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She once told him a story about a Rito who, in all his stubborn pride, tried to fly and reach the sun.
It was a dare, you see. And the Rito are nothing short of amazing in terms of flight. So the Rito leapt from the peaks of Talonto, soaring over the summit and flapped his wings as hard as he could. But the sun was scorching in the clear day. It’s common knowledge in the tundra that the sun is not your friend. As the Rito reached the apex, his very goal betrayed him. Blinded him. Burned him. In the end, the poor prideful Rito fell to his doom with his wings melted—feathers and all—and drowned in the freezing waters of Hebra Plunge.
His name was Icarus.
It was merely a comment to fill the silence of an otherwise uneventful afternoon in the castle’s library. Nothing more, nothing less.
In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve heeded the warnings nailed down on the bark of the pines. But no, he was a stubborn fool. Same as the Rito who fell. He was handed over a list of things, and he chose to ignore it. He deserved this plight, he thought. It was poetry in motion.
But he didn’t fancy himself a poet. That was the Sheikah bard’s job. His was to guard the princess and swing a blade. It wasn’t his job to fall (in death? For her?). But fall he did.
After all, he was a mere boy in the presence of a pretty girl his age. Who could blame him for wanting the sweet kiss of light on sun starved skin?
It was late at night. He had his back to the princess’s double oak doors—as he always had, it was his post after all. He knew the princess would still be awake, toiling away at the many notes scattered in one corner of her chambers. If he strained his ears enough, he could hear her shuffling and light curses. He bit his lip to stop himself from grinning.
“What’re you smiling about?” His father came up to him during the evening patrols, eyes squinted in suspicion, footfalls muffled by the crimson carpet that adorned the halls.
“Nothing, ser.” Link tried to wipe the stupid smile off of his face. The narrowed eyes of his father said he’d failed. The man looked around the western wing, keen on spotting for anything that might be amiss. Better safe than sorry. When he saw nothing of note, he turned to face his son, a brow furrowed in thought.
And after a long and nerve-racking moment, the lieutenant frowned at him, and said, “I don’t like the way you look at Her Highness.”
With a tilt of his head, Link asked, “What do you mean?”
“You look at her with this face full of awe.” He muttered under his breath. A disapproving glare made his blood run cold as ice. More frigid than the white powdered storms in the mountains of Hebra. “Like she’s the sun at the break of dawn.”
A denial died on his tongue.
“Just,” the man sighed, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard. “Be careful not to burn yourself, alright, boy?” He gave his son one last look before turning to leave.
The young knight followed his father’s retreating back. His grip tight on the winged blade positioned in front of him.
“That torch you carry will soon be more trouble than its worth.” And with that, the lieutenant marched off into the dark recesses of the castle.
For a few minutes, Link was left alone with his thoughts. The small smile that graced his lips, gone and replaced with a frown. He knew it’s not his place. He knew the rules of propriety. He knew of the consequences. A knight pining for his liege was uncalled for, and scandalous at best. But he’s also a mere teenager who hadn’t had much experiences outside the realm of battle. Would they fault him for that?
The door behind him creaked open, just a crack. The princess’s head popped out to ask him, “Who were you talking to?”
He forced his eyes to stay and not wander. “No one, Your Highness.”
“Didn’t sound like no one to me.” She scoffed. “Unless, you’ve finally gone mad and had full conversations with yourself.”
“That sounds a lot like someone I know.” He couldn’t help but joke.
“…Cheeky bastard.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the mirthful breath that escaped his lips. His princess would never say something so vulgar in front of the courtiers, that’s for sure. She only did so when she was with him. A tingling warmth spread across his chest at the thought. “You should be sleeping, Princess.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s because you were rummaging through your notes.”
She leaned on the door. His eyes caught a glimpse of her in her nightgown, blonde hair delicately falling over one shoulder. A sliver of fair skin. He snapped his attention ahead. “And how do you know that, hm?”
“I’ve been your appointed knight for months now, Your Highness.”
