Chapter Text
As soon as he reached the top of the stairs and found himself encompassed by water, Warriors understood why Zelda had taken so long. The Skyview Spring was aptly named, looking as if it were enchanted to exist in eternal springtime. Waterfalls spilled down towering rock walls on all sides that opened to the bright blue sky above. Daisies and dahlias grew into the cliff faces, infusing the damp air with their perfume. A flagstone walkway with ancient columns extended over the water basin. Warriors ambled onto it, eyeing the pastel butterflies dancing through the air.
Carved into the earth, the spring was a private natural sanctuary—one of the most serene places he had ever encountered. Already he could feel the noise in his mind subsiding, calming his frayed nerves that threatened to split at the ends. The fairy fountains from back home came to mind, though in this case sans the looming deities. Warriors had invoked these deities’ power countless times during the heat of battle but had never appealed to them for something so personal. Never for himself.
But this wasn’t supposed to be for himself. This was for the group.
The walkway terminated in the center of the basin, and a series of stepping stones led to an altar that bore the royal crest. A replica of the Goddess Hylia one-hundredth the size of the statue at the Sealed Temple stood smiling behind it. Warriors hesitated before he stepped out onto the stones, water lapping around his feet.
Seeing the goddess much closer to eye level put the discussion downstairs front and center in his mind. After a lengthy stretch of time, Zelda had returned from her own prayer session. She hadn’t commented on it much—she’d been speechless more than anything—but the single look she’d given Warriors was enough to make his blood run cold. Those bright eyes had turned piercing, discerning in a way that made him feel exposed. Like she had seen a hairline crack in his armor and could wedge it open at the slightest prod.
There was something different about her. Something more than met the eye. Warriors couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was something he’d picked up on from the start, back when Sky had introduced her to the group. There was a certain presence to her, a magnetic pull not unlike what he’d felt with the bird statue. A subtle power thrummed beneath her surface. He hadn’t thought much of it before, too distracted by her overall sunny disposition; but now, after being in such close proximity, it was a glaring truth he couldn’t shake off. Simple priestess, his left sock.
He itched to put as much distance between himself and those eyes as possible.
Rolling out his neck, Warriors shook himself back to the present. He looked into the statue’s stone eyes, waiting for his heart rate to return to a pace resembling normalcy.
Focus. This is the moment you’ve been working toward.
He’d gotten lucky with the fairies last night. He wasn’t about to squander the mercy he’d been shown. Not this time.
No more negligence. No more missteps.
His gaze dropped to the water beneath his feet. Recalling Zelda’s words, he knelt and dipped his hands into the basin. The water ran like silk between his fingers. He joined his hands together, setting them in his lap. He shut his eyes and dropped inside himself, testing the waters of his inner world.
The usual sentiments beleaguered him—vanity, frustration at himself, concern over what he was getting himself into—but one by one, he paid heed to them, addressing their doubts, smoothing over their disputes. Reinstating harmony.
Everything wasn’t lost. Nothing had fallen into ruin. He had appealed to higher powers many times before, this was nothing new. He was here to commune with the goddess. It was her aim to bless, like Sky said. She was giving him a learning opportunity.
With his sense of inner peace restored, Warriors cautiously put down the barriers in his mind and reached out.
Goddess Hylia… I’m here… I’m here and open to your counsel… Please grant me your mercy as I seek your direction… I need to access your temple and continue on with the other heroes… but I’ve been locked out… How do I dispel this darkness from within me… What would you have me do…
Please…
The sound of the birds and rushing waterfalls filled his senses until they merged with him entirely. His rhythmic breathing joined them, the mild cadence sending him into a sort of stupor.
And for a time, that was his world: just the wind and the water and the air filling his lungs. The symphony of the outdoors. The sun warming his face from above.
But through it all, he maintained his connection. Grounded and engaged, he held to his spiritual link, his mental channels open. Receptive to any divine guidance that came his way.
