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bokettochild · 3 years

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We need more Time and Wild bonding

For you, Anon! And also for @1142 who requested the same thing!

Summary: Time sees his family, friends and other loved ones in his boys, but Wild especially is reminding him of himself this morning, and he wants to offer some encouragement to the poor kid.

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It's quiet to read alone, listen to this!

Epona’s song drifted through the cool morning air.

The sound brought a smile to Time’s lips as he snuggled closer to the warmth pressed beside him, breathing in the clean morning air and tugging the blanket up higher on his shoulder.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

Although, he didn’t remember opening the bedroom window last-

Wait. They weren’t on the farm! They’d gone to sleep in the forest last night! There was no window to leave open, and no Malon singing or lying beside him. He shoots awake, pulling himself up with the intent of looking around camp, only to have something pull him back down towards the ground.

Looking down, he feels his scarred heart melt. Twilight twitches in his sleep, arms locking around his shoulders, sleepily groans sounding as the lad hangs off him, cold nose pressed to his neck. Tiny, whuffling snores sound from his pup as the younger man nuzzles closer, and he can only chuckle softly and rub his protégé's back lightly as he settled back down to let Twilight sleep.

He is curious who had been singing though.

A single blue eye takes in the camp as he props himself up slightly on his bedroll, careful not to disturb Twilight as he takes in where each of his boys lay.

Legend and Hyrule lay curled into each other, Legend clinging to his protégé while Hyrule’s hands lay buried in his mentor’s silky hair, a smile on the face of the younger and drool on the face of the elder*. Warriors lies close by, sprawled across his bedroll and snoring fit to wake the dead, utterly content and comfortable in the safety of his brothers and proving it with his noise. Opposite the three, Wind and Sky curl close, Sky’s sailcloth and their blankets thrown over the two leaving only Four’s left foot visible from between them.

His pup curls close to his side, one leg thrown over his waist and arms locked tight around his shoulders, holding him in place and preventing him from rising, but the bedroll on his left...

Epona’s song continues to dance through the camp, and Time’s single eye finally falls on Wild, the cook busily scrubbing out his favorite cooking pot on the very edge of camp, the familiar tune dancing off of the young one’s lips, suds rising halfway up his arms and hair thrown back in a messy bun that reminds Time strongly of Lullaby’s own hair when the woman loses patience with it. Decorum be shot, the queen will throw her own hair back with a simple hair tie in front of the whole court, ignoring how it makes her appear and continuing her duties without hair hanging in her face and her neck free from the oppressing heat of its constant curtain.

If ever he doubted that Lullaby and Shiek were the same person, each time he sees his princess behave in such a way, he’s reminded that, different time lines or no, there is still the same fiery spirit and passion for change in his friend that there had always been, and it is something he is happy to see reflected in some of his boys, along with Malon’s stubborn personality and incredible strength and kindness.

Maybe he is looking for the traits of those dearest to his heart in the boys that had pushed their way in. Be it by force or by accident as the hero might be, but it brings him no small joy to see Lullaby in Legend’s sharp glares or in Warriors’ brisk manner when planning. In Hyrule’s swift fingers or Wild’s sharp and calculating eyes. To see her in Four’s dark eyes, always thoughtful, always knowing, or in Sky’s burning passion.

It’s a wonder to see Malon in Wind’s boisterous cheer, and in Twilight’s rolling laughter. To see his wife’s mischief reflected in Wild’s luminescent gaze or her love of life in the way Legend cares for his orchard and animal friends. And the glimpse of unbelievable strength in Four’s easy lifting of weapons as big as himself, or the echo of her in the firm set of Warriors’ shoulders always makes him smile to himself.

There are others at times. Saria in Hyrule’s smile. Kafai in Wild’s laugh. Romani in Wind’s eccentric ideas, Nabooru in Legend’s firm stance and heavily lidded gaze, Navi in Sky’s light scolding and Tatl in Four’s acerbic wit. Glimpses of home and family echo around him, pulling close what reflected it and making them home and safety themselves. And over it all he can hear the winding of tunes that both tore apart and hold together the memories of his youth.

And now, one such tune, one especially close to his heart, one meant only for the Lon family and their famous steeds, dances over the edges of the camp and past the ears of the sleeping heroes as Wild lifts his cooking pot and carries it over to the fire, singing softly with faint and muddled words, many of them wrong, mumbled or tripped over, but sung all the same as food winks into being from the champion’s slate.