She shuffled closer to him. He straightened his back, and tightened his grip—eyes focused on the other side of the hall. “I suppose you make a fair point.”
“You need to sleep soon, Princess.” Please, he begged.
“But I don’t want to.” She whined.
“You have a full schedule ahead of you tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“You also have morning prayers—”
“Link.”
“Zelda.”
He never called her by her name before. (And only by her name. No title attached, whatsoever. It was inappropriate. Frowned upon by many. Even when she reminded him time and time again that it was alright to do so. Especially when they were alone and not in front of judgmental eyes.) But as he glanced her way, he was surprised to see the sly smile on her face. Cheeky.
She grinned. “Finally got you to look at me.”
He willed his eyes to stay on hers. (Do not wander. Do not wander.)
“Stop acting all weird, alright?” She snorted, and bit her lip. “Goodnight, Link.” The princess then stepped back inside the warm space of her chambers, door handle in hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Your Highness.”
And the door behind him clicked.
When he was sure the princess finally reached her bedside, he let out a long suffering sigh and slumped against the oak doors. He tugged on the collar of his bright blue tunic. Stuffy. Sweaty under the lantern light of the halls. Yes, that’s why. It was the sconces fault.
Be careful not to burn yourself.
The words of his father bounced around his head.
That torch you carry will soon be more trouble than its worth.
He gritted his teeth, readjusted his stance, and waited for the next guard to show up to relieve him of his duty.
“Keep looking at her like that, and you’ll get in big trouble.”
He gave the Rito a blank look.
Revali scoffed, crossing his wings across his chest. “Don’t play coy with me, little knight.” He leaned closer and narrowed his jade glare. “You can’t fool the eyes of a Rito warrior.”
The Hylian Champion snapped his gaze back to the princess’s form. They were on their way to Tabantha Village, trudging along the tundra in the Snowfields. In addition to the constant praying and tinkering, diplomacy is deeply ingrained in Her Highness’s schedule. The King noted the importance of her visiting the various villages and settlements scattered all over Hyrule. Called it a boost of morale. She didn’t share his sentiment. She thought it to be a waste of time—time she could have spent working on calibrating the Divine Beasts—but, of course, the princess loved her people. Though she may not admit it, she deeply cared for the citizens of Hyrule. So, if a simple visit and a single smile thrown their way would ease the feeling of foreboding that hung over their heads, why not stop by? After all, it did give her a chance to run around the country side.
“Ever heard of snow blindness?” It was rhetorical. “It’s a condition caused by exposure to sunlight reflected off ice and snow.” The bird waved to the head of golden hair a few paces ahead of them, and crowed. “That’s what you get if you keep staring at her with that weird look on your face.”
Link tried not to get the Rito under his skin. But sometimes, he’d indulge himself with a roll of his eyes.
“Deny it all you like.” Revali turned his beak upward. “But we’ll see who gets the last laugh when a certain someone is sent to the Lockup because he couldn’t keep his filthy eyes off of the crown princess.”
Link scrunched his nose. It was his job to keep his eyes on the princess. He wasn’t about to just forgo his duty. He blinked a few times and focused on the sway of her—
“Ugh,” the archer groaned in disgust. “You’re doing it again. Knock it off.”
His foot caught on a loose rock buried in the snow, and stumbled.
The Rito let out a loud and obnoxious sigh. “Your Highness,” he called out to the girl. “Wait up a bit. Your little knight tripped because—” A pointed glare at his direction. “—he wasn’t looking at where he was going.”
The princess turned to them, cheeks flushed in the cold. “Oh.” Tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Are you alright, Link?”
The knight averted his eyes, and gave a curt nod. (Revali huffed to the side.) Link brushed off the snow, ice biting at his fingertips. He mentally cursed the bird who jinxed him.
“Good. We need to hurry though,” the princess continued. “The village is up ahead. If we could make it before noon, that would save us a lot of trouble.” She blew out a puff of air. “We wouldn’t want the sun to catch up to us. If only it were overcast, we could take our time. But unfortunately—”
“Well, you heard the princess,” Revali urged the knight. “Get a move on.”
