Chapter Text
In Castle Town, there were rations on just about everything you could grow. Sugar was a luxury, and fresh fruit was little more than a happy memory. Even simpler things like wheat and rice were spread thin.
This, however, was not an issue for Link.
Sugar wasn’t an option, but honey was a near enough match, and dried fruit was nearly as good once it was baked in. Having enough flour took a bit of stretching too, but the real issue was the eggs. It had taken him a while longer than he’d hoped, but he’d eventually managed to find some laid in a nest by the moat.
Link sat next to the rusted cooking pot he’d dragged behind the barracks, taking a deep breath in. He started going through the steps in his head, hoping it would drown out the worry. The less he thought about all of this, the better he was going to feel.
As the fire warmed up, he kneaded the dough with his bare hands, working it together into an awkward, misshapen lump. The raw eggs squished between his fingers, and the honey stuck under his nails. The pan was warm against his skin, but still not too hot to touch, though it wouldn’t be for much longer.
“Link? Link? Where did you go?” Zelda came around the corner, brushing a stray twig from her hair. Her face was flushed, her breath short, and once she saw him she stopped to catch her breath, dropping down next to him. “What happened to you in there? You just ran off without saying anything. I mean, you don’t usually say anything, but, well, this was different,” she accused him.
Link paused, setting the clump of sticky dough onto a sheet of clean parchment, daring a quick glance at her. “I. . .got upset,” he said quietly.
He turned to the side, picking up a small wooden bowl of dried fruit. They sat in silence while he snapped the apple slices into rough small pieces, dropping them on top of the dough. Zelda sat in silence, watching him methodically break the fruit. She was hoping he might say something else, but it was no surprise when he stayed silent, his coarse breathing rising and falling with the flickering of the fire. Zelda reached across him and picked up her own handful of slices, carefully breaking them into even pieces, working with a careful rhythm to match Link.
“What are you making?” Zelda asked. She’d wanted to press the matter, make him tell her what had set him off. But it was obvious in the heaviness of his eyes and the stiffness in his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk about how he was feeling and why. So she let him off, at least, for now.
He glanced at her, watching in surprise as she broke the fruit. He waited for a moment before speaking, his voice steady. “You’re breaking them too big.” He reached over, tracing a line across a piece. “If they’re bigger than that, it won’t cook evenly.”
Zelda leaned back, surprised by his sudden chattiness—if you could really call it that. She nodded, breaking them into smaller pieces. “That makes sense. I was never much for cooking. I’d have rather been reading, so I didn’t ever learn. You still didn’t tell me what we’re making, though.”
Link flushed a bit, offering an embarrassed smile. Zelda reeled back, staring. Had she seen him smile before? It was a soft sort of thing, actually. Not shy, so much as it was unpracticed, cautious. He even had dimples.
She hadn’t known he had dimples.
“Sorry, forgot,” he mumbled, tossing aside a twisted apple stem. “It’s a quick baking fruit cake recipe,” he explained. He picked up the ball of dough, and then after a moment of hesitation, pulled it in two, offering her half. Once she took it, he started folding the fruit in, watching to make sure she knew how.
“Fruit cake?” Zelda said, biting back a smile. “But sugar, and butter, how—never mind, I don’t care. Fruit cake is my favorite,” she told him, with a grin, folding the dried fruit into the dough with renewed eagerness about her.
They set their awkward lumps into the bowl of the cooking pot, and the metal began to hiss, warming the clumpy dough. The fire flickered with a quiet, absent sort of way about it, lapping up around the edges, slowly crumbling the blackened charcoal below.
Link picked a few wildflowers from between the cracked stones, twirling them absently between his fingers, watching the petals bob. After a moment, Zelda reached across him. As she slipped her fingers around the stems, their hands brushed for just a moment before Link quickly jerked away, leaving her to hold the flowers.
Embarrassed for startling him, she tried to mirror her mother’s comforting smile that seemed to have the magic power of setting people at ease. “While we wait, let me show you something.” She bit her lip, carefully piercing the base of each stem with her thumbnail. She gently slid each stem through the slot of another, weaving the gangly little wildflowers into a stringy chain of pastel yellows and blues. “Here, look. You can chain them together like this. And with a little bit of twisting at the ends. . .Tadah,” she announced proudly.
It was actually a bit of an ugly little thing. The flower crowns her mother had made for her when she was young had been from the royal garden, back when it was still around. All the flowers were thick and lush, gorgeously trimmed and specifically chosen for their beautiful colors. But this one was faded, with frayed petals and a few roots hanging out, and a tiny ladybug wandering one of the dandelions. She started to feel a bit sick. He’d probably think it was stupid. He wouldn’t laugh, he wasn’t that kind of person, but he’d stare at her and wonder why she thought he would care.