“-ne-ver far from home. Epona, Epona, can you hear hmm hmm, singing from in my heart, hmm-hmm-hmm.” Mumbled hums break the words as the champion works over the fire, measuring and stirring. “Something if you’re wandering far away hmm-hmm, listen for this melody calling you! Re-mem-ber that you have something-or-other to complete! I trust hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hm!”

The muddled version of the song makes him chuckle softly, startling the younger hero into spinning around, the spoon that Sky carved him brandished like a weapon as the champion prepares to defend himself against whatever he thinks may have startled him. Face beet red and growing redder.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

Wild looks instants away from combusting on the spot. “hOW- How long were you awake?” Gone are the stumbling yet melodious trills of the cook’s voice, instead replaced with a panicked squeak only made worse by his age.

It was like the first time he’d successfully startled Shiek, both of them both still so young that their voices broke under pressure, and the thought makes him smile as he meets the startled child’s gaze.

“Long enough.”

Wild’s ears droop, quivering with shame and embarrassment as the kid’s shoulders hunch up to brush against them, eyes darting down and refusing to meet Time’s as boot scuffs the dirt softly. “I thought you guys- that is- I thought it was-” Cornflower blue glances up, meeting his own for only a second before darting away again. “I thought it was safe.”

Safe? What does the cub- Understanding dawns and he finds himself chuckling low and soft. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“It’s not that.” The champion whispers. “I just- I don’t like people...hearing.”

Oh.

Also familiar, also so very familiar. Only this time he doesn’t see his wife or sisters and brothers, or mother or friends in the flushed face of the hero before him.

A squeaky voiced young hero, who’d pulled his cap over his face more times than anyone would guess when looking at his scarred face now, had time and again been encouraged by a darting blue fairy.

“You’ve got a lovely voice Link. No shame, come on!”

Of course, fairies always like hero their Chosen sing, but Time himself had, admittedly, stumbled over notes and keys nearly as badly as his pup still does, but he’d lacked any of Twilight’s playful self-confidence to be able to own up to the harsh squeaks and shrieking chirps that erupted out of him whenever someone else tried to get him to sing, or caught him singing.

He was fine, when Navi was fast asleep or the Kolkiri were half a forest away, or when it had just been himself and Epona, trailing through the dark woods in search of a light he’d have given anything to hear encouraging him to keep trying to raise his voice. It’d been the first time he’d really tried to Sing for his fairy, but it hadn’t done anything but tempt over two fairies who already had their own Chosen, a skullkid who’d pulled him along into a world where his voice had hidden with his face behind mask after mask.

It took Malon catching him singing while at work in the barn before he’d been able to et the guts up to actually try for her, but it’d been worth it when he hadn’t had to fumble with fancy words to ask her to marry him, not when there was a song and a dance just for that that he’d learned for Kafai while in Termina. Malon made his heart sing, but she also made him sing, and while her voice far outdid his own, it always made him happy to hear the two ringing together.

He’d once hoped, once he found out, that he’d one day hear Twilight’s voice rise up with theirs on some starlit evening, but after hearing his pup sing...

He loves Twilight like a son, but heaven forbid he ever force his wife to listen to that tone deaf mess!

Wild though, oh, Malon would love to tempt Wild into singing and guide him along until his voice could ring with hers. The child had the voice of a fairy, ethereal and inhuman, but in a way that made him feel light and airy and almost like he could fly.

“Well...” He wants very much to stand and walk over to Wild, but he was still trapped and Twilight was both a brick and incredibly strong, leaving him trapped until his pup is good and ready to wake up, something he fully believed Wild would prefer to prevent happening for the time being. “I can’t not hear it, Wild.”

“Try?” The kid pleads, eyes wide and face nearly purple from embarrassment.

“It’d be an insult to whoever created the voice to do so!” The words spilled out before he could stop them. He was supposed to reassure the kid, not make him panic more by pressuring him! “That is- Wild, you have the voice of an... I suppose Legend would say “an angel” whatever those really are. To be frank, I wouldn’t choose to forget it if I could.”

“I’m not a good singer.”

“Bullshit.”

The newest hero’s gaze shoots up to meet his own, shock written across scarred features at hearing him swear. “You-”

“Don’t tell Warriors.” He whispers with a wink- blink- whatever, it was meant as a wink, and hopefully Wild would read it as one.

“You swore.” Wild breathes

“And you lied.” He returns. “You’re a good singer. Confident, maybe not, but I thought I heard Maon when I first woke up, and unless you want to tell me that my wife has a poor singing voise-”

“No! Of course not!”