The princess walked up to them and bent down, offering a hand to the fallen knight. He stared at it dumbfounded. Glanced at her eyes, then back to her hand. He reached for it hesitantly. He hoped he’d pass the shaking off as shivers from the cold. The princess heaved and pulled him up, dusting some stray snow off his shoulders. When she was satisfied, she shot him a bright smile. “There. All good?”
He nodded, dazed. Blinking.
“Alright then. Let’s be off.” And she walked away (like she didn’t just shine a beam in his eyes with the whites of her teeth).
The Rito following closely, not before shooting a look at the knight. “Don’t just stand there. Come on already.”
Link trudged a few paces behind them. Thoughts drifting to the previous conversation he and Revali (one sided-ly) shared. For the remainder of the way, he forced himself to look everywhere but the princess.
He told himself it was to make sure no ice-breath Lizalfos jump out of the snowbanks. It was a safety precaution, really. It had nothing to do with the flush on his cheeks! (Which he convinced himself was due to the dry and frigid air. Yes, that was it. Not at all because he was walking directly behind the sun.)
They stopped by the Royal Ancient Tech Lab in the northern parts of Hyrule Plain. (It wasn’t part of the itinerary but His Majesty need not know.) The princess wanted to check in on something with the researchers. Something about ancient relics, he didn’t know. He wasn’t as knowledgeable as Her Highness in these sorts of things. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like hearing her ramble about her various interests. There’s something about seeing her eyes light up while she talks. Seeing her gesticulate wildly. He could practically hear the smile in her voice.
Like where she sat now. Explaining something to a very confused, and very overwhelmed Impa.
He couldn’t hear them from where he was positioned—next to the table where the director of the ancient lab told him (demanded him) to stand. He adjusted his hold on the crate full of screws, bolts, and other Guardian knickknacks. He wished he could move closer but when he tried to once, he got smacked on the head with a wrench.
“Why don’t you borrow the princess’s Sheikah Slate, Linky?”
Link turned to give the eccentric genius a bemused look.
Purah snorted, pushing up her glasses. “Don’t think we don’t notice that little look on your face, buddy.”
“The Slate has a camera function.” The other genius eccentric, Robbie, who was tinkering on a Guardian part off to the side, chimed in.
Link shuffled on his feet, and stared at the princess and her aide once more. What were these Sheikah researchers on about? The Slate was for the princess’s hands only. Despite being her knight, Link wouldn’t dare touch that thing. What if it explodes? He didn’t want the princess to resent him again. They only just became friends!
Purah sighed, leaning over to where he stood, and whispered. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
The crate and all of its heavy equipment fell on his boot with a resounding clatter—
“What happened?!”
“Hey! Careful with that!”
—The noises of the busy room all came to a hush as Link crouched down, hissing in pain. It just had to be the little toe.
Hurried footsteps resounded in the uncharacteristic quiet of the lab. He cracked a teary eye open when a gentle hand ghosted his wrist with a featherlight touch, and placed a crimson elixir in his palm. He didn’t expect, when he looked up, to stare directly at the sun. He blinked away the blurriness (the lights in his eyes), and ran a thumb on the glass vial in his hand.
“Drink it,” she said. “It will stop the swelling.”
He pulled the stopper, and raised the vial to his lips. He glanced at her face—a furrow on her brow, worrying on her lip, eyes focused on the liquid lapping at his lips—before he downed it in one gulp.
It tasted vile. Slimy. A little bit chunky. He forced himself not to gag, and suppressed the violent shiver that threatened to ripple over his skin. And suddenly, he felt okay. Better actually. What was in that thing?
He opened his eyes to find the princess leaning closely. He staggered back.
“Well? How do you feel?”
Link found himself being scrutinized by not only Her Highness but also the other Sheikah researchers. He felt like a specimen under a microscope. He shot a look to the only other person in this lab he knew would understand—Impa.
Her face was contorted in a grimace.
Oh. He didn’t like that.
“Link.” His eyes snapped back to attention. “Tell me how you feel.”
