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adrift-in-thyme · 4 months

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Febuwhump Day 9: Bees (Wind & Legend)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury and torture

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“Well, isn’t this just so pleasant? When I woke up this morning, I said, ‘You know what I wish? I wish I could spend my day in a cell that smells like sweaty men and thousand-year-old bananas.’”

Wind can’t help but roll his eyes at Legend’s sarcastic drawl. He doesn’t like it either, of course. Being cooped up in the Yiga hideout isn’t how he wants to spend his afternoon either. Time had promised to spar with him and he had been really, really looking forward to it. But there isn’t much they can do about it now.

If the assasins had tied them up with ropes, then they would have escaped hours ago. Wind is no novice when it comes to undoing knots. But chains? Their smithy would be better equipped to handle that sort of thing. And, unfortunately, the Yiga had only gotten the jump on him and Legend.

“What do you think they want anyway?” he asks if only to distract his brother from continuing his lament about his spoiled afternoon.

Legend lets his head fall back against the wall with a pouty clunk.

“The champion, probably. These guys hate his guts.”

Wind cocks his head. From this angle, the pile against the far wall suspiciously resembles human bones.

“Because he’s a hero, right?”

“Yeah. Because he’s a hero.”

“I wonder if they hate all heroes then,” Wind says, thoughtfully. He doesn’t really care, to be honest. But anything to keep from pondering the mysterious objects and substances strewn about the place. “Or if it’s more of a one-person thing. Like they only hate Wild, cause he foiled their evil plans.”

“The first one, to tell you the truth,” comes a voice from the space right in front of them.

Wind jumps, red hot pin pricks traveling down to encase his scalp, neck, and arms. Beside him, Legend goes rigid.

A Yiga assassin bursts into existence in a cloud of red papers. He raises his hands the way Wind and Aryll used to when they were presenting one of their plays to Grandma.

“You know one hero, you know them all,” he drawls. “That’s just the way of things. Which works to our benefit, actually.”

“Oh good,” Legend snaps. “Since you’ve figured out the inner workings of us heroes, you must know that we’d never give anyone up to you. Especially, a brother. So, if you’ll just take these chains off, we’ll be on our way.”

The Yiga chuckles. He squats down in front of Legend, leaning forward so that his face is inches from the veteran’s.

“I like you,” he hisses. “You have spirit. It’ll be fun to make you scream.”

Legend pales, though he manages to keep a scowl on his face. The Yiga digs his fingers into the hero’s shoulder and hauls him to his feet. Wind’s stomach lurches.

“Don’t hurt him!” He shouts, scrambling up. He wishes he had his sword and shield, his boomerang — something to get them free. “He doesn’t know anything!”

It’s a hopeless attempt and he knows it. But it still feels like a punch in the gut when the Yiga throws back his head and laughs.

“Oh, he knows things, I’m certain of it. You both do.”

He shoves Legend toward the door, then grabs Wind by the ear and pushes him in the same direction. Wind sends him a blistering scowl, which he pointedly ignores.

“Walk, you two,” he growls, shoving his sickle into Legend’s back. Exchanging an exasperated glance, the heroes stumble forward.

The assassin forces them down a set of stairs and into the main room. A small group of other Yiga awaits, formed in a semi-circle towards the middle of the floor. They spread out as their companion nears, allowing them room to enter their little huddle. Wind can practically see their sadistic grins shining from beneath their masks.

For all their comic obsession with bananas, these guys give him the creeps.

One of them grasps him by the shoulders as he walks forward and yanks him to a standstill. He stumbles, lifting his head just in time to see the original assassin practically drag Legend into the center his Yiga companions have made.

The veteran trips over a bump in the floor and tries to catch himself. But the assassin delivers a swift kick to his shins that sends him sprawling.

“Vet!”

Wind lurches forward, fighting to reach him. His captor holds him fast, however. And he can do nothing but watch as Legend picks himself up, face pale and eyes glinting.

No sooner has he gotten to his feet than he is back on his knees, gloved fingers holding him down and in place.

“I will now ask you a question,” one of the Yiga purrs, stepping forward on cat’s feet. “And I hope, for your friend’s sake, to only have to ask it once. Where is the Hero of the Wilds?”

Wind catches Legend’s gaze from across the room and holds it.

I’m sorry.

Amethyst irises darken in determined resolve. Pale lips press tighter as he nods once, short and quick.

“You know what to do, sailor,” he calls.

He does. Wind takes a deep breath. He does know what to do. But it’s gonna take everything he’s got to do it.

“I don’t know,” he says. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

He can tell even through his mask that the assassin holding Legend has narrowed his eyes. In the next second, a sickle gleams. It swoops down like a graceful gull, heading straight for Legend’s middle. Wind doesn’t even have time to scream out a warning.

It slices through tunic and flesh and keeps going, ravenous for more. But the Yiga won’t allow it to satiate its appetite. He yanks it out. Blood splatters the floor. Beneath the overhead lights, it looks similar to the rubies Wild likes to collect.

Legend’s eyes go wide. He chokes, a cry begging to break from between bloodied lips.

“No!” Wind screams, jerking to get free. But a dagger finds his neck and abruptly, he stills.

Cackles echo around the room as Legend sags in his captor’s grip. His face is deathly pale now. When he raises his eyes to Wind’s, however, that fierceness is still within them.

“You see the pain that your friend is enduring,” the assassin hisses, tilting his head. His grip on Legend tightens and a low whine emanates from the veteran. “So, spill it, boy, before it gets much worse for him. We know that you know the answer. Where is Link?”

