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It was quiet at the lookout.
It always was.
Link was used to the quiet. It was his constant state of being. Words simply weren’t necessary when you travelled alone. But only when he stood atop Gerudo lookout, south of the sandstone walls of the village, did he truly feel alone in his silence.
It was almost oppressive. The slightest gust of wind was almost too loud, destroying the atmosphere the night air had created, yet neither the wind nor the silence felt truly right. Last time he had been up there...well. He had been alone that time too, but not really.
Was there a difference between being alone and being, well, alone? Was it a matter of physical proximity or something else? He hadn’t felt alone last time. His memory was still patchy, but he remembered the feeling of wind in his hair, sand in his, well, everywhere, and longing in his heart.
He had been sitting in the very same spot he found himself in now. The guards refused to let him in-if Urbosa hadn’t been there to take care of Zelda, Link wouldn’t have let her go in the town, but Urbosa’s care wasn’t good enough. Link remembered trying to sneak in a million different ways, but none worked. If only he had thought of drag a hundred years ago. But instead, he had dragged himself up the ladder to the lookout and tried to keep an eye on things from there.
Sure, it felt lonely then. But knowing she was somewhere down there… it was a different loneliness. A longing, a yearning. Waiting to see her again. It was so much more hopeful than this melancholy pining. Pining for something he may never truly feel again.
Would he ever feel her hand in his as she dragged him along the stalls of Kara Kara Bazaar, picking out every single fruit that caught her eye? Would he see her as she spun around in the hazy sunrise, enamored with how her silk gerudo clothes caught the rays of the sun? Would she ever insist upon not needing sunscreen, only for Link to be applying Aloe to her shoulders mere hours later?
Link sighed. The night had fully set in, and with it the cool air had made itself at home. He took his blanket out of his bag-Riju said the hero had left it in the Bazaar’s inn years ago in case of another visit that never came. Before, he would have given it to Zelda. She hated the cold, and the inn had no heating at night. He almost swore he could still smell her favorite gerudo perfume on it-vanilla, incense, sandalwood. But as quickly as it came, the night breeze swept it away. A phantom scent of her, lost in time.
Back then, he never got any sleep at the lookout. It was always keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. He stayed awake for her.
Maybe he’d finally get some sleep this time, but he’d rather have had someone to stay awake for.