Chapter Text
After a night of restless sleep, Urbosa roused herself enough to cross the frigid bedchamber and part the heavy curtains of the window. Her heart sank into her stomach, for last night’s storm had grown into a shrieking blizzard, the world outside her window lost in a solid wall of white.
Urbosa stood in silence for some time, her arms crossed over her chest, as she tried to accept that she would not make it home for the dark feast this year. She told herself that this was fine, that she could celebrate with Ubari and the children when she returned home, but her heart felt cold and heavy as stone inside her. Unbidden, a quiet voice in the back of her mind said,
This will be my last.
The thought made Urbosa’s eyes sting, and she closed the curtains again. Alone in the semi-darkness of her room, she crawled back into her borrowed bed and pulled the quilts over her head. She thought of Ubari waiting and watching for some sign of activity of Naboris, of the table laden with a feast worthy of Nabooru herself, of her little nieces and the watchful spirits of their house. Urbosa swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself back to sleep. There was little point in rising now, with the way home out of commission and Zelda busy with the Solstice ceremony.
She did not quite manage to sleep, but drifted in a gray haze for a time, some part of her always somehow miserably cold beneath the down comforter and quilts. She tried to hold the memories of her family at arm’s length and fell instead to remembering Imelda, how she had once taught her how to make the table ready and welcome home the dead.
Knocking at the door to Urbosa’s chambers drew her from these thoughts, and with a long sigh Urbosa sat up, drew her robe more tightly around her, and set off to answer the door. The intruder was insistent, knocking in rapid bursts with polite silences between, and Urbosa hoped for their sake that they had a proper emergency on their hands.
“Urbosa? Are you there?”
Mipha’s voice, muffled behind the door but still sweet and unmistakable. Urbosa hurried to the door, hissing as her bare feet touched the freezing flagstones. She dragged open the door and found Mipha on the other side, a tray balanced on one arm and her free hand raised to knock. Mipha blinked, but then she smiled shyly up at Urbosa, lifting the tray for her inspection.
“Hello, my Lady. You missed breakfast, and I thought I’d bring you something.”
Had it really been so long? Urbosa tried not to let her dismay show on her face, and bowed her head to Mipha in gratitude.
"That is very kind of you, my friend. Thank you.”
She reached down to take the tray from Mipha--a teapot and a honey jar, a platter of pastries and winter fruits--and ignored the spark of warmth that lept in her belly when her hands brushed Mipha’s. It would be rude to leave her on the threshold, and so Urbosa stepped back from the door and tilted her head towards the scattering of chairs before the hearth. Mipha smiled brightly and stepped inside, leaving Urbosa to kick the door shut behind her.
“I’m pleased you’ve been having a lie-in, Urbosa. It will do you good.” Mipha said, dragging two of the chairs close together by the fire. Urbosa grunted, nudged one the stupid little tables Hylians loved to leave everywhere close to the chairs, and set the tray down. They each claimed a seat and settled in; Mipha poured tea for both of them, and Urbosa began to divy up the provisions.
“No, those are yours, Urbosa. You haven’t eaten since last night.” Mipha said, and fixed her with what Urbosa privately thought of as her vaba stare, intent and just a touch disapproving.
“Fine.” Urbosa muttered, and she ripped a piece off a pastry and ate it without pleasure, staring back at Mipha in defiance. This was very childish, and she must look frightful with her hair in a tangle around her, but Mipha did not seem to notice. She gave Urbosa a pleased little smile and drizzled some honey into Urbosa’s tea before adding a much larger dollop to her own cup. She had tried tea prepared the Gerudo way once and had not looked back. Urbosa ate her pastry methodically as Mipha took a long sip of her tea; she had not realized how hungry she actually was until now.
“So.” Mipha set her cup aside and rested her hands in her lap, head canted slightly as she looked at Urbosa. “What is wrong?”
The question startled Urbosa, made her pause. Mipha regarded her with warm amber eyes, neither demanding nor pitying, simply a kind soul seeking answers. Urbosa swallowed, her tongue strangely thick in her mouth, and weighed her answer carefully.
“I am...troubled, that I cannot spend the holiday with my family.” Urbosa said at last, turning her gaze into the fireplace. She heard the chair creak as Mipha leaned over, and then her hand was on Urbosa’s arm, warm as embers.
“I am so sorry, my friend. Still, there is the Solstice feast this evening, surely--”
“I do not celebrate the Solstice. That is a Hylian feast day.” Urbosa said shortly, and moved her arm. A part of her was aware of how unkind she was being--Mipha was not Gerudo, of course she did not know the holy days--but it was hard to care, when home was leagues away and the winds howled around the Castle.
Mipha drew her hand back, shrank in on herself a little; Urbosa had hurt her feelings. Ashamed of herself, Urbosa sighed and raked her hands through the mass of her hair.
“I’m sorry, carakeeva . I should not snap.”
She stretched one hand out to Mipha, palm up. After a moment Mipha laid her hand in Urbosa’s and laced their fingers together, squeezing gently.
“Please forgive me.” Urbosa said quietly.
“You are lonely. It is hard to be one among many.” Mipha murmured, and Urbosa swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat.
“That is no excuse for rudeness, especially not towards you.”
“True. And Revali will be cross that you are swimming in his territory.” Mipha said, and her eyes had that mischievous gleam in them. Urbosa found that she was smiling in spite of herself.
“I tremble in fear.” she said, and they both chuckled a little. Urbosa finally drank some of her tea, and was pleased to find that Mipha had brought her favorite safflina blend, rich and warming. They sat quietly and enjoyed their tea together for a while, their hands still clasped easily between them. Urbosa stole sidelong glances at Mipha, at the braid their fingers made. How tiny Mipha’s hand was! And how amusing, that such delicate little things could deal so much destruction on the battlefield.
