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"Where are we going?"
Queen Hilda looks over at Zelda from the back of her own horse, a reassuring but tight smile on her face. "We're going to go stay in Holodrum for a while."
"Why isn't father coming?" He usually comes with them, when they go to visit one of her endless relatives, or some boring Duke or other.
"Your father has to stay here. You'll see him again when we return."
"And when will that be?"
Her mother's hands wrap warm and steady around her own. "I don't know, darling, I'm sorry."
The commander of the royal guard walks his horse up level with them. "We're ready, your Highness."
She gives Zelda one more reassuring pat before grasping her own reins. "Then let us make the most of the daylight."
Zelda sways on her horse, Impa an impassive presence at her side, watching the landscape drag slowly by. She wishes everyone didn't treat her like such a child. She's old enough to know things; old enough to have heard the whispers of increased violence along the Gerudo border. Old enough to know what it means, that the King is sending his wife and heir away.
The spring of Zelda's seventh year, there are flash floods, worse than any in living memory.
The summer of her tenth year, war breaks out.
Her sharp hiss cuts through the dusk. Zelda pauses in unwinding the bandage from her forearm, where the edges have caught on the dried blood. In her peripheral vision she sees Link glance towards her, hand to his pommel and legs braced to spring down from his lookout perch.
No danger, she signs one-handed without turning toward him. And then, Pervert.
There's a huff of laughter as he gives his back to her. She finishes undressing and wades into the pool of snow melt collecting at the base of the cliff. The cold drives the breath from her chest and all thoughts from her mind as she dunks beneath the surface. Shivering, she rinses the gash on her arm; scrubs hastily at grimy pale flesh, goose-pricked in the night air.
She reassembles herself piece by piece. Dark sheikah stealth gear; supple bow and well-stocked quiver belt; freshly washed bandages wrapped tight around her arm. Hair pinned up in its usual braid and hidden under a headdress, making sure to leave enough loose to drape over the ruin of her left eye. Her reflection stares balefully back, a stranger's face with one deep crimson eye peeking through white-blond hair.
She closes it, taking a deep, centering breath.
"All yours," she calls softly to her silent companion, climbing up to swap places with him so he can bathe too.
Link keeps watching her.
As they're hiking through the dense Faron jungle. As they set up camp, working smoothly around one another in a practised, practical dance. Over the flames of the campfire, as they toss the last of their fish bones into the ash.
She rubs her cheek with a sleeve. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
His eyes meet hers, a sad, soft sort of steadiness in their blue depths. "There's still one goddess spring to go. There's time yet."
If she had awakened her power in the Spring of Courage yesterday—kneeling on mossy tiles as the humid air curled her hair around her face, until her legs went numb and darkness fell—it would still be too late for her country; would still not undo seven years of suffering.
"I know," is all she says.
He drops her gaze, poking the fire with a stick. "It's not your fault."
Her hands clench; she breathes out through her nose. No, she doesn't say, it's yours.
"Captain, stop!"
The guard pull their horses to a halt, clustered around Zelda and her mother and their attendants.
"Your Highness?"
Captain Arn follows the Queen's gaze to the commotion below the crest of the hill; a pack of bokoblins, harassing a lone woman on horseback with a smaller figure pressed against her back. As they watch the horse is cut down, spilling its riders onto the dirt. They struggle up, running for the treeline.
"That boy," Hilda says, as urgent as Zelda has ever heard her. "We must save him."
The guards exchange wary looks. The Captain is the one who speaks. "Your Highness, your compassion is commendable, but we're under strict orders to—Your Highness?"
She's reached out to grasp his arm, looking him directly in the face.
"Captain, you have led my guard with honour and integrity for fifteen years, and in that time I have never requested anything of you which would test those principles. I am asking you now as a friend. Please."
"Why this kid?" one of the soldiers voices, propriety forgotten in the face of such unusual behaviour.
"He is the one," the Queen replies, her eyes bleak. "He is the one I foresaw. If he dies, so do we all."
