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“Sir—” Zelda pauses and shakes her head, uncomfortably aware of how rarely she’s referred to him by name if she’s still defaulting to his title. He saved her life. She’s done keeping him at arm’s length. “That is, Link.”

Just Link. It’s one of few requests he’s ever made of her. No title. Just his name. She’d ignored the request for months, and only now does she realize that it should have clued her in much sooner to the kind of person her knight truly is. 

Link doesn’t call her out for the aborted use of his title, because he is kinder to her than she’s ever been to him. He gives her his full attention and tilts his head in question, though he doesn’t speak. He’s already explained that speaking is often difficult for him, though she’s noticed that the longer they’re alone in the wilder parts of the kingdom, the easier his voice comes. It makes sense that it would be difficult right now, when they’ve so recently departed from a company of knights. 

Also, she’s still training him out of the habit of calling her by her own title. She hates to hear him call her princess. Hates the reminder of their stations. Hates the reminder of how heavily her failure sits on her shoulders. 

“I was wondering why you don’t wear armor.” Zelda nearly flicks her eyes away from his face, wanting badly to protect herself from any sense of vulnerability, but it’s quite impossible if she wants to get a sense of his true response. In public, he can keep such a stoic, blank expression regardless of what’s happening around them. When it’s just the two of them, his reactive nature comes out much easier than his voice. “You’re in combat fairly often, and it seems odd for you to forgo protection.”

It’s a good thing she hasn’t looked away, because his entire face scrunches up in distaste for a moment. It’s brief, quickly smoothed out into a mild grimace, but she can’t help laughing. “Oh my. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so disgusted.”

Link flushes and glances away, embarrassed and sweet in a way that makes her ache. She wants to tell him that she’s not laughing at him (though maybe she is, just a bit), and that it’s so rare for anything to make her laugh that she’s overwhelmingly grateful for his scrunched up nose and curling lip. 

She doesn’t know how to say those things just yet. Maybe she’d try, but he surprises her by speaking up.

“It’s too heavy.” His voice is quiet, which is only a shame because she’s always found it a rather pleasant sound, even when she hated him. 

“Surely it can’t be too heavy for someone like you. Your strength relative to your size is nearly impossible!” It is a little bit actually impossible, in truth. Purah and Robbie are quite annoyed with Link for this. Zelda has had other complaints prior to now, but she doesn’t hold his impossible strength against him. She understands it in a way she’d refused to acknowledge for so long. There are things he can do, things that he is, that he cannot do anything about. His soul decided what would be true about his body long before he had any choice in the matter.

He nods, conceding her point about his ridiculous strength. “It isn’t too heavy to lift. It just slows me down.”

She gapes at him. “You must be joking. You’re forgoing proper protection because it will make your movements slightly slower? What if you get hit? I’ve seen you fight at least half a dozen monsters at once. Just one hit could injure you severely.”

Link shrugs. There’s a slight tightness around his eyes that she thinks might be his way of holding back from openly rolling them at her. “Then I just won’t get hit.”

For a moment, she is blazingly furious with him in a way that is terribly familiar. She takes a long, deep breath. She does not hate him. He is her partner in destiny. He is a kind person who makes her favorite food even on the road. He is her friend.

He is irritating.

“Sometimes you make me so angry I could scream.” She says, throwing decorum and careful wording to the wind. She told him she would be honest with her feelings, after all.

Link laughs, louder than she ever thought his laugh would be. For a few glorious seconds, there’s an unselfconscious joy painted on every inch of him. He quiets down and brings his expression back under control, though she can see amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Go ahead. There’s no one around to hear you.”

She leans down to grab a stick and throw it at him, expecting that he’ll dodge it easily (which he does, of course). Their combined laughter isn’t quite loud enough to qualify as a scream, but it echoes through the wild all the same.

Chapter Text

It isn’t that this era lacks surprises. Zelda is always discovering fascinating pieces of history here. (She is also always reminded that here, it is not history. Or if it is, so is she. She is one of these pieces lost to time, only preserved in fragments in the era where her home and family still wait for a miracle that Rauru says won’t happen twice.)

She is often surprised, is the point. It’s just that she’s never before had a woman appear before her in a flash of green light. For a hysterical moment, she wonders if this is how Sonia and Rauru felt when she collapsed before them. There’s even a flash of blonde hair that has Zelda’s knees weak and mind spinning before she notices the flaming laurels adorning it.

It’s a familiar sight. Zelda only met the Dark Prince a few times, but she remembers his laurel crown, his flaming feet, his easy smile, and his fascinating Codex. She remembers the single flickering leaf that Link always kept with him, should he ever need to call Zagreus to his side. She has always been so very grateful to Prince Zagreus for keeping Link company during his journey in the wild. 

(For being someone who never cared about Link’s destiny. For being a sparring partner that could actually keep up with her impossibly skilled knight. For being kind. For being Link’s friend, without reservation.)

Despite the laurel crown, it’s immediately clear that this person is not Zagreus. In fact, save for the fire on her hair and feet, this young woman looks almost nothing like him. When she looks up, Zelda corrects herself. Those eyes are a perfect match as well, which is so unlikely that she moves her tentative hypothesis into fact before she even asks the question.

“Are you related to Prince Zagreus? His sister, perhaps?” Zelda reaches out a hand to help this impossible young woman to her feet, and she does not flinch when she grasps a translucent limb, bones quite visible within a glowing substance that matches the color of the flash which brought this woman here. Fascinating. 

That same hand goes to the woman’s forehead, and Zelda only now notices that she’s bleeding sluggishly from several wounds. 

“Oh my, you’re hurt. Come with me, and we’ll get you bandaged up.” Zelda turns without waiting for a reply, mind too caught up in racing theories and thoughts. She does hear footsteps behind her, and she spares a moment to be grateful for stone floors. It’s a short walk to the room Zelda has claimed as her research space, which includes plenty of healer’s materials. Sonia insisted on it, echoing Impa’s own insistence years ago (millennia in the future). Apparently Zelda is “not concerned enough with her own safety” and “liable to let an injury worsen rather than walk down the hall to let someone see to it”. It’s easier not to fight the insistence, and Zelda does appreciate the convenience.

Once she has the young woman settled and she’s busying herself pulling out bandages and disinfectant, Zelda realizes that she’s perhaps been a bit rude. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been ordering you around, and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Zelda. Perhaps your brother has mentioned me? Or if not me, Link from the kingdom of Hyrule?”

The young woman blinks. She does not hiss when Zelda applies disinfectant to her cuts, which suggests she’s quite used to pain. How interesting. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken with my brother in…well, in my entire life. My name is Melinoë. May I ask how you know my brother, and perhaps more importantly, where we are? I was in the middle of something rather important when I was forcibly transported here.”

