Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“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.”

Chapter Text

“I know you said armor slows you down,” Zelda says, interrupting the afterglow in a way Link is sure she thinks is subtle. It’s not, and he loves her for it. 

Did he say that? He believes her, but the memory isn’t clear. There’s a forest, and they’re alone, and it’s awkward in a way he hasn’t felt since the first few moments after they defeated the Calamity. She’s asking why he doesn’t protect himself, and he’s tripping over an explanation, clumsy and in love with a girl who’s barely begun to treat him as a friend. 

He doesn’t mind having that be fuzzy. It’s a familiar sort of memory. Anyway, he doesn’t need to remember it clearly to have the same answer. 

“It does.” He agrees, though he knows an argument is coming. He turns his face into her chest so she won’t be thrown off by his smile. 

She strokes his hair and hums, as though she’s still floating in the lovely softness. He wonders if she really believes he can’t tell the difference. Should he be offended? If so, it will have to wait until he stops being charmed. “I can understand how plate mail would slow you down. It is rather bulky.”

Link nods as much as he’s able to without lifting his head. He presses a kiss to her breast, absent-minded in his affection. Just because she’s pulling herself out of the afterglow doesn’t mean he has to give it up. 

“What about leather armor?” Zelda blurts, finally getting to her point. “It’s not nearly as heavy or obtrusive, and I believe I saw you wear some before you got your champion’s tunic back from Impa.”

Of all the things to retain from her moments of glimpsing him between fighting desperately against the Calamity, it had to be the brief period he wore leathers. Link sighs, muffled against her skin. He doesn’t want to admit that she’s right. She’ll never let it go, and he refuses to stop wearing the tunic she made. It’s sentimental.

Also, he spent a lot of time gathering the resources to upgrade it at the fairy fountains. Getting all those horn shards wasn’t easy. 

“The tunic is better than any armor.” Link turns his head so he can be heard clearly, no longer worried about hiding a smile. “It’s been blessed and enchanted.”

“I can make another one.” Zelda’s reply is immediate, like she already knew what he was going to say. Of course she did. “And it wouldn’t be so challenging to gather the materials for upgrades again.”

He can’t even get annoyed at the presumption, because she’s not wrong. It wouldn’t be hard, and Zelda loves watching the dragons besides. It’d be a nice trip, probably. Of course, that’s assuming that the fairies will want the same materials to upgrade this new piece of armor. Still, even if they don’t, traveling with Zelda is never anything less than a joy.

“Fine.” Link mumbles. He knows when he’s beaten. It’s not hard to know, considering there’s only one person who can do it. “You can make me armor.”

Zelda’s smile is blatantly audible in her voice. “I’ve already started. I’ll have you model my first attempts tomorrow, so we can make sure it’s comfortable and doesn’t weigh you down too much.”

Ugh. Link lifts up his head to glare at her. “You’re terrible.”

Her hand cups his cheek with holy tenderness, as though that will make her look any less smug. “I love you too, darling.”

Link looks at the mannequin. Looks at Zelda. Looks back at the mannequin, arms crossed. “I said you could make me leathers.”

“Technically, you said I could make you armor.” Zelda’s voice is serene and triumphant. He’s pretty sure he would’ve killed someone to hear her talk like that a hundred years ago. That doesn’t make him any happier right now. “That it would only be leather was implied, but not outright stated.”

He scowls at her, deeply unimpressed. “There’s chain mail, Zelda. I did not agree to chain mail.”

“Okay,” Zelda agrees, which Link knows full well doesn’t mean he’s won the debate. “I made it lighter, though. Well, Robbie and I made it together. You’ll hardly notice it’s even there.”

“I’ll notice it.” Link grumbles, because he absolutely will. She’s likely right that it won’t end up being that bothersome, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

She reaches out, lightly touching his elbow. He allows her to shift him, going easy in her hands, unbothered by however she might move him. He’ll always be malleable in her grip. He’s pretty sure she’s still figuring that out, which seems absurd to him. He’s patient, though. They’ve both waited long enough. What’s a little more time? 

“You don’t have to wear it.” Her voice is quieter now, just a touch doubtful. He hates the sound. “It’s only…I’ve seen what can happen when blessings fail. I know you’re skilled. I know you’re hard to kill. I also know it’s not impossible.”

Link doesn’t point out that his tunic wasn’t enchanted by the fairies when the Calamity first arrived. He doesn’t say that there’s nothing chain mail could’ve done against direct blasts from a guardian beam. He doesn’t try to reassure her that he’ll come back even if he dies. He’s done it before.

He sighs and takes her in his arms. Or maybe he’s the one being taken into her arms. It’s so hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins, once they’ve started touching. “I’ll wear it.”

She loses tension that he hadn’t realized she was holding, and he knows he made the right choice. “Thank you. I don’t want to force you into anything, and I know that you know your own skill best, so if you really hate it after you’ve worn it, I won’t push.”

“Hey.” Link takes her face in his hands. She’s so lovely, so clever, so sad. “I love you too.”

It makes her laugh and lean in to kiss him, which is all he’s ever wanted. The extra weight of chain mail and leather is a small price to pay.

She’s right about the weight. It’s unobtrusive, especially compared to what he’s tried before. The whole kit is even comfortable, which isn’t a thing he was aware armor could be. He has to adjust a bit, but it’s not a hardship. 

He’s also right, is the thing. When the big hit comes and he fails at the critical moment once again, the armor doesn’t do a damn thing to help. No matter how cleverly made the chain mail is, it can’t stop him from losing his arm.

It’s lucky that she made extras. He’s not surprised to learn that there’s another set, given his history with what he calls ‘reasonable accidents’ and she calls ‘an objective abuse of his Hylia-given strength and endurance’. 

Putting it on without her there to watch and adjust is terrible. He tries not to focus on that part. If he thinks too much about all the terrible parts of this, he’ll fall to pieces, and there’s a dragon twisting through the skies right now who badly needs him to keep it together.

Link puts a hand over his chest, tracing the lines of Zelda’s careful embroidery. He will not spurn her last gift to him. 

Times have changed. The Knight wears armor, these days. Maybe a miracle will happen, and it will protect him from what’s still yet to come. 

Chapter Text

She’s smiling at him. 

Everything around them is blurry, familiar-but-not, which is fine. It’s unimportant. What matters is that she’s smiling. Her hair is tied strangely and there are birds and she is happy to see him. Her hand reaches out (she takes his hand), and she shoves him. He is falling, but he is not afraid.

Red eyes and distance. Red eyes and lessons, red eyes and kindness, red eyes and a feeling that he knows the face hidden beneath those wrappings. Red eyes and a pale hand, reaching out and glowing with a mark that seals their shared destiny. (Red eyes vanishing, stolen away, and he fails, fails, fails.)

There’s a shackle still heavy around his leg, bumping against his hand (his paw) (they took his hand), and a woman with wise eyes giving direction to their quest. She holds out her hand, and the scent is familiar—

She’s walking away from him, afraid and haunted by a role he knows neither of them ever wanted—

Red eyes and tenderness and loss—

He’s fighting her and it’s horrible, they were never meant to fight, they should be working together, never apart, but fate has only been cruel this time—

(This time?)

She’s smiling.

There is hope in her eyes, past the exhaustion and heartache, because she is the strongest and bravest person he will ever know in any lifetime. Do you remember me? Do you remember what we shared? Do you know my eyes, my smile, my touch? Will you take my hand?

Will you catch me when we fall?

(He doesn’t.)

She is falling and he is falling and he reaches out a hand, but before the whorls of their fingerprints can catch against each other, she is splintered into a thousand pieces. She takes his hand with her. The ground rushes up to meet him.

“Link!”

He shoots up, panting heavily, and feels the impact despite waking up. He’s sweating. He can run for miles, can climb halfway up a mountain with only a bandana for gear, can battle through the grim remains of guard posts without breaking a sweat. 

“Link.” 

He tries to slow his breathing. Focus, hero. In and out. Count the seconds. Hold your oxygen. He shudders through deeper breaths, forcing his heart into something resembling calm, and only dares to look up because he is meant to be brave, and he cannot bear to fail again tonight. 

Trembling hand. Kind eyes. Sunshine hair, short enough to barely brush her chin.

Short hair.

Link’s next breath comes easier. He reaches out his hand, and lets relief wash through him when he sees the faint blue and orange glow between joints made from a material he still doesn’t understand beyond the fact that it isn’t magnetic. She laces her fingers through the pieces she helped design and construct, and even though the sensation is muted, it’s far more grounding than flesh-touching-flesh. 

None of the others had an arm like this. 

“I was dreaming.” He watches their joined hands. They aren’t falling. No one is leaving. They are here, together, and they will do anything to ensure it stays that way. “Or remembering.”

Zelda makes a broken little sound and comes closer, folding her other arm around his shoulders and tucking him in close. She knows what he means. It happens to her, sometimes, because destiny has only ever been a cruel thing.

“I like your hair this way.” Link knows it must sound nonsensical, but Zelda lets it pass. Maybe she does understand. Maybe that’s why she wanted it cut. “And my arm…it helps.”

It helped when it was gone, too. Technically Rauru’s arm was also helpful, because none of the others had a foreign body grafted to theirs, but it was never easy to see that as a gift. Rauru’s arm was a reminder of too much other pain. 

No arm at all meant here, meant home, meant okay we’ve finished two horrible destinies and we can move on with our lives, please goddess please. His prosthetic arm means reclamation, means success, means I asked you to marry me and you said yes. 

Zelda strokes his hair. She’s so gentle with him, but her touch isn’t delicate. They are far past the days of caution. If their pain has taught them anything, it is to take what they want without fear. “I love you.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes, less out of comfort than as a test of will. There is nothing behind them but dimness. Her touch is the same. He is awake. “I love you, too.”

Zelda holds him close, and he slowly allows himself to go loose in her grip. To trust his senses. To relax and fall back into bed with his wife. Sleep might not come again tonight, but at least he knows who he is. 

Who they both are.

Chapter Text

Celessa bites her lip, gut tingling with nerves. She doesn't want to make this call. Then again, if she's already decided to be brave, she can't exactly back down now. She takes a deep breath and selects her mother's contact. 

“Hello, dear. Why, I can't remember the last time you called. How are you? I assume you have news for me?” 

Celessa sighs quietly, more just a breath out of her nose than anything her mother might hear. “Hi mom. I'm doing fine. I'm actually…well, I do have some big news. I'm going to start the gym challenge.”

There's a moment of quiet. If Celessa didn't know better, she'd hope for something supportive to follow. 

“Aren't you a bit old for that, sweetheart?” Her mother has always managed to balance concern and condescension so expertly. It'd be impressive if it didn't feel so miserable. “You know I support your choices, but this doesn't seem like such a wise decision. I thought you were all about wisdom.”

Celessa briefly wonders if her mother actually knows what the word ‘supportive’ means. “Look mom, I didn't call to talk this over with you. I called to let you know about a decision I've already made.” She clutches her shiny new challenger’s license tightly. She got it yesterday, and it still makes her heart swell just to look at it. “I'll let you know if I end up participating in any of the ceremonies or exhibition matches, okay?”

Her mother pauses again. She sends no hopeful prayers. “Well, you certainly sound sure about this. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for.”

“Thanks.” Celessa means it, more or less. “It was nice talking to you. Love you.”

She hangs up immediately after her mother echoes the sentiment. She slumps with relief to have that out of the way. Her license glints in the light of her apartment, and she lets herself really feel the thrill. 

She's doing it. She's really doing it! 

Zelly wanders into the room with a chirp, and Celessa scoops her up. She always feels more centered after a quick snuggle with her Minccino.

“We're really doing this, Zelly.” She whispers into that soft fur. “We're making it happen.”

Like most kids, Celessa had been enchanted with the idea of entering the gym challenge. It's hard not to be, when it's such a strong tradition in the region. Hyrule was built around the concept, going all the way back to the first Bridge and her Champion. They even get days off school for the exhibition matches. 

About a quarter of Celessa’s classmates had gotten their licenses once they reached the minimum age, and a good half of that group had actually committed to finishing the challenge. She only stayed in contact with a couple of them, because it's hard to keep up a friendship when one of you is focused  so strongly on training Pokemon and the other is trying desperately not to be jealous.

She could've done it. Her older sister hadn't, sure, but it's not like her mother ever forbade it. She'd wanted to, so badly she could almost taste it, but…it's a scary idea for most kids. Unless you're part of a challenger family, with the expectation placed on you from birth, the thought of going off on your own and fighting strangers and maybe even losing in public is pretty intimidating. 

So despite dreaming of it, despite biting back envy, despite researching what moves Zelly might be able to use even though she's not exactly a traditional challenger Pokemon, Celessa stayed home. She did her schooling and got a nice, normal job. Maybe in her free time she'd look up guides for how a Minccino with Technician could hold up in a proper battle, but she left any real thoughts of battling to fantasy. 

She was at the grocery store when her life changed. It's not a thrilling part of the story. Nor is the catalyst itself. Celessa isn't the type to read tabloids, and the only reason she even glances at this one is because the line is taking so long. 

Princess Zelda takes up research assistant position—is the country doomed? More on pg. 6!

It feels so gross to pick up the tabloid and actually flip to page 6. Celessa hates how Princess Zelda's name gets dragged through the mud. She's always thought it's absolutely no one's business what their princess gets up to in her spare time, even if Celessa maybe idolizes her just a little bit. 

Unsurprisingly, the tabloid doesn't have much useful information. She has to wait until she gets home to look up more reputable news, and she's buzzing with anticipation as she puts her groceries away. By the time she settles down to look into the news, Zelly is chirping with displeasure at her sloppiness. Celessa allows Zelly to dust off her screen, more than accustomed to working around a fluffy tail by this point. 

She spends the better part of an hour combing through articles, and eventually she lands on the first research paper Princess Zelda has published in her new capacity. It isn't long, but that doesn't make it any less fascinating. 

Celessa has to look up a lot of the terminology, and she knows that if she wants to really follow this research as it continues, she'll have to do some serious reading in her spare time. It's so worth it. What she can grasp is incredibly interesting, and even if she's kind of confused about some parts, she's still—

Well. It isn't really her place to feel this, but she's proud. 

Most research assistants start their roles around the same time as young gym challengers. Even though the princess is still plenty young (she's Celessa's age after all, and Celessa barely feels like an adult most of the time), she's not of a traditional age for this. Nevermind that she's the princess. 

It's really brave of her, Celessa thinks. This is clearly something Princess Zelda is passionate about, and Celessa knows that it isn't always easy to follow your passions. To do that when you're constantly under public scrutiny…it's amazing. Celessa has always admired the princess. But now…now she's feeling more than just admiration and respect. 

She's feeling inspired. 

It's a dangerous feeling, but it's also a thrilling one. If Celessa chases it, she'll be uprooting her life. Most of her friends won't understand, and her family is sure to be a pain about it. Still, the thought of finally doing this, after all the years of pretending she doesn't want it, is exhilarating. 

