Chapter Text
The small hours of the night are nothing small at all when one is confronted with a total lack of sleep. Minutes creep by inch by inch, each one lasting years. Tossing and turning offer no relief whatsoever. Eventually, the prospect of sleep is given up on altogether, and one must surrender to the tedium of insomnia. So was Zelda’s situation.
In the early half-light, time seemed stationary. After waging its furious tantrum, the storm had finally worn itself out around midnight, leaving behind an eerie stillness. The slow and steady drip of residual rainwater running off the eaves created a rhythmic staccato, interrupting the silence.
Inside, Zelda hunched over a steaming cup of milk, a heavy fleece blanket thrown across her shoulders. She had naively hoped the warm drink would restore her to her senses or, better yet, lull her back to sleep. It appeared to do neither. Sighing, she heaved herself up from her chair, abandoning the milk and blanket, and headed out to begin her chores.
The morning light revealed a cloudless periwinkle sky. She made for the stalls, head down to avoid treading in muddy puddles, and it was as she was turning the corner of the house that she ran headlong into Link’s chest.
“Oh!” Zelda gasped and tottered backwards, arms windmilling. But she needn’t have worried; Link didn’t miss a beat, his hands shooting out to hold her steady. Zelda put a hand to her startled heart, suddenly very awake. A couple of shallow breaths passed between them, both taking in the other in dumbfounded shock.
“You’re not supposed to be back yet!”
It was all she could think to say in the moment. Link’s surprise changed to brow-furrowed confusion. “I said two or three days tops. It’s day three.”
Zelda blinked. She did the mental math and found that he was right.
Link shifted his weight. “Tried to make it two, but…”
She stared at him. How Zelda had not heard his approach on horseback, she hadn’t the foggiest. She took in his filthy tunic, the dried mud on his cheek. His hair was windswept, as if he had ridden hard to get there. A bouquet of silent princesses was gripped in his hand.
He followed her line of sight to the flowers. He seemed to only just remember them. Hastily, he thrust them out to her.
Zelda gaped at them, their cloying scent enveloping her. With a swell of affection, she accepted his offering into her arms, a modest smile turning up her lips.
The daylight was breaking, and with the return of her dearest friend, so was the light within her spirit. With the horses thriving under Link’s care, both princess and knight retreated to the house together, each with extra pep in their steps. Zelda placed the silent princesses in the vase on the dining table, saving one for the nightstand upstairs. Reverently, she ran her finger across the dainty blue and white petals. Contrary to all expectations, she’d seen them springing up unrestrained across the countryside ever since her return. To think there had ever been a time when they’d been threatened by extinction was unbelievable. They were a miracle. Almost too good to be true.
Mercifully, Link had returned to her in one piece. Aside from his monster-clearing mission, he had also somehow found the time to bring back a satchel full of freshly hunted meat—a marvel to Zelda, especially considering yesterday’s storm. While he planned to sell most of it in town, they kept a considerable portion, and after a quick wash-up out back (it took ample convincing, but convince him she did, during which she began boiling some eggs), Link got to work cooking up a succulent breakfast of wild boar rashers and sweet buttery buns to share.
It was delicious, and Link’s company even more so. Her eggs were a hit, and Link’s sugared sweet buns practically melted in her mouth. As they dug into their heaping plates, they took turns recounting their time apart. Zelda relayed the progress made at the lab, going on about Purah’s zest, Symin’s kindness. As was his custom, Link summarized the details of his mission in succinct form. Thankfully, everyone in his crew walked away with only minor cuts and bruises—though he did tell her an amusing tale about a runaway wagon. Zelda couldn’t take her eyes off him. With his cheeks scrubbed pink and his mouth full of bacon, he positively glowed, and the longer she looked, the more everything felt right.
It was a golden time. Link had returned to her, and along with him returned the color in her world. The sky was brighter; food tasted richer. She had everything she could have wanted.
But still the heaviness in her heart remained.
While the storm outside had departed, the turbulence within Zelda stubbornly hung on. The looming cloud that had taken form at the back of her mind continued to grow, expanding until it completely enshrouded her. The temporary high that had infused her at Link’s homecoming trailed away like a falling star. Simple tasks once more required great effort. The downpour lived on.