“Well Melinoë,” Zelda smiles as she ties off a bandage, suppressing the anxiety and turmoil inside. It’s a well-honed skill at this point. “I suspect we have rather long stories for each other.”

Melinoë stands at the edge of a floating island in the sky and watches the moonlight glint off white scales and blue spikes. She’s very accustomed to unfair circumstances. Her entire life has been unfair, unjust, unfixable at its core. She’s not the type of person to get caught up in the feeling of helplessness. There is, after all, always something for her to do.

She can train. She can study. She can recite incantations, can strike out with her staff, with her blades, with her honed magick skill. She can sprint toward the destiny she has been burdened with since mere moments after her birth. There is almost never nothing for her to do. And if there is, she will try all the same. Her arm is proof of that.

She glances to the side, at the person who knew her brother long before her birth. His arm is proof of the same, she thinks. 

Link does not talk much. It suits her well enough. There is both too much and too little for them to speak of, and as they watch the sacrifice of a brilliant, bold woman soar across the night sky, Melinoë suspects they both understand that words can do nothing here. 

Melinoë knows how cruel time can be. She would go so far as to say she knows it better than almost anyone. Time has harmed her intimately. Time has never healed her wounds. 

Zelda flies past a moon which is bereft of Selene’s light. It’s a shame. She’d make a wonderful Silver Sister. Melinoë reaches out with flesh she forfeited when she attempted to grasp the impossible, and watches yet another injustice make her way through a world made wrong by Time.

Chapter Text

Link has not slept for weeks.

It isn’t the kind of thing he notices. If he was bothered by every odd thing about himself, he’d never get anything done. That’s what Purah said when Symin tentatively asked Link if he had any explanation for why his physical strength didn’t seem to correlate to his body mass. Link had looked at him blankly, as if the question had no meaning. In reality, it made something itch at the back of his mind, a not-quite-memory of someone else asking the same thing.

(He knows now that it was Zelda, a hundred years ago, journal out and tone increasing in both fascination and frustration. You don’t make any sense, she’d told him. I know, he hadn’t replied. Welcome to my life.)

Symin didn’t ask again, after that. It’s for the best, Link knows. No one’s ever going to get satisfying answers about him. Least of all Link himself. It’s better not to broach the subject at all.

This is why Link doesn’t think anything of not sleeping the night after he and Zelda defeat Calamity Ganon. He’s restless with energy, and Zelda is exhausted. He stays awake and keeps watch, and the restlessness in him is soothed by the task. This is part of what he’s meant for, he thinks. Protecting her. Just being near her, maybe. 

When he continues not sleeping during their trip to Kakariko, it doesn’t seem odd to him at all. He’s gone longer stretches without sleep. It wears on him a little not to even allow his mind to drift while Zelda rests, but he hardly notices the strain. There are more important things to focus on. The most important thing. 

In Kakariko, he lets her out of his sight for the first time since she appeared in Hyrule Field. She sleeps in Impa’s house, under the watchful eyes of Impa and Paya, and Link tests how far he’s able to walk away from her before he feels the thread that binds them pull taught. He makes it to the tree near the goddess statue, which is further than he would’ve guessed.

The first night away from her side isn’t pleasant. He’s not sure why he’s doing this. What’s he trying to prove, and to who? Still, it feels important to do this. It is possible, Link knows, that Zelda won’t want him hovering near her now that she’s free. Is this practice, then?

(Is it punishment?)

Link doesn’t dwell on questions he can’t answer. He feels the tug while he gathers wood and sets a fire, but he pushes it to the corner of his mind. Settling in front of the fire is familiar. He stares into the flames and allows time to pass. Hours go by without measurement. Link’s thoughts drift by, calm and easy, untangling threads he can’t bear to look at directly. He’s alert enough that no danger could surprise him, but he does not stir until morning. 

He didn’t close his eyes for longer than a blink, and yet he feels more rested than he has since before entering the castle keep. It’s enough. He does not look closer. He does not question whether this is strange.

It’s so easy to keep up the habit. Eventually he moves from beneath the tree back to Zelda’s bedside, no longer fearful of her rejection. They need each other, can’t bear to be apart without aching. Zelda has nightmares that no one else can soothe like him. Link loves her for needing him. 

(He loves her for more reasons than he can count. He’d make a list if he thought she wanted it. He adores her for needing him. He needs her, too.)

He trades the campfire for a lantern. Small flames work just as well, and even if they didn’t, he’d make it work. Every night, he passes time with the fire, only roused by Zelda’s cries or her cautious touch. It’s wonderful. He didn’t know how badly he wanted this until he had it, and he’s so damned grateful for that. If he’d known what he was missing…

The point is this: Link does not sleep for weeks, and he doesn’t notice. 

Zelda does.

“When was the last time you slept?” She asks one night, after she’s already in bed. He moves his gaze from the lantern to her face. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to her light. (His eyes will never adjust to her light.)

Link thinks about it. It’s easy enough to keep track, when he only sleeps at inns, stables, or his own bed in Hateno. “Two nights before we fought Ganon together.” 

He’d rested in his house, with the Champion’s weapons lining his walls below, soothed by their presence and the knowledge that he would soon bring them along for a fight they’d all been waiting on for a hundred years. He hadn’t dreamed, which was rare. A blessing, he’d briefly thought, from old friends. One last kindness. Unearned, but that never seemed to matter to their ghosts. 

“What?” Zelda sits up, blanket pooling at her waist. She’s beautiful. She’s always so beautiful. Link can hardly pull his thoughts together. “Link, that was weeks ago. How have you not slept for that long without ill effects?”

Is his mind moving slowly, or is it just the effect of her voice, her skin, her physical, tangible presence so impossibly near? “I don’t know. I’ve probably gone longer.”

He remembers: Stable hands looking at him with confusion, asking if he was sure he didn’t want to buy a bed for the night, as though it made a difference when he had a cooking fire already set and there was no taste of oncoming rain. Innkeepers trying to call him inside when darkness fell, offering discounts or reminding him that he need not pay to sleep in Tarrey Town, never understanding that it wasn’t a lack of rupees that kept him outside. Symin watching him settle in front of the Ancient Furnace, opening his mouth, then closing it without asking a question.

“Everyone needs rest.” Zelda reaches out a hand. She’s so bright. How can she stand to glow so brightly? “Even heroes.”

He allows her to pull him into bed with her, lets her arrange their limbs so they’re holding each other tightly. He likes it. It’s so good to have her close. She’s so warm. Has he been cold? 

“I’m so tired, Zelda.” His voice is cracked. Broken. How long has he sounded this way?

