Chapter Text
“Well?” Zelda’s voice was hard to read, disguised behind an air of nonchalance. She did this when she wanted his honest opinion. He had a habit of telling her what he thought she wanted to hear, especially recently.
But who could blame him? After all she has done for him? For all of Hyrule? After everything she suffered and how she continued to suffer? Link thought she deserved whatever she wanted in any way she pleased.
It was one of the things they regularly disagreed about.
When his silence prompted her to turn and look at him, short hair barely tickling the tops of her shoulders and filled with haphazardly braided flowers (He did a much better job than it appeared currently; flower crowns were just not meant to last through the night, but a hormone-fueled conversation this morning threatened tears and he hadn’t the heart to insist.), he found it hard to breathe. Her green eyes, wide and expectant, did not make it any easier on him.
He smiled at her golden radiance and swore it was not just the glowing backdrop of the Spring of Courage that proved her continued divinity, even after months of complaining that the little one was absorbing more and more of her powers each day. Her hand found her rounded belly, and Link watched as she comfortingly traced the convex flesh below her loose-fitting midnight blouse. She switched weight to her left side, and Link frowned, her question long forgotten.
“Are the pants bothering you, sweetheart?” He was already pulling the pack off his back to find the “unelegant ill-fitting tent,” as Zelda insisted on calling it. Impa called them “maternity clothes,” and Zelda had, right up to the eight-and-a-half-month mark, refused to indulge.
The woman loved her pants.
A derisive noise from Zelda pulled Link’s attention from their bag, and she smiled when their eyes met. She held out her hand, and Link was there. Holding her palm gently between his fingers, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. He would have knelt before her and asked her to tell him what she needed, but he had been forbidden from the act a trimester ago.
His ears burned as he recalled Purah’s wagging finger and explanation that it was simply too much. Zelda needed her husband, not the undying loyalty of a legendary hero in green. Link struggled to separate the two identities, but he did his best. For her. Always for her.
He looked at her silently, and she nodded toward the water with a smirk. Clearly, she wasn’t going to answer his question until he answered hers.
“Well? What do you think?” Zelda repeated, and Link made an effort to look over the shrine as if his opinion could be changed or altered at all by what he saw before him.
The Shine of Courage looked nearly the same as it did more than a century ago. The same pool of water before the same statue. The same half-broken pillars littered the area, but this time, they’d been removed from the water and set in careful, neat rows along the wall. A precaution taken by the Sheikah whom Impa (or Paya) had no doubt sent ahead of their visit to prepare the water for Zelda to use whenever their little one decided to make themselves known.
They’d be born into a broken but resilient country. A Hyrule that had survived a Calamity and an Upheaval and still decided they needed Zelda if there was any hope of rebuilding. Link considered it a no-brainer, as there was hardly anyone who had the wisdom to consider so many options and weigh so many needs, and still always found a way to help everyone get what they needed. Not perhaps what they wanted, but always what they needed.
Anyone would be a fool to disagree with her. And most of the time, Link was no fool. As he looked around the chilly cave walls, pretending to inspect while deep in thought about the pros and cons, he knew nothing in his mind would compare to the millions of possibilities she’d already thought of. And truth be told, he hadn’t really felt like it should be his opinion that factored in at all, anyway.
It was their baby. But it was her body.
Her body that had already been twice sacrificed on the altar of Hylia’s will. They followed Impa’s suggestion to look at the Spring of Courage, to see if the place might… stabilize Zelda’s body long enough to finish out the pregnancy, and they had.
Link had gotten her there. But it was Zelda’s decision.
Even so, as she looked at him expectantly, he was reminded that she had asked his opinion. And that, he could not deny her.
His ears flushed again when he recalled Purah’s final biting words to speak more often, or he’d risk Zelda thinking he wasn’t as excited about their futural arrival. The mortification of such a thought spurred him past his anxiety and unsureness.