Zelda tilts her head back against the tree, wishing away the memories. Of the rout the guard had led on the bokoblins; of their subsequent rout by the pair of lynels which had emerged from the forest with eyes like burning coals. Of the sounds of dying men and horses, the stench of blood and charred flesh. Of the flat-out flight to Kakariko, galloping just behind the only other remaining horse, carrying Impa—and Link.
Across the fire, the reason her mother is dead stirs slightly in his sleep, brushing a strand of golden hair away from his face.
"Again. Ganondorf's forces will not care that you are tired, or that you grieve, or that you wish to go home."
Frustration and exhaustion weigh on Zelda like anchors. The Sheikah blade in her hands is unfamiliar, rubbing the soft, unblemished skin of her palms raw. She has never wielded anything more deadly than a sewing needle before. She fights back the tears that threaten to spill hot over her cheeks. They are never far away, these days.
Impa is still watching her, that impassive crimson gaze steady.
Zelda raises her noodle arms again, falling into the same ready stance as Link, next to her. They run through the drill in jerky synchrony, until Impa declares their efforts sufficient and lets them slump to the ground.
In her peripheral vision, Link rubs at his palms. She'd have expected him to be faring better at this than her. Isn't that the point of him?
"What did you do, before...?" she blurts. She can feel his surprised look mirrored on her own face.
"My family own a farm," he says, quietly. Then he winces. "Owned. I looked after the animals. Goats, mostly. A few cuccos. A horse."
She's noticed him sneaking off to the stables to pet the two horses which made it here, pressing his face into their sides. The habit makes more sense in light of that revelation.
"You've really never held a sword before?"
He shakes his head, face screwed up in some unknown emotion.
If this is the Hero, Goddess help them all.
"Again?"
She waves a hand in Link's general direction, a non-verbal just a minute while she catches her breath from their last bout.
"Again," she agrees once she's settled back into a crouch, sword held in a reverse grip at her side and dagger in her other hand.
He moves like a mountain lion, lithe and golden-haired, exploding into motion. She dodges sideways, under his arm, leading with her dagger arm as she pirouettes back up into his blind spot. His shield knocks the blow away, feet sure on the dusty ground. She jumps back. His sword slices the air where she was. They circle one another, eyes alert to weakness. His next swing is a feint, and she sees it a mile off. She darts in, springing into a twisting jump over his head. It should leave his back wide open for her blade. Instead she finds herself yanked downward by the ankle. He turns as he falls back, and it's her who's sprawled in the dirt, the wind knocked out of her. One hand presses her thigh down. The other is around her wrist, pinning it above her head. His sword lies discarded, and she presses the tip of her training sword into his ribs with her free hand, letting the smirk show on her face. After a moment of shock he grins at her, surprise and delight suffusing his features. They're close enough for his breath to tickle at the strand of hair loose across her cheek. Close enough to see the astonishing blue of his eyes, and the sudden hesitation in them.
Impa's cough has them scrambling up, away from one another, cheeks burning.
"Well done, Zelda. Link, that was creative thinking, but let this be a lesson on why we don't let go of our weapons during a fight."
Link's blush intensifies, and he ducks his head so his blond hair obscures his cheeks from view.
"Now if you two are quite finished, dinner is being served."
When the late summer heat becomes unbearable even in the mountains around Kakariko, she and Link slip away to the river on the pretext of 'fishing'. The water swirls around their feet, pebbles shifting on the riverbed. Zelda has a pole and line, but a quarter-hour of fruitless casting is all she can stomach before retreating to the shade of the bank, beneath the trees. Link stays in the water, shirtless, stalking about with a spear in one hand. Zelda watches the play of his muscles across his back.
After a while there's a triumphant shout, and he lifts his spear to show her the trout flapping on its point.
"I got dinner," he calls. "So that means you have to wash the dishes."
"Oh," she laughs, "is that what it means?"
