Part II

Life does a man a favor, when it leads him down to the sea.

Two years later, while Linebeck is trying with much difficulty to fight off something he caught from eating bad fish, Jolene torpedoes his ship. He hardly protests when she jumps aboard the vessel and barrels down into the cabin. Before she opens the door to his quarters, Linebeck decides he doesn't want to look at her and solves the problem by stuffing his face into a pillow.

The door opens with a slam. "What's wrong with you?"

Linebeck doesn't budge. "Sick."

"Get up. I have something for you."

Linebeck, owing no loyalty to Jolene, disregards her and continues to admire the cloth of his pillow. Until, that is, the she-pirate drops something on him that feels distinctly like…

Linebeck bolts upright. On his bed crawls a baby boy, on the cusp of toddlerhood, complete with a full head of brown hair and a semi-toothy grin.

"He's yours."

Heart hammering violently like a rogue drum, Linebeck can't seem to stop shaking his head. "No, he's not."

"Yes, he is," she insists. The child grabs a fistful of blanket and stuffs it in his mouth, smothering it in drool. "How can he be? How can you be sure?" Panic gathers in his chest, tight and painful. Air suddenly seems scarce in the room.

It's the wrong thing to say: Jolene narrowly misses a rant and settles for a tirade. "Well, let's see," Jolene begins, sauntering about the cabin. "About two years ago, an old, drunken sailor shows up on my ship while I'm at an important pirating conference and practically begs me to screw him. It's pathetic, but I'm merciful, so I put him out of his misery. Unsurprisingly, he leaves before morning, not even decent enough to buy me breakfast."

Linebeck buries his face back in the pillow but Jolene continues:

"Two weeks later I'm puking like a landlubber and after another two I've missed something very important—and it's then that I realize I'm carrying the baby of none other than the famous Captain Linebeck."

"Oh gods," Linebeck moans.

"'Oh gods' is right. And I tried to get rid of it, so don't start accusing me of being lazy. Tried all sorts of ridiculous, dangerous things. Voodoo potions from so-called spirits of the sea, eating raw, unprocessed chu jelly. But the brat is surprisingly resilient. He must get it from me." Linebeck has made Jolene angry many times in his life—but this is having consequences he doesn't think he's quite prepared for.

"I didn't…know," Jolene continues. Her voice wavers between calm and calamity. "I didn't know—I should have known—that this would happen. I don't hate him, Linebeck. But I don't want him. I can't want him. My life is changing in ways that I can't control."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried," she presses. Defeated, she sinks down against a crate. "I tried, but you are ridiculously hard to track down. Nobody even knows who you are anymore! Whatever happened to the great Captain Linebeck? You're just some drunk nomad I managed to find only by following a trail of high-volume rum purchases and the scent of failure." The child clambers off the bed and stumbles into his mother's unwelcoming arms. "I ended up caring for Junior here longer than I anticipated. He's a year and change. I found it odd that no one was willing to take him from me, even when I threatened them."

Easily picking the boy up and settling him on her hip, Jolene makes her way back to Linebeck. "There's only one other person who can take care of him."

"No." He scrambles out of bed, light-headed, pleading. The ship is stationary and yet he feels seasick. "I'm not a father, you can't do this to me."

"I can. You did this to me, you rotten bastard. If you had stayed, maybe we could have found a solution-!"

"We did this to each other," Linebeck shouts. His own voice rings in his head. "We made a mistake—literally—but I guess you're too busy to even raise your own son."

"I am to busy! I have things to live for!" Jolene thrusts the child into Linebeck's unprepared arms. "You… you don't." Closing her eyes, Jolene takes a step back. "See?" She prompts, gesturing towards father and son. "You look…paternal."

He looks down at the child and then back at Jolene. The disdain in his glare could melt rock. The disdain bleeds into anguish.

"Oh, for the love of Din, would you quit crying?"

But he can't. Next month is his fiftieth birthday and all he has to show for half a century is a rotten liver, a deep-set scar, and a son, unwanted by both his parents.

"You're his mother. You have been for his whole life. Don't you feel anything for him?"