“It’s full of memories,” he said softly, and then cringed. It hadn’t been what he meant to say, and he turned to look at Zelda, who was watching him with careful eyes. She seemed unsurprised. A frown pulled at the corner of her mouth. “H-how do you feel?” Quick steps on stone took him closer to her once more. “Is there…? Are you feeling anything?”
Link didn’t know what he was asking her to confirm or not, and Zelda seemed to pick up on this with a good-natured smile.
“I can’t…” She sighed and looked around before shrugging. It was such a nonchalant gesture on her; it always made Link grin. So different from the girl he once knew in the castle. “I honestly can’t tell any difference. I have no idea if I’m safer here or more ‘stable,' whatever that means,” She sighed, her words trailing off as a mumble, and wrapped her arms under her belly and lifted.
In a second, Link’s hands were near hers, doing the same. It was a lot of weight for such a small amount of skin to carry. When she’d first explained to him how the pressure felt, forever pulling downwards, he’d spent the next week pressed firmly to her backside, pulling up on her stomach, cradling the baby between his interlaced hands as often as he could.
That was, until Zelda told him between giggles that while she appreciated it, the gesture could be rarer than all-the-time. As he looked at her now, he could feel the blush spread across his cheeks as he silently asked. Is this alright? Is this helpful? Am I helpful to you?
Zelda rewarded him with a tired smile and leaned her forehead against his. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of her belly, heavy with their child, between them.
For a moment, it was just them. Just the three of them.
Link felt the tears pull at the corner of his eyes. Many people had told him since Zelda got pregnant (Impa, Purah, Paya, Sidon, Riju, Teba, and, surprisingly, even Tulin somehow had words for him about caring for an expectant mother) that heavy emotions were part of the package. But since they had found out they were expecting, no one was quite as weepy as Link.
Every time he closed his eyes, a montage of experiences played behind his lids. Fiery eyes, lethal blades, a dark ooze that sucked his life force — everything he had to do and everything that had kept them apart, that had threatened this very outcome.
“How are you feeling now?” Link murmured, as they started to sway. Zelda offloaded the weight on one foot at a time. He felt Zelda’s head move, and he followed her gaze to the water. Link stepped back and ran his hands through her hair, scratching softly at her scalp and trying not to feel too pleased when her eyes fluttered close, and she rested her head against his arms.
“Tired,” she said honestly. And Link nodded, humming in response. Zelda was not a queen who let something so minor as creating another life inhibit her duties, even as her advisors (and her husband!) begged her to slow down. It was difficult to argue against her patented “I missed more than a century of Hyrule’s development, I won’t miss a moment longer” argument, especially when it was accompanied by such blazing, passionate green eyes.
“Would the water help, sweetheart?” Link asked. When Zelda sighed, he pushed forward. “I’m not asking about the birth. I mean, right now. Would sitting in the water, getting some pressure off your middle, would that help?”
She paused her swaying. Link smiled. She was considering it. Time to sweeten the pot.
“What if you sat for a bit, and I made us some cream of mushroom soup?” His fingers traced down the back of her scalp, and she hummed, leaning toward the touch. “Or would you rather a meat and rice bowl? I still have some of that gourmet meat–!”
Link was almost shocked by the intensity with which Zelda’s eyes flashed open. He could see the hunger, and he grinned a bit.
“Meat and rice sounds good, then?”
Zelda’s stomach grumbled, and they both looked at each other before shared giggles dripped from their mouths as Link closed the distance. Her lips were warm.
“I think the baby has spoken,” she said with amusement. Zelda’s hand covered her lips as Link leaned down to press a soft kiss to her belly before he stood — So what if it was on his toes? — and kissed her forehead and each of her cheeks.
“Then the little royal and my queen will get exactly what they desire.” Link chuckled and went to swipe the Purah Pad from where it hung at Zelda’s waist — the only thing he would let her carry on their journey here and only because she insisted.
He preempted Zelda’s question with a “You’re still getting mushrooms,” and a cheeky grin.
Zelda crossed her arms and frowned. “You’ve been talking to Sidon too much.”
