Archive of Our Own

Five years. Five years and she didn’t have to see Link’s face.

Zelda could hear her father speaking, but it was little more than ringing in her ears. She couldn’t hear him at all— it was like another one of her nightmares, and she couldn’t— she couldn’t breathe. She could see her father pacing in front of the throne, and it was like a memory relived, only this time she wasn’t wearing her dressing gown, and she wasn’t sickeningly in love with someone who didn’t feel the same.

Link was still shockingly handsome. She’d thought, after all this time, that if she ever saw him again, it wouldn’t hurt. But it did hurt to even look at him, and the tragedy was that she couldn’t bear not to. And— like so many years ago, standing in this very room while her father had berated them for daring to fall in love, Link didn’t even look at her. Link stood, his back arrow straight, in his soldier’s armor. He wasn’t wearing the helm, the armor piece tucked under his arm, his face grim. The Master Sword on his back glowed, even through the sheath, and she hated it, and she hated him.

Last she’d heard he was stationed at the Moor Garrison, over on the edge of Lanayru. He’d taken a demotion, but he still served the crown, she thought bitterly. And now he strolled back into the castle, and thus her life. A long time ago she might have welcomed this reunion, but now she was older and wiser. Or so she hoped, she thought bitterly.

When Zelda had walked into the Sanctum over an hour ago, it had taken her several minutes to even realize he’d been carrying the Master Sword at all. She’d frozen, still in her tracks, when she’d walked into the throne room to see Link standing with her father. Link had pointedly not been looking at her, his head held high and looking over her father’s shoulder, towards the crest of Hyrule. Always Hyrule. Never Zelda. She would think she would be used to it by now.

It was funny, she thought, as she watched her father welcoming Link back into the castle with open arms. It was funny how things, how situations changed when something desired was brought into consideration. Five years ago, Zelda’s feelings weren’t considered. Now the Master Sword was here, and Link had something to offer the crown and— Zelda’s feelings wouldn’t be in consideration, again.

Link still didn’t look at her, even as her father explained the grim prophecy that had been given to their family when she was ten years old.

Zelda knew it all. She’d been told a thousand times since she was a child. On several long nights with Link when they were sixteen she’d explained it to him, too, though it was the royal family’s greatest secret. The return of Calamity Ganon, in Zelda’s lifetime. Zelda’s failure as a descendant of Hylia. Her, at the time, six years of fruitless training. Link had been sympathetic. He’d vowed then, to her, that he would be there for her always.

That hadn’t lasted very long.

Zelda wasn’t really listening to her father, her eyes boring a hole in Link’s neck, until she heard the words.

“—appointed knight—”

Zelda froze again. “Father,” she interrupted, “what did you say?”

Her father turned, looking over his shoulder at her. He looked tired, resigned. Another time, she might have been sympathetic about the weight that was just placed on his shoulders as the leader of a kingdom about to be besieged by malignant forces. “Zelda,” he said, “were you even listening?” Her father shook his head, sighing. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Zelda, as I was saying, Sir Link will become your appointed knight after the Champion’s Ceremony tomorrow. With this…” he sighed again, “revelation that the sword has chosen a master, we can expect the Calamity to befall in less than a year. You are nearly twenty-one, the age in which the Spring of Wisdom will allow your passage. You have yet to awaken your powers, when your own mother had awakened her powers at less than half your age.”

Zelda closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, her hands curling into fists at her side. She’d heard enough of that for so many years. Your mother, your mother, your mother.

She heard her father continue pacing on the carpet, his boots compressing the soft red fibers. “It is vitally important that you strengthen your resolve to awaken your powers. Starting after the ceremony you will be expected to visit both the Spring of Power and the Spring of Courage, as well as the Temple of Time, and the Order of the Seven Sisters. These trips will take you across dangerous parts of Hyrule. You will need an escort to ensure your safety, and Sir Link, as the wielder of the Master Sword, will be your sworn protector.”

Zelda felt dizzy, like her head was spinning. She wanted to be sick. She opened her eyes.

