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“Link,” he said, upon seeing the knight’s blonde hair. “Just the man I wanted to see!”
He was met with a startled blue-eyed stare as the man turned to look at him, confused. He would’ve liked to ask him why he’d reacted like that, but considering he was going to ask for a favor, he found it best to ignore it for now.
“Can I ask your assistance with something?”
Link quirked a brow at him, crossing his arms. Why was he looking at him so… so suspiciously? Sure, they hadn’t spoken on many occasions before, but what difference should that make?
“It’s a private matter,” he added furtively. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that Link rolled his eyes, but he came over, anyway. “I have been trying to court Princess Zelda, as you may know, but it doesn’t seem that she… that she is interested.”
Link was silent, not even offering a nod of understanding. Oh, gods, this was going to be embarrassing, wasn’t it?
“So, as the two of you are rather close, I was wondering if… if you’d help me with this. With gaining her affection, I should say.”
“Oh?” Finally, he spoke! The bard nodded quickly, his heart racing.
“I’ve written her countless songs, but none of them seem to strike the right chord, so to speak." If the knight caught the joke, he didn't indicate as much. "But you, you know her quite well, wouldn’t you say?" Emilio continued, undeterred. "As you’re such close friends?”
Link shrugged, almost imperceptibly.
“Well, so… I would just need your assistance with… with what sorts of things she’d like to hear! I’ve tried to figure her out, but I’m having difficulty. She can be rather reserved.”
“I suppose.”
A pregnant pause. “So, ah… do you think you could…?”
“Is this about the poetry you found at my station the other day? Because I can assure you—”
“Oh, Link, please,” Emilio found himself begging. “I don’t ask a great many favors… Even now, I’m embarrassed to be bothering you with such a thing, but I… Oh, I feel as though I’ve tried everything! I just need your help getting to know her a bit better.”
Link’s jaw worked as he considered the proposition. The bard watched him anxiously. If Link said no, he was sure he could still woo Zelda eventually, but… Link’s familiarity with her could prove invaluable.
“All right,” Link ceded, and the bard nearly jumped with joy.
“You’ll do it?”
“I will,” Link nodded. “Under one condition.”
“Anything! Just name it!”
Link grinned sheepishly, and as much as the bard was excited, he found himself feeling a little nervous, too. What favor could a knight of high status such as this ask of a bard?
Zelda woke from her sleep, turning over in her bed, stretching luxuriously. The sun streamed in through the parting in her curtains and landed right on her cheek, settling warmly. She managed to climb from her bed, though its comfortable blankets beckoned her still, and refreshed herself in the bathroom before sitting at her desk to start on her planner for the day.
As she opened its cover, a slip of paper fell from it. It was folded in quarters. She looked at it, confused. She couldn’t remember having left anything like this here, but maybe she’d forgotten…? As she ran her fingers across the paper’s edge, she realized she didn’t even recognize the stationery. Very curious.
She unfolded it once, then again, intrigued. She was met with scrolling letters in a practiced calligraphy.
Lit with twinkling charm, humor and wit mystifying,
As effulgent as the emeralds they were shaped from;
Lush rolling grasses, even brighter under the sun’s gaze…
Alas, I will always find myself more captivated by your own.
Your song is as sweet as the rosés your lips have inspired,
And it is this drunkenness with which you have ensnared me;
For if I’ve the chance to taste something so delectable,
One glass could never be enough.
She blinked, reading over it again. When that didn’t help, she tried again. What in Hylia’s name was this? It couldn’t be a joke, could it? The words were lovely, but the meaning behind them…
She shook her head, standing from her desk. She thought she recognized the handwriting, but she couldn’t exactly be sure.
Oh, gods, it would be awkward to ask him, wouldn’t it?
“Link!”
The bard’s voice behind him was somehow slightly more shrill than usual, and Link couldn’t be sure if that meant good news or bad news. Link considered feigning hearing loss; considered sprinting away altogether, to be frank. But, never one to back down from a challenge, no matter how annoying it may be, he stopped and turned around.
“Yes?”
