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The nightmares were a constant the first couple of nights.
Link hadn’t really known where to take Zelda when it was all over. He had ended up picking his house - where else was there to go? - in Hateno village. Zelda clung to him like a lost child at first, her dress muddied and torn. For how many years had she worn it? For how many years had she suffered while he slept?
Focus.
Zelda slept for the first week, her exhausted body fighting with her terrified mind. She often awoke screaming, or even begging. It always ended the same - Zelda clutching his shirt, all puffy-eyed and raspy-throated. A thousand apologies.
He didn’t sleep in the bed at first - simply sat at the foot of it, guarding the sleeping princess from the curious village children, the keese that kept trying to get in the window, and the nightmares. Always the nightmares.
It didn’t last long. Zelda was very verbal about what she wanted; she asked and asked and asked, and finally Link laid next to her, stiff as a board, on their too-small bed in his too-small house. The shame crept onto his face. What must the princess think of him? He was and he wasn’t the knight she had known. Was he different from back then?
Zelda turned to face him. Her eyes peered at him from behind a mass of blonde hair she painstakingly removed from her line of vision. “Link,” said Zelda, and then nothing. Link. Link. Link, laying next to her on the bed. Link, with dread and fear all caught up in his stomach.
Her fingertips ghosted above his brows before touching down, smoothing out the crease. “Thank you,” she whispered, shifting, and it was impossible for them to not brush together on the small bed. “Link.”
Was she reminding him or herself who he was?
Link said nothing. He just stared, his blinks long and slow. Zelda stared, too, her fingers trailing down his face to his cheek, and then his shoulders. “I missed you,” she admitted, eyes shifting up to the moonlight painting their room in every shade of silver. “Who you were, but also…” her voice failed her, her hand retreating to safety beneath the white sheet. “Who you are now. I’m glad you’re here.”
Her words were met with more silence, but it was a comforting one. It draped over the two like a comforting blanket of snow over a dying animal, saving them a harsher death. “I know,” Zelda said quietly, reading his expression. “I - won’t ask you to do this again if you don’t want to.” Link, too, read in between the lines of what she said.
I know you think I miss him and not you.
“But… I’m glad you… accepted my offer.” I want to know you now, who you have become.
“And… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” We don’t have to rush into the way things used to be. We have time now.
“But… I needed someone tonight.” I needed you tonight.
Link, in response, let out the breath he had been holding, and closed his eyes. He felt Zelda turn back around, and her back suddenly pressed into his hands, which were laying out in front of him. He hesitated, but then allowed his fingertips to run along her shoulder blades. She shuddered at his touch. Link swallowed, and retreated - that was enough for one night.
Despite both of their hesitations, Link slept next to Zelda for the following nights. Zelda had stopped sleeping during the day - she didn’t quite leave the house, but she left the bed, and occasionally made requests. Link, could you bring me some herbs from outside? I’d like to make some tea. Link, would you mind picking up some milk and butter while you’re out? I’d like to try a recipe.
Link, can I… hold your hand?
Link blinked, surprise in his eyes. Zelda withdrew her arm. She had gotten better at reading him, seeing what words he didn’t say. “I just… wanted to go for a walk,” she added quickly, fingernails scratching at the skin of her forearm. Eyes downcast. Voice lowered. Link, too, could hear what words she couldn’t say.
He shifted his gaze to the door, and held out his hand.
Her fingertips were rougher than he expected. More calloused than he would have expected from a princess. She wore fingerless gloves, the texture of it sliding over his palm as he interlaced their fingers. The act was quiet, a simple thing - simple but still terrifying, really. His other hand pressed against the door.
To their credit, the villagers weren’t gathered outside his house, as they usually were. Link lead Zelda through the sleepy streets, hoping it was early enough, or perhaps Zelda was inconspicious enough (his hood, and a plain white tunic), or maybe the villagers had given up on spying on the two of them.
He knew that it was an unreasonable wish, and yet he still found himself cursing internally as the first of the gasps started. Parents held their children back from directly dashing up to the pair, but gawked unabashedly. Link glanced back at Zelda.
What he found was not the quiet, tired young woman who lived in his apartment, slept for a week straight, and caused him to wash his champion’s tunic twice every day during the scarce moments she slept without nightmares.
No, this was the princess he had seen in many of his recovered memories. Steadfast, polite, and with a smile that did not quite meet her eyes. She waved politely at the villagers, giggling at a small child that waved back. Her strength seemed to be returning; every step she took had confidence. He could almost see her eyes analyzing each of the villagers and their surroundings.
