Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some find monotony insufferable; the same faces, same settings, same routine day after day after day. The uniformity of it all can wear down one’s verve for life, or even drive some to insanity. But after all the times Zelda cheated death in her short 28 years already, monotony was heavenly. She found the uneventfulness of her adult life to be utter perfection. 

Every morning began the same; Link would rise before the sun and wake Zelda up one sense at a time. The first to be graced with his attention was touch, and it was always with a kiss. Sometimes on the cheek, sometimes the forehead, the nose, her lips, her stomach—or on a particularly lazy morning, any combination of the above.

The next sense roused was smell, enticed to wakefulness by the inviting fragrance of herbal tea, sitting freshly brewed on the nightside table. Never too hot and never too bitter, Link always doctored whatever ingredients were in season to perfection.

By then he had usually pulled back the curtains, and although it would often still be dark out, she’d stir and stretch. Then, as her eyes blinked open in the dark, he’d murmur, “Good mooorning. Need anything before I head out?”

Her reply would warble through a yawn as she sat up and cupped her tea in both hands. “No, thank you. Have a good day, Link.”

So with one (or more) final kiss(es), he’d depart for the ranch, at which point Zelda could either finish her tea, get dressed and start on her day or roll over in bed or wait till the kids did it for her.

“Mamaaa!” a little voice singsonged. “Wakey wakey!”

Today she’d gone with the latter.

“I’m awake,” she lied, her voice raspy. By now the sun had risen, spilling in through her window silky and warm like the liquid in her mug. “Where’s your sister?”

“Wakey wakey!” parroted a smaller voice with wider vowels and softer consonants.

“I’m awake,” Zelda insisted, lifting her head to prove it.

There was another thing she’d never grow tired of—the sight of two tiny faces in her and Link’s likeness, come to wake her. Their two-year-old, Tetra, could barely peer above the bed. She was a shaker-bottle blend of her parents, with her papa’s eyes and slightly-tanned skin, but her mama’s button nose and yellow-blonde hair, currently mussed with sleep.

Their four-year-old son stood several inches taller, staring intently. Making sure Mama got up was a very important task bestowed to him, and he’d be damned not to take it seriously. That devoted mindset, along with his unruly caramel hair and cerulean eyes made him the spitting image of Link, and it had a choke hold on Zelda’s heart any time she stopped and really took that fact in. Though his given name was Sheik, Link had taken to calling him Bug while he was in utero, and the nickname stuck. With two years over his sister and therefore a little more wits about him, Bug was intensely proud of each quality he shared with his papa, to the point he’d trot around the house with his right arm tucked into his shirt in imitation of the one Calamity Ganon had stolen.

During the final battle for survival, Link had defeated Ganondorf in his truest form—a hideous pig beast—by thrusting the Master Sword down the monster’s open maw. But the beast swallowed more than the Blade of Evil’s Bane. It claimed Link’s entire right arm, all the way up to the shoulder. The divine sealing power bestowed to Zelda served as a tourniquet until help could arrive and treat the wound properly. Upon regaining consciousness and finding the limb missing entirely, Link was distraught over the quality of life he’d promised Zelda that he could no longer make good on, but she vowed they’d navigate this new chapter together.

Nine wonderfully uneventful years later, they wed, built a small house on the edge of Hateno, and bore two beautiful children—a boy and a girl—with number three on the way. More accurately, at 32 weeks pregnant, number three was nearly here, which made going about her daily routine a lot more effortful for Zelda. 

The practice contractions this morning were particularly brutal.

“Come here,” she invited, summoning her little ones up on the bed with open arms. “Mama needs to rest for ten more minutes. Maybe less, with snuggles.”

Tetra’s chubby fingers gripped the sheets, body contorting impressively to try and get a knee up on the mattress. Recognizing she still hadn’t acquired the strength to pull it off solo, her brother got behind her and pushed her butt. She flopped gracelessly on her face, but she was up. Then Bug climbed aboard after her, and both kids settled beneath each of Mama’s arms. Another wave of cramps made her suck in a sharp breath and wince.

“Is Bean being mean?” Bug frowned, placing his hand on Zelda’s swollen belly. Then he pressed his face against the baby bump, nose squishing. “Bean, it’s not nice to hurt Mama!”

Zelda laughed and smoothed back his messy hair. “Bean doesn’t mean to hurt Mama, sweetie. He’s just growing.”

She’d taken to calling the baby “he,” though truth be told it was still a mystery. Bean, like Bug, was another silly nickname Link had conjured out of thin air in order to fulfill the vacancy of a given name until they knew for sure the gender of their third baby. Because her husband was notoriously bad at baby name suggestions, Zelda was loath to admit her fondness of the strangely cute, biotic nicknames he coined—though Tetra’s “Squid” was not so gripping. In any case, number three was going to be just as perfect as one and two, whoever they revealed themselves to be.