“It worked,” the man said, breathless. Link wondered how long he’d even been chasing after him to be so out of breath. He blinked at the poet, waiting for him to continue, or (preferably) to dismiss him. “The poem, of course!”
“Of course,” he humored him, granting no more than that.
“She came right up to me this morning and asked about it. Oh, you should’ve seen her face—she was blushing, and her smile seemed quite smitten!”
“Is that so?”
“Why, yes! What could I possibly gain from lying?”
“I’m not sure,” he deadpanned, resisting the urge to fold his arms across his chest.
“Well, in fact, she liked it so much that she agreed to go for a walk with me this evening.”
“Ah.” Something dislodged in his chest. He could question that not-so-subtle shift later. “Well, good on you.” He turned to continue down the hall, fully prepared to dedicate all his attention to a few unfortunate training dummies, but the bard touched his shoulder tentatively. Link grit his teeth and turned around again.
“You wouldn’t, ah, possibly be interested in providing your assistance again, would you?”
Zelda retired to her chambers in the evening, ready to decompress from the day in her armchair with a book, but she noticed a new vase of flowers on her desk. They were pretty. A ribbon was tied to dangle around the vase’s narrow neck, with another slip of paper that looked much like the last one. She felt her face heat up and her stomach flutter.
Another note? So soon?
She took the paper carefully from under the ribbon and unfolded it. She tried to move her hands slowly, steadily, but the shake in them seemed to be out of her control.
As the day comes to its close and
The sun rests its head on the water’s surface,
The beauty of those shimmering golden waves
Couldn’t come anywhere close to that of your hair.
P.S. – I hope that our walk later will prove it to you.
She was glad she was in her room alone, so she could blush in peace. Goddess—he had shown clear interest before, but for him to take it so seriously now, to really try to woo her… Why, it was difficult for her not to be drawn in!
She took her time getting ready—she had plenty of it to spare, why not use it?—and, once she was dressed and her hair done, she left her room to meet him at the gardens. She found him waiting for her, dressed quite smartly, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. He offered it to her and she took it, smiling shyly.
But, for all of the grandeur of his poems and his suit and his flowers, something was… off. He seemed interested, of course; that wasn’t the issue. Perhaps he was just shy? After all, it could be much easier to find courage behind one’s pen. Nonetheless, she felt mildly disappointed.
“Are you all right?” she tried after an extended lull in the (rather banal) conversation.
“Oh, yes, your majesty, I’m just fine. Better than fine, I should say." His hand rose to his chest. "Though not nearly as fine as you look in that dress.”
Her brows knit together, but she offered him a forced smile as she practically waited for him to wink at her. The line felt trite, especially when compared to the lovely ones he’d written her.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to face the sunset again. The way it glistened on the water was beautiful, much like his poem had said it would be.
“It’s quite a nice evening.” His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes.” The evening had been perfectly pleasant, but she didn't need pen and paper to work out that something wasn’t adding up. “The poems you wrote were very sweet. Thank you for those.”
“Of course, your majesty, any time! In fact, if you’d like another, I can—”
“Yes, actually,” Zelda heard herself saying. “That would be nice.”
She wasn’t sure why, but something told her it might help her understand.
Link sat at his desk, confused. The first poem had come easily to him, as had the second, but something about writing the third one felt… strange, somehow. Different. He couldn’t quite place his finger on why. It wasn’t that he was having trouble coming up with words—no, Hylia knew he could put those together all day, quiet as he may typically be. He’d known Zelda for years now, and for most of those, they’d been the best of friends. But suddenly, he felt a little uncomfortable with the whole prospect of this. And that feeling in his stomach when Emilio had told him he was doing something so innocuous as going on a walk with Zelda...
“I don’t know, Emilio.” Had they held hands? “I’m… I’m not quite sure we should continue with this.”
“Oh, but Link, I…” The bard begged him with his eyes, and Link’s stomach twisted. He wanted to help, he really did, but…
Well, he did want to help, didn’t he?
Realization hit him in the stomach like a cart of hydromelons, and when he tried to swallow, his mouth was nearly too dry to comply.