In his mind, memories flashed. She had always been this charismatic with the townspeople. She had always tugged at her sleeves when she was nervous in front of them, a smile never leaving her face. She had always looked back at him and seen him, and valued him; valued everyone.
He staggered, and she was there; one hand on his back, the other lifting his arm with fingers curled around his elbow. “Link?” she said quietly, and he was suddenly aware of their closeness. His hand automatically reached up to scratch the back of his head, and he chuckled nervously, his eyes looking anywhere but Zelda.
Understanding dawned in her eyes, and she smiled - a soft, real smile - as she moved one of her hands back to his own, squeezing it. Now they walked side by side, hand in hand, both supporting each other as they made their way to the forest behind the village.
Only once they were out of earshot of the townspeople did Zelda let out a sigh. “Have they been like that all week?” She chuckled, sounding tired once more. Link raised his eyebrows. “Well of course I’ve had no idea, you actively worked to make sure the villagers couldn’t peer in! I saw that conveniently placed rosebush right underneath the windows - and I’m fairly certain the stream hadn’t been that deep, nor had the bridge been retractable, although I hadn’t been… entirely conscious when I first arrived.”
Link chuckled a little, a bit surprised he had been found out. Zelda smiled at him, a warm, beautiful thing - holy, almost. It felt blasphemous to gaze upon her, someone he was sure could be the goddess herself, reborn.
“I’m glad you think your schemes are funny,” said Zelda dryly. She lowered herself onto a stray boulder in the middle of the forest, her feet tucked in. “But it’s fine. It’s natural for them to be curious.” She chuckled. “They haven’t seen me for… a hundred years, after all.”
Link wished he could say something. Something like, I would know you deaf and blind. I would know you even if I had slept for a thousand years, I would know you even if we had never met.
But it would be a lie.
He knelt before her, and placed a wildberry and the truth in her hand. I would meet you again and again, and I would love getting to know you each time. I would save you, again and again, if only you would allow me to try.
Zelda was quiet for once, just staring at the wildberry in her hands. A small, insignificant gift. A berry. But one they both knew was only avaliable in the colder regions.
Link saw her shoulders shake before he heard her sobs, the way a fire spread before it roared, the way sound chased after light in an endless game. He blinked, not sure what to do. In the dark, he could hold her and whisper sweet nothings, and not think about who might be spying.
But he didn’t have much of a choice, really.
Link knelt, spreading his cloak over her and easing her towards him. Zelda fell into him, the sobs wracking her body, her voice raw as she screamed. Link remained steady, wrapping his arms around her, fingers digging into the back of her shirt. He leaned forward, and rest his chin upon her shoulders.
Zelda’s breathing eventually slowed, until Link was certain she had cried herself to sleep. He sighed a bit - so much for hunting today - but the corners of his lips turned upwards as he set his eyes upon her.
If his princess needed him, what else was he to do?
Link lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal style. He took a detour, so as to avoid the townspeople, transporting the precious cargo back to their home. Theirs.
Zelda slept until dinner, and when she awoke, Link had already gone out hunting. He held out a meaty rice ball towards her. She accepted it gratefully, and they both sat at the too-small table for breakfast. Zelda’s eyes wandered the room, and Link’s eye didn’t leave her.
“You know,” she said between bites, “As much as I love your… decorating skills… perhaps we should… remodel?” Pink dusted her cheeks as her brain caught up with her mouth. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your house! It’s just… well, you didn’t exactly… it’s just a bit…”
Link laughed this time - a full laugh, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, but not fast enough to cover it. Zelda flushed bright red at first, but then she giggled too, and soon they were both laying on the floor, like babies who just learned how to laugh, like kids in bodies that were too old and too scarred.
“Link?” Zelda’s voice had suddenly changed, no longer giddy but worried. Link looked up at her, staring down at him, her weigh balanced on her arm as she leaned over his limp body. “Are you okay?”
Her fingers slid across his cheek, and his hand followed. When the pads of his fingers came away wet, only then did he realize that he had been crying. His arm fell to the floor, suddenly heavy, and Zelda leaned over him, her hair tickling his cheeks. It was so long. He imagined it as a weight, pulling her down, and he reached up to tangle his fingers in it like golden silk, like the mane of a wild horse.
Her hand cupped his, and his breathing slowed, his crying stopping. “It’s alright,” Zelda whispered, and suddenly the tears came back. “I know. I know.”
That night, they both held each other in each of their arms, and both slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep.