Disclaimer: I don't own The Legend of Zelda

Warnings: part 5 contains stitching a wound. I am assuming that it is not horribly graphic because I spent more of my time not-researching and going "but isn't there some way I can learn enough about how stitches work to write fake TV medicine without having to look at any pictures or, you know, actually learn anything about how stitches work?" than actually googling. But maybe you want to be forewarned or you want to scroll right past the fifth section so now you know

Five Times Link and Fi Took the Scenic Route
or, Five Times Link and Fi Were Just Screwing Around

one

The heart of the Sealed Grounds bubbles in a mass of roiling black tendrils-darkness and teeth-and Link is late.

He's late. He can hear the mantra pounding in his ears: you were late, boy. Except Impa's not here and really it's just the sound of his pulse beating out a pace for his feet.

He runs, headlong, and the thump of his boots against the gentle, spiraling slope of the Sealed Grounds doesn't keep time with the thump of his heart in his ears because he isn't anything like running at all. He's fighting through every lunging step like slogging through sinksand. And over the edge, down below, Link can see the Imprisoned rising up from the ground and turning to swallow him down.

"Master Link," Fi says.

Darkness and teeth.

"Master Link," Fi says again, "I detect a 95% probability that the sailcloth has become too tightly wrapped around your neck. I highly recommend that you remove it immediately to avoid strangulation."

There's something bright green on his trousers, he registers gradually. A Faron grasshopper, creeping across Link's thigh, and he watches it while his eyelids drift half-shut.

Fi starts again: "Master Link, you must wake-"

The grasshopper snaps off Link's leg with a dry whirr when he squirms, sitting up and tugging at his collar until he's got the sailcloth shrugged away from his throat. He swallows, and he coughs at the lingering sensation of choking.

Link looks around the railing of the viewing platform, towards the Great Tree, where the sun is throwing long morning shadows across Faron Woods. He wipes the grit from the corners of his eyes and pushes himself to his feet.

Fi tucks her legs in, hovering just out of range as Link starts shaking out the sailcloth. "Master," she says, "my records indicate that your complexion is precisely one and a half shades paler than usual. Evidence suggests that you have suffered a nightmare."

Link nods. He holds the sailcloth up against his front and brushes at the stubborn bits of moss and lichen still clinging to the fabric.

"Do you wish to discuss the content of this nightmare?"

Link's not sure what there is to discuss, really? Since he's been having the same sort of dream for a while now, and he's sealed the evil back into the ground for a bit longer at least.

He grins at Fi as he folds up the sailcloth. It's actually kind of handy-the mornings when nightmares wake him up early and he doesn't immediately curl back up and sleep in-so Fi doesn't have to be his alarm clock.

Fi doesn't say anything for a moment, while Link sticks the sailcloth back in his pouch. He walks around to the front of the bird statue he's spent the night tucked against, in order to offer his prayers properly. The way Zelda always tells him to when she's there with him.

Fi drifts closer to hover beside the statue. "My data shows that the climate in Faron Woods is very temperate, and the nighttime temperatures remain adequately warm. Calculations indicate that there are no significant health benefits in using the sailcloth as a blanket. I suggest you reserve the use of honorable Zelda's sailcloth for safe landings."

Hm. Link thinks maybe Fi is trying to tell him not to strangle himself in his sleep, but sometimes with Fi it's kind of hard to tell.

She's not wrong-camping out in Faron Woods is pretty much perfect, just like Skyloft, and Link almost never bothers with a blanket back home. But the sailcloth is-it-

It smells nice.

Link knows it doesn't, really. Since the day of the wing ceremony he's dragged Zelda's sailcloth across earth and sky, through forest and volcano and desert, all the way around the actually-really-large world and back again. That day when she first untied it from her shoulders and handed it to him is very far away now.

But still, in his mind, it smells-nice.

So Fi probably won't care if Link uses it as a pillow instead, right?

Fi vanishes over his shoulder, as she does, back into the sword. "If it is your desire to reunite with honorable Zelda at the earliest possible opportunity, Master, I advise you to continue your exploration of previously inaccessible areas of Faron Woods immediately now that it is morning and sufficiently light."

Link smiles. It is his desire, and today he's going swimming.

two

"Master Link," Fi says, "I believe your Beetle is not intended to make that noise when it operates. I highly recommend that you inspect it immediately."