“I… I can write something to get you started, at least,” Link said, feeling numb. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He was feeling a whole lot of something. Something very not good. “Come back in about an hour.”
“Thank you, Link! If you think of any other ways I can repay you, please do not hesitate to tell me!”
But when Link stared at the ink drying on the page, he felt nauseous. There was nothing that Emilio could offer him, in a million years, that would come close to repaying the debts Link was forcing himself into. Putting his pen aside, he nibbled at the inside of his cheek. He was in trouble, wasn’t he?
Zelda read over the poem and shook her head. The words were beautiful, elegantly arranged. They seemed to reach directly through her and take hold of her heartstrings, tugging gently enough to hurt, but tenderly enough to soothe her, too. She read over it again and found her brows had knit together.
She was happy, wasn’t she? So why didn’t it feel that way? Shouldn’t it?
She found herself standing outside of Link’s room. It was late, so he should be in, but early enough still that he wouldn’t be sleeping yet. She knocked on the door nervously, almost hoping he wouldn’t answer, but… She knew that he was the only one that would be able to help her with this, the only one that would be able to settle her churning stomach. And so, when the door opened and revealed his surprised face, she wondered why it looked almost like guilt.
“Zelda,” he said, and she smiled sheepishly. Maybe it was too late in the evening?
“I’m sorry, I know it’s late, and I hate to bother you with this…” She sighed, thumbing the slip of paper hidden away in her pocket. She couldn't turn around now, couldn't change her tactics; he wouldn't let her, she knew him well enough. “Oh, it’s so silly. I’ve half a mind to forget about it altogether.”
“No, what is it?” Yes, no escape for her now.
“I… Well…” She cleared her throat. They’d been close friends for years; what started as animosity inspired by jealousy quickly had turned to a very strong friendship, one that had carried her through the last few years, regardless of the trials she faced. But she’d never had to ask him about anything like this before. “I believe I’m being courted.”
“Ah,” he said quietly. His voice was steady, as though she’d just told him something completely mundane. Shouldn’t her best friend react more strongly than that? Or… maybe it was flattering. Maybe she should be happy that her friend wasn’t surprised someone would come to call on her. “You believe you are?” he said finally, and she smiled, her stomach settling.
There he was! There was his sense of humor!
“Well, yes!” she laughed. “Actually, I… I feel a bit odd about it, to tell you the truth.”
“And why is that?”
“He’s been writing me these truly lovely, empathetic poems, and they’ve really stolen my heart. But…” She shook her head. “I almost feel as though that’s where it ends, in a way. It’s as though it’s the poems I’ve fallen for, not the poet. Does that make sense?”
He scratched his chin, and when he wouldn’t look at her, she waited anxiously for his answer. He must've thought she was crazy.
“I suppose it does, but… What makes you think it’s just the poems? Why not the poet?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe he’s just shy? I just…” She paused, trying to find the words to explain. “I just hoped to feel more… more romance when I’m around him, I suppose. I feel it when I read his poems, but when we speak, I’m not sure; he just seems so diluted! Perhaps he takes a while to write them, and isn’t as quick on his feet?” She looked at him, and his steady blue eyes met hers finally. “What do you think?”
“I can’t really say, honestly,” he said. “I… I don’t know what he’s written, or how he acts around you.”
“Maybe it would help if you knew who it was,” she tried, and he made an odd face for a moment.
“Maybe.” She quirked a brow at him, trying to gauge his response.
“What?” She frowned. “Are you… afraid you won’t approve?”
“No, I…” He paused, and she crossed her arms. He usually wore his heart on his sleeve around her, why was he keeping it locked up in his chest this time?
“I… I get it, Link.” She gave him a watery smile. “You’re worried you won’t think he’s good enough for me. I, um… I’d feel the same way, if you were courting someone.” She looked off to the side, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Maybe she wouldn’t feel exactly the same, but… that was a feeling she’d sworn off a long time ago. It had been silly to come to him for this. He opened his mouth to speak but she cleared her throat again, interrupting him. It wouldn’t be fair to guilt him. “It’s Emilio.”
“I, uh, that… that makes sense,” he said. “He’s a… a good man.”
