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Link was his name--Her newly appointed knight.
And though certainly not the first knight assigned to guard her, he did manage to stand out more than the average royal guard appointee. Sir Link had to have a special charisma about him, as he seemed to have amassed a bit of a reputation around the castle.
Zelda herself was the keeper of many weighty responsibilities. The heir to a legendary kingdom, she was no stranger to comparison, but she had heard enough of the young man to never desire their names spoken in the same sentence ever again. In fact, even the damned castle staff had begun to muse about the amazing and wonderful Sir Link.
Mostly, they said lovely, complimentary things: tales of his doings and his great generosity.
And they would all come and report it to her as they folded her linens or pinned her gowns into place, as though she would have the slightest interest in the comings and goings of her knight. As though it didn’t paint her as lacking to be compared to someone who had, by all available means, made positive progress toward completing their shared goal of saving the world as they knew it. She, of course, had no such progress to report.
“Oh yes, your highness, the boy gave Sir Lionel his bedroll while they camped in Hebra. Lionel told us all! The boy slept on the icy ground— and not a peep out of him, Hylia bless him! The boy is made by the Goddess!”
This pressure was a constant hum that vibrated at the back of her skull. It was oppressive, and she was given no respite. He was always there. Never ill. Never visited family.
Did he even have a family? Hylia knows that Zelda wasn’t given the particulars.
At one point, a few moons ago, Zelda had even felt the need to inquire about whether or not he was given an adequate amount of leave. Much to her dismay, he was given even more than the average guard. He simply did not use it.
Oh, but the days he did were bright!
She felt lighter than air those days, as though she had been given new lungs. An evening where she didn’t have to feel his presence and the feeling of failure it provoked in her was a most welcome reprieve. Even if she had to tote two other guards around in his absence.
Alas, her shining mood would always be eclipsed by some well-meaning soul who felt that she absolutely must hear the latest news of her knight.
By the Goddess, were they running a daily periodical on him?
And thus, she would find herself in the midst of a conversation that concluded with the discovery that he had actually spent his day of rest helping little children with silly tasks. Ridiculous.
“That knight of yours is a real stand-up lad, your highness. He helped my little Rosy pick Hylian shrooms for her sister’s birthday. They even made them into a stew!”
Why? Why couldn’t he just visit a tavern like every other man in the barracks and let her have some peace?
The praise of his physical attributes was somehow worse.
She really found it in such poor taste to continually ogle at a man who was working.
Was he a pain to look upon? No, even she could admit this. Facial symmetry and harmony are science, after all.
Also, on an anecdotal note, Sir Link had accompanied her across Hyrule for both research-related and political purposes, and she had seen with her own two eyes the type of reaction he evoked in women.
Dramatic and disturbing though she found it, she could do naught but conclude that the man was good-looking.
But really, it was a bit much at times. She would find herself standing beside him in full regalia only to be ignored, spared no more than a limp curtsy of acknowledgment.
They would ask him questions about his schedule, and his work, and his devotion to the kingdom—questions he wouldn’t even answer!
They would bless him, thank him, blush, and flutter their lashes.
They would pointedly ignore Zelda, the crown princess of the kingdom in question, to effuse about his devotion to her land.
She was sure she would find herself quite put out, were it not mildly embarrassing just how little he seemed to pay them mind. The whole ordeal was uncomfortable.
Why, even the castle staff had taken to him—preparing him little sweets and things.
Zelda admittedly found this quite funny at first, as helped by the fact that he would place a small portion on her desk most days. Her sweet tooth was stronger than her disdain.
As of late, however, she found herself having less patience for it.
How is anyone to complete any work with so many distractions? She had thought on one particular evening, as one of her own handmaids scuttled away—red as a strawberry—after attempting to drop off a chocolate cake for him, only to find him absent.
The poor girl had to pretend it was for Zelda all along, and she had very little talent for the theatre.
She had sat absolutely fuming with a mouthful of chocolate. And — curse him—it was delicious.
On the sword, she need not waste paper. His skill was sadly not exaggerated.
When Zelda was a girl, she had watched him, a young boy himself, in the tournaments. Taking down several men with the proficiency of someone beyond his years. The sword belongs in his hand; Hylia has willed it be so.
