATION
Then there were three.
Daria, Denzel, and him. It felt hollow. Unnatural. There was a very real timer on their time together now, and it was hard to ignore the ticking that echoed in their ears every time the world went quiet.
Quentin knew that soon; it would be two. He wasn’t stupid. He was young, not quite thirteen yet, but he wasn’t dumb. He saw how Daria’s things became less and less scattered around the house, soon to be gone forever. She was packing away her life in increments, small parts of herself disappearing. She was stripping her childhood from the walls, gutting her memories from the floors, keeping them with her and leaving nothing there to rot.
She was planning to leave, and he and Denzel were going to pretend it wasn’t happening. They weren’t talking to one another about it, but they knew. No one was talking to each other, not truly. They spoke in riddles and cryptic messages, with sad eyes and distant looks. Everyone was walking on eggshells, too scared to shatter the fragile peace they had created. It felt like there was a storm brewing, rolling in from the mountains, ready to consume them.
Quentin had never felt so agitated in his life.What happened to the summers? To running through fields with no shoes, just to feel the soil? What happened to staring at the stars and connecting them with their fingers? When did winter begin to feel heavy?
“How much longer do we have to be out here?” He complained, digging up grass just so he had something to do.
Denzel grunted, swinging his wooden sword towards Daria, who dodged it easily, “Since when were you in such a rush to go back?”
“It’s cold,” He shrugged, the goosebumps on his arm being proof of that.
His brain wasn’t as easily occupied now, his toys didn’t hold the same magic, and the clouds didn’t make the same shapes they used to. There was nothing for him to do.
They both stopped sparing, coming to a natural stop. Denzel was flushed red from exertion, damp strands sticking to his forehead, a stark comparison to Daria, who hardly broke a sweat. There was a look in his brother’s eyes, one he hadn’t really seen before. It was a glint of danger, a shimmer of anger.
Denzel threw his sword over to Quentin, the weapon landing by his feet dully. He blinked at it, confused.
“You need to learn.”
That sentence struck him like lightning, crackling up his spine, fizzling at his feet, forcing him to stand. Quentin took a big step back like the weapon was poison.
“What?” The words were fire on his tongue.
Denzel did not deter, “It’s been long enough. You need to learn how to fight.”
What was this? Why was Denzel saying this? He never said this before. Daria looked equally confused, staring at their brother with squinted eyes.
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t like swords. You know that.” In fact, Denzel has been his biggest advocate.
“It doesn't matter if you don’t like it.”
Since when did his feelings not matter? This wasn’t like his brother.Denzel was the most compassionate person he knew, he felt with his entire chest.
Quentin and Denzel hadn’t really ever fought. They had sibling squabbles, like who ate the last apple, but they never argued properly. They were always a team, and while the others were off growing up quicker, they remained behind, linked arm and arm.
This felt like the first. Because while he was upset, he was now matching Denzel’s budding anger. Because why did everyone disregard what he wanted?
“But-,”
“Quentin, I’m not joking. Pick up the sword.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” He snapped.
Denzel looked shocked for a second at his outburst, but quickly schooled his features. “It’s for your own good!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Now pick up the sword.”
Daria finally decided to intervene, “Denzel, back down. Don’t be a prick. He doesn’t want to.”
His brother was shaking, and he scooped up the sword himself, shoving it into Quentin’s arms. “I don’t care. He needs to learn.”
Finding his voice again, he pushed the sword away, “Why?”
“You just need to okay!”
“That's not an answer Denzel,” Daria said, her tone clipped.
“You’re being a baby Quentin. Grow up.”
The sadness had come in hard now, anger subsiding. He just didn’t understand, and most importantly, he was too upset to say ‘I already have’.
Because once you lose the feeling of being able to build worlds beneath your fingers, isn’t that it? Was it all gone now? There wasn’t any magic left.
The world felt dull.
“I don’t want to,” His voice was thick with tears, and Denzel stared at him, the glint in his eyes dimming, but not disappearing. He appeared torn for a moment. He was looking at him, actually looking, and whatever he saw, it scared him. Because now Quentin could see that the gimmer wasn’t anger, it was fear.