“Settled then.” He smiled. “You’re a good singer.”

The champion stares at him, ears twitching slowly and eyes blinking as he processes the words, before a light scowl pulls at the kid’s scars as he crosses his arms. “It- no!” At the grin he shoots at the kid, Wild whines softly. “Dad!”

Both freeze at that. Or rather, Time blinks repeatedly, shocked, and Wild’s hands fly up to his mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

“I’m sorry!” Wild blurts out, still hiding behind his hands. “I slipped I-”

Laughter, deep and rumbling enough that Twilight is happy grumbling against him in response, sounds through the camp as Time throws his head back. He can’t stop it, but he will embrace it. This is the best morning he’s had in ages and Hylia have him if he doesn’t take a moment to enjoy it! “You’re fine, Cub. I’ve been called much worse than that more than once. Unless of course,” He grins at the young hero, brows pulling down in a mock stare, even if he can’t hold his smile back to be convincing. “You think I’d be a bad one?”

“No! You’re an awesome- You’re going to be-” Wild is somehow redder than he was before and he stomps his foot almost petulantly as he catches on to the laughter that still rumbles in Time’s chest. “Time!”

“I don’t mind.” He rumbles out, and more than anything he wants to walk over and ruffle the kids hair, or wrap him in a hug, but he’s trapped by Twilight, and instead can only lift his free arm in an offer that Wild hesitates to take. He’s almost considering lowering his arm and rescinding his invitation when the champion barrels into his side, face buried in his shoulder as Golden hair fills his vision.

“I hate you.”

“Such disrespect to your father.” Time scolds playfully, gently pinching Wild’s ear and making the champion giggle at the touch. “What will your Mamalon say?”

“Ma-” Wild sits up again, staring down at him in confusion. “Mamalon?”

His lips pull into a smile again, something he’s done more this morning than he has nearly all week. “Something Legend calls her, which I’m stealing because she and I both like it.”

The champion’s eyes trail down to where scarred fingers still tangle into his tunic. “Can I call her that too?”

“Well,” He chuckles. “If I’m your Father Time, I think it’s only fair she’s you Mamalon.” At Wild’s smile he smirks. “Ad she’ll be delighted to learn you already know the family song, if only in part. Her mother wrote that for her you know, and I’m sure she’d love to teach you the rest of it. She taught it to me after all, and I used to sing as poorly as Twilight!”

Wild’s mouth opens and closes a few times as a light blush colors the kid’s cheeks before he shyly nods. “I’d- I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” And breakfast or no, Time thinks the others can wait for a half of a minute to eat after waking up, because if Twilight’s going to pin him down than he’s going to return the favor with his other son.

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the-haven-of-fiction · 7 years

Text

The Prize, Ch. 8

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London. Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama (Written as an experiment in the heaving bosom/bodice ripper vein)

Rating: T (non-explicit sexuality/mild violence in later chapters)

Author’s Notes: Friendly reminder that I am not a “W”riter, I always feel like I can’t describe what I see, and your imagination needs to be on High right now. Only half beta’d, all mistakes are mine. I promised I would post it before I went to bed and I’m exhausted, should probably go back and edit when I have fresh eyes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

“Tom!” she exclaimed upon seeing him enter the library, “Come see what Fred- uh, Mr.Kingston has brought me!”

His Christian name.

She had just caught herself using his Christian name.

And she was cradling an armful of new books.

That were from him.

Tom wanted to march over to her and tear them from her hands, throw them into the fire, wipe every trace of memory about that man from her mind.

She was smiling, eyes dancing with excitement as they always did at receiving such gifts.

The intimate way she referenced him, the present of the books, and the embrace…

They could only mean one thing.

It was too late.

“You can’t marry him.”

The smile disappeared at his words, words that were uttered as a command, words that sounded harsh and imperious. Words that he knew were wrong, but that he couldn’t stop.

“You can’t marry him,” he repeated with a nod and took another step towards her.

He was horrified when she matched his step with a backwards one of her own and she drew the books to her chest, as if she read his mind and knew his intent and was trying to protect them.

And herself.

Her eyes were now flaring in alarm. She was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

“What?” asked in a tone rife with true confusion.

He said it a third time, hands clenched, the image of Mr.Kingston’s arms around her burned into his vision, the reality of his temporary physical limitations in reference to his slinged arm making him feel still more helpless.

No!