The title of Hero of Hyrule is quite a fitting one.
Her pen stilled, and the world around her slowly leaked back into her consciousness.
Zelda's thoughts turned darker as she gazed at his back from across the room.
Her arms crossed in front of her over the journal that sat atop her desk within the library. Perhaps she was behaving a bit petulantly.
Perhaps.
But faultless he is not. He cannot be. Every man has faults. That is all.
She had found reason to dislike him, after all. Perhaps she is more discerning than others.
It could be his pointed lack of desire to speak to her. She is prone to rambling, that is true, especially when desirous of working through an idea. Occasionally, theories need to be fleshed out, and the best way is to work through the concepts aloud in order to hear them spoken and commit them to memory. Her previous companions had at least humored her out of deference.
She had heard him speak perhaps twice, maybe even three times. Not enough to form a working relationship. Not enough to build trust or rapport.
Occasionally, he would give monosyllabic answers to direct questions, or he would speak if it was directly related to, or required of, his work.
She flipped mindlessly through the journal in front of her. Her eye caught on his name, her heightened awareness drawing her to it. The entry was from a few weeks past, and it could not be accurately described as ‘scientific.’ Clearly, she had been very cross with him, for the page expounded greatly on his faults.
Right there in her scrawl: “Not funny. How can a man with nothing to say be humorous?”
She smirked at the page. Without using language to communicate humor, one is not capable of being funny. That’s just fact.
A smug thought had crept upon her at times like this, times of great turmoil and no little irritation.
Perhaps he is stupid.
The thought was not rational, but she did sit with it for a second. Everyone thought him so impressive, but Zelda now suspected that he might be more simple than everyone thought.
I mean, what is there to hide? Why not just speak?
He could be naught but a marionette, just following orders and swinging swords. Diving in front of ancient technology with a pot lid and an empty head.
She was having fun until her inner monologue started to sound like Revali, souring her grapes. Back to her research, then.
As previously noted, Zelda spent this evening in the library, sat atop a plush velvet chair, and bent over a large, polished wood desk. She knew not the time, as she had been absorbed in her notation.
Nothing out of the ordinary, save for her subject. He stood only several feet away. At some point in her distraction, she had begun to write her analysis of him down. Force of habit. She was once again glad that he maintained a good distance from her.
His back was to her, his royal guard’s uniform wrinkle-free and bright. His hair was pulled back into his typical ponytail with the blue cap overtop, the Master Sword glinting in her direction from where it hung off of his broad shoulders.
She scribbled the word “broad” out. Such a description was unnecessary—just shoulders.
Every few minutes or so, he would shift his gaze. Sometimes, he would pace in a short circuit, just around her perimeter.
Always guarding, always watching, always faultless.
A sudden change in the pressure she put on the page snapped her out of her reverie. Damn it. She had pushed too hard, and the tip of her graphite pencil had snapped. Tiny black granules now speckled her parchment. She blew lightly, but the larger bits clung. She let out a small noise of discontent. Turning the pencil and examining the tip, her annoyance grew.
She had not brought another, of course.
With a sigh, “Sir Link?”
He turned at the noise with his eyebrows now raised in question.
“Could you fetch me a new graphite?”
He nodded and quickly set out of the room.
Zelda propped her elbows on her desk, her chin in her left hand. She kept her eyes on the doorway until his return, knowing it would be quick.
Her aim was to ensure no good thoughts went unrecorded, as she was experiencing some pretty cathartic release at this point. What is science without proper notation?
He returned quickly but disappointingly empty-handed. He made eye contact with her and held up a finger as to say, “Just a moment.”
She quirked her brow in response—just about to launch into a well-primed complaint about the lack of clarity he displayed due to his hesitancy to speak.
Just then a young lady, clearly castle staff based on her uniform, walked into the library towards Link.
She must have been deeply engrossed in her mission, for not even a light curtsy or a glance was spared in Zelda’s direction—the crown princess of Hyrule, in case everyone has forgotten!
“Sir Link! I found the graphite you requested.” She placed it delicately and with what seemed to be intentional slowness into his palm.