As he hauls himself up onto the bank, she picks up her bow and scans the waterline further along. A well-thrown rock startles several ducks aloft. She squints against the sun and looses an arrow at the slowest.
"You were saying?" she teases, holding the duck up by the neck.
"Mm, maybe Impa will have to do the dishes tonight then."
She snorts. "Please make sure I'm there when you tell her that."
As they make their way back to the village, he reaches up to pluck an apple from the tree and tosses it to her. She hides her smile by crunching into it.
Link at fifteen is a tightly-wound streak of spit and vinegar. He moves like a lion and fights like a demon. There is no weapon he hasn't shown proficiency with, though he favours the bastard sword. The overlong blade looks almost comical in the hands of a boy so short. No one laughs once they've seen him use it.
Zelda at fifteen is the Queen in exile of a conquered country and a broken people. She can fight well enough to survive, and hunt well enough to eat. She can communicate silently in Sheikah signs, and she has mastered enough shadow magic to conceal her true face. She lurches unpredictably between determination so fierce it burns through her veins, and bleak despair. She prays, devotedly, and wishes her mother were still here to ask about the prophetic powers which had awoken in her by this age.
Zelda is fifteen, and her Goddess powers remain as absent as the Goddess herself.
In the Fall of Zelda's fifteenth year, Kakariko burns.
Link's arm on hers is the only thing that keeps her upright on their flight from the flames and the fighting. Even that isn't enough, eventually. She drops to her knees in the mud, heaving gasping breaths through the acrid burn of the smoke in her throat. Tears fall hot onto her hands, pressed against the cool dirt.
"How can you just leave?" she wails at him. Recently, she had almost forgotten that she hates him. Had let herself be sucked in by the tentative something building between them. Had allowed herself to push the past out of her thoughts. It rushes back into the gap like the tide, a bitter wash of resentment.
He drops to one knee in front of her, gathering her into his chest. His face presses into the top of her head, and she can feel a trickle of tears seeping through her hair. His own breath hitches, and he lets her burn out her anger on him until she's numb.
"Impa made me promise," he rasps.
She looks up at him, into red-rimmed blue eyes. Without the mask of his Sheikah outfit, he looks young and vulnerable.
"If anything happened, to get you out," he elaborates. "If we had stayed, and died, then all of this would have been for nothing. I can't—"
She turns her face from his, and he sighs. Stands up. Offers his hand.
"Please, Zelda."
It's the first time he's ever called her by her name; in Kakariko, he'd initially called her 'Your Highness' with wide-eyed reverence, and then followed the example of the Sheikah and called her 'Princess'. At any other time, it would have sent a thrill through her.
She stands on her own, rubbing her face on her sleeve. The smell of rain is heavy on the air; dark grey clouds threatening imminent downpour.
"We're truly on the run now," she says, still not looking at him. "From now on, you should call me Sheik."
Whatever was building between them in the hidden safety of Kakariko dissipates like mist in the morning sun, as they adjust to their new reality of lonely tramping through the quiet corners of Hyrule. Always on the alert, never staying in one place too long, camping in the wild. They work well together, but their regard for one another cools to a distant professionalism.
Zelda tells herself she doesn't regret this. Attachments are just loss yet to be realised. The odds of both of them making it out of this unscathed are too slim to consider.
During their stay at Lon Lon Ranch, following a disastrous ambush, she reminds herself—repeatedly and aggressively—that she views Link as merely a colleague. She is not jealous of the rancher's daughter, who tends to Link's injuries with a softness Zelda has not possessed in years. She cares not at all, that this ministration is rewarded with Link's easy and genuine smiles. Is indifferent to the way his eyes follow the girl around the room. (Malon; she knows perfectly well that her name is Malon).
And Malon is just as kind to her. She brings soup, and quiet conversation while Link fights through fever and delirium. As Malon bandages the wound across Zelda's eye—where the lizalfos had caught her with its razor claws—there is only sympathy, not pity, in her face. In another life... they would still never have been friends; the difference in their stations too great to bridge. But it would have been nice, to have a friend such as her.