She runs a hand down his back, and each one of his muscles relax at her touch. His body is hers. He is hers. “I know. It’s over, Link. You can sleep.”

And he does.

Chapter Text

Mipha tugs him by the hand, racing through the Domain with a speed he’s rarely seen from her. He never forgets that Zora are faster than him in the water, but he’s used to having a leg up (ha) on land. It’s not fun to be proven wrong. He nearly trips down the stairs to the hatchery, feeling more than a little put out.

Still, he doesn’t ask Mipha to slow down. That would be admitting defeat. Also, whatever she wants to show him must be very cool for her to grab him away as soon as his family arrived.

She’s more careful in the hatchery, though not by much. Link knows she’s spent a lot of time here, learning about the conditions for the eggs, how to care for them, how to tell them apart, and other things, secret things kept only among the Zora that make some Pokemon different in ways Link still doesn’t quite understand. 

He’s spent some time with her down here, but more often he’s the one pulling her up into the sun for games and races. Her care in darting and weaving through the nests and pods is for his sake. She could probably sprint at full speed and never run into a single thing. Link is almost jealous, but it’s overridden by the knowledge that he’s lucky to have a friend as cool as Mipha. 

“Here!” Mipha finally stops at a pod with only two eggs inside. She kneels, pulling him down with her, and Link pays careful attention when she places his hands on the edge of the pod, not quite touching the water. The elders among the Zora don’t like that she brings him down here in the first place. If he broke a sacred rule or tainted the water with his Hylian touch, they’d both get into terrible trouble, even though Mipha’s a princess. 

Link tilts his head to look at the eggs, taking in their pearly sheen. “Pretty.”

“I know,” Mipha coos. She steps into the water and runs a hand gently across each shell. “They’re more than just pretty, though. They’re going to hatch today.” 

Link’s eyes go wide. He’s seen eggs hatch a few times, following his father around the country, but never up close like this. He sits perfectly still, as though he could startle them into staying inside their shells. Mipha laughs at him, and the sound echoes against the curved walls. She closes her eyes and concentrates, doing something to sense the babies within. When her eyes open again, they’re glittering with excitement. “Are you ready?”

Link nods quickly, almost hurting his neck, which makes Mipha smile wider, sharp teeth showing. She breathes out, and the water—changes. It ripples in a way he doesn’t have the words to describe, much to the irritation of Sheikah researchers years in the future. There’s a glowing that doesn't have to do with light, a movement despite perfect stillness.

The eggs shiver. Mipha’s eyes go big, some of the mystical maturity sliding off her as she joins him in childish giddiness. They watch closely, hardly daring to breathe, as the eggs shake and make tiny waves in the water. After what feels like a hundred years, a crack appears on one shell. Link nearly jumps, but he’s long trained himself out of thoughtless reactions, especially in a place like this. 

Another crack splits off the first, and then another. Tiny shards of shell begin to litter the water around the egg, until at last a larger piece breaks off. Light shines through the hole, and Link hears something like singing, like crying, like words in a language meant for water and gills and nothing so dry and fleshy as him. It’s overwhelming, and he can’t bear to keep watching. He shifts his attention to the other egg, which hasn’t yet managed to make a hole in the shell. The cracks circle around the entire egg, like the creature inside can’t pick the best spot to make into a door. 

Just break through the whole thing, then. Link has the thought just a moment before the top of the shell pops off, splashing into the water without any of the care or precision of its twin. 

“Oh!” Mipha’s voice breaks through the singing-crying-strangeness, and Link feels as if he’s suddenly arrived back in the hatchery, though he knows they didn’t go anywhere else. “They’re finally here, Link…”

The first shell breaks apart entirely, exposing a tiny, perfect Azurill. It wiggles its baby ears and swishes the water with its bobbly tail. Its movements are shaky, but it manages to stay afloat. 

Its hatchmate isn’t quite so lucky. The egg is still only broken at the very top, and its gentle shivering has become heavy rocking. Mipha reaches out, either to steady the egg or to scoop out the Pokemon within, but the egg tips over before she can touch it. This Azurill splashes into the water clumsily, tumbling over itself until the ball of its tail is steady on the surface and its head is below the water. 

Mipha giggles and Link grins, watching the little Azurill try to flip itself over. Mipha reaches out once again to help, but Link makes a small noise of protest without even meaning to. Mipha holds her hand still, and together they watch the Azurill rock back and forth until it builds enough momentum to flip rightside up. When it breaches the water, its triumphant chirp echoes through the hatchery, almost louder than Mipha’s laughter earlier. The other Azurill cheeps in pleasure and nuzzles its hatchmate, seeming proud of this small triumph.

“I think that one should be yours.” Mipha nudges both of the Azurill closer to the edge of the pod, until Link can almost touch them. “You seem to understand him already.”

Link looks at her in shock. Him, take a Pokemon from the Zora hatchery? There must be rules against it. Then again, Mipha has broken plenty of rules with him before, and he’s not about to say no. The Azurill bounces onto the stone lip of the pool, slippery body tumbling over Link’s hand. He reaches out a steadying hand, and from the moment they touch, Link knows he can’t hope to object. 

Mipha’s right. He and this Azurill have to be together. He hardly notices Mipha leaving the water with the other Azurill in her arms, until she settles down next to him and bumps him with her elbow. 

“I’ve been working with their eggs for months, and I knew one of them would be mine.” She smiles down at the sweet creature in her lap, and Link can tell already that the two of them are just as well-matched. “I get to decide who will care for the other one. The elders probably won’t be happy that I chose you, but they can’t very well separate you now.”

No, Link thinks. No, they certainly can’t. He’d break into the Domain a hundred times to get this little wonder back in his hands. “Thank you. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will.” Mipha gives him that toothy grin, and whatever anxiety Link might’ve felt settles down easily. “Now, what will you name it?”

Link scratches behind his Azurill’s ear, feeling impossibly fond when it tries to lean its whole weight into his hand and overbalances, splashing back into the water. It manages to bounce out without any trouble this time, and leaps right into his lap, utterly soaking any dry patches left on his clothes. 

“Splash.” Link says decisively, and Mipha laughs and laughs and laughs. 

Chapter Text

Mipha doesn't quite manage to say that her power comes easier when she thinks of someone she loves. The apocalypse interrupts her. The worst case scenario comes home to roost, and any chance at a helpful conversation is cut tragically short, though not quite so much as everyone's lives are about to be. 

The thing is, Zelda’s not so sure the advice would've been helpful anyway. If she'd been told to think of someone she loves—

Would her mind have come up blank?

“Little bird.” Urbosa’s voice echoes around the chamber where Zelda kneels, chanting prayers to the goddess without thought. She knows them too well to require conscious attention to her words. Is this another part of her failure? “You have prayed for long enough today.”

