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Maybe your light is a seed,
And the darkness, the dirt.
In spite of the uneven odds
Beauty lifts from the earth.
-Sleeping At Last
Sacred light shines up from the base of the goddess statue, bouncing off the water of the spring of courage, and reflecting in shimmers on the walls of the great dragon’s mouth.
Link has never been inside here before. Even in the year since his promotion into the royal guard, while he has often accompanied Princess Zelda on her pilgrimages to the springs, he has never, until now, been invited inside with her while she prays. That is a privilege that has always fallen to Impa, or some other high ranking elder in the Sheikah court. The royal guard have always remained stationed outside, a small band of knights spread even further past the opening. Nothing, shall disturb the princess during her prayers.
He expects, now that he is a Champion, now that he is no longer one of the knights in the royal guard but personally, singularly, appointed to the princess, that it will not be much different from what he has done before. He will guard her, as he has always done. He will remain silent, and still, and blend into the background. Moreso, he expects, than usual, when no one but her can stare at the sword he carries, and she so rarely looks at him anyway. She will pray, for however long it takes, and he will face the entrance of the cave, the last line of defense should anyone or anything break through the outer ranks.
Nobody is permitted in the waters of the spring except the princess herself, and it makes Link uncomfortable that he can’t circle the massive statue, check every area for monsters, or Yiga, or any other threat that could sneak in and wait for her. He is assured, the waters of the spring will not allow such threats. It is too pure, too sacred, and will therefore burn the skin of anyone wishing harm to the goddess-descendant. But he is dedicated in his duty, and his training does not allow him to feel comfortable with hidden areas he has not been able to personally investigate.
So, he examines what he can, aware that the Princess is watching him, and he is not sure if he is supposed to say anything to her or not.
Or, maybe she is just watching the sword. After all, he had little cause to interact with her before it found him. (Because he did not find it, he knows, despite the hushed voices that follow him everywhere he goes. Voices wondering, why him . He wonders the same. Why him? ) She spent time in the castle library, traveling to springs, meeting with Sheikah researchers. He spent time at the military training camp, and traveling to the other regions of Hyrule to meet with their leaders and train with their warriors.
After, though. After he was chosen, they were introduced. After, he was told of the prophecy of the Calamity, and the role he now understood he was to play. The role she was to play, and now that he had appeared as the Hero, it was more important than ever for her to unlock her sealing power.
She didn’t look at him then, and has looked at him scarcely since.
He knows the legends. Of the Calamity 10,000 years ago, of the many other tales told as bedtime stories to Hylian children. Stories of the sword that seals the darkness, and the princess with the blood of the Goddess. Has seen the paintings, the tapestry hanging in the home of the Sheikah elder where he was brought so they could see the sword for themselves. He has often wished he could talk to her about this shared destiny they have. To ask her if she feels the same fear he does–that he will not be able to fulfill his purpose when the time comes. If she has dreams about the castle overwhelmed with darkness while she can only watch, powerless to stop it.
But it is not his place to speak to her, not unless she speaks first. And how could he possibly say those things out loud? He carries the sword of evil’s bane. If he is the hero he is supposed to be, would he have those fears? If she learned he had doubts, would she, too, question if he was the right person to carry it?
She is the Princess of Hyrule, and he is in her service. It is his duty as a knight to protect her, and his duty as Champion to assist her in any way she can with unlocked her sealing power; she owes him nothing, and he owes her everything.
She is still watching him, and Link realizes he has been staring at her. She looks annoyed so he nods an apology, and quickly turns around before she can see the heat rising in his cheeks. In a moment he hears the soft movement of water against the banks of the spring as she enters, and positions himself in the center of the dragon’s mouth.
It isn’t long, before he starts to hear the whispers.
At first, he assumes it must be the Princess. Whispered prayers, echoed in the entire chamber. But the whispers don’t sound like the Princess. He wishes he could turn, to look, to see if it is her he hears, but his orders here are clear.
Guard the entrance.
The Princess is not to be disturbed.
But the whispering gets louder, and Link starts to realize they are not coming from her, but coming from the chamber itself. Overlapping voices coming from the air and light around him, speaking to him—no, not to him. To the Sword.
And the Sword responds. He feels a warmth, where his hands rest on the hilt, and the blade itself seems to glow ever so slightly. A conversation, with the voices of the heroes who came before him, whose spirits move around just like the light coming up from the sacred water. Old friends greeting each other, and he is the newcomer. The sword has chosen him to join their ranks, and they know he is proven in skill, but he is yet to be proven in deed.
The voices remain low, eventually fading like insect song into the background, and Link watches the shadows that move across the floor of the cavern, the only way he has to mark the passing of time. Impa told him, when informing him of this new duty, that the Princess would likely be at her prayers for most of the day. It is her first trip to the spring of courage since the champions were appointed; since all the pieces for the fight against the calamity were set in motion. All the pieces, except her sealing power. The Divine Beasts, the guardians…they are a backup, but Link knows the task of sealing the darkness falls, not on the other Champions, but in his blade and her sacred magic. There is no room for either of them to fail.
The whispers tell him, it has always been this way. That they have all asked the same questions he has, that he can’t say out loud.
