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The silence between them was comfortable. A shared knowledge they had grown accustomed to. No talking, just understanding. Perhaps a few cords of a harp and the hum of an ocarina would break the hush, but these were always gentle melodies, quiet in their own way, ebbing and flowing. Moments of music that occurred and faded without a word. And these precious moments granted the Hero and his Guide a peace they were rarely able to savor.
It was innocent. They sat near one another. On a hill, under a tree, overlooking Lake Hylia, wherever felt most comfortable at the time, observing their ravaged land which still held so much beauty within its tortured scape. But as their meetings became a habit they began to notice that, slowly, their bodies drew nearer to one another, as if pulled by some invisible force. With each meeting they found themselves somehow closer, until at last they were side by side, shoulder to shoulder, supporting each other.
Link would feel his face flush when contact was made, and this warmth would slowly spread throughout his body. He could smell the other’s scent (a musky sandalwood), hear his light breath, sense when he shifted or stirred in the slightest. He would risk sidelong glances to the Sheikah, trying to see if underneath that mask he was feeling the same warmth the Hero was. It was impossible to know for sure, but Link would swear those vibrant red hues held the glimmer of a smile.
Sheik felt as if his body was filled with butterflies. The world seemed so calm in these fleeting moments by the Hero’s side. He would observe from the corner of his knowing eyes the way Link’s tense body would relax in their safety, and how Navi also took advantage of the peace, resting on her friend’s shoulder. Not once did she question Link about these moments, not once did she raise her voice to remind him of the journey ahead, not once did she urge him to push on. Sheik was sure she knew that their Hero needed this, and that she needed it as well.
It was these moments Sheik was going to miss the most when he had to go away, when the princess would take full control again. He could hear her whispering from the corners of his mind, offering a comfort, an apology that was not necessary. After all, this was what he had been created for. To be an impermanent person, a shield to protect both Zelda and Link. It was his fate.
In a way he and Zelda were the same person. He would live on inside of her as she lived on inside of him. Aware, seeing, constant. Two sides of the same whole. But it would not be the same. He would not be able to feel the warmth of another body next to him, would not be able to touch it, hold it, protect it. She would take on that role. She would watch over Link when the time came for Sheik to leave. A frightening, comforting reality. He would be no more to the youth at his side. These thoughts flooded the Sheikah, almost threatening to crack his cold continence, but his face remained emotionless. A mask hidden by another mask.
Yet he could not help the arm that reached out to wrap itself around Link’s waist affectionately, protectively, desperately. He needed that anchor, needed to feel that warmth before he couldn’t anymore.
Somehow, Link understood. His own arm circled around the other, returning the gesture, refusing to let him go.
And that was enough.