Link squints into the glare of the sun hanging low over Lanayru Desert. He's never quite figured out how it is the sun manages to constantly shine in his eyes here, no matter what point it's at in crossing the clear sky-when there's that dense and endless cloud barrier separating Skyloft and the heavens above from the surface down below. But the surface is beautiful and strange and fascinating and with all these things to marvel at Link's not particularly bothered about whether it makes sense or not.

He shades his eyes, and it doesn't look like the Beetle is flying weird or anything. But when he listens, Fi's right. The hum of the machinery isn't so much a steady whir as it is that noise Mia makes when she's prowling around Skyloft at night.

The one right before she jumps Link.

He calls the Beetle back to his wrist. Once the wings stop moving and slot into place Link pries one up, squeezes his eyes shut tight, and blows into the mechanisms. Pinpricks of sand whistle free from the gears and out of every crack and crevice, stinging against his cheeks and his nose and his forehead.

The desert is full of sand and sand is full of getting into everything, Link is learning.

Fi watches him swipe the back of his hand over his face. "I am detecting a 5% increase in your body mass since entering the Lanayru region. I advise you divest yourself of the excess weight."

Link twists one way and the other to look at the desert around him, and then he stows the Beetle back in his pouch. There's nothing in the vicinity that's going to try to kill him, as far as he can tell-not even the sand-so probably Fi's got the right idea.

So Link unbuckles his sword and his pouch, and kicks off his boots, and pulls off his hat, and grabs the hem of his tunic to shuck it over his head, and strips as much as he can before Fi starts saying: "Master, I must repeat again that I do not advise you to remove all your clothing for extended periods of time, so as to avoid damage to your skin from the sun."

Link hasn't gotten sunburned yet, so he isn't really worried. He bends over and closes his eyes and ruffles his hands through his hair. His scalp is gritty with sand under his fingertips. It's still fairly gritty when he's done, but it's almost impossible to be thorough with the constant breeze sweeping across the desert and kicking up billows of sand, so Link doesn't bother trying.

He's still finding sand in his hair and the seams of his hat and the linty corners of his adventure pouch from the last time he visited Lanayru Desert.

He shakes his clothes out one by one and redresses-pants, undershirt and mail shirt and tunic, arm guards, hat. Link smacks his boots against his palm and dumps out all the loosened sinksand. He empties out all the pockets of his adventure pouch, and then he sweeps the insides with his fingers for sand and lint and tries not to repack too much of the desert along with his items. Then Link refastens all his straps and belts and stands still so Fi can evaluate him.

Fi nods. "Your current state is a 90% improvement over my previous assessment. I suggest you now resume your search for the trial gate."

Well, that's good enough for him. Link unsheathes his sword and extends his arm, holding it level over the sand.

And then he stops.

Link wants to know if Fi can calibrate his dowsing to search for water instead. It doesn't have to be sacred water, although he knows she can do that one really well. If she could just make the sword point him in the direction of regular water for now, that would be great.

"Master," Fi says, "your dowsing ability is currently calibrated to point toward the gate for the next trial. If you require hydration, I advise you to make use of the water you placed in your bottles during your last return to Skyloft."

The thing is, Link doesn't want to dowse for water because he's thirsty.

Link wants to dowse for water because he's heard that Lanayru ants store water deep in their nests, and he thought maybe ants wouldn't be something Fi could help him dowse for. But she could probably definitely let him search for water hidden underground, and then he'd know where to tug on his digging mitts and get to work.

Because, see, Stritch seems to really like Lanayru ants, and it makes him happy when Link brings him some, and also he pays Link pretty well for it. And trying to get to where Zelda is is turning out to be kind of expensive, because Fi is always telling Link to make sure he's properly equipped so he won't get killed, and this usually means buying things, and so maybe he needs a better source of funding than whatever rupees he can find combing through the grass or turning over rocks or lost in weird corners.

Plus the goddess keeps leaving behind chests of rupees for the benefit of her hero, so Link figures that maybe acquiring money is actually something really important he should be doing?

Link watches the lone ant that's now exploring the edge of his boot in starts and stops, antennae waving. Fi watches too.

"For the benefit of your search for Zelda I have recalibrated your dowsing abilities for one hour to target sources of water," she says. "After which time, Master, I highly recommend that you conclude your business transaction in Skyloft and return immediately to your objective of locating and passing the next trial."

three

Link messes up the landing, badly, and he's kind of really glad there's nobody around in the thunderhead to see it. He's still a knight in training and a senior student at the Academy, even if he hasn't actually attended a single lesson since the Wing Ceremony.