Patiently waiting…
Waiting…
The drawing room was quiet and drafty, and at the moment felt more like a holding chamber than a space that received esteemed visitors. The cold stare of opulence looked back at Warriors from every angle: varnished wooden vanities with clawed feet boasted vintage lamps; plump loveseats faced unlit fireplaces; gilded-framed mirrors flaunted his reflection from head to toe. After sparing them a glance, Warriors could say for once that in his current getup of ceremonial knight’s armor, he looked right at home.
He had forgone the loveseats and opted to stand, his heels sinking into the plush rug. Upon his arrival, a pair of guards had whisked him away down an auxiliary wing off the entrance hall and had shut him in here without a word. Warriors had been summoned to the castle proper more than a handful of times by this point, but in prior cases, there had always been someone to greet him. Unlike now. Alone, he kept his eyes on the red oak doors, listening. Waiting.
Before long, a familiar set of footsteps announced themselves on the other side. The doors flew open, and in barged Impa with her mouth set in a firm line. The warrior-turned-general looked all business in her Sheikah garb and her giant blade at her back. Her lips parted, on the brink of dishing out a harried remark—but once her vermilion eyes clapped onto Warriors, she arched a brow.
“You clean up nicely.”
Warriors dipped his head. “Likewise. Generosity looks good on you. You should wear it more often, especially for me.”
If Warriors hadn’t known her better, he would’ve thought her red hot glare would be enough to slice through him. But instead, the corner of her mouth twitched up. With a small shake of her head, she turned to exit the way she came, and Warriors followed her out, falling into step beside her.
“I apologize for the chilly reception,” she said, waving off the guards posted on either side of the doors. “Everyone’s been busy setting the affairs of the kingdom in order. The steward is preoccupied at the moment, and I have only just managed to escape a reconstruction meeting myself.”
“Post-war repairs running smoothly?”
“Give or take. We’ve been allocating resources to Parapa Village on the river’s western border. The north-facing battlements of the castle sustained heavy damage during Ganon’s rampage, so that’s also undergoing restoration, as well as portions of the outer curtain wall. And what of the desert?”
“Captain Garyll’s unit secured the Southern Oasis stronghold,” said Warriors. “The rest of the bulblins were driven from the valley, so the settlements there should see peace.”
“Very good.”
They proceeded through the entrance hall and reached the central staircase, then began to climb.
“I apologize again for your treatment when you arrived,” Impa carried on, loosening the beaded infinity scarf at her neck. “You’re our respected guest and I regret nobody was informed of your coming.”
“I’m honored, but I’ll get over it. I can be low-maintenance when I want to be.”
Impa tossed him a look that said, Sure you are. “Regardless, it was indecorous to shut you in there. People should know their hero by now, especially the guards who serve under him.”
“Must be this new outfit. Anything less than the green is too pedestrian. They probably didn’t recognize me.”
“I suspect that’s true. It’s the whole purpose for this occasion, is it not? We can’t have the kingdom forgetting her heroes so soon.”
Rounding a bend, they continued ascending. Despite the relatively short time they’d known each other, Warriors got on rather well with the Hyrulean general. A battle-hardened war veteran, Impa was blunt and pragmatic in a way he highly respected. And naturally, it was to be expected that fighting a war alongside someone would bridge the gap between you and them—though it also helped that they both thought the world of the same person.
“Nobody in the streets is forgetting me, rest assured,” said Warriors. “I’ll take this opportunity to revel in the anonymity. Personally, I don’t think I look half bad like this.”
“No indeed,” Impa said with a wry smile. “I know that the princess is most certainly looking forward to seeing you.”
Moving swiftly, they turned another corner of the marble stairs, and that was when Warriors caught a glimpse of her from below. A striking reminiscence flashed through him as he saw her there, leaning over the balustrade of the highest floor. She was still distant, so it was difficult to be sure, but Warriors thought he could see her smile at him. Pulse quickening, he smiled back.
After a final switchback, he and Impa breached the top of the winding staircase, and it was all Warriors could do to keep himself from face-planting on the final stair.