Before having their own, Zelda taught the kids of Hateno Village alongside Symin at the small schoolhouse she and Link helped build after the Calamity. Stubbornness, sarcasm, anxiety, apathy… In almost ten years, Zelda had just about seen and handled it all in the classroom. She’d come to understand that all behaviors were clues as to what needs were not being met. A student who spouted silly answers when called upon was not disrespectful—they were afraid of being put on the spot. Or averse to the vulnerability that comes with being incorrect. Or hoping to heighten their social standing by entertaining their peers. Once Zelda discerned the function of the behavior, she could respond accordingly—a skill that had proven invaluable in motherhood.

 She always intended to go back to teaching once her kids were a little older. But for now, she enjoyed just being a stay-at-home-mama while her babies were still young, and Link was off working at Hateno Pasture.

Before their firstborn, Link had worked from sunrise to sunset. Now, also not wanting to miss these formative years, Link often came home early to spend afternoons playing with the kids, make dinner, and help put them to bed.

A village fire had stolen his first family—both parents and his little sister Aryll—over fifteen years ago. For all the years in between he carried the weight of their deaths as his own. More often than not, the nightmares that awoke Link were of ashes and flames, unlike the malice and monsters that plagued Zelda. 

Her story of loss was similar. Sickness had claimed Zelda’s mother and unborn brother when she was only six years old, and Ganondorf had taken the life of her father, the king, at the height of the Calamity.

For a while, all she and Link had was each other.

They spent many years after the Calamity untangling the trauma in their grief-addled brains, and now they both could sleep a little more soundly at night.

Tetra sat up and jostled Zelda’s arm. “Mama. Now wakey wakey.”

Zelda took a final sip from her mug and set it back down. “Okay, now wakey wakey. Let’s go get some breakfast, shall we?”

The children leapt from the bed and scurried down the stairs. Well, Bug scurried. Tetra did the one-two toddler waddle, needing to plant both feet on each step while gripping the bars of the railing.

Bug, well into his I can do it myself phase, was eager to take on new responsibilities wherever he could. With Tetra perched on one hip, Zelda reached up to grab the flour for Bug to measure out. He proceeded to proudly explain that he had to scrape the extra from the measuring cup in order for the measurement to be accurate. Papa said so.

Gods, even the simplest skills they picked up were just so amazing.

Yes, Zelda’s plain little life was perfect, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

━━▲━━

“Lookout, Your Highness!”

The princess’s shrill scream was lost to the clang of metal, then the roar of angered monsters. The knight was going to have to think of something fast.

“Your Highness, this way!” he yelled, bending a branch to forge an escape route. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” the monster growled, but the princess scampered inside with another shriek before the monster could snatch her, and the branches swung back to their original protective positions. “You think some puny twigs can stop me?”

Too slow. The knight jumped on the monster’s back—oof!—and repeatedly struck him to a merciless and gory death.

“Oh, hey Bug? Oh!” Zelda fretted, watching her son whap Link, lying prone in faux defeat, with a stick. “Oh— Honey, be careful— Don’t hit your papa’s head!”

“It’s not Papa,” Bug argued, “it’s a monster!”

Link sat up and, breaking character, grasped the offending weapon without humor. “We can’t play this game if we’re not making safe choices, bud.”

“Okay…” the four-year-old moped, muscles going slack.

Inside the bush, Tetra’s call could be heard. “Hewwo? Where’s ta pwincess?”

“Hey, you defeated the monster,” Link whispered, nudging Bug like he’s reminding him of his next line in a performance. “Go make sure the princess is safe.”

“Princess! Are you okay?” he shouted, barreling into the underbrush. “I defeated the monster! It’s safe to come out now!”

With nothing but the occasional jostling of leaves and nonsensical dialogue to indicate where the kids had gone, Link returned to Zelda’s side on the wooden bench. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” he asked, rubbing at her lower back, which had remained achy all day.

“I’m not very hungry,” she admitted. “And I’m also feeling indecisive, so you might have to pick for me.”

“Something light and nutritious, then,” he concluded. “Salt-grilled greens, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she agreed.

“This way!”

The branches parted once more, and out toddled Tetra. “Fank you!”

Admiring the scene together, Link pressed his face to Zelda’s. “Gods, she’s as cute as you.”

Meanwhile, Bug grinned. “You’re welc—Ow!” 

“Oh!” Zelda gasped, leaping up from the bench. “Are you okay, Sheik?”