Link showed his care for her time and time again. It was all in the little things: watering the flowers, preparing meals, looking after the horses. Tirelessly earning their keep. Still, it was plain to him that she was stuck in the doldrums—so, being the selfless soul that he was, he resorted to the old tried-and-true: retreating to the outdoors.
This time, he brought her to the small pond beside the house; not far, since her energy had largely dried up, but far enough to breathe the open air and feel the sun on her skin. They settled down by the water, as they had many times before. But instead of basking in the balmy weather, Zelda was in a world of her own. She stared unseeingly at the water, mired in melancholy.
She could feel his eyes on her. That bright, electric gaze. Kind and penetrating. Zelda ached. It was almost too much to take, his concern, his all-consuming care. His regret that for all his physical strength, he still couldn’t protect her from herself. Inexorably, she looked over—she could never resist his pull, never—and immediately zeroed in on a spot near his hairline.
The bruise stuck out like a blemish on flawless skin. It looked multiple days old, all blotchy and purplish like a painter’s palette. No doubt he’d received it during his monster expedition. It must have blended in with all the mud on his face… He hadn’t told her…
A flash of guilt raced through her.
How had she not noticed before?
“That must hurt.”
Link automatically shook his head, eyes still on her face. They sat close, shoulder to shoulder, close enough for her to see every detail: The fine hairs at his temple seemed to tug at the bruised skin, gathering tightly at the back of his head. It couldn’t have been comfortable.
Her body responded impulsively. Zelda stretched forth her hand, brushing back his fringe with fairy-light fingertips. On full display, it was bigger than she’d thought, an angry welt the size of a small rice ball (though thankfully not so round). Her fingers followed the flow of his hair then came to a hesitant stop.
“May I…?”
Almost imperceptibly, he raised a brow. Zelda was once again struck by the crystalline flecks in his irises. In a clear sign of assent, he dipped his head, exposing the back of his neck.
With careful fingers, Zelda took hold of his hair tie, slowly pulling down. His hair sprang free like a clipped bouquet, falling to his shoulders in a gentle wave. She rolled the little blue band up her wrist, barely giving it a second thought—and before she knew what she was doing, her fingers were in his hair.
It was feather soft, thick and silky like fields of Tabantha wheat. Everything she’d imagined it would be. A vivid memory assailed her mind of happier times: those long sunshine days idled away on the castle grounds; the stolen moments outside the Royal Ancient Lab with her appointed knight, searching for hidden treasures in the grass, their friendship still so young and fragile…
She looked at him now, this knight-turned-confidant she’d grown as attached to as her own right arm. Link’s eyes were closed, his blond eyelashes dark crescents against his cheeks, his head drooping ever-so-slightly with every stroke of her hand. It was a strange look for him, this dropping of his guard; a rare instance indeed where Link, chosen hero and protector, consciously chose to do anything as unorthodox as letting down his hair.
But now…
Zelda followed his lead, shutting her eyes to the world—and hoped, prayed, that maybe someday, somehow, there would come a time where she could shut out her inner world as well.
△—△—△—△—△
The ribbon was soft between her fingers, blue as the summer sea. Even indoors, it seemed to radiate its own light, dangling from the sturdy limb of the Great Eagle Bow. She knew this cloth well; it was a cloth handpicked and handwoven by no other hand than her very own, imbued with her steadfast pleadings and prayers over a period of who-knew-how-long. A symbol of the Royal Family of Hyrule. Her family. The blue had long since imprinted itself into every sinew of her life: the Champions’ garb, a princess’s petals… eyes like sharpened steel, vast as the open sky…
A tinkling laugh wafted in from the open doorway. Zelda released the ribbon and stepped back from the wall, peeking out at what lay beyond.
On the front lawn, a small child stood brandishing a stick. She recognized him: He was the boy who had stopped them on the road to the laboratory her first day there. He was joined by two others, both jumping and cheering wildly. A fourth larger figure knelt close by, raising a battered old shield in time to deflect each of the boy’s swings, much to the uproarious delight of his challengers.
How long had she tarried at the village now? Two, three weeks? Four? An entire month, slipped away like loose grains of sand. An expendable luxury.
