Lady Levenfeld was gray at her temples and had a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of her nose. She favored silver in her jewelry and white in her dress. Link could not remember ever seeing her smile during their lessons.
She stood in rigid form at the front of the room, a riding crop held in both hands at her back. Link was sat in the middle, surrounded by empty chairs. The Lady began her lesson as she always did, taking them through the scales, snapping at them for not projecting enough, and offering the faintest possible praise of their ability to keep time, though she held out the crop threateningly when they would bob back and forth.
"Now," Levenfeld stepped closer to the side of the desk and presented the instruments displayed on it with a poised hand, "Today we will finally begin with woodwinds. Simple enough for a child. Select one that is to your liking."
With a small nod Link pushed themself off their seat with their hands and approached the front of the room. Four instruments waited in their stands: a classical flute of fine silver - recently polished - an oaken pan flute decorated with delicate flowers, a black-painted oboe, and an ocarina, glazed but still showing the rich red tones of the natural clay. The last was what caught Link's attention. It's cool and smooth beneath their fingers.
"You will speak in my class." The Lady chastised.
Link just nodded again, forgetting their voice for a beat too long. They glanced at her as they took up the intended instrument to find she was glaring in return. Intimidated out of correcting their mistake, they just hurried to their spot at the stand across from her. Fortunately, Levenfeld let it go for now.
"I'm certain you will struggle at first, judging from the weakness of your vocal exercises, but we will persevere. Now take it in both hands and place a finger over each hole, including the two on the back."
While she continued on about correct posture and achieving the right airflow and pressure, Link looked the item over. Gemstones were carved along the edges and all around the mouthpiece, but glazed such that they couldn't be felt. The weight of it was nice, but something about the handedness felt wrong. At her prompting they brought it to their mouth. As she had said, for the first few notes they were weak, distorted. But while the lady lectured on and they continued to move their fingers and experiment, a spark of confidence lit up their chest; suddenly, their fingers knew what to do. It took a few notes for their mouth to catch up, but when it did, the ocarina sang a lively tune, comforting but strangely unfamiliar. They smiled around the mouthpiece, sure the lady would be pleased.
Link lowered the instrument and looked up at their teacher, and where they expected to see approval, they instead found a cold fury.
"Did you think it was cute to waste my time, pretending to be incompetent?"
Their shock at her reaction had them forgetting to answer for a second yet again. They burst out of the freeze by rapidly shaking their head. "No, I didn't, I never-"
"You expect me to believe you can play like that while not understanding the basics? Do you take me for a fool?"
They shook their head again and she snapped, "I told you you are to speak in this class."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You will address me properly. Now put that away, I will have to reconsider my lesson plan."
Link crossed back to the table, reaching up to put the ocarina back on its stand, starting to answer, "Yes, Mrs.-" before Levenfeld's temper got the better of her.
Electric pain erupted across the back of their hand, giving way to a sharper, more focused sear as blood bloomed at the edge of the strike. Dropping the instrument, Link jerked their hand to their chest and their gaze to Levenfeld. They scrabbled backwards, out of her immediate reach.
For a moment she, too, seemed shocked, but then her brows lowered and she breathed heavily through her nose. She twisted the riding crop in her hands and turned away from Link's tears.
"That is Lady Levenfeld, boy."
—
Soap got under the makeshift bandage and stung the wound in an instant. Link hissed and withdrew from the water. They'd known it wouldn't work, but they'd hoped it would help just a little. It took no time for Halley to notice they weren't working. She took two sharp steps toward them, saw the bandage and stopped short. She knelt and took their wrist, a quiet gasp escaping her when she peeled back the sodden bandage.
"What-" Rather than finish the question, she went to get something, coming back with a flat, round tin. Link didn't have to be told to be still while she opened it, taking a dollop of the thick green paste onto her finger. She spread it over the wound, where it quickly sealed, the outer layer stiffening, not hard but smooth to the touch.