“Father,” she said, her voice urgent. “I’ve made these trips before, without an escort, I don’t need—” she glanced over at Link, who was staring straight ahead over her father’s shoulder, his features carefully blank, “—a babysitter.”

Please, please understand, she thought.

“The roads are growing dangerous, Zelda,” her father said. “Every day we get reports of travelers being attacked by monsters. The monsters are growing bolder. Lady Urbosa reports that some of the Gerudo scouting parties have been attacked— parties of half a dozen seasoned warriors.”

“Then send the Royal Guard with me,” she said, her voice bitter. Once upon a time, Link had been a royal guard. It was something she couldn’t forget. “I’ve traveled with them before. Send twice as many men as usual if you have to.”

Her father sighed, rumbling in his chest. “Sir Link is worth ten men,” her father said, and she could hear the bitter resignation in his voice. She closed her eyes, her nails pressing into her palm until she could feel the sting of broken skin. So her father hadn’t forgotten, after all. He hated the situation, too. But her father’s resentment of the man who had fucked his daughter was weaker than his needs as the king and protector of the kingdom.

She breathed in through her nose. When she opened her eyes, she said, “The ceremony is tomorrow?”

“Yes,” her father said. He looked as regretful about that as anything else. “Word has already been sent to the Champions. Our Rito messengers will fly all night if necessary. The Champions have been ordered to be here by noon tomorrow. I trust that you have prepared our Champions for their duties sufficiently.” It wasn’t a question. In that regard, Zelda was not a failure.

When the prophecy had been given by the Order of the Seven Sisters ten years ago, the preparations had begun. The records of where the Divine Beasts had been buried a thousand years ago by their ancestors had been uncovered from the bowels of the castle, and the Sheikah excavation team had begun their work. It had taken almost seven years for all the beasts to be unburied, and then Zelda’s work had begun, recruiting the Champions among the best of their individual regions.

“Of course,” Zelda said. It had been just weeks ago that she had formally invited Urbosa, Mipha, Revali, and Daruk to become champions after they had trained for years among their people. It seemed it was just in time.

“Then there is nothing else to discuss,” her father said. “Sir Link, you are dismissed. Your duty begins tomorrow. Gather your things from the barracks and,” he sighed, “report back to the Royal Guard chambers. You will be formally inducted back into their ranks tomorrow morning. The princess will not be attending the ceremony.” The last comment was meant to be a biting remark, she knew, but it gave Zelda nothing but relief. She didn’t want to see him in that uniform again in her lifetime if she could help it.

Link did nothing but nod, leaving the room without so much as a glance towards Zelda, just as he had done five years ago.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Zelda clutched the silks of her father’s tunic.

“Father,” Zelda begged. “Please.” Her fingers caught in the fine material of his sleeve. “Reconsider his appointment, please. Anyone but him.” It had been her father who had sent Link away all those years ago, and Link— Link hadn’t fought it for one second. Her father knew. “He doesn’t— he doesn’t have to be my appointed knight. Someone else can do it. He can serve the crown as the swordsman another way—”

The king shook her off his tunic. He looked down at her with stern disapproval. “Zelda,” her father said, his voice loud and rumbling. “You have to live with the consequences of your own actions.”

She collapsed onto the red carpeted floor of the echoing chamber, her knees hitting the carpet. Her father left her there.

Eventually she picked herself up off the floor. She had done this once. She could survive it again. And if she couldn’t, well. There was always Link’s sword. Maybe she could order him to fall on it.

Zelda stayed up all night stitching the embroidery into his Champion’s Tunic. She stabbed herself, bleeding red into the collar, but she kept going. None of it mattered. She didn’t matter.

She didn’t matter, five years ago, when he was caught sneaking into her bedroom at sixteen. She had been dragged from her bed in her bedclothes, and he in his uniform, to stand in front of her father in the middle of the night.

She had been so desperately in love with Link. That had ended that night when he knelt silently at her side while she begged her father for forgiveness.