Zelda doesn’t get up. The compromise her father allows when Urbosa visits is that Zelda may pray solely in the holy chamber within the castle, where it is ostensibly warmer. There is still a chill creeping up her body, but she isn’t sure whether it’s from her soaked gown or the silence. 

Urbosa sighs. It’s such a different sigh from the king’s. When her father sighs, Zelda goes tense, shame flooding her strongly enough to almost override the fear. When Urbosa sighs, Zelda regrets that she’s disappointed her, but she is not afraid. She has never been afraid when Urbosa is nearby. 

(Once, she heard Urbosa and her father arguing, long after Zelda was meant to be in bed. The king shies away from any mention of his lost queen, but Urbosa has never hesitated to speak of her friend. Zelda heard more of what her mother would have wanted for her daughter in that argument than at any other point in her life. Urbosa insisted on taking Zelda with her back to Gerudo Town, voice as uncompromising as the steel in her scimitar. Zelda crept away long before the yelling stopped. To this day, she does not know how her father managed to force Urbosa to concede defeat. She cannot imagine anything stronger than Urbosa’s will. She will never learn how it happened. She will always be too afraid to ask—and by the time she learns to conquer her fear, it will be far too late.)

There’s a splashing from behind where she kneels, and Zelda is nearly startled into looking up. She maintains her pose, an instinct drummed into her after years of constant reminders. She wonders if she should try to tell Urbosa to leave the pool. It is sacred water, intended only for priests of Hylia.

She doesn’t say anything. Urbosa’s hand cards through her hair, gentle and kind, and Zelda does not speak. She leans into the touch and allows Urbosa to cradle her as her mother might have, long before Zelda could etch those moments into her memory. 

She is asleep before Urbosa even lifts her out of the water. For the first time in weeks, her dreams are peaceful.

Zelda watches the dazzling sunlight gleam off Mipha’s trident, only glancing away when the shine threatens to hurt her eyes. She looks back as soon as she’s able, not wanting to miss a moment of Mipha’s training. Zelda’s watched the knights train back at the castle, but this is something else entirely. Mipha’s form is more like the Gerudo than the knights of Hyrule, footwork almost like a dance, if it weren’t for the ferocity. Zora spearwork is more fluid than the Gerudo, though, and Mipha darts around targets as though she can swim even through the air. 

When Mipha finally stops, barely out of breath, Zelda barely holds back from clapping. Surely that isn’t what a person does in this context. Instead of making a fool of herself, Zelda brings Mipha water, which she drinks gratefully. Zelda is rewarded with a brilliant, toothy smile, less composed than she’s ever seen Mipha before. She supposes the training is too tiring to allow anyone to keep their composure.

(Almost anyone, Zelda thinks bitterly. He can keep a neutral expression through anything. It must be arrogance. It must be.)

Mipha sits down at the edge of the clearing and pats the place next to her. Zelda joins her without hesitation, allowing her walls to lower slightly in the presence of a woman who has never been anything but kind to her. 

“Mipha, may I ask you something that may be inappropriate?” Zelda twists her fingers together. “You needn’t answer if you’d rather not.”

Mipha tilts her head curiously, expression as gentle as usual. “Feel free to ask whatever you’d like, princess.”

Zelda shifts her gaze back to the training area, with its targets and implicit promise of violence to come. “How is it that you can be such a skilled warrior and an unparalleled healer? The two seem…contradictory.”

Mipha’s laugh is sweet, like bells. “They aren’t as different as you might think.” She goes quiet after that, and Zelda turns back to see a more solemn expression than Mipha’s had in her presence since she agreed to become a Champion. “My greatest wish is to protect the people I love. My people, my family, my…my friends.” 

Zelda wonders if she’s imagining the wistful note to Mipha’s voice. Even if she isn’t, it’s hardly her business to pry.

“In a kinder world, I would be able to protect them solely through my healing.” Mipha looks down at the trident still in her hands, running her fingers along its polished length. “This is not so kind a world as that, and it does me no good to pretend. I will do whatever it takes to protect those under my care.”

Zelda will remember these words even after a century of constant strain. Someday, she will repeat them to those who still grieve their lost princess, daughter, sister. She will tell them all how dearly Mipha loved them, and how much she was willing to give to ensure it. It is, she knows, the very least she can do.

Daruk stumbles once again, but he manages to level Vah Rudania out before either of them actually fall. “Whoa! Sorry, princess. Your tips help, but I’m still getting the hang of this.”

Zelda laughs, clutching a control panel. She should bring rope with her, next time, to make a sort of harness. She’s getting tired of the floor. “No need to apologize. I can see your improvement.”

“That’s good to hear.” Daruk’s good nature prevents him from sounding bashful or anxious, but Zelda notes how he straightens up under her praise. She can’t help smiling fondly.

Slowly, she releases her grip on the control panel, trusting Daruk to keep them level. If bruises are the worst consequence of this trust, then she is pleased to give it. “Daruk…how do you manage to keep such a positive attitude? There’s so much danger ahead of us.”

Daruk hums and pauses in moving Vah Rudania. Thankfully, they remain at a stable angle. “I guess I just believe in us more than I worry about Ganon.” He turns to grin at her, bold and bright. “Especially now that you and the little guy are getting along. That’s a big deal! I’m proud of you both.”

Zelda’s heart throbs, and she feels her pulse ricochet through the whole of her body. “Oh. Thank you, Daruk. I…I’m also pleased that Link and I have become closer.”

It’s a terrible understatement, but Daruk isn’t the type to push. He just laughs and goes back to the controls, undaunted by previous failure. Not for the first time, she marvels at the simple nature of his bravery. The world could learn a lot from him, she thinks. She hopes they’ll have the chance to.

The wind whips around her, and Zelda’s glad she thought to tie her hair back before coming to the Flight Range. Even in mild seasons, the air is never still near Rito Village. 

There’s a flash of blue in the corner of her vision, and she barely has time to turn before Revali lands at her side. “Princess, I must admit that I’m terribly disappointed in you. I thought we had an understanding.”

Zelda rolls her eyes, barely holding back from the impulse to shove at Revali’s shoulder. She’s rarely this informal around anyone other than the Sheikah, but Revali’s long brought it out of her. “Oh, stop. He really isn’t so bad once you get to know him.”

“Ugh, not you too. I’ve heard that more than enough times already.” Revali sets his bow down and slips his arrows into one of the chests, neat and careful as ever with his weapons. It’s his pride, Zelda knows. She’s never seen someone who shows the full range of pride quite like Revali. 

