Chapter Text
He prepares for the battle. He cooks for an entire day and packs his pouch with the most efficient healing foods he has figured out how to make. It is too much. He is stalling. He should just go, he is ready, everyone has told him to go ages ago, but... He just can’t. So he cooks.
As the food cooks, he catches himself humming.
He has potions. He has arrows. He is prepared.
One last time, the enamel cuirass is tightened over his torso. One last time he pulls the clanky boots to his feet and lowers the diamond circlet to his head.
The battle is efficient. He is prepared. He knows his power.
His arrows are ruthless. His movements are efficient and graceful. And Calamity Ganon, the beast who stole the only person who says his name like she means it, melts underneath his sword like butter.
He is out in the field before he knows it. Arrows of light fly to their glowing marks with no hesitation. The hooves of his horse, his Hope, drum the ground in a steady rhythm. Both he and the horse are calm in the face of their final task – in their role of support for Zelda. For the one last shot, he jumps in the air from Hope’s back, and feels time slow down as his destiny finally catches up with him.
Then it’s her turn.
She stands fearless and calm, full of the golden light that he remembers seeing just once in a memory that now feels faraway. Light pours out of her and pierces through malice, banishing it like it was all a bad dream.
The light burns images in his eyes. When he blinks, he sees her silhouette as clearly as with his eyes open. A silhouette of a person. Not just a voice, not a memory, not a dream.
One final roar makes the ground shake, and Dark Beast Ganon is gone.
Zelda’s light fades. Sunlight returns, and for a moment it feels dim and colourless in comparison.
Afterimages still dance on his eyes, and he blinks, willing the shapes away, to see what’s right in front of him. Because there in the field, a short distance away from him, there is Zelda, looking at him.
The sight makes his head reel. He wants to run to her, to grab her and hold her close, make sure she’s not just a mirage. But he is rooted to a spot, unable to say or do anything.
Zelda looks back at him, with a shy but hopeful look in her eyes. Sunlight regains its vibrancy. The green of the field frames her.
She speaks. Her voice is unaided by magic. She speaks and in her voice he feels the unwavering faith she has in him. The faith that he himself lacked for so long.
“Thank you, Link… the Hero of Hyrule,” Zelda says with sincerity that nearly knocks her knight to his knees.
The name. His name in her lips. It is as real as she seems to be, as real as he himself feels. It slots everything in place.
“May I ask…” Zelda continues, and seems hesitant before she asks: “Do you really remember me?”
Does he know the answer? Ever since he woke up from his slumber, Zelda has been a voice in his head, a face in his memories and a cause for both blame and longing. This Zelda, right in front of her, is how he remembers, and yet so much more.
So much more.
He opens his mouth to speak. He blinks.
Not a word comes out.
A sliver of worry crosses Zelda’s face. That at last breaks whatever curse he is under. He takes one small step forward. Then he is walking to her.
Zelda raises her arm slightly, offering her hand to him. He stares at it. The hand falters.
He catches it right as it’s about to drop.
Zelda slots her hand in his elbow with ease and rests some of her weight on him. He realises how profoundly exhausted she must be.
And yet she smiles.
“You,” she begins and looks at him with fondness in her eyes, “are exactly as I remember,” she says and turns to look around. “How beautiful the world is.”
He takes Zelda to the first place he can think of: Kakariko village. The joy on Impa’s face once Zelda is brought to her tells him he was right to do so.
But it also means that the rusty but intact machinery of royal customs begins turning once more. Too soon there is talk about Zelda resuming her role as a leader. But Zelda resists, and asks to be given more time. It takes a moment to convince Impa, but Zelda’s honest plea does it.
“We have waited for a century. We can afford to wait a couple days more. At last, we can afford to wait!” Impa says gleefully while pulling out letter writing equipment, unable to sit still. “I will send a message to the four corners of the world and share the news. Princess, recover your strength. Hateno village, you said? I’ll have a convoy prepared right away.”
He feels Zelda’s hand grip tighten on his elbow. He shakes his head at Impa. He will take care of Zelda.
Impa tilts her head, challenging him. He looks back, reassured in himself.
“Very well”, Impa accepts. “So be it. No convoy. Goddess knows you two keep each other safe, and Goddess help me if your blessings have run out.”
After Impa talks through the arrangements with Zelda, they turn to leave. But Impa calls his name after him.
He turns at the door. Impa looks serious, and is momentarily still. “You have done well, Hero of Hyrule,” she says, and bows deeply.
A shiver runs down his spine at the gravity of her words. He bows back, quick and efficient, and retreats after the Princess. She has stopped in the middle of the wooden stairs, looking to see what’s keeping him. He hurries to take his place beside her.
“May I?” Zelda asks, holding out her hand. He steadies his arm and feels Zelda’s hand at his elbow once again. Side by side, they descend the stairs into the village.
After preparations they begin their journey to Hateno on foot, with Hope and another horse following with them. It is not an efficient way to travel, but Zelda has been reluctant to let go of his arm. So they walk. There is no hurry.
The slow pace allows them to stop as often as they want, which Zelda is eager to do. She stops to wonder about ordinary things: blades of grass, clouds in the sky, droplets of rain. Even just the dirt of the road seems to hold magic to her. He tends to the horses and lets her take her time with the world.