Zelda didn’t forget that. And she didn’t forgive him.

She sat in the library, in an uncomfortable chair, lit only by a fading oil lamp. Every prick of her fingers by the sharpened embroidery needle served to keep her awake. She couldn’t bear to do this in her room, reminded of all the times Link had taken the secret passage into her room, or all the times they’d snuck out together to go riding across Hyrule Field, or to catch frogs together in the ponds near the water reservoir.

She was afraid if she closed her eyes she would see him again, as she did in her nightmares in the months after he left. She’d relived the moment she’d gone to his barracks, only to find his room empty, and his nearest neighbor saying he’d packed up his things without a word.

The dreams never changed. He never said anything. She always begged.

Zelda could hear the captain of the Royal Guard just outside of the Sanctum.

She stood alone in the Sanctum, shivering, waiting for her father. She wrapped her arms around herself, her thin nightgown and slippers barely enough to keep her warm. She hadn’t thought to grab her robe, she’d been too shocked to see the guards bursting into her room, the surprised looks on their faces matching her own. Link had leapt away from her, off the bed, barely undressed from his Royal Guard uniform. He’d just gotten off his shift, and had come to see her.

“Hylia, Link,” she heard the captain say, muffled through the door. He must have been shouting at Link, by the way she could hear him all the way inside the Sanctum. She winced. “It is your job to guard the royal family, not fuck the princess,” she heard him yell, reprimanding Link. Zelda held her arms tighter around herself. She felt shame, truly, at being caught— that probably half the castle, by now, knew she’d been fooling around. She’d been taught her whole life to wait for marriage, that her purity, as the daughter of the goddess, was something vital about her. But to love someone— wasn’t that the most pure thing of all?

“Do you think you’re the only guard to ever get caught sticking his cock somewhere it didn’t belong?” she heard the captain yell. She winced again. She knew the captain wouldn’t be saying any of this if he knew she could hear it. The captain didn’t know what she did— that the walls of the castle were thin. “You’re just lucky the princess is too young to be betrothed. If she was, your head would be on the line.” She heard the man sigh. “If you’re lucky, the princess will ask for leniency. You might get off without losing your job entirely.”

She couldn’t hear if Link said anything. He was already quiet enough. She’d had to approach Link initially, after they caught eyes across the room during a party her father had thrown. He was shy, she knew, and it took a lot for him to open up.

“Link, what would your father think?” Zelda winced, her heart stinging. She knew that was a sore subject for Link. His father died protecting Zelda’s family. Link had spent years following in his footsteps, chasing after a ghost.

There was low conversing for another minute, far too quiet for Zelda to hear, and then the door was thrown open, and she heard her father’s heavy, familiar footsteps. The initial dread set in again, and she pulled her arms tighter around her chest. She tried to calm herself— it would be okay. She would just have to explain to her father that they were in love, and— it would be okay.

Her parents had had a love match. Her father was older, and they’d courted less than a year before they married. Zelda was born less than a year later. Zelda was young— she was sixteen, as was Link, and the captain had been right— she was too young to be betrothed, even, but perhaps her father would consider it. Link was a good man, and he was from a good family, even though they weren’t nobility. He was considered the best swordsman of his age.

She watched her father ascend the stairs. He, too, was dressed in his bedclothes, wrapped in a rich red housecoat. He looked immensely unhappy, probably at having been dragged from his bed at this hour.

Link was following just behind him. The expression on his face was something she’d never seen before. He looked as though he’d been slapped— not physically, but with words that stung. There was a shell shocked expression behind his eyes, his lips pressed together, nearly white. Zelda tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her. It made something unsettle in the pit of her stomach.

Her father walked slowly, coming to stand in front of his throne, his hands clasped behind his back. His brows were furrowed.

Link walked to stand at Zelda’s side, but there was a distance between them. Link knelt before her father.

Her father stood in silence for several moments, looking between them.