“If I may ask, what do you celebrate? Since you do not celebrate the Solstice.” Mipha asked, a little tentatively. Urbosa paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe the feast of the Long Night.
“It’s...not unlike the Hylian Solstice, I suppose. We call it the Long Night and our ways are more...personal.”
“How so?”
Again Urbosa hesitated, for some things were not for sharing with outlanders. But Mipha was not an outlander, not truly. She had fought and bled beside Urbosa a dozen times now, and she was nearly as close as one of the Spearhead. It would not be wrong to share, not with her, not when she asked so gently.
“We lay the table with places for those who have died, and line the pathway home with lanterns so that our lost ones will know the way back. The dark feast is a time for us to be with the beloved dead once more. To thank them, and let them know we love them.” Urbosa said softly. She caught Mipha’s expression from the corner of her eye-- her face was strange, a smooth mask that told little.
“Oh.” she whispered, and for one terrible moment Urbosa thought she would say...something. Something about barbarians out in the desert, or superstitious women without men to guide them, but that was stupid, this was Mipha , who was kindness and honor embodied, who held Urbosa’s life as dear as her own.
“You dwell with your dead, as the Hylians do.” Mipha said at last, not upset but thoughtful.
“I like to think we are more sensible about it. We don’t bother with parading the corpse and putting it in a stone box.” Urbosa said wryly. She tilted her head slightly, watching as Mipha turned over her thoughts.
“I take it the Zora do it differently?”
“Yes. We take our dead back to the sea. It is our first home, it...it is very important to be given back. So we can all meet again.”
Her voice faltered, broke, and her shoulders sloped forward. Urbosa laid her hand on Mipha’s back, rubbed gentle circles between her shoulderblades as Mipha took a few deep breaths. One day, she hoped, Mipha would share her grief with Urbosa fully. Until then, she would do what she could for her.
“Will you tell me more? It sounds beautiful.” Mipha said at last, carefully wiping the tracks of tears from her cheeks. Again Urbosa wished she was the sort to carry a handkerchief; she offered the corner of her robe for want of anything better, which Mipha accepted with a wet little laugh.
“It is beautiful, carakeeva . Flowers everywhere, and all the finest things in the household are brought out.Treasures handed down from mother to daughter--I’ve a tea set from my grandmother that I use for special occasions, for instance. My sister and I rise before the sun on the day of the feast to cook all the dishes our loved ones liked best.”
Urbosa closed her eyes for a moment, and could hear Ubari’s gentle laughter, smell the scent of their mother’s brith fresh from the oven. Her sister would be in the kitchen now, with the twins and Keeva underfoot, Yosen minding the baby. The older girls would be decorating, perhaps, or running out for last minute ingredients. Urbosa opened her eyes and cleared her throat.
“We light the lanterns as the sun is setting, and then the matriarch says the homecoming prayer. That’s my job, most years. Ubari will take over, or perhaps Ubala. I have...I have been teaching her the things the matriarch ought to know.”
“Oh, Urbosa.”
Mipha was frowning at her, her sadness returned. Urbosa shrugged, reached over and patted her knee.
“It never hurts to take precautions, Princess. And anyway, Ubari hasn’t the memory for that sort of thing. If it isn’t Guild related, it might as well not exist.”
Mipha giggled, hands rising to cover her mouth. Urbosa guided their talk to lighter things, things further from the heart, and allowed herself to savor Mipha’s company. Rising from her bed was not such a waste after all, if it meant Urbosa could listen to Mipha’s tales of what strange, lovely things were beneath the sea, and watch her nimble little hands gesture so prettily as she spoke. Her voice lulled Urbosa, and she found herself lost in the change of Mipha’s expressions, the way her red lips curved as she shaped her story. And those eyes, like twin cups of firelight in the midwinter gloom.
You could teach the stars to shine, Urbosa thought, and grinned as Mipha flourished so wildly she knocked her cup from the table and had to dive after it.
“Shall we add the sea to our list of places we shall go, after Ganon is dead?” Urbosa asked, and slid the plate with the last of the fruit towards Mipha. Cheeks flaming, Mipha straightened up and fussily replaced her tea cup, snatching up a handful of wildberries.
“Oh, of course. The ocean is terrifying in its power, and all the more beautiful for it. You...I-I think you will feel great kinship with the sea, my Lady.”
Mipha ducked her head and busied herself with her fruit, her face glowing pink. Urbosa felt warm, and her smile grew the longer she let Mipha’s words sink in. There was poetry inside this stalwart maiden, just beneath the surface.
“I think we both would, Princess.” she murmured, and reached for the teapot to top them both off. Mipha shook her head, and slipped from her chair. Urbosa tried not to let her disappointment show; it would be greedy to take more of Mipha’s time.
“I have some errands to complete, but I would love for you to join me later today.”
“Of course.” Urbosa said at once, hating herself for the way her heart leapt pathetically within her. “Name the hour, and I will accompany you. What are you planning?”
“It is a surprise,” Mipha said, and her lips curved in a slow, sly smile that had no right to be so alluring. “I will collect you when my errands are done, if you are agreeable.”
The part of Urbosa’s mind that had been trained to hunt for treachery in her every waking moment was awake and snarling, but Urbosa made it rest quiet again. Mipha would never hurt her, not intentionally. She smiled and looked at Mipha from beneath her lashes.
“You know me, Mipha. I am the most agreeable of creatures.”
Mipha’s laugh rang through Urbosa’s dim chambers, the notes lingering in the air even after she had gone.