Oh. She’s using her researcher/princess authority voice.
He huffed, and lifted a thumbs-up. “Mm.”
The serious look on her face broke into a wide grin. “Really? So it worked!” She turned slightly to the side, and said in a rush, “I can’t believe it worked.” She pulled out her journal from her pack, flipping through the pages and settling on the last. “I mean, sure, there’d been studies about the healing properties of certain reptiles—” Link blinked. “—But I didn’t expect boiling a blue lizard and some monster parts—” Link reeled at that. “—would do the trick!”
She slammed her journal closed, and beamed at him. “Thanks for the assistance, Link! I heartily appreciate it.”
He sighed.
“Get it? Heartily? Because I used a hearty lizard—”
He craned his head up to glare at Purah, while the princess laughed at her own joke. The researcher shrugged, but her lips grew into small knowing smirk. Conniving, little—
“But I am glad you’re alright though,” the princess said in a hushed whisper. Words reaching only his ears. “You’re usually so focused.” Her little finger scalding the side of his hand. Like he held his hand over an open flame. He wished she’d given him a fireproof elixir instead. “Didn’t expect my knight to have butterfingers.” She giggled, and gathered the fallen pieces of equipment back to the crate.
The warm tingling sensation managed to burn for quite awhile. He feared that she’d branded him for good.
“You can’t seem to take your eyes off of the princess, can you, boy?”
He blinked.
The Gerudo chief chuckled in amusement, muttering something in her native tongue. He finally turned his eyes away from his charge and quirked a confused brow at the taller woman. “You’re always near her. Like a moth to a flame.”
Laughable.
He snapped his attention back to the princess. She was tinkering with the terminals in the Divine Beast again. Golden hair tied to a ponytail, cascading over her back like waterfalls. Sleeves rolled up in case her hands get dirty with the dark grease of Sheikah technology. Brow furrowed in thought. Lip in between her teeth. Eyes the color of the sea glass he used to collect in the shores of Hateno.
Urbosa cackled.
The princess looked up at his direction (his and Urbosa’s. She did not lock eyes with just him. Perish the thought.) and cocked her head to the side. A silent question.
He swallowed thickly. He must be parched.
The desert heat was probably getting to him. He never liked being in the Valley. It was hot. It was dry. There’s sand everywhere. There’s sand in his boots. There’s most likely sand in his hair too. He hated it here. Absolutely hated it. But his princess loved it. This was her sanctuary (aside from the Ancient Lab). An oasis, of sorts. So, it only stands to reason that he’d weather the harshness of it all for her comfort.
His mouth was still cottony though.
He grabbed the waterskin from his belt and took big gulps. One. Two. Three.
“Can I have some?”
He almost spat it all.
Flustered, he lowered the bag, and blinked at the princess (who was wiping sweat off her brow, smearing a long stripe of grease on her forehead). She pointed at his hand. “Can I take a sip of that? I left mine at the inn.”
He gulped audibly. He could hear the snicker from the tall Gerudo lady just behind him.
Oh, Goddesses, he felt warm and light headed all of a sudden. Was he dehydrated? If he was getting to that point, then surely the princess wasn’t faring well!
True to his name as her appointed knight, he handed the waterskin at an arm’s length.
His heart quickened as her fingers brushed against his. Why was he shaking so badly? Oh no, his dehydration must be getting worse. Oh, how he hated the desert. He watched as the princess tilted the mouth of the bottle to her lips, and drank. One gulp. Two. Three. Then she lowered it. Smacking her lips together, tongue darting out.
He could spot a stray bead of water there.
He wanted to drink it—
“Here you go, Link.” She shook the bag in front of his eyes. “Sorry, there’s some grease all over it.”
In his hazy state of mind, he nodded, taking the bag from her. It was lighter. There was no water left for him.
“There isn’t much left in it, though. I do apologize for drinking almost all of it…” That’s fine, he thought. He could just drink the water from her mouth instead—
What.
He blinked slowly and looked up at her verdant eyes. Eyes that reminded him of the cool shade of the trees. Oh, how he hated the desert. Then he watched those eyes crinkle, a mischievous glint. Sly. (Sultry, even?)