“I need you to.”
“He doesn’t need to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” Daria had her arms crossed over her chest, defensive, ready to set alight. Her voice seemed to snap him back to anger, whirling on her with the wooden sword, pointing it at her chest.
“Don’t you start! It’s because of you that we’re doing this. I’m not strong enough! Clorissa left, Ronan left, you’re going to leave, and that leaves me to be the oldest. That leaves me to protect him! But what happens if I can’t? What will he do then?” Denzel was shouting.
He had been shouting so loudly and yet no one would hear him.
Until now.
Daria softens, understanding, and Quentin no longer feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed off. It made sense now.
“Why are you putting that pressure on yourself?” She asked.
But what she doesn’t know is that Denzel always had. When the three eldest were talking in hushed whispers, Denzel held him and tried to keep him together. When Clorissa left, Denzel had him. Whenever he cried, his brother was there. While Clorissa, Ronan, and Daria were busy trying to fix the world and right the wrongs, Denzel was holding his hand to make sure he didn’t fall into the gaps left by the destruction.
They weren’t even that far apart in age, but Denzel took it upon himself to be the hero.
Who was his hero?
Who saved him?
“Don’t pretend that’s exactly what you want me to be. You told me. You said to protect him.”
“Denzel,” Daria spoke his name softly, so warm. He looked up, and he wasn’t the hyperactive teenager they all joked with every day. He was just a boy.
Daria held her arms out, an invitation, and Denzel took it. He fell into her, cries lost to Hyrule field. The wooden sword lay abandoned in the grass, and he wished it would stay there. He wished it would sink into the soil, grow vines and flowers, never to be found again. Quentin watched as his siblings hugged, trying to escape their grief.
“What if he gets hurt? What if he gets hurt and I can’t protect him?”
“Quentin is stronger than you think. Give him some credit.”
“But what if there is real danger?”
Daria didn’t have an answer to that one. And he was confused as to why he ever be put in real danger. He didn’t ask.
“You’ll both be okay.”
He shook his head, “I’ll miss you.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too.”
Quentin let them have their moment. Eventually, they broke apart, and Denzel wiped his nose. He looked over at him and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
There wasn’t anything to forgive, but he said it anyway. “That’s okay.”
Denzel tackled him in a hug, his signature hug which winded him and knocked him off his feet. So crushing it was impossible not to feel his love. Quentin laughed; happy the storm had passed. “It will be just us soon. We need to make the most of it.”
“No more arguing?”
“No more arguing.”
“No more forcing me to fight?”
He stared at the sword. Quentin couldn’t imagine a time when he would ever want to use one, where he had to, and would try. He wasn’t made for big things, he wasn’t made for battle or war, he was made for the humble life, perhaps a cottage somewhere pretty, near a small lake and a little forest, where the fairies lingered on summer days, and the firefly's dance in the night.
Denzel eyes also found the sword. He smiled, but it was strained. “Of course.”
After all, what would he need it for?
-----------
There were many questions that were asked the morning he woke up in the prison cell of Gerudo Town, and he did his best to not answer any of them.
The shame and embarrassment were enough, the throbbing in his head was worse, and he simply did not have the energy to humour their jabs and jokes. All he wanted was some water, and for the sun to stop being so glaringly hot. He wanted to sleep all day and try to bury the wavering memories of the night before in a heavily locked vault.
There were also things he never wanted to forget. Things he doesn’t think he could ever forget. He will never let himself forget how Link opened up to him, bore his soul for Quentin to see, so vulnerable and so brave. He can't forget how his grief was pouring out of him, escaping its constraints. Quentin couldn’t forget how he was there readily to catch it, to scoop it up and keep it safe, holding it against his chest and trying to keep it warm.
That, he would keep. But the rest, getting arrested, getting unfathomably drunk, climbing the walls of the town, and waking up in Vai clothes and a missing cloak, he was happy to forget. Sleep was all he wanted.
