Work Text:
The flow of time is cruel, Zelda thought, and immediately, she knew it wasn’t the first time the phrase had crossed her mind.
Visions from her past lives were almost a common occurrence now, memories crawling back to her like moths to a flame. Sometimes, she found herself doubting who she was and which world she was truly in, not only because of the visions, but because Ganon was ever relentless in his evil to twist her mind and faith.
These memories were like a reprieve in a way, and when she was thrown back into reality, her own memories kept her sane—yet she found herself losing grip of them nevertheless, the memories of the past reincarnations of Hylia blurring her own.
It had made her angry at first, to be stripped from her own identity, to know that even if she died fighting Ganon, her next life will simply just have to finish the job for her. She had no choice—they had no choice—and at the beginning of her century-long battle, she found herself using rage as her fuel.
Ganon was ruthless—the first decade was the absolute worst, and Zelda knew that even though she had cursed Hylia’s name at every chance, it was only through Her Grace that she had managed to survive. She had begged to be forgiven ever since, and despite Hylia instantly smiling and welcoming her back into her embrace, Zelda still felt guilt resonating within her.
Hylia had guided her through Ganon’s artifices and mind games, had gifted her chances to escape from his wrath, had sent her visions to remind her of hope—for, in each of those visions, Ganon had been defeated by the Hero and the Princess, Courage and Wisdom, together. Always together.
But she had stormed Hyrule Castle alone. Her reincarnation was not as lucky, it seemed, although Zelda had already realized this long ago when she was desperately trying to unlock her powers.
She was never truly religious—despite being the literal reincarnation of Hylia—but now, when people would ask her how she managed for so long, she would respond with one word:
Faith.
She was faithful in many things. At first, it was her anger, her inconsiderate frustration at this blasted role the goddesses made her play and the sacrifice she had made ever since she was a child. But once she had evolved from this mindset, Zelda began to have faith in her memories, clinging on to the prospect of being able to see, smell, hear, taste, touch again. She had been deprived of it for so long, and she had fought valiantly to have it back.
The Calamity had tried to steal these moments away from her, tried to eradicate all thoughts of life from her mind. She held her most treasured memories close, like the one of her mother braiding her hair a few months before she had succumbed to sickness, or the one of her father reading her a nighttime story a month after her mother died—a tradition her mother had always done. When she closed her eyes and tried to reflect on her past, she could recollect most of her memories, but she knew some of them were gone forever—snatched viciously away from her by the Calamity.
It made her blood curl, but she had long since learned how to control her emotions, to calmly take things in stride. Besides, Ganon had not taken the memories she had bolted in her heart.
The memories of him.
Memories of him holding her as they danced together at one of the celebratory balls her father enjoyed hosting for holidays, of him opening up to her and sharing stories from his childhood while they were lounging by an open fire during one of their many excursions, of his resolve slowly breaking and him becoming more expressive with her, smiling and laughing at her jokes, of him sitting quietly by her side in her study as she narrated aloud her thought process while researching and writing notes, a concentrated look on his face while he did his best to understand all the complex theories and hypotheses. He had given her so much, including his life, and in return, she had failed to help him when he needed it the most.
Even after a century, she could not forgive herself. Link did, something Zelda found surprising since he still hadn’t recovered all of his memories. There was nothing else she could have done, sure, but still—it was her fault Hyrule had perished. The least she could do was help rebuild the villages again, establish a consistent and secure trading route, and create the foundation for a new central government. Once that was done, then maybe—maybe—she would allow herself to rest.
Because when she did, she often found herself returning to that dark, perilous cage: the times where Ganon had seeped Malice into her heart, had tried to trick her into believing that Hyrule had been completely and utterly destroyed, had tried to twist her love for Link and transform it into something evil. She still had nightmares about the way the Calamity had caressed the barriers protecting her consciousness, had whispered darkness into her mind and seized her memories, had threatened to tear her apart.
Hylia saved her, but it was Link who kept her strong.
She didn’t tell Link these things, despite it being a few months after Ganon’s presence disappeared from the world. Sealing the Calamity away still felt like a distant dream—one that during her battle she had conjured up plenty of times to use against him, to show him that he will be destroyed. She still found herself lost in that painful rhythm, and when the sun sank below the horizon and candles were blown, Zelda could have sworn she saw the black and red flames of the Calamity dancing in the dark.
She couldn’t afford to rest. Hylia was not there to save her now.
Zelda knew she had to tell Link eventually. In fact, he had become rather suspicious at the bags forming beneath her eyes, the thinness of her frame, the exhaustion coating her features. If she didn’t speak soon, she knew he would, and he would be persistent in ensuring she was healthy again.
He had done it before when they were just two lost teenagers attempting to understand their roles in this vast destiny the goddesses had left for them. He kept her sane and alive, a calming presence when the pressure from the world outside had become too much for her to shoulder alone.
This, at least, had not changed.
But, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid. If Link heard her entire story, he would hate her, would never forgive her. She was so sure of it.
So she continued her routine, silently hoping that one day, he would muster enough courage to speak up and force her to confess, so she would have to finally face his decision. If he decided to leave—Zelda’s heart plummeted at the thought—then she would just have to discover a way to move on without him, continue the restoration efforts, and somehow find a place for herself in Hyrule that was not by his side.
Besides, it would be selfish of her to keep him with her. Even though he was the only man she had ever loved, she could not deprive him of his freedom.
She couldn’t think of that, though. Not now. Now, she was thrown back in that never-ending battle with Ganon, and despite the majority of it being a blur in her mind, there was one clear memory that still echoed within her today:
The flow of time is cruel, Zelda remembered thinking whenever Hylia began to show her the visions.
But then Ganon had scoffed. It seemed as if he was also receiving those visions—Hylia was reminding him of his constant defeat. No, he said, his tone suddenly solemn. The flow of time is always cruel.
Even when it pained her to do so, Zelda felt inclined to agree.