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When Zelda’s father was still alive, court sessions had been a great mystery, off-limits on all but the rarest of occasions. Zelda had often begged to be a part of them, but was refused at every turn. It had been a constant source of vexation, and Impa’s lessons could only do so much to mitigate the sting of it.
Now, years later, sitting at the front of the throne room proves to be just as frustrating. Zelda would not mind so much if the problems brought before the crown were legitimate struggles faced by the people of Hyrule, but the room is instead frequented by noble after destitute noble, desperate to gain favor with the newly-returned heir.
“Your Highness,” says one of them, only to be reprimanded by the court attendant standing behind the throne.
“Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty,” the man amends, bow angling a few degrees lower. Zelda does not need to see his face to know his thoughts on his new ruler: too young, too inexperienced to hold the throne. Ganondorf had ruled with an iron fist for seven years, and not a single person in this room would have dared stand against him, not even the elderly attendants who had served Zelda’s father and his father before him.
The only person who would have is in the Sacred Realm. All too often, Zelda looks to the side and expects Impa to be there, only to find her missing. She isn’t gone; Zelda need only go to the Temple of Time to find her. But here, in this throne room, Zelda sits alone.
“—lands have been left barren,” says the man, and Zelda snaps back into focus. The briefing on the attending nobles had been comprehensive: this man had gained land after the last civil war and lost it again when Ganondorf took over. Since Ganondorf’s defeat, the lands have been left to languish. Now he is here to demand his restitution from the crown.
“What efforts have you undertaken to make your lands arable again?”
Certainly not the question the man expected. He raises from his bow, frustration visible in the set of his mouth before he schools his face again. “Your Majesty, after the rule of the evil Ganondorf, none of my former workers have returned. I cannot be expected—”
“Reach out to the farmers of Kakariko Village,” Zelda says. It is small wonder he is left without people to take care of his lands; the reports made it clear that he never compensated them fairly. “Broker an agreement with them and you will see your lands returned to their former glory soon enough.”
Truly, it would be much better to have the lands run by people who actually know something about agriculture. But the throne Zelda sits on is still too shaky to propose reforms on that scale. One day, perhaps, when the royal title no longer feels like a mockery.
Once more, the man looks to be on the verge of protest. Once more, he is cut off by the elderly attendant.
“Her Majesty has spoken. You would do well to heed her words.”
The words hit like a blow. How long will their support last when the person on the throne no longer fits the image they hold in their minds? In the cold of the massive throne room, Zelda maintains the placating fiction of queen and dreams of escape.
Arriving in Kakariko Village always feels a little bit like coming home.
It had been home for seven years, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. Back then, the loss of the castle had been a physical ache, an insurmountable injustice. Now, with the throne reclaimed and the kingdom on the road to recovery, Zelda longs for those days with Impa in their tiny house, making do with what little food the village could produce.
Perhaps that is why the guise of Sheik is such a frequent temptation. If anyone were to ask, Zelda would say it was a chance to talk to the common people without the weight of the crown. A way to learn about the problems still plaguing the country, and to forge connections between those who need help.
But no one will ask. Only two people ever knew the truth about Sheik and Zelda. Impa isn’t one to ask, and the other…
“It’s all that kid’s fault!” the miller proclaims. He has been trotting out the same tale since before Ganondorf’s takeover, and most people laugh it off these days. The mill keeps turning, the millstone keeps churning out flour, and no one has ever seen the mysterious kid again. When did it start to dawn on Sheik that the story wasn’t a mere story? Maybe when the miller’s description of the kid started to include an ocarina. Or maybe when the well drained and Bongo Bongo emerged.
“May I try?” Sheik asks, taking out the harp that has been a constant companion for close to a decade now. The miller eyes it suspiciously, but it isn’t the Ocarina of Time and so the sight of it doesn’t set him off again.
Impa had always been very clear about the power their songs held. The Song of Storms that Link played will only make matters worse. Sheik contemplates the Minuet of Forest — it has been known to summon winds — but discards the idea as too unreliable. No, the miller needs something to snap him out of his frenzied state. None of the songs Impa taught are fit for that purpose, but there is one that Link shared once. An upbeat little thing, evoking the feeling of a sun-dappled forest clearing: a particular favorite of the Sage of Forest and the perfect song to brighten someone’s mood.
Fingers set to the harp, Sheik calls upon Saria’s Song. For a moment, it clashes with the Song of Storms and Sheik winces at the resulting cacophony, but then the song joins up with the miller’s playing, steering him away from his frantic pace and transforming the melody into something more mellow. Sheik guides the miller through another few iterations of the song, before lowering the harp and breathing a sigh of relief when the miller continues, unprompted. At long last, his phonograph slows and the last lingering notes fade away into blessed silence.
For several minutes, neither of them speak. The miller has his eyes closed, and Sheik is content to let him bask. The millstone is already slowing, but Kakariko Village is no longer solely reliant on this one mill for flour. There are plenty of ways to provide the village with food now that Ganondorf is gone.
Finally, the miller opens his eyes again. He stumbles his way over to the nearest chair and sits down heavily.
“Thank you, young man.”
Teeth gritted behind the mask, Sheik nods.
“I’m glad to have been of help.”
With Ganon sealed away and the weight of the crown steadily increasing, Zelda has neither time nor excuse to venture into the Sacred Realm. Today, though, will have to be an exception. The miller has brought a particular topic to mind, one that only the Sage of Forest might be able to speak to with any authority.
“Did I do the right thing,” Zelda asks, “by sending him back?”
Saria sits on the edge of the platform, legs swinging like the child she will eternally be. The child that was taken from Link.
“I don’t know,” she says. “He never could have stayed with us. The forest isn’t kind if you’re not one of the Kokiri. But I miss him.”
It is not the reassurance Zelda had hoped for. Ganondorf’s plan was so obvious in hindsight, and yet they had played straight into his hands. It is because of Zelda that Link lost his childhood far too early. Granting him back his lost years only went a little way towards atoning for that particular failure.
“Were you close?” Saria asks. A simple curiosity, but one that gives Zelda pause. Were they close? Not with Zelda, certainly. Their meetings had been fleeting, driven by the futile urgency to stop Ganondorf’s plans before they came to fruition. With Sheik, then? They had run into each other more often, even though those moments had been brief as well.
“I think we could have been.” Harp in hand, Sheik sits down next to Saria and plucks out a melody that resolves itself into the Song of Time. A wish, perhaps. Link may not quite have been a friend, but he was one of the only people who knew. “I think he might have understood.”
“Understood what?” Saria glances up curiously and Sheik— Sheik’s hands falter on the strings. There was a time when Sheik was a convenient mask to hide away the lost heir from Ganondorf. That time is long gone. The mask should have lost its use the moment Ganon fell. And yet, which is the true mask: the queen returned to reclaim her throne, or the mysterious protector lending his aid to those in need? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.
Saria is still waiting. Sheik avoids her eyes. “It is hard to explain.”
“They say that a lot to us children,” Saria replies, and Sheik is abruptly reminded that for all her youth, she is a Sage as well.
There was another child once, screaming to be heard in the face of uncaring adults. Who has that child grown up to become? The masks have blurred together and the person in the middle is left invisible.
Or maybe not. Link may no longer be here to listen, but Saria is eagerly waiting for a response. Impa will always lend an ear. Even if the road isn’t clear yet, it may be worth taking the first step.