Alas, the universe did not want to work in his favour. Today was the day they were to activate Vah Naboris, settled somewhere in the desert, awaiting her pilot. Quentin couldn’t think of anything worse than trekking across the sandy ocean, but he made his bed and he had to lie in it. Link, the evil man he was, seemed to not be affected by their night. The only thing that left him tentative was Quentin himself.He couldn’t meet his eye when they first woke up, and hadn’t spoken to him since.
He hoped he didn’t regret what he shared.
“Water?” His brother said.
Quentin peered at him from under his straw hat, his saving grace, mouth feeling unnaturally parched. “Please.”
If he didn’t feel so unwell, it would be a rather nice walk. There was no more fear, the Gerudo’s were on their side, and the sky was clear. Zelda was smiling, chattering away with Urbosa, who listened to every word. It felt natural like everyone slotted into place.
He took a generous sip of the water his brother had offered him, “Thanks.”
“How did it go? Hangover and shame aside,” Ronan asked because they hadn’t had much time to catch up since he trudged back to camp with a wince and a groan.
He thought about the night sky, Link’s smile, his lips on his hand, and their intertwined fingers. “It went well.”
He must have been smiling without realising, because Ronan shook his head fondly, “Oh to be young and in love.”
Quentin groaned, “I’m not-,”
“I know, I know, you’re not in love. Still. I knew you could do it. All you needed was a little liquid courage!”
“When I’m drunk, I’m much less awkward. When I’m sober, not so much. I don’t think it’s a good solution.”
This is when Impa decided to intervene, appearing beside Ronan rather suddenly, and rather smugly, “I don’t think Link cares if you’re a good flirt or not. And clearly, you’re not.”
“So kind of you Impa to grace us with your input, whatever would I do without it.”
She saluted him mockingly, “I state only the truth.”
“Well, he’s a rather good flirt. He has enough ability for the two of us.”
Ronan scrunched up his nose. Impa snorted. “I would have never expected our quiet knight to be so smooth.”
“Very much so.”
“Was Irwin Baxter smooth?”
He rolled his eyes, “You need to let this go.”
“I’m not sure I can. He was such a little sh*t. I hated him. I just can’t see what you ever saw in him. He once threw a tomato at my head Quentin. A tomato.”
“What’s the significance of it being a tomato?” Impa asked.
Ronan looked confused by her question, “Huh?”
“You seemed overly offended that it was a tomato of all things, but why? Would it have been any different if it was a mushroom? Or an apple?”
Quentin groaned at the absurdity of the question and the fact Ronan answered passionately. “Of course it is. It's about the symbolism-,”
“Right no. We’re not doing this again.”
“Again? This conversation has happened before?”
“Please, let it die.” He begged.
Ronan laughed, “He’s still awful.”
“Next time you see Denzel, you can have a nice bonding session over your mutual hatred. As for now, leave it.”
“When will next time be?” His words were a little quieter, and Impa sensed the conversation drifting onto deeper territories and left the brothers alone.
Quentin thought about that and realised he had no clue. How could you bring five hearts scattered over the land to one spot? They were all connected by the same home, the same blood, the same childhood memories fractured between them, shared around and shaped for each of them. But they didn’t see the same things anymore, and it felt impossible for it to happen again. He hated the idea that they couldn’t.
“I don’t know,” He answered truthfully.
“I want to see you all again. Together. I want Briella to meet her aunts and uncles.”
“And her cousins.” He thought about Oscar and Addie, tucked away in Deya Village.
Ronan sighed, “Daria is still in the mountains, right?”
“Yeah. She loves it there.”
“And Denzel is training to be a knight?”
Quentin nodded.
“Maybe now isn’t the time. But I hope there is something that calls us all to the same place.”
“I wouldn’t lose hope. I found you all, didn’t I? Despite all the odds, I found you all again.”
“You did. And now you’re a scientist reviving a long-lost art. To think, the Brinston's might make something good of their name.”
“Me? But you’re all putting good to the Brinston name.”
“But you’re the only one who will put it in the history books.”