Warriors had come a long way since that first fateful day in the castle courtyard when, upon finishing a rigorous training session as a starry-eyed cadet, he’d happened to glance up and find who appeared to be the very essence of sunlight gazing down on him from above: the princess herself, commander of the Hyrulean army, blood and embodiment of the literal goddess. He’d seen the princess hundreds of times since then. Starstruck, he had watched her accomplish feats on the battlefield that took his breath away, leveling thousands of adversaries with her sealing magic, expertly wielding her rapier and light arrows. He’d borne witness to the unmasking of her identity as Sheik, an undercover disguise that only a privileged minority were privy to. Blessed with divine authority and power, she was a vessel of pure, unfiltered light. The two of them had fought and sweated and bled together, had come to know one another in profound ways that only the crucible of war could forge. Still, all this didn’t stop Warriors’s stomach from vacating him and leaving through the floor as he took in the full, unobstructed view of her now.
Flanked by her royal retinue of guards, Princess Zelda of Hyrule pulled no punches as she waited for them atop the landing. Dressed to the nines, she was clothed in full regalia—a look Warriors had never before seen in person. Her long-sleeved ballgown cascaded to the floor in graceful white pleats, adorned with petal pink accents. Ornamental gold armor plates sat atop her shoulders and over her bodice. A radiant smile graced her lips as they approached.
“Thank you for escorting him here, Impa,” she greeted. Impa courteously inclined her head.
The princess tucked her hands behind her back, her royal blue eyes holding fast to Warriors. “Hello, Link.”
Barely remembering to breathe, Warriors folded into a low bow. “Your Majesty.”
Princess Zelda let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t let this finery fool you—just Zelda is fine, as always.” She extended a hand to him. “I think there’s a special sanctity in maintaining a first-name basis, don’t you?”
Warriors straightened and met her gaze. Her eyes sparkled like summer lakes. With the corners of his mouth lifting, he stepped forward and took her bare hand, bringing it to his lips.
The war had been won weeks ago, yet Warriors had seldom seen the princess since she’d accompanied him to return the Master Sword to its pedestal. With so many obligations keeping them apart—for the princess, governing a healing Hyrule, and for Warriors, overseeing his troops—there had been little opportunity to cross paths. So, when a royal messenger had paid Warriors a visit the other day with an invitation at the behest of the princess, he’d accepted immediately.
Zelda gave him an admiring once-over, her hands returning to her back. “I must say you wear that armor well—though I’m pleased you kept the scarf.”
Warriors emulated her stance, his hands disappearing behind himself. “Of course. It’s nothing less than what you requested.”
“Well, the costumes weren’t my request. But now that I’m seeing you, I’m delighted all the same.”
Pivoting slightly, she showcased her waist, and Warriors noticed for the first time that a broad swath of fabric was cinched to her middle, draping elegantly across her hips before tumbling behind her to the floor. The rich indigo color complemented his scarf seamlessly.
“Matching,” she said softly.
Warriors held her gaze. A delicate blush had crept over her cheeks, as arresting as the rising sun. Static prickled beneath his skin. Impa stood to the side with her arms crossed, a shrewd smile playing on her lips.
They bid the Sheikah general farewell, and after Zelda dismissed her guards, she and Warriors set off together along the upper halls of the castle.
“I do appreciate you accepting my invitation,” said Zelda as they passed rows of towering lancet windows. “I know you must have your hands full with demobilization efforts.”
“The honor is mine,” said Warriors, “and it’s no trouble. Captain Garyll is perfectly capable of holding down the fort for a day.”
“He didn’t give you grief for abandoning your post for a modeling vocation?”
“Well, he might have, had I said anything about it. The trick was to keep him ignorant.”
“Very clever,” smiled Zelda.
They turned left down a brightly lit corridor Warriors had never set foot in. Gradually, Warriors felt the viselike grip over his tongue relax its hold on him. Despite her regal appearance, the princess was clearly the same person he knew: forward, good-humored, and surprisingly bashful at times. And kind. Always kind. Just dressed up. Put at ease, Warriors’s posture softened, the tightness in his shoulders slackening.
“It pleases me to hear you’ve found a true friend in Garyll,” continued Zelda, the train of her dress sweeping against the stone grain of the floor. “Such a thing can be hard to find—especially in this day and age, when wartime makes differentiating between friend and foe a gamble.” She adopted a pensive look, her brow furrowed at the floor. “I’m rather fortunate to have Impa myself.”