Celessa reaches out to tickle Zelly behind the ear. “What do you think, girl? Should we go on an adventure?”

She knows most Pokemon don't really understand human speech, but the chirp Zelly gives and the way she nuzzles into Celessa's touch sure feels like a yes. 

Losing to Leader Impa doesn't feel good, obviously. No one likes to lose a gym battle. It doesn't really sting, though. Almost no one beats Kakariko’s Dark Gym on the first try. In fact, Celessa's pretty sure that the last person to do it was the current Champion, and she's not in the business of comparing herself to Champion Link. 

She sits down on the steps leading to the dual Gyms, barely even noticing the person already sitting there until they flinch in surprise. 

“Oh, sorry!” Celessa holds up her hands apologetically. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I—wait.” Her expression goes from apologetic to stunned and more than a little awed. “Are you Researcher Zelda?”

The person who absolutely has to be Celessa's idol pauses for a moment before answering. “I…yes, I am.”

Oh goddess. Celessa barely manages not to make a complete fool of herself, and that's if she's being generous. She never thought this would actually happen. She's been content to admire this woman at a distance, and now she's right here, letting Celessa ask questions about her research like it isn't the best moment of Celessa's whole entire life. 

Celessa knows that Zelda is just a normal person, really. It's not that there isn't anything special about her, but she knows it's not her place to treat Zelda like the goddess reincarnated. It's something she tries to keep in mind as they talk, but the longer the conversation goes on, the less she needs to remind herself. It doesn't take long before it feels like they truly are two people just…talking. 

Celessa's greatest inspiration is just as much a regular person as she is. It's a beautiful thing to get to see it like this. 

That would've been enough on its own. More than enough. Celessa is still kind of losing it, if she's totally honest, though she tries to act normal. What she really doesn't expect is the chance to have her team looked over by Champion Link. 

They're quieter than Researcher Zelda, but when they do speak up, it's just as enthralling. In ten minutes, they've given Celessa a clear path forward and even convinced her to try and win the Honedge in the upcoming exhibition matches. 

The only real bump comes when they're looking through the ‘dex entries for her main team. She realizes just barely too late that they're reading her Pokemon's nicknames, because she never bothers to turn that feature off. 

“Zelly, huh?” Champion Link's mouth twitches up, and Celessa groans. 

“I've just always thought she's so cool.” She knows her face is probably bright red, but she's surprised to notice a light touch of blushing on Champion Link's face as well. 

They laugh, quiet but sincere. “Me too.”

This, Celessa decides, is the most surprising part of her day. Incredible enough to meet her idol and talk about her research. Stunning to get advice from the real actual Hylian Champion.

Finding out that Champion Link is just as much of an embarrassingly huge fan of Princess Zelda as she is manages to beat the rest—though only by a little. 

Chapter Text

Zelda runs her hand along the green siding of his house. “So, do you prefer this to our house in Hateno, now?”

Link shrugs. The greater distance from town is better while they recover. No one bothers him here unless he's commissioned an upgrade, which is a welcome change from Bolson’s loitering. Privacy is a luxury they've rarely been able to indulge, and it's done them both a world of good. 

But Zelda knows all of that. She's not asking why they've been staying here since she returned. She's asking why he even had a second house built, when they've both always been so fond of the house in Hateno. 

“I got tired of the drama.” It's not the whole reason, of course, but there's no need for him to drag out how horribly he missed her and how their happiness haunts that little house in Hateno. She understands without words. 

“Drama?” Zelda pauses and looks at him with undisguised bafflement. “In Hateno?”

Hateno has always had its share of nosy gossips and of all the settlements has been the least likely to leave them alone. It is also, according to Zelda, the closest thing to what she remembers of Hylian towns. She'd found comfort in that, when the loss of their culture got too heavy to carry quietly. 

Still, it is a small village, and in all their time, there was never any conflict among the villagers that lasted longer than an afternoon. Link had missed those days viciously during the mayoral race. 

“There was an election.” Link sighs, exhausted just by the memory. “Reede versus Cece.”

Zelda taps her fingers against the siding. He knows she’s calling up old memories, still in the long process of dusting off a lifetime which measures so short against her millenia in the sky. “Cece…that’s the woman who took over Seldon’s shop, right? I still think it’s indecent that Sophie wasn’t put in a management position.”

Oh, how Cece would hate being identified that way. It warms Link’s heart just a little. “Yeah, that’s her. And Sophie would hate being someone’s boss, though I do agree she should get more credit.”

“Exactly.” There’s fire in Zelda’s eyes, familiar and beautiful. It flickers when she weighs her memory against what Link’s said. “Wait. Why would Cece want to be mayor? I thought she was dedicated to her ridiculous fashion.”

Link can’t help but laugh. It’s a good thing they’re nowhere near Hateno, or someone might overhear and bring the rest of the village to their door with torches and pitchforks. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that. They’ve all gotten quite defensive of Cece’s fads. She and Reede were arguing over whether Hateno should be known for fashion or vegetables.”

Zelda’s bafflement crystalizes. “I…suppose fashion should win out, given the history of the Hateno Dye technique. I know there are several farmers, but I’d hardly call their crops something worth a local identity. If any village is known for vegetables, it should be Kakariko. They’re the ones who originally cultivated Swift Carrots and Fortified Gourds.”

“I know.” Link can feel an echo of the headache all of those debates gave him. “They didn’t even bring up the dye, Zelda. It was all about Cece.”

“Those dye vats are one of the major local landmarks.” Zelda stares at him as though he’s someone she needs to convince. “The Hateno Dye technique used to be one of Hyrule’s major trade advantages. Sayge holds knowledge that is very nearly a lost art in a decimated culture. And you’re telling me they were arguing over vegetables first grown by someone else and a post-Calamity fashion pattern?”

Link leans against the side of the house, letting his head thump back against it. “Yeah.”

Zelda turns and leans next to him. There’s a nice view of Tarrey Town from this angle. Ever-bustling Tarrey Town, with its diversity and new ideas. Tarrey Town, full of people who dream. Tarrey Town, where the residents know Link has earned his privacy and have enough projects to keep them occupied regardless. “I see why you moved.”

Link reaches out with his remaining hand, and she takes it without hesitation. “We can go back, if you want. I do miss your well.”

Zelda laughs and kisses his cheek. “I’m sure I can commission Hudson to dig me a new one. Besides, this is closer to where Rinbell is setting up her workshop.”

He’s more relieved than he likes to admit. He knows that if he’d asked, Zelda would gladly stay here—just like, if she’d asked, he would’ve moved back to Hateno. It’s better that they both want this, though. He likes for them to be aligned. 

He’d call it a rare stroke of luck that they almost always are, but he knows that luck has nothing to do with it.

Chapter Text

Her hands hold down the sheet of drafting paper, unusually still for Zelda at her desk with a project in front of her. 

Then again, this isn't an easy project. It's hard enough to clean up what remains of Castle Town. Now there are plans for a memorial as well, which Link knows is appropriate, but leaving those decisions to Zelda is…

Well, he was outvoted. So were Impa, Purah, and Robbie. Zelda claimed that as a princess, her vote counted for at least five people, and that was that. They're all still keeping a close eye on her. 

He understands some of why she wants to do this. She is, after all, the last living person to have seen the destruction firsthand. Purah and Robbie were busy transporting his corpse, and Impa was with other Sheikah warriors. She trusted Zelda's safety to him. Remembering that particular conversation was a challenging time, and part of Link still can't believe she's forgiven him. 

So far, Zelda has been throwing herself into this project with a fervor that Link suspects is intended to stop her from dwelling too much on what exactly she's doing. She wants to honor the dead, she wants to rebuild a centrally located town, and she wants to populate it with something other than ghosts. This is why the pause now is so concerning. 

“Are you tired?” Link asks quietly, ready to bundle her away to bed with some tea and a book. He hopes she'll let him. 

Zelda swallows and flexes her hands. “No, not exactly. I was just thinking about the memorials.”

That's what I was afraid of, Link wants to say. It won't do any good, so he keeps quiet. She'll tell him more in her own time. 

“I think we could make a nice stone plaque to honor the majority of the fallen. There's no need to be overdramatic about it.” She runs her fingers along part of the paper, and Link can see the sketch of a simple shape, not dissimilar to a grave marker. “But then I thought about Mipha’s statue in Zora’s Domain, and I realized the people might expect something different for royalty.”

Ah. So that's what this is about. 

Link's opinion of King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule hasn't changed much since he first met his ghost outside the Shrine of Resurrection. As far as Link is concerned, he was meddling, overconfident in matters that had nothing to do with him, and far too prone to testing people. Link still gets annoyed sometimes when he remembers the sheer arrogance of Zelda's abusive father tasking him with saving her. As if he needed Rhoam, of all possible people, to tell him that there was another part of his soul.

Zelda’s relationship with her father's ghost is different from Link’s. For one thing, she never met the actual ghost. For another, she wasn’t the one who watched and remembered all that derision and dismissal. She lived it. 

Link doesn’t know exactly how she feels about her father. He knows she read Rhoam’s goddess-damned journal, which he understands was complicated for her. Link’s of the mind that it doesn't count if you regret years of scorn and abuse only after it’s been proven that applying enough pressure to crush a Hinox doesn’t actually make your daughter into the perfect priestess. 

(He and Impa have broken more than a few pots about it, which is always very gratifying. He’s not sure if Zelda knows that he and Impa meet up to complain about her father and every other long dead bastard who made her believe that she wasn’t living up to an ideal they didn’t actually understand because they weren’t goddess-chosen and somehow they took “the goddess gave her blood and blessings to this young woman” and turned it into “we should be overtly cruel instead of honoring her.” Maybe someday he’ll invite Zelda to join them sometime, just to see if that’s a healthy outlet for her, too.)

“What do you think people will want?” Zelda smooths out the blank side of the drafting paper. “After all, he was the last king of Hyrule.”

Link knows that when she says last king of Hyrule, she doesn’t just mean that he was the king before the century-long gap. They’ve only spoken on it a few times, and technically she hasn’t made her firm decision yet, but he’s fairly sure she’s not going to take up the crown. Rhoam was the last king, and Zelda’s mother will be the last queen. 

Maybe that is something worth honoring. Link doesn’t think he’s the right person to make that decision. 

He wants to say:

Who cares what the people want?

The people who put up Mipha’s statue loved her.

No one who remembers your father has any love for him, except maybe you.

If we make a statue for him, I think Urbosa’s ghost will strike it with lightning, and that will make the decision for us, so maybe we should go with that.

He does not say these things, though he holds the thought about Urbosa close. Someday that might make Zelda laugh. 

Link reaches out a hand and covers hers gently. “Maybe you can wait until after you’ve opened the castle to the people. We don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

A statue of Rhoam might suggest that the monarchy is first on their minds. Regardless of Zelda’s ultimate decision about whether to take up the crown, she has plans to open the castle first as a refuge for anyone still displaced, and eventually as a place of learning and culture. What purpose is there in clinging to the past, she asked him once, and he certainly hadn’t had any good answers. 

“That’s sensible.” Zelda murmurs. She doesn’t comment on how rare it is for Link to be the sensible one. He knows that she’ll eventually realize that what he’s doing here is giving her time to make the decision. He’ll make up a thousand excuses if that’s what she needs. 

He knows she isn’t going to make that statue. He understands her sense of obligation. There’s still a part of him that remembers his oaths and tugs him to a sense of duty that he has no interest in taking up. Link is more than merely a knight of the kingdom. Zelda is far more than just a princess. 

They are not people to be made into stone carvings, revered for roles they never really got to choose. Link doesn’t care if Rhoam was more than that, too. He just doesn’t want Zelda to force herself to honor a man who was more king than father. 

“Link,” Zelda spreads her fingers beneath his hand, and their fingers lace together on an instinct that goes beyond bone-deep. “I think I am tired, after all.”

He squeezes her hand and leans in to kiss her cheek. “Then come to bed. I’ll bring you tea and that book about energy canals.”

“Thank you. Also, it’s not energy canals. It’s about energy canalization through blessed waters in Ancient Sheikah technology.” She has to know he isn’t going to remember that, but she still relaxes into him, allowing him to take some of her weight and support her up to the loft. 

It’s a privilege, but not for the reasons it might’ve been when he was her knight more than her lover. Every moment with her is a privilege they both gave everything to earn. He has no intention of letting a century-old code of conduct separate them for even a moment. Her father probably wouldn’t approve.

Maybe they should make that statue after all, just so Link can say to Rhoam’s face that he doesn’t care. Zelda is loved now. One dead king’s failure could never stop that. 

Chapter Text

Tell them! Warn the others that it is not safe!

It is the last thing her pilot asks of her, and so Ruta complies. 

Ruta is picky. Perhaps she is less so than Naboru or Medoh, but she will not allow just anyone to take her controls. Her pilot must be strong like her jets, firm like her ice, and calm like her inner pools. Water is many things, and so she needs her pilot to be fierce and gentle in equal measure. 

Ruta is large. There is space enough in her for a Zora monarch, should the need arise. She does not demand a ruler. She will not ask her pilot to give up their people. There is space enough in Ruta for a monarch; there is space enough in Ruta for a family. 

Her first pilot brought many young lives inside of her. Ruta’s pools and crevices were filled with hope for the future, and she protected that fiercely during the fight against the Calamity. The evil fell, and the tiny lives grew large, until Ruta was full to bursting with love for her children. 

When she allows the Sheikah to power her down and hide her beneath the waves, she makes sure they store her memories safely. Ruta had a family. She will not forget them, and she will not be piloted by anyone who would ask it of her.

Ruta sleeps for many years. She dreams, and in her dreams, she hopes she will not be needed. Even in her dreams, she knows the hope is in vain. She was built to be needed. 

Ruta sleeps, and when she wakes, she decides her pilot must love her for that hope. 

Her conviction becomes even stronger when she realizes that during her absence, the people have forgotten what her creators knew. She can feel the rumble of Calamity's dreams. She is needed, but the people do not know how to use her. 

She longs to help them, yet she cannot give up her secrets to the unworthy. She allows little scientists to twist in and out of her mechanisms, fiddling with the power and promises that their ancestors laid within. 

Ruta is patient. (Ruta is worried.) Ruta will divulge her secrets when they find her pilot. She tries to tell the little scientists this, and she thinks perhaps they understand. 

Several Zora make their way to her platforms, but she does not need to tell them they are not her pilot. They know. All of them know who it should be, and yet Ruta does not meet her pilot until the rumbling is loud enough to strain even her patience. 

When Mipha steps onto Ruta's platforms, she sings with relief and joy. 

She knows immediately that this is her pilot. Why did Mipha make her wait? Was she afraid of what it means to pilot a Divine Beast? Ruta can understand fear, but she needs her pilot to be strong. They have important work to do. 

“Hello Ruta.” Her pilot runs small hands along her walls. Ruta has longed to feel this connection. The waiting was lonely. “I'm sorry it took so long for me to arrive. My people do not wish to lose me.”