“I am called from my bed in the middle of the night because the guards have seen someone sneaking into my daughter’s room. They fear that it might be an assassin from the Yiga Clan, but to their surprise, when they catch him in the act, they find that it’s a member of our own Royal Guard,” her father said, his voice low but echoing. “Who is not, in fact, an assassin, but my daughter’s lover.”

Her father was silent again, his harsh tone clear he wanted no interruptions. Zelda felt fear creeping into her chest. He looked towards Link’s uniform, his navy cap still on his head. Link hadn’t been wearing it earlier. The captain must have made him put it on.

Her father spoke, “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Zelda looked to Link. His head was bowed low.

“I love him,” Zelda said, boldly. She dropped her arms, holding her chin high. “We’re in love, Father.”

“Is that so?” her father asked, his mouth downturned, his voice disappointed. Zelda kept glancing at Link, but he couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at her father’s slippered feet. “Sir Link,” her father boomed, and she saw Link jump. “Is that why the guards caught you in my daughter’s bed this evening?” Zelda winced.

Link didn’t look up.

“Father—”

“Silence!”

“Father,” Zelda said, stepping forward, trembling. “Please, you have to understand—”

“I said silence, child.”

“Father!” she said, fists curling at her side. “You never listen to me! You and mother married because you loved each other, why can’t I have that?”

“Because you are a child!” he boomed. She winced. “It is entirely inappropriate that you have had company in your room before you are married. Your feelings are little more than children’s ideas on what real love is like. In a few months you will forget this even happened. Can you imagine if you were married to every boy who looked twice at you? If I allowed that?”

“It’s not like that,” Zelda said. “I love him. We are in love. Link,” she said, her voice urgent. She turned to him. “Link, please stand up,” she said. “Link,” she begged. The pit in her stomach only grew. Her hands began to shake. “Link—”

He did not look at her.

He didn’t stand.

She felt sick.

“I see that at least one of you has some sense not to argue with your king,” her father said. “It’s a shame it’s the disgraced knight, and not my own daughter.”

Her hands trembled at her side. She tried again, begging, “Link, please say something. Say that— say that you love me,” she said, her voice trembling along with the rest of her. He’d said it to her that very evening, when he crawled across her bed to her. Before he’d laid down on top of her, kissing her.

The pit in her stomach was growing so large that it threatened to overtake her. Her eyes wouldn’t leave him, but he refused to look at her at all.

Her father stepped forward. He reached for the Hylian crest on Link’s cap, tearing it from the brim. Link looked up, just barely, and he looked shaken. “As of this moment, Sir Link, you are stripped of your duty as a member of the Royal Guard.” The king stepped back, his fist curling around the metal crest. “Guards!” he yelled. The door opened, and the captain and one of the other guards stepped in, both carrying spears. “Escort this man out.”

“Link!” Zelda called, watching after him as he stood. He never looked at her. Never said a word.

When the door shut, her father said, “Zelda. I am very disappointed in you. Your mother would have been as well. This may close many doors for you in the future, if there are any left for you after what the future holds.” She curled her fists. She was tired of hearing about her future. She was tired of waiting for a Calamity that may never happen.

She was tired of never being enough. She’d thought she was enough for Link. But clearly not.

Zelda awoke with a start, her head on the table, pressed into the fabric of the tunic. The lamp at her side was snuffed, and early morning orange light was streaming in through the arched windows of the library. She could feel the crease on the side of her cheek, and she thought that there must surely be dark circles under her eyes.

She scowled. She’d had the dream, again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had it. A few diaries ago, she thought. She used to write down every time it happened, keeping a count. But her counselor had said that wasn’t productive in the healing process, so she’d stopped.

She pulled herself up from the table. She’d be meeting Link soon, anyway. She needed to give him the tunic before the ceremony. The other Champions would be arriving soon, if they hadn’t already. She hoped the others, having needed to travel all night as well, wouldn’t look down on her appearance. She hurried to her room, changing into her ceremony dress. She settled the tiara on her head, looking into the mirror. She looked like a ghost.

She found Link standing in the Sanctum. He stood with his back facing the door, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes on the throne. He was wearing the Royal Guard uniform again. It made her feel sick.

She almost felt like throwing up as she tried to form the words. She wished someone else was in the room— a guard, her father, Impa, for Hylia’s sake. Anyone. She cleared her throat, trying again. “Sir Link,” she said.

When he turned, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. It felt like time slowed down, her breath caught in her throat. It hurt to look at him. She swallowed, stepping forward. “Here is your tunic. I hand stitched it myself. The sword represents your place as Hylia’s chosen.”

She offered him the tunic with outstretched arms. He reached for it, with gloved hands. He looked down at it.

He didn’t say anything. Not even thank you. He stood as silent as the day he left her.

She curled her fists at her side. “The very least you could have said was thank you,” she bit, turning to leave the room.

He followed her across Hyrule.

Her silent shadow, Link was always there, even when she thought she’d managed to evade him.

He was better than the other Royal Guards, she had to give him that. She knew the other guards would never have been able to keep up with her, bogged down by dozens of pounds of heavy armor. Link in his light Champion’s tunic was always on the edge of her vision. He had the benefit, though, of knowing all her tricks— he still remembered all her hiding places across the kingdom, all the secret exits from the castle. He’d taken them with her a dozen times to sneak out of the castle, for stolen moments in Hyrule Forest Park, or trips to Mabe Village, where no one cared she was the princess.

Link had been following her for an hour, since he’d found her in the Rayne Highlands at the ancient columns where a shrine had been uncovered when looking for the burial place of Vah Medoh. She’d dismounted from her horse to cross the Tabantha Great Bridge, her horse always getting spooked whenever it had to cross ravines.

She led the horse across the bridge, holding onto its reins with one hand, looking down at the slate held in her other. She knew she was mumbling to herself, taking mental notes until she could get to the stable and use the table to take proper notes in her journal. She’d told Link off at the shrine, but she knew he wouldn’t leave. All the traits she’d found endearing on him years ago— his stubbornness among them— were grating against her nerves now.

She didn’t notice the loose board until Storm hit it, the horse bucking with a cry as the board broke under his hoof. Storm cried out and yanked the reins from her hand, pulling her shoulder into an uncomfortable position. She cried out in pain. Storm took off down the rest of the bridge, down Hyrule Ridge, knocking Zelda off her feet as he rode past her.

She heard Link gasp from behind her.

The boards underneath her feet, loose from their broken counterparts, shifted. She knew she was precariously close to the edge, but then she felt a hand wrap around her upper arm. She cried out in pain as she was pulled back onto the bridge properly.

“Link!” she snapped, yanking her arm back. She rubbed her shoulder. “I am fine. I survived twenty years without you, I think I can keep surviving.” His eyes widened, taking his arm back. Good, she thought. It was the first real reaction she’d seen from him in months.

She winced in pain. She would have to get her arm checked out when she got back to the castle. It would only make her father’s fears worse, but she didn’t want to risk it with her arm. She didn’t think it was dislocated, maybe just sprained.

Link was hovering close, his hands at his side, his eyes wide and frantic like he was afraid he might need to step in at any moment.

“Leave me alone,” she said, her fists curling at her side. She turned away from him, towards the end of the bridge, her words as sharp as his sword. “That’s what you’re good at.”

She didn’t wait for him to follow. She had a horse to catch.

The late afternoon sun shone over the East Reservoir Lake, streaming into the control room of Vah Ruta where Zelda stood. She could see, looking through the eyes of the beast, Link and Mipha sitting on the rising trunk. Mipha’s hand glowed where she was healing the gash on Link’s arm. He’d thrown himself off the beast at the earliest opportunity, swimming out with Mipha to fight off the Lizalfos who had ventured too close to the border of the Domain, while Zelda worked on the malfunctioning control panel at the head of the beast.

They were far too far away for Zelda to hear anything, but she could see Link’s lips moving. Zelda frowned. It seemed that he could talk, after all, just not with her. It wasn’t like she wanted him to, but it still— it still hurt. He threw his head back, laughing, and it was as if little shards worked their way into Zelda’s heart, stabbing her. Despite everything, she was jealous, jealous that he’d moved on, and she— she hadn’t. And that was— that was unacceptable.

“Your Highness?” she heard a voice behind her.

Zelda shook her head, turning around, the Sheikah Slate in her hands. One of the dark-scaled Zora technicians was waiting for her. He was holding a series of manufactured parts she’d requested, fine detailed work she could expect of the Zora craftsmen. The old parts of the control panel had decayed beyond use after being buried in floodlands for a thousand years. Mipha had requested her— and by extension, Link’s— assistance when Vah Ruta had started shaking violently whenever she tried to move the beast’s legs.

“Sorry,” Zelda shook her head, glancing back, just briefly, at Mipha and Link. Mipha was talking this time.

“Ah,” Dento said, catching where her gaze was resting. “You know, those two practically grew up together,” he said.

“I know,” Zelda said, bitterly. Link’s father had been stationed at the Akkala Citadel for a few years when Link was very young, and he’d told her that he used to spend his summers in the Zora Domain swimming with the prince and princess. He’d always recounted those as his fondest memories. She wondered when he thought of their time together, now that it was nothing more than a memory.

Dento glanced back at her, and then at Mipha. “He used to be such a scamp,” he said. “It was such a drastic change when he reappeared a few years ago.”

“He— came back here?” Zelda asked before she could stop herself. She scowled. Dento glanced at her, but kept talking.

He nodded. “What was it— four years ago? It's hard to keep track at my age,” he said with a laugh. “I’m nearly a hundred, you know.” He laughed again. “He was one of the Hylian volunteers from the Moor Garrison to test out Vah Ruta’s systems and weaknesses. We can’t go near Shock Arrows, as you might know.” Zelda nodded. “He was— he was very different from what the princess and I remembered. Much quieter, much more— grown up,” he said. “I think that the princess rather liked that,” he said with another laugh. Zelda felt the shards digging deeper into her heart, her knuckles growing white where they clutched the slate. “By the time the year of testing was over, he almost seemed back to the child we remembered, though. I think spending time with the princess was good for him. You Hylians grow up so fast.”

“I’m sure it was good for him,” Zelda said, through clenched teeth. She so desperately wanted to talk about anything else. She cleared her throat. “Dento, what have you brought me?”

Zelda was drenched and shivering. It had been raining all day, but she wouldn’t let something like that stop her from her prayers. In a few weeks she would be turning twenty-one and would make the trek up to Mount Lanayru, where she would stand in the icy waters of the Spring of Wisdom as the snow fell on her shoulders. Hylia would appreciate her suffering, she thought. Hylia had chosen Link to be her companion in this, which hurt the most, so she knew Hylia liked it when she suffered.

She’d been praying all day in the Spring of Power in the Akkala Highlands.

Link, forbidden to watch as she prayed, stood behind her, his back turned. She knew he could hear her, but at this point, she didn’t care. They’d already been to the Spring of Courage, and the Temple of Time, and the Temple of the Seven Sisters in Tanagar Canyon, where the statue of the Mother Goddess stood. None of them had responded to her prayers, even when the Seven Sisters assured her that Hylia was listening.

Maybe Hylia would talk to Link if he asked.

She didn’t realize her teeth were chattering until she broke down, arms wrapped around herself, asking what was wrong with her. Her face was buried in her hands, shoulders trembling, as the impassive face of the goddess looked down upon her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

Her shoulders stiffened, and when she looked back, Link was standing behind her. She hadn't heard the splash as he’d entered the water, but he was waist-deep as she was. His mouth was pressed together in a thin line, his brows furrowed. He spoke to her, for the first time in months— the first time in years— and all he said was, his concern as plain as day, “Zelda—”

“I know,” she said, her teeth chattering as she spoke.