“Consider yourself lucky that I managed to leave him back at the village.” It wasn’t an easy argument to win, and Zelda’s not truly confident that Link isn’t waiting just outside of the flight range, keeping a close and careful eye on her. “You know, if I was wrong about him, there’s every chance that you are, too.” 

Revali narrows his eyes and tuts in disappointment. “I thought we had an understanding. We were on the same side about the brat! And now you betray me because what, he saved your life? I would’ve done the same.”

A gentle warmth fills Zelda’s heart, and she smiles at her friend with a greater fondness than either of them will ever speak aloud. “I know you would’ve, Revali. I’ve never doubted your skill or dedication.”

He puffs up just a bit with pride, but his tone is unmistakably affectionate. “Good. At least you haven’t forgotten that along with the rest of your senses.”

She will never forget it. Long after he dies, Zelda will remember him as more than the Pride of the Rito, though she won’t argue with any of the tall tales that paint him as legend rather than mortal. She knows he would not want to be remembered by his flaws or failures. She will hold them close all the same. To forget how hard he worked would be to lose the essence of one of her dearest friends.

Impa appears next to Zelda out of nowhere, as if she’s come straight from the shadows. Zelda’s not quite sure how Sheikah arts work, so she supposes it’s possible that’s exactly what Impa’s done. “Princess. Purah wants a word.”

“Oh, thank the goddess.” Zelda closes the prayer book in front of her and gets to her feet. “I assume you already know the best way past my father’s guards?”

“Of course.” Impa’s smile is small and secretive, one of the most familiar and treasured sights in Zelda’s life. “Come with me.”

Zelda takes her hand and allows herself to be led along a route she knows she couldn’t hope to repeat on her own, drifting in and out of shadow with an ease that only comes with proximity to a master of the Sheikah arts. She gave up trying to parse the sensations years ago. 

They arrive at the castle research lab without catching a single eye, and Zelda allows all the tension of the day to slide off her as they enter. Purah and Robbie are arguing, both of them gesturing wildly. Just as she thinks that someone should probably take the wrench from Robbie’s hand, he accidentally releases it and nearly hits her with it. 

Link catches it before that can happen. She didn’t even notice him in the corner, but she’s pleased that he’s here. Four of her very favorite people in one room. It’s rare for Zelda to be so blessed. Link nods to her, eyes warm with fondness, before he knocks Robbie lightly on the head with the wrench. Finally, Purah and Robbie stop arguing. 

“Oh huh. I didn’t even notice that was gone.” Robbie takes the wrench back and sets it down on his terribly cluttered workbench. He insists that he can always find what he’s looking for, and never allows her to organize. It’s maddening. 

“We know.” Impa’s voice is as dry as Link’s expression. One of the reasons Zelda is grateful for the change in her and Link’s relationship is that it’s allowed Impa someone to commiserate with. She loves to see them share looks that are filled with exasperation to her trained eyes, but surely look blank to anyone else. 

Purah grabs Zelda by the wrist and tugs her over to the barely less cluttered workbench on the opposite side of the lab. “Finally, someone sensible is here. Look at this diagram and tell Robbie that he’s an idiot, would you?”

Zelda laughs, but takes a look at the diagram Purah gestures at. She tilts her head and looks closer. “I’m not sure what you mean. It looks fairly straightforward to me. What could you possibly be arguing about?”

“She’s trying to say that the mechanism turns counterclockwise.” Robbie explains, jabbing his finger at the paper. “Even though anyone with half a brain can see that it’s meant to go clockwise. Tell her, princess.”

Zelda narrows her eyes and grabs one of the magnifying lenses nearby. She examines the diagram carefully, knowing that the stance she takes here is critical to getting any work done for the rest of the day. 

She bites her lip. “Purah. Robbie. I’m afraid that I may need to strip both of you of your titles.”

“What are you talking about?” Purah smacks her hand on the bench. “It’s perfectly obvious what it’s meant to do!”

“I agree.” Zelda says, setting the lens down and crossing her arms. “It’s meant to move freely in either direction. If you tried to prevent its movement, you’d jam up the works.”

Robbie and Purah both shove into her personal space to look closer at the diagram. 

“That can’t be right. Unless—”

“—it was meant to connect to the pulley on the—”

“—right over here, it’s so simple once you see it!”

They look back at her with twin expressions of aggrieved triumph. Zelda sighs and picks up a screwdriver from the workbench. “I assume you two need help adjusting the machine, now?”

Robbie puts on his goggles and Purah slaps her back. “What do you think?”

Of course it wouldn’t have. It takes until the worst possible moment for her to realize it, but Zelda’s life has been filled with so much love. There has been pain, yes. Agony. Horror. Constant twisting shame. 

Still, the love is a strong enough counterbalance that when she stands in front of the guardian, the light pouring from her palm feels like the most natural thing in the world. This is what she was made for. This is who she is. 

As she walks into the inner sanctum, Zelda is not afraid. She doesn’t know how long Link will need to sleep to recover from his wounds, but it doesn’t matter. She has enough love in her to fight the Calamity for eternity. 

Chapter Text

Ketoh Wawai: Is anyone else experiencing difficulty with activating their travel gate?

Keo Ruug: Yes. All four of us in the Lost Woods have been unable to test our travel gates. 

Daag Chokah: I was able to link my gate back to Keo Ruug’s shrine near the Great Deku Tree, but no other teleport point will register. 

Maag Halan: My shrine also connected to Keo Ruug’s, and briefly managed a connection with Kuhn Sidajj. The link was lost before I could transport, which is perhaps for the best. I do not like the thought of what would happen to my essence if there was an interrupt mid-teleport.

Kuh Sidajj: I still think the problem has something to do with magnesis.

Oman Au: Don’t you start with this again. Your trial doesn’t even use magnesis! 

Kuh Sidajj: Not in an ideal world, no. However, we both know the hero will rely on it.

Oman Au: If you don’t want the hero to follow the trail of metal boulders using magnesis, then don’t use metal boulders. 

Kuh Sidajj: Nothing else will be suitably sturdy, nor foreign enough to the Woods that the Koroks will not disturb them. 

Keo Ruug: Stop arguing, both of you. The problem has nothing to do with magnesis.

Oman Au: Thank you!

Daag Chokah: If it was magnesis, surely Kuh Sidajj and I could at least briefly connect. So far we’ve had no luck whatsoever, despite being physically nearby. 

Myahm Agana: Is the problem not obvious?

Maag Halan: I refuse to have my logical capabilities criticized by the creator of an apparatus trial.

Myahm Agana: Then perhaps you should spend more time training your logic and less time inventing a trial involving wooden weapons.

Maag Halan: The point is for the hero to consider each strike’s usefulness rather than relying on brute strength. 