Jolene averts her eyes. Though the she-pirate is the closest thing he'll ever have to a partner, in whatever twisted sense of the word, Linebeck doesn't think he will learn to read her. In truth, he feels he hardly knows her.

"Not all women are maternal," she answers, unsure. "I certainly am not."

"And I'm not paternal!" He cries hysterically. "I'm not."

"He conflicts with my piratical lifestyle. How many pirates do you know with children?" He realizes she's watching him intently, searching for any changes in his bleeding expression. "He's just as much your son as he is mine." The child squirms in Linebeck's arms, reaching for his mother with tiny fists. "He's kind of an idiot, in fact. Which is why I named him Linebeck."

Jaw clean off its hinges, Linebeck balks: "Are you kidding me."

"He responds to it, too," She confirms with a twinge of sick humor. "Good luck trying to change it. Anyway, it should work out if you love him as much as you love yourself."

"I'll do anything. Anything, Jolene. Take all my money, everything, just don't do this to me!"

Jolene takes a step back. Then another. "His birthday is around the eighth day of spring. Just keep him fed and clean. He likes sea shanties."

"Please."

"I'll send money. Occasionally."

"Please, Jolene. I'm begging you." His sickness is too overwhelming and his namesake is weighing him down. Chasing Jolene down fades as an option as she bounds up the stairs and escapes on her own vessel. Linebeck II, as he would later be known, coos and nestles himself into his father's shoulder.

This is the World of Men, where just the strong survive.

Though men at sea tend to be hardened against disaster and catastrophe, the thin layer of courage and durability Linebeck has accumulated has been filed down to nothing over the course of the following three days.

He cries at the drop of a hat: he cries while he cooks dinner, he cries while he tries to give said dinner to his son. He cries when he realizes he has no idea what weaned babies eat. He cries, yet again, when the child calls him "Papa," and tries to cry himself to sleep. His face is hardened with tributaries of salt, but not even sleep will put him out of his misery.

So, the captain just waits. Eyes closed. Breath short.

"Linebeck," says a voice, after an indistinguishable amount of time has passed.

He recognizes the voice easily. This is it; insanity is knocking on his skull, awaiting surrender.

"Linebeck."

When he opens his eyes, he finds Ciela perched on his bedpost, lighting up the sickeningly dark cabin. Surprised, but somehow unperturbed, Linebeck sits upright.

"Where have you been?" With a sense of irony, he realizes that he's not too far off in picking up the conversation they last had.

"Guarding the Ocean, I guess," she answers woefully. "But I've been watching you. And…I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" He snaps. Reunions have never been his strongest suit. "Well you're five years too late. If you had, I don't know, checked up on me, anything, maybe I wouldn't be such a wreck."

With an indignant huff she jumps off the bedpost and lands on his hand. "When are you going to learn that other people can't solve your problems? I'm not responsible for your happiness. I have a lot of powers—as I'm learning—but none of them can make you happy."

Now he remembers how irritating he finds her. "Then why are you even here?"

"Because I missed you," she confesses. "And I was sorry we never got to be friends."

"We were friends. I just wasn't very good at showing it."

"Me either." She falls silent for a beat. Ciela is infrequently quiet, as Linebeck recalls. Very rarely is she at a loss for words. Maybe she's twisting her hands. Maybe she's biting her nails. "So you have a son."

"Apparently." In the corner of the ship, Linebeck II is in a makeshift cradle, an empty crate bastardized into a bed for a bastard child.

Ciela hovers past the sleeping figure and admires him for a moment. "He looks like you."

"I was kind of hoping he didn't," Linebeck answers honestly. "I'll spare you the humiliating sob story, which you probably already know, since you're so god-like or whatever."

Evidently finished giving the child a full look-over, Ciela returns to Linebeck. Sadness drips from her voice like honey. "Maybe… maybe you're more capable than you think."

"How can I be?" He whispers. "Every pet I ever had died."

"Don't be ridiculous."

There's a lull. From somewhere within him, Linebeck produces the courage to find the truth. "I was ready to die, Ciela. I wasn't going to—you know—but I was hoping the ale or a storm would do me in. Now I can't. With no one else to care for him, the kid needs me. I don't want him, but he doesn't deserve to die…but he also doesn't deserve a shit-for-brains, alcoholic old man as a father."