Link shrugged. He didn’t deny it as he swiped through their inventory. “Perhaps so, but he is right. Growing mothers need plenty of vitamins and nutrients, and vegetables are a prime source, even better than meat.”
Zelda laughed. “Since when did Sidon of all people get so health conscious?”
Good. The meat was still stored and they had plenty of rice and Goron spice — although none for Zelda’s portion as she’d gotten particularly anti-spice after she’d hit month four. Link had thought it was funny since he’d just spent the last month taking regular trips to Gerudo Town, where Riju was forever willing to share her store of spicy peppers. Zelda had been less amused by her lowered tolerance. He put the pad on his hip and shrugged.
“I think sometime after Yona announced she wanted to try for at least four clutches.” He laughed. “But Sidon has always wanted a big family.”
Zelda sobered. “Yes, of course.”
He touched her cheek, and their eyes met once more. “Hey,” he said softly, thumb swiping gently along her jaw. “None of that. There is so much we cannot change.” He pressed their foreheads together.
“That is true.” She sighed. Her breath puffed warm against his cheek.
“I wouldn’t change anything, any decision we made, because we ended up here, together,” he said gently. “It might not have happened another way around, right?”
He pulled back and looked at Zelda’s shining eyes. “Right,” she murmured.
Link was torn. “Let me just stay with you, okay? We can skip the veggies one meal.” He was worried. Her moods always varied, but the high highs and low lows the pregnancy brought was one part he was yet to get used to.
Zelda laughed. “You’re so serious! You’re acting like you’re trading away some great advantage on a battlefield.”
Link blushed as she pushed him away, towards the exit of the shrine. He savored the feeling of her hands on his chest as he made himself a little — but not a lot — difficult to move.
“Now go,” she giggled. “I’ll be fine here.” She pushed him once more, this time enough to send him stumbling back a couple of steps.
He grinned. “Are you sure?” He looked her up and down, once again. “Do you need any help before I go? I could help with your clothes or–?”
“Ah,” she nodded sagely, stopping to look at him with a flat expression as she placed her hands thoughtfully on the rounded top of her stomach. “You just want to help me undress, is that it?”
“No!” Link said quickly, a sinking feeling in his chest as Zelda’s eyebrow raised.
“So, you don’t want to undress me?”
There was no winning for him, and she knew it. He could tell by her smirk and he loved her for it. Her and her big, beautiful brain.
“No!” He had to protest, and loudly . “No, I do! Of course, I do! I-I just. You know, I–!” Link’s voice was pained as he made non-specific motions with his hands. He was grateful when she took pity on him and laughed.
“I know, I know. I’m perfectly capable of changing myself, however. I will find myself into this… tent Impa has provided, and I’ll be here.” She gestured towards the water. “Waiting for you. And my mushrooms.” Zelda added the afterthought with a grin.
Link looked embarrassed. He shuffled his feet back and forth, boots scuffing against stone.
Zelda barked a laugh. “And whatever else fried green Impa sent you to look for. I promise I won’t complain.” She held her hands up, fingers interlocking into their holiest of symbols.
Link looked at her flatly. “Did you just invoke the Triforce to promise you’d eat your vegetables?”
Zelda nodded so solemnly that Link couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.
“Alright,” he said, reluctantly turning towards the exit. “Although, I’m not even sure these herbs exist. It might be another of Impa’s wild cucco chases.”
“Oh?” Zelda’s tone was teasing. “And why ever would she do that?”
Link felt the bright red spread across his cheeks as he turned back to his wife. Wordlessly, he leaned forward, giving her a quick kiss. When she looked at him expectantly, he added, “I really have no idea. I think she just likes to mess with me.”
“Uh huh,” Zelda’s tone was dubious, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I suppose if I asked her if you paraglided on top of the house again when she was napping, she wouldn’t say ‘Yes! Again! Keep that Hylia-blessed hero of yours off of Kakariko’s roofs?’”
It took everything in Link to keep a clear face as he stared directly into the sparkling emerald eyes of his love.