“You have me as well, Zelda.”
“Yes,” she said, turning her luminous gaze on him. “Of that, I am most grateful. And relieved—I didn’t cherish the thought of doing this alone.” A sardonic little puff of air escaped her nose. “You win a war and suddenly your every blink and sneeze must be memorialized in bronze.”
“The court advisors love their theatrics.”
“Truly. I’m sure you’ve had enough of statues and paintings to last a lifetime.”
“I’m golden so long as you’re with me.”
“I’m with you.”
After strolling past a row of mounted busts, they entered a moderately sized room at the end of the hall. It looked to be some sort of private studio: Paintings and carvings in various states of completion were littered across the space, resting on furniture, propped against sideboards. Giant bay windows with rich brocade drapes washed the room in gold, and skylights cast beams of natural light along the ceiling’s wooden rafters.
Off to the side, a short, spindly man stood next to an easel which bore a massive blank canvas that was taller than he was. At Warriors and Zelda’s approach, the man whirled around to face them. His eyes went comically round, his handlebar mustache curling at the ends. With a jaunty spring in his step, he bounded forward and prostrated himself at Zelda’s feet.
“Princess Zelda!” he yelped, his reedy voice muffled by the hardwood floor. “Your Highness—as always, I am tremendously humbled to be in your venerated presence. What an honor it is to create works that last through the ages for the royal family—especially for such a momentous occasion as this.”
“It is just as much of an honor to be with you, Bonji,” said Zelda, smiling kindly down at him. “You may rise.”
The court painter—Bonji—rose shakily to his feet. He turned his attention to Warriors. Warriors could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Bonji gave him a deep bow, though this time keeping his feet.
“And Sir Link—the storied hero in the flesh—your reputation precedes you. I know my endless thanks to you and the princess will never compensate for your heroic deeds, but I thank you just the same for your sacrifices, for your bravery that beat back the darkness threatening to engulf Hyrule. I will forever be in awe of your matchless power.”
Warriors drew a blank as he was buffeted by compliments from this man—a stranger by all rights, yet now an associate due to the fathomless designs of fate. He stared at the top of the painter’s bowed head, grasping for something to say, when Zelda came to his rescue:
“It is we who are in awe of your artistry, Bonji. We strive to live up to the mastery of your brushstrokes. Thank you for accepting the court’s petitions time and time again.”
Bonji straightened to reveal cherry-red cheeks. “You flatter me, Your Highness.”
He directed them to the opposite wall, where a velvet backdrop was hung between two windows. Bonji hopped in place as he instructed Warriors and Zelda’s poses, squirming with excitement as though he were in need of the restroom. He nudged them close together, having Warriors stand slightly behind Zelda. Meanwhile, he spoke to them in revered tones, adjusting the ruffles of Warriors’s scarf, fanning out the matching fabric at Zelda’s waist.
“—and Sir Link, if you would stand here off the princess’s left shoulder—mind her train now—that’s the ticket—and Your Highness, if you could fix your tassel, it’s a mite low on the right-hand side—perfect, just like that—and Sir Link, I’ll hand these over to you now—”
He proffered a large bouquet of pink nasturtiums to Warriors, who took it in his right hand.
“—and if you could hold them out to the side—a little lower, like so—and this allows the princess to rest her right hand over them too—yes, right on the button—which frees her left hand to… to…”
Bonji’s hopping ceased as his eyes fixated on the back of Zelda’s hand. Warriors could feel the anticipation rolling off him. Sensing his intent, Zelda gave the painter an astute look; she shut her eyes.
A brief silence came over the room as Zelda focused… Then—
A dazzling light issued forth from the back of Zelda’s right hand. It shot into the air, rotating like a spinning top until it condensed into a golden triangle that hovered above the open palm of her left hand.
Brighter than the afternoon sunlight, the Triforce of Wisdom flashed its brilliance to the three spectators before dimming to solid gold. With a quiver of remembrance, Warriors harked back to the last time he saw it used: a time not so long ago, when it had combined with Courage and Power to seal away Ganon and close the portals causing rifts throughout the kingdom. Bonji swayed on the spot, going weak at the knees at the sight; but before he could collapse, he seemed to regain his strength at the last moment, shaking himself from his daze.
“Magnificent,” he croaked. “Just magnificent…”
Breathless, Bonji extended a rubbery arm to Warriors’s unoccupied left hand. “A-and now, Sir Link, if you could…”
Cottoning on, Warriors quickly raised his left hand so that it rested just below Zelda’s, palm up, as if he too were presenting her Triforce piece.
Overwhelmed, Bonji stepped back with a wobbly smile, surveying the scene with his hands clasped together. “Perfection.”
Returning to his easel, the painter got to work. Using a stool to reach the top of the canvas, he bobbed up and down on it incessantly, jabbing away like a frenzied cucco, his brush sweeping the canvas in broad strokes. His eyes darted between his creation and his subjects, engrossed in his task.
“When I was a small child, I couldn’t compose myself long enough to sit for the court painter,” said Zelda under her breath. “It drove all the officials mad. We went through seven different painters before they finally gave up on me altogether. I can’t count how many times Impa had to restrain me by my braids to keep me from stealing the paintbrushes and using them as improvised swords.”
“Are you asking me to restrain you by your braids?” grinned Warriors.
“No,” said Zelda, and Warriors could hear the smile in her voice. “Being trained in combat has fortunately channeled my excitability over the years. All I ask is that you would vouch for my proper etiquette today if Impa happens to come inquiring about it.”
“I’ll proudly be your advocate.”
Bonji hummed and muttered to himself as he worked, too absorbed in his craft to pay heed to the conversation taking place between his subjects. Warriors stood tall and disciplined as he and Zelda held still for their combined portrait. From his vantage, he could only glimpse the princess’s profile, but it was obvious she was enjoying herself. Her golden hair spilled attractively over her shoulder, ending in an intricate braid that fell past her lower back.
“I have a hard time picturing you causing a stir at any age,” said Warriors. “I would have wagered that Little You was just as orderly back then as Older You.”
“Oh, not in the slightest. It’s only by a miracle the person you see standing before you today is half as put-together as she is.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
“Now that I find difficult to believe.”
“Start believing, because that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my award-winning faults.”
He said this flippantly, as though barely giving it a second thought, but it had Zelda wrinkling her brow. Before they could say another word, Bonji dropped down from his stool and trotted over with a shamefaced look.
“Um—pardon me, Your Highness, Sir Link—it does appear you’re a bit far apart. Perhaps, if you could move closer together, it would help with the composition…”
Following Bonji’s encouragements, Warriors shuffled forward until nearly his entire front was pressed to Zelda’s back. Zelda stood statuesque as Warriors shifted around her, her lips curled up as he took special care not to tread on her gown. He keenly felt every point of pressure against her. A whiff of her flowery perfume reached his nose. Stiff as a board, Warriors ordered himself to take stable, even breaths.
“I’m interested in uncovering more of this alleged iceberg of yours,” said Zelda, continuing their discussion once Bonji returned to his stool, “since I struggle to see you as anything other than strictly put-together.”
“My self-control likes to run off on me,” assured Warriors. “Not an upstanding quality to have in a hero, I know, but I’m aiming for honesty here. I appreciate the sentiment, though, Princess.”
As soon as the honorific left his lips, Warriors knew he’d slipped up. He froze, jaw clenching as he winced internally. He gave his head the slightest shake, quickly correcting himself. “Zelda. My apologies.”
Zelda’s lilting laugh flowed over him. “Case in point,” she said with genuine warmth. “You are very principled in a way that I can only aspire to be.”
“I admit this is a tough lifestyle change to make. It looks like more training is in order, except this time it’s for my speech rather than my swordsmanship.”
“You’re a quick learner, Link. With your abilities, I have no doubt you’ll get it in time.”
The light from the window shifted, casting a glare onto the floating piece of the Triforce. Warriors watched it hover unsupported above his and Zelda’s hands, concentrating on the vibrating pulse of its energy over the feel of her shoulder against his chest.
“I hope you know that, self-control aside, I have always respected your confidence,” Zelda pressed on, her head tilting ever-so-slightly toward him. “Your courage. I see your initiative, and I admire you for it greatly. You may call it a fault, but I would beg to differ. Your willingness to act is what ultimately makes you our hero, and at the end of the day, helped us turn the tide in the war.”
“Overconfidence is a good way to put it. I can’t say I’m worthy of such high praise from you, but thank you.”
“You are more than worthy of anything I have to offer, Link.”
“That’s the kindest thing someone’s said to me since Colonel Griggs told me my face looked almost as pretty as the armor I spent too much time polishing every morning. As a reward, he assigned me to scrub the senior officers’ lavatory.”
This time, Zelda abandoned all pretense of propriety. She swiveled around to look at Warriors straight on, her wide eyes only a few inches from his. She looked at him as though she were seeing him for the first time; Warriors could see her pupils dilating rapidly. His spine went rigid, his heart pounding a frenzied rhythm into his throat—he wondered if he’d overstepped—then, she was speaking, her voice taking on an accusatory edge.
“You’re funny.”
Warriors stayed straight as an arrow as she stared at him. His mind whirred, running quick permutations of how he should do damage control—when to his great relief, she broke out in a smile.
“I don’t think I ever realized how witty you were. Not until this moment.”
A flurry of movement drew Warriors’s eye back to Bonji’s easel. The court painter was standing at the top of his stool with a grimace, gesturing awkwardly for them to resume their proper poses. Zelda whirled back around to face the front, speaking out of the corner of her mouth.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been speaking without Proxi’s aid more and more these days, too,” she said as Bonji recommenced his painting. “Your voice—it’s nice. I love hearing it.”
Warriors’s fingers tightened around the stems of the flowers in his right hand. “That’s what Proxi used to say whenever she grew tired of talking for me. When that didn’t work on me, she took to narrating everything I did. That was the final straw for me, so you have her to thank.”
“It’s extraordinary to think how long she remained by your side. She was with you for the entirety of the war, wasn’t she?”
“She was.”
“You must miss her.”
An unexpected pang cut through Warriors’s chest. “I do.”
Zelda’s speech tapered off. Warriors eyed a cluster of dust particles spotlighted by a shaft of yellow light, thinking of fairy magic, when he suddenly felt Zelda repositioning at his front, slamming him back to the present.
“It’s ironic,” she said, “that for all my combat training, I apparently lack the ability to hold up my arm for extended periods of time.” She winced, rolling out her left shoulder while keeping her hand dutifully propped up. “It seems that I’m working different muscles than usual.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m left-handed.” Warriors raised his arm until it was directly beneath her own. “You’re welcome to rest your arm on mine if you wish.”
“You won’t grow tired of it, will you?”
“The only thing I’m tired of is pretending to care about Garyll’s one-sided rivalry with me. I’ve got you covered.”
Beaming, Zelda accepted his offer. He felt her arm come down to rest atop his own, her shoulder relaxing as he took on her weight. “Thank you,” she said.
Time slipped away as they made idle chit-chat. Their light discourse revealed mannerisms in Zelda that their wartime collaboration never could: her soft hums of interest, the slight tilt of her head whenever he’d speak, her tendency to lift her shoulder toward her ear when she’d tease him. For all the praise he’d received over the years for his ability to multitask, Warriors’s mind remained stubbornly fixed on the feeling of Zelda leaning back against him as they talked, his thought processes disrupting every time her hair tickled his cheek. By the time the setting sun stained the windows ruby red and Bonji declared his task complete, Warriors had to take several discreet, stabilizing breaths in order to refocus as, at last, he and Zelda separated.
“So, Your Highness, Sir Link—what do you think of the result?” asked Bonji with trepidation as he finally stepped away from his easel. “It’s not the final product, of course—the background needs work and I must apply finishing touches, but I’m sure its effect will give you the general idea…”
Zelda approached the canvas, her smile growing as she laid eyes upon it. “Stunning work, Bonji! Absolutely stunning—but no surprise there, really. That’s your work, and not ours.”
Bonji blushed with pride all over again, his pink-and-blue-splattered hands twirling his paintbrush. “As always, you flatter me, Your Highness.”
Warriors peered over Zelda’s shoulder. Before him lay an enormous rendering of both the princess and himself. The lifelike quality behind the work was uncanny: Even in its incomplete state, Zelda’s regalia was depicted with exactness, her effulgent expression competing with the Triforce of Wisdom as the artwork’s focal point. Warriors’s own stately attire was captured down to the last detail. His chain mail and silver plates of armor gleamed majestically, his scarf unfurling behind him like a sail. He too gave Bonji an impressed smile, and the smaller man darkened in color. “Beautiful couple,” the painter uttered, causing a swooping sensation in Warriors’s stomach.
“Well, this has certainly been a pleasure, Link,” said Zelda as Bonji cleaned up his paints. She turned to meet Warriors head-on for the first time in hours, the crimson light from the window irradiating her face. “I can’t recall the last time I had a proper break from duty—if you can call standing still for hours a break,” she tacked on humorously.
Warriors inclined his head. “It’s always a privilege accompanying you.”
“I’ve been thinking…” Suddenly, she adopted a diffident air, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “For everything we’ve accomplished while working together, we’ve yet to spend decent quality time with one another. In a non-violent setting, that is.”
“I agree. It’s probably best if we found out each other’s secrets from our own mouths instead of during the heat of battle.”
“Indeed,” laughed Zelda, unbothered by his friendly gibe. “Granted, we work well together on the battlefield. Though I can’t help but feel we work well off the field too. Which brings me to my second invitation for you.”
Inhaling deeply, Zelda placed her hands behind her back. “There’s much I still don’t know about you, and it is my sincerest desire to change that. I’d love to further connect with you. Should you be interested… If you’d assent to keeping company with me moving forward… it would mean a great deal to me.”
Warriors stood transfixed, held captive by her blazing look. Her eyes shone like sapphires in the dying light. For the briefest moment, he hesitated—but before his reticence could claim him, her royal blue swept him up, and he felt his lips move outside of his control.
“Yes. I’d be honored, Zelda.”
His use of her name was all it took. Cheeks blooming like the sunset beside her, Zelda beamed brightly at him, her affection like a tangible force he could reach out and grasp. Her infinite beauty swept over him like petals on the wind, and, caught up in the emotion of the here and now, Warriors almost convinced himself that it was enough.
He came to with a gasp. He flung himself backward from the edge of the water and landed hard on his backside, his knees aching after digging into the pavement for so long. He examined his surroundings. The Skyview Spring looked just as it had when he’d entered, the rushing waterfalls and the fluttering butterflies undisturbed. Judging by the dusky sky and the stiffness in his muscles, he must have been praying for quite some time. Panting, he sat back on the hard stone, horror mounting within him like a brewing storm.
So it was as he’d feared.
Ever since his slip-up at the cliffside, Warriors had known he was in desperate need of a reality check. With his pride once again to blame for his descent into disaster, he knew some major readjustments in his character were in order, pronto. The barricade at the Sealed Temple was proof enough of that. But, to his everlasting shame, it was clear to him now that his issues ran even deeper than that. If he’d been honest with himself from the get-go—truly, totally honest—he had suspected this was the case the whole time. And now, after running from his fears for too long, he was forced to confront them directly. Now, with the goddess herself answering his prayer in no equivocal terms, putting his weakness on full display, he had no choice but to face the truth: his emotional baggage had come back to bite him.
He was getting in way over his head.
Trembling, Warriors heaved himself up, his legs cramping as they supported his weight. He turned to gaze back in the direction of the door that would return him to the spring’s antechamber, his mind in limbo.
…What was he going to tell the others?
Reluctant though he was to admit it, Warriors knew now what his problem was. The inflation of his pride had ballooned so astronomically over time that the goddess had finally said enough was enough and had taken things into her own hands. Since he’d failed to check his ego, he now had to atone for other matters he’d left unaddressed for years. Trouble was, these matters far surpassed the scope of his abilities. Warriors didn’t have the faintest inkling of how to remedy them. He never had.
And, all things considered, serve him right.