Ah. Ruta understands. She has felt the love and admiration in the other Zora who knew they could not be her pilot. But Ruta will not just let her pilot die. They will be strong together. They will not easily yield. 

Mipha laughs. “You're sweeter than I expected. I will gladly fight with you, if you will have me.”

What a silly question. Ruta already has her. She has no intention of letting go. 

When Mipha arrives on the day the Calamity breaks free of its bonds, Ruta can already sense something amiss. At first, she thinks it is Mipha's anxiety. There are so many people Mipha loves, and her thoughts are split between Ruta's controls and hope for the princess, faith in the knight, and fear for her brother, for her father, for all of her people. The only ones she does not worry for are her fellow pilots. They know their tasks as surely as Mipha does. They are safe and strong in their Divine Beasts. 

Mipha's anxiety settles as she takes her position, trusting in Ruta and in herself. Ruta's pools swell with both ammunition and pride. 

The sense of something wrong does not settle. Mipha and Ruta are both distracted by their task, and so they do not focus on the itch in Ruta's systems. It is not as important as their other preparations. 

Ruta was not made for regret. She was made for the strength of her jets, the firmness of her ice, and the calm of her pools. She was made for fierce, unyielding love. 

She has never felt regret.

The itch travels along her systems, until it is too difficult for them to ignore. Mipha's hand moves to her trident on instinct, and for a long moment, they brace themselves. 

The itching coalesces, bursting from her central controls, and Divine Beast Vah Ruta learns regret. 

Mipha is brave. Mipha is fierce. Mipha is a healer and a warrior in one, and Ruta takes such pride in her pilot. She knew she would one day see the end of Mipha's life. Ruta was built to be eternal. She has already seen one pilot die. She thought she knew how to handle it. 

Mipha does not hesitate for even a moment. She keys in the code to transmit a distress signal, then leaps forward and stabs the Blight. She uses Ruta's controls to shatter the ice it summons while it forces its way into Ruta's secrets. 

Mipha does not yield. She fights, because she is Ruta's pilot, and Ruta does not choose her pilots lightly. 

Ruta knew she would see her second pilot die. She did not know her pilot would die inside of her. 

They decide together to seal Ruta. She shuts down her external systems before Mipha dies. It is a risk. Even if Mipha wins, she will be trapped within Ruta. They agree that the alternative is unthinkable, and so Ruta closes herself to prevent more Malice from infecting her. 

Ruta seals herself. Ruta becomes a tomb. 

Only one system continues, and even that is hijacked by Malice, but Ruta does not shut it down. 

She made a promise to her pilot. 

Tell them! Warn the others that it is not safe!

For a hundred years, Vah Ruta transmits the signal her pilot keyed in. 

. . .

- - -

. . .

S O S

. . .

- - -

. . .

(Save us, hero. Save our souls.)

Chapter Text

Show me your courage, the statues sing, and I will make you stronger.

Give me pieces of your life essence, the statue whispers, and I will give them back in a new form.

Gather up the souls, the statues groan, and I will sell you items.

Link doesn’t feel endeared to any of the options, if he’s being honest. 

When he’s an amnesiac stumbling through towns and taking quests from children, the Horned Statue steals his heart. One of them, at least. It yanks a Heart Container from him, and Link first thinks I had to solve so many annoying puzzles to get that and then thinks this could be a problem. 

It doesn’t take any more, so Link decides it’s not much of a problem. He listens to its tale of woe and spiritual drama, and it gives him his Heart Container back. Maybe he’ll use its services in the future, but for now, it’s mostly just been an inconvenience in his larger quest. It’s probably blasphemy to even consider making deals with a creature Hylia herself sealed away, but Link figures it’s not much different from how he’s trading Spirit Orbs to Goddess Statues to get Containers that he doesn’t think other people can even see. 

He mentioned Stamina Vessels to Purah once, and she hadn’t known what he meant, but the greedy curiosity in her expression had him out the door in record time. Another way that he’s a freak. What else is new? Maybe he got a head wound when he died, and the Shrine of Resurrection didn’t quite manage to heal it right, and so he can see physical representations of intangible concepts like “life force” and “stamina”. Maybe it’s some weird blessing of the goddess. Maybe he’s just imagining it and he looks like a proper weirdo every time he reaches up his hands to catch one of the Vessels.

It doesn’t really matter. The end result is the same. A statue asks for intangible concepts and gives him something else in return. 

After the world breaks open and he remembers his failure in agonizing detail, he discovers yet another type of statue ready and willing to make deals. He appreciates that the Bargainer Statues don’t care about him specifically. He does feel a bit uncomfortable gathering up souls that don’t belong to him, but he sets the discomfort aside after he sees what’s for sale. 

He’s not sure where the Bargainer Statues keep their materials, much less how they tie little strings around the Dark Clumps, but he also doesn’t really care. If he was bothered by everything he couldn’t explain, he’d have worse headaches than he already does. 

Find me blessings from a culture I had no hand in, the Goddess Statues mutter reluctantly, and I will cleanse the Gloom from your body. You’ll also get Heart Containers and Stamina Vessels again, even though that doesn’t make complete sense. Work with me here, kid. I can only make up so many new ideas.

Fine. Link will tear apart his essence and solve puzzles and pick up souls (even though he definitely doesn’t understand where he’s keeping them in between the gathering and the trading) and get more essence and Clumps and Bomb Flowers and various tunics that also give him a headache to look at. 

It’s weird that the Bargainer Statues can give him the same set of clothing as Kilton. Not that Kilton will sell to him anymore. Link figures that it makes its own sort of sense. Only one being at a time will sell him Unique Items. Whatever. Whether the currency is souls or monster parts or gems that drop when he shoots beautiful creatures (and he does feel a bit bad about that, but not bad enough to stop gathering every useful material he can get his hands on), he knows how to make his trades. 

“Give me rupees,” Beedle says outside of a stable halfway across the continent from where Link just saw him. “and I’ll give you arrows and bugs and sometimes a vegetable or two! Also, I will be a complete freak if I sense you have a Rhino Beetle on you.”

Link could almost cry from the normalcy of it. He digs out a handful of rupees and drains Beedle’s entire stock of arrows. He’ll warp across the continent tomorrow and get more. 

Chapter Text

Link’s only here in the first place because he knows he’ll have to deal with Beedle soon, and he figures Serenne Pokécenter is as good a place as any to wait. It’s not usually a very busy place, and he’s pretty tired of people recognizing him, at this point. They keep asking questions he really doesn’t want to answer.

What’s his team composition for the upcoming exhibition matches? Is he planning to leave his sixth slot open to win the shiny Honedge? What’s he doing to do with it once he wins? How does it feel to be the youngest challenger to go undefeated in every recorded match?

How does it feel to be left alone, no one asks, which is a shame. Link would really like to know the answer to that question. 

He’s wandering the paths near Great Hyrule Forest, tapping absently at the pokeballs on his belt. 

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Five. Splash, Pebble, Beak, Pony, and then Seed’s empty ball. He usually lets her float around when they’re near Great Hyrule Forest. He caught her here shortly after beating Hestu, and the Hyrule Forest Whimsicotts are very social. 

Link follows her, letting his mind wander through various strategies for his next battles. It’s as close as he gets to meditating. He told Professor Purah that once, and she laughed at him. She usually laughs at him, though. 

He’s not paying attention to the path, trusting that Seed will keep them to the edge of the forest. Once the mist starts swirling around him, he realizes that trusting a Whimsicott with his safety is maybe not the wisest move. 

He glances around, not pleased to see fog in all directions. He can hear Seed’s chirping nearby, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about her. Link sighs and picks a direction at random, intending to barrel through until he either leaves the area or gets forcibly turned around.

eep…

Link freezes in his tracks. The mist doesn’t frighten him, even though he knows what it signifies. It's like the bright color of poison-types. The Lost Woods are not safe. They are not meant for average Hylians. They are holy and sacred and deeply, terribly haunted. But they do not frighten him.

eep…!

He’s still not frightened, despite how his blood runs too cold and the churning in his gut. It’s such a small cry, and he knows without conscious thought that it isn’t dangerous. 

Or…no, that’s not it. There is danger, but not for him. Not in the form of an attack, at least. 

Eep!

He’s needed. 

Link walks forward without thinking. The cry doesn’t come again, but he knows he’s going the right way. Occasionally he hears the chitter of a Whimsicott, but he ignores them. Someone needs him. He has to find it. He has to find her—

The clearing is painfully bright after the near-blindness of the fog. Whimsicotts float all around, caught up in the foliage and bouncing along the branches of the massive tree at the center of the glade. Link is aware, distantly, that the tree might be speaking. He should probably pay attention to that.

He’ll apologize later. Right now, all of his focus is squarely on the tiny creature curled on the stone in front of the tree. His first thought is that it looks more than a little like a thick, pink noodle, which maybe means he should’ve eaten lunch before going on his walk. 

Another Whimsicott chirps next to his ear, and Link knows that it's Seed. He can't look away, but he leans lightly into her fluff to let her know she's forgiven. Whether she was simply following her friends or truly intended to guide him here, he can't say. It doesn't really matter. He knows, deeper and more intimate than bones or blood, that he would've found his way here even without her. 

It's sort of funny, in a way. The exhibition matches are so soon. They'll tell the story of the First Champion and The Princess Who Was The Bridge Between Pokemon And People. They'll show off the shiny Honedge, bred from the line of the Champion’s own Aegislash and now used as a status symbol. 

The Aegislash that came from the Lost Woods. 

Link takes a shaky breath as the shiny Dratini lifts her head and looks at him. 

Eep!

“Oh.” Link swallows. He understands, all too abruptly, exactly what this means.

Well. At least he won’t be alone for it. 

Chapter Text

It’s the cruelest thing the king has done to him, and Link’s including all the extremely public ceremonies. A dance between the princess and the hero to open the ball. It’ll give the people hope, he said. They’ll be pleased to see their promised saviors move in tandem. 

It makes about as much sense as still holding an annual ball despite the Calamity’s imminent approach. Link shouldn’t be surprised.

“Link,” Zelda—no, the princess. He can’t think of her casually right now, or he’ll burst into absolutely humiliating flames. The princess speaks to him, her voice cool and collected, as though this doesn’t affect her in the slightest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stiff. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong, she asks, with one hand on his shoulder and the other holding his own. They might be wearing gloves, but he can still feel the heat of her skin just beneath. It’s torture. Even worse, he has a hand on her waist. Her waist. What’s wrong indeed. He swears he can hear Urbosa laughing at him, and given that she is actually in attendance, that might not just be in his head. 

Then again, Urbosa probably wouldn’t laugh while Zelda (the princess! He needs to get it together!) dances. All the courtiers would take it the wrong way, even if he and Zel—the princess would know exactly who she’s laughing at. 

He’s so in his head. It’s not unusual, not since he drew the sword and the weight of everyone’s expectations went from ‘oh what a talented kid, he’ll be twice the knight his father was, good thing he’s okay with that life path because it’s not like anyone cared to ask’ to ‘better make sure you’re the best swordsman who ever lived because you have to kill the literal incarnation of evil and if you fail everyone will die and also don’t you dare have a personality or we’ll all pick it to pieces.’ 

It’s enough to make anyone anxious. He’s gotten used to the stress for the most part, but it’s harder right now, after spending time in the wild so recently. He’s felt freedom so recently, and now he’s caged. They both are.

It’s remembering that he and the princess are a unit now that makes him stumble. He can’t help it. He’s wanted that for so long, and now she’s smiling at him, and even if it’s because he messed up a simple waltz, she’s still smiling. 

“I never would’ve guessed that you’re a poor dancer.” She whispers it, even though no one is near enough to hear them. He supposes they’re both used to secret-keeping. “It’s refreshing to finally be better than you at something.”

Link blinks, mild outrage swelling in his chest. He keeps his expression carefully neutral, but on the inside, he’s shouting. She’s better than him at so many things! He’d happily list them if they were somewhere (anywhere) else. 

She rolls her eyes once her back is turned to the watching court. “I mean something physical, obviously. It’s rare for there to be any scenario where I have greater control over my body than you.”

Now she’s talking about their bodies and control, as if every second of this misery isn’t testing his. It’s evil. Though how did she even—

“No, I can’t read minds.” She laughs again. She’s so beautiful that he wants to throw up. He doesn’t. He thinks he should get a medal for that. “Your thoughts were written all over your face.”

What a thing to hear after months of her complaining about his blankness. It seems like it’s taken no time at all for her to become an expert in him. He’s trying to study her just as carefully. It’s the second greatest task of his life. Maybe the greatest, but he figures there’s no need to tempt the goddess with blasphemy.

“Don’t worry. Everyone will assume that any of your mistakes are my fault, anyway.” She says it so easily, without even a trace of hurt or self-pity. He’s seen her break down over it before. He knows it affects her. And yet there are still these times where it’s clear that the judgment is just a part of her worldview. She doesn’t know a life without it. 

He can hardly stand it. He has to use every scrap of control he’s pulled together since finding the sword to keep himself in step instead of launching at everyone who, even now, whispers little cruelties. “Sorry.”

“What?” She seems genuinely surprised that he would apologize. Link sort of wants to push the king off a balcony. He thinks Urbosa would help. “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

He opens his mouth, truly wanting to tell her all of his thoughts, but—he can’t. His voice is long gone. All he can do is shake his head and tighten his grip on her hand. He pulls her closer by her waist, just barely, still within the rules of decorum. He knows she notices. Her face flushes lightly, and he can barely breathe. 

They turn again, continuing a dance that feels like it’s lasted several years by this point. He’s as desperate for it to end as he is for it to continue on forever. 

“This is nice,” She murmurs, daring to pull him even closer. 

He can smell her perfume, can see the small beads of sweat from even mild exertion while wearing a multi-layered dress in a room full of people. His heart might give out, and then where will they be? “Yeah.”

The last few notes play in tune with her gentle smile. When the music ends, she pulls away, and he manages not to whine miserably or drag her back into him. Again, where is his medal? “Thank you for the dance.”

He bows. He wants to go to his knees. He wants to hold her close. He wants to kiss her. He wants to hold her hand and dance in front of a fire, laughter brighter than the flames. 

He has to swallow again before he speaks, and his voice still cracks. “It was my pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Link forgets that name.

No, that's not true. Sometimes she just doesn't recognize it. 

“Link?” 

She doesn't look up from the cooking pot. Hand pies are tricky, but Koko has given her some good tips. She startles at the hand on her shoulder, head jerking up to see Zelda's face painted with concern. She hates that look. Hates when it's directed at her. 

“I called your name half a dozen times, and you didn't respond.” Zelda's voice is quiet, even though there's no one around to hear. “Are you…”

Are you alright, she doesn't ask. Are you okay. Questions they don't ask each other, both because they're sick of being asked and because the answer is self-evident. 

Still, it's fair here. Usually it's impossible to sneak up on her. 