She couldn’t help but notice how strained his voice sounded. Her stomach twisted. Was he lying? Did he know something about Emilio that she didn’t?
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other so well,” she tested, eyeing him.
“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘so well,’” he fidgeted almost anxiously, “but our paths have crossed a few times, and—”
“And he asked you for help, didn’t he?”
He felt his face set ablaze. “W-What?”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“It’s not what you think—”
“Oh, Link, relax, it’s fine. I was wondering who would’ve been able to get into my room without my knowing,” she said. “It was sweet of you to feign ignorance on his behalf; he really must be shy.”
His heart was racing a thousand miles an hour, pounding away at both of his eardrums. “Yes. Must be.”
“You very well may know him better than I do, it seems. I don’t suppose he let you read any of his poems, did he? Maybe you can help me rationalize.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to him. “Go on, read it, I don’t mind.”
Reluctantly, he unfolded the paper and his eyes started down the page. Truth be told, he had been interested to see how Emilio would rework the pieces he’d given him for inspiration—
His heart, fluttering and insistent, jumped into his throat.
“Link?”
He blinked, trying to regain his vision. “It’s… nice.”
“I know that. But you’ve gone white as a sheet.”
“Sorry, I, ah… It just hit me, I suppose, that you… that you’ll be married someday. That my best friend will be married someday.”
She laughed; it was light and soft, bubbling up from her chest. “I’ll take that as an affectionate sentiment, rather than surprise.”
“Right, of course,” he said, his mouth feeling very dry suddenly. “He’s… he can be rather reserved. But he’s… he’s a good man.”
And when she smiled at him before leaving him alone with his thoughts, describing Emilio with the words he had used to describe Zelda left Link with a sour taste in his mouth. A taste that he was afraid could only be remedied by writing something much sweeter, even if bitterly so.
She’d spent a few more drab afternoons with Emilio. He didn’t seem to be shy—or, well, if he was, he seemed to come out of his shell relatively quickly. For all that she could tell, he was comfortable speaking with her, comfortable being near her… Comfortable enough, even, to sing her a few short songs he’d written for her.
It was getting more and more difficult for her to act interested, more and more difficult for her to believe that he really was the poet. Especially considering the pieces he’d bring to recite to her seemed just as clichéd as the ones that had failed to catch her attention for so long before.
Unfortunately, in spite of the years of etiquette training she’d received as a girl, it only took a few such drab afternoons for Emilio to catch on to her growing detachment. Each time they met he seemed to be a bit more desperate for her attention than he had been the time before. But while his determination was flattering, Zelda knew that unless things changed, she’d have to break it off with him.
Even if she wasn’t sure that he wasn’t the poet, she was sure that she wasn’t interested anymore, either way.
Until one day when he showed up with a slip of paper. A slip of paper that didn’t match the smooth parchment he usually used. He seemed fairly excited; out of breath, even. But, to his credit, he managed to catch it quickly.
“You look radiant today, your majesty,” he said, and she granted him a generic smile.
“Thank you, Emilio. You look… quite well yourself.” He didn’t seem to catch her joke nearly as well as he’d caught his breath.
“I am honored to hear as much from you.” He seemed to mean it. She wondered if she could fake sick and just return to her room. “Actually, I have a poem for you that I just wrote.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes. You see, it struck me as I was preparing to come and meet you. Would you mind if I read it to you?”
“No, no. Please go ahead.”
He gave her a rather unreserved grin and stood up straight; opening up his diaphragm, she was sure. He unfolded the paper and cleared his throat before starting:
The Silent Princess has shared with us a blossom so brilliant;
So vibrant, so full, I could never wish to monopolize her.
There are those that may hope to cultivate her for themselves,
To pluck her from the earth she calls home;
But even if I consider myself the ideal soil for her to take root,
With a grit to match hers, onto which she may hold…
I cannot allow myself to prevent her gardener from pruning
Even if I think that each of her petals,
Each leaf,
Is just as beautiful as the last.
Finished, he looked at her anxiously. She couldn’t stop the smile on her face any more than she could stop the lump in her throat. But while he couldn’t know about the latter, the former seemed to soothe him, and he sat by her once again.