"Here - it's not going to last forever in the water, but it'll help keep things out of it." She straightened up but didn't move away.
"Thank you, miss." Link said, barely more than a whisper. They ran a thumb experimentally over the salve.
Halley spent another moment just looking down at them, her brows knit. Then she sighed and closed her eyes. "I- Just this once, I will cover for you. If you cannot finish, I will do it in the morning. Don't just leave it all on purpose! Don't make me regret this!"
With a watery smile, Link nodded and set to work, determined not to disappoint her.
—
Trying not to wash off the salve and sully their wound again had Link working late. Most of the candles had been put out by the time they were back in the foyer. They would only need to be there a moment, passing through by moonlight on a brief turn toward their tiny room. But something flickered in the corner of their eye and drew them toward the front of the house.
They slowed; someone was sitting at the bottom of the grand staircase. Once they could see his profile, they were certain - it was the strange man they only ever seemed to see in passing. Harnel was slumped, elbows on his knees. A bottle of wine between his feet and a candle-holder on the step next to him.
He picked up his head at the sound of their boot scuffing on the rug and smiled when he saw them. "Ah, who would have thought I'd see the sun at night? I must be dreaming."
Link stopped, feeling like they should because they'd been addressed. The man beckoned them a few steps closer. He reached for them slowly, palm up. But something else about them caught his attention and he frowned. He caught their wrist before Link could instinctively hide it away. They had long since abandoned the wet bandage and the salve had all but washed away, allowing the angry red to show.
"Well, that was some nasty business, hm? What happened?"
"M-… Mrs. Levenfeld gave me a switch. For…" they shuffled shamefully, realizing they'd made the same mistake, "For calling her 'Missus.'"
Harnel tsked. "You really should know better."
"Yes, sir…" They mumbled sourly. Harnel's thumb passed over the wound, making Link jolt and stand up straighter, an apology on their lips before he interrupted.
"I see not only have you not learned, it has not lessened your attitude." He held them just a bit tighter as he chided. His laugh, however, isn't a cruel one. "I don't mind it. But if you would like not to be hit in the future, we really must do something about that."
Link's gut twisted, an aching stiffness in their spine. But where they expected more pain from him, Harnel instead soothed his thumb over their wrist and let them go. There's a gleam in his eye, an edge of some strange excitement in his voice as he continued.
"Perhaps you could come and see me, in the evenings. At least I could teach you the secrets of smoothing over your faux pas, so the good lady will not be quite so upset with you."
Unharmed, their hand returned to the shelter of its partner, Link had to pause to think. It did sound like a good idea, and the former head did seem nice. But seeing him 'in the evening' would mean after all their chores, and being up late could get them into other kinds of trouble instead.
In answer to their unspoken concerns, Harnel said, "We can spread out the lessons so we don't run too late. A growing child needs to sleep, and I know how busy they keep you."
More or less appeased and unable to deny the thrill of doing something they weren't technically supposed to, Link nodded.
Harnel's smile grew to a grin, big teeth that glint in the candlelight. "Good, good. I'll expect you."
Before they could inquire further he continued, shifting his stance on the stair and grabbing his wine.
"Not tonight of course, I am…" He thumbed the cork off and tucked it into his palm, muttering sardonically, "Not in a proper state for visitors," before taking the bottle to his lips and turning it end-up.
The bottle thunked back to the rug and he coughed a couple times. "Perhaps tomorrow."
Link took a few more steps toward the east wing, eyes still glued to him, silently asking for their dismissal, which he never gave. Eventually he raised an eyebrow at them for lingering still and that spurred them to hurry away to bed.
Somehow *this* is the chapter that makes me question myself for doing this. Even though it's the one that best encapsulates the overall theme.
Anyway, 'Link implicitly knows things from their past lives without having the actual memories' is one of those headcanons I kinda forget isn't canon.
Just seems natural. The way I think of it is that the time travel in OoT permanently damaged the relationship between Link's soul and time and space.