Then she winked at him.
And with a low chuckle. “Well, I still have to work on Vah Naboris. Have fun chatting with Urbosa.”
…He was sure he was hallucinating. It was a mirage, definitely. A trick of the light. There was no way his princess winked at him. That wasn’t possible. There was no chance in hell. The heat finally got him. She must’ve blinked. And his dehydrated brain registered only one eye. Yeah, that was it. She just blinked. Or maybe she got sand in her eye. Oh, he despised the desert.
“Uhh.” He said eloquently.
Urbosa chortled behind him. “What’s the matter, little voe? Heat getting to you?”
“Mm.”
The Gerudo woman leaned down to check on him. “Sa’oten…” She glanced at the direction the princess was (fiddling away at wires). “You got it bad, don’t you?”
Link could faintly hear the mutterings of the lady in front of him. His brain wasn’t working properly—dazed, hot, and bothered by the sweat pooling on his shirt. There, ahead of him, he could see a wavering image of the princess. A mirage. An oasis.
He cursed the desert and all the problems that came with it.
“Whatcha cookin’, little guy?”
Link turned his head from the cooking pot and up at the big Goron who just yelled in his ear. The big guy was grinning from ear to ear. …do Gorons have ears? They don’t, right? They have like little ear holes or something. He’s still baffled by the anatomy of the Goron. Maybe he could ask the princess about this strange train of thought.
Daruk scratched at his beard. (How do they grow hair?) “Is it a tasty rock roast?” He drooled. “Because, boy, am I starving!”
Link shook his head. The Goron deflated, before getting a second wind.
“That’s fine! I’ll just get a prime roast once we get to the city.” He turned to the stables where the princess was leaning over a counter, elixirs laid out in front of her. “We just have to wait for the tiny princess to finish preparing your guys’ fire thingies.”
The princess was counting how many fire-proof elixirs they needed for the trek up the perilous mountain. And she was anything but unprepared. Which was why he was stuck on stirring duty. He looked back down at the bubbling cauldron and saw a coal colored lizard tail float in the liquid. He almost gagged. Almost. He had worse. Ever since she gave him that awful (but potent) hearty elixir, she’d been giving him all sorts of concoctions. And who was he to disobey his charge?
Besides, he liked it when her eyes light up whenever her theories and hypotheses prove correct.
A shadow hovered over him, and said, “That’s looking good, Link! We can scoop it up now.” A glass vial poised under his ladle. He poured the ashy viscous liquid in and watched the princess swirl it around once, and placed the stopper back on.
“We have enough for at least a day’s journey,” she said, putting them all in her pack. “But we still shouldn’t linger for too long in the city.” She looked up at the big Goron next to them and frowned. “No offense, Daruk.”
Daruk beamed at her. “None taken, tiny princess. I know you Hylians are sensitive to Death Mountain’s toasty atmosphere. If ever, you could always cool off in the hot springs.”
The princess laughed. “I suppose so.” She then turned to Link who was about to stand up and head over to the stable master to board their horses. “I’ll take care of the horses, Link. You can stay here with Daruk for a bit. Double check if we have everything we need, alright?”
As she walked away, Link’s legs twitched. Itchy to follow. As if pulled by gravity.
“You’re like a little flower trying to chase a sunbeam, little guy!” The Goron chortled. “She’ll only take a few minutes. She’ll be back in no time.”
He frowned, and turned to face the dirt instead. He spotted a cluster of grass not too far from where he stood. It wasn’t odd, really. No. But unlike the other patches around, this one had a lone flower growing tall and proud. Resilient. He hadn’t seen flora much this close to the maw of Death Mountain. Most of them wilt in the blazing heat so close in proximity.
“I’m back! Shall we go then?”
He had turned to face Zelda to catch her attention about a peculiar flower on the dirt patch. But her smile was so bright it kinda hurt to look at.
So he looked down. Shielding his eyes from the sun.