His Loftwing follows behind his dive, coasting in a gentle spiral to touch down on the ground beside him. It preens for a few moments, while Link doesn't get up, before it nips at the tip of his ear.

"Master," Fi says, because Fi sees everything, "I calculate a 90% probability that you would avoid this type of injury if you would employ your sailcloth properly."

Link is sprawled and winded on the Isle of Songs, hissing under his breath. He keeps his eyes shut until he can feel the grass under his cheek, poking into his face, scratchy against his nose and in his ear. Then he squeezes his fingers tight and pushes himself to his knees, and then his feet. He's aching and unsteady still, but he stays upright.

The thing is, Link's supposed to be growing and proving his courage and wisdom and things like that so he can open the Gate of Time and follow where Zelda's gone. And he remembered standing on top of the Statue of the Goddess after the Wing Ceremony, when Zelda told him that if he were really brave, he'd wait until the last possible second to open his sailcloth.

The thing is, Link hasn't quite pinpointed the cutoff yet between the very last second he can still land safely and the seconds right after that.

"Master," Fi says, "I calculate a 90% probability that despite attaining Nayru's Flame you have not yet achieved sufficient wisdom. Please look to your personal growth in this area."

Link laughs a bit through his wincing and smiles.

His Loftwing butts against him, and Link strokes its head before he begins to pat himself down to make sure nothing's broken. He's not really hurt at all, just sore and stinging with scrapes and catching his breath still.

Fi watches him. "According to my estimates, you have not sustained serious injury from your fall," she says. "Are you sufficiently recovered to continue your mission and learn the song that will lead you to the third trial?"

Link nods, and from the corner of his eye he catches the white fluttering of an end of the sailcloth. He hurries over to grab it from where it drifted when he didn't quite get his feet swung under him before he crashed into the ground and let it go. It's kind of funny the way his heart leaped and his stomach went all funny and weightless in that split second when he realized he'd screwed up and he wasn't going to slow down before he hit the earth.

He's never felt that fear facing any of the monsters and dangers and bodily harm that have stood between him and Zelda.

"Master Link?" Fi says.

He folds up the sailcloth, and nods again, and whether Link is brave or wise or just a foolish child the thing he wants most of all is to see his best friend again. And that is probably the most fearsome power in the world.

four

The small crescendo as Fi materializes from the sword launches all the birds pecking in front of the Sealed Temple into the air in a single tiny thundercloud. Link lets his arm fall, his bug net brushing against his leg, as he watches it rise and scatter and disappear rustling into the trees and bushes at the edge of Faron Woods.

Fi watches them too, before she turns to Link. "My projections indicate a very low chance of success in using your current technique to acquire bird feathers. Master, would you like me to analyze your success rate with this particular strategy?"

Link remembers something he heard Rusta say in the Lumpy Pumpkin, about music soothing savage beasts. Link tried it in Skyloft after the sun set-drawing the goddess' harp on the monsters instead of his sword-but the thing is Link's never seen a real harp before the day of the Wing Ceremony, and music lessons aren't part of a knight's education at the Academy, and maybe just running his finger back and forth across all the strings every time he comes across a swarm of Blessed butterflies isn't exactly practice enough.

The thing is, the little wild birds in the woods aren't exactly savage beasts either.

So Link wonders, since Fi is a good singer like Kina, if she knows any songs that are good for soothing birds and making them not fly away before he gets close enough to snatch one up in his bug net. If it helps, he'll put his whole heart into accompanying her on the harp.

Fi says, "According to my data, these small birds common to the surface startle easily at sudden movements and are quite quick in flight. As they are unused to human contact, it is highly unlikely you can approach them before they flee. If you desire to catch one, Master, I suggest you first acclimate them to your presence in a quiet and nonthreatening manner before attempting capture."

Link guesses that means Fi doesn't know any songs like that after all.

Before he can pull out the goddess' harp to see if he can pluck one out of the strings himself if he just strums long enough, there's footsteps on the wooden platform above.

"Wait, seriously?" Groose crouches at the edge of the rail and looks down, and Link twists around to look up. "That's what you've been doing for the past hour? Zelda's gone who knows where, and Grannie says all your seal's done is buy a bit of time for you to get there, and that big ugly could break free again at any moment and devour the world and it's all up to you and-and you're just standing around catching birds?"