Ciela, out of pity or sympathy, runs her small hands on his thumb. "You're not—"

"Don't cry," he says, his throat pinhole tight in spite of himself. "I'm so tired of crying. I'm so tired of being alone. I used to think that this was what I wanted, but the last five years have been a whole lot of nothing. Link's looking for a new world, you're… doing whatever it is you do."

"You want a use," Ciela conjectures.

"I want… I want…" The truth is that he hardly knows what he wants, and that's what makes him so miserable. "What am I supposed to do?"

Ciela's tiny heartbeat reverberates against his fingers. "It wouldn't be difficult for me to send your ship in a particular direction," she offers. "Out of the Ocean King's domain. I'll give you a strong current and fair weather."

Though it's the most reasonable thing he's heard in half a decade, it simply isn't enough. "No. Um. Could you stay with me? Please? Ciela?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stay here. For a while. Tell me how to raise a kid, keep me company, keep me from losing my mind."

He knows her answer before she opens her mouth.

Always dutiful to people other than him, Ciela answers: "I can't."

"Of course you can't." Now he's hurt. Bitter.

"You know why I can't. You can't expect me to keep you happy, to…change your life. I have a lot of responsibilities as a Spirit. The order of the ocean rests on my shoulders."

"I need you."

He can hear Ciela's disappointment. "No, you don't. You didn't need me five years ago. Loneliness can make even an enemy your lover." An enormous silence blankets the room, not thick enough to hide under. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. And then I'll send your ship in the right direction. Okay?"

"Yeah." He blinks back tears for the umpteenth time and hates himself all the more.

"And Linebeck?" Ciela starts. Linebeck doesn't answer and instead prompts her silently to continue: "I doubt we'll meet again. So… goodbye. I guess."

Slinking back underneath the covers, Linebeck tries with all his might to stay awake. True to her word, Ciela stays with him, curled on his shoulder like a glowing epaulette.

When he wakes, he is again alone.

We're on the foam again, and now we're free.

Extinguishing from his mind the possibility that it was all a panic and alcohol induced dream, Linebeck trusts Ciela, setting course in the direction of the current and allowing fate to take care of the rest. As promised, the weather is glitteringly beautiful. Linebeck II is a month or two shy of a year and a half, so his speech is an indistinguishable garble that hovers between language and nonsense. Surprisingly, he's a fairly good walker, despite using a ship as his primary place of residence.

The boy will frequently ask about his mother, and Linebeck can only remedy the ache by distracting him with make-shift toys: spools of thread, a sack of cornmeal he turns into a doll, chunks of charcoal to draw on parchment (which quickly causes the ship's floor to turn into a mural)…

Though Linebeck isn't sure what constitutes an idiot for babies, he's sure his isn't one, despite Jolene's remark. In fact, he fully intends on teaching him the finer workings of the ship by the time he's five. If anything—and anything is always more than nothing—the kid is good company and entertainment. During the subsequent five days of sailing, Linebeck tells old legends and tall tales; he sings shanties and the younger hums and giggles along.

The joy he feels is masked with thick apprehension. One day, things will not be so simple. Someday, soon maybe, he'll run out of luck.

You'll all batten down the hatches, nothing matches the roar of the sea.

"Would you look at that?" Linebeck beams. The salty fog parts as their ship cuts through the water towards—finally—a destination. On the horizon is a great mass of land, about a half a day's time away. Linebeck II stands steadfastly at his father's side, mimicking his every move. Swiftly (despite his age, Linebeck feels swift again, like a young man) he lifts the boy onto his shoulders.

"On larger ships, they say 'Land Ho!' Can you say that? Land ho!"

"Land ho!" The younger shouts at the sky.

Linebeck's pride is immense. "Perfect! Just like that! My boy, you've got the makings of a fine sailor." Letting fate (or Ciela or the winds or the waters) take hold of navigation has been an exercise in meeting himself once more. He is an awkward father, in a constant state of insecurity, oscillating between tender and careless, but the feeling is surprisingly familiar. At every turn he overlooks novelty and finds only comfort.