“Also, I had been meaning to thank you for the delicious apples you brought to the kitchens the other night. We all do greatly appreciate your treats and the tales of your great travels. We all think you so funny! Why, Cook was laughing to tears.”
Link smiled at her but glanced quickly at Zelda—seeming nervous and ready to end the interaction. His ears pinkening slightly at the tips.
She knew this would be somewhat rude, but she really did need her writing utensil, and her Knight was starting to turn red in the cheeks as the young lady giggled.
Zelda cleared her throat loudly enough to call the lady’s attention.
With wide eyes, the girl, perhaps no more than a year Zelda’s senior, quickly turned and curtsied. “M-My apologies, your highness! I had not known you were present. Please excuse me!”
Another curtsy, and she was gone. Well then.
Link walked over and carefully set the utensil in question on her desk—not meeting her eyes, as per code.
She had avoided his gaze as well, but her curiosity and her traitorous tongue would not be assuaged.
Despite her better judgment, she spoke.
“It seems the ladies of the royal kitchen have heard all about your travels, but I have yet to—despite being a frequent travel companion of yours. How peculiar.”
By Hylia, she could not even fathom what she had meant with that comment or what she’d set out to accomplish, really.
He was even more red now. A slightly panicked look colored his features then disappeared just as quickly. His eyes darted around before eventually settling on hers and clearing his throat.
Oh my.
“My apologies, your highness.”
His voice was always deeper than anticipated, quite rich and complimentary. That seemed to be all he would be saying, however. Frustrating.
“Perhaps you could make it up to me by telling me the story you told in the kitchens? The funny one. As I hear, you are quite the jester!” Her tone arched like her brow, challenging him to be funny. Or even better—prove that he was not funny after all and that those girls would simply call any donkey with muscles a ‘funny man.’
It was unfair.
“Princess, I-I’m afraid I—“
“So, it’s me, then?”
She stood as she interrupted. Her hands were still planted on the desk in front of her, now supporting her weight as she leaned forward.
“You simply do not like speaking to me. I am so boring and awful that you cannot even speak to me if I ask you to. If I pull rank and order it of you?”
Great. Now, she surely looked insane. No doubt the entire castle would hear of it by morning.
Perhaps she could plead insanity, and they would allow her to live the rest of her life in a locked cellar. They can’t make you fight calamity if you’ve been deemed mentally unfit…
“Princess, I harbor no dislike of you.”
His voice shocked her a bit. His expression was still unruffled but softer, almost? He took a few more steps in her direction.
“I was simply taken by surprise, is all. To be perfectly honest, I am a man of few words and don’t often find myself often starting conversations for the fun of it.”
He colored then.
“In fact, those women from the kitchens have taken to bringing me sweets and now I find myself in the precarious position of talking to them as I am unsure as to how to properly thank them for their generosity.”
A small smile graced his lips before turning into a subtle smirk. His eyes caught hers then, teasing and light.
“I have, at times, found myself rambling some and even occasionally exaggerating the stories for my own amusement. My fear in telling you was that I would be found out as a liar.”
Zelda could not help but be amused, now in on the joke. She was easily won over, it seemed.
She looked down at her hands on the desk, taking time to unclench and flex them a bit before looking up to meet his eyes once again—clear and blue.
“Well, then… I can hardly fault you there.” She said before feeling a smirk of her own creep onto her face. “Next time you find yourself telling a far-fetched and extravagant story, I do hope that you will remember what you’ve said, for I’d like to hear it. Perhaps I can assist you in creating a tale so entertaining that we may earn a fruitcake?”
Link smiled back at her. “My devotion to the crown knows no bounds, Princess, I assure you.”
She smiled back contentedly, then remembered that she was still standing. She cleared her throat quietly and took a seat before looking his way again with a shyer smile adorning her lips.
“Thank you, Sir Link.”
When he turned his back to her again, she decided that she had best be a bit nicer to her knight. Benefit of the doubt and all of that.
It was clear that, with so many unknown variables, she would not be able to come to a conclusion with regard to her opinion on the beloved hero of Hyrule. Not yet, at least.
She would simply have to experiment further.