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One would hope that after defeating Ganondorf, Zelda might be able to find some sort of respite. Not a break, not exactly, but a moment in which to breathe and simply recover from everything that had happened over the past… however long it had been since Ganondorf had awoken. To say nothing of the ten millennium during which her consciousness had been suspended whilst in the form of the Light Dragon.
Said ten millennium were the source of most of her troubles now, actually.
Everything seemed so small and paltry in comparison to the vastness of her time as the Light Dragon. A vastness of time, let it be said, which greatly outstripped her equally as paltry time as Zelda, princess of Hyrule. She cared about her people. Truly, she did. But when she had seen entire civilizations rise and fall, generations traversing from one side of Hyrule to the other hand back, and communed with her fellow dragons - her constituent’s requests for aid in finding a rare creature or seeds for their fields felt trivial at best. Utterly meaningless and inconsequential at worst.
Some days were better than others. Some days, she was able to set aside the looming dread and yearning for bygone years (decades, centuries, millennium) and do what she needed to do.
Other days, however.
Veritable mountains of paperwork piled up on either side of her desk. She needed to go through them all and sort them, prioritize them, but there was no space to put the papers as she sorted them. That was to say nothing of having to decide how to organize them. She could organize them by when they had been submitted, by whom they had been submitted, and why they had been submitted. In all likelihood she would have to somehow do all three.
But she had to start somewhere, so Zelda picked up the first one and began reading it over. She picked up her pen to begin making notes for herself about the request - but the glass nib scratched at her paper in just the right way to send an unpleasant chill down her spine.
Dry. Dry as a bone. Of course.
With a sigh, she dipped her pen back down in her inkpot. Maybe she was just low on ink and needed to go a little deeper. But each time she pulled her pen back up, it was just as dry as it had been the first time. Her inkpot was dry. She was completely out of ink.
She searched around her desk for a backup pot, but then she remembered that her usual supplier in Hateno was dealing with a shortage of a specific ingredient needed for their binder. The nearby farm who usually procured it for them was struggling after the massive shock to the land. Most of the farms were struggling to produce, actually, and they had actually reached out to her with a proposal which… was somewhere… somewhere on her desk.
Collapsing forward to rest her forehead in the palms of her hands, Zelda closed her eyes. How could she have forgotten such a critical element of her kingdom’s running? Ink. Ink of all things. And now that she thought about it, the Gerudo needed assistance excavating the prison beneath their lands but frankly, Zelda wasn’t sure they would be able to do that until –
She heard the faint sound of Link leaving his usual position to reach out towards her. She felt the lightest brush of his fingers against her shoulder - a silent promise that he would be back - and then he walked away.
She lost track of time after that.
It wasn’t until she felt Link’s fingers combing through her hair that Zelda startled back to awareness. “How long has it been?” she asked, bleary-eyed with exhaustion. “How long have I been working?”
Link hummed tunelessly and gestured out towards the windows. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the depths to which the sun had set. It had probably been what - an hour? two? since Link had first caught her attention.
“That long, then.” It was difficult to not feel defeated at this point. Her eyes burned with frustration. “I’ve accomplished nothing, Link. How did you do it while I was - while I was gone? You took care of everyone. Everything.”
Behind her, Link remained as silent as always. His fingers wove in and out of her hair with the familiar patterning of a braid in progress. Closing her eyes, Zelda sighed and focused on the feelings his deft hands elicited. Soon enough a calm and gentle feeling washed over her, like a welcome breeze across her face. Tension that she had been long clinging onto dissipated, as did several of the concerns that had tormented her for the past however long.
This wasn’t the first time Link had broken the endless spiraling of her thoughts. Actually, it wasn’t even the first time he had done so through playing with her hair. Casting her mind back, she realized she had entirely lost track of how often he had done this. Yet the more she thought about it the more she felt at peace with it. Link was, perhaps, the only person who she trusted to stand behind her, so close to her at that.
When it became clear that Link was completed with his task, Zelda lifted her hand to gently touch his work. Her breath caught in her throat as her fingertips touched the soft satin petals of a Silent Princess flower. She swiveled around on her seat to look at Link and his guileless smile. “Is that where you left?” she asked, confused. “To find a Silent Princess?”
Link nodded, a faint redness spreading across his cheeks. He seemed to struggle to find a place to rest his gaze; it darted between Zelda’s face and somewhere, anywhere else.