The little flower at his feet stood tall, reaching for the skies. Desperate and hungry for some sunlight on its petals. He sniffed, and stepped over it. Planting his feet on the ground, he blocked the sun’s rays from ever reaching the little flower.
Link’s eyes were affixed to the west, where the sun set over the horizon. To where the castle stood in the distance.
“Link?”
He tilted his head slightly. To let the princess of the Zora know he was listening. He was, unfortunately, not in the mood to talk. The king ordered him to be the princess’s—Zelda’s—proxy in the meeting with the Domain. (Well, him, and Impa. He had no clue how talks work.) The princess stayed in the castle. Orders by the king. Trapped in her cage, forced to pray to a cold unfeeling statue that smiled down at her condescendingly. While he was traipsing around the waters, catching sneaky river snails and bright-eyed crabs. Killing lynels for fun.
No, he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“You’ve been staring at the sunset for quite awhile now,” Mipha said. She laughed softly. “It is very pretty, I must say.”
He hadn’t noticed the sky at all. In all its orange-pink-purple hues, he hadn’t been paying attention to it. He was brooding about the princess stuck in the stone tower. (She would actually prefer to be stuck in her tower rather than kneeling on the ground, now that he thought about it).
“You know, Link,” the shy Zora fidgeted, fiddling with the silver that adorned her—clinking noisily as she moved. “You haven’t spoken at all lately. Is something wrong?”
His lips tugged downward. He enjoyed Mipha’s company, really. She was his oldest friend. But there were times where she demanded too much from him. He would never tell her that though. He valued her kindness, and patience. So, he shrugged. No, there was nothing wrong. Maybe. Probably. As vague an answer he could give without uttering a single sound.
She hummed. “Then, I shall try to fill the silence.”
He gave her an appeasing look. She didn’t have to. It wasn’t like her to ramble on and on about nothing and everything at once. That was Zelda’s forte. His eyes traced back to the tower silhouetted by the golden sky.
“Ah! Link, look—” She pointed up at a faint white dot in the sky. “They say it’s a full moon tonight. I hope we have a chance to see it.”
He nodded.
“You know,” she turned to him, silvers glittering. “I always thought you’re very much like the moon, Link.”
He cocked his head. What did she mean by that?
“You’re very cool, and calming.” She lifted a hand to her chest. Eyes fluttered closed. “Like a silent protector in the night.” She giggled. “I’m not much of a poet so forgive the odd comparison.” She shot him a gleaming smile—all sharp teeth. Twinkling. Not unlike her brother’s. “It’s true though. The moon is soft and not at all overbearing like the sun.”
His thoughts drifted back to a certain princess in a castle now shadowed by a dark sky.
If she was the sun, and he the moon. Then he was doomed to chase after her. Doomed to always be a few paces behind her. (But every once and awhile, the two would meet, he thought. The two would eclipse each other. The two would greet each other in the same sky. Suddenly, the comparison wasn’t too bad.)
He lifted his head up and stared at the darkening sky as the sun retired for the day. Stars twinkling in its wake. The moon guarding the void in its absence.
Yes, it wasn’t so bad.
Link was never a fan of these royal get-togethers. He thought they were stuffy, and pretentious. Unbearably long. He wasn’t even allowed to eat the food! He was forced to watch these rich folk snack on the buffet table and stare longingly at the pile of leftovers. The least they could do was finish all of it. There were heaps of scraps everywhere! …But the worst part of it all was seeing the princess get dragged around by the hand by some pompous noble from the land of elsewhere, whispering near her ear while she offered them a polite smile and a soft laugh behind her glove. (That and the hushed words by the gossip-mongers). And all he could do was stand behind her smaller throne by the king’s side.
The noise of the hall quieted down once the king commanded their attention. Loud, and booming.
A dance, he’d said.
Link sighed wearily. Great. He wasn’t allowed to eat, and he was forced to watch the princess dance with a stuck-up noble boy. The music slowed to a waltz. He didn’t like the slow dances of the ballroom. He preferred the fast, quick paced jigs in the taverns. All footwork, and twirls, and improvisation. Doesn’t matter if you messed up. No one would notice since they’re all drunk, tipsy, and elated.