Link nods.

Gondo said he'd upgrade the Sacred Shield and make it more durable if Link brought some little bird feathers in to the Scrap Shop. And Fi is always telling him to make sure he's properly equipped so he can stay in one piece and actually complete his mission as the chosen hero of the goddess and reunite with Zelda.

Link thinks Zelda would probably like to see him all in one piece when he sees her again, too.

Catching birds is taking a really long time, though. Or not catching them. As the case may be.

"Why don't you just grab some off your bird next time it preens?" Groose says.

Link tried that, but Gondo knows the difference and he said only feathers from little birds that flutter around on the surface, like his grandfather told him about, will work right.

Two birds fly overhead, dark against the bright sky, and alight in the grass further down the slope. A third swoops down to settle on Groose's shoulder.

Link thinks that if Groose took a break from building his secret weapon for about maybe five minutes and came down to where Link is, Link could probably get all the feathers he needs.

Groose follows Link's eyes, and then he rolls his shoulder. "Go on, little guy, get!" He looks back at Link, once the bird flies away and there's nothing else using him for a roost.

Link may not exactly be the completely useless aimless self-important daydreaming lazy empty-headed blight on Groose's ambitions that Groose once considered him to be. But Groose isn't dumb enough to just stand around and let the guy smack at him with a bug net.

What Groose actually says is: "Tch. Look, what I've gotta do is finish constructing my awesome weapon so you won't worry your pointy little ears off about Grannie and the Temple being defenseless while you're off catching birds and setting things on fire and doing all that-hero stuff."

Groose slaps his hammer against his palm and turns away, because those planks aren't going to nail themselves into place. "I saw you single-handedly stuff that monster back into the ground," he calls. "So I got faith you can catch a couple of tiny birds all on your own. Just, you know, stop waving that net around like a lunatic and scaring them off."

"Master," Fi says, "I concur with his observation. If you minimize your movements, I calculate an increase in the probability that these birds may grow accustomed to your presence in their surroundings. With patience, one may come near enough to your net that you are able to capture it before it can fly away."

Link is good at patience, or else he is good at staring off into space and daydreaming. One of the two. They're pretty much the same thing. Either way, he sits down in the grass and rests the bug net across his knee.

He watches the birds and waits.

The sun is warm and his clothes are still stiff in patches with sea salt and what is most likely tentacle slime, and Link doesn't have to wait long.

There is a small bird tugging at the sleeve of Link's mail, peeking out from beneath his tunic and gleaming in the sun, when Groose walks by to fetch another load of planks. Link is sprawled on the ground, fast asleep, his fingers curled loosely across the handle of his net. A second bird is picking at the netting.

No offense to the goddess and everything, but Groose is pretty sure they're all screwed.

five

The first thing Link does is press himself against the wall and pick off the rest of the Bokoblin archers. Then he wipes the bloody arrow on his pants and tucks it into his quiver.

Waste not want not, after all.

Link leans against the wall and wipes his sweaty face on his sleeve. The fireshield earrings are really great, and he definitely appreciates being able to breathe the scorching air inside the volcano and not combusting and all that. But it's still hot in the Fire Sanctuary.

"Master," Fi says, "ten minutes have elapsed."

Fi is good at things like keeping track of time, much better than Link is. He gives her a grin, and nods, and slowly peels his cap off his bare thigh to see if the bleeding's stopped yet. That's not exactly what the green cap of his knight uniform is meant for-staunching blood. But for a lack of anything better to press over the wound, Link figures he can probably wash the blood out if he comes across any more of those water bulb plants growing in the sanctuary. Most of the blood, at least.

The arrow caught him by surprise and just a bit above the knee. The gouge in his leg hurts to look at, reddish and raw, but the blood isn't welling up anymore. A good sign.

Link's already here, and he wonders if he can just push forward, and find the last flame, and finally reach where Zelda is, and everything will be fine.

Fi doesn't wonder. "Master, I highly recommend you stop and tend to your injury to reduce the risk of infection, as well as a further risk of failure to achieve your goals."

Link kind of figured as much.

It's a good thing Link snitched that needle and thread from Zelda's sewing basket, that time when he accidentally let himself into her room through that vent in the ceiling. Although to be honest, at the time he only borrowed those things because he thought they'd be handy if he needed to repair her sailcloth.