“No, she wouldn’t,” he sniffed with an air of faux offense.
“She wouldn’t?” Zelda teased.
“No, and if she did, I’d be sure to explain to her exactly how good you are at imitating her.” Link leaned forward to once again kiss her forehead — he couldn’t resist! Plus, it was only fair that if he were teasing, he put himself in easy-hitting range, and he took pleasure in the soft gasp that turned into girlish giggles and a slight slap to his shoulder.
“You’re a rogue!”
He stepped backward with a waggle of his brow. “When I return, I expect my beautiful wife to be relaxing in that water.” Link looked back toward the spring with an intent look. He was rewarded with a gorgeous smile.
“I’ll be here,” she promised.
“See you soon, sweetheart,” he promised in return before turning and leaving the cave that concealed the Spring of Courage. He couldn’t resist turning back one last time before the cave mouth disappeared from view. He saw his queen leaning against the stone wall, watching him go — blonde hair a startling shock against the natural brown and green palette.
A soft kiss fluttered at him from elegant fingers, and he reached out to catch it, making a show of slapping it to his cheek before returning an equally soft blown kiss.
Her giggles followed him, warming and calming his worried heart as he turned and marched deeper into the jungle.
~*~
Once Link disappeared from view, Zelda shook her head fondly and looked around the shrine. Without his warm presence, the cave took on a chill, and old ghosts rose from the dust. She could almost see him — the Link from before. His square, straight shoulders. A young soldier with so much to bear, forced to do so silently. Looking out into the jungle, his back against the one he was meant to protect.
She could almost see the young girl, too. The one she was before. Wading into the water, desperate and hungry for a sign. Cold and alone. That’s how she recalled feeling during this time. Zelda shook her head as if she could banish the memory and rotated her neck and shoulders.
She was too stiff. Perhaps Link was exactly right, and a soak was what she needed. Whether Impa’s guidance that this place, this spring, could settle her powers and stop her from disappearing in and out of time was yet to be seen.
Quick, practiced movements had her changing out of her clothes into a long, loose white gown. Although with how shapeless and large it was, Zelda would really rather prefer to call it a tent. It had no decoration to speak of, but she knew her discomfort had far more to do with the familiarity of another white dress — one she used to wear in this very shrine.
She’d almost asked if it needed to be white. She hated white. She’d refused to wear the color when she and Link decided to be bound together forever, and he hadn’t minded in the slightest. They’d both opted for different shades of blue.
Matching, but not matching, he’d said. There was something bittersweet in the memory.
But she hadn’t asked for a different color this time. She’d let it be. Hadn’t wanted to be a problem.
Link had noticed her distaste, of course. He’d asked, insisted even that she be honest but she refused. She hated to be a bother, especially after it seemed the whole of Hyrule had come to a rushing halt as soon as she and Link announced she was expecting. Purah had temporarily stopped her depths research in favor of women’s health, i.e. caring for the queen. Impa and Paya had stopped emphasizing Zonai research to prepare Kakariko and the Sheikah for the protection of the next generation of royals. Across Hyrule, each of the sages had pitched in, pulling attention away from their regional needs for her.
Always for her.
She was grateful, but something in her still felt deeply unworthy of the attention. Like it was too much to ask considering all she had cost them, even if most did not have the lifespans to recall. A feeling that only grew when she’d started experiencing this… sickness. She hadn’t known what it was at first. Blinding pain that led to her looking around and finding herself in a strange place, always somewhere she’d been before.
A few seconds to a minute, and she’d be on her way back, as if nothing had changed. She’d tried to conceal it at first, rushing to random rooms or shoving herself in a closet and praying it’d be just a moment. The hardest times to manage were at school. And around Link, of course.
It hadn’t been too long before it happened with him. He’d been afraid. Worried. It had brought up previous traumas, of course. For both of them. And they’d both been extraordinarily concerned that whenever she disappeared, another version of her — presumably from the past — took her place.
She’d hardly ever seen such determination from Link when they’d immediately set out for Lookout Landing. He’d rushed Zelda to Purah’s lab and demanded she run every test they could think of, only for the same result. She and the baby were fine. They were just, for some reason, jumping back through time with little way to predict the how, the why, the when, or most importantly, the how long.
Purah had assured them that it was worrying, but as long as Zelda always returned to her time, it was probably the pregnancy reacting poorly to her time powers. Purah had gently suggested that perhaps Zelda was losing control because the Goddess Hylia — in all Her wisdom — was ensuring the bloodline was continued.
It didn’t take long to read between the lines: Zelda was losing her power because their little princess was due to inherit it.
It left Zelda feeling supremely uncomfortable and Link feeling helpless and unsure. Link, being Link, did what he always did when he felt out of control. He went into overdrive, trying to anticipate her needs and support her however he could.
Meanwhile, Zelda felt adrift.
As her due date approached, the time jumps were getting more and more erratic, and as Purah and Impa assured them that it was not endangering their baby, the couple tried to… relax. The jumps became an annoyance, but a part of life.
They were nearly so commonplace that Link hardly blinked a couple mornings ago when she looked up confused from the breakfast table. He’d only calmly asked where she was from. Most times, she barely had enough seconds to ponder and say, “A week ago, I think,” before she was snatched back through time and herself again.
It was still highly disorienting. And anxiety-inducing.
And, of course, was not helped when her nightmares returned.
Link, of course, had noticed. He’d silently held her and said little. But what was there to say, really? He was there. That was enough.
As Zelda waded into the water of the spring, she reveled in the cool feeling swirling around her legs. As she watched the white fabric sit on top before growing heavy and falling beneath the ripples, she felt like a different person, like she was watching the same thing she had seen a hundred times before in a different time, and she almost couldn’t catch her breath.
Zelda let herself sink into the rather temperate water and felt some relief wash over her. A weight lifted, even as her mind was studded with anxiety and fear about what was happening to her and her baby. She wasn’t much for prayer anymore, but she prayed it wouldn’t continue after she gave birth. The fear was always in her mind.
What if she missed important events? What if the jumps kept happening, but only to her daughter? Was it possible she’d come home expecting to find the nurses with an infant, and be temporarily handed a two-year-old? Or directed towards a 14-year-old?
What would a person’s life even look like if they were bouncing back and forth through time like that?
Could they even live? Get an education? Make friends?
Fall in love ?
Purah had assured her there was no evidence that this would continue after she gave birth, even stating that there was a high probability that the birth itself would be the culmination point. That perhaps it was her pregnancy that was destabilizing the control she had over her powers and once the little royal arrived, everything would be normal.
She just needed to relax. That’s what Purah always said.
Zelda tried to swallow and felt it impossibly difficult. There was something thick in her throat, and the breaths in her chest were more difficult to pull in. Her hands were shaking as they cupped water and brought it to her chest. Her skin felt like fire. Sweat beaded at her temples and across her scalp.
1… 2… 3…
A deep breath in. Hold. Hold. Hold. Her body started shaking with the exertion, and she let the breath out, gulping for air in quick successive breaths after. She couldn’t catch any oxygen, and all the techniques Paya taught her fell out of her mind as she gasped for something, anything to calm her mind.
It was like the air she was breathing was suddenly filled with some other substance; something dark and thick was robbing her of the ability to think or even move.
Then, suddenly, a sharp pain blasted through her head, and her vision faded to white. No longer could she see the cavern or feel the water around her. She was sightless, feelingless. Tears bunched at the corner of her eyes, and a faint memory resurfaced of a heavy stone forced down her throat, and a final, desperate cry for help. In agony, she screamed his name once more.
“Link!”
Sobs ripped through her throat. This feeling was more intense than she’d ever felt it but too familiar to pretend not to know what was coming. Link, her Link , was gathering mushrooms and greens and would return to a very different sight than he was going to expect. Or maybe it was expected by now.
