"That's so—that's amazing! I saw farmers doing it…no, sort of, but like this!" The boy shrieked, giggled as he fell and tumbled through the grass he'd been running through. A horde of brilliant blue lights danced after him, some nearly black in color, others nearly white. His hands moved strangely, swinging together in tandem with the movements of the light when he'd gotten back on his feet.
Sheik watched carefully, through a half-lidded orb, as he continued walking.
The lights were flickering, fluttering and blurring as he saw the Poes for what they truly were, stitched-slit mouths curving upwards and chains clanking as they swirled around the boy.
He was a marvel, to watch. Capable of hearing the dead, and able to listen…that was rare. To entertain the Poes so easily, so intently…
"Sheik! Sheik! I—I found a—"
The boy wrapped his arms around Sheik's leg, clinging to him so tightly that Sheik had to stop walking.
He pressed a hand to the boy's head, tugging at the boy's blonde locks so that he looked up at him.
"I found a sc—sc-"
"Scythe."
"Yeah! Well, I didn't find it, they let me play with it. But can you show them? Please?"
"They've done nothing wrong."
"No, not that!" The boy whined, and wrapped all four of his limbs around Sheik's leg.
"What are you doing?"
"Please? They want to see it! I'll be good when we get to the cas—casth—"
"Castle."
"Yeah! I'll be good when we get there!" He said, as if it hadn't been apparent he was going to anyway.
The lights started bouncing excitedly, one of them right off of the boy's head. Iron clattered, hollow eye sockets glinting like obsidian as patchwork flesh stretched. They began to swing in tandem with the boy's heartbeat, their own scythes shimmering, almost visible in the noon light.
Sheik smoothed the boy's hair back, tugging again, considering.
"…Let go."
"No."
The boy wanted to see a demonstration of power. Not for his benefit, though his blue orbs were sparkling enough to make it clear he'd enjoy it, but for the benefit of the Poes. It would soothe their restlessness, especially since Sheik would not be coming back this way for years.
He knew so much, sensed so much, from the dead…
"Get down, Link." The boy pouted, but slid to the dirt without fighting.
"Will you show them?"
"No." The boy's cheeks puffed out, brow furrowing as he glared up at Sheik. He knelt in front of the boy slowly, taking care that his blade and lanterns didn't crash against each other. Link folded his arms over his chest, ducking his head into his chest and refusing to look up.
The Poes stopped circling, paused when Sheik tugged the boy's chin up.
"Why don't you?"
The boy's eyes went wide with disbelief, and then wider with excitement. He launched himself at Sheik, wrapping his arms firmly around his neck.
"Can I? But Captain said—"
"I'm supervising, aren't I?" Sheik murmured, and the boy inhaled quickly, sharply, and tightened his arms around Sheik's throat.
"…What if I don't have one?" He whispered suddenly, the sudden fear in his voice…
Sheik couldn't help but laugh at that, though the boy immediately whined, thinking he wasn't being taken seriously.
"It's not magic, Link."
"Yes it is!"
Well. Perhaps it was, but not something Sheik considered true magic.
He untangled the boy from around his throat, set him firmly on the earth beneath them, and spun him around to face the Poes.
Link clutched at his hand, holding it to his shoulder when Sheik moved to withdraw.
"I don't know how!"
"I know very well what the Captain and the Duke taught you without my permission, Link." Sheik murmured, and the child shrank inwards as if he'd been struck, letting go of Sheik's hand.
He tapped the boy's cheek, making him turn to face him fully. His blue orbs were wide, already swimming with unshed tears.
"You're not in trouble. Do you really think anything those two could ever do would escape my notice?"
"No." The boy's voice was small, hardly more than a whisper, and he balled his hands into fists before rubbing at his eyes.
"I'm sorry. Cap—Captain said it was a sec—sec—secr—" He hiccupped, cutting himself off, and his face screwed up with frustration as tears began to leak free.
"Come, now. You're not in trouble. Stop crying."
"I'm sorry!"
Sheik sighed again, waving the Poes off as they began to swing their not-yet-visible lanterns in wider arcs. He pressed a hand to the back of the boy's head, pulling him close so they wouldn't strike him.
"Do you want to try?"
"But you're—"
"You would know if I were mad, Link." He said quietly, speaking slowly, and the boy clung to him again.
He was a quiet, happy child, though easily flustered. Speaking was an especially large problem for him—not that Sheik could blame him. When one spent most of their time listening, and conversing, with the dead, one did not speak aloud often.
The boy pressed his face into Sheik's shoulder, not responding.
"Show me what you've learned. Show me that they were adequate teachers, that I don't have to make you unlearn everything that those fools taught you."
"That's mean." The boy's voice was muffled, and though his small frame relaxed, he didn't move.
"Prove that it isn't deserved, and I'll apologize." That was a lie. It would be bad to do anything that would make the Captain, or especially the Duke, think even more highly of themselves than they already did. Deflating their ego was always an exhausting task when he returned to Ikana.
The boy clung to him a moment longer before letting go, trying to hide his face as he rubbed at his eyes.
He'd learned that from the Captain, and it was a habit Sheik had been working hard to break since they'd left. Ikana was a place of warriors and soldiers and kings, and they'd taught the child their ways. It was not the way of the Sheikah, and though the boy wasn't one of his own, Sheik found himself trying to teach him.
How he loathed himself when he caught himself doing it.
Sheik stood, let the boy collect himself as he swung his blade off of his back and let it rest on the dust at their feet.
"Okay. Um, you'll—you'll help me, right?"
"You won't need any help, if they taught you right." The boy puffed his cheeks out again, but nodded and shuffled around to face the Poes again.
They were all still, waiting curiously. Watching the exchange.
Link drew in slow breath, and spread his hands out in front of him, palms facing down and fingers curled around empty air.
He started humming after a moment of absolute stillness, face scrunched up in concentration.
That was new. Sheik had let the Captain and the Duke and the boy keep their secret, but he had watched closely. And they had taught him nothing besides concentration—not that Link had ever attempted to summon his power before.
It was a tricky thing, but with the boy's affinity for the dead, Sheik had no doubt he would have very little trouble with it.
Slowly, the Poes vanished one by one, blue lights flickering wildly as their movements slowed and sighing through black-strung smiles as they disappeared. Slowly, a long thread of blue light began to glow in the boy's hands.
It was tricky business, putting souls to rest. Sheik captured them in the same manner Link was doing now—simply put them in his blade, or if a Poe, in one of the many lanterns he carried. If they were still sentient after a certain period of time, he released them in the Shadow Temple, or in Ikana—but most slept, passed on to the Goddesses during their confinement.
The boy was pulling the Poes into a form of a sword, nearly as long as he was tall. It shone, the blue color so dark near the hilt that it appeared purple—and with a sudden, soundless snap, became solid. The boy hit the ground with it, crying out as a long thread of iron links jingled, pooling atop him.
Sheik suppressed a smile.
The blade was much more elegant than his, the blade so white it glowed a pearly almost-blue reminiscent of the Poe souls that had forged it.
Well, he said forged, but…created. Made, to be more accurate.
The boy lay where he was for a moment, and then scrambled to his feet, drawing in a huge breath—and then froze, staring at the weapon lying at his feet, the chain clutched in his hands.
He was proud of the boy. He had accomplished a difficult feat, one that should have been impossible for him.
And then the child looked up at him, looking absolutely betrayed.
"But it's not a sc—sch—"
Sheik laughed until he couldn't breathe.