She told him to take good care of it. He wished he'd asked Zelda to give him a lesson in sewing, back before all of this.

Now Link really wishes she'd taught him anything.

(He wishes she were here, while he's at it, because he misses her.)

But Link is nothing if not a fast learner, so he digs into his adventure pouch for the sewing supplies.

He knows he's supposed to wash out the gash on his leg before he does anything, but he's kind of entirely out of water at the moment and also that's what Luv's heart potions are for. They taste pretty bitter, with a metallic tang that reminds Link rather of volcanic ladybugs-which also explains the vibrant color-but they do fight off infection, in addition to being an effective analgesic and masking blood loss and fatigue. So he'll probably live.

Link doesn't really want Fi to give him the exact figure on that, although he knows she could calculate it in a snap and she'd be happy to offer.

Link notices the fire lit in one of those golden stands, so he compromises. He passes the needle through the flame a few times to sterilize it, at least, before he threads it.

"You have touched the needle with your unwashed hands in order to thread it," Fi says. "Your efforts to sterilize the needle have now been rendered null."

Fi's got a point. But doing so still makes Link feel better-apart from singeing the tips of his fingers-much like concentrating on Fi's voice while he works makes it easier to keep the needle moving.

"I do not understand your reasoning, Master," she says.

That's okay, because it's not really a matter of reason or understanding. What matters is Link's about to start his third stitch when Fi says, "Master, according to my data I can infer an 85% probability that you are using the wrong technique. A continuous stitch is not the most suitable for closing a wound. If the thread is to break, the entire suture will be compromised. I strongly suggest you secure each stitch separately."

Oh.

Link sees now why Zelda grumbles so much whenever she has to rip out stitches when she's made a mistake. He wonders if she'll grumble when she sees her sailcloth when they meet again. The Fire Sanctuary isn't exactly the place where Link wants to put in all his sewing practice.

Fi says, "I advise you to take more time to properly observe your surroundings, if you wish to avoid being shot with arrows while further exploring this place."

Link grins, and he ties off the last knot, and he examines his learning curve as he takes a swallow of heart potion. His handiwork isn't nearly as beautiful as the things Zelda makes. But it isn't bad, and the stitches look like they'll hold, and Link's sure-beyond all reason-it'll get him there in one piece.

and one

Link doesn't count the seconds. He doesn't count his steps, or his heartbeats, or each inhale and exhale and the way the leather of his sword belt sort of creaks and his mail shirt jingles softly as he jogs through the blue-lit darkness.

Fi would know, Link is sure, if he asked her. Fi keeps track of these sorts of things.

He does not.

But Link knows that all the numbers are less than a thousand, and meanwhile, Zelda sleeps for thousands of years until Link's boots touch the solid stones of the Sealed Temple once more.

He wonders if she dreamed.

He wonders if she's dreaming still, and what she's found to fill all that time. He wonders if her dreams are wider than the sky, and deeper than the clouds, and stranger than the Surface world. He wonders how many lifetimes she's lived, without him.

Link wonders if Zelda's dreams are nice.

Over his shoulder he hears Fi rousing like wind chimes in a breeze. "Master Link," she says, "when I examine my data I can conclude with great probability that the spirit maiden does not dream while maintaining the seal. It is most likely that her Grace-honorable Zelda-initiated the trance knowing that a moment later she would open her eyes to your face once more, or never awake at all."

Link flexes his hand, the one that still tingles a bit from Zelda's blessing, while he considers that. Then his face breaks into a slow smile, and he nods.

Fi always guides Link well and she's pretty much never not-right, so he's sure that's how it is. He's sure Zelda's sleep is just another shortcut and she's skipping ahead of them again. And he's glad this time he's not kept her waiting, thousands of years too late.

Link curls his fingers into his palm and hurries down the steps, looking for the old woman of the temple. Maybe she'll have more advice for him about where to turn next. Because Link wants to get where Zelda is as soon as possible-to where Zelda is opening her eyes and saying they'd better stop messing around and hurry back home now.

did you know you can actually listen to this story being read to you in a non-professional manner if you were to go to someplace like sobdasha dot tumblr dot com slash tagged slash Five-times-Link-and-Fi-were-just-screwing-around ? Well, you can! The words are like 98% accurate, I am sorry I am lazy and working with Audacity is a battle and reading aloud is actually really very hard. The version as narrated in my head is different and also better but unfortunately I cannot do miracles and this was kind of fun regardless.