Revali stared down at Urbosa's grave, still unsure how he should respond to her loss even after all these years. There had been a time when he would have shrugged it off, but that had been long ago. Now the idea of equating her death to nothing more than an inevitability was sickening to him. She had meant far too much to him for that. And yet, he knew that at some point he would have to acknowledge that her death had indeed been unavoidable and was always going to be a fact of his life. He had always struggled with painful truths.
In the beginning, he had hated her. She had given him no end of grief for just about everything that he did. She teased him, berated him, and browbeat him at every opportunity, something that grated on his nerves relentlessly. All of that, however, was nothing compared to the thing that infuriated him the most. She had a way of catching him in moments of weakness, during which times, she had tried to show him just how much she cared by trying to figuratively hold his hand. After he would shun her open support, she would find a subtle way to help him get back on his feet.
More than that, she would express disappointment in him. It wouldn't be in the fact that he hadn't performed admirably on the battlefield, but instead when he mistreated someone or made a poor choice. It may have been veiled by snark and sarcasm, but it was there all the same. By that same token, she also expressed approval when he would do well, letting the Rito Champion know that he was living up to her standards for him. He had hated it when her encouragement had made his heart soar.
It wasn't until much later that he realized that Urbosa's nature terrified him more than angered him. Her insistence on lecturing him, nagging, and her unwillingness to accept anything less than his best were hazardous signs in his eyes. They warned him that she was trying to fill a void in him that he would have rather left empty. He had done his best to refuse her attempts to worm her way into that hole because the creation of the hole had nearly torn him apart. He wasn't sure that he could handle it if the void was filled and then recreated. Besides, he had been certain that mothers weren't supposed to act like her.
He had always thought mothers should always speak kindly. Sure, the late Gerudo Champion had spoken kindly sometimes, but there were many times where she had spoken harshly. He had thought a mother was supposed to lessen the impact of a child's mistake, to let them know that it was okay. Urbosa would spell out exactly what he had done wrong and the effect it was having. A mother was supposed to guide a child away from things they wouldn't excel at. Urbosa would haul him back to his feet, tell him to dust himself off and command him to try again. The infuriating woman refused to accept anything less than his all. Anything less, and she would browbeat him into trying again.
The most frustrating thing was that she somehow made him want to try again. To earn that approval that had somehow come to mean so much to him.
He had been certain that her interest in him had been based solely on the worry that he would somehow embarrass her. It wasn't until she had chased him across Hyrule to pick him back up after he had foolishly challenged the corrupted Vah Medoh alone. Both Daruk and Urbosa had given him a very prolonged lecture about the stupidity of the action, and despite the anger he had seen in her face, he also saw lines that hadn't been there before. Lines born from worry.
After the incident, he had taken a risk and had let her in, little by little. It was difficult at times, as the further he let her in, the more she sought to change him; however, he had also begun to understand a bit better the true nature of her treatment of him.
He didn't know how she saw it. He had spent so long building barriers around himself to keep others out that he didn't think anyone could see him for who he was, yet she somehow knew. He came to understand that her teasing, her lectures, her expectations, all of it, was a symptom of her genuine care for him. It was in his looking back that he found the most important aspect of her love for him was her lack of complacency in him. She pushed him so hard because she had somehow seen exactly who he could be and was unwilling to let him squander it. It was the most unexpected gift he had received, but also one of the best.
As the years had gone by, they had grown closer. Every year for her birthday, he would take the time to visit her and would even bring her a gift. Though he had downplayed the significance of the action in his own mind - as was his nature – neither could truly deny the meaning behind it. Once, after he had given her one of the gifts he had made for her, he had seen her place it gently with all the others he had ever given her. Each of the items had its own place, and his eye for detail could see that each was meticulously taken care of. Neither ever admitted verbally how important they were to each other, but they didn't need to. It was understood on a deeper level that they shared a bond beyond that of mere friendship. It was something he could only ever understand within the confines of his own mind.
She was his mother, and he was her son. Though he never said it to her, he knew that the woman understood the role she played to him.
Some aspects never changed though. She still tried to ruffle his feathers, she still lectured him, and she never lost her "affectionate nickname" for him (though he knew that it was indeed affectionate). No matter how much it "annoyed" him, he wouldn't have changed it for anything. The little moments where she would roll her eyes as she muttered an annoyed "Feathers…" was just as much an effect of their relationship as her patiently listening to his fears of having a child of his own when he and his wife had discovered they were expecting.
It had worried him as the years continued to fly. He had watched her grow frail, and it had troubled him greatly to see the way their roles had flipped. Now she needed him and the others to take care of her. It had never occurred to him that one day, she would be unable to properly care for herself the way she used to. He had been so used to viewing her as the strong, unconquerable Champion that Hyrule had remembered her as. However, even time was determined to wear her down.
The other Champions had been far too busy to care for her. Zelda was trying to rebuild after the Great Calamity while Link and Mipha had slowly eased into their new roles as parents while also taking over for the quickly declining King Dorephan. That left only Revali to care for Urbosa. And so, he had relocated his family to Hyrule Castle, where he often found himself walking with Urbosa's arm wrapped around his as he helped her move through the massive halls of the restored castle. As she continued to deteriorate, he helped to feed her and even bathe her. It was stressful for him to try and balance her needs with his wife and child's, but he had somehow managed.
Her death, though expected, had shocked him to his core. It was one of the few times he could remember shedding tears as he felt the void that had been filled return. This time, though, it was different. Rather than losing a role, he had lost the person that had filled that role. It hurt more than he could have imagined, and yet the memories he had of her helped to ease that pain.
Mipha had told him that the weight of her loss would lessen as time went on, yet some days, he was still nearly crushed by her loss. He could no longer rely on the teasing and the lecturing, the eye rolls and nicknames. No longer could he confide in her the same way as he had before.
He visited her grave every year, but, much to his dismay, he always felt more disconnected from her there than he had anywhere else. Maybe it was the lack of memories, or perhaps it was that her body had been lain there but the woman herself was no longer present. Sometimes, he wondered what he wouldn't give for just one more day with her.
"You still miss her, don't you?" He looked up to find his wife standing next to him.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"You know, my brother said something to me the other day," she continued as her fingers intertwined with his own. "He told me that meetings inevitably lead to partings- "
Urbosa had told him that once. He had always hated the saying because it meant that each person he came to care for would eventually have to leave him. It was a saying that meant that sorrow was the conclusion to every relationship.
"- but he also said that most people forget the second part. He said that yes, meetings will inevitably lead to partings, but partings lead to reunions, and in that time between parting and reuniting, the heart would grow fonder," she finished proudly. It had always made her happy when she could repeat something Kass had said, especially when it was applicable to something in their life.
Revali looked back down at the grave before him. He missed her dearly, and he knew that would never change, at least in this lifetime. At the same time, however, her words provided a comfort that he hadn't been expecting to receive.
"Let's go," he murmured quietly as he turned away. His wife's words echoed through his mind as he walked away with her. Usually, he felt only the sorrow as he left her burial grounds, but this time, he felt something else. His steps felt lighter as he finally began to hope. He had gotten caught up in her loss, so much so that he had forgotten to hope. Now, as he stepped away, he mourned her loss just as much as he looked forward to the day that he would be able to embrace his mother once again.
As the Rito Champion continued his journey, he was unaware of the person that stood ever at his side. She set her ethereal hand on his shoulder and gave him a fond smile as she looked forward to the day when she could embrace her son once again.