“That poem was beautiful." She almost couldn't breathe, her heart pressing against her vocal chords. “Do you… do you think I could keep it?”
“Oh, ah…” Emilio’s face turned red, bright enough to detract from the falling sun. “Th-This is a rough copy. I can re-write it for you—”
“I don’t mind, Emilio.” She tilted her head, palm itching for the page. “I think it would be nice to have the original, actually.”
“I would feel much better if you’d let me re-write it for you,” he said quickly. “To see something so ratty as this in the princess’s hands… well! I couldn’t allow that!”
He tucked it away in his pocket and changed the subject, returning to boring topics that she had little interest in. Even those that may have usually gotten her talking paled in comparison to that little slip of paper. In fact, it didn’t leave her mind for even the briefest of moments, no matter what they talked about.
When the sun had dipped fully and they decided to end the evening, Zelda couldn’t help but think about how comfortable Emilio had gotten around her. Comfortable enough that he didn’t notice at all when she snuck the slip of paper from his pocket, palming it before bidding him good night.
He walked down the hall, feeling as though he were walking on clouds. He’d been nervous about the state of things—Zelda had seemed to be growing distant, no matter how hard he tried to impress her. And he’d tried everything; brand new songs written just for her, old ones reworked to suit her, poems written while listening to live music or inspired by nature… Oh, gods, if he could just write something like Link could! He wasn’t even sure what the difference was!
But the poem he’d read her today seemed to make her very happy, and that was a step in the right direction again. He’d just have to study the works Link had given him so far and try harder to mimic the style, the rawness…
In an instant, he was lifted from the ground, no more than the toes of his boots touching the stone floor. He grabbed desperately at the hand that was tightening his collar.
“You took it, didn’t you?” Blue eyes stared daggers into his.
“W-What? Took what?”
“Where is it?”
“I can assure you I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh, like hell you don’t,” Link snarled, releasing his collar. The soles of both boots scrabbling atop stone, Emilio smoothed his shirt. “You already gave it to her, didn’t you?”
“Okay, so I did take it,” Emilio started, avoiding Link's gaze, “but like you asked, I just used it for inspiration—”
“Save it, Emilio. I already know you were giving her direct copies.”
“What? No! I—”
“She showed me one of them, fool.”
Emilio stuttered for a moment, unsure what to say. He’d been caught; that much was clear. Painfully clear. He just needed to figure out how much damage had been done.
“You… you won’t tell her, will you?”
“That would get me into at least as much trouble as you’d be in,” the knight snapped. “Suffice to say I’m not helping you with this anymore; just give me back the last one you took and don’t bother talking to me again.”
“O-Of course,” he said quickly, reaching into his pocket. His empty pocket. He tried his other and, unfortunately, found similar success. Before Emilio could say anything, Link closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath.
“You lost it, didn’t you?”
“It’s t-temporarily m-m-misplaced,” Emilio stuttered, his voice hardly above a whisper. He was sure his thudding heart was deafening.
“She knows my handwriting! If she sees it, we’re both—”
“You’re both what?”
“Oh, y-your majesty!” Emilio squeaked. “We were just—”
“Looking for something, by the sound of it,” she said, one hand stationed at its corresponding hip. “Something like this, maybe?”
With her free hand, she held up a folded slip of paper. Emilio was sure he’d never seen the hero of Hyrule blanch like that, and was sure he never would again.
“I… I can explain,” Emilio said, his mouth dry.
“I’m sure you can, and I’ll be expecting an explanation later.” Her chin jutted forward. “Right now, however, I need to speak with him.”
And while Emilio wouldn’t have thought it possible, the hero slunk even lower.
As soon as they were in her private study, Link started speaking quickly, trying to explain.
“Look, Zelda, I know what it looks like, and—”
“It looks very much as though you were writing poems for Emilio to present to me, Link.”
He swallowed anxiously. It was pointless; his throat was completely dry.
“Why would you help him deceive me like that?”
“He asked for my help, you were never supposed to—”
“To know? Yes, right. I was never supposed to know that my future husband had partnered up with my friend to dupe me. That sounds reasonable.”
He winced at the identification of Emilio as her ‘future husband.’
“I understand that you’re angry, but let me explain—”
“Explain? Explain what?” she snapped, then flicked the folded paper onto the desk between them. “Explain why when I came to you for help, you lied to my face?”
It hurt because she was right. It hurt with the sting of embarrassment, as though she’d slapped him in the face. As his face burned with shame, both from being caught and from knowing he shouldn’t have done it in the first place, he almost wished she had slapped him.
“I’m surprised you’d still call me your friend,” he said quietly. Her mouth formed a tight line as she glared at him.
“Did you mean it?”
His brows furrowed. “Mean… mean what?”
“The poems, the words that you wrote. Did you mean them?”
“I’m sorry, I”—maybe apology was the best route—“wait, what?”
“I won’t ask again, Link.”
He blinked at her and swallowed again. Hard.
“If that was all a lie, too, you can leave right now, pack up your things, and go.” He could hear the strain in her voice, could see the way her eyes shone. “I can’t… I don’t have space in my heart for betrayal. Especially not from you. So if that’s the case, please just leave.”
When he didn’t move right away, she turned her back to him, crossing her arms.
“I’ll forgive you someday. It’s all right.”
“Zelda…”
“I’m stronger than you think. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course I meant it.” He heard her sniffle, even though she tried to hide it. “Well… in the spirit of honesty, I… I realized I meant it after the second one, the note about meeting you by the water. It was then that I started to understand why the words came so easily to me.” He cleared his throat. “The poem you have there… you weren’t ever supposed to read. It was… personal, I suppose.”
“That’s… that was the one that really struck me. The one I really wanted to know if you meant.”
He watched her, quiet. He’d already said he meant them; did she want him to say it again? He couldn’t really get a read on her at all.
“You have always been my soil, you know.” She turned to face him somewhat, not meeting his eyes. “And you… you were right. About the grit, I mean. Silent Princesses, from what I’ve been able to glean, would likely grow best in a sandy loam of sorts. Something that isn’t too arable, you know. The silt and clay content would allow for water to move through the soil easily, so it can get down to a plant’s roots, bringing plenty of nutrients with it, and…” She shook her head, sniffling again, then looked up to catch his gaze. “Leave it to me to talk about something like that at a time like this.”
“I don’t mind,” he said honestly, and she smiled through her watery eyes.
“You wouldn’t, would you? It’s… it’s funny, really, that you’d compare me to a Silent Princess. They’re quite hardy; they’d have to be, considering they flourish in the wild. But from our experiments so far, it doesn’t seem that they do too well in soils that we’d use for most of our agriculture. Soils that typically produce results,” she said bitterly.
“Soils that may grow produce that people have high expectations for,” he said, risking a joke. And she laughed. It was a sound he wasn’t expecting, but one that always managed to set his heart at ease. And this one was a real one.
“Quite right.” She rubbed her arm, and her eyes shifted. She looked sad. “You asked how I could still consider you a friend.”
He nodded, his anxiety returning in full force. “I did.”
“You’ll always be my friend, Link. But…”
“But?”
“But I… you weren’t the ‘friend’ in my question.”
He blinked. Surely, she didn’t mean… couldn’t mean…
“Th-That’s not to pressure you,” she followed up quickly, misunderstanding his confusion. “I shouldn’t have said it that way. No, I… I shouldn’t have said it at all.”
“Why not?” he asked before he could stop himself. Now it was her turn to blink.
“What?”
“Is that… is that what you’d want?”
“Link…”
“Because if that’s not what you want, then I really should pack my things and go, because I can’t stomach the thought of you with someone else. With anyone else.”
And her emerald eyes widened, and her pink lips parted, and her golden hair tangled between his fingers. And she took hold of him, her nails rooting in the collar of his tunic. And he kissed her, drunk on the taste of her, and he was right; no matter how many times he could kiss her, it would never be enough. When they finally parted, she looked at him with half-lidded eyes, beckoning him towards her again.
Yes; each part of her was even more beautiful than the last.