Not my Madeleine!

“I can’t?” she said as her brows furrowed.

He shook his head in affirmation of her question.

“I can’t allow it.”

The expression on her face was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Incredulity, indignation at his assertion; and rightly so, for it was the first time he had spoken to her in this manner.

“You can’t allow it?” she asked, stunned.

Their exchange at the ball rang through his memory.

“He is not the man who is worthy of you.”

All reason disappeared from his mind. The fear from the last couple of days was suddenly overtaking him again. Fear when he couldn’t rouse her after the accident, fear that she was injured or worse, this new fear that she would truly be lost to him forever.

“You have known him for such a short time. You do not know what you are doing. You are not in full possession of the facts.”

This was going all wrong. Terribly wrong.

He had imagined this scene so many times, for so many months now. He had imagined a lovely, mild evening exactly like this one. He had imagined them together in this house, where she was mistress and nothing would disturb them. In the perfect scenario, the best and most hoped for, he had imagined confessing his affection with the ardent wooing of a lover. He had imagined her flushed with surprise and pleasure at the sweetness of his address, not repulsion and anger at the arrogance of his accusations.

Do something! Say something! Tell her the truth!

“Madeleine, I –“

“The facts, Thomas,” she interrupted, spitting out his name as if it were the bitterest pill in her mouth, “are these. Firstly, this is my home and I will not be spoken to in such a manner, not by you or by anyone. Secondly, I am fully capable of making my own decisions without your approval. Lastly, the conceit you are revealing in this unprecedented display, as though you hold by natural right or my personal consent the power to dictate my choice of husband, is astonishing. How dare you, sir.”

Her voice was shaking by this time.

He was paralyzed.

“Mr.Kingston is a good and honorable man, one who has never spoken to me with anything less than respect and the highest form of gentlemanlike decorum, with anything remotely resembling how you have just now spoken to me.”

He wanted to shake himself from this sudden nightmare. He wanted to turn back the hands of the clock for these last few minutes and start afresh without stubborn masculine pride and stupidity.

“Not even my brother would do as you have done.”

She spoke now with a dreadful sadness, all anger had abated as swiftly as it had sprung.

Madeleine. no.

My darling Maddy, no.

No, this isn’t how it should be.

Please, let me explain.

But she closed her eyes and turned away from him, not seeing that he found the will to move and was reaching for her, silently pleading for her forbearance and forgiveness.

“You have insulted me, you have insulted the affectionate acquaintance between us in the most offensive manner. Please leave.”

Oh, no.

No, don’t send me away.

“I can not bear to be in the presence of someone who has carelessly trod upon a friendship of so many years.”

Friendship. That is all this was. That is all it will ever be now.

“If you have any part of the gentleman remaining in you from that time, please do as I wish and leave.”

You are a blundering fool and you have destroyed your chance. Don’t cause her further pain.

He forced himself to obey, to leave her in a state of bewilderment and self-reproach.

How had this happened.

How had he let this happen.

In mere minutes he had laid waste to every noble intention and hope for a future with her.

How could he possibly repair what he had destroyed in those minutes.

With only a few words spoken in pride, fear, and jealousy.

Words that should have been spoken in love, honesty, and respect.

He exited the library, bumping into the doorframe in his haste, sending pain shooting up his arm into his shoulder. He strode down the hall and into her other favorite room on the first level.

It was dark and he stumbled to the tall mullioned windows and pulled back the drapes to let in the first rays of moonlight. They fell on her mother’s harp and the pianoforte where he had sat with Madeleine and she had taught him to play. He had taken to it quite naturally, surpassing her own skill in a very short amount of time.

He lifted his good hand to the keys. They caressed the smooth ivory for a moment while he attempted to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Playing always soothed him. He composed his own music when was alone. She was the only one who knew among his family.

And now…

Now she would never know that it was all for her.

He would never be able to tell her that every note bore her name.

The tune that his fingers began was one she had not heard.

It had only been heard by another.

By the one he thought could replace her.

He had not played it since that night.

That terrible night when she had turned away from him, as Madeleine had done, and quietly asked him to leave. As Madeleine had done.

He did not think he would play it again.

But it came unbidden, rushing through his mind and out of his hand in a flood, so different from all of the others.

And those words came unbidden, the words before she had turned away, when she stood next to him as the final chords faded away.

“This is not for me, is it?”

She had been so sad when she spoke, as Madeleine had.