He took her hand, leading her out of the water. The sword was on his back, and she watched it as he stepped up onto the stone platform, pulling her with him. She found that she couldn’t muster up any bitterness towards it, anymore. Traveling with Link for these long months— as he saved her, time and time again, even when she pushed him away— had softened her resolve against him.

Five years was a long time. It was clear he’d moved on, and it was time she did too.

It was still raining outside of the spring, but Link managed to build a small fire in the tunnel, the smoke wafting out the half-covered entrance to the spring. Zelda shivered as she sat by the fire. Link sat opposite her, his own arms wrapped around himself as he looked into the fire.

“I’m tired of being angry,” Zelda said, looking up towards the stone roof of the cavern. “I’m— tired,” she said.

As usual, Link didn’t say anything. He looked into the fire, the orange light reflecting off his eyes.

She opened her mouth to say— something, just to fill the silence, as she always did, when he spoke, startling her.

“I’m sorry,” Link said, averting his eyes.

“What?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Link closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Then he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Oh,” she said, mumbling, “that’s what I thought you said.”

“I— five years ago—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Zelda said, pulling her arms tighter around herself. The apology would have to be enough. It was enough. She could move on, and they could have the cordial relationship that surely all the other princesses and heroes of history had had.

“Well, I do,” Link said, his voice firmer, startling her again. It almost made her laugh, how much it sounded like him, the way he always had sounded to her, before.

“Fine,” she said, dropping her arms.

“I just,” Link said, sighing, some of the hot air deflating from him, “I just want to explain myself. It’s not an excuse, but I— I’m sorry, Zel,” he said, saying her name the same way he always had. It made her stomach drop.

“It’s— okay,” she said.

“It’s not,” he said, sounding suddenly angry. Not at her, but— at himself. “It was like I’d forgotten how to speak,” he said bitterly. “I’m ashamed of it. It was paralyzing, the weight of responsibility, even before I picked up the sword. My captain—”

Zelda watched silently, as he tore himself apart.

“When they walked in on— on us—” he said, and she could see his ears turning pink, even in the bright firelight, “he made it clear that it would be in your best interest if I stepped away. You had— have— such a bright future, without me. I knew that someday you would be the savior of Hyrule, and I’m just,” he sighed, “a boy from Hateno, who’s father died protecting your family. That would be my fate too, I’ve always known this. You are— you are the goddess and I’m just your servant.”

“I know,” Zelda admitted. His head jerked up and she met his eye. “The walls of the castle are thin.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have— you deserved better. I should have found a way to tell you myself, rather than just— leaving.”

She closed her eyes.

“I— they offered me a choice. I could either leave the military immediately, or I could be transferred. I chose to transfer. I could have—” his voice was shaky as he took a breath in, “I could have left. I should have left. Then they would have had no power over me. But I— I was selfish, and I didn’t want to.” Her heart ached.

“Link,” she said, “it's not selfish. I know how much it meant to you to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“Yes, but I— I left you,” he said. “The living, breathing you that I loved.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. Her heart felt the shards digging deeper as he said it, and for a moment she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It had been five years since he’d said he loved her, and— she knew this was past-tense, but it still, it made her heart ache.

Maybe she wasn’t as over him as she’d thought.

What had they always said about the opposite of love? It wasn’t hatred, but indifference?

“I was punished,” he said, looking past her shoulder, towards the goddess and the falling rain. “And I knew I deserved it. None of the other soldiers knew why, they just knew I’d done something terrible. It was isolating,” he said. “My new captain didn’t know the full details, but I was demoted, and made to run drills in the rain until I collapsed.” Zelda shuttered. Lanayru’s rains were legendary and terrible. “Eventually I got back in good standing, but I didn’t— I didn’t speak. I felt that— that ever-crushing weight upon me, knowing that I didn’t speak up when you did, and I felt that I— I deserved it for not doing what I should have. And if I couldn’t speak up then, I didn’t deserve to speak at all.”

“You do,” Zelda said, her voice cracking. “You do deserve to speak, Link,” she said. “We were just— children,” she said, and she knew it to be true. Her father had been right, surely, that they were only children. What did they know of love?