With this painful memory of her playing on repeat in his head, Warriors made his decision. Setting his jaw, he retraced his steps back to the entrance of the spring, taking the staircase down. The golden door disappeared in response to the touch of his palm, and all too soon he re-emerged into the antechamber.
Sky and Zelda (Sky’s Zelda) were on the floor, reclined against the wall. They clearly hadn’t expected him to return just then; they leapt to their feet, gaping at Warriors in disbelief. Before the door could solidify behind him, they were hurrying over to him with wide-eyed looks.
“Captain, you’re back!” said Sky. “You’ve been out for so long, we were wondering if we should go in after you. We weren’t sure if you… Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re back!” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “So how’d the spring go? Did you… uh… receive any inspiration?”
Warriors stalled. He glanced over Sky’s shoulder. Zelda stood a few steps behind Sky. Her eyes were razor sharp, seeing right through Warriors. His gaze fell.
“Maybe,” he said listlessly. “I saw… something. But I didn’t find an answer for how I can pass through the barrier. That remains unclear.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he released it slowly through his nose, his hands curled into fists. “It’s grown late. It wasn’t my intention to stay out so long. We should get some rest so we can get a head start tomorrow on the next spring. Unless you had something to share?”
He addressed this last part to Zelda. Zelda hesitated before she walked forward to stand at Sky’s side.
“Link and I have been talking—you know, when you were outside,” she said, waving her hand toward the door Warriors had just come through. “And we… we think the best course of action is for me to leave for the time being and make my way to Skyloft.”
This hooked Warriors’s attention. Taken by surprise, he arched an eyebrow, studying the resolved look on her face. Sky appeared anything but happy, his shoulders slumped as he looked despondently at Zelda.
“When I was praying, I had the impression that a solution lies embedded within the ancient texts on my father’s bookshelves,” she explained. “They’ve always helped us gain an understanding of long-lost customs and prophecies. It’s a bit inconvenient, obviously. Father relocated many of his possessions to the Surface, but most of his books are still back at the academy. On Skyloft.” She took Sky’s hand. “But after what I’ve just seen, I feel this is the best way to help. For me to help.”
Warriors absorbed the implication behind her words. So she claimed her abilities were best served elsewhere, the springs no longer her priority. Was her claim surface level? Or was there a hidden motive buried beneath it?
The gears began turning in his head. Questions bombarded him, each demanding to be given a voice: Why the change of plan? What did the goddess actually show you? But if he were being truthful with himself, Warriors knew that he didn’t genuinely want the answers to these questions. He had a hunch about what she’d seen, and he preferred to not have it be put into words. He didn’t want these same questions turned back around on him. After some internal deliberation, he nodded in acceptance, sealing the deal within their group.
Their return trip to the Kikwis was quick and uneventful, made even quicker by the thoughts that rattled unpleasantly inside Warriors’s skull. It was completely dark save for the glittering mushroom spores lighting the dirt paths. Upon reaching their campsite, Warriors mumbled goodnight, leaving the Skyloftians to chat with the elder at the hollow stump. He headed directly for his spot from the previous night, avoiding the prickly sweetbriar patches in his way. Without even fussing over his bedroll, he collapsed against the base of a tree, jumping straight into what he most yearned for at present: his meditation.
As soon as he closed his eyes, his warring emotions assailed him. They shouted aspersions, hurled insults at him, each tearing at the others in order to be heard above the rest. Warriors patiently sat back, waiting for the smoke to blow over.
I’m a coward, said his anger.
I’m a hero, said his vanity.
I’m a fraud masquerading as a hero, rejoined his anger.
I’m a liar and lack the courage to speak the truth, said his self-disgust.
It’s been seven years and still I don’t have the guts to confide in her, said his shame above all.
Taking in a bracing breath, Warriors relaxed his shoulders, falling into his exhale. This was typical. Everything was par for the course, these were all the usual suspects. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. He took in another measured breath, about to assuage his shame that was castigating him for his failures, when he heard it strike like the crack of a whip:
“Ah… the hero at last. Come to finally surrender yourself, darling?”
Warriors’s eyes flew open as everything screeched to a halt. All the heat left his body as though Gohma had sucked out his insides.
Goddesses, I’m in trouble.