Link and Mido's First Fight

None were more lost than to recall the first time that that temperamental, hot-headed Mido had first swapped words, or fists, with his embittered foe the motpellop named Link of Southolt. One day it was assumed that they just met and did not like each other. As such, this is that story.

Mido saw himself as the chieftain of Kokiri Village, and so used his loud mouth to rally dimwits and sully respect from them. He wore a small, pointed cap whose point was quite accentuated and a respected trait in a Kokiri's garb: as well, he wore a set of trunks, a tunic, and a tough set of boots. His fairy was called Saphire, and she did not get in the way of his antics (instead, she thought it best to let him 'wear himself out'). Since the Great Deku, their creator and protector, said nothing against the lad's own self-proclamation, many others did not either. But he was not the model lad of the tribe. He was arrogant, very short-tempered, and prone to bossing others to adhere to his rules. The others would roll their eyes if he joined them, for it was Kokiri law that no other Kokiri was refused admittance to any game. But he was still a nuisance that no one could fix, nor want to. As for the model boy, he knew him very well, though— and loathed him. But this lad was not his foe. Not at all.

The day they met was a spring day. Mido resigned to gallivant around the village after an unlucky game of cards, as was his custom in many games whether the advantage was his or not (today, his own cards were against him). And so he set to strolling around his village—yes, his village—to release his temper on some effect, and within ten minutes, probably longer, he had forgotten all his bitterness. Not because his span of victory was one coin toss less fortunate and sore to him as a man's is to a man, rather because a new and powerful interest took his mind off it for the time— just as man's misfortunes are forgotten in the wonder of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued novelty in skipping stones, which he had just acquired in that moment from Sofort at a pond, minding to wait until the lad was bored and deserted this play for another, at which point the auburn-haired chieftain assumed suffering to practice it undisturbed. It consisted of rehearsed, synchronized whips of his upper dominant hand, its sequence beginning at the shoulder through the elbow to wrist, with a twitch and flick to send a polished wedged stone-piece across the water, successively in bounds against its surface, and as far as the laws of physics allowed such venture— the reader probably remembers how to do it if ever was a boy or girl. Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he barraged the minute aquatic with his hands a-plenty of terrestrial artillery, and his soul was gratified. He felt as much as a scientist feels who has discovered a new life—no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed satisfaction is concerned, the advantage was with Mido, not the scientist.

The spring evenings were chilly and short in Kokiri Forest, and its derision of sustained frivolity seemed to pester him as he depleted his munitions. A stranger was before him—a boy a tad bigger than himself. A newcomer of any recollection of either gender was an impressive curiosity in the expansive village. This boy was the queerest of them all. He was dressed in their shades of green and brown, tunic and shorts complete with boots— rather drab and hand-me-down, but appropriate. His hood was larger than Mido's and dangled down to the lad's shoulders. Although similar, this boy was alien in body alone. His honey-colored hair bore streaks of sunlit golden locks gleaming in the setting sun, and seemed to illumine an aura around his head. His shoulders were a bit broader than most, his arms bigger, and his ears more elongated than others. But none more astonishing, more than his deep-blue pools of eyes—not green or brown like any other Kokiri—than was the absence of a fairy. Really, a Kokiri with no fairy? That was most incredible. He carried a quiet air about him that bore into Mido's vitals, along with a merry whistling that annoyed his ears. The more Mido stared at the marvel attempting to impersonate a fellow villager, the more obvious he leered at his novelty and the shabbier and shabbier his own individualism seemed to grow. Neither lad spoke at first. If one moved, the other moved—but only sideways, in a circle: they kept face-to-face and eye-to-eye all the time. Finally Mido said:

"I'll whoop you!"

"I'd like to see that happen."

"Well, I can do it."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"Nuh-uh."

"Ahuh, I can."

"You can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

An uncomfortable pause. Mido resumed:

"What's your name?"

"That's none of your business."

"How's to reckon I make it."

"Well, go on, then."

"If you say so, I will."

"Much? That's less reason to 'low your business."

"Oh, you smart, aren't you? I could lick you with one hand crossed behind me, if I wanted to."

"Why don't you? You say you want to."

"Well, I will when I want, I jus' said I could."

"You sound mighty fickle."

"Oh! You smart. What a hat!"

"Leave my hat outta this."

"You give me sass and I'll swipe it clean off and stomp a bit."

"You won't."

"I will!"

"Then do it."

"I ain't afraid, no."

"You are."

"Nuh-uh."

"Ahuh."

Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently, Mido's Sapphire conceded for peace out of due displeasure at boyish tomfoolery: to which neither boy appealed.

"You ain't got a nice hat as mine," said Mido.

"Don't need no fine hat," said the stranger.

"Then let me have it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I says so."

"You gonna do a fit about it?"

"I could."

"Yeah, no thing to hold you back, eh?"

"I need no thing."

"Could use a fairy, Mr. No Fairy."

Then the stranger's face twisted. "You say what?"

"I said it, you're no Kokiri."

"I am!"

"Aren't."

"Am!"

"Where's your fairy?"

"Don't need! SHUT UP!"

"That's silly," Mido laughed; "now you're trynna put me to crossin' fists."

"I'll cave your nose in."

"You know who I am?"

"Don't care."

"I'm your chieftain."

"How come I don't believe that?"

Mido's thirst for repugnance salivated in his mouth and so stepped back. "I dare you to step closer to my way and I'll lick you, or I ain't the great Mido."

At no hesitation the lad moved closer. "There, I dare you to stay honest."

"Crowd me and I will!"

"You said you will, but you won't!"

"You ain't talking me out of it!"

At once the lad swiped Mido's head, swiftly removed his pointed cap and so threw it down to stomp on. In the blink of an eye the lads were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, clawing as lions in war; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves in dust and glory. Poor Sapphire got afraid to catch a wild fist that all could do was yell and try to sound authoritative. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Mido appeared seated astride the boy with no fairy, and pounding him with his fists. "Call it! Call it!" he ordered.

The boy only struggled for the liberty to gain new advantage, his eyes blinded with tears—mainly in anger directed at himself and his new rival.

"Call it!"—the beating resumed.

At last, the lad got out a smothered "nuff!" and Mido leaned back. But then the caller struck the winner in the mouth. Mido yelped into his hands as the lad shook his hand, for it cut knuckle on teeth and drew blood. Tired and bruised, the two adversaries separated and stood themselves up.

Mido had not busted a tooth nor bled. He then rubbed his jaw when soreness was realized. "I learned ya, I did."

"Did not!"

"You hollered, you motpellop!"

"I don't care—and don't you call me that!"

"That's what you are— a motpellop." It was a Kokiri invention, this word, of which Mido had just discovered and already deemed to spread amongst the tribe. It literally meant "no fairy." It was a title of ill-repute, denoting that the lad was not fully a Kokiri because of such deficiency.

"I'll tell my big brother on you!" said Mido.

"Big lie, I'll tell mine on yours! He can take on a scrub! No hands!"

"You ain't got a brother neither."

"Yeah, so?"

At this juncture, the wit of retort fled the combatants, and they stood glaring at each other down at a loss of words.

"Well!"

"Well."

"You got licked."

"You're ugly."

They shared no more. They were bruised and tired, and they turned backs as declaration of the battles end—but not of the war.