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While it wasn’t entirely out of the norm to be summoned to the king’s side, most of their business was conducted in the throne room. A hero’s purpose was to serve his king, to protect the kingdom, and to follow official orders. All of these began in the public court, where the king could show off his authority and might in front of nobility, courtiers, and the occasional foreign royal. When Link first got the message that the king wished to speak with him, Link was already grabbing his sword, prepared to face whatever challenge the king laid upon him next. The servant who delivered the summons corrected him, informing Link that the king wished to meet in his private study.
He’d never had occasion to enter this room, with its tall windows and taller bookshelves, all made of a reddish, dark wood that Link couldn’t remember the name of, though he was sure Zelda told him several times. The finest furniture in the castle was made of it. The dining set in the private wing was made of it, and polished like glass every day. He imagined whatever carpenter had made the dining set must have also fashioned these shelves. He imagined this because he had little else to do, as the king had not yet appeared.
He shoved his hands into his pockets with a huff. “If I dared to be late, the king would get mad at me,” he grumbled. Not that the king had ever gotten truly upset with Link. Even when Link admitted to wanting to swing on a rope from the parapet and land on Zelda’s balcony, the king was surprisingly supportive. It was a foolproof plan, of course, made even better by the king’s suggestion to bring flowers. If Link hadn’t angered the king in so blatant a disrespect to his household, perhaps there were few things he could do to truly earn the king’s ire. All the same, he didn’t want to try his luck.
Shuffling and muffled voices outside the door drew Link’s attention away from the frost-tinted windows, where the first snow of winter glistened in the morning light. It wasn’t his first winter in the castle, but true winter was so rare in his youth that he always liked to look at it. Not touch it, per se. He could do without getting his boots wet. But from the vantage point of the king’s study, it was lovely and white and sparkled on the ground.
The shuffling stopped. The voices grew louder - one of these clearly belonged to the king, his voice very distinct from everyone else’s. When Link started to take a step toward the door to listen closer to the conversation, it suddenly swung open, revealing the king in animated conversation with Wren, a kitchenhand, carrying a tray of something steaming in a spouted pot.
“And if Bawen can whip up any of those walnut scones,” the king continued, hardly paying Link any mind, his attention fully on Wren, who set the tray of steaming, sweet-smelling liquid, onto the short-legged table in the center of the room. “They were so delightful last month! Oh-!” At last, the king looked up, realizing for the first time that he had not walked into an empty room, “My goodness, Link, I didn’t expect you to be early.”
Shocked and only slightly offended, Link frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Link didn’t care for the look shared between the king and Wren, one that suggested everything the king’s comment had implied. “To your credit, I suppose,” the king began, “you do often appear when you are needed, though not always in the manner I expect.”
“Forgive me, Sir Link,” Wren added, smoothing out the wrinkles in his apron, “but the only thing you’ve ever been truly punctual to are mealtimes.”
Link prickled at the accusation, though couldn’t truly deny it. He shrugged. “Maybe it was just my intuition telling me there’d be snacks at this meeting.” He could believe that. He liked to think he had seven senses. Five in the average way, a sixth for sensing monsters, and a seventh for predicting where he might get his next morsel of delicious food.
“Ah, right you are, there!” The king agreed, gesturing toward the pot. “Thank you, Wren. That will be all for now.”
Wren’s thin brows creased, more out of concern than frustration, by Link’s estimation. “You’re certain you don’t want me to pour it?”
“No, there’s no need,” the king assured him, waving his servant off, “besides, Link and I have a very secret matter to discuss. I don’t want a soul in the castle to know of it until the time is right.”
That announcement piqued the interest of both young men in the room, and Link felt a little gratified that he was the one privy to the secret, whatever it was. Wren gave the king a slight bow, assured him that he would return if the king rang the service bell, and quickly left the room.
“Hm, likely off to speculate with Bawen about the nature of our conversation,” the king mused, chuckling to himself, “the whole castle will be in a curious mood by the end of the day, and we will have to deny them all the satisfaction.”
Link couldn’t take much more taunting, the promise of something interesting finally appearing after months of quiet. Following his last adventure with Zelda, very little had diverted him since the start of autumn. “I have to say I’m pretty curious myself. What’s this big secret?”
