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Link doesn’t know when the idea first takes hold, nor does he recall deciding to go through with it. One moment he is dismissed from his duties to leave Princess Zelda to her prayers, and the next he finds himself standing outside Hyrule Castle’s kitchens with a hastily scribbled note in his hand and trepidation in his gut.
He swallows thickly, paper crumpling in his fist. He cannot remember the last time he did something this impulsive.
He does remember what started it, at least — this nagging desire to express his thoughts. After endless weeks of cold animosity, Zelda had a sudden change of heart and began coaxing Link out of his shell little by little, displaying a wealth of patience that took him by surprise. Some prodding and numerous food offerings later, Zelda had gotten more words out of Link in a single night than he recalls speaking in months, and the relief he’d felt at being understood — at being sympathized with — had been enough to sow a tiny seed of longing in his heart.
A longing for camaraderie.
Letting out a deep breath, Link squares his shoulders and takes a resolute step forward.
What first assaults his senses is a cloud of hot steam carrying the aroma of meat stew and the acrid stench of burnt caramel. Next comes the noise: clanking pots, sizzling oil, and cutting boards all singing in unison, accompanied by the dizzying flurry of movement that comes with too many people trying to do everything at once. Link is no stranger to the chaos of the royal kitchens, but he is always taken aback by the sheer energy contained in them.
“Oi, Link! Ya hungry?”
To Link’s left, a stout middle-aged woman waves at him with a hand covered in flour. Her laughter lines deepen into a grin as Link approaches. He’s always liked the head baker, Dinah. She is merry and kind, and never expects Link to do anything but eat his fill and lend an ear.
“Thought you’d fallen ill, boy!” She pats Link’s back. “We have some pastries fresh out of the oven if you want some.”
Link shakes his head and hands her the note, digging his nails into his palms while she reads it.
“You want me to bake you a fruitcake?” She asks. “Well ain’tcha fancy? You’ll have to ask reeeeal nicely, though. This stuff ain’t—”
Link holds his hands up, shaking his head once more. He points at Dinah then at himself, mimicking the stirring of batter.
Understanding dawns on her features. “You want me to… teach you?” At Link’s sheepish nod, her smile grows impossibly wide. “Oh? Does the little knight have someone to impress?”
Link’s stomach tightens. He doesn’t want to explain too much — doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.
“Some—” He clears his throat, words like dry gravel on his tongue. “Someone to thank.”
“Heh!” Dinah squeezes his shoulder. “Grab an apron, boy! I got yer back.”
Sagging with relief, Link bows his thanks and obeys. By the time he rejoins Dinah, she’s already gathered all the ingredients they’ll need, and there is an air of steely determination about her. Link rolls up his sleeves, filled with the same resolve. The seed in his heart stirs.
It’ll be alright. With an experienced cook to guide him, baking a cake can’t be that hard.
He is wrong.
Link has cooked countless times at home, considers himself fairly decent at it, but he’s never baked anything other than basic bread until today. He never imagined there would be so many steps to follow, so many things that could go awry.
But it doesn’t matter if Link accidentally drops a yolk into the whites, or if making meringue proves to be a challenge despite his strength, or if he almost ruins the batter by overmixing it: Dinah’s patience never wavers. And by the time Link leaves the kitchens smelling like a confectionery, he has a tiny cake to show for his efforts. It’s denser than he’d like, and the decorations are a little sloppy, but it’ll do.
It is only once he finds himself outside Zelda’s room that the reality of what he’s about to do hits him. What if she hates it?
The door swings open without warning, and a haggard-looking Zelda almost runs into him. She gasps, and both of them take a step back.
“Goddess, Link! I didn’t expect — is that… cake?”
Link nods stiffly, offering it to her.
“For me?”
Another nod. Zelda takes the plate with trembling hands, gaping at Link as if seeing him anew.
“And to think I once misjudged you so.” Zelda murmurs, tired eyes softening. She beckons Link inside, urging him to take one of the seats by the fireplace. “Thank you, truly. How did you know fruitcake is my favorite?”
Link shrugs, watching her sit down and take a bite. It wasn’t hard to figure out: he’d seen her face light up whenever fruitcake was served at the royal table, but he knows better than to say that.
“Mmm, delicious!” Zelda exclaims. “Although I can’t help but wonder… perhaps we have a new cook? It seems different than usual.” She turns the plate on her hand, studying the little cake with scientific focus. “Flatter.”
Feeling his ears burn, Link looks away and rubs the back of his head. He hears the clinking of metal on porcelain, feels Zelda’s eyes burning a hole through him.
“No, you didn’t!” She gasps. When Link doesn’t deny it, she groans into her hands. “Oh Link, I’m… I keep floundering, don’t I?”