And Link... Link is the Hero of Prophecy, is marked by destiny and older than his years, but he's still a teenage boy. Still affected by a pretty face and a friendship not capsizing under the weight of its own history. Zelda cannot begrudge him that.
The two of them leave the ranch with a horse and a murmured conversation—blond and brunette heads bent together—that Zelda absolutely does not strain to overhear.
The days following their return to Lon Lon Ranch, hoping to trade for supplies, collapse her pretense in the worst of ways. She carried the dead weight of him in through the gates before; this time, she heaves his limp and uncooperative form away. Safely concealed in the treeline, she drops him to the floor. Blank eyes watch the smouldering ruin of the paddock and house.
She closes her eye against the threat of tears, and swallows down her self-recrimination. Her jealousy did not do this.
"It's not your fault," she croaks, sitting next to him. He looks at her, raw grief on his face, desperate to be reassured.
"This was the work of bokoblins," she points out, gesturing to the prints in the churned mud. "They're not smart enough to have recognised us even if we had been seen here. And... we don't know if there are any bodies in the house. It's possible they managed to flee."
His head sags down onto his knees.
"Maybe."
Their only true fight spreads like poison through the miserable, wet days following. They bicker and gripe at one another all the time, but this one is real in a way those aren't.
"If you step foot in that city you will die and then so will everyone else!" Zelda keeps her voice to a hiss, but flings her arms up for emphasis.
"I'm prophesied to wield the sword that seals the darkness," he snarls. "That sword, specifically! Don't you think I might need to practice with it?"
"I'm sure one sword is much the same as another!" she shouts back, petty in her frustration. "It's right under Ganondorf's nose, going to get it is a stupid, suicidal idea!"
He storms away, and doesn't return until she's spent tense hours sat in their camp with her arms around her knees, rain dripping through the branches to soak her hair, fighting the sick feeling of worry. Reassuring herself, that her concern is valid and based purely on safety. That she isn't holding him back through spite that her own powers remain elusive.
He hands her a brace of rabbits, rubbing the back of his head with one hand in awkward apology. His hair and clothes are plastered to his skin.
She takes the rabbits carefully. "Thank you."
It isn't until they've eaten that he speaks again.
"I'm sorry."
She picks at the remains of her dinner. "It's alright."
He wraps his arm around one knee, the other stretched out. "While I was... hunting, I had a thought."
She gestures for him to continue.
"You said once, that there were sites of particular significance to the Goddesses in Hyrule."
"The Goddess springs," she confirms. She doesn't recall ever mentioning them to him, but Link is surprising like that; has all sorts of information tucked carefully away in that blond head. "People used to make a pilgrimage, to all three. You think we should visit them?"
He shrugs loosely. "It's worth trying, right? You put so much effort into your devotions. Maybe praying somewhere sacred will help."
She leans into his shoulder, letting his warmth soak into her wet, chilled skin. "I think it's a good idea. Thank you."
The Spring of Power is the easiest to get to. They'll start with that.
The shock of the cold water hits her like a punch.
Still winded from the blow to the ribs from the moblin's club, which is what knocked her into the river in the first place, she flails and splutters. Water gets into her eyes, and up her nose. Her hair is plastered over her face. She can't see; can't orient herself to swim to shore. She can feel herself sinking, gasping, swallowing water.
A strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling her up to bob on the surface.
Link treads water next to her, looking as much like a drowned rat as she feels. Panic is radiating from his wide-eyed expression.
Together, they paddle their way awkwardly to the water's edge, and lay shivering in the mud.
"I'm so glad you hadn't been knocked out," he says, once they've caught their breath slightly. Their hands are tangled together still, on the ground.
Her brow furrows, trying to work out his meaning; obviously it's good that she wasn't hit hard enough to lose consciousness.