It was easy to see why. Who wouldn’t wish to live out their days here? Here, in this beautiful, sleepy town, where the most pressing problems were garden-variety monster camps well outside its walls? This town was a paradise, with its fertile pastures, the bighearted villagers, the mighty snow-capped mountains concealing the destroyed castle from view…
Her eyes drifted over to the window, looking past the golden shafts of evening light. She knew she was being irresponsible. Childish, even, to go on like this, avoiding the proof of her failure. Nevertheless, she’d been grateful to be here—so incredibly grateful—even when that same gratitude caused guilt to coil unforgivingly around her.
For so long, she’d lived in fear, burdened by the crushing expectation placed upon her since the tender age of six—her mother’s passing. All alone, she had worked tirelessly to come into her power, to unlock her divine potential, to access this professed birthright she’d been promised ad nauseam. Awaken your ancient power. Save them all. This, of course, only resulted in failure after failure, adding to the weight upon her shoulders day by day.
And then came Link.
He had arrived into her life like a ticking time bomb, ushering in an age of calamity. Galvanized into utter panic, Zelda had thrown herself into study, into work, into prayer, prayer, prayer, cleaving to the distant hope that all was not lost. That her fruitless efforts would finally be vindicated. All to no avail. The waves of self-loathing that inevitably followed were agonizing, intolerable in every way—and were only ever directed at him.
She regretted it every day.
The sound of pounding wood pulled Zelda’s attention outside again. The duelists had disbanded and were marching their way across the bridge. In front trotted the children, happily gabbing away. The shield-bearer made up the rear of their procession, escorting the others back to town. As their chatter faded out, Zelda watched their retreating outlines, her chest tightening.
Now that she had the benefit of hindsight, she could see clearly. At last, she could take a good long look at herself, getting up-close and personal with the ugly parts of her history that she’d turned a blind eye to for forever. It was time to come clean.
The facts were undeniable: she had hurt Link. Back then, she had resented him, rejected him, used him. She had taken advantage of his long-sufferance by running roughshod over his every kindness.
And the worst part was she was still using him today.
A bitter draft blew inside, fluttering the ends of her uncombed hair. Her arms came up to hug her middle.
With the entirety of her fortune obliterated alongside the castle, Zelda had nothing; no asset nor rupee to her name. Naturally, being the class act that he was, Link had taken her under his wing, allowing her to fall back on his own savings he’d so painstakingly accumulated since his revival. But now, with their combined expenses, with all the unoccupied time they’d frittered away, Link’s savings were dwindling. Rapidly. It was no secret; she wasn’t that dense. He’d turned to odd jobs and hunting in recent days to make ends meet, picking up the slack. Still, with the bulk of his attention directed on her, there was little room for other engagements.
It wasn’t right for her to leech off him. It wasn’t right for her to mistreat him all over again.
If she wasn’t contributing, it was time for her to leave.
Zelda’s jaw clenched, the tightness in her chest rising to her throat. Her gaze wandered back to the Great Eagle Bow.
Of all Link’s many virtues, Zelda had always been touched by his charity. Whether in the modern age or in days gone by, this sterling trait remained unchanged throughout all the epochs of his life—even within the crucible of Calamity. Revali (rest his soul) was proof enough of that; he had treated Link so poorly in the past, taking a sick sort of pleasure in acting as Link’s personal tormentor. Zelda could easily recall the snide comments, those below-the-belt character attacks deliberately intended to provoke a response. Yet astoundingly, even amidst all the Rito warrior’s heckling, Link had never once risen to the bait. He’d still treated him with civility, as someone to honor and remember—even to the point of displaying the Rito’s prized possession in his home.
All of this and more spoke to the goodness in his heart.
The storm that had been brewing on the outer limits of Zelda’s consciousness rumbled in warning. She could feel it rolling in, casting its dark shadow over her psyche. With a gut punch of shame, she harkened back to her own spiteful treatment of Link. Not once had he retaliated with vitriol against her either. No, not once.
Zelda didn’t want to turn into another Revali. She didn’t want to exploit his benevolence, his noble hospitality, any longer.