Ketoh Wawai: Please. No more arguing. I am attempting to solve an actual problem here. If you have an idea, Myahm Agana, please share it.

Myahm Agana: It is your locations.

Maag Halan: We did figure that much out, yes. Do you have any other striking insight to share, or are you only here to state the obvious?

Keo Ruug: Be silent. Myahm Agana, if you could elaborate, that would be much appreciated.

Myahm Agana: Your shrines are all located in hidden places, either inaccessible to all but those who have already passed a trial or otherwise concealed from the average traveler. 

Ketoh Wawai: I can see how that might affect the four in the Lost Woods, but my shrine does not require Korok blessings to navigate.

Myahm Agana: The Thyphlo Ruins are cast in unnatural darkness for your trial. The Arts involved in the trial create a similar block.

Ketoh Wawai: Ah. Well, when you put it that way, it does seem a bit obvious.

Myahm Agana: Precisely.

Keo Ruug: Perhaps the twins could assist us. They’ve been experimenting with interesting teleportation processes to activate when their shrines are completed. 

Kuh Sidajj: You just like them because they also use massive orbs in nonsensical patterns.

Keo Ruug: The patterns are not nonsense. There is elegance in our logic. 

Maag Halan: We are meant to test the hero’s bravery, not their elegant logic.

Rohta Chigah: I do not see why we cannot do both.

Keo Ruug: You are not testing logic. You are a sadist. 

Rohta Chigah: Why would you say that?

Owa Daim: I believe Keo Ruug is referring to your enthusiastic use of spikes when the hero will be drained by the One-Hit Obliterator. Especially since they will also need to use stasis for their best chance at success. Which really isn’t what I had in mind when I invented it.

Rohta Chigah: Think of it as me expanding on your creation. It is a compliment.

Owa Daim: If you say so.

Ketoh Wawai: Is anyone still interested in a solution, or are you all content to bicker?

Daag Chokah: I would love a solution. Were the twins helpful?

Ketoh Wawai: Yes. They are still having trouble with their own puzzle, but they were easily able to solve my problems. I am transmitting their recommendations to the shrine conduits in the Lost Woods. You should receive them shortly.

Kuh Sidajj: Many thanks. 

Keo Ruug: Oh, I see the problem now. Yes, these adjustments should work nicely.

Maag Halan: I have implemented them. I will now attempt to teleport to Fateful Stars.

Kuh Sidajj: It may be wiser to attempt to teleport non-organic material first.

Keo Ruug: Too late. On a positive note, the experiment was a success.

Ketoh Wawai: I shall attempt the same. 

Owa Daim: I hope the Great Deku Tree isn’t too disturbed by all of this.

Keo Ruug: The Tree is sleeping at the moment. The Koroks are delighted, however.

Kuh Sidajj: I have not seen them in such high spirits since I went about placing the ore for my trial.

Oman Au: They found it amusing?

Kuh Sidajj: Indeed. They twisted the trees around the boulders. The hollows are now faces.

Oman Au: Charming creatures.

Kuh Sidajj: Yes, they can be. They are also quite adept at getting underfoot.

Keo Ruug: A side effect of choosing to place our shrines within the Lost Woods. Still, I believe they will serve well as guardians of our trials.

Maag Halan: I agree. They are braver than many give them credit for.

Rohta Chigah: We are still speaking of Koroks, yes? Bravery is not a word I have ever thought to apply to them. 

Shee Vaneer: You would be surprised!

Shee Venath: In searching for the ideal peaks for our shrines, we discovered many Koroks hiding in places no mortal would think to seek. Their mischief creates fascinating challenges.

Rohta Chigah: Very well. I will bow to greater knowledge.

Shee Vaneer: Wonderful. Now, are all of you quite satisfied with your little problems, or do we need to come over and fix things ourselves?

Keo Ruug: The shrines within the Lost Woods are functioning properly.

Ketoh Wawai: As is my own.

Rohta Chigah: And your own shrines? Have you solved your teleportation puzzle yet?

Shee Venath: We shall solve it before entering meditation. That is all you need to know.

Rohta Chigah: So that’s a no, then.

Shee Vaneer: Shut up.

Keo Ruug: I believe in them. The twins are very clever.

Shee Venath: Thank you, Keo Ruug. Now everyone leave us alone. We have work to do.

Rohta Chigah: Aren’t they just charming?

Maag Halan: I am not sure you are the best judge of what constitutes a ‘charming’ character.

Keo Ruug: Oh no. Not more of this.

Kuh Sidajj: Quite. I do believe I have had enough bickering to last a lifetime. This is the last you shall hear of me, I think. I will prepare for meditation.

Keo Ruug: Farewell, Kuh Sidajj. I will do the same after all of the Lost Woods shrines are confirmed to function properly.

Ketoh Wawai: I suppose I ought to enter meditation myself. I wish all of you the best. Praise Hylia.

[Communication has been terminated. Preparing stasis chamber.]

[Stasis chamber is now active.]

…

[Logged: Hero of Courage entry into trial area confirmed.]

[Logged: Platform activated. Shrine entering active mode.]

[Logged: Awaiting Sheikah Slate.]

[Logged: Entry attempt. Sheikah Slate confirmed.]

[Logged: Travel gate activation unsuccessful.]

[Logged: Troubleshooting travel gate activation.]

[Logged: Vaneer-Venath subroutine confirmed.]

[Logged: Attempting to ping Woodland Tower.]

[Logged: Ping successful.]

[Logged: Attempting to activate travel gate.]

[Logged: Travel gate ready for activation.]

[Logged: !WARNING! Hero of Courage life force at critical levels!]

[Logged: Sheikah Slate no longer in range.]

[Logged: Hero of Courage no longer in trial area.]

[Logged: Passive mode re-instated.]

…

[Logged: Hero of Courage entry into trial area confirmed.]

[Logged: Entry attempt. Sheikah Slate confirmed.]

[Logged: Travel gate activated.]

[Logged: Welcome back, Hero.]

[Logged: May you find your way even in the darkest times.]

Chapter Text

“I died.”

Link says it without any concern for the (relative) peace and quiet of his workshop. Jerrin gasps, hand to her mouth. Robbie almost forgets, sometimes, that she wasn't around for the immediate aftermath. Despite all the challenges they've shared throughout their marriage, he has never burdened her with this. 

It isn’t that he never wanted to discuss it. It’s that he never knew how. And as the years went on, Jerrin was more and more a relief from the weight of his old burdens. She’s an oasis of the present moment, and Robbie can’t bear to lose that. Maybe it’s too late now. He’s used up all his goodwill. Link’s come to take it away, and Robbie can’t even be mad about it. 