Rather than answer, the king flipped over the two small cups on the tray. He tilted the pot toward one of the cups, slowly, deliberately, yet Link’s ears could still perceive the slight clinking of ceramic. The king’s hands didn’t always shake, not when Link first arrived at the castle. It was still slight, barely noticeable unless one paid particular attention - Link wondered if this was why servants poured his tea at dinner.
“Here, let me-” Link started, reaching for the pot as the first uneven splash fell, but was discouraged by the king’s words.
“I’ve got it, thank you,” the king interrupted. When both cups were full of the opaque, light brown, sweet-smelling liquid, the king set the pot down on the ray. “Have you ever had chocolate?”
Link shook his head, waiting for the king to pick up a cup before Link dared to. The steam curled around his nose, milky and sweet and bitter all at once. “I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t tried to before. The princess mentioned it once to me when she was studying imports.”
“The princess,” the king smiled a little as he brought the cup to his lips. “I appreciate your respect for her title, but with your familiarity, it’s quite unnecessary.”
Taking his cue from the king, Link took a sip of the chocolate. It burned his tongue, but as the sweet drink flooded his mouth, he had to restrain himself from drinking the whole cup in one gulp. It was one of the best things he’d ever tasted! He wondered why the king had never served it before.
Not wanting to appear rude, or ruder than usual, Link lowered his cup. It warmed his chilled hands like a small fire. He had the sudden desire to press the backs of his fingers against the surface, though wasn’t sure how he could accomplish that and effectively hold the cup at the same time.
He settled on holding the cup like a normal person, taking a seat in the plush chair opposite the king when bid to rest. “Your Majesty-”
“Harkinian.”
Link nearly choked on the chocolate, coughing slightly. “What?”
“My name. I trust you know it.”
The idea that Link stepped too close to a ledge suddenly sprang to his mind. If this was some sort of test, he had a feeling he would fail either way. Zelda was better at this sort of puzzle. “I- I do know it.” He didn’t know what else to say.
With a nod, the king settled into his chair and resumed sipping his chocolate, gesturing for Link to go on.
The trouble was, Link was so shaken by the upended dynamics that he’s nearly forgotten his question entirely. It took him several seconds to remember what he intended to ask. “What’s the secret?” He blurted, unsure of how to phrase his curiosity in a more eloquent manner.
A spark of amusement lit in the king’s expression. “I know of your intention to ask my daughter to marry you.”
If he hadn’t had both hands on his chocolate, he might have spilled it on himself in shock. As it was, the thundering heartbeat in his ears was disorienting enough. While he hadn’t exactly been clandestine in his courtship of the princess, it was never explicitly sanctioned, either. He began to suspect that he’d taken the king’s earlier encouragement for granted and overstepped his bounds. While he would never profess to understand the intricacies of courtly behavior, he knew even back on the farm that a young man ought to ask permission of the girl’s father before asking for her hand. It was more tradition than law, though Link imagined that notion had to come from somewhere.
“Do be careful, my boy,” the king chided, smiling beneath his fluffy, white beard. “Truthfully, I didn’t know whether you had actually made plans to propose to her. But that reaction is certainly a confirmation.”
Link quickly set down his chocolate, lest it end up in his lap. “Your Maj- ah, Harkinian,” Link only cringed a little at the use of the king’s name without the title. “It was never my intention to show you or your daughter any disrespect.”
Despite the worry worming through Link’s chest, the king appeared utterly unperturbed by it. “You have not,” Harkinian assured him, smiling. “But since it is your intention to marry her, I heartily give my consent.”
Relief washed over Link, followed by a rush of elation. He had permission! He hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her father, and that was his largest obstacle. The second now loomed - how to work up the courage to ask Zelda.
“Not that my consent is strictly required,” Harkinian added, almost as an afterthought. “If my daughter wished to marry you, there isn’t much I could do to stop her.”
Link frowned, confused. “I don’t understand. You’re the king. Doesn’t everything require your approval?”
“Mm,” the king took another sip and nodded, “for now. Tell me, Link, you are aware that Zelda is entitled to the throne of Hyrule, are you not?”
Still unsure of where this was going, Link nodded. “She’s first in line; I know that much.”