"I don't really know how to swim," he elaborates. "There weren't any deep bodies of water near the farm, and the only one in Kakariko was the koi pond behind Impa's house. If you'd been out cold I'm not sure I could have got you out."
She stares at him, and then wordlessly turns to look at the cliff he'd presumably dived off in order to reach her in time.
"You dove in after me when you don't even know how to swim?" She was aiming for incredulous, but her voice betrays other feelings.
He turns to look at her, his own brow furrowed now. "Well, yeah. What else was I going to do?"
They pass through the ruins of Kakariko on the way to the Spring of Wisdom. They don't speak much, as they pick through the ashes of their adolescent home. There aren't really words for this.
In the graveyard they light candles at the shrine and stay kneeling side by side until the grey light of dawn breaks over the hillside. Neither speaks again until they make camp at the base of Mount Lanayru.
"It's my birthday tomorrow," says Zelda, lying on her back and looking up at the stars scattered across the ink-blue sky. "Seventeen. An adult."
Link turns his head to her, waiting for more.
"If this doesn't work... we should go for the sword."
"I thought you said that was a stupid plan," he hums, one hand draped across his chest.
She sits up to look at him properly. "I've said a lot of things, over the years. I was scared to lose you. I'm still scared. But we can't keep in this holding pattern forever. Hyrule suffers while we do nothing but hide."
His eyes meet hers, and she is always astounded by the softness that still remains in them, after everything. "In all the time I've known you, you've never forgotten about them. Preparing and hiding aren't the same thing."
"It feels like it, sometimes," she replies, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. "But if I can't be more prepared then you at least should be. The sword needs its master."
"Alright." He takes that in solemnly, then brightens. "And I know I don't know much about prophecies or magic or anything, but as far as I know, Ganondorf is still a man. I'm pretty sure a sword to the neck will still ruin his day."
Her snort of laughter surprises her, and she pushes weakly at his side. "You're terrible."
"Mm," he agrees. "But you love me anyway."
She's too shocked to respond to that, and Link gets up to prepare the tent for sleep, as though oblivious to the turmoil his words have sparked in her.
Zelda met Ganondorf exactly once. When she was nine, the newly-crowned King of the Gerudo visited Hyrule to negotiate terms to the longstanding, much-frayed peace treaty between their respective nations. At seventeen he already exuded power, and towered head and shoulders above every Hylian in the room. She disliked him on sight. More surprisingly, so did her mother, though Hilda did a much better job of hiding it.
She shadowed him as he explored the depths of the castle with his trusted General at his side, far outside the areas they'd been shown on their tour. Watched as he ran his hands along the stones, eyes half-closed as if listening for something. Felt the pulse of dark magics in response to his touch on a bricked-up doorway.
"Good night, little spy," he had murmured as the two Gerudo passed by her hiding place on their way back up to the castle proper.
She hadn't dared to follow him again.
Castle Town is quiet as they slip across the rooftops in the darkness. The people here have been trodden thoroughly underfoot, kept in line by sharp-eyed Gerudo guardswomen within and the beast races without. But even Gerudo don't tend to look up.
Link and Zelda drop silently down into the alleyway next to the Temple, and start to pry at the side door. It's locked tight.
A blade comes to rest gently against Zelda's neck. Link freezes in place, not willing to startle their assailant into cutting her throat.
"What do we have here, hm? Sheikah agents? I was under the impression there were no Sheikah left, but you're like rats, aren't you? Fleeing to your hidey-holes to cause trouble from the shadows."
Zelda raises her eyes to the woman on the other end of the scimitar, and startles. The words slip out of her before she can stop them.
"Nabooru?"
The General's eyes narrow. "Have we met before? Your voice sounds familiar..." Then she seems to take stock of where, exactly, they're trying to break into.
"Hm... You've been away from home for a long time, little spy." Her voice is low, and Zelda swallows against the sharp edge of the blade, wincing as it nicks the skin. "You are either brave or foolish, to return."