“Yeah, kid.” Robbie sighs, setting his wrench down. “You did.”

—

“Is this even going to work?”

It's the question neither of them want to ask. They avoided it the whole way to the plateau, trading off carrying the body. Link’s body. He's not the only friend she'll bury today, except she's not burying him. She's settling him into a pool and pretending she doesn't think he'll drown. 

Robbie avoids her gaze, fixing his attention on arranging Link's limbs. It makes her sick to think, but Purah’s grateful that the water’s cold. It lets them avoid the hyperawareness of how quickly the body is cooling. “I don't know, Purah. All we can do is—”

“Hope?” A harsh laugh that's more gasp of sob chokes its way out of her throat. “That's more Impa’s line, don't you think?”

“Maybe.” Robbie’s not meant to sound like this. He's supposed to have so much energy. Too much, maybe, except that it means he's able to keep up with her racing mind and impossible ideas. He's the only one who ever has. “What else can we do? He's dead. At least this might give the princess something to hold on to.”

“Zelda.” The correction is automatic. At least among the researchers, they've always tried to treat Zelda as a person first. They learn to drop the title outside of formal company. 

Robbie almost never slips. 

“She's not just our Zelda now.” His voice is quieter than she's ever heard it, but it echoes around the chamber all the same. 

Purah knows he's right. It just—

She looks down at the body floating in the pool. It isn't fair. 

“How long do you think it'll take?” She reaches out and neatens his bangs. They washed him clean of blood before laying him down. They'll have to take his clothes back with them, to clean and mend for when he wakes up. The tunic, at the very least. Someone can come back and leave another set for him. Not her. She already knows that she can't bear to return to this place. 

Robbie sets the Slate on its pedestal. It glows and flips as expected, waiting for its user to claim it. “I don't know. We'll just have to stay alive long enough to help him once he wakes up.”

He could mean being careful while they fight off the Calamity. It's already a task with a high mortality rate. 

They both know that's not all he means. 

Purah scoops up Link’s clothes. It's almost a shame the blood is all dried. This should stain her. The physical proof is at least a thing she can manage. She can scrub away the blood, taking a layer of skin with it, as if that can fix a single part of this horror. 

They seal up the Shrine of Resurrection behind them. Neither of them comment on how much it feels like rolling a rock in front of a tomb. Purah knows they're both thinking it.

—

The first message Robbie sends her in decades is only two words. 

Tell him. 

Impa would be more annoyed about it if she hadn't gone just as long being unhelpful. She didn't even send a message ahead of Link to let Robbie or Purah know he woke up. Sometimes she thinks about the days when the three of them shared every scrap of information they got their hands on. Mostly she thinks about her duties as the Sheikah Elder. It's been a long time. They've lived different lives since the stalemate began. 

She's still a little annoyed. Tell him what? She's been telling him all sorts of things since he showed up at her door, alive and an amnesiac. Impa’s burdened Link with more than enough, she thinks. She's treated him as a holy thing with a destiny instead of as a friend. She's already broken the promise she made a hundred years ago, when she really thought they'd win. It was more than hope for her. She believed in Zelda. She still does. 

Link still died. What's one more promise broken, in the face of that? 

When Link arrives the same way he always does (unannounced, unprompted, barging through her doors like her title and status mean nothing to him, and she loves him for this, has always loved him for it), Impa’s still frustrated with Robbie, but in an amused sort of way. She’s not amused for long.

“I died.” 

No preamble, obviously. Link’s never been the sort for that. 

Impa does not turn away from the dead boy in front of her. “Paya, my dear. I believe the porch needs sweeping.” 

Paya rushes out of the room gratefully. Someday, Impa knows her granddaughter will need to be able to stand firm during these sorts of conversations. She will pass on her title, and Paya will have to learn how to do more than freeze in the face of her anxiety. But someday is not today, and besides, she thinks Link deserves at least a bit of privacy for this. He’s so rarely gotten the luxury of it.

“All told, I’d say we were lucky.” Impa takes off her hat. She almost never does it. She must be the Sheikah Elder at all times, in all things. Even when Link first showed up here, alive and impossible, she kept her role around her. But if Link deserves privacy, surely she deserves a moment of honesty. “There was every chance your soul would move on and be reborn in a new body. It probably would’ve saved some time, too.”

Link looks gutted. She’s rarely seen any kind of expression on his face. She can’t say she likes this one. 

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” Impa smiles the same way she did when she brought this possibility up with Purah and Robbie. They’d hated her for it, just a little. She made her peace with that long ago. “Honestly, I’m not surprised it stuck around. I don’t know if Zelda would accept a different hero, and the goddess must be aware of how attached she is to you. Why risk starting another cycle of reincarnation?”

She never wrote these thoughts down. They’ve been spiraling in her mind for a century, and so she spills them out for Link without a care for his feelings. It’s cruel. She’s been so cruel to him. She knew what he would remember, when she sent him to Blatchery Plain. 

“I’m sorry, Link.” 

Here is the real reason she’s taken a step away from her role, her sacred duty, her obligation to be cryptic and protective and detached from old friendships. She owes him at least one apology. She owes it to them both. 

He doesn’t say anything, but his face speaks volumes. She gestures to a cushion beside her, and for once in his too-long life, the kid sits down. 

It’s too much. Everything they’ve done to him is too much to expect anyone to handle. He still does it. He doesn’t even complain. It’s horrible, what they’ve all done to Zelda and Link. Impa knows it.

That doesn’t mean she can stop. She can give them both this moment, though. Just one night of peace, for Link to collapse under the weight of his own death, for Impa to stroke his hair and wish deep down in her heart that he’d lived. Dangerous thoughts, for there is no changing the past.

Still. He deserved to live.

—

“You died.” 

There’s something funny in hearing those words from a child’s mouth. Funny like the Zora elders forgiving him when they found out Mipha loved him, even though he can still barely remember her and is pretty sure he never loved her back, not the way she would’ve wanted. Funny like the memory of Daruk’s pep talk, describing a woman Link still can’t piece together. Funny like the deja vu of annoyance and exhaustion when Revali mocked him. Funny like Urbosa still telling him to lay down his life for the princess, and not giving him an ounce of credit for already doing it once. 

So not funny at all, really. 

Symin slips out the back door without a word, because he’s blessed with the rare ability to read a goddess-damned room. Link still catches the look on his face, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. He can’t stand to see grief. He never knows what to do about it.

“Yeah.” He tosses the Sheikah Slate onto a worktable and sits down heavily. He wants to say something else, something more, but he doesn’t have the first idea what it might be. There has to be something to say about it. He keeps hoping one of them will know. 

It’s all he’s been clinging to since the moment he watched a Stalkoblin drag itself from the ground and found himself thinking hysterically, I’m just like you. 