“Indeed,” Harkinian agreed. “Hyrule has always had a matrilineal line of succession.” At Link’s confused look, the king continued. “Mother to daughter. Her mother, the late queen, would have handed off the kingdom to Zelda when they decided she was ready.” He paused, taking a breath that conveyed more weight than Link anticipated. “Her mother passed when Zelda was very young. Though my title is King, I would more accurately be called a regent.”
Now this was news to Link! Not that he understood all of it. “So, you’re just holding on to the throne until Zelda is of age?”
“She’s of age now,” Harkinian corrected, much to Link’s surprise. “She’s been of age a little over a year. Whenever she so desires, she can ascend to the throne, the only delay being the time it would take to send coronation invitations.”
The more Harkinian spoke, the less the words seemed to make sense. From what he’d known of Zelda, she had always been assertive, willful, and beautiful, though this last feature had less bearing on her grab at the throne. He still liked to think of it. “Why hasn’t she? Is she waiting on something else?”
At this question, the king merely shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, my boy, though I have my suspicions. She may not feel that she is ready to take the throne.”
As much as he disliked the idea of Zelda ignoring her birthright, he couldn’t fault her there. He didn’t like taking on more responsibility than was strictly necessary either. If he could, he’d trade hero duties for fishing whenever possible. “I see.”
The king rose from his chair, which prompted Link to do the same, though he was waved off. Pouring more chocolate into his cup, the king continued. “That’s where you come in.”
If the mannerisms of the court were strange to him before, this statement completely stumped him. “Sire?” He didn’t even care that the king gave him an exasperated look when he used the proper address. It was a deeply-formed habit and he had other things to think about than the flipping of a social order. “What do you want me to do about it? Is there a quest that you need to send me on? A magical artifact to protect Hyrule?” He could think of little else that could possibly require his aid.
Plopping back down into his plush chair again, the king shook his head. “Not quite. I need you to marry her. Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind.”
Heat rushed to the tips of Link’s ears. He hadn’t even worked up the courage to speak to Harkinian, let alone ask Zelda for her hand! He’d imagined many different ways where he could propose to her: on horseback, by the castle fountain, at that romantic picnic area where he almost got really lucky until Ganon’s minions showed up. All good options (assuming that he cleared the site of monsters beforehand), yet he still couldn’t fathom the king’s insistence on it happening quickly. “Why? I mean, not that I don’t want to marry her! I definitely do.” The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded, now grounded in reality. “Gods, I do. But why now? What’s the rush?”
At this question, the king’s expression darkened, his brows turned inward. For several seconds, the king made no reply. His eyes searched Link’s - a pain in his expression almost bid Link to retract his question, even though Link couldn’t begin to guess what offended Harkinian so greatly.
Finally, the king answered. His normally jovial expression faded. Though Link had only ever known the king with a white beard, he never looked so old as in this moment - not that Link could take a guess at Harkinian’s actual age. He took a breath, his voice lower than it had been before. “There is…no easy way to put this, I’m afraid. Link,” he frowned, more at himself, as if he was still trying to find the right words, “I’m dying.”
Winter’s chill shot through the room at the king’s words, despite the crackling fire and the shut windows. It sucked all the air out of his lungs like a punch to the gut. Link could only stare at the king in shock, trying and failing to say anything more substantial than “Wh-what?”
“That is the secret, my boy,” the king confirmed with a nod. “One known only to me, my physician, and now you.”
The weight of the king’s statement settled uneasily on Link’s shoulders and sat like a stone in his stomach. It choked him, sickened him, and made his head spin trying to fathom it. He tried to reconcile it with all he knew of the king, trying to find some definitive proof that the king was mistaken, or lying, or anything other than being completely, vulnerably honest. Link couldn’t handle that.
After a long while, Link found his voice again. “...Zel doesn’t know?”
Harkinian shook his head. “No. I’d like to keep it that way, at least for now.”
Link tried to wrap his mind around the request, though he couldn’t square it with what he knew of Zelda. Kind, caring, compassionate Zelda. “Why? She’d want to know!”