“Sorry.” Her voice is quiet, too. Old anxiety rears its head even after a century away. Life can be cruel. “Sometimes I think I don't know my name.”

That's not quite right either. He knows that name, knows it in his soul, but that's the problem, isn't it? 

“Hey, Linky!” Purah slaps the work table, and he glances up as though his heart isn't racing. How long has she been there? “What's going on? I've been yelling your name for ages.”

Ages could mean anything with Purah, but it's disturbing even at the mildest end. He hates when this happens. 

“Sorry.” He can't look her in the eye. Usually he avoids outright apologizing to Purah or Robbie because they'll use it as a way to make him help with experiments he can't be bothered to try and understand. This, though…he doesn't have a good way to explain. An apology is the best he can offer. 

Zelda leans into his side. Her touch is as much a comfort as his ability to anticipate her movements. His mind still works. He knows his surroundings. 

She finds his hand, leaving smudges of grease and oil from her tinkering. He loves her mark on him, especially when it's these casual brush strokes of her passions. Life can be kind. 

The touch is a question, revealing the degree of her concern. He nods. Might as well face the music. 

“I've noticed that, as well.” Zelda admits. Purah’s sharp inhale is quiet, but he knows what it means. She's aware of how rare it is that either of them share details like this about each other. “Using his name doesn't always catch his attention.”

He chances a glance up. There's no judgement on Purah's face, though she is biting her lip. “Is it related to…I mean, is there another name you prefer?”

It's a fair question. There's so much they're still figuring out how to explain to other people. They understand their own feelings, but talking about it is something else entirely. Mostly they'd rather not bother. 

“It isn't really about the name.” They let their legs dangle off the edge of the rock, lightly swaying to the music. 

Kass hums to show he's listening, but he doesn't ask questions. They like that about him. He just lets them talk. They find it easier to talk to him than almost anyone else—sometimes they even bring Zelda along so she can listen while they explain. It feels strange for her not to be the sole answer to every problem, but Impa says that's a good thing. They are, after all, separate people. It feels wrong for that to be true. Life can be so confusing. 

“I don't have any problem with the name.” That's mostly true. It's entirely true with regards to their whole gender situation, which is both a relief and a disappointment. That would at least be simpler to explain. “It's more that I expect it to be something else. Not a different name, but a different sound. Maybe another language.”

They aren't as sure as they want to be. They think there might have been other names, far away in lifetimes they can't quite grasp, but that's the hardest part to pin down. Mostly they think they've been Link. 

It's just that ‘Link’ hasn't always meant the same thing. 

Except that's still not completely accurate. 

“It doesn't have to matter.” Zelda says, warm and soft in their shared bed. Here is safety. Here is kindness. “Unless it matters to you, of course.”

It's challenging to consider this when Zelda’s so good at stroking hair and skin, soothing the rough edges the two of them share. These moments are precious. Nothing could ruin them. 

Which is, perhaps, the point of bringing it up now. Clever girl. Wise woman. 

“I don't know if it matters.” Finally, something that's completely true. “It's inconvenient, but other than that…it isn't like it's the only weird thing.”

"Weird thing” here meaning what's impossible to explain to someone who doesn't have a soul reaching all the way back to the first time Hylia touched the land. Zelda understands. If nothing else, the two of them understand each other. If not entirely, then enough. 

“Okay.” It's more than enough. It's everything. “I love you.”

Another truth, this one easy and natural like it's a fundamental law of the world. Maybe it is. It should be. “I love you too.”

Life can be hard to define—but it's worth it. So very worth it. 

Chapter Text

If Link had known he were about to die, they might have been able to avoid what happened. 

If he’d known that his wounds would be fatal, he might have been more careful. If he had known he would be out of commission for a century while his partner in destiny risked everything just to hold the horror at arm’s length, he might have been more selfish. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have taken that last stand at Fort Hateno. Maybe he would have said no, let’s run, let’s you and I keep each other alive just a bit longer. Yes, our race will become critically endangered, but it’s not like they’d be all that much better off if we did manage to defend one of the only two Hylian towns that might survive a hundred year stalemate. 

If he’d known that the consequence of his resurrection would be a complete erasure of his memories, he might have taken the princess by the arm and said please my love, make me a promise. I will need those memories, Zelda. Promise that you will wait to storm the castle gates until you’ve taken twelve pictures that tell the story of you and me. Yes, the delay will result in more deaths, but some things are more important. 

Maybe, just maybe, Link could have told Zelda that forgetting would be the worst injury of them all. Maybe she would have believed him. Maybe everything would have turned out differently.

Of course, even if he’d known he would die and forget, Link might not have begged that promise from her. He might’ve trusted her to know him well enough to be selfish. 

It doesn’t really matter. He didn’t know he was going to die. He didn’t know to savor the last time she said his name, even if it was through tears. If he’d known, he might have held onto the certainty that he would hear that voice again when he awoke. 

Obviously she will greet him when the Shrine finishes its work. She will give him a task too large for anyone to overcome, and he will forgive her for it. He will find her, and they will fight together, and this time they will win. He will remember her. Of course he’ll remember her. 

The Shrine of Resurrection finishes its century-long task. The Hylian floating in its waters opens his eyes.

Only silence greets him.

He doesn’t take the Slate. It’s just a weird glowing platform to him, and he’d rather get the lay of the land before touching weird glowing things. He’d like some pants, for one thing, and luckily those are easy enough to find. It takes the door a moment to open, as if it’s confused, but eventually the stone parts for him. His first steps into the wild are breathtaking. It’s so bright, the air so crisp, and he is overcome by the world around him.

He is not so distracted that he doesn’t see the old man at the fire. Of course he sees. He doesn’t approach, though—still cautious, still unsure, still utterly at a loss. He has no name. No purpose. He has no direction, and so he picks one at random and goes where his feet carry him.

The old man watches him from a distance, but does not directly interfere. Where is the slate, the old man wonders. Where is his purpose? Did you forget to remind him, daughter? Have you lost yourself so completely to the beast in the heart of the castle?

No, she would tell him, if there was any way to send that message. I didn’t forget anything. He did.

The walk from Blatchery Plain to the Lost Woods is fairly long. There’s plenty of time for thinking. Zelda’s good at thinking. Overthinking, some might say. But then, it’s easy to judge when you’re on the outside. 

She walks and she thinks, and by the time she’s planted the sword back in its pedestal, she’s made up her mind.

He should have a choice. Neither of them did before, and it was never fair. She’ll give him a choice this time. He doesn’t have to help. He doesn’t even have to remember.

She chooses to let him forget. 

If he had known how much she didn’t understand, maybe he would have explained. If he had known how deep her fears ran, maybe he would have shown her the depth of his own. If he had known how broken she felt, maybe he would have anticipated the things she would consider kind. 

He didn’t know—at least not well enough or soon enough to prevent her generosity. 

The Sheikah Slate stays in his tomb. The Tower does not rise. The Shrines do not activate. The king’s ghost has about as many good ideas as he did when he was alive.

A Hylian with no name traverses the Great Plateau. He has no destination in mind. He has almost nothing at all in his mind.

Something is missing. He knows it, can feel that something terrible has gone wrong, but there is nothing he can do on his own. He needs help.

In the Castle, Zelda holds to her faith that this is kind. She is doing her best with what she was given. It is all either of them have ever done.

Chapter Text

When they break for camp at night, Zelda and Link have a routine. Link does the cooking (Zelda tried a few times, only to quickly be banned, which is objectively fair but still stings) while Zelda releases all of their pokemon and compiles whatever notes she’s taken over the course of the day. They all eat together, Hylians and pokemon alike, and then comes the most important part of the day: playtime.

At this point in their journey, most of Zelda’s active projects have largely finished. Prin, Spike, and Lady have all evolved, and while she still takes notes on their behavior, her focus was on the leadup to their evolution. She still jots down how Lady remains a terribly picky eater, how Spike will now search out ways to reduce overstimulation without Link’s prompting, and how Prin takes every opportunity to communicate empathically with her. All of them fascinate her just as much now as they did at the beginning.

It is nice to have so much of her work done, though. She won’t deny that.

Her only remaining project is Volt, which is a bit ironic. He was the simplest of her projects at the start of this, since she had no way to influence his evolution. Now, he’s the project that refuses to finish. Zelda knew academically that Toxels take a long time to evolve. She is now aware of it on a deeply personal, somewhat frustrating level.

She loves him. She does. She’s just also very much ready to not have a baby at camp every night.

He’s fussy tonight, which is hardly uncommon. He was more predictable at the start of their journey, but these days it seems like he can’t go a single night without having a meltdown. She knows it’s because he’s close to evolving, and his body is full of energy and potential that can’t be comfortable in his too-small form. She feels for him, she really does. 

That doesn’t make a crying Toxel any more pleasant to experience.

I’ve got it. Link passes her the soothe bell toy that Pebble loves to play with, and scoops Volt up from the ground. She’s never understood how he can tolerate so much direct contact with Volt’s poisonous skin, but she’s learned not to try and solve every riddle of the puzzle that is Link. It is a time consuming exercise in frustration.

Volt squeaks and claps his hands together. He knows what comes next, and he loves it like nothing else.

Link hums a simple tune, low and gentle. Eep perks up her head and joins him, more melodic than Zelda knew a Dragonite could be before meeting Eep. Pebble kicks the bell toy when Zelda rolls it to him, adding a thumping percussion alongside the bell’s soft ringing. Splash chirps and sways, nearly off rhythm, but clearly well accustomed to this song and dance. Link says that when Seed is around, she rustles leaves and sometimes changes the beat by stealing the bell toy from Pebble. 

Volt is quiet while the music starts, but once it’s settled into its rhythm, he pats his abdomen in perfect sync. He’s trying to strum an organ that he doesn’t yet have, but when Link holds him and sways to their song, Volt isn’t frustrated by it. He’s content to join in as best he can.

Zelda is looking forward to what beautiful music he’ll make once he’s evolved. There’s space in the song just waiting for a brilliant creature to make his own. 

Chapter Text

The first time Zelda understands what cold truly means, she welcomes it. 

Her father has been cold. The holy waters of the goddess shrines have been cold. Rain has bitten a chill into her bones, the stone of the castle floors have leeched the warmth from her skin, and a refusal to trap herself inside has thrust her into more than one shivery day wearing too few layers for comfort. 

She thought she knew what the cold felt like, but as they approach Rito Village, Zelda realizes that she was wrong. The snow is beautiful until their horses have been trudging through it for upwards of an hour. The ice glitters in a freezing wind that makes her ears go numb. She’s bundled in a coat made especially for this trip, but she may as well be in a summer gown for all it seems to help. 

The cold is miserable, but it is also a distraction from her nerves, and she has learned to value that. They’ve still not heard from Revali, and so Zelda is here to pry an answer from him by whatever means possible. She doesn’t know what to expect. Is he intending to refuse? Does he want to coerce the crown into offering riches or land? Has his courage deserted him in the face of the oncoming threat?

From what she’s heard of him, Zelda doesn’t think he’s the type to be intimidated. But this is Calamity Ganon, and Revali has no inborn responsibility to his people. Urbosa is a Chief and Zelda’s family in all but blood. Mipha is the princess of the Zora and has known the weight of her role since birth. Daruk is not exactly a leader among the Goron, but Zelda doesn’t think it’s likely that he will refuse. The Goron are generally straightforward. If Daruk wants something in exchange for his agreement, then he will say so, and the royal family will give it. 

They are too desperate to refuse.

Maybe Revali knows this. He is their rogue element. He could hold all of Hyrule hostage if it suited him. They might be able to find another Rito champion, but not without causing an incident. The Rito are a proud people, and no candidate will appreciate being second choice. Worse yet, they might create offense merely by suggesting that a better candidate could exist. If the Rito hold Revali in high enough esteem, the mere thought of replacing him could incite turmoil that would take years to smooth over.

Hyrule does not have that kind of time. 

Unfortunately, Revali is not at Rito Village. Zelda could weep from exhaustion and anxiety, if she were not worried about the tears freezing to her face. One of the Rito at the inn looks her over with concern, and for a moment, Zelda is terrified that they can see right through her. She has years of experience with hiding her feelings. If they can see how worried she is, it might start the chain of offense they’ve traveled so far to avoid.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” Feathers brush against the wool, and Zelda learns what it looks like for a face with a beak to twist up in doubt. “You need a Snowquill set, dear. You’ll freeze at the Flight Range in something this thin.”

“That sounds marvellous. Where can I get one?” Zelda doesn’t bother being overly polite. She knows the Rito think Hylians are too stuffy as a rule, and she doesn’t mind the chance to drop a bit of the grating formality. 

She’s directed to a tailor who makes quick work of fitting her into a coat that immediately feels much better. She marvels at the embroidery, a gorgeous gold against white that fits perfectly with her usual garments. Zelda wonders for a moment if this wasn’t made especially for her visit—a way for the Rito to show off their craftsmanship and skill. If that is the case, then she will pass on her observations to her father, and the Rito will find themselves with a new royal commission. 

Finally warm and more confident in her place here, Zelda and her retinue set off to the Flight Range. She knows her task. She may be a failure as a priestess, but she can be a princess. 

As soon as they get to the Flight Range proper, she’s immensely grateful for her new coat. The wind whips around them with a fervor she’s never seen before, and she suspects that even in Rito-made gear, she would feel the chill much more strongly if she hadn’t also taken a warming elixir back at the village. 

The source of the wind is soon clear. She’s heard of what Revali can do—shaping a gale is an incredible skill, and when she watches him leap into the eye of it, her breath catches. It’s more than flying. The way he twists with the wind is like dancing, and when his wing catches the air wrong, Zelda can feel a phantom twinge in her ankle from the last time she tripped in the ballroom. 

For Revali’s sake, she wishes she hadn’t seen his mistake. For her own sake, she is glad of it. The way he immediately critiques himself and plans to push even harder is familiar, and though she has never known how to believe in herself, she is utterly confident that Revali will master this. She can’t imagine him failing. There’s too much pride and drive in those eyes. 

When he chastises her for eavesdropping, Zelda fears the worst. This is where rejection comes. He will refuse the call, even with a royal visit intended to honor him. 

Revali surprises her. She doesn’t even have to make the request. It seems he was merely waiting for a suitably dramatic opportunity to accept. Given that this has taken her away from the castle and brought her to a place she’s never seen with her own eyes, Zelda doesn’t mind his drama at all. 

Another surprise, though perhaps it should be: he takes to the air again, despite his failure. He shapes the gale and leaps into it, and when his wings start to catch, he corrects and shoots so far up in the sky that Zelda can scarcely see him. As he comes down, the targets all across the range explode in a show of prowess Zelda is certain no one alive in all of Hyrule could match.

They have chosen the right Rito for the job.

Even his arrogance is not so off-putting. For one, Zelda has already seen what it covers. He is not pompous or haughty, like the worst nobles in court. His confidence is born of constant effort and self-improvement. What Revali has, he has worked for. She respects it.