Maybe every time he left her side, he made peace that it might not be exactly her when he returned. What else was a supportive husband to do than acknowledge the reality of such a change? When your pregnant wife was bandied through time like a cat toy and Hylia, the cat, forever and endlessly played with you just because she could, what choice did you really have?
What choice did either of them really have?
It was only right that Hylia should take this pregnancy, this thing the two of them decided to do just for themselves, and make it about Her .
It was a cruel reminder that they were never really free from the ties of destiny, and any attempt to prove themselves as individual or separate from Hylia’s chosen was no different than a puppet who danced gleefully, pretending it couldn’t see its own strings.
And despite it all, she prayed. Just briefly. And not for herself. She would never again ask Hylia for a thing for herself. But she would pray for their child, and for Link. She knew what was coming. She prayed he wouldn’t suffer if she was gone too long. She prayed he wouldn’t be afraid. She prayed that he’d understand immediately and he would wait for her. She prayed that he wouldn’t blame her, that she couldn’t leave a warning or notice.
She prayed for cut marionette strings.
She prayed for freedom for her little baby, the child due to inherit the goddess’ blood.
Zelda swore she could feel her heart crack in two, and this time, the feeling wasn’t the same as every other time.
This time, she felt the full break.
With a gasp, she came back to herself, eyes blinking as she looked around.
She was in the same place, the same Shrine of Courage; she leaned back in the water with a shaky, grateful noise. She didn’t disappear. Had she finally figured out prayer at the ripe age of 27? She was not sure, but the fatigue in her body that always occurred after a jump pulled at her eyelids, and she laid back in the water, letting herself float.
She let her eyes drop close and felt herself grow weightless; she listened to nothing but the distant sounds of her own breathing.
Zelda always felt a bit sick after a time jump, but this time was different. It hurt a hundred times worse, and she could feel the pain blossoming in every cell of her body. Her head was pounding. Her stomach was rebelling. Her muscles burned. Everything in her had grown arms and beat against the bars of her chest.
“Link,” she murmured, holding her middle as tears leaked from of her eyes and rippled down her cheeks before dripping into the sacred spring. Her voice was broken, barely a whisper. He was so far away. He was in a field, gathering greens. He was hanging from the side of a cliff looking for mushrooms. He was pulling eggs from a nest in a tree.
He was so far away.
It was okay. She would wait for him.
She barely heard the clatter of something falling to the ground behind her when it was overtaken by quick, sharp footsteps of boots on stone. She tried not to smile.
She failed.
He was always there.
“Link,” she murmured. She could not move. She was exhausted. Her eyes stayed closed as she floated in the water, her body relaxing as she knew Link was close. He was here now, and everything was okay. The last of her energy faded, and it was likely because her ears and nose sank beneath the water that she didn’t hear how he cried out, “Princess!” his concerned, youthful tone echoing around the cavern.
She did not worry about drowning even as her head fully fell beneath the water; she was only there a moment before strong arms wrapped around her chest and hauled her above. She coughed and spluttered before she leaned back into his chest. He was stiff, and he said nothing, but she could feel the reassurance in the vice-like grip he had around her. She rested her face against his neck and breathed him in deeply, trying to regain her regular breath.
He had not smelled like this in a long time.
It was still Link — wood smoke and cinnamon. But there’s a sharper scent, too. He was missing the usual soft, dirt-fresh, wild smell, which was odd considering what he was just doing. But perhaps the spring had washed it away. Instead, there was something… else. Something she was so close to remembering, and she just wanted to smell it a little longer.
“Don’t move,” she begged, and he stilled.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Zelda nuzzled in deeper and pressed a kiss to his neck. She frowned. He shaved awfully close this morning. She hadn’t noticed it before he left. No matter. She’s been tired recently, distracted. It was inevitable that the little details would begin to elude her — it was why so many have been insistent that she take a break from her official duties, but she couldn’t. Hyrule needed her, and she? She just needed a few moments like this. Link’s warm, comforting arms around her, and then she would be together again. Then, she heard his uneasy voice rumbling in her ear.
