Junior watched over the other Heroes as they slept. He was supposed to be asleep as well—so long as he had the Master Sword, he could keep the Light Force active even in sleep—but recent events plagued his mind. A lone keese flew into the spherical wall of light that surrounded their small group, then shrieked and fled.
He wanted to protect them. He wanted to keep them safe.
He wanted to do something.
The metal of the red blade was cold on his hands. He curled his fingers around the edge, cupped his palms until— He hissed, a new shade of red mingling with the tempered steel.
He looked at his father. Sound asleep, not six inches away from him.
He closed his eyes as the tears trickled down his face. He had to stay for them. Had to help them.
It, really was the only thing he could do.
Salt mixed with trace amounts of iron as the tears dripped from his face. He was a coward amongst giants, only useful because of his heritage. Reassurance stung when it should have assuaged. Even after his own journey he still felt this way.
Was this normal? To carry this burden after the journey was done? To never settle. His father seemed to have adjusted, at least in his own time.
He shifted the blade in his hands, then stopped. Why had his dad been brought here so young? He hissed again. Slow, steady breaths.
That would do, for now.
Junior carefully set the blade on his lap. Picked up the bottle of ointment and fresh bandages he'd laid out just in case. The cuts would heal quickly, and his gloves—fingerless, like his dad's—would hide the bandages in the meantime.
He'd already given his dad enough grief. He wasn't about to worry him more.