Hours pass. Link shifts his weight from one foot to the other, remaining as still as he can. He wants to look back, to make sure she is okay. That her silence is devotion, not that she has slipped into the water, or that a threat has slipped past his watch. The quiet hum of the voices are all he has to rely on that everything is as it should be, believing that their murmuring would change if she was in danger.
He wonders if she is also able to hear them.
The shadows in the cavern grow longer, and the light has just started turning gold when he hears a sudden splash followed by a cry of surprise. Hours of restless energy spent standing, waiting, surge through his veins, and Link is at the edge of the water in an instant, sword at the ready.
She remains centered in the spring, facing the statue with her head bowed and arms in front of her, and Link frowns, sweeping his eyes back and forth for whatever it was that caused the disturbance in the water, what made her cry out. He even starts to wonder…has she been successful? He knows, from his times stationed outside the springs, how often she has marched past her guards, stone faced, her skin pale and eyes ringed in a red he wishes he could ignore.
He knows, if they have anything in common at all, the pressure that weighs on her because she has yet to awaken her power, and for her sake he hopes . Hopes that maybe she feels something. That maybe today, some of that pressure will be lifted.
Then, she turns. Her hands are not clasped in prayer, but cupped gently around something Link can’t see. She looks up at him, furrows her brow at his drawn sword and readied stance, and lifts her hands towards him.
He lowers the sword. Takes a small step forward, and as she wades to the edge of the spring he sees a baby bird, weak and trembling, through the gaps in her slender fingers.
“It fell,” she says quietly. “There must be a nest above the water. Is it…will it be okay?”
At the edge of the spring she extends her arms, and Link sheathes the sword and kneels down so they are eye to eye, stretching his palms out towards her.
When she lays her hands on his, the voices in the room come to a sudden stop. He snaps his eyes to hers, surprised to find she is already looking at him. Her hands are cold, ice cold compared to the gentle heat that had been coming from the sword, and he keeps his own still, inviting her to stay, to leave her hands against his. To take some of that warmth.
It is the closest they have ever been to each other, even on the day he was Knighted and then again the day he was made a Champion. Both of those times he approached her and knelt, as he does now, but she stood above him. Spoke rote words and made her proclamations, held her blade to his shoulders and then he was dismissed.
Now, with her still standing in the spring, their faces are level, and for the first time she has addressed him as something other than a warrior. As more than just the one chosen to wield the Sword. Now, he doesn’t see the expression of stoic grace she usually wears, but something soft, sincere. Her face is damp from the humidity of the chamber, and dotted with water droplets that must have splashed onto her when the bird fell. Link feels the urge to reach up and brush them from her cheeks, and he fights it, pushes it down until it rests somewhere behind his navel; a heavy, hooked feeling that ties his tongue and leaves him slightly dizzy.
She looks away first. Back to the little bird, resting in her hands that rest on his, and he looks down in time to watch her gently slide her hands away so he holds the bird alone.
The impression her hands leave behind feels even colder.
Link shifts the little bird to his left hand, and with his right he smooths back its wet, matted feathers. It moves under his touch, and he does it again, gives its tiny body a gentle massage with his fingers, cups his hands together in an effort to keep it warm. It moves a little more, and then more, and he lifts one hand when he feels it making an effort to stand.
“She’s okay!” the Princess gasps, and Link looks back to her, to the smile breaking across her face, and he tries to swallow against a knot forming in his throat.
Above them, a chirp echoes from near the goddess’ head and the little bird looks up, trying to find the source of the sound.
She slides her hands across his once again, scooping up the bird, and he watches as she moves back across the spring, stopping to lay the tiny, feathered body at the foot of the goddess. She takes a few steps back, and in minutes, the mother bird swoops down to her baby, nudging her, fussing over her. They are too far away for Link to see clearly, but he thinks he hears the tentative flapping of tiny wings.
Princess Zelda leaves the spring, and Link once again faces the exit of the cavern, allowing her privacy as she completes her rituals, and only turns when he hears— feels— her step beside him.
“Thank you,” she says. “My hands were too cold, and you…you saved the poor little thing. Thank you.”
He meets her eyes again. In her gaze he can feel the chill of her hands when they rested on his, can see the drops of water wavering on her skin. He sees how she looked when she turned to face him: earnest. Ethereal. He knows, of course he knows, the daughters of the royal family are descended directly from the Goddess, but the magnitude of that truth has escaped him until today. Until watching her, watching the Princess, watching Zelda, glide through the waters of the spring, and seeing the part of her that is Hylia herself.
And he realizes his unease here has not been because he could not scour the area for threats, but because he knows now the biggest threat these springs hold is one he can’t shield her from.
You’re welcome, Princess. The words make it as far as his throat before he swallows them, afraid that if he speaks to her at all, he won’t be able to silence himself. So he nods, and is not surprised when that quiet vulnerability she showed turns back to the hard indifference he is used to, or that she quickly turns and begins to walk towards the exit, or that she looks, as she does so, that she is trying not to cry.
Link falls into step behind her, and thinks he hears once more the quiet voice of the sword, and the hushed, apologetic whispers of the Heroes who came before him. Reassuring him. Reminding him.
It has always been this way.