These dances had strict rules. Hand here, hand there. Enough space between your partner. Not too far, not too close either.
He glared at the few inches that separated the princess and the noble boy as they both eased into the steps.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” The king asked the air.
He glanced his way. Was he talking to him or…?
The king leaned back on his tall chair made of gold and cushy stuff. He wondered how comfy it actually is. “Looks just like her mother.” He sniffed. “Well, mostly.”
The king turned his head slightly to his direction, verdant eyes glistening under the light. Link held his breath.
“I’ve been hard on her,” he said in a faint voice, facing the crowd. “I’ve acted more of a king than a father. Treated her like a tool more than my own blood.” His hand gripped at the arm of the regal throne. “…My own daughter.”
The king chuckled mirthlessly. The knight had no clue as to why this man was telling him this. Perhaps he’d felt guilty? Maybe he should save this conversation for his daughter’s ears instead of her knight’s. Listening to a father’s remorse was well beyond his pay grade. Still, Link held his tongue.
“In a few days time, she’ll climb the slopes of Mount Lanayru.” His face hardened. Somber. “Maybe then…”
The crowd burst in scattered applause as the princess curtsied and the noble bowed. Another one stepped in. Soon, couples followed suit and took their place in the grand space. The music picked up once more.
“Perhaps,” the king said. “After her pilgrimage, I’ll talk to her. As a father than a king. I’ll tell her that she can take all the time she requires. Gallivant all she likes.” He grinned. “Maybe that’s the answer to all this. Her happiness.”
Link pursed his lips.
“She can tinker with all the technology she can get her hands on, if that would help ease the burden on her.” The king slumped against the throne, a heavy weight on his shoulders. A heavy weight resting atop his head. “So curious, and intelligent. …We’re so unalike, she and I.”
Link begged to differ. They’re both equally stubborn, and imposing.
“Look at her,” the king whispered softly. He barely caught the tail end of it. “My little starlight.”
Link obliged and traced the way the princess weaved through the crowd. Her golden hair trailing behind her in the dark colored sea of fabrics and silks. A lone shooting star in the black sky.
“She deserves the world and more.”
Link wholeheartedly agreed.
“If it were me, I’d just drink a fire-proof elixir.”
The princess laughed, sweet-sounding (like Courser bee honey). “Don’t be silly, Link.”
“If I were Icarus, I’d just not get my wings melted. And just close my eyes. Or wear goggles or something.”
She flashed him a disarming smile. Blinding. Warm. Link felt his face flush. Sweat trickled down his neck despite the autumn chill in the room. He blinked once. Twice. Lights danced behind his eyelids.
“You are not Icarus.” She turned to place the tome back on the shelf. “You aren’t a Rito. You’ve no wings!” She stifled a giggle with a gloved hand.
His lips twitched upward at the sound.
She eyed him, and whispered (like it’s some sort of secret for just the two of them to share). “You need not worry about falling anytime soon.”
Zelda walked a few paces ahead, her fingers tracing the spines of the many books that lined the shelves. The sunbeam from the high windows reflecting off of her golden tresses. Link urged his legs to follow. Sending signals to his brain to move the muscle. But her words merely echoed in his mind.
You are not Icarus.
You need not worry about falling anytime soon.
Goddess, if only she knew that he cobbled up his own wings made up of wood and cloth, and climbed the highest peaks of Mount Hylia. And jumped. If only she knew that he was already descending, falling. Gliding under the glare of the sun. Straight into the mouth of the River of the Dead.
If only she knew he was already drowning.
And she just watched.
“You know,” she started. “I’m glad we’re on speaking terms now.” She looked over her shoulder, her lips curling into a sly smile. There’s a lilt in her words. “I have to admit I’ve grown fond of your voice. I could listen to it for hours on end.”
Sweet Hylia, he was wrong. She didn’t just watch him. She held up a rope and dangled it mere inches from his hand.
“You flatter me, Your Highness.”