“I-I’m okay,” he said, teary-eyed, covering half his face as he plodded over to his parents. 

“What happened?” Link asked.

He stopped a few feet from the bench and peered through his fingers. “The branch hitted my eye…”

“Oh, honey, let me see—” Zelda worried. The branch he was holding out of Tetra’s way either slipped from his fingers or he let it go too soon, but it thwacked down on his face just the same.

She held her breath as her four-year-old peeled his fingers away. By “eye,” he meant “general face area,” and thank Hylia for that because a scratch on the cheek is much less problematic than a scleral scratch. Still, Zelda pouted, “That’s no fun, is it?”

The boy sniffled and shook his head, and Link squatted down and pulled him close in his arm. “Hey. All our cuts and bruises make us stronger, right bud?”

“Mhm…” Even as Bug nodded somberly, he managed to blink some of the moisture from his eyes. “Think I’ll be strong as you someday, Papa?”

“Of course you will. Now let’s go clean that cut.” Link took Bug’s hand in his and looked back at Zelda. “You got Tetra?”

“Yep, we’re good here,” Zelda smiled back, waving them on. Tetra had taken interest in a large leaf, so Zelda remained on the bench and watched the boys head inside.

She always admired her husband’s balance between fostering compassion and resilience. If there were a serious issue, of course Link would be first to dole sympathy and care, but he had a good sense of severity and encouraged Bug to be stalwart in most cases. In fact, one might think Bug was never hurt at all, what with how Link now roughed up his hair and knocked into him affectionately while they walked.

Yes, Link would teach their kids how to pick themselves up by the bootstraps, and in the meantime Zelda was content to be the worrywart.

━━▲━━

After dinner the family often went for a short stroll to help settle their tummies and tucker the little ones out before bedtime. The walks had been shortening recently, in part due to the autumn sun laying itself to rest earlier, but also because Zelda could not make it very far as the pregnancy progressed.

Dessert also ran late tonight and gave them a delayed start, and as the sun disappeared over the treetops, they decided they should turn back. Hateno was beautiful in the twilight, a halcyon half hour between sunlight and lanternlight, where the paths tinged amber and orange. The leaves had yet to turn, but in this reverent transition world, the illusion of painted autumn color reminded Zelda of Akkala—Link’s birthplace and their wedding venue a mere six years ago. Another sense of gratitude and perfection poured over Zelda. She would never grow tired of this.

Then out of the blue, Tetra cried out and fell.

While Zelda acknowledged the stumble with a sympathetic, “Oops, bonk!” Link gasped and darted towards their little girl, scooping her up in his arm and holding her to his chest.

“Tetra, are you hurt?”

“I’m otay!” she assured him.

He kissed her on the cheek and pulled back again. “You need to watch your step when it’s getting dark, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Otay!”

That was a bit of an over-reaction, Zelda couldn’t help but think. Even as the self-proclaimed worrywart, she didn’t stress over little tumbles like that. Kids fall all the time; it’s part of building their coordination. 

Tetra bobbled to catch up to her brother at the lead after being set down and Zelda slipped in closer to Link, voicing this observation of hers.

“Well it was dark,” he argued, a slight edge to his voice. “I couldn’t see how bad it really was.”

It wasn’t so much this explanation that concerned Zelda, but rather the unusually defensive tone he took with her. It was very… unLink.

Well, maybe he was feeling a little spooked by Bug’s cut today, too.

Or maybe she was being the worrywart again.

She stressed about it through their entire bedtime routine with the kids. So after she and Link had cocooned themselves in the safe confines of their blankets and she tucked into his lonely arm, she commented, “I’m glad that branch got Bug on the cheek and not the eye.”

His hand brushed up and down her spine. “Me too.”

Then she waited. If Link had more to say, she would give him the space to vocalize it on his own. But he didn’t, so she caved and asked, “Did you have another nightmare recently?”

“No, why?” He sounded surprised.

Maybe the third trimester was just making her anxiety pick up. Hylia knows it had with her other pregnancies.

 “Just wondering. How was work?” she asked instead. She kept her voice light but truth be told she was still probing for some explanation. 

“Work was fine…” He eyed her suspiciously. “Did something happen while I was gone today?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just being a worrywart again.”

He rolled towards her and scooted back a smidge to observe her face. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what exactly felt off today. I’m probably just imagining it.”

Now he waited, like if she had something more to say the silence would invite her to do so. But she dismissed her silly sense of wrongness and was rewarded with Link’s lips pressed against hers.

“Well, you know I’m always eager to listen,” he smiled, pulling away.

She smiled too, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And you know… if you have anything you need to get off your chest, I’