The king acknowledged Link’s statement with a slight nod. “She would. And if she knew, she’d spend every day worrying about me rather than preparing for her role as queen. Until Zelda is crowned, I don’t want a word of my condition breathed to her, or to anyone else in the castle, for that matter.” He leaned back in his chair, frowning. “It is better for everyone if Hyrule has a strong monarch on the throne. I’m afraid that, were my condition known, threats to Zelda’s ascendancy would arise. I wish to give her as clean a hand-off as possible. It is better for her, and for Hyrule, if she believes she is taking the throne because she decided that she wanted it.”
While Link could sort of understand that, comparing it to when he scared wild animals away by pretending to be bigger and stronger than he actually was, it still twisted his stomach into knots. “And you need me to marry her…to push her in that direction?” He guessed.
The king nodded. “Partially, yes. A selfish part of me just wants to see my daughter get married before I go.”
A hard lump formed in Link’s throat. He quickly swallowed it down. The urge to tell someone, Spryte, Zelda, anybody was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t imagine if it were him having to make such a decision to hold on to a secret so devastating that it could put the whole kingdom in jeopardy. He tried not to imagine how lonely that would feel. “I…yeah. Yeah, I get that.” He said flatly, fighting back the conflicting thoughts in his head. He hated to ask, but he had to know. He wouldn’t feel right taking on such a quest without all the information. “...How long do we have?” He preferred to phrase it that way. ‘You’ would have been far harsher on both of them.
The king heaved a sigh, shrugging a little. “I’m not sure. Truthfully, it could be many more years. But even if it is, my condition will worsen over time. Eventually, I will be unable to hide it. Zelda must be on the throne by then.” Standing once more, the king reached out a hand toward Link, who quickly rose to take it, and prayed the king didn’t notice how sweaty and cold his palms were. “I’m sorry to place this burden on you, Link. After all you’ve done for the kingdom, for Zelda especially, there is no one I trust more with so heavy a load. Forgive me.”
Propriety be damned. If he could call the king by his first name, he could do this, too. Link released the king’s hand, only to immediately wrap his arms around his imminent father-in-law. He hugged Harkinian as tightly as he dared.
As warm as the king had always been to him in speech, he was more so in action, squeezing Link in return. “Thank you, my boy.”
Tears pricked the corners of Link’s eyes when he finally let Harkinan go, taking a step back. “I’ll do it. Everything you’ve asked of me.” A Hyrule safe from Ganon’s machinations was useless if he couldn’t protect it from inward turmoil.
At last, Harkinian smiled. “I’m glad. I look forward to the day I can call you my son.” He patted Link’s shoulder, then turned away, heading toward one of the desks in the study and unlocking a drawer with a small, silver key. Metal clinked when the king slid the drawer open. He lifted a small, golden ring from the drawer. “You’ll be needing this, I believe.”
Link felt a little silly cupping his hands to catch the ring, as if it were a fish about to flop onto the grass. It weighed nothing in the palm of his hand, though he could tell that it was gilded, if not entirely gold. He didn’t have names for the gems set into the band, though he could guess. He felt fairly certain that the clear ones were diamonds.
The king shut the drawer and locked it back. “That was my wife’s engagement ring,” he explained. “It fits Zelda well enough.” He smiled, tucking the key back into his pocket. “She doesn’t know that I caught her trying it on a couple weeks ago.”
Amazed by the design and sparkle of the jewelry, finer than anything Link had ever held, he didn’t fully comprehend the king’s sentence immediately. “Why was she-?” When he looked up, meeting Harkinian’s amused expression, Link blushed, his eyes wide. “She knew.”
Harkinian’s laughter broke the nervous tension that had sucked all the warmth away just minutes ago, seeming to brighten the room. “You are not very subtle, Link. That you were planning to propose is a secret to nobody.” He gestured toward the ring. “Well, go on then. I imagine this is one quest you’ll have little difficulty with.”
Clutching the ring in his fist, Link nodded, his head suddenly lighter despite the weight on his shoulders. In his haste to get out the door and find Zelda, he almost forgot to thank the king. He stopped in the hallway and rushed back to hang on the doorway, grinning like a fool. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Harkinian will do for now.”
“Yep,” Link quickly ducked back through the doorway, “understood.” He tried not to cringe at himself the whole way to Zelda’s chambers, already thinking of the perfect, most romantic place in Hyrule to propose. “Dad, Link? Really?”