“Princess Zelda, are you–?”
Zelda’s eyes flew open. All of a sudden, she remembered. The sharp spearmint. Military-issued aftershave. Practically a uniform requirement for all soldiers and knights in Hyrule’s heyday.
No one had worn it in more than a century.
She pulled back in shock, water flying as she splashed away from him. Wide eyes met even wider blue eyes, and her eyes flitted across his form. He was sitting in the water, looking entirely confused. His blue Champion’s tunic had an outline of a wet princess on his chest. His brown pants were soaked from where he crouched, at the ready. He hadn’t bothered removing his boots.
She didn’t need to look behind him to know that the Master Sword — the sword they’d returned to the Lost Woods more than a year ago — was lying haphazardly from where he’d dropped it as soon as she’d uttered his name.
No.
No.
She couldn’t be back here.
She had never gone back this far.
She had never gone further than just after Link saved her, after the Upheaval.
She’d never been sent to a time like this.
She had always gone to a time when she and Link were still together.
Always still her Hyrule.
It was unfair.
Completely unfair.
How could Hylia do this? Curse her to see Hyrule before her failures, once again? As if the memories were not seared into her brain, forever haunting her and reminding her of her mistakes?
She once again could not breathe. She was gasping and flapping her arms in the water, and Link was looking at her in fear and concern. She started hyperventilating, and Link held up his hands and backed away, as if that was what was making her upset.
“I apologize, Princess Zelda,” Link stepped backward towards the edge of the pool. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
He said it so seriously. In calm, soft tones like when he talked to Epona, soothing her, and it was so ridiculous and silly, Zelda couldn’t help but bark a laugh.
It surprised them both, and she covered her mouth.
A few moments of quiet was enough time for Zelda to put herself back together. The only noise in this cavern was her unsteady breathing, shakily bouncing around the walls. She felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t look. Not yet. Not when he wasn’t him. Not really.
When she finally gathered the strength to meet this Link’s gaze, she realized her mistake. Link was smart. He denied it, but it was undeniably true. And those few moments were all he needed to put together that she, Queen Zelda, aged 27, was not his princess.
He’d seen the hair, the soft laughter lines that her younger counterpart did not begin to have. Zelda blushed thinking about what he might have felt that was different, too. Then she stilled. His hand was on his hip, where she knew he always carried a small concealed blade.
She knew him well enough to know he was also probably wishing he hadn’t left his Master Sword near the entrance of the cavern.
Her heart ached when she looked at him. Her Link, but also not her Link. He was more serious. The lines on his face told the story of a boy with too many responsibilities, frustration lines far more plentiful than the smile lines and crow's feet her current Link wore. He also had far fewer markings. He hadn’t yet saved them from a Calamity and an Upheaval, and all the scars that came with that.
He was young. So young.
Even his determined, steely blue eyes had a youthful wideness to them.
“You’re not Princess Zelda,” he finally said.
“No,” she replied quietly. “I’m not, exactly.”
His hand tightened at his side.
She raised her hands. “I am not her anymore,” she clarified.
Link frowned. “What does that mean?” His fingers twitched. She knew he wanted to trust her. They were still inextricably linked, after all. Something called in her to recognize him, and she knew it was the same way for him.
“I know it’s difficult to understand, but I’ve come through time and–”
Her stomach rumbled, echoing throughout the cavern.
Zelda giggled and Link blushed, which made her giggle a bit more. Link frowned. He was the same as he ever was, even when he was trying to be serious. “How about a deal?”
He stiffened. She knew some part of him wanted to pull out the knife, but still, he did not.
“If I can prove I am Princess Zelda — your Princess Zelda — just from another time,” she said carefully, noting the suspicious way he looked at her. “And if I promise that your princess will be returned very soon, no harm to her at all, can you do something for me?”
His eyes narrowed. The air was deathly quiet. And then, “What do you want, fey?”
She smiled. His grandmother had taught him well. There were many spirits in Hyrule and not all were so friendly.
“I’d really like some soup.”