“It’s okay,” Link rasps. “I’m just glad… it tastes good.”
They manage to remain silent for a few seconds before Zelda starts giggling, and even Link finds it hard not to smile. He doesn’t know if Zelda’s laughter is out of embarrassment or exhaustion, or if it’s just the sheer ridiculousness of it all, but he thinks it’s a good look on her. One she should be allowed to don far more often.
“It does.” Zelda says warmly, retrieving her fork. “It really does.”
And as Zelda takes another bite, the tiny seedling in Link’s heart sprouts its first leaf.
With a tentative success under Link’s belt, that nagging feeling at the back of his mind only grows stronger. He’s perfectly content just listening to Zelda’s musings and offering a nod here and there, but whenever the Champions are mentioned he feels… restless. The wall that Zelda dutifully chipped away at still stands tall between Link and his other comrades, taller for some than others, and Link —
Link would like to bring it down.
So, when Link and Zelda depart for Zora’s Domain a few days later, he decides Mipha is a good place to start. While words do come more easily in her presence, Mipha isn’t one to begrudge him his long silences either, and the recipe he intends to make for her is one he knows like the back of his hand.
It doesn’t take long for the princesses to become engrossed in conversation in the depths of Vah Ruta. Left to his own devices, Link makes a beeline for the local general store. When he finds the fish selection lacking, the clerk amiably points him towards a Rito merchant wandering the halls; a whopping 40 Rupees later, Link scores himself a fresh hearty salmon.
Nobody pays Link any mind as he stations himself at the Domain’s sole cooking fire. Soon enough the pleasant smell of cooked rice fills the air, and Link hums a merry tune as he carefully cleans and cuts his fish into filets. It brings him back to simpler times: to days spent exploring the Domain and its adjacent rivers with Mipha and the Brigade; to ringing laughter as Link failed to catch fish with his tiny hands; to meals where rice balls and raw fish were shared and gulped down quickly, all for the sake of a longer playtime…
Will he ever get to be that carefree again?
“Oh, here you are, Link!” Mipha chimes in, just as Link is shaping warm rice into triangles. “Zelda wanted to consult our library, so I was wondering— oh!”
She hovers over the platter by Link’s side, nearly full of rice balls. Unlike the ones Link’s family favors, these are filled with pieces of raw salmon, for he knows from experience Zoras hardly ever cook their catches.
“May I?” Mipha asks. Link nods, handing her the rice ball he just finished. She sits next to him and takes a bite, making a sound of approval.
“How nostalgic!” She sighs. “The salmon is a delightful surprise. Where did you find one?”
Link points at the Rito from earlier, still pacing around. “You always… talked about salmon,” he murmurs, scooping the last of the rice into his palm. “Before.”
Mipha’s eyes widen, then soften into fondness. “So I did. I thought it was a crime you’d never had a chance to try it.” She giggles. “So you swore you would catch one right then and there, even though no salmon roam our waters. It was… endearing.”
Link smiles. He remembers his disappointment when the only fish he managed to catch was a tiny trout that hit his face as it broke free.
“If I may confess something to you,” Mipha continues, clutching her food, “the first time I tried Hylian rice, I… did not like it one bit. But when you offered me one of these with a big grin, I simply didn’t have the heart to decline. And wouldn’t you know? After you left the Domain, I found I’d developed a liking for rice!”
“I… was the same,” Link takes a slice of fish and pops it into his mouth with none of the disgust he valiantly ignored as a child. “About raw fish.”
Caught mid-bite, Mipha covers her mouth as her shoulders shake with mirth. Just like that, Link feels riverbank gravel under his feet, morning mist in his breath, cold water splashing his face as Mipha swims by, always faster than him…
Oh, how he’s missed this.
They enjoy a peaceful meal, watching the comings and goings of Zora’s Domain and reminiscing about the past. During a lull in their conversation, Mipha touches Link’s arm, looking at him with something Link cannot place in her gaze. Something warm. Hesitant.
“We haven’t had many chances to talk lately, and I know we’re no longer the children we once were,” she says, fingers trembling, “but I’m glad we could meet again, Link. That we get to protect Hyrule. Together.”
“I’m glad, too,” Link replies as new leaves sprout from his heart, reaching for the afternoon sun.
Going for Daruk next is an easy decision for Link. Boisterous, genuine, and warm, the Goron wasted no time adopting Link as one of his own, claiming Link’s actions spoke louder than a thousand words. To Link, Daruk is the key piece that ties the group together, and he looks forward to thanking him in any way he can.