Both of them are clad in the most inconspicuous clothes Kakariko had to offer. He enjoys feeling like a traveller again in the Hylian clothes. Other passers-by pay them no heed.
The road to Hateno will take them through the fort, the place where they last stood together a hundred years ago. He doesn’t know if Zelda realises it, and can’t make himself say it out loud to ask. But when they make their way to the bridge where the Kakariko’s mountains end and the plains behind Dueling Peaks begin, Zelda’s grip in his arm tightens.
He clasps his hand over hers. They make their way to the Dueling Peaks stable in silence. There they rest for the night.
When they continue their journey the next morning, Zelda takes the lead. Without hesitation she walks towards the decayed Guardians in the middle of the plains. He follows her warily but stays behind with the horses until he knows for sure where she is headed. Then he leaves the horses grazing and slowly walks to her to the place where it all happened.
Zelda is staring at a pile of Guardians. For the briefest of moments, fear grips him. He imagines the stare of the blue eye, then a red light flashing…
But there is nothing Guardians could do to hurt them anymore. Even if this Guardian came alive in front of the Princess, he would know exactly how to take care of it. He straightens his posture, walks closer and kicks a stone towards the pile. It hits the decayed shell with a hollow clang.
Zelda laughs a little. “You did become quite handy with them in the end, didn’t you.”
It isn’t really a question. She has seen him tearing through hoards of them. He smiles.
“Do you... remember what happened here?” Zelda asks, with a suddenly careful tone.
They stand side by side, looking at the remnants of a Guardian that once upon a time set the events in motion. He ponders the question. He remembers he died here, yes. Zelda tapped into her power here too. Zelda saved him and turned the tide of the Calamity. It ought to be important. But all of that seems inconsequential, somehow.
What he remembers most clearly is being embraced by Zelda’s light. He remembers the peace he felt when falling into his slumber.
None of this he knows how to say. He nods.
Zelda takes his hand. Not his arm like she has so far, but his hand. He stares at their interlocked fingers, and something flashes through him. An echo of the embrace a century ago. That is what happened then, and this is what happens now. He kisses her.
He thinks nothing of it. He just acts in the way that he feels ought to happen. Zelda gasps, and after a moment of shock she agrees to it and meets his lips. It is a sweet, innocent kiss. It makes him feel welcome in the world. The kiss lasts a moment, another, and it ends.
He pulls back, opens his eyes and is surprised he is not surrounded by light any other than that from the sun. Zelda is looking at him, mouth open in shock, and her cheeks rosy red. He looks at her openly, without hiding his gaze.
“Link”, she gasps, with a reprimanding tone. And the name is beautiful in her mouth, and it sounds exactly right, and so he kisses her again. Link kisses her again. Link’s lips on hers, her hand in Link’s hand, his name in her lips, Link, it is him, it truly is him!
Link raises his hand to her cheek, and the whole world feels aligned. This is where he, Link, should be. At Zelda’s side.
It is Zelda this time who pulls back. She looks bewildered and tries to frown, even if she is smiling all the same.
“Link, what are you –” she bursts into giggles, and Link is laughing as well, “Stop it!” she snaps, out of breath and deeply blushed, and pulls her hand away. “We must – we must discuss your course of conduct, this really is most unusual –“ and she is giggling again, and the sun shines just a bit brighter.
Then she becomes serious. “Truly, though, this really is highly irregular and we should both be reprimanded.”
Link looks around and raises his hands. By who?
And Zelda bursts out laughing. She laughs, and she looks so free and so light. Link stands and stares, a wide smile on his own face, and Zelda pulls him into an embrace. It’s a hug unlike any Link remembers. It’s open, it’s loving, he buries his head in Zelda’s hair, and Zelda is still laughing, and Link lifts her feet of the ground and he spins her, just once, Zelda yelps and she hugs him tighter, and when her feet touch the ground again they keep hugging until her breath evens out and finally, they part.
Link gestures towards Fort Hateno. Shall we?
They start walking, quietly and hand in hand. Link whistles and the horses run to trot alongside them. He is happy in his body, all aches of the battles forgotten, and continuously bathing in Zelda’s light. He really feels easily happy in her company. It just feels right.
Only when they are past the fort and in the woods heading to Hateno, Zelda speaks again. “We do actually need to talk about it, though. Even if it’s fully within our power to do as we please.”
Link nods. He has faith in them.
When they arrive in Hateno, Link is proud to show Zelda his house. Zelda takes an instant liking to it. And seeing her settle in, Link knows in his bones that she belongs here as much as he does.
While Zelda begins unpacking upstairs, Link pulls out an old paper stored between two cookbooks in the kitchen area. He sets the paper on the table and smoothes its wrinkles, reads the recipe. It is said to be the Princess's favourite.
The Princess. Zelda. The very real person in his house, currently folding clothes out of saddle bags.
Link clears his throat. Thinks about the letters. The sounds. He feels them in his mouth.
“Zelda,” he whispers.
Zelda doesn’t hear him say it. It doesn’t matter. The name makes a home in his mouth, Zelda, Zelda, Zelda, he repeats it again and again, rolling it around on his tongue like a candy. Any sound he makes disappears into the hum of his home, filling it nevertheless.
When Zelda comes back downstairs, Link’s mouth is shut and smiling.
There will be cake.