Link picked it up gently, tracing the loop carefully, admiring the little weaves. He paused for a moment, giving her a cautious, awestruck glance, then slwoly set the ring of flowers atop his head, resting it in his golden hair with a sort of amazed reverence. “It’s. . .really pretty,” he said softly, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink. “Thank you, Zelda.”
She offered a relieved smile, turning a bright shade of red. “Oh, uh, glad you like it.” She turned back to the pot, feeling a small swell in her chest. “So, why are we cooking anyways?” Zelda asked him, poking a dry stick into the fire, turning over the burning firewood. “Is there a special occasion?”
Link scooted closer, offering her a leftover slice of dried apple. She broke it in half, crunching on one end as he relaxed, watching the cake begin to form. “Don’t know. Guess I do it when I’m upset,” he said, drawing his knees close to his chest.
Zelda set down her apple slice, turning to look at him. She moved cautiously, slowly, like he was a frightened wild animal, and any wrong step, no matter how small, could send him running. “You don’t have to,” Zelda told him, leaning back on her hands. “But if you want to, you can tell me about it. I can try to just listen.”
He rested his chin on his knees, his eyes still absently watching the leaping movements on the fire, slowly following its movements. He wasn’t sure how to speak, how to phrase his words without crossing any lines. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to talk.
“Because. . .” Link leaned closer to the pot, closing himself off. He turned the cakes over gently, his eyes dark and tired. “Because of werewolves, I never got to meet my parents. I never had many friends. I barely even know how to talk to people. Lots of times I feel like it’s my fault, I guess. And I’m just. . .so scared, all the time,” he said, laughing, turning away to hide his face. “Sorry.”
Zelda moved closer, gently pressing up against his shoulder. She parted her lips, mouth open to speak, but she came up dry. She glanced away, her mind spinning, then looked back, talking a slow, deep breath in.
“My father was killed while his back was turned. He didn’t even get the chance to fight back. And my mother. . .she. . .what happened to her happened because she was trying to save me,” she said softly, watching the fire. “She’s like this because of me. And now I’m supposed to lead everyone. And I’m failing them. All of them. I’m always scared that any little thing I do wrong will bring a genocide on my people. It’s not normal to be scared. It’s not okay. But we are.” She lifted her head, watching him intently, wishing she could read his mind. “We’re terrified, because both of us know we aren’t strong enough.”
Link turned slowly, finally facing her. His eyes were cast down, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face. His cheeks were stained and wet, his nose running and his eyes red. His head dropped to Zelda’s shoulder, and he took a shaky deep breath in. “I’m so tired of being scared,” he whispered, his eyes slipping shut, leaning close to her, glad, at the very least, to feel any sort of gentle human touch.
Zelda gently rested her head against his, staring out absently into the smoke. “We can be scared together,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around his narrow shoulders. “Then at least we both have something.”
Link nodded slightly, the firelight catching on his eyelashes, reflecting the orange light pouring from beneath the cooking pot, drying the tears from his face. When he finally pulled away, he moved slowly, as if it pained him to let go, to not hold anyone again. He took a shaky deep breath, then met her eyes. They shared a silent, deep gaze for a while, and both could feel the others’ unspoken thanks for the shared moment.
“Fruit cakes are done,” Link said, using a wooden paddle to scoop them out of the pot. He set them down on his small piece of parchment, then added a garnish by means of a few fruit slices and a drizzle of honey. “No icing. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Zelda said softly, pouring water over the cooking fire. “They smell delicious. Is this where you disappear to every day?” He tensed up at the question, so she quickly waved it away, forcing a laugh. “Kidding, kidding.”
Hesitating, Link blew on the cakes, and once they were cool, tried to pick one up. To both their surprise, the second small cake tried to follow.
Zelda bit her lip with a bemused smile, pulling out a small pocket knife. “They must have baked into each other,” she said, gently cutting the two cakes apart.
They each picked up their cake, cupping the warm confection between two hands. Zelda blew on hers, handling it carefully, trying not to burn her fingers as she ripped off one small piece at a time, blowing on it quickly. Link didn’t even hesitate, wolfing the hot cake down as if someone bigger and stronger might come wrestle it away from him if he didn’t eat fast.
Link glanced at her as he licked his fingers, looking a bit surprised that she wasn’t even halfway through. He paused, then offered an awkward, cautious smile, as if testing out to see whether it was still working. He spoke softly, his words cautious and stilted. “I know that everything is. . .really busy. But someday, remind me to show you my waterfall, okay?”
Zelda snorted, shoving a bite of cake into her mouth. “Your waterfall? What’s that even mean?” But he only offered a cheeky shrug in response, so she just smiled and shook her head. “Alright. You can show me some day.” She looked down at her cake, turning it over in her hands. “I can’t wait to see it.”