And sure, she was here, heartbroken after all these years, but…

Link pulled the Master Sword’s sheath from his back, holding it in his hands. She wondered, for a moment, if he were going to throw it into the fire. His jaw was set.

“I heard a voice calling me one night,” he told her. “I was on patrol. It was a voice so strong and compelling that I abandoned my duty to find it.” He still had his eyes on the sword. “It sounded just like you,” he admitted, almost shy. “Sometimes I still hear your voice in my dreams, haunting me,” he said, and her eyes pricked with tears. “I knew it wasn’t you, but I didn’t care. I followed it. I walked all night until I found the sword in the Great Hyrule Forest.” He sighed, putting the sword aside. “My captain was waiting for me back at the garrison to give me a court martial, but then they saw the sword.” Zelda had seen that look, and she was sure it had been on her own face when she’d seen it— awe and fear at what the sword meant for them all. “And then,” he sighed, “you know the rest.”

Zelda blinked away years, and spoke through the lump in her throat, “I— I forgive you, Link,” Zelda said. “It was a long time ago, and I— I’ve been entirely unfair to you. You don’t deserve this, and you didn’t deserve any of that,” she said. They’d punished him on the word of someone else, and they hadn’t even know why. She’d loved him, and maybe she still did. She hadn’t been some sort of victim.

Link looked up at her through his eyelashes, a sort of self-deprecating smile on his face, but there was more behind that. It was clear that he didn’t believe her.

“You should get some sleep,” Link said. “I’ll turn around while you change.”

“What about you?” she asked, reaching for her bag. The prayer dress had nearly dried, but she knew from experience it wouldn’t be a comfortable nightdress.

He only gave her the same sort of self-deprecating smile.

Standing in the ruins of Hyrule Field, a hundred years later, Link embraced her tightly.

He remembered her. He remembered her.

The relief she felt was immense, brighter than anything she’d felt in a century, and perhaps before that. She didn’t even notice she was sobbing into his shoulder until she felt his hand rubbing her back. Eventually she pulled away, the grass whipping her ankles, and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

Link reached for her, wiping her tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He was smiling at her, and he looked so much like himself that her heart wanted to burst. He wore his Champion’s tunic, and she could see, just at the edge of the collar, where it was still stained with her blood.

“Zelda,” he said, and it sounded like a relief to him, too, to say it. “Zelda.”

They walked for half the day, her hand in his, afraid to let him go, until the sun dipped below the horizon. He set up a campfire in the ruins of the Kolomo Garrison, the collapsing walls providing some modicum of shelter from the elements. It was a nice night, though, and if she ignored the ruins around her, she could almost imagine a hundred years hadn’t passed, and it was just the two of them traveling Hyrule again.

Link didn’t speak again until the fire was set up, and he was sitting beside her.

“The first memory I got back was of us as teenagers,” he told her. He was playing with a loose thread from the hem of his tunic. “It was just something— silly,” he said. “It was that day we rode out to Sanidin Park. Your father was out of the castle so we didn’t have to worry about anyone catching us, or coming back early.”

Zelda remembered that day. It had been one of the early days in their relationship, when it hadn’t progressed much farther than sneaking kisses in the hallways when no one was looking.

“I knew I loved you then,” Link said. “You were— you are— so bright.” He sighed. “And for weeks I had this image of you, of Zelda, the Zelda they all wanted me to save. And I remembered more things, things from a few months before the Calamity, and nothing made sense— you weren’t talking to me, I was afraid to say anything at all, and then—” he shuttered. “And then I remembered that evening. I remembered leaving you without a word, and it was just as heartbreaking the second time, because I— I love you. I’d loved you all that time, and I loved you even when I couldn’t remember you.”

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest.

“I’d follow you to the ends of Hyrule and beyond. As long as you wanted me to.”

Zelda threw her arms around him. She kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him until he fell back onto the stone floor. “I love you,” she said. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t.”