That still leaves him the dilemma of Goron cuisine, however. As far as Link knows, Gorons only eat rock roasts, and, while Daruk would certainly be thrilled if Link brought him one, that doesn’t sit well with him. It feels cheap. Thoughtless.
So, Link takes a page out of Zelda’s book and turns to research.
Hyrule Castle’s library is an imposing chamber, filled with more books than Link could hope to read in his entire lifetime. But what Link deems insurmountable only takes a scribe a few minutes to navigate, and Link’s query lands him a grand total of nine tomes on Goron culture and volcanic regions within and beyond Hyrule. Just to cover all bases.
The first few books don’t provide any helpful information — dry, cryptic paragraphs about events from eras long gone; scattered Goron entries about their daily lives and celebrations; maps of Death Mountain; unreliable tales from faraway lands, preserved mainly by word of mouth. Zelda often bemoans the kingdom’s inability to keep straight records despite its rich history, and Link can definitely see why.
He is about to give up when a passage in a traveler’s memoir gives him pause. It talks about a volcanic race with striking resemblance to Gorons, who dwell underneath a land known as Holodrum. Though as incomplete as everything else, the traveler’s account delves into a particular dish with supposed healing properties, composed mainly — and quite shockingly — of pure lava.
Without batting an eye, Link grabs quill and paper.
“Little guy!”
Daruk’s booming voice carries over the gurgling currents of Goro Cove and the clanking of Link’s fireproof armor. Link spots him easily atop a nearby slope, waving before he rolls down amidst a whirlwind of gravel. He comes to a skidding halt by Link’s side, grinning from ear to ear.
“A brother said I’d find you here. Whatcha doin’?”
Link removes his helmet and steps aside, revealing the culmination of his efforts. Inside an enormous cauldron set over burning coals, a thick liquid bubbles at a low simmer. At first glance, it looks just like the lava surrounding them — a bright, almost blinding blend of yellows and oranges — but a closer look reveals a smoother texture and a complete lack of impurities, and the smell…
Link cannot possibly explain how, but the “broth” he’s concocted smells just like curry.
“What’s that?” Daruk squints at the pot with a confused frown.
“Lava soup.” Link says, ladling some into a bowl and offering it to Daruk. “Thought you might… like it.”
Daruk takes the bowl with clear hesitation. It looks tiny in his hands as he sniffs it, swirling its contents around. He glances at Link, who nods at him encouragingly.
“Well, here goes nothin’!” Daruk throws his head back and drinks it in one gulp. Link watches his throat bob, waiting with bated breath. Did he do it right? Was the pot seasoned properly? He couldn’t taste the soup, of course. Gathering lava had been hazardous enough, even with the rented armor…
Daruk’s rumbling laughter scatters the worries in Link’s head, the large hand on his back a reassuring weight.
“You really are something else, brother.” Daruk dips the bowl into the cauldron and drinks again, heaving a contented sigh. The sight tugs at the corners of Link’s mouth. “This is amazing! Who knew plain ol’ lava could be this delicious! How didja learn?”
“Books.” Link says simply. Even without a sip, he feels the soup’s warmth seeping into his bones. “It’s… I wanted to thank you.”
Daruk guffaws, shaking Link’s shoulders. “You liked that rock roast that much, eh? It was nothin’! I’ll treat ya anytime! That’s what brothers do: they share good food and watch each other’s backs like you’ve been watchin’ mine.”
That’s not — Link opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s a harmless misunderstanding. All that matters is that Daruk knows that Link appreciates him; that he made this for him. And if that means Link must brave another rock roast in the near future, well…
Link thinks that’s a small price to pay.
“We oughta share this with everyone!” Daruk hefts the cauldron onto his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, balancing it carefully to keep it from spilling. “C’mon, little guy!”
As Link follows Daruk with a fond shake of his head, the vines nestled in his heart spread their roots further, unbothered by the Eldin heat.
When Zelda announces they are to depart for Gerudo Town, Link finds himself at a loss. He knows this is an excellent chance to make something for Urbosa, but that doesn’t make it any less daunting. Out of all the Champions, Link probably knows Urbosa the least. She’s a force to be reckoned with, a reassuring presence and an excellent ally, but it’s her devotion to Zelda that makes her shine the brightest in Link’s eyes. She always knows the right thing to say, offers just the right amount of comfort, thus thriving where Link simply falls short.
He wants to learn from her; to speak freely and reassuringly despite the weight of responsibility they share. To thank her for being there for Zelda, and also —
Link runs his fingers over the soft fabric of his Gerudo veil; marvels at the way the little decorations on his hips clink with every movement, at how light these clothes feel compared to his Champion tunic. For this, too, he’d like to thank Urbosa: for granting him safe passage into her homeland as one of her own.
With Zelda well protected within the palace walls, Link is once more left to wander at his leisure — just another vai among many roaming the sun-kissed marketplace. He studies the wares carefully, muttering possible preparations under his breath, but nothing he comes up with seems fitting. Not even the Gerudo recipes he comes across.
What would Urbosa like?
The desert heat doesn’t make things any easier. Link ducks under an archway, enjoying the shade while he sorts out his thoughts. There, an unusual sight catches his eye: a giant bottle made of the same material as the town walls, splattered with glittering sea-colored mosaics. It stands proud and chimney-like atop a lively establishment Link has never visited called The Noble Canteen.
His steps take him forward as an idea rapidly takes hold; up the stairs and past the threshold, where a young, sharp-featured Gerudo is wiping the bar counter.
"Vasaaq!” She greets with a wide smile that falters when she takes in Link. “Uh-uh! Not so fast! You’re too young to be here, little vai.”
Flustered, Link nods and holds his hands up, pointing at a small stack of papers next to the bartender. He mimics writing on his palm.
The bartender’s eyes narrow, but she complies. She slides a sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal his way, watching him intently as he jots down his request.
“...You want to make a drink for Chief Urbosa?” She asks with clear disbelief. At Link’s silent assent, she studies him from head to toe, gaze lingering on the sword on his back. Her voice turns cold, cutting. “What business do you have with our leader, Hylian?”
Her mistrust looms in the air and Link can’t blame her; with Yiga lying in wait at every turn and disguising themselves with frightening ease, it cannot hurt to err on the side of caution. His Champion tunic is within reach, tucked away in his traveling satchel. It would be so easy for him to prove his status, his connection to Urbosa…
Instead, Link straightens his back and places a hand over his heart, croaking out a single word: “Gratitude.”
The bartender’s face remains inscrutable as seconds tick by, taut silence broken only by the clinking of glasses and drunken laughter. Eventually, she leans back with her arms folded, nodding to herself.
“A noble pursuit, that is.” She lifts the bar flap, beckoning Link over. “Alright. Come on in before I change my mind, and do exactly as I say.”
Dusk comes and goes, and with it a cloak of darkness falls over the bright lights of Gerudo Town. Cool wind blows through the open walls of The Noble Canteen, bringing in a new wave of thirsty customers — Urbosa among them.
“Sav'saaba!” She greets. “You summoned me, Abeeru?”
The bartender grins, pointing at one of the windows separating the bar from the lounge area. Through it, Link watches them anxiously. “That vai over there has something for you. She won’t say much, but she was really keen on giving you a thank you gift.”
“Was she, now?” Urbosa cracks a smile that eases the tension in Link’s shoulders. She thanks Abeeru and saunters over to his table. There, two drinks await: creamy orange and topped with fresh ice, each of them decorated with a small hydromelon wedge. While measurements and choice of spirits were all Abeeru’s, the touch of voltfruit pulp and salt on the rim were Link’s idea. Something to offset the sweetness. Make it sharper.
Of course, only Urbosa’s is alcoholic.
“I knew something was afoot earlier when you offered no resistance to your dismissal,” Urbosa says as she takes a seat, “but I certainly didn’t expect something like this.”
When Link stiffens, Urbosa lets out a laugh.
“All is well.” She lays a reassuring hand on Link’s shoulder. “I am relieved to see you act of your own accord, and I’m sure Zelda is, too.” Her fingers give a squeeze before retreating. “Everyone is.”
Warmth blossoms in Link’s chest. “I’m glad.”
“Did you make this?” She asks, studying her drink.
“With help.” Lots of it, like a feeble stem relying on a garden stake to grow upright.
Humming thoughtfully, Urbosa raises her glass and takes a generous sip. The reaction is instantaneous: she slams a hand down on the table, letting out a bolt of crackling laughter that shakes Link to his core. The entire canteen turns to look at them, but Link pays them no heed.
“You wear our silks well and make a fine drink? Why, you’re a Gerudo at heart!” Pride rings in Urbosa’s voice as if she were speaking of Zelda. “Abeeru, get everyone a round of this! This drink deserves to be known!”
It is like this, surrounded by cheers and talking to Urbosa late into the night, that Link welcomes spring into his soul: with a growing sapling in timid, yet colorful bloom.
To Link, leaving Revali for last feels like a natural turn of events. If between him and the other Champions stood a wall, then what separates Link and Revali is more akin to a deep trench; one that Link’s silence and Revali’s pride both prevent from bridging.
Now, Link wouldn’t mind Revali’s disdain if that’s all there was — as the youngest Hyrulean soldier, he’s used to it — but his baffling conviction that Link scorns him is something else entirely. Not only does Link admire Revali’s prowess, but his Gale would’ve rendered him speechless even if words weren’t his greatest foe. What wouldn’t Link give to be free like that, to bend the wind to his will and go anywhere he wishes!
Link needs Revali to understand that they’re on the same side; that he’s fortunate to call Revali an ally.
That he’ll pick up the gauntlet if that’s what it takes to earn his respect.
Such thoughts accompany Link all the way to Rito Village, spiraling alongside him as he ascends its winding stairs in search of the communal kitchen. There, he finds all he could ever need: handwritten recipes, a bounty of leftover ingredients, an ever-burning hearth that welcomes all visitors…
But what should he make?
“May I lend a wing?” Shortly after Link’s arrival, an old Rito with a cracked beak — Cato, retired warrior — pokes his head inside. “Pardon my intrusion, Hylian Champion, but you seem rather troubled.”
Link manages a wan smile. “Revali… what does he…”
“What does Master Revali like to eat?” Cato asks. “Well, for someone more on the… loquacious side, let’s say, he doesn’t disclose much about his preferences.” He hobbles inside, plucking a recipe from Link’s stack. “But, just between you and I, I’ve never seen him turn down a slice of fresh nutcake.”
Link hums. Cato’s choice is similar to a pound cake, only loaded with nuts and served with a dollop of fresh cream. Simple enough to make, yet it poses a glaring problem.
Regular nutcake won’t be enough to impress Revali.
“Precise recipes lead to precise results,” Cato continues, sharp eyes roving the produce and spices surrounding them, “but that’s not all there is to cooking, is it?”
When Link’s gaze follows his, an ingredient catches his eye. Large and hearty and pungent; utterly unfitting for a sweet preparation.
Cato winks at him. Or is it?
“No,” Link rasps with budding excitement, a summer shower on dry soil. “No, it isn’t.”
Link finds Revali as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting the Hebra skies in vibrant hues. One by one, wanderers and warriors return home after a long day of flight, seeking to outrun the impending dark.
Revali is the last to alight, sharp features twisted with hauteur.
“You again? Has the princess tired of your company at long last?” Revali folds his wings, making to stride past Link. “If you have a message for me, flap to it. I have no time for idle chatter or, in your case, a glaring lack thereof.”
Unfazed, Link steps forward and blocks Revali’s path, a full plate in his grasp.
Revali’s eyes narrow. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Nutcake. For you.” Three thick slices, still warm — Link made sure of it.
“So the knight does speak.” Revali sneers. He plucks a piece of cake and studies it carefully. “Who gave you this?”
Link shakes his head and points at himself.
“You mean to tell me you made this?!” Revali falters for a moment, then composes himself. “Ha! A paltry offering to obtain my favor! Can’t say I blame you. My assistance is indeed of the utmost value.”
Link nudges Revali’s wing with the plate, encouraging him. Revali harrumphs, takes a careful bite…
…and freezes as if struck, crest feathers standing on end. Link holds his breath.
Is it good enough?
Then Revali takes a second bite, and another, looking more and more perplexed.
“It’s… surprisingly adequate, I’ll give you that, but what is this,” Revali crumbles a piece with his fingers, “peculiar peppery taste?”
Wordlessly, Link pulls out a big hearty radish.
“You can’t be serious,” Revali squawks, beak ajar. “Why, you absolute—!”
Thus Revali dissolves into a passionate (and rather comical) tirade about proper Rito cuisine and Link’s alleged lack of common sense. And while Link does try to listen, he is distracted with how Revali’s feathers recover their luster the more nutcake he devours without realizing; how his movements become more fluid, unburdened by muscular strain…
When you work yourself to the bone, a hearty ingredient can go a long way. Link knows this all too well.
It isn’t until Revali finds himself before an empty plate that his rant meets an untimely end. Link can’t help but feel a little smug as Revali’s plumage seems to double in size, as he sullenly turns his back to Link.
“Like I said, adequate. Don’t let it go to your head.” Revali says, clearing his throat.
Link’s lips twitch. “Of course.”
Revali’s head turns minutely. Against the glare of the setting sun, Link can’t quite make out his expression, but something about Revali’s posture seems different; almost… relaxed. A brisk breeze rustles the leaves in Link’s heart, coaxes wispy seeds to soar.
Emboldened by the fruits of his previous meetings and help from friends old and new, Link takes a careful seat by Revali’s side, feet dangling off the edge of the platform. An olive branch.
When Revali doesn’t leave, Link’s scattered seeds find purchase, a garden ready to grow.
(Art by Pawthko)