“Thank you,” Zelda said, and she meant it with the entirety of her heart. “I do wonder, though… this isn’t your first time doing this for me.” Link shook his head. “And yet, I cannot recall when you first began.”
A curious sequence of emotions passed across Link’s face rapidly. Zelda struggled to pick them out as she saw them, but he ended with tight-pressed lips and a sorrowful cast to his gaze as he met her eyes.
In that moment, Zelda knew there was more to it than she’d initially thought. “Link, are you–”
Instead of letting her finish her question, Link reached down to take her hands. He lifted Zelda to her feet, and pulling her in, held her close, as though he were scared to let her go. As if letting her go now would mean letting her go forever.
“Link,” she whispered into the collar of his shirt, even as she held him back just as tightly, “what happened?”
When Link first saw the Light Dragon, he hadn’t known quite what to think.
It was new. Or at least, Link thought it was. It was difficult to explain. On one hand, he felt certain it had always been there. But on the other, he was certain that there had only ever been three dragons: Dinraal, Farosh, and Naydra. He had seen them all over the place while preparing to fight Calamity Ganon, had even collected some of their scales and claws with which to reinforce his armor several times over.
He knew these dragons, as much as any living Hylian could. Perhaps even more.
But then another horde of foes had revealed themselves to him, leaping out at him with snarled fangs and jagged blades, and he no longer had the luxury of wondering about the Light Dragon or where it had come from.
It wasn’t until he learned to control his ascent and descent through the skies that he realized he could get up close to the dragons at all. It didn’t seem necessary until he recognized the endless potential they provided his weapons and armor. And even then, he couldn’t bear to take anything more than a single shard at a time.
Yet once again, it was different with the Light Dragon. He couldn’t bring himself to gather materials from it. Doing so felt like a betrayal in some way he struggled to conceptualize. And yet he found himself visiting the Light Dragon as often as he came across it. Soaring up to its heights, walking along its back, resting against the gently glowing horns lining its spine - it somehow soothed the storms of his heart in a way nothing else could. It wasn’t that the sun was brighter or the air fresher around the Light Dragon; he just… liked it.
It felt peaceful. It felt somber. In a way, it felt like coming home.
+++
The Master Sword.
The last time he had seen it, he’d placed its decayed remnants in a glowing yellow orb within the Temple of Time. He found it now, the Light Dragons’ forehead. Not on it. In it. The hilt protruded none-too-gently from between its scales.
Link ached for the dragon. His heart seized with sympathetic pain as he edged his way towards the sword and tried to release the weapon from its flesh.
The Light Dragon screamed.
Link released the sword, let the Light Dragon’s thrashing body take its due course and toss him off into the air. As he fell through the air, the Light Dragon’s pain reverberated in his ears, its blonde mane whipping back and forth through the air as the spirit writhed in the spies above him.
+++
He didn’t stop trying. Couldn’t. No matter how much his actions hurt the Light Dragon, he needed the Master Sword if he wanted any chance of defeating Ganondorf and rescuing Zelda.
The Light Dragon didn’t stop throwing him off.
+++
When the final tear fell and left a Silent Princess in its wake, Link clung to the Light Dragon’s frontmost horns. Ugly tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought to come to terms with what had happened to his friend, his princess, his–
He didn’t blame her for it. He couldn’t blame her, not when he could see the Master Sword, still planted in the forehead where he’d left it, gleaming with the Light Dragon’s spiritual energy. She’d spent a hundred years beating back Calamity Ganon not too long ago; it stood to tragic reason that Zelda would go so far as to sacrifice her very humanity to give them a chance now. She would (and now has) done everything for her people.
Something inside him twisted awfully at the thought of calling the Light Dragon by her name now. He’d learned through her tear-gleaned memories that to become a dragon is to die to the self: the Light Dragon was just as much not Zelda as it was Zelda. It was a creature that used to be Zelda. It continued to be Zelda.
Link spent an entire day and night atop the Light Dragon’s back trying to wrap his mind around the way his understanding of the world had shifted so suddenly, so sharply. He remained with her for the next day too, this time mapping out the path it repeatedly took across Hyrule. Now that he was aware of Zelda’s location, he couldn’t shake the need to be able to know where to find her again.
+++
The Great Fairies had difficult news: to reinforce the armor he needed would require fangs, claws, scales, and shards of horn from the Light Dragon specifically. And no, the pieces he presented from his belongings were nowhere near enough.
He still hadn’t pulled the Master Sword from her forehead. He’d stopped trying since learning about… well.