She had trampled over his compassion in times past, and it had proven to be everyone’s undoing. She couldn’t make that same mistake again. She wouldn’t.
No more.
The outline of the Great Eagle Bow turned to watercolors in Zelda’s vision, blurring unrecognizably. Another image swiftly manifested itself in her mind’s eye: one she’d been wrestling against for over a hundred years.
Her friends were dead. Her father, dead. Her kingdom, done for. Irrevocably altered in the blink of an eye.
Her appointed knight—her dearly beloved—as good as dead, collapsed in the dreary marshes of the Ash Swamp. The finishing blow. Desperation seizing her as she finally, finally acted upon the far-fetched, private visions she’d been pushing down for too long. Launching herself in the path of destruction.
Light.
The light transitioned to reveal a new spectacle. In another age, in another corner of the world, the Great Deku Tree spoke to her, and she to him. She told him she was leaving. She had unfinished work. She asked him to relay a message. But in his infinite wisdom, he had counseled her gently, like a close friend would:
“Words intended for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?”
The scene switched, and she watched with rapturous grief as her voice, and only her voice, sparked his awakening when nothing else would. Moved, she watched a revitalized Link scour the kingdom, searching high and low to piece together the scattered lyrics of those pivotal ancient songs. His desire to find himself, to know her, was palpable—a thirst that couldn’t be slaked. Under the cover of night, perched far above the land, the Rito bard had revealed the culminating verses to him under an endless, starry sky: “The Song of the Hero.”
His song.
Their story.
The storm had reached her, roaring and crashing and throwing the room into a dizzying spin. Reeling, Zelda drew in a ragged breath, her hand clutching at her heart.
She knew it. She knew it like she knew the sun would rise, with unequivocal certainty. In all honesty, she’d known for a while.
The ancient songs. The Great Deku Tree. Her activated sealing power.
All attesting to the naked truth.
Gasping, Zelda stumbled to the stairs, floundering about on sea legs. Her feet were flying, ramming into the banister, blindly carrying her up to the loft. Her ears were ringing, like a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure, muffling the noise of everything except her tempestuous thoughts. Awash with emotion, she began grabbing items at random and haphazardly throwing them into her travel bag, consumed by the frenzy that had overcome her senses.
After a hundred-plus years of fretting and fighting, these past few weeks with Link had been a dream, a fantasy come to life. But she’d been much too idle here. And it was disgraceful, utterly reprehensible, that she had ever considered hiding away for such a prolonged absence in the first place. Indeed, she thought with a sob as she crammed a week’s worth of dirty laundry into her bag, she had been grossly negligent, which was unbecoming of a princess—especially a princess whose kingdom was in ruins. She’d grown slothful in her duties and callous toward her people; her dear people, who’d suffered and sacrificed immensely under her failed leadership.
She loved her people. She yearned to protect them.
Protect them all.
Her fingers spasmed, and her case of writing implements slipped from her hands, bursting open on the floor. She dropped to her knees, her mind a whirlwind.
What frivolous musings she’d had. She couldn’t establish a school here. She couldn’t settle down anywhere. There were places to be, nations to contact, mistakes to set right. A mountain of problems caused by her own hand.
The sharp tip of a quill sliced her finger, dotting it with red, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. She was too busy corralling her thoughts, plotting away at the half-baked plans that were running amok in her head. Abruptly, she looked down and saw the glimmering little opal clasped in her hand. She tossed it inside the case with a handful of inkwells and snapped it shut, rising to her feet.
Once all her things were packed, she would wait for Link to return. She’d thank him for everything, of course—nothing she’d say or do would ever serve as adequate compensation for everything he’d done—but hopefully he would understand. He’d always been very forgiving in this way. She bit down on her trembling lip.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d tell him. She hadn’t yet worked out the details—those would come in time—but she was certain Purah and Symin would take her in for the meantime, at least for a little while. Perhaps also Impa and Papaya somewhere down the line—
She turned around, her brain in two places at once, and froze at the sight of him at the top of the stairs.
Ridiculously, the first thought that came into her head was that his hair was down—a growing phenomenon, though still no less of a novelty. But almost as soon as she had the thought came the recollection of a bright sunny day, exploring uncharted territory with a little blue hairband. She could still feel it now, snugly secured to her wrist.