She sheathes her blade, and pulls a set of keys from her belt to unlock the door. Zelda blinks at her, uncomprehending.
"Let us hope, that you are brave."
From the alley mouth, there are shouts.
"Hey, General! Did you find anything?"
Nabooru looks back over her shoulder at them, still standing shocked.
"No," she calls back. "Just rats, getting into the bins."
Inside, the air and floor are dusty with disuse. She'd heard, third-hand, that the Gerudo had closed the Temple off, wanting to discourage worship of Hylia and any rebellion which might form around it. Despite their Sheikah training the sound of their feet on the floor seems loud, in the heavy silence.
Hylia waits, serene, on her dais, a shaft of moonlight illuminating her blank features and the sword at her feet.
Zelda looks over to Link. "Go on, then."
He steps up to the triangular design in which the sword rests, hand twitching toward it. Then he looks back over to her. "Together."
"What?"
"I'm only here because of you."
She hesitates momentarily, but his earnest expression compels her feet to move. She can't argue with him in this hushed, holy place.
Her hands rest lightly on top of his around the pommel.
When he pulls the blade free, static curls around her, racing up her arms, around her neck, lifting her hair. The sword thrums with energy, is alive in a way she hadn't known was even possible. It greets her, fond and familiar and full of forgiveness. Her chest is hollow, a sudden wellspring of emotion surging through it. She almost feels like she could reach out and touch the threads of destiny woven between and through them, trace back along their lengths to the joy and heartbreak of all the other versions of themselves. Could see the world—see Link—through the eyes of everyone she's ever been.
Link is staring glassy-eyed at nothing, listening to something only he can hear. She steps back, flexing her still-tingling hands.
"Did you feel it?" he asks, when he returns to reality.
She nods. "I did. I'm—it's really us, isn't it?" Her voice wobbles, uncertainty undermining her. "We can't run from this even if we wanted to. We've been caught in it, since before we ever knew."
He straps the sheath to his back and steps into her space, pulling her in. His forehead rests against hers.
"I'm not worried," he whispers. "I know you can do this."
His eyes hold no hint of a lie when she meets them. "How can you be so sure?"
He pulls her hands between them. On the back of the left, a triforce glows soft gold in the gloom.
"The power has always been within you."
Zelda closes her eye. Her deep exhale expels her doubt and grief and hesitation; everything which will hold her back in their fight. When she opens it again, only determination remains. She holds out a hand, pulling on the power she can now feel rooted deep in her chest. A golden light springs up around her outstretched fingers.
Through the stained-glass window, the shadow of the castle spire is just about visible in the pre-dawn light.
Link is watching her patiently, and she reaches out to grasp his hand.
"Together?"
He nods, a smile on his face.
"Together."
The winter of Zelda's seventeenth year brings a coronation to Hyrule. She kneels before the Statue of Hylia in the Temple, head bowed for the High Priestess to settle the crown onto her head.
In the peripheral vision of her good eye, she sees Link standing to attention, hands on the pommel of the Master Sword and sword-tip resting lightly on the flagstones, resplendent in his Royal Guard's uniform. Even with the livid burn scar clearly visible above his starched collar—a souvenir of Ganondorf's blighted chokehold—he catches the attention of almost all the women in attendance and several of the men. She does not begrudge him it; none of them threaten her, and Link deserves their adulation. Plus, they aren't wrong about how easy he is on the eyes. Eye. It would be wrong to snicker, while the Priestess is praying for the success of her rule.
She stands and turns to the room on her cue. Chieftain Nabooru of the Gerudo sits between Darunia and Ruto. She gives Zelda a subtle nod when their gazes catch, looking tired but resolved. There is much work to be done, to heal the damage to Hyrule and the relationship of their countries. Seven years under Gerudo rule have left deep scars on Hyrule's land; its population; its Queen. But with Ganondorf gone they can start to rebuild.
Zelda lets the cheers of her people carry her. Tonight, there will be feasting and celebration.
Tomorrow, the work begins.