It had been obvious to her. It had been obvious that the progression of notes was teeming with love that was unsure, with desire that was unmet. It could not be for her.

He grit his teeth in frustration at his injury, wishing he could put both hands to the instrument and release, by that action, his heart from this tempest.

When he looked up minutes later, she was there, observing him from the threshold, as he had observed her dancing in the library that morning.

Madeleine.

My Madeleine.

There were tears in her eyes, as there had been in Lucie’s.

For Lucie’s tears, he had felt guilt. He had felt shame.

Madeleine’s tears were infinitely worse.

He had wanted to soothe Lucie’s tears so that his own errors and feelings of disquiet would be soothed. With Madeleine, he wanted to soothe her tears because he had caused them and because…

Because he loved her.

He rose slowly from the bench, waiting to see if he was going to be granted a reprieve. Although truthfully, it would not matter what she said; he only wanted her voice, her eyes, her attention on him. He was the young child who craves the notice of the one he loves, who would submit to any criticism, any correction, anything. If only he could be in her presence.

“There’s no need to leave your place there, I simply wanted to tell you that I am quite tired and I have asked Mrs.Copplan to send a tray to my room with some supper. She will provide you with whatever you require for the evening.”

The coldness and detachment in her voice struck him keenly. Before he could speak, she murmured her goodnight and he stood and listened to her light footfall until he could hear it no more.

A lonely, miserable evening was before him. The dining room was quiet during his solitary meal. He missed their lively chatter across the table, he missed her enjoyment of the first supper when she returned home. Although he was not engaged in conversation, the cacophony inside his mind raged. Normally he would have gone out for a ride, but her objection to the activity that morning at the inn kept him on solid ground. He opted for a stroll out to the gardens again.

By the time he reentered the house, he had a plan. He knew her. He knew her gentle and forgiving nature. He knew her to be gracious, to be understanding. He would simply have to trust in all that he knew of her, in all that he had learned and come to love about her over the years.

He was about to climb the stairs and retire for the night when it crossed his mind that some reading might also help to calm him. Surprise filled him as he made his way down the hall and saw light coming from the room. Perhaps…

His hope was realized when he slowly pushed open the door and saw her curled up in one of the large chairs by the fireplace, a shawl adding another layer to her nightgown and robe. There was a book in her hand, but it was resting on her lap and she was staring off into space.

Ordinarily he would have attempted to leave without her noticing him, not wanting to cause her any embarrassment about her state of attire. But after last night, when she had so boldly appeared before him in a similar state at the inn, and with the current storm between them, he decided it was not something to be given much thought.

He cleared his throat and her gaze met his.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she stated flatly, although her voice had a slight quavering. “I never can sleep when someone is…when I have…”

He saw again that she was on the verge of tears and this time he was determined.

In a few short steps he was in front of her, knees hitting the carpet. Her eyes widened at his movements and he took the book from her lap, closing it and setting it on the table beside the chair. His hand covered her own. He picked up each one in turn, pressing them to his cheeks, needing to feel her soft skin against his.

“Madeleine. My sweetest Maddy, please, do not cry. I am a fool and I am not deserving of your tears. Will you give me a few minutes? Will you grant me that? Let me explain.”

She was still from his first words to his last, her breathing steady throughout his speech. She listened with patience, looking at him as if she would give him all the time he wanted. She listened as he began at the beginning, listened as he gripped her hand, clinging to it like a lifeline to a drowning sailor.

He told her of the slow progression of his feelings, of his fears of harming the familial ties between them, of his endeavor to let her go and his trip to France, of his jealousy of Mr.Kingston, of his conversation with Elton. The clock on the mantle passed from one hour to the next. Still she sat and listened.

“Can you forgive me? My behavior was abominable and I promise, I will never act in such a manner again.”

She nodded, somewhat overwhelmed and not quite able to speak. He bowed his head as a penitent receiving absolution and shut his eyes in relief.

A weight lifted from him, but a wave of shyness rolled in and the final entreaty he had planned to give remained unspoken. He had shared with her everything that there was to share, laid himself open and honest before her, confessed his love. All that was needed was to inquire if there was any chance that she could return the depth of his affection. And be his prize.

He looked up at her, opened his mouth to ask that most vital questions, but she brought her fingers up to his lips and shook her head.

“I have heard enough.”

Oh, God, no. It’s too late.

He moved to stand, to flee like an embarrassed child.

Her next words froze him to the ground.

“And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to kiss me.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fan fiction #the prize #the prize chapter eight

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