The second thing she noticed was his face.
The bruise on his forehead had faded, but his look of alarm struck Zelda like a physical blow. Slack-jawed and pale, he stared back at her with something akin to panic, taking in her rumpled appearance, the topsy-turvy state of the room—nothing like his customary inscrutability. How long had he been standing there? Had he been calling her? His wide eyes shifted down to her hands, and she watched his features twist into a wince. It was only then that she recognized her father’s journal in her white-knuckled grip.
Zelda spun around, putting her back to him. She set the journal in her open bag, hastily rubbing at the wetness on her cheeks. “I apologize for startling you. I know this isn’t what you expected to find. In fact, there are likely many things that haven’t lived up to your expectations, and I—I am to blame for that. I am to blame for… a lot of things.”
She stuffed her stationery in with her undergarments. “The reality is I’ve been holding you back. I can imagine you’re restless—I saw you out there with the children—and you have every right to be. You’re confined in your own house with someone who isn’t… who doesn’t even…”
She came to a breathless halt. Gripping the edge of the nightstand, she stood hunched over the solitary silent princess flower, still unable to look at him.
“I left you alone for too long.”
His gentle voice hit her like thunder. Zelda sucked in a searing gulp of air. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand his undue remorse. Jockeying for control, she sprang back into action.
“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” she trilled, bolting to the chest of drawers and yanking clothes from its depths, the words tumbling out like the first few stones preceding a rockslide. “Here you are, admitting fault for a matter that is solely my doing. I’ve grown much too dependent on you. I’m a hindrance, an imposition in every sense of the term.” She dashed back to the bed, cramming a few jumpers into her bag. “You’ve been working overtime when you must be at the end of your rope. Not only have you been keeping us afloat these weeks, but you’ve also been shouldering my weight on top of it all.” Back to the drawers. “And you absolutely deserve better. You’ve already walked through fire and water. It’s not fair to always be asking more of you, and I—”
Her breath hitched, and suddenly Zelda was free-falling, her speech devolving into a paroxysm of weeping.
“And I’m sorry, Link. I’m s-so, so sorry.”
The final nail.
With her breaths coming in shuddering gasps, she commenced her zigzagging across the room, her vision obscured by tears.
“I’m sorry for everything. And I know I can never repay you, but I want you to know how grateful I am, so eternally grateful, so much that I will not abuse your generosity anymore”—her voice was a frightful mess, wavering and warbling all over the place, and she knew how unhinged she sounded, how painfully disastrous, but it was about time he heard this, she needed to get it out before she choked, before she shattered irreparably—“nor will I tie you down in any way. You are bound to me no longer. You are free to live out your life as you wish, and I—I have to go.” She was hiccuping, spiraling, but she couldn’t stop, she had to keep going. “Staying here has been sublime, a precious gift in the highest sense, and I will remember it always—but I’ve wasted time. My duties remain unfulfilled, but you can reap the reward of your labors. You’ve built yourself a lovely home here, truly it’s wonderful beyond imagining, and I’m so very happy for you”—she had come undone entirely, her heart breaking in two, tears falling into her open bag—“but I cannot abide here one minute more, I won’t keep taking your belongings, I won’t burden you in your own home—”
“It’s yours.”
Zelda wheeled about, wobbling on her feet. The room was swimming, and she could barely make him out, could barely hear past the frantic thumping of her heart. She swallowed thickly, blinking away the burning in her eyes.
“What—What’s mine?”
“The house,” Link clarified at once. “It’s yours.”
His words came to her garbled, as if they were passing underwater. Slowly, he came into focus: his smudged cheeks, the grass stains on his shirt. She shook her head, eyes shimmering brightly.
“I can’t take your house, Link.”
In all the time she’d known him, Zelda could confidently say that she’d never witnessed him look as close to falling apart as he did now. She watched it unfold before her eyes: With a convulsive flinch that traveled the length of his body, Link’s face fell into utter devastation, as though she herself had administered his death warrant. Stricken, he began to pace, his strides covering the short distance between the desk and the opposing wall, his hands scrubbing at his face, running through his hair.