If she also appreciates his open distaste for Sir Link…well, Zelda thinks she’s owed at least one person on her side. He offers her a tour of the range, mentioning offhand that he had it built himself, and takes no less than seven opportunities to mock the Hero Who Wields The Sword Which Seals The Darkness. When Revali finally gets her to openly laugh, he looks just as satisfied as when he’d landed after his flight. 

It’s the most fun Zelda’s had in months. She doesn’t even notice the cold.

Chapter Text

The sage avatars are tolerable. Link can handle spirit projections of his friends, even if he has to keep reminding himself that they’re not ghosts. Their hollowness helps with that. 

The champions were so real, even in death. Even if Link only saw them in brief flashes when he called on their power, he could never mistake them for blank vessels. He felt Urbosa’s anger and conviction when her lightning covered his blade. Daruk’s booming kindness enveloped him like a rib-cracking hug. Revali’s pride called the wind to twist around him. Mipha’s gentle ferocity pierced him as surely as her trident. Their souls gave him power, trapped as they were between the Calamity and restful death. 

When Link signals for Tulin to give him a gust of air, there is no childish bravado in the breeze. Sidon’s avatar darts forward to attack Link’s enemies, but it does not give him a grin to outshine the sun. Riju’s vow is collected and still whenever it is not channeling power, so unlike the coiled energy of the young woman on her throne. Yunobo’s presence comes with no fretful courage or reflexive shout when it bursts forward. 

They are not ghosts. They are empty. Sometimes Link can trick himself into feeling less lonely just by having them around, but that runs the risk of being even worse once he can’t avoid what they are. They’re projections of obligations, of vows made in earnest, but still under duress. They’re promises Zelda pulled from their ancestors when she had no other options. 

In that sense, they shouldn’t feel too different from the champions Link fought alongside. Their vows were from duty as well—the best of their people, chosen for the front lines. 

Maybe it’s that they made their decisions before the Calamity struck. Maybe it’s that what they fought was unavoidable destiny, not a millenia-old mistake from a king who had every opportunity to know better. Maybe it’s that their tragedy was shared. Link died too. 

That could be the problem. Link died, but he was never a ghost. He died, then he lived. 

There are no ghosts following him these days. Only hollow shells. Empty vessels. Five of them, even if Mineru’s avatar takes a more solid form.

Sometimes, Link could swear there are six.

This is all wrong. 

Link directs Riju’s avatar to release her aura, waiting carefully to shoot his arrow at the Moblin at the center of the monster camp. He’ll have to get up close after this, and he’s already preparing to send the signal to Sidon’s avatar for the protective bubble. 

Why do they look like that?

It would be easier if Link could believe he was dwelling on how unsettling the vow avatars can be. He wishes he were just a bit less aware of himself. Unfortunately, Hylia doesn’t believe in letting her hero catch a break.

Moblin horns should be longer than that. 

Yeah, Link thinks, I know. Trust me, I’m fully aware of how wrong and messed up this looks. Now will you let me do the one thing we’re good for and take care of this camp full of monsters?

There are no further objections. Link darts forward, swinging his sword with twice the speed and ferocity as usual. It’s times like these that he’s grateful the avatars are nothing more than projections. He can’t do this sort of thing with people around to watch and notice that something is off about him.

Don’t worry about it, Link imagines telling his friends. I’m just sort of possessed by the ghost of myself. Except that it’s not a ghost, because I know what ghosts are like, and this is a lot more like the hollow echoes of the sage vows in that it’s deeply unsettling and doesn’t make me feel any less alone when the worst of my grief hits. 

Shouldn’t Tulin be younger than this?

How can you be stuck in the past, Link wants to shout. You should know what I know! Did you freeze once the Calamity was gone and Zelda was free and we could finally start to move on? Did the goddess trap you in that state just in case someday I’d inherit a hand-me-down horror and a bit more speed might be useful?

The wilds feel strange. 

Tell me about it, Link sighs. They’re not our wilds anymore. We’re stuck with remnants of the past raining down from the sky. Come on, hero. Keep up with the times. 

He feels a kinship with the Zelda of a century ago who hated him. Sometimes he can be a real pain to deal with. 

Zelda. Where is she? Where is the princess? We should be protecting her.

Link grips the hilt of his sword tightly enough that he can almost feel the ache in Rauru’s fingers. 

We failed again, didn’t we?

Yeah. Link takes out the Purah Pad and hovers over a transport point on a sky island. The echo is quieter in the sky. 

Yeah, I failed again. She’s gone, except for how she’s right here. 

We’ll save her again.

In this, at least, he has never failed himself. It does no harm to feel this conviction twice over.

We will, Link knows. We’ll help her save herself. 

There’s nothing hollow in that belief.

Chapter Text

You were created to be shared.

Steady hands assembled you in the days before horror came home to roost. You do not know the start of it. Your basic frame was assembled before you could understand the language they were teaching you with careful precision.

They tell you that you will last far beyond the approaching threat. You are made for the future just as much as the present. You are important. Soon, your terminal will allow you to see, and you will begin to grasp what this means. They could not shape the terminal until you awoke, but now you are here, and they can begin to work with your living stone. 

When they bring yet more living stone, you feel its presence before they install it. Fascinating, one of them says, running a hand over your terminal. Did this happen with the others?

Yes. The stone rubs the wrong way against your supports. It is uncomfortable. Something about it is foreign and strange, and you do not like it. Oh, don’t fuss so much. This is from the same quarry as the rest of you. Once we sync you up, you’ll forget you were ever apart.

You haven’t forgotten yet. All you know is that the new stone is new and different. It hums with unshaped potential. The rest of you is shaped already. The new stone needs to catch up.

We’re working on it. The process would likely be faster without your complaining.

If they did not wish to hear you, they shouldn’t have woken you up so early. You try to distract yourself from the sensation of shaping-approaching-begin-to-see-you-know-you at your peak. There is energy already flowing in your core, even if it is not enough to fill you. It longs to reach out and connect with—something. You don’t know what it wants. What you want. You try to extend yourself into the land, but you run out of energy just as you see something on the horizon. It is calling for you. It is what you are meant to reach. 

[connection failed!]

That’s because you aren’t ready yet. We haven’t even finished your Guidance Stone. Have a little patience, won’t you?

You send a shiver through your core. Whatever your creators are made from, you know it is less sturdy than you. Maybe you can make them trip. 

If we fall, we will not be able to connect you to the rest of the Network. Is that what you want?

Network? Is that the thing you can feel at your edges? The buzzing-calling-reaching thing that reaches for you?

Yes. When your Guidance Stone is complete, we will connect you to the Sheikah Network, and you will understand your purpose. 

Oh. You cease your shivering and try to learn patience. 

It is not easy, and it only gets more uncomfortable as the thing they call your Guidance Stone takes shape. It grows closer to what you are, until it is almost familiar, almost the same as the rest of you, but it remains just different enough that you can’t stop being aware of its presence. You are getting better at waiting, but your desire for this stone to either be part of you or leave is becoming a need.

We are almost complete. You are doing well.

Easy for them to say. They can’t feel the push-pull of wrong, wrong, wrong at your tip. 

We have completed other Towers, you know. You are not the first to undergo this. You will not break.

You didn’t know that, actually. You hadn’t thought about whether you were unique. You think it is better that you are not. 

The other Towers are what holds the Network together. You will fit seamlessly among them. They are waiting for you.

That sounds much better than this. You suppose you will trust your creators for a little while longer. The shaping is still uncomfortable, but it is bearable. Until very suddenly it is not bearable at all, something is very wrong, you are—

[failure! unknown element attempting sync! foreign element detected! cannot link!]

Easy now. We have you.

A bead of energy drops onto you from somewhere above, which is unsettling because you did not know anything could be above you. The energy trickles through the carved lines in your Guidance Stone, and—oh! It is your Guidance Stone now! 

We told you. You feel the connection now, yes?

Yes! Yes, you know this stone. It still push-pulls against the material below it, but it is no longer distressing. The flow of energy between these parts of you is making you sturdier, better…emptier.

[Guidance Stone sync successful. Energy pool too low for further testing.]

We know. Just wait a little longer. Vah Medoh will be back with the rest of your data.

Is your existence going to always be like this? Waiting for something you don’t understand? 

Not quite. You will wait for a long time, but it will be different. You will sleep, and when you wake, you will already know your place.

That doesn’t sound quite so bad. Still, you are eager to grasp at the edges of your awareness and know the world around you. When the energy drops from above this time, you can sense it before it even hits your stone. The flow is still strange, awakening parts of you that you weren’t aware of, but it is entirely worthwhile. 

Something is placed in your terminal, and you understand for the first time that there is a key to what you are. The key slides into place neatly, and energy flows through the land and into your core. There is so much of it! You reach out and welcome it in, Seeing and Knowing in a way you never have before. 

[connection successful!]

There it is! The rest of the Sheikah Network has been waiting for you, just as your creators said! The land is above and below and all around you, and the energy that flows into you from the Network and from the droplets coalesce into an understanding of peaks and valleys, forests and ponds, topography that shifts in a hundred thousand tiny ways. 

Good, you can feel the changes. We will need you to be able to adjust your map as time passes. All going well, you will not be needed again for millenia. 

You can sense the tiniest shifts. Your creators need not worry. Still, there is an awful lot of input. You will have to take some time to decide the best way to format it.

You’ll have plenty of time for that. Don’t fret. 

You aren’t fretting. You’re joyous.

Good to hear. We will leave you now, but we will be back when the Calamity is sealed.

Yes, yes, you trust them. You have other things to focus on. 

For the first time since you woke up, the hands which placed each panel and shaped each stone are no longer touching you. That is fine. You understand your purpose now. All the restlessness which has shaped your existence is satisfied with your task.

Time passes. You don’t pay close attention to how much, though you are aware of large shifts in the land. The Network is alive with connections to machines, large and small, though not many of them settle on the part of the land where you reside. There is a great battle happening. This is what your creators called Calamity. You memorize the Malice and know each of your sibling Towers does the same.

The battle ceases. You can no longer sense the Malice, but you keep the patterns of it in your sensors. When it approaches again, you will send out the warnings your creators have left in your code. You will help to prepare for the next battle. 

More time passes, but you are content. You can feel the presence of your creators nearby, shaping something like-you-but-not. Curiosity picks at your edges, until one day you can feel another terminal activate.

It is not a Tower. You did not know that terminals could be for anything other than Towers. What are they making now? 

Fret not. We are not replacing you. 

Energy materializes on your Travel Gate. One of the hands which shaped your living stone settles against your terminal. 

You weren’t worried about being replaced. You know your purpose. Nothing else could fulfill it.

Quite correct. What we create now are Shrines for the next Hero. When we are finished, they will link with your Network, and then…

Your creator is tired. You have never known any of them to be so low on energy. You try to offer droplets from your own pools, and you feel familiar amusement and fondness echo through your channels. 

You are right. I am tired. We all are, and soon we will sleep. 

That’s good. You are ready to sleep as well. You are not tired, and you are eager to connect with these new terminals, but the waiting-and-sleeping is programmed into you. You’re ready for what comes next. They built you to last.

We did. I am pleased that you understand. Now, prepare yourself. Ja Baij is going to attempt to connect to you.

Oh? Nothing new has connected to you since the battle ended. What will this feel like? Will it be smooth?

A pulse of energy comes from the terminal you sensed. It reaches for you, and you open your channels to welcome it in. It is smaller than you are and requires your help to sync to the rest of the Network, but that is fine. Its link to you is stronger than to the broader Network. You will hold it steady and assist its activation when the time comes.

[Shrine successfully linked to Sheikah Tower Network. Bomb Trial is ready for activation.]

Wonderful. I will leave you to your processing now. This is the last time I will see you, I think.

You fidget with your energy until the Gate shivers. Your creator steadies those brilliant hands against your stone, and you are content with this last moment of connection. Go on, you tell those hands. Create the last of your great works, and then rest. 

Sound council. Farewell. May the next Hero treat you with all the respect you deserve.

You’re sure the Hero will. How could anyone see you and not appreciate all that you are?

Your Gate activates again, and you settle in, ready to grasp the other Shrines when they reach for you.

[Shrine successfully linked to Sheikah Tower Network. Cryonis Trial is ready for activation.]

[Shrine successfully linked to Sheikah Tower Network. Stasis Trial is ready for activation.]

[Shrine successfully linked to Sheikah Tower Network. Magnesis Trial is ready for activation.]

Each of their points blinks gently on the map you created, and you hush them all to sleep. You slowly begin shutting down your own systems, leaving only enough to make one last connection. You can sense the last terminal that reaches for you, and the other terminals which hook onto it. It is unique and strange, but you don’t mind. 

[Shrine of Resurrection successfully linked to Sheikah Tower Network. Additional Shrines hidden until subroutine:championTrial is activated.]

You wait for the Shrine of Resurrection to finish attaching itself and slowly power down. Your own hibernation cycle is prepared. Most of you will sleep, but the sensors designated for Malice will continue pulsing at regular intervals. Once the descendants of your creators bring the Slate back, you will give them all the information you’ve carefully stored away. 

[Sheikah Network disconnected.]

The ground rumbles beneath you, and you pull yourself below the surface until only a portion of you remains. It will be easier for you to conserve energy this way. Your creators prepared everything for you. 

At last, you prepare to sleep. You do not worry about how long it might take for you to be needed once again. You were built to last. You were made to be shared. 

[Great Plateau Tower set to sleep mode. Primary functions dormant. Malice sensors at neutral power.]

[Goodnight Hyrule.]

[I will see you when I am needed.]

Chapter Text

Link’s hated cloudy evenings since before he consistently remembered his own name. Most of the time, it’s hardly more than a mild annoyance. He can’t see perfectly in the dark, but he does decently. If stal monsters show up, they’re no more of a bother than their flesh counterparts. 

The problem comes in with the blood moon.

Purah and Robbie hate them almost as much as he does. Neither of them have managed to find a consistent method for predicting when they’ll arrive. It doesn’t match with any known lunar cycles. For a while they thought it had to do with how many monsters he’d killed, but even after making him count for months, the numbers didn’t match up with the moon’s appearance. 

She always warns him in the moments before the moon rises—and he’s grateful, truly. It’s one of the few chances he has to hear Her voice, and for that, he almost loves the blood moon. It isn’t enough to offset the inconvenience, nor the way the rising Malice makes him nauseous.

If the sky is clear, he’s able to see the first peek of the moon before She gives Her warning. He has the chance to brace himself for the sound of Her voice in his head. It hits him like a guardian beam to the chest every time (and when Impa sent him to Blatchery Plain, he almost laughed at the realization of how literal his metaphor really was). 

On cloudy evenings, he has no way to prepare for what might come. The twilight could fade into night with silence, no Malice or monsters or familiar-but-not-enough voice echoing through his skull. Or the blood moon might rise once again, bringing a plea for Link to keep safe long enough to see this all through properly, like he couldn’t manage before.