The Light Dragon gave no sign that it had noticed his presence, as always. It only seemed to notice him when he was going for the Master Sword. He told himself that he was waiting until it would least affect the Light Dragon’s path and keep it out of the way of danger, but he was well aware of just how false that claim was.
He was scared. He didn’t want to hurt her.
He never wanted to hurt Zelda. It defied his very heart’s purpose.
He had to remind himself, over and over again, that this was not Zelda. Would never be Zelda.
+++
Link attempted to secure that mantra firmly in his mind as one day, he wrapped his hands around the hilt of the Master Sword and once again pulled.
He was stronger than he’d been the last time he made this attempt. But this time, the Light Dragon’s scream took hold of his heart. If it had been painful to think about how much the Master Sword’s presence might be hurting the Light Dragon before, well…
The Light Dragon was not Zelda. But it had been.
He knew this. This was not news to him. But now that he was trying to take the Master Sword from her forehead, it struck him all over again. Zelda was gone. And all that was left was -
The Light Dragon’s roars echoed in his ears as it thrashed about in its attempts to dislodge him. The wind surrounding them tore at his hair and clothing, but he held on firmly until -
Zelda was gone.
For good.
Link’s fingers slipped away from the Master Sword’s pommel. The wind caught him up and tossed him out, further than he’d ever been thrown before. Tears found their way out between Link’s gasping sobs as he hurtled towards the ground.
There had been a tiny part of him that had been hoping for the remnants of Zelda’s presence to remember him. Acknowledge him. But even after all of his efforts, the Light Dragon had no clue who he was. It didn’t recognize him.
And that, that hurt more than anything else.
+++
He didn’t try to reclaim the Master Sword again for a very long time. He would have left the Light Dragon alone entirely, but that was almost worse.
No. Instead, he found himself returning to Zel- to the Light Dragon’s side whenever there was a lull in his quest to defeat Ganondorf. There was so much to be done, and there was only one Link who could defeat him. It was overwhelming. He didn’t bestow his thoughts upon the Light Dragon, but he found that it smoothed the jagged edges of his heart and soul by caring for it in what little ways he could.
As a spirit, the Light Dragon had no need for food, nor water. He had learned that it never even slept. And yet his fingers itched with the long-ingrained need to show his love and devotion to what had once been Zelda.
He did what he could.
He scoured the length of the Light Dragons’ body for loose scales that might be causing it pain or irritation. He trimmed the Light Dragon’s claws and cleaned her fangs, reminding himself of the endless love Zelda had given him in the past when the Dragon tossed its head or kicked him away. His princess was in there, or had been, and the Light Dragon deserved as much - if not more - of the love and devotion he had always striven to show Zelda. Anything he took from the Light Dragon he was certain to put away in his slowly growing stash of supplies; it felt wrong to throw away anything so hard-won by his princess.
All of his efforts felt well and good until the day Link decided to tackle the golden fields of the Light Dragon’s mane. Wind-swept and full of airborne debris, its tangled mane had clearly not been cared for in the years since the Light Dragon’s ascension. This did not necessarily come as a surprise to Link, but this small realization was the one to bring him to his knees.
The Light Dragon had been alone this entire time. Completely and utterly alone.
Link had been alone as well, but there were always small outposts, stables, even fellow travelers to be found in the long stretches where there were no larger civilizations to be found. The Light Dragon didn’t care about solitude - likely didn’t notice Link himself unless he made his presence known - but Zelda?
Very rarely had she been completely by herself. It was one thing for her to be working in the palace or with her people, but Link was usually by her side. If not immediately beside her, then at least lingering nearby. After all that they had been through, he believed she knew it was just as much for his own sake as for hers. But in that realization came the overwhelming feeling that he had failed her. He had been unable to find her and save her, regardless of the fact that she had been cast thousands of years back in time, and now she was adrift in a sea of her own consciousness.
When he took the comb to the Light Dragon’s mane and began the tedious process of releasing the knots from their stranglehold, it was with a reverent sort of sorrow. He couldn’t have protected her, he couldn’t have saved her, but he could do this.
The Light Dragon’s mane was soft, but thick. Shed strands of hair flew out into the ether around him, but when he was done, the hair was silky and smooth. Link resolved the first untangled lock in a braid, tying it off with a scrap piece of string to keep it from becoming tangled again. Zelda was not a particularly vain princess, but he wished he could have at least provided her with a ribbon. She deserved that at the very least. In the absence of a ribbon, however, he tucked a single Silent Princess into the string.