“Maybe you weren’t listening before, because I told you I don’t know where he is!” Wind retorts. It’s a battle to keep his voice steady, but he manages. Contrary to what some of the heroes think, this isn’t his first time facing the enemy.

…though it is his first time watching a brother be tortured. That’s an experience he could have done without, thanks very much.

The assassin motions. One of the Yiga moves. Quick as a flash, he zips forward, and brings his weapon screaming across Legend’s cheek. His skin splits open, a gleeful crimson smile beneath his left eye.

Something between a growl and a half-scream bursts out of Legend. He curls in on himself, bound hands clasped into fists. His breath comes in tight little gasps that make Wind’s chest tight.

“Every time you refuse to cooperate, we will create a new mark on him,” the assassin snaps. “So, I suggest you start talking. Unless, of course, you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

“You bunch of sadistic idiots,” Legend croaks. “Did you not hear him? He doesn’t know anything.”

Another Yiga rushes forward. And this time Legend screams. A large gash runs across his arms and chest, cleaning separating the collar of his tunic from the rest. Blood oozes from it, only worsened from his weak attempts to pull away.

Wind feels his breakfast rise into his throat. Desperately, he drags his attention from his brother, even as blood runs down Legend’s body and drips onto the floor, even as he drags in wheezing breaths between clenched teeth, scream tapering off into a whine.

He has to find them a way out of here before it’s too late. And there must be one, there must be…

A small disk of gold glitters not far from where he kneels. In the rush of fear and fight for bravery, Wind hadn’t noticed it. But now it holds his gaze.

Legend has used something like this before, he realizes with a spark of hope.

“Tell us where he is!”

It is another assassin now, pushing forward and shoving the previous one aside. He reaches out and clamps his hand around Legend’s throat. The veteran chokes, face flushing and breaths gurgling.

“Tell us or we break his skinny, little neck!”

“Not yet! We still need him!”

“Well, the kid isn’t talking. This’ll make him real chatty.”

Slowly, carefully, Wind stretches out his leg. His foot connects with the hard object and he begins dragging it towards him.

Little by little it comes. And still Legend gasps. Still, he struggles, trying to tear at his captor’s skin, to kick at them, to escape. Still, his blood drifts away to pool beneath him.

“I can’t tell you!” Wind shouts, even as the hope within him grows and blossoms into something larger. Almost. He almost has it.

“I don’t know!”

Two more agonizing seconds tick past. Legend’s face is completely red now, eyes bulging as he tries and fails to fill his lungs with air.

Panic whirs in Wind’s ears, making him lightheaded. But the disk is within his reach. Gnawing his lip, Wind nudges it into his palm.

He doesn’t spare a moment to look down at the designs etched upon it, doesn’t give their attackers even that long to realize that he has found a way out. He takes a deep breath and feeds some magic into it.

It heats in his grasp, hungrily taking the power he offers and turning it into something useful. Something mighty and fierce and…

Wind’s eyes widen as a hoard of small flying things catapult out of his palm. The room fills with a deafening buzz as their wings beat together, propelling them towards their targets. Screams and shouts of terror quickly follow.

The Yiga scramble back, desperate to evade the stingers outstretched to pierce their skin. But they are not even close to as fast as the bees.

For that is what they are. A swarm of furious, yet very courageous bees.

The Yiga’s hand leaves his shoulder, the dagger falls to the floor. Seconds later, his chains fall with it, unlocked by the crafty bees. They buzz happily at him as Wind leaps to his feet, a triumphant shout on his lips and a thankful grin on his face.

The room is chaos. The Yiga try to fend off the vicious insects, swiping at them with windcleavers and sickles and daggers. But their weapons are useless against them. Even when they manage to strike down one, one hundred more appear, each angrier than the last. But never once do they harm Wind.

They part as he rushes to Legend and the only thing he feels is the wind of their wings.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a bee medallion?” He cries, grinning. “This is the coolest thing ever, vet!”

Legend looks up at him as the sailor drops down beside him. He lies in a pool of his own blood, eyes half-lidded and skin as pale as a redead. But he manages a small smirk.

“Never needed to,” he croaks. “Never thought I’d use i-it again. ‘Sides one of you would wanna borrow it.”

Wind reaches out to rest a hand on Legend’s arm. All his joviality is gone now at the sight of him, replaced instead by horror and sorrow.

“‘M sorry, Legend,” he says, sudden tears flooding his eyes. Roughly, he brushes them away. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Legend’s hand encloses his. He tries not to focus on the dampness of his fingers, or the crimson that smudges against his skin.

“You did good, sailor,” the veteran whispers, breath hitching on the last word. “You did real-really good.”

Wind smiles through his tears. “Well, I’m gonna do even better.”

He squeezes Legend’s hand and gets to his feet. Their pouches and weapons are propped against the far wall. Squaring his shoulders, he breaks into a run, headed toward them. With luck, one of them will have a fairy or potion remaining.

“I’m gonna get us both out of here.”

#I could’ve sworn there was a bee medallion in alttp #turns out i mixed up the good bee with the medallions that DO exist in the game #that’s what I get for trusting my memories of a game I played while sick with covid XD #anyway just pretend he like…made one of something #*or*#anyway #sorry this is late #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 9 #blood tw #injury tw #torture tw #linked universe #linkeduniverse fic #whump #angst #trin writes #lu legend #lu wind

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