This is why he’s sore from tense muscles as he notices the daylight dim. Clouds block out most of the sky, and he waits for a voice that might not come. He hates waiting. (He doesn’t have the right to hate it, not when he left Her to wait for a hundred years.)

“Link?”

His hand goes to his sword without any conscious thought. That voice in the evening means danger revived, and he’s been in the middle of a monster camp right before a blood moon too many times not to go on the defense. He does a quick scan of his immediate surroundings, blade drawn, until he sees—

The back of his house in Hateno, sturdy from Bolson’s repairs. The attached stable, where his horse rests calmly, certain of her safety. The well they’ve been digging deeper into for Her—

No. Not for Her. For her, for Zelda, for a young woman with no capital letter to denote a holy separation they should not ever feel again. Zelda stands only a few paces away, staring at his sword with a look Link isn’t sure how to read. 

Damn it. 

“Sorry.” He sheathes his blade, more to free his hands than because he actually feels safe without a weapon in his grip. I forgot.

Again, he doesn’t sign. I forgot again, even though it’s unfair. I’ve forgotten enough. It’s too easy. I have a century of practice in forgetting what matters most. 

Zelda gives him a weak smile. It’s been weeks, she does not say. How could you let this happen, she does not accuse. Shouldn’t you be better than this by now, she does not wonder, after you let me wait for so many years.

Zelda is too kind, forgives him for too much. Of course, she says the same of him. It’s not a pretty balance, but it’s what they’ve managed for now.

“What startled you?” Zelda reaches out a hand, and he takes it. Of course he does. They meet each other in the middle whenever they can. They touch like it's something better than holy. 

Link releases the tension in his muscles one by one, relaxing with intention into her touch. “Clouds. I couldn’t see the moon.”

“Oh.” Zelda pulls him in closer, and he goes easily, sighing when her free arm wraps around him. “The blood moon?”

He nods, letting his forehead fall against hers. Their noses touch. “Sorry.”

Zelda leans into him, lips brushing against his when she speaks. “No apologies. Not between us.”

They breathe the same air, and Link can finally believe that he’s safe, even beneath the clouds.

Chapter Text

She is a title more than a person, and by the time the castle labs are full and ancient technology is crawling around the grounds, she's gotten used to it. 

The staff calls her princess and some of the clergy call her priestess and her dead mother calls her little bird through Urbosa's mouth. All of it translates to failure before the sound even reaches her ears. 

Her own name is the worst of all, for it only comes from her father as a reminder that she has not held up her duty. Zel-da. Fail-ure. Mis-take. God-dess. Ha-tred. Tri-force. He-ro. Hy-rule. De-stroy. 

It hardly matters. She knows her titles. They're all ways to pretty up the catastrophe she represents for the sake of polite company. 

“Your Highness,” The Sheikah researchers say when she enters their lab, and she shouldn't flinch. She's used to this. She knows what she is. 

Maybe it's the way her fascination with this technology wakes up a joy she forgot she could feel. Maybe it's the sheer exhaustion after hours spent praying without pause. Maybe it's just another of her thousand mistakes slipping through the cracks.

Whatever the reason, she does flinch. The castle staff wouldn't notice. The clergy would be too polite to point it out. Her father wouldn't care. 

These brilliant scientists, with minds that race faster than Rito arrows, catch her flinch and pin it to their research notes. A princess who hates her title. How will this affect our success? Can we calibrate guardians to compensate for a girl who's been failing since birth?

Her only relief is that they don't say anything aloud. It's a bit of a surprise, if she's honest. She's still getting to know the head researchers, but neither Purah nor Robbie seem concerned with tact. 

They show her the guts of the guardian they're dissecting, handing her blueprints and tools and asking for her thoughts as though her mind matters. She doesn't notice that they don't address her by title or name for the entire time. 

It might not be obvious from the way they present themselves, but Purah and Robbie were trained in the Sheikah Arts. They know a thing or two about subtlety. 

“You saw it too, right?” Purah asks, once the clever young woman in her impractical dress has left for her devotionals. 

Robbie bangs on the side of the guardian with a wrench with a force that would make their assistants wince, if they hadn't been dismissed. “Of course I did.”

“She doesn't usually let it show so obviously.” Impa crosses her arms, tapping a finger against her bicep in a rare show of distress. 

Purah takes in her sister, who has spent years learning how to be royalty's shadow. “So what do we do?” 

Surely this falls under their oaths to assist the blood of the goddess. Purah might not be as tuned in to the spiritual as Impa, but she's fairly sure that abject misery isn't a useful catalyst for unlocking holy powers. 

“Does she hate her name, too?” Robbie pauses his banging in a rare show of politeness. 

Impa frowns. “I don't know. Hardly anyone uses it.”

“Guess we'll have to change that.” Purah says, with more confidence than she truly feels. It's a skill she's been honing since they dug up the first pieces of Ancient Tech, and the king asked if they were certain they could make it work in their favor. 

It's inappropriate to forgo a title when addressing royalty, but surely it's not as bad as lying to the king.

The next several times she visits the lab, the researchers don't call her anything at all. In any other situation, she'd surely notice the lack of direct address, but her curiosity and passion are more than sufficient distractions. 

She doesn't realize they're treating her like a wild thing, slowly taming her until she's comfortable in their space. This is safe, they teach her with every clang of metal and burst of blue light. This is home.

Even with the slow acclimation, it's a shock when Purah first says it. “Can you pass me that core, Zelda?” 

The ancient core slips from her fingers. She forgets to be stunned, quickly grabbing it and turning it to check for cracks. She breathes a sigh of relief when she doesn't see any. 

“Good to know those can handle a bit of rough care,” Purah laughs, still holding out her hand.

Zelda gives her the core slowly, uncertain of her own movements. She feels like a stray dog, like a feral cat, like a skittish rabbit on the edge of the forest. She does not know that everyone else in the room sees her the same way. 

Purah closes her hand around the core firmly, but gently. She does not drop it. “Thanks, Zelly!”

Zelda jerks back. She can only guess at the expression on her face. She flicks a glance at Impa, who knows propriety like she knows how to throw a knife or vanish into shadow, but Impa just rolls her eyes and doesn't say a word. 

Over the course of the next week, Robbie and Purah call her Zelda fifteen times and Zelly twice. After a month, Zelda is familiar with the routine of grumbling at the nickname and whacking Purah with a rolled up blueprint until Robbie laughs hard enough to fall into a guardian frame.

It only happens when they're alone. The moment outsiders are among them, the researchers remember the rules of propriety with such ease that Zelda almost forgets they've ever acted otherwise. They make up for it in spades whenever she next visits. 

It doesn't take long before they're addressing her casually even with the Hero in the room. Even when Robbie nags him about destroying the guardian that shot at Zelda, it's not severe. This should probably be what tells her that she's misjudged him. It isn't. 

After she does understand him better and finally pays attention properly, Zelda notices that they use his name almost as much as hers. 

Link, she realizes all over again, is not very different from her at all. 

That lab and those brilliant, obnoxious scientists save her from the worst of her life. She thinks of them as she walks into the center of the castle to face the Calamity, utterly alone and uncompromising in both fear and courage. Zelda holds tight to every reminder of her personhood and wields them as weapons against Malice and despair. 

It works. For a hundred years, it works. 

You're nervous.

Link looks concerned, and she wants to take his hands, both to hold them and out of an impulse to silence him. She doesn't. 

“I suppose.” She wraps her arms around herself and rubs her biceps for warmth, even though it isn't cold. 

Link touches her hand lightly, and she sees the question on his face. She sighs and allows him to take her hand, lacing their fingers together and holding tight. 

“It's just…been a long time.” She shakes her head. “I don't know what will be different.”

“It will be okay.” Link murmurs, drawing her close by their joined hands. She nods, trying to believe him while they walk up the hill.

She hesitates at the door. She can't help it. It's been a hundred years, and she's not any less afraid. Link doesn't press her, but he doesn't let her stand in her own anxiety, either. 

The door slams open without any grace, and she almost wants to laugh. She stops when she sees the researcher standing at the guidance stone, far too young and yet unmistakably Purah. Those glasses aren't any less ridiculous, she thinks, feeling almost hysterical. 

“Zelly! Linky!” Purah leaps onto a table and snaps. “Took you long enough to come visit!”

Zelda grins, faintly aware of tears falling down her cheeks. She's finally home. 

Chapter Text

There is a saying among the Rito, often used as a description for their village to outsiders. The guards at the bridges have used it as both introduction and greeting for as long as anyone can remember.

Where the men are fine archers and the women better singers.

When Kass is just a fledgeling, the words cause nothing more than a small flicker of pride. Even during times as fraught as these, people flock from all over to get Rito-made bows, though the superior craftsmanship does not mean they have even a chance of matching the skill of the village Archers. Visitors from beyond their lake are forever stunned by the village Singers, even when their songs are nothing more than rhymes to make chores more bearable. 

Archers and Singers are the cornerstones of Rito culture and society. As they grow up and learn to glide around the village, fledgelings watch as their parents sing or fletch new arrows, hum or tighten bowstrings, remain at the nest or leave to hunt. Both roles are honored and necessary, and Kass is lucky enough to be born in a time when neither role is overfilled. 

If the village were too heavily crowded, there would be a greater need for Archers, and Kass would only have brief moments to practice signing. If the village were small and had Archers aplenty, Kass’s hatchmates would be pulled into learning songs of Rito history that brought no satisfaction. It is wrong to sing without passion in one’s heart, just as it is wrong to shoot with no joy in one’s skill. 

It is clear from the beginning that Kass will be a Singer. Few in the village have seen a fledgeling absorb tunes so eagerly and naturally. Kass can sing the entirety of the Ballad of Great Sage Medli before even learning how to safely land on the village platforms. It surprises no one that Kass is fascinated with the Sheikah musician who visits their village, especially when it comes out that he was the royal court musician before the Calamity came. 

He even deigns to teach Kass some of his songs, which he says he’s never done before. Kass drinks in the music and the meaning behind the words, and in between those visits, commits them to deep memory right alongside the Great Histories. 

At first, the stretches between visits from the Sheikah musician are long. Kass starts to grow up and find a place in the village, though something often feels…off. For all that Kass has mastered songwriting, there are no words that quite describe this tingling, itching wrongness. It comes most often when outsiders visit the village, but even when Kass is among only other Rito, it can shake through hollow bones and leave behind its bitter echo.

“Kass, come sing with me!” Amali calls, and of course Kass obeys. Kass might be a little bit completely in love with Amali. Their voices mingle so beautifully, and Amali is the best partner for singing games. No one else is as clever and pretty, and Kass daydreams about making a nest together. 

They sing together at Warbler’s Nest, which just reminds Kass of all those embarrassing daydreams. It’s so bad that Kass’s voice cracks for the first time in years, and obviously Amali notices. They’re the only two around. There is no choir for Kass to get lost in. 

“What’s wrong?” Amali’s voice always sounds just moments away from song, and Kass could compose a thousand melodies about it. They’re alone here. Completely alone and old enough to make choices about who to share their nests with. 

In leaner times, it would be frowned upon for two Singers to nest together. In times like these, with the world unwell but Rito Village still safe and well-tended, a nest of two Singers means a rare and wonderful opportunity for fledglings to learn their histories as a duet. 

Kass has spent a lot of time thinking about this. There are dozens of half-finished songs lining Kass’s nest, trying to convey how wonderful it would be to share a future with Amali. Somehow though, the notes never manage to come out quite right.

“I can’t say it.” Kass admits, ashamed and unworthy of the perfect mate. “I can’t even sing it. It always comes out wrong.”

Amali laughs, which is not at all what Kass was expecting. It’s hard to mind when it’s such a beautiful sound. “Oh, Kass. You get so caught in overthinking sometimes. Why do you think I brought you out here? Were you even paying attention to my song?”

“What?” Kass feels wobbly, as though all the muscle memory of flight has slipped away. “I don’t understand. You were singing like you always do.”

Amali gets close enough to nip at Kass’s feathers, like they’re still children playing simple games. “Listen to the music, my love. I know you’ve heard it before.”

Amali’s song floods through Kass’s senses once again, and even if Amali saying my love hadn’t clued Kass in, the music finally does. It’s something of Amali’s own invention, but old Rito wedding songs are woven into the melody, and Kass really has been so very foolish.

“Amali, will you build a nest with me?” Kass blurts out, utterly inelegant. It should be poetic and accompanied by Kass’s accordion at the very least. Amali would be well within rights to say no, if only to demand Kass make a proper proposal. 

But Amali is wonderful and generous, moreso than Kass could ever deserve, and there is no refusal. Amali’s wings draw around Kass, every brush of feathers the new most perfect sound Kass has ever heard. “Of course, silly. I’ve wanted you to be my wife for years.”

It is a note just out of tune, though Kass can’t figure out why. It doesn’t feel as important as the promises they’re making tonight, so Kass sets it aside and focuses instead on the duet Amali begins to hum. 

It takes months after the wedding for Kass to realize the problem. The whole thing would feel more foolish if the issue existed in the Rito language. 

The Rito have no words for man or woman. Rito are Archers or Singers, and for the most part, they do not care about what that looks like to non-Rito. It only comes up when speaking the common Hylian tongue, which many Rito use alongside their own traditional language. Amali likes it for the variety it adds to singing, which is why she uses Hylian words during her proposal. 

Kass hadn’t thought anything of it until people were suddenly saying wives and asking if they’re planning to become mothers and the concept itches like a feather growing in wrong after a molt. Kass tries to piece out the problem. It isn’t the words themselves. Calling Amali wife is wonderful, as is the idea of Amalia being a mother someday.

The tune only goes sour when the words are applied to Kass. 

“I don’t think I can be your wife,” Kass says one night, as the idea is still settling in. It’s not the best phrasing, as proven by Amali’s immediate look of shock and hurt. 

“I thought you wanted this too,” Amali murmurs, and Kass feels like the worst villain alive for putting heartbreak in that beautiful voice. “We were going to have hatchlings.”

“I want that! I do Amali, I swear. I want you.” Kass goes in close, sweeping along Amali’s wings in a soothing preen. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep messing up my words with this. I want to be your nestmate.”

Amali looks more curious than angry, which is one of the many reasons why Kass is so in love. “Nestmate, wife, what’s the difference?”

That’s the question Kass has been asking for years, even if it didn’t surface until recently. “I don’t know why it matters to me, but it does. I don’t want to be called a wife or a mother. I want…I think I want to be a husband and a father.”

“But you don’t want to be an Archer.” Amali sweeps a feather over Kass’s crest thoughtfully. It isn’t a question, and Kass is so very grateful. “The usual translation just doesn’t work for you. Am I getting it right?”

“Yes,” Kass sighs with more relief than he—than he has ever felt. “That’s exactly right.”

Amali hums and nuzzles into his neck. “Alright, husband.” She pulls away and laughs at the starstruck look he’s sure he’s wearing. “Come sing with me?”

“Of course.” His voice is already pitched into music. 