It took him hours to detangle a section the size of a cooking pan, finishing each braid with a string and a Silent Princess. He would then pepper the significant length of each braid with even more of his princess’ favorite flower. His eyes burned and his chest heaved, but there was a scrap of his heart that felt calmer than it had since before he found out about the Light Dragon’s true identity.
Altogether, the task of the Light Dragon’s mane took weeks, off-and-on. There was so much hair, and only one Link to tame it all. But the task was one that he took on gladly, and one that he returned to when the longing for his princess grew too much for him to bear. It was ultimately meaningless to anyone. Standing up and seeing the sea of lightly glowing flowers swaying in the wind generated by the Light Dragon itself, though… it was good for him.
Finally, he wasn’t taking anything from her. He was giving.
+++
The Light Dragon was not Zelda. It had been Zelda, and that in itself was worthy of respect, but to save her people would be the ultimate way to honor her memory.
Link secured these new thoughts firmly in his mind as, when the fight against Ganondorf was rapidly approaching, he wrapped his hands around the hilt of the Master Sword and once again pulled.
He was stronger than he’d been the last time he made this attempt. As the Light Dragon roared and tried to dislodge him, the wind surrounding it tearing at his hair and clothing, he held on firmly until -
The air shifted around them. The Light Dragon stilled. A golden light, tinged with blue, surged up from around the Master Sword’s blade, wrapping around Link’s fingers with a familiar warmth. The Light Dragon climbed up higher - higher - higher until the cool light of evening faded into an endless golden hour. The Light Dragon’s power faded away, loosening the Master Sword enough that Link could withdraw it.
Link pressed his forehead to the Master Sword’s pommel. The blade was whole and intact, a complete change from the destroyed state in which he’d last seen it. The Light Dragon had not only protected it - it had done the impossible. It had restored it.
Restoring the Master Sword to its long-empty sheath, Link knelt and pressed his hand to the Light Dragon’s forehead.
Thank you.
He didn’t speak aloud. He rarely did, if ever. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that whatever remained of Zelda heard him.
+++
The night before he went to face Ganon, he sat in the Light Dragon’s mane. He tangled his hands, his feet, in the braids of its mane to make sure he didn’t fall to the ground as he laid back and stared up at the stars.
If this was his last night alive, he was spending it with his most important person whether or not she knew it.
And when the Demon Dragon was defeated and the Light Dragon’s massive form fell away to reveal Zelda’s prone one, Link did not hesitate to dive after her.
When he caught her for the first and last time, there was a Silent Princess braided in her hair.
“I don’t remember any of that,” Zelda admitted, later, as the midnight oil burned. Link looked up from refilling her inkwell again with an inscrutable look on his face. Or, rather, it would have been inscrutable to anyone who didn’t know Link as well as she did.
He was disappointed and trying very hard to not show it.
It was difficult for her to see; he’d been through so much already that she wanted to rise up from her piles of completed paperwork and squish his cheeks together just to elicit a smile. She settled with a fond smile and an offering of, “I don’t remember much of what actually happened during my time as a dragon. But I do remember one thing.”
Changing her mind, she did reach out for Link. She didn’t squeeze his cheeks, no, but she did hold the sides of his face gently between her hands. Leaning towards him, she pressed their foreheads together.
“I remember the way I felt,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering to a close. “I remember tender hands caring for me. I remember the peacefulness of soaring through the sky with my companion. Above all else, though, I remember the overwhelming feeling of love.”
Her throat choked up despite herself. “I remember feeling so much love, Link. And now I know that it was yours.”
Her heart conveyed, her eyes still closed, Zelda pulled away for just a moment so she could tug Link’s head down and place a feather-light kiss on his forehead. She held it there for a moment, only breaking away when she felt a faint shaking beneath her lips and heard the muffled sound of tears.
“Link?” Zelda gasped with concern and made as if to withdraw entirely, but one of Link’s hands wrapped around her wrist. The other hand she found around her waist, holding her near. Link’s forehead fell to rest on Zelda’s shoulder and his shoulders wracked with sobs.
It soon dawned upon her. They had embraced often since her return, but never before had she addressed him with the knowledge of the weight of his grief. “Oh, Link,” she said. Her chest felt as though her ribcage had been cracked open, her heart scooped out to be presented to Link on a platter. “You were alone for so long, weren’t you? That’s alright. I’m here with you now. I’ve got you.”
Link held her close, and Zelda held him closer.
“I’ve got you.”