“I told you not to call me that.” She pouted.
“There are eyes and ears in the castle, Princess.”
She narrowed her eyes. A moment passed. Then she huffed, “Go grab that book for me then, Ser Knight.” She raised a haughty finger up at a vague direction above her head. He thanked the goddesses he finally regained the ability to move his legs, and walked up to her.
Hand grazing the length of her sleeve, he whispered behind the shell of her ear, “Of course, Zelda.”
He felt rather than see her shiver. (Every once and awhile, if he was feeling particularly bold, he would steal opportunities such as these. And he would revel in it.) He hoped to the Golden Goddesses that she couldn’t hear or feel his pounding heart.
He pulled the tome and offered it to her.
She cleared her throat and grabbed the book from his grasp. “Thank you, Link.”
A step back. Two more. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”
“We should get going soon,” she said. She ran a hand over the railing overlooking the lower floor. “Father won’t be pleased if I missed my nightly devotions again.” She sighed, mood souring. “I’ll go and get ready. Meet you in an hour?”
He nodded. “I’ll be there on the dot.”
Before she reached the stairs, she peeked over her shoulder and beamed—waving the book in her hand. She had a smile like the sun. Oh, how he’d gladly fly up to it. Singed wings of wood, cloth, twine, and all.
You need not worry about falling anytime soon.
Her shaky hands pulled and gripped at his shoulders and arms to no avail. Her desperate hold on him the only thing keeping him standing. Her voice cracking as she begged for him to run. To go. Leave her. She’ll be fine, she said. He pulled the sword out from the dirt—broken and chipped just as he is—and staggered. Mechanical guardians coming at them at all sides in waves—keen on cutting a swath through the earth, blowing down trees, tearing down houses, and blasting light down every street, every inch, every crevice of the kingdom. Beeping. Red eyes searching, finding. Locking. He blocked the light from ever reaching his princess.
You are not Icarus.
She once told him on an uneventful afternoon in the castle’s library. It held no importance, just a simple side comment. A little joke between the two of them. Nothing more, nothing less.
The words echoed in his mind as his broken body—bruised and bloodied—crumpled to the wet ground underneath their blistered feet. He could hear the malfunctioning cry of machinery, muffled, as if his ears were covered in wool. His vision wavered, perhaps it was due to the rainfall in his eyes, or something else entirely. But he could see a flash of gold in his periphery clearly. As clear as the sun in a bright cloudless sky.
You are not Icarus.
She once said.
Yet, there he lay, in the arms of the sun herself. Bruised, bloodied, broken. Unmistakably, and irreparably burnt. His side was scorched—blackened by the white-hot lasers unleashed by the swarms of spiders that crawled all over its helpless thrashing prey caught in a web. It hurt a lot. So much so that he’d felt numb.
You aren’t a Rito. You’ve no wings!
You need not worry about falling anytime soon.
She once joked. She was right. He wasn’t a Rito, he didn’t have any wings. He had a paraglider though. Made up of wood and cloth and twine. All absolutely flammable. But it was enough for him to sail his way out of the shadows and down to the sun’s edge, where her smiles scalded him, where her laughter warmed him. Where he chased the beam of light like a flower, like a moth to a flame.
She was saying something. He couldn’t make out what her words were, other than it warmed his heart like the torch he held for her all that time. Like how her hands warmed his cold, damp skin. She didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t supposed to watch her home burn until the air tasted like ash in their mouths. She deserved better. She deserved the world and more. (But not like this.)
She clutched at his tunic (which she made for him—he could remember the awkward silence when he stood on that platform, arms outstretched and shirtless, with her holding sharp pins next to his skin. Her glare reflected off of the full body mirror in the chamber, singing him like a leaf under a lens.) Her verdant eyes—the color of sea glass he’d collected as a child, the color of cooling shade—glistened with unshed tears. It sparkled like luminous.
You are not Icarus.
She was saying something. It wasn’t that.
Link tried to lift his head up, just an inch. A little closer. A little more. Maybe then, he’d hear her. Maybe then, he’d—