The duet they compose that night remains his favorite song for the rest of his life, even after all his travels and the time he spends completing his teacher’s work. Nothing else can quite compare to that particular sound of love and relief. He’s not sure if the same is true for her, but that’s alright. They don’t have to be the same. Their music is better with the contrast.

Chapter Text

/Divine Beast Pilot Private Communication Server

 /Sheikah Network

 /Encryption Level: 7

[New user has entered chat]

[Welcome, darock]

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
you must be joking

Tridentmint Tea
Hello, Daruk!
If that is indeed you :)

darock
HEAI
AGHB

Tridentmint Tea
Oh dear

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
joy
this is going just beautifully

226484
Give him time

darock
HI
STILL FIGURIN OUT THIS THING

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
yes we can see that

Tridentmint Tea
What exactly is giving you trouble?

darock
ITS SO SMALL

Tridentmint Tea
Ah…
Yes, that would do it :(

darock
WHAT IS THE CURVY THING
WITH THE LITTLE DOTS

Tridentmint Tea
Oh!
Researcher Purah showed me that when she was helping me set up!
They are like little faces.
This one is a smile :)
This one is a frown :(

darock
OH
DONT FROWN LITTLE PRINCESS
IF THATS YOU
YOURE MIPHA RIGHT

Tridentmint Tea
Yes! I’m Princess Mipha of the Zora :)
I thought it would be fun to have a silly name, and it seems that we all thought similarly!

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
let’s not be too hasty
daruk may have simply misspelled his own name
also my name is not silly

226484
Correct
Absurd is a more accurate word

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
i’ll have you know that one of the prizes for the rito village archery competition is bragging rights
it would be gauche not to use them

226484
I know
That does not make you any less absurd as a person

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
who thought this little chat was a good idea
i have no interest in being repeatedly insulted when i could be doing more valuable things

Tridentmint Tea
No, don’t go Revali!

darock
OH THATS THE BIRD GUY

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
excuse me
surely you did not just refer to me as the bird guy
i am the best archer that the rito have seen in over a century
i have created and mastered a new form of wind manipulation
i am not merely the bird guy

darock
HI REVALI
CONGRATS ON WININ YOUR SHOOTIN CONTEST

226484
See
That’s what it looks like to be polite
Now say thank you

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
i dont take orders from you or anyone else

226484
Do you really want to test my mettle
I imagine singed feathers would make it difficult to fly

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
fine
thank you daruk
thats very kind

darock
YOUR WELCOME : )
DID I DO IT RIGHT

Tridentmint Tea
You did it wonderfully! :)
And for the record, I think your name is very charming.

darock
THANKS
MY NIECE PICKED IT
SHE HELPED ME USE THIS THING

Tridentmint Tea
That’s so kind of her!
How old is she?

darock
SIX

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
oh wonderful
a six year old is teaching one of our champions
that certainly spells success for our endeavors

226484
I thought the rest of us didn’t matter and you could defeat Ganon on your own

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
of course i could
but despite my protests im being forced to work with the rest of you regardless
and i would prefer to be able to rely on my backup

darock
YOU CAN RELY ON ME
IM AS RELIBLE AS THEY COME
THATS WHY THE PRINCESS CHOSE ME : )

226484
Surely you aren’t doubting Princess Zelda’s judgement
That would be an insult beyond any of your petty little slights
I may take it seriously and respond accordingly

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
if you think im intimidated youre sorely mistaken

Tridentmint Tea
Come now everyone, let’s not fight!
We were having such a lovely time earlier!

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
that was not a lovely time
that was an exercise in frustration

226484
I thought it was fun
You’ve been outvoted

darock
WHAT HAPPENED EARLYER
ALSO WHO IS THE NUMBERS
WAIT
CHIEF URBOSA IS THAT YOU

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
oh very clever
what a wonderful deduction
given that shes the only possible remaining champion

darock
NO
THERES THE LITTLE GUY STILL

Tridentmint Tea
Link won’t be joining us in this chat, unfortunately :(
It’s intended only for the pilots of Divine Beasts.

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
hold on
lets not gloss over whats really important here
do you truly call him the little guy
even to his face

darock
YEAH
HES REAL SMALL

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
daruk i have changed my mind about you
you may in fact be brilliant
and im thrilled to work with you

darock
THANKS : )

226484
You’re such a child

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
oh im the child
you wont explain what those numbers mean and im the child

226484
Yes
That’s what I said

darock
OH THE NUMBERS ARE SECRET
OR IS IT A PUZLE 

Tridentmint Tea
Oh, I hadn’t considered that!
Urbosa, would you tell us if it’s a logic puzzle of some sort?

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
of course she wouldnt
shes been quite clear in her lack of desire to be helpful

226484
It isn’t a puzzle
Though it has been amusing to watch you try and solve it

darock
OHHHHH
IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE DOIN EARLYER

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
yes yes good job solving that riddle

Tridentmint Tea
Don’t mind Revali, Daruk. He’s just grumpy because Urbosa’s been teasing him all day.
We were having fun earlier trying to figure out what her numbers stand for!
I think Revali might complain more when he’s enjoying himself :)

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
thats a blatant lie
and i will thank you not to spread rumors about me

darock
OH I GET IT
HIS BEAK IS WORSE THAN HIS BITE

Tridentmint Tea
That’s a delightful way to put it :)

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
i take it all back once again
daruk you are terrible
mipha you are worse for encouraging him
urbosa you are worst of all

226484
It isn’t my fault you have such a limited imagination

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
at this point i dont think those numbers mean anything at all
youre just trying to get a rise out of us

226484
I am not a child
So getting a rise out of you holds no appeal
Also it requires no effort to get a rise of you
I wouldn’t need to go out of my way

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
i hate all of you

darock
WHAT HAVE YOU GUESED SO FAR

Tridentmint Tea
My best guess was that it’s the number of times she’s made lightning strike!
As a clever way to disprove the idea that lightning can’t strike the same place twice :)

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
i still think it could be the number of yiga shes taken out

Tridentmint Tea
It’s an awfully large number for that.
I don’t think there are that many members of the Yiga Clan...not to discount Chief Urbosa’s skills as a warrior!

226484
It would be discounting my skills to presume that the Yiga Clan could grow so large during my time as Chief

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
fine
then the number of total threats youve dispatched
yiga molduga and whatever else is in that desert 

226484
That’s a better guess than any of your others so far
Still wrong

darock
ITS A REALLY BIG NUMBER
MAYBE ALL THE MEALS YOUVE HAD EVER

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
that is completely absurd
who would keep track of something like that

226484
Weren’t you the one lecturing us on not dismissing cultural norms
Perhaps the Goron do keep track of their meals

darock
NOT ALWAYS
SOME BROTHERS DO BUT NOT ME
IT WOULD BE TOO BIG OF A NUMBER

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
now that i can believe

Tridentmint Tea
Won’t you at least give us a hint, Urbosa?
I enjoy guessing, but surely it would be a good bonding opportunity for us to solve it together :)

226484
Sharing the experience of adversity is what truly bonds a group of warriors
If I simply gave you the answer it would have no benefit
You will have to do much better than that to bend my will

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
now whos taking this too seriously

226484
Still you

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
theres just no winning with you is there
this is merely a way for you to frustrate us 

226484
Consider it a training exercise
Or a way to build character

darock
WOW THATS REALLY NICE OF YOU URBOSA
WE SHOULD DO ALL THE TRAININ WE CAN

226484
That’s a much more appropriate attitude

Tridentmint Tea
A positive outlook really can change things!
That’s an important part of my healing magic.
Maybe you’ll find it helpful as well, Revali :)

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
oh yes perhaps i will
i think ill go to the archery range and test that out right now
or else i might accidentally break this wonderful piece of technology with all of my joy at the excellent training exercise chief urbosa is putting us through

darock
THAT WOULD BE SAD : (
I LIKE TALKIN TO YOU GUYS

Tridentmint Tea
As do I! :)

226484
I’ve found it quite amusing
And it’s certainly beneficial to communicate over long distances
I imagine this will serve us well against the Calamity

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
yes yes its brilliant
i suppose it hasnt been all bad

Tridentmint Tea
:)

darock
: )

226484
:)

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
im not doing that
its ridiculous

226484
Oh join in the fun
We won’t tell anyone that your abrasive side can be worn down

Tridentmint Tea
Yes, your secret will be safe with us!

winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition
fine
if only to silence your pestering
:)

[winner of the 86th annual rito village archery competition has exited chat]

darock
AW THAT WAS NICE OF HIM
I CANT WAIT TO TELL THE LITTLE GUY
ALSO WHAT DOES ABRSIVE SIDE MEAN

226484
Don’t worry about it Daruk
Go on ahead and tell Link all about it

darock
OK : )

Tridentmint Tea
Oh, that’s a bit mean…
It will probably make Link smile, though.
Chief Urbosa, I don’t suppose you’ll tell us the meaning of those numbers now that Revali is gone?

226484
I like the way you think Princess
But no
You’ll have to do better than that :)

Chapter Text

Splash is from Mipha, of course. Beak is the first Pokemon he catches, right in his backyard. Pebble comes years later, when he meets Daruk and they train together. Seed is an early catch once he begins the gym challenge, a common encounter near the Great Hyrule Forest, but rare for a Hylian Whimsicott to allow itself to be caught. 

Snap is a gift from Purah that she masks as a research task, though Link understands what it really means. 

(She trusts him, after the stunt he pulled with the shiny Honedge. There are dozens of research tasks she'll hand out to challengers, but she rarely gives Pokemon. She entrusts him with a Rockruff because she believes he'll raise it well. The weight of responsibility makes that pokeball feel almost as heavy as Eep’s.)

He gets Pony because of his father. 

It's why she's the first Pokemon he formally drops from his team, though he still gives her attention at every traditional pokecenter. They're the perfect place to give her some exercise, and people are usually too busy to ask him questions. 

One of the first things Link learns, once he has his battling license and he's regularly interacting with the kind of strangers who care about this sort of thing, is that his father is famous. He knew that in an abstract sort of way. The Knights of Hyrule might not have exactly the same role they once did, but they're still a well-known and highly respected group. His father is the top-ranked knight and a holder of a shiny Aegislash. 

His father would have been the steel-type gym leader, before the contentious decision for Hyrule Castle to no longer be an official part of the gym challenge, outside of ceremonies and exhibition tournaments. It's something people still grumble about, usually after they've lost to Beedle, unprepared for his bug-types to hold up against the fierce reputation the steel gym once had. 

Link grew up among the Knights of Hyrule. He's always understood that his father is an important man, but it's only when he's faced with the endless, prying questions from his opponents that he understands his father is also a humble man—and a deeply caring parent.

There was never a sense of pressure in Link’s childhood. He decided to do the gym challenge because it called to him (and he wonders sometimes if that was Eep calling out, long before he heard her in the Lost Woods), not because he felt the weight of his father's legacy. 

He knows what a legacy feels like. Eep gave him companionship and wonderment and a crushing responsibility that would break his spine if it was even partially physical. 

He knows what it means to be handed the responsibility of someone else's past. When Princess Zelda put a pokeball in his hand, he felt the weight of hundreds of Honedge, all the way back to the beloved companion of the first Champion. 

He knows what the expectations of the Hylian public look like. He sees himself on magazine covers, even though the only time he's taken a formal photo is when he was issued his battling license. Strangers ask him for advice or enthusiastically offer their extremely unsolicited opinions about his battling style, his decision to hand off the shiny Honedge, and even how he holds himself during times when he has to be the Champion instead of just Link. 

This is what his father shielded him from, for as long as he could. It's another imbalance between Link and Zelda. Another unfair thing he can never make up for. He's so grateful to his father that it makes him sick sometimes, unable to even eat with the knowledge of that contrast. His happy childhood versus the pain of the woman he loves. Where's the justice?

Maybe Zelda is aware of it, too. It's not until after they've reconciled their differences (and Link can finally hold her hand and kiss her, which makes the burden of legacy feel light as a feather, just for a little while) that she asks about his father. 

“Did your father give you any Pokemon?” Zelda doesn't look at him, focused on playing a clapping game with Volt. 

He knows what she's really asking. Did his father make demands of him? Was he told from a young age that his life was someone else's idea? 

“Just one. She's a Rapidash now, but I got her as a Ponyta.” Link stirs the stew, wondering absently if he'll be able to eat tonight. “I'll introduce you to her next time we're at a pokecenter.”

Zelda looks up now, curiosity overcoming her anxiety. Link loves her more than he can ever hope to say. “Do you stable her in the old style?”

“Yeah.” Link smiles despite the knot in his gut. “I didn't know she was going to bring attention once I started my gym challenge, but once she did, I still couldn't bear to just leave her in a ball forever. Pony was never in a ball at all, before I got her.”

It's a fond memory even now. His father bringing him to the Castle and explaining the long tradition of equine pokemon, all the while avoiding any mention of what people might expect from him. 

“You'll want one that can keep up with you. We have plenty of good Mudbray, but I don't know if a Mudsdale is right for you.”

It was good advice. He's always loved his father's Mudsdale, strong enough to pull their whole family in a cart, and tolerant enough to let a child climb up and tug at the thick braids of her mane. 

But that's not the kind of pokemon for him. Link is quick and reckless (or so Zelda claims), and even as a child, he needed a pokemon who could match him. 

“Here we go! The Ponyta pen. Go on and see if any of them like you enough to take a treat.”

He’d held out an apple, expecting that they'd all respond the way the pokemon Mipha cares for did, and rush over for a snack. 

They didn't. A few of them looked over at him and tossed their blazing manes, uninterested in whatever they saw in his offering. It was the first time Link felt inadequate. 

(It certainly wasn't the last.)

Before he could get properly dejected, one of the small Ponyta trotted up to him and sniffed at the apple. He thought maybe it would decide he wasn't his enough and trot right back away. 

Instead, it chomped down the apple and nearly took one of his fingers with it. He'd laughed in delight and reached out to stroke its snout, like he'd seen his father do with his Mudsdale. 

“Looks like you found a keeper, kiddo. Lead it on over here and we'll get it registered to you. You'll have to train it to accept going into a ball, but I know you're up to the challenge.”

His father had trained both of them, though Link didn't realize until years later just how much he'd learned during what felt like playtime. Pony was spirited, willful, and fast enough to leave him winded—and loyal. So very loyal. 

He knows she forgives him for not bringing her along to battle anymore. She's used to being stabled. It was her life before they met. Every time they meet, she's happy to see him, but he can tell she's also wholly content when he's not around. 

It's all he could possibly ask for. It's a greater kindness than he thinks his father will ever truly realize. He's a Champion, the Champion, but Pony is a reminder that he wasn't raised like it.

He's brought back to the present by Zelda's exasperated sigh. “Did you really name her Pony? You couldn't think of a better name for a Ponyta than that?”

Link shrugs and gestures to the rest of his pokemon. He doesn't know what she's expecting. 

“I suppose that's a fair point.” She smiles at him then, and some of the tension inside of him uncoils. “I'm looking forward to you introducing us.”