I’m like you, as he cut down a dozen of them. I died. I was dead. 

“I remember carrying you.” Purah picks up the Slate, flipping it around like she doesn’t care if it falls. He’d be more concerned if he hadn’t dropped it from halfway up a mountain one time. He wonders if the last hero was like him, and that’s why the monks made the Slate so sturdy. Maybe his soul is accident-prone. That feels right. “It’s kind of fuzzy. Lots of my old memories are, now that I’m like this.”

She strikes a pose. There’s nothing solemn about her, not even while they discuss his death. It’s a bit of a relief, after Robbie and Impa. 

“Did you know…” Link tries to get the words out, but they won’t come. The more he remembers, the harder it is to speak. It makes sense. He hates it anyway. 

Purah sits on top of the table, so they’re closer to eye-level. “Did I know that it’d bring you back?” She hums when he nods, barely managing to convince his muscles of that simple movement. “Well, it’s not called the Shrine of Resurrection for nothing. Though I did wonder if we got the translation totally right.”

He can’t help it. He laughs. It makes her grin, child-wide and uncompromising, even in the face of his corpse. 

“Nah, we didn’t know. We hoped, but we weren’t sure.” She shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t read her journal. Like he doesn’t know why she’s this young. “Anyway, you’re not dead now.”

Link swallows. “Yeah. I know.”

(Does he?)

“Yeah. You’re alive.” Purah rolls her eyes, overexaggerated but just as honest as the others. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

It’s not an answer, not really—but it is a much better question than anything he’s been asking. He supposes that’s enough. More than enough, if he pulls together everything he’s been given by the people who saved him. Who waited for him. Who are here for him still, a hundred years too late to change the past. 

He thinks he’ll never stop owing them. They probably feel the same. Maybe it’s not the nicest connection, but it’s one he can understand, and it’s not an epitaph. He can live with that.

Chapter Text

Zelda examines the back wall of the room which was once the Shrine of Resurrection. “I suppose it's impressive that they managed to build something at all, but I would have expected they'd run into some of the material left by that particularly sadistic monk. Oh, what was his name again?”

Link’s voice echoes back up to her. “Moz Kosha!” His head pops out of the tunnel. “I hate him.”

Zelda grins at him. She adores him for not mentioning that she never would've forgotten that name before her journey through time (before millennia in flight, time enough to forget her own name). “I love you.”

He blushes to the tips of his ears. He doesn't blush when she holds him between her legs or when he has four fingers inside of her, but a simple declaration like this gets him flustered. “I love you too.”

She crouches by the hole opening and tucks some of his hair behind his ear. “Find anything useful?”

Link pulls himself up quickly enough that she's only aware of the small kiss to her nose after it's already happened. “No, it's pretty boring. The Yiga just aren't very creative.”

“That's probably for the best,” Zelda muses. She helps him out of the tunnel, less because he needs her help and more because she likes doing it. She's learned to lean into these small indulgences. They've both more than earned them. “You scraped your hand. Here, let me bandage it.”

“No need.” Link dips his hand in the pool of water where the mechanism which brought him back to life used to sit. Both of them had helped Purah and Robbie take it apart. The memory is fuzzy, and Zelda tries not to linger on it. 

She watches Link instead. The water glows faintly, and when he pulls his hand out, the cut is gone. “Oh. So it still heals.”

“I guess. I'm not sure how much it can do. I've not tried it on anything more than minor injuries.” Link watches the water drip from his hand, the same as her. 

Zelda takes his hand. It's warm. Wet. Alive. “Good. There's no need to repeat that particular experiment, I think.”

Link smiles, dripping with fondness, affection, and the promise of a future. “Agreed.”

Chapter Text

The first time Link sees one, he's mostly just confused. 

He thinks it's a reasonable response. Even after he's used to them, they're still very confusing creatures. No one can pin down what exactly they are, much less why they drop rupees when struck. It's vindicating, in its own way. Finally, something that's confusing to everyone and not just him. 

Link doesn't see them often. They seem to be shy, solitary creatures, easily startled and immediately skittish. He doesn't chase them, can't bring himself to shoot them. They're just so cute.

(Also, they don't even drop that many rupees. He can hunt deer or cheat at snowball bowling if he really needs rupees. Not that he thinks using his goddess-given skills should count as cheating, but Impa says it is, even if she laughs while she scolds him.)

Usually when he sees a glow at the edge of his vision, he assumes it's a flower. Blue Nightshade if he's in the right region, Silent Princess if he isn't. Or even if he is, sometimes. After he remembers how she’d treasured them, every sighting feels like a sweet glimpse of her. He has, maybe, spent a lot of time gazing at flowers and thinking about the woman fighting for the world in the castle and how he remembers her not as holy, but as pretty and clever and funny and cute to a degree that's probably blasphemous. Link figures he gets a free pass on the blasphemy. If the Goddess smites him, she'll be creating more problems than she'll solve. 

The point is, when he sees a glow at night, he thinks, Zelda? And when it's her favored flower, he loses himself to the memory of her fascination and longing. When it's a weird little magical rabbit-owl thing, he thinks cute and like her and gets so flustered he forgets to take a damn picture for the Korok in the Great Deku Tree’s Navel, and he hates disappointing Koroks. They're also cute. And enthusiastic. Like her.

When he finally gets the picture, it's because he's tracked down the place where blupees seem to congregate. He figures his odds are best if there's a lot of them around, and he's right about that part. He gets a couple of good shots that he thinks Peeks will like, and he's going to leave and gather some of the plants he saw around the mountain earlier, but then he sees a glow at the edge of his vision. 

By this point, Link has gotten fairly good at differentiating the glows. He knows a blupee from a princess from a sneaky river snail. This is blupee-glow and princess-glow, and princess-glow is remarkably strong. He's already wearing his Sheikah gear so he could get close enough for a good picture, and by pure habit, he sneaks carefully through the narrow pass. 

The sight takes his breath away. He's never seen so many silent princesses in one place, or so many blupees. He's pretty sure he's never seen a tree like this one before, and he knows he's never seen anything like the creature standing at the center of the pond. Lord of the Mountain, he thinks, recalling some snippet of gossip from a stable. 

Link raises the Slate on instinct and snaps a picture. 

The blupees are cute like her, the Lord is otherworldly and wise like her, and the flowers are wild like she was always meant to be. 

Link steps forward, unconcerned about the light splashing of his feet in the water. The Lord of the Mountain turns that striking gaze at him, and he is unafraid. 

“I'm going to bring her here.” His voice is more rasp than strength, forced into a whisper that seems appropriate for the surroundings. “She'll love you.”