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Who Tells Your Story

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Guybrush hugged his perch, his arms wrapping tightly around the wobbling tree limb. He could see the egg, bright green in color and smaller than a glass eye. Unfortunately, it was nestled under the feathery black butt-tuft of the irate creature that had laid it. Said bird had not yet noticed Guybrush, hanging perilously between earth and sky. It was just great. Reminded him of his previous poorly thought-out interactions with seagulls in the Caribbean. “Heh! I should be writing this stuff down.”

On the opposite side of the limb, pinned between the trunk and a very, very angry bird, Graham cocked an eyebrow at his pirate compatriot. “Now’s really not the time, Guybrush.”

“Oh, I know, but I keep forgetting to journal about these things. How are people going to read about our amazing adventures if we don’t record them?”

“You really think anyone wants to read that stuff?” Link grunted. He was acting as Guybrush’s stepping stool, holding the pirate’s legs firmly in place as he moved along the branch above.

“Sure!” Guybrush put a hand on his chest, beaming with pride. His release of the branch added an extra wobble to each movement and Link muffled his swearing as he struggled to keep the man upright while he babbled. “My own magnum opus was an intricate and only-slightly-glamorized retelling of my first battle with LeChuck, and it was on the Mêlée Times Bestseller list! You don’t think people want to hear about three guys like us having an adventure in the wilderness?”

“I guess someone would, somewhere?” Graham answered. The bird bit him with its large orange beak. “Ow!”

“My story will be told, probably. It gets added to with each incarnation of the hero. Everyone knows the Legend of Zelda.”

“The Legend of Zelda, what’s that?”

“Guybrush, grab the egg!!” Graham yelped, trying to wrest the beak off his finger.

“Ooh, right. Got it.” He snatched the little green sphere. The bird shrieked at let go of Graham as the strange man’s hand pulled its seat from right under it. Thoroughly embarrassed, it took off, leaving the empty nest and the three adventurers alone.

“You could have done that right away!” Graham yelled after it, waving his finger.

Guybrush held the egg up triumphantly. “I’ve got it, guys, you can—woooOOOAAAH!!”

Link had put up with a lot this week. Ghosts, pits, unnecessarily squishy weather. It had been one thing after another. All he wanted was to finish gathering the ingredients for the potion. And now he had a fully-grown pirate sitting on his head, his bony butt pressing Link’s face into the forest floor. “…I should have just shot that bird,” he thought.

After another brief and undignified scream, Graham joined them as well, crashing into the foliage with an “Uumphh!!!” There he rested for a moment, upside down, his legs straddling the trunk of the mighty tree which, unlike him, was still upright. His cape draped itself over a bush like a billowy red cloud.

Link’s voice was muffled by the leaves in and around his mouth. “Guybrush.”

“Yes.”

“Please. Please, for the love of Hylia, tell me you didn’t break the egg.”

There was a tense moment of silence.

“Uhh…”

GUYBRUSH.

“I’M KIDDING. It’s fine, you guys, see?” The pirate bolted upright and stepped off his comrade, revealing the unbroken egg safe in his palm. “Ta-daaaa! One guay egg, primed for magic potion-making.”

Graham shook his head and began the slow business of righting himself. He pushed himself first into a headstand and then let his legs find gravity once again. “Great, because for once, I actually don’t want to do that again.”

“So, the Legend of Zelda. Tell me about that.” Guybrush took Link’s hand and helped him out of the dirt. His face had left quite the impression in the dirt.

The Hylian spat debris out of his mouth. “It’s the history of my country, more or less. There’s always a hero, a princess, and an evil that rises that we have to quench. Zelda is the princess, and, you know, I’m the hero. That’s what this means.” He held up his left hand, the one with the triangular mark on it.

Graham’s cape wrapped over his head as he stood. He just sighed and dusted fragments of bark from his knees. The cloth muffled his question. “Right. So, why’s it called the Legend of Zelda if you’re the hero?”

Link gritted his teeth and tried to smile, but his eyes were hooded. “Because I’m not the princess,” he deadpanned.

“But it’s written down? Gets stored in the castle?” Guybrush questioned.

“Yeah, it’s a written history. Why?”

“I hope it’s not, like…” Guybrush deepened his voice to parodic levels. “’On this day in ye olde history, one man faced one other evil man, and the battle was won.’” He coughed the strain of the voice away. “Hack ow! Stories need to be performative. Something you can tell people around a fire. What about you, Graham?”

Finally peeking out from under the massive red cape, Graham’s eyes sparkled with interest. “I guess I’ve never given much thought to telling stories,” he said, tilting his head. “It sounds like…fun!”

“Yeah, that’s what it is!” Guybrush agreed. “Okay, let’s make camp, and then while Link cooks up his magical energy drink, I can tell you guys my favorite story. Show you how it’s done.”

Link suppressed a groan. “No! We’ve already heard your LeChuck story! Twice!”

The pirate blinked at him from over one shoulder. “That one’s not my favorite.”

Graham hopped up and down in excitement. “Ohhh, oh boy, what is your favorite?”

Holding up his left hand, much in the same way Link had to display his symbol of the Triforce, Guybrush instead showed off the golden band on his finger and grinned. “My wedding day.”