The landmass (it's too large to be an island, hugging the horizon with a wider and wider breadth as they grow near) is reached by late afternoon, and as the ship slows and finds its way to a crudely made dock, Linebeck observes the settlement before them: a few dozen log cabins, most with a tiny garden in the vicinity, spot the coast line. A handful of cuccos cluck about, free range. Far, far in the distance is a striking tower that climbs high above the clouds and snow-capped mountains to the north. There is no end to this land.

Two men in bandanas are waving him in as he docks his ship and Linebeck (who has become more cautious than cowardly) considers turning around and high-tailing it into open water when a familiar figure drops his stomach into his feet.

Dressed in perhaps an even dopier green getup, it's Link! "Linebeck! Hey, Linebeck!" It's Link, voice deeper and head higher, but it's absolutely Link. The shore is insurmountably close and he wastes not a second in tossing the anchor down into the waves and drops the bridges as Link practically leaps onto the ship, beaming, out of breath (and are those tears?) and throws himself into Linebeck's arms.

"You're here!" Link says into Linebeck's coat. He may be older now, but the lad remains as youthful and vibrant as the day he last saw him. Even happier, maybe.

"My boy…my boy," Linebeck responds, holding him tighter and tighter. An eternity would have lasted just long enough for their reunion, but Linebeck II cuts it short by tugging on his father's coat.

"Papa, Papa."

Link glances between father and son, a pall of realization soon settling on his expression. "You have a child?"

"Well, yes," Linebeck answers, a half bashful and half exhausted. "It's a long story. I'll explain later."

A toothy grin plastered irreversibly on his face, Link's reaction is one Linebeck could have never anticipated. He hoists the boy onto his hip. "Aren't you sweet? How did you and your Papa find New Hyrule?"

"A ship!"

Link laughs. His face is brighter and happier than Linebeck had ever seen it. The lad is a marvel.

"You found it, huh?" Linebeck surveys the settlement before him. After a lifetime of green spotted blue and the promise of water in all directions, the endless plains and distant mountains are overwhelming. He spots Tetra ordering around a group of men dragging a felled tree trunk along the dirt road.

"This is the Land of the Spirits of Good," Link explains as they walk from the ship and onto solid land. Linebeck II remains on Link's hip, making it look easy. "We've befriended the Lokomo Tribe. They're letting us settle here."

They end their short trek by one of the larger, more stately cabins. Tetra greets them with as much regality a pirate can manage. "It's good to see you again, Linebeck."

Setting down Linebeck II in Tetra's brief charge, Link pulls Linebeck off to the side. His head spins with confused joy and anxiety. "You don't have to make up your mind now, but would you consider living here? We're small now, but more will come sooner than you think."

Linebeck is shocked. He stares vacantly in response.

"I know you're a man of the sea," Link continues, "but there's no reason you can't keep your ship and a home."

Staring with feigned interest at his feet, Linebeck feels guilt boil up in his gut. He gives a non-committal shrug. "I'm a different person, kid. I'm…kind of a wreck. Maybe New Hyrule would be better if I kept my distance."

"I don't care if you're different," he snaps, almost offended. "I'm a different person, too. We can't always stay the same."

Linebeck does not believe this. There is value in stagnation. "I'm telling you, Kid. Bad things follow me. I make disaster."

Link rolls his eyes. "Stop it. I know better than anyone that bad things will happen with or without you. It's up to you whether or not you want to help us overcome them." He pauses. "No pressure, of course."

This makes a surprising amount of sense to Linebeck. "Alright," he grins, and feels refreshed for the first time in an eternity. "I'm sold."

"Really?" Link exclaims. He claps his hands together and begins pacing thoughtfully. "We'll build a place for you and your son, somewhere near the shore, that way you can still travel when you need to. And oh!—How would you like to be a merchant? We'll need one if we're going to be a real kingdom, and no one knows treasure like you. You can set up a trading post of sorts! You know how to appraise treasure, don't you?"

"Yeah, kid. I do."

Linebeck has never been happier.

And the greatest favor life could ever give,

Is to let me live the life I want to live.

The End

(The Song "Life Does a Man a Favor" is from a 1952 musical called O Captain!)