“I will?”
“I don’t see anyone else making elixirs. Have you ever realised how incredible of a feat that is? To be from somewhere as lowly as castle town, and to do something so magnificent? Have you ever given yourself credit for that?”
He shrugged, “Not really.”
“Well, you should.”
“It’s a feat to do what we all did.”
“What did we all do?”
“Survive. Survived that house.”
His brother hummed but didn’t say anything else. They kept walking, and the pounding in his head became less and less furious.
Soon enough, they could see Naboris, waiting for them in the stretches of sand, so much space between them, getting smaller and smaller. Naboris was elegant, a beautiful shape of a creature lost to history, named after an ancient Gerudo hero. Quentin didn’t think there was a more fitting divine beast for Urbosa.
It was like their ancestors knew exactly who would take their places.
“She’s beautiful,” Zelda beamed once they arrived, unsure where to begin. They all hummed in agreement.
Naboris was sleeping, her belly resting in the sands and the entrance readily waiting for them. Quentin had never been inside any of the divine beasts so far, so this was a first. He didn’t think Zelda had either if her awe-struck face was anything to go by. Urbosa cleared her throat.
“What are we all waiting for?” She took the first steps, ascending the platform and disappearing inside.
Zelda eagerly followed her, and then they all went. Quentin thought he was breathless before; it was nothing compared to then. Naboris was majestic. Inside, an eerie silence pervaded the vast expanse, air heavy with the scent of ancient machinery and forgotten secrets. Dull, untouched circuits traced patterns along the walls, a testament to lost Sheikah ingenuity.
The central corridor, lined with massive, ornate columns, stretched endlessly, each of the steps they took echoing ominously through the hollow beast.
Briella’s head was tilted up, mouth open in awe, “This is so cool.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Ronan agreed. They were so small in comparison to Naboris.
While they looked around, too scared to touch anything, Zelda and Urbosa delved deeper into the beast, looking for a way to activate it. Everyone wandered off in different directions, keen to explore.Quentin found more steps to climb and behind, someone followed.
“Do you think it moves?” Briella asked, that childhood curiosity still in her veins. Never lose it, he thought.
Quentin hummed, “They all do.”
“That’s even cooler. How many are there?”
“Four.”
They were walking above everyone else now, on platforms with no barriers to stop them from falling. From below, Ronan yelled to his daughter, “Be careful!”
“I will!”
Quentin smiled and glanced over at her briefly, “How did you find your first official night in Gerudo Town?”
“Hm? Oh, it was fun. Lady Urbosa was nice, everyone was very welcoming. It was great.” She was half concentrated on him, the other half watching her feet as she moved.
There was a but unsaid at the end of that sentence.Reaching the middle, there was a large structure, and he wondered if that was the activation centre. “But?”
Briella sighed, “I missed dad.”
“That’s understandable, it was your first night away.”
“Gerudo Town was meant to make me feel closer to Mama. But her memory doesn’t exist there. Not the memories I have. Me and Dad can talk about her. I can’t do that there. She exists with us.”
It was so sweet that it ached. He found that he agreed. People’s memories exist with them, and one of the best ways to honour them was to remember. He would know. When people passed, that was what they gifted him. A memory, to hold on to, lest it be forgotten. He still had the image of Briella as a tiny baby, held in her mother’s arms.
“You should tell him that.” He spoke.
“Maybe. He really wanted me to like it here.”
“He wants you to be happy. More than anything.” He said reassuringly because he knew that Ronan would keep her without being asked. But Ronan was a good man, and he would never want her to feel like she didn’t have a choice.
He was about to shout to Zelda about what they found when abruptly, the Divine Beast started to move. She rumbled and screeched to life, making him shake. Quickly he held on to Briella and lowered them to steady their balance. She clung onto him, nails digging into his skin. Naboris rose, and he could see through the open doors how high they went. No more sand, only sky.
Naboris hummed with a barely perceptible vibration, a crackling light coursing through the walls and dead circuits. Glowing, they traced patterns along the walls, bathing the chamber in a ghostly green luminescence that flickered like the heartbeat of a slumbering giant. She was awake.