Zelda watched him in shock. Never had she seen him so outwardly conflicted, so distressed—not even at death’s door. It felt wrong, as if she were intruding on a private moment. To think that she could be the cause of such pain in him…
As Link continued pacing, Zelda stood patiently by, heart aching as he brokenly attempted to explain himself, stumbling over his words, huffing in frustration. After a string of curses and multiple false starts, he finally drew to a halt and faced her, his hands raised entreatingly.
“This house is yours. I bought it for you. You haven’t… It’s not…” He took a deep breath to collect himself, then began again, leaning in toward her. “By law, you own it. It was always meant for you. That’s why I put my name on it, so no one could take it. I gave it to you.”
Zelda stared dumbly back at him. An impression suddenly entered her mind: one of freshly turned earth, a friendly construction worker, and a distinctive missing sign. When it became apparent that nothing more was forthcoming from him, she made her own attempt at speech, her voice sounding feeble in her ears.
“But Link… I can’t just take your house from you. You’ve poured so much of yourself into it, and I—”
“Zelda.”
It was this, above all else, that brought her slamming back to him.
Zelda gasped as the single sound rushed into her, filling every cell. For the first time, she could see him properly. Link looked at her with unbridled emotion, his blue eyes blazing like tempered fire.
“You are the most deserving person I know.”
The back of her legs hit the nightstand, and she nearly crumpled. Another memory besieged her, this time his voice, shy but sure, relaying the words that he’d told her from the beginning, that had never been hyperbole:
Anything, everything—it’s yours.
“And I’d walk through fire any day for you.”
She could see that fire now, gleaming in his eyes clear as day. Those eyes held nothing back, exposing the wildness he’d kept firmly shut away for so long, that she’d agonized over since day one, wishing so desperately to scale his walls. Head spinning, her complexion surely a blotchy, unsightly mess, she croaked out the question she’d asked him once before.
“But Link… where will you go?”
A fleeting shadow passed over him. In an instant, she was transported back to their first night under this roof. The same look that had crossed him then also crossed him now, except now she recognized it for what it was. And yet, while he visibly steeled himself for what came next, there was no doubt in his voice when he spoke to her.
“Wherever you want me to go.”
Suddenly she was out of place, out of time, hurtling through the expanse of space, everything around her burning away, reduced to ash until there was nothing left except for him—Link, her steady rock in the midst of raging turbulence. The two of them had fought back the fire together, succumbed together. He had seen her at her very worst, her most vulnerable, wailing and writhing on the floor, had glimpsed the most shameful, hideous parts of her, and instead of scorning her secrets he had guarded them with his life. He had witnessed her cracked open, prostrated on the floor and groveling for mercy, a pitiful husk of a person who could barely draw breath for herself. And still he hadn’t run. Instead he had consoled her, honored her, kept her close to his chest. Received her for all she was worth. And now she could finally see it in his eyes: that this was what he wanted. That there was nothing he wanted more than to continue receiving her for as long as she would let him.
Words intended for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?
“I love you,” she spluttered.
Looking back, it was impossible to say who had moved first. Both princess and knight bounded toward each other simultaneously, closing the gap between them in no time. In a moment redolent of an age long past, Zelda threw herself into Link’s open arms, wrapped tightly up in him. There was no hesitation, no stiffness in his frame as he clung to her, stroking her gently, swaying softly, both trembling violently. They had never held each other like this before; she had cried on him, reveled in the feeling of their entwined hands, clutched him as he died. Still nothing came close to this tender caress, this warm embrace, and it filled her with such peace that there was nothing in the world like it, this all-encompassing love. All at once his lips were in her hair, a tender pressure at the side of her head, speaking everything they’d left unspoken for years: that she could rest, that it was okay to rest. As she buried her face in his neck, the scent of blue nightshade enfolded her, and she melted into him, safer than she’d ever felt in her life.
And when his lips finally, finally moved to meet hers, setting her heart alight—setting her free—Zelda knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that here, watched over by the immortalized Champions in their frame, she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Safe, right here, with Link.
Her comfort. Her sanctuary.
Her home.
END OF PART 3
~FIN~