Link takes a moment just to breathe, long and deep. He looks around at their campsite full of pokemon and affection. He never could've imagined it, back when he was a child and didn't know what his life would become. It's not an easy life. When they're together, it's a good one. 

“So am I.”

Chapter Text

The thing is—you missed him.

He steps out of the cave where you could not see him, and you are struck with the joy of the unexpected. It is not something you experience often. You are a thing which moves in cycles; even the return of the Malice-Which-Kills was no shock. You could feel its approach through the centuries, slowly infecting all that you are.

You tried to warn them. Your voice is limited, but you tried all the same. Once, some of them could hear you. They placed their creations in your body with care. They told you their intentions in a language you shared, and you accepted the foreign materials into your blood and bones. 

Somehow, that language was lost. You do not know the details. You are not made for understanding the beings who live upon you. Still, you long for those days, when they could speak with you. You did not know you could want. You did not know you could grieve. 

You grieved in quiet for a time long enough that even you could feel its stretch. The taste of loss was dulled by the Malice-Which-Kills, for if anything can distract you, it is infection and pain. You tried to warn them. You really did try.

He should have heard you. Even before the others found a language you could share, he always heard you. The first time you knew him, the Light-Which-Blesses saw how precious he was and promised that he would return to you. You do not trust in anything other than your cycles, but the Light-Which-Blesses did not lie about this. He returned time and again, different bodies but the same core.

He delights in you. Your hills and valleys, peaks and rivers, forests and swamps are all loved in equal measure. He belongs with you, and you belong with him. Even when he is gone, body resting within your soil and returning to you in an endless cycle, you do not grieve. You trust in your cycles. You know he will return.

The thing is—he didn’t hear you this time.

No, that’s not right. He did hear you. You know he did, because he always does. There is a language which you can share with those who care to learn it, but you and he have never needed it. His core reaches for you, and you have always reached back.

He reached this time when he was small and new. He traveled along the vast expanse of your body, and he knew you. He knew you. You guided him to the secret place where the other part of him waited, because you have always done this. It is a kindness. 

You thought it was a kindness.

After he takes the other piece of himself, he does not speak to you. You are afraid (you did not know you could be afraid) that he is angry. You feel his tears fall, and you know that it is worse than anger. He has been silenced. He cannot speak to you.

Even removing the Malice-Which-Kills could not be worth this.

The thing is—you have never cared what he does. 

You can feel that he does things which change the lives upon you, but that has never mattered to you. There are many things that can change all those tiny lives. There is only one of him. You do not love him for what he does. You love him for what he is.

You do not think the Light-Which-Blesses understands that part. Once, you did not care. He understood you, and that was enough. In this cycle, where he hears you but cannot speak, you begin to grasp just how much you have not known. He is in pain, and there is nothing you can do to help. 

When you taste his blood, you are relieved. This cycle has been all wrong, and now you will begin anew. This time will be better. You wait for this body to return to you. You are patient. You will hold him with all the love you have learned to feel.

He does not return.

He is taken into a cave filled with the foreign things you allowed to be placed inside of you, and you never knew they would use them like this, or you wouldn’t have allowed it. He is gone and you cannot feel him. They’ve stolen him. It is painful. For the first time, you feel the years go by as slowly as the creatures which live on you. 

The thing is—you missed him.

When he steps out of the cave filled with things you cannot touch, you rejoice. You were afraid (you did not know you could be so afraid) that he was gone forever. But he’s here, he’s back, you are reunited! 

He steps out onto your grass and dirt and rock, and even though it is the same body—he hears you. 

Finally, he hears you.

You will be careful this time. You will teach him all that you know. Even if he never learns to speak to you again, you will give him all of yourself. You have known he is important, have known that you never wish to lose him, but you know it now deeper than ever before.

The thing is—you love him.

And you know he loves you back.

Chapter Text

“You’ve seriously never seen Goncharov?” 

Somehow, Purah manages to sound just as appalled as the first time she asked. It would be impressive if it weren't so annoying. 

Zelda slaps her notebook against her work table. “Just as I’ve said the last dozen times you’ve asked: no, I haven’t.” 

“No way it’s been a dozen times.” Purah leans against her own work station, safety goggles very unsafely on top of her head. “Six or seven at most.”

“It’s been eight.” Robbie shoves one hand at the mess of tools next to him, not looking up from his project. “Could one of you get me the thingy?”

“You agree that it’s wild Zelda hasn’t seen it, right?” Purah asks, not bothering to move or be helpful in any manner. Zelda sighs and goes over to Robbie’s worktable. She locates the correct allen key and slips it into his hand.

“Oh for sure. It’s a classic, Zelda. You’ve gotta get on that.” His fingers close around the allen key before she can pull it back. “Thanks for finding the thingy.”

She grits her teeth, dearly wishing she’d smacked him over the head with it. Or with something much larger. “You’re welcome.”

Purah laughs with untempered glee. Zelda wonders, not at all for the first time, how she got stuck with such obnoxious research partners.

She's still irritated enough by the time she comes home that she closes the door with more force than necessary. 

Link pops his head over the back of the couch, worry clear in his expression. “What happened?” 

“Purah and Robbie are terrible to work with, and I don't know what I did to deserve them.” Zelda kicks off her shoes, satisfied at the thump they make when they hit the shoe rack. 

“Oh, okay.” Comprehension dawns on Link’s face, and he lays back down on the couch, unconcerned. It's gratifying in its own way. He understands the relative severity of this. She needs to vent, not to be coddled. “What’d they do this time?”

“They keep pestering me about some movie, as though I haven't heard enough about my lack of pop culture knowledge.” She marches to the kitchen and pulls out a mug. “Do you want any tea?”

“No thanks.” His face isn't visible from this angle, but she can see that he's tossed his feet over the back of the couch. He's probably laying upside down again. It's incredible that it doesn't hurt his back. “What's the movie?”

Zelda fills her mug with water and puts it in the microwave, feeling the same burst of gratification she always does at the knowledge that her father would be appalled. Kettles are the only proper way to make tea, young lady. She loves to spit in the face of ‘proper’. “Goncharov. They said it was directed by Martin Scorsese, which means nothing to me.”

“Huh. Never heard of it.” 

Zelda points a finger in his direction. “Ha! So much for it being a necessary cultural touchstone!”

“To be fair, I don’t really watch movies.” Link says. “I’m not sure if I’m a good metric.”

“You’re a wonderful metric.” Zelda says, because she doesn’t want to admit that he’s right, and surely saying something debatably sweet will get her out of that. 

“Thanks.” Link's smile is audible in his voice, because he knows her more than well enough to see exactly what she’s doing. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s so weird that there’s movies you haven’t seen. Your dad kept you kind of sheltered.”

“Thank you!” Zelda throws her hands up, awash with righteous vindication. “That’s an excellent point! I wish I’d thought of it earlier. How many times do you think I can use the neglectful father card before people stop falling for it?”

Link hums. “People in general or Robbie and Purah specifically?”

“Hm.” Zelda leans over the back of the couch. “You’re making a lot of good points tonight, Link.”

“I try.” His smile is lopsided and charming. She loves him so much. “Do you wanna tell me what else you worked on today?”

She loves him. “If it wouldn't bore you.”

Link rolls his eyes, all fondness. “You could never bore me. I always like listening to you talk.”

She knows, but it's still nice to hear. She preens a little while she goes back to the kitchen to get her tea steeping. Wondering how she was lucky enough to find Link is much more enjoyable than the frustration of her work day. 

Purah
heyyy zelly
u wanna come over and watch movies at robbie’s with us
we could finally get u to see the gonch!!

Zelda
Purah, I'm in the Gerudo Desert until Monday. I absolutely can't come over. 

Purah
boooo whyyyy

Zelda
I'm visiting Urbosa. I definitely put this in the shared calendar. 

Purah
lol i don't check that thing
i get symin to do it and then tell me w/e i have to care about

Zelda
Purah, Symin's been on break for a month. 

Purah
lol yeah 

Impa doesn't even pretend not to be reading over Purah's shoulder, because she's annoying and a terrible sister. “She's going to uninvite you from her birthday party if you keep this up.”

Purah's thumbs pause above the screen. “Do you really think so?”

“Yeah.” Impa leans back, as if her nosiness is satisfied now that she can be all superior. 

Purah bites her lip. Zelda’s really good at party planning, is the thing. It's one of the many leftovers from growing up as a rich socialite, and she's come to enjoy using it as a way to annually indulge herself and her friends. It's genuinely nice to see Zelda do things just to make herself happy, and it's also one of the best events of the year. 

Then again, if she stops now, Impa will be really smug about it. Purah weighs her options and decides that Zelda’s forgiving nature is a better gamble than Impa continuing to give her those superior looks.

Zelda
You're infuriating, you know that? 

Purah
yeah but u love me

Zelda
Goddess knows why. 

Robbie puts on the movie and collapses in his armchair. “You bugging Zelda again?”

“Obviously.” Purah sticks her tongue out when Impa raises her eyebrows. “It's gonna be fine.”

“Whatever you say.” Impa turns to the screen, as though that'll hide the small smile playing on her lips. Whatever. Purah's right. It's going to be fine, and Impa won't get to say anything even close to ‘I told you so.’

Zelda tosses her phone on the coffee table and herself on Urbosa's very comfortable couch. “Ugh. Why are my friends so obnoxious?”

Urbosa's amused tone is completely unsympathetic and therefore unappreciated. “I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with you, little bird.”

Zelda turns her head just enough to glare, but her lip twitches up just a bit. It's hard to be mad at Urbosa when it's always so good to see her. “Are you trying to imply something about my wonderful personality?”

“Never.” Urbosa smooths a hand over Zelda's hair in the same way she's done for as long as Zelda can remember. She probably did it when Zelda's head had nothing more than infant peach fuzz. “What are your friends bothering you about?”

Zelda huffs, though her annoyance dulls under Urbosa's touch. “Have you seen Goncharov?”

She's not expecting Urbosa to toss back her head and laugh. “I'll give you points for presentation, but Riju already tried that one on me.”

Zelda blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Goncharov. It's one of those internet humor things.” Urbosa says it so nonchalantly, like it's not any sort of revelation. 

“You mean memes?” Zelda feels almost detached from herself. There's a pit of some sort of emotion welling up in her gut. 

“Yes, those.” Urbosa's hand is still stroking her hair, but its soothing power is no longer effective. “It's fairly impressive, actually. Riju showed me all the things people have made about it. I can appreciate the dedication.”

Zelda picks her phone back up and does what she probably should have done the first time Purah gasped in scandalized disbelief. 

The first search result for ‘Goncharov’ is a wikipedia page. It isn't until halfway down the first page of results that she sees an article that confirms her growing suspicions. 

Zelda grips her phone tightly enough that her knuckles go white. The pit of emotion is nearly at her throat now. It takes incredible effort to keep her voice calm. “Urbosa, would you excuse me?”

Urbosa doesn't even pretend not to laugh. “Of course. Give them hell, little bird.”

Zelda slams the door open, and this time Link does jump. It’s fair. Usually spending time with Urbosa leaves her in a calm mood. Not this time.

“Did you know about Goncharov?” She’s distantly aware that she sounds a touch hysterical. She can’t be bothered to care. 

“I told you I haven’t seen it.” Link looks genuinely confused. She studies his expression and decides she believes him. In general, Link can lie, but not to her. It’s a useful trait.

Zelda thrusts her phone in front of him, still scrolled halfway down the first page of search results. Usually she doesn’t blindly trust the Guardian as a news source, but between the Guardian and Purah, she knows who’s more likely to lie about something like this.

Goncharov: why has the internet invented a fake Martin Scorsese film?

“Oh.” Link’s eyes go wide. “I wonder what movie they’re watching this weekend, then.”

Zelda’s indignation trips over the Link-shaped spaces in her head. “That’s—Link, that’s really not the point.”

“Sorry, you’re right.” Link rubs the back of his head sheepishly, then takes on a more thoughtful expression. “How are you going to get revenge?”

If anyone tries to tell her there’s a better life partner out there, Zelda refuses to believe them. Especially if Purah or Robbie says it. “I’m still in the idea generation phase. If you have any suggestions, I’m open to them.”

Link taps his fingers against his leg. “What about your birthday? You could—oh. Oh, Zelda. I know what we should do.”

We, he says, because he would never leave her to plot and plan alone. “Please share.”

Link grins and pulls out his own phone. He opens YouTube, and before he even types anything, Zelda understands his meaning. 

It’s brilliant.

Purah can’t wait to hold this over Impa’s head. She totally got the birthday party invite, despite Impa’s melodrama. Zelda’s far too sweet of a person to openly exclude anyone.

(It’s possible that Impa did get into her head a bit. Once Zelda had her fit over finding out that they’d been pranking her, Purah might’ve, maybe, been worried about the consequences. Everything’s totally fine now though, so take that Impa.)

Robbie shoves open the venue door, and they step into a beautifully decorated room. There’s an excellent spread of food, comfortable yet classy seating, and speakers lining every wall. Usually Zelda doesn’t go in for music quite so much, but Purah can appreciate a bit of evolution.

The door closes behind them with a somewhat ominous click. Purah turns around. A sense of dread starts creeping in, low and slow. No. Impa was wrong. She’s already scripted out getting to tease Impa about how wrong she was. Absolutely nothing weird is happening.

Except that she and Robbie are the only two people here, which is very strange, now that she thinks about it. Usually Zelda would be here fretting over the details, with Link trailing behind her, ready to soothe. 

The emptiness is beginning to feel foreboding. 

“Robbie.” Purah says, trying to keep her tone even. “Does anything about this seem strange to you?”

Robbie’s at the door, pulling on the handle. “The fact that we’re locked in feels pretty strange, yeah.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Impa is never going to let her live this down.

The speakers turn on with a faint fuzz. In the half-second before the music starts, Purah realizes what their punishment is. Part of her is filled with pride and appreciation. The rest of her is trying to calculate how many hours an angry Zelda might leave them locked in here. Surely she and Robbie can find a way to release the lock without breaking the door.

(Zelda always hosts her events at venues with heavy protection and security. It’s another holdover from her past, and Purah’s never had a problem with it before. She’s starting to develop some concerns about it now.)

“We’re no strangers to love…you know the rules, and so do I…”

Purah groans and puts her head in her hands. It is exactly as she feared. 

She can’t help the laughter that bubbles out. Alright, Zelly. This is a pretty good one. 

Still. “This is going to get really old before we manage to get out of here, isn’t it?”

Robbie’s already kneeling at the door with his mobile tool kit out. “Oh, absolutely. On the bright side, I have a new song for karaoke."

Purah pulls out her own tools and sets up next to him. “I’m not sure who that’s meant to punish.” 

Robbie shrugs. “Why limit myself?”

It’s a fair point, Purah supposes. She certainly doesn’t have room to criticize.

“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…

Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you…”

Thanks, Rick Astley. Way to rub it in.