“Are you okay?”
“Hell yes! That was awesome!”
He chuckled.
“Can we go outside?” She asked, and he couldn’t deny her.
They left the inside, welcomed with the sight of a rather charming balcony to the right, with railings and shelter, overlooking the desert from new heights. Each dune cast long, undulating shadows that danced with the shifting light, creating an ever-changing tapestry of gold. The air was thick with heat, shimmering in waves that distorted the distant landscape.
They were so alone out here, surrounded only by vastness and empty land. There was calm in it, knowing there were parts of their world that hands hadn't touched. Nature had simply taken its course.
Briella took a deep breath in, closing her eyes, and Quentin didn’t say anything. She was having a moment, and he was happy to merely exist in it.
“Will you follow your own advice?” She said after a while.
“What do you mean?”
“Will you tell Link that you like like him?” Her eyes were open now, and the mischievous look kids often wore at that age was present. Quentin chuckled, leaning his arms on the railing.
“Oh, so you know too, do you?”
“Dad told me.”
“Of course he did.”
“He told me as soon as you guys arrived. The first night. He said that when you two looked at each other, you seemed to forget there was anything else worth looking at.”
That made him blush. “Well...your dad did always have a way with words.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
He hid his face in his hands, desperate to hide how red his face was, “No! We haven’t even-we're not even- no!”
“Alright, alright! I think you should though.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I would like him as an uncle.”
“I’m not going to marry him just because you want him as an uncle.”
“Oh no, you’re going to marry him because you like him!” She giggled.
Despite the embarrassment still burning on his cheeks, he laughed. He straightened back up, pointing a playful finger at her, “Okay, yes, I like him, but let’s not be too hasty, okay? No marriage talk.”
Briella nodded, “Sure.”
“Right.”
She was rocking back on her heels, restless. “You want to go and tell your dad don’t you?”
“Desperately.”
“Go on then.”
“Thanks Uncle Quentin!” She beamed, rushing off to go tell Ronan how he liked Link. Ronan knew, but she didn’t know to what extent, so he was happy she was happy.
Left alone with the desert and Naboris, he sighed into the solitude. And that was when he saw it.
A ghost.
Cora.
His heart sank.
She was an eerie beacon, stood quietly in the middle of nowhere, staring at him. His pulse raced in his ears.Quentin couldn’t move, gaping at her like it would bring him the answers to why she was there. He wanted to scream at her, he wanted to cry, and he wanted to run.
A bad feeling settled in his mouth. He swallowed, and it was like ash. This was what he feared since they began their journey into the desert. This is what he was trying to avoid. And now it was here, knocking on his door, and he didn’t have the power to keep it shut. It creaked open.
He blinked, and she was gone.
Quentin looked around, confused. Where did she go?
Something bad was going to happen.
And then he realised Briella left, and he was on his own, out in the open, alone, alone, alone.
It was stupid, so very stupid, that this was his downfall.
During his fear, he had missed the grappling hook that was now wedged into the metal of the barrier. He heard the laugh before he saw the mask.
The Yiga.
He should have known. The attacker pulled themselves up from the end of the rope, but it wasn’t who he was expecting. Quentin thought it would be the same one, the one he was growing accustomed to. The last time Cora appeared like this had been on the bridge.
Yet, this was a stranger. Just a Yiga. No one he had met before. Much more dangerous. It felt like she was warning him this time, rather than summoning.
"Oh. You’re already here. Well, that makes this much easier!” They said once landing, taking advantage of Quentin’s dumbstruck state.
Finding his feet finally, he began to run. Only to make it two steps before being dragged back. Quentin tried to scream, but the Yiga was quicker. They covered his mouth, tying a piece of fabric around his head tightly.
“This is very convenient for us you know. We thought we had to go into this thing to find you!”
He tried to kick the legs behind him, but the Yiga kicked him back and he buckledto the floor. “I wouldn’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
Using every ounce of willpower he had left, he struggled and struggled. They were manhandling him like he was nothing, tying his wrists behind his back, but he still fought. Scraping against the floor as a deterrent, shaking his hands, screaming behind the cloth.
But they were stronger than him. So much stronger.
“If you don’t let me tie this rope around you right now, I’ll still drop off this thing and let you fall to your death. So, keep still.”
That made him stop, but from fear, not compliance.
Panic started to bubble in his stomach when he realised, he wasn't being killed, he was being taken.
The rope was around his waist, and they pressed against the railing.
“Are the sand seals ready!” They shouted to someone below. A faint response followed.
“Brillant. Now, I’m going to warn you, this might make your stomach go.”
Quentin always got whiplash from the Yiga behaviour. They could be quite confusing to interact with, and when they spoke, it made it harder for him to forget they were once kids under those masks, conditioned into believing their names didn’t matter.
Link appeared at the doorway too late. At some point, he must have realised that he was left alone, and ran. He looked panicked, and Quentin hated that he was going to make him feel that way. He hoped Briella wouldn’t blame herself.
They made eye contact, and his brain yearned for him, his name echoed through the depths of his soul and hoped it found him. He looked utterly devasted. Quentin was screaming it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s okay.
It's okay.
The Yiga cackled, falling backwards, taking Quentin with him, and his heart left his body.
The entire world swirled around him, the air rushing over his body. They were flying through the air, plummeting to the ground, and he was completely helpless to it. There wasn’t any time to think about his impending death or short-lived life, nothing poetic that came to his mind as he got closer to the ground.
Eventually, they stopped falling, saved by the rope still attached to the divine beast, pulled taut by their weight. They swung a little, less frantic, giving him more time to think about how he was suspended in the air, body victim to gravity at any moment.
“It worked!”
What do you mean it worked? Were you not sure? He wanted to say, but couldn’t.
Looking up, he saw Link standing on the edge, his arrow out, aiming it at them. Why hadn’t he shot yet?
“Better hope he has good aim!” Laughed the Yiga.
Ah.
It was too risky with Quentin right there. And the Yiga knew that.
Link threw his bow down, grabbing the rope.
“What is he doing?”
Climbing down. Link was climbing down the rope.
“The f*ck? What the- absolutely not.”
Getting out a dagger hidden on their waist, they assessed the drop to the ground. It wasn’t too far anymore, and whilst it would hurt and bruise, nothing would break. They would live. Quentin could see them thinking about if it was worth it. He had never been so powerless.
They cut the rope, letting him fall once more, this time without anything to stop them from hitting the ground.
The impact was painful and Quentin was winded, crumpling into himself. Sand flew up into a cloud, fluttering into the air and resettling into its new home. His ankle was what hurt the most, instantly flaring up. Another Yiga was waiting there with the seals, seemingly bored.
“You got him then?” This one drawled.
“Yes, but that bloody knight is climbing down the rope as we speak. We need to get him on the-,”
The cloth had dislodged from his mouth during the fall, and while their backs were turned Quentin managed to drag himself up, running away as fast as his throbbing ankle would let him. He wasn’t done fighting yet.
Using his only weapon, he screamed. He shouted so loud that every corner of Hyrule must have heard him, desperation laced in his voice.He only said one word.
“Link!”
With his hands still behind his back, he wasn’t very quick. The Yiga caught him in no time, hauling him away from his escape. Quentin shouted again, and again, even as the Yiga grasped hold of him, even as they muffled his cries once more, and he continued to cry, continued to shout out.
“Please stop crying, I cannot bear crying,” The bored Yiga said. He choked back a sob.
Quentin wanted to reach out, he wanted to be better.Link was still climbing down, almost close enough to jump down.
“Should we just knock him out? To stop the crying and running?”
The last thing he saw before darkness consumed him was the look on his face when Link realised it was too late. He can’t ever forget it.
Quentin knew too, as the hit came to his head that it was too late. He was too weak and useless to have stopped it, and now he was meeting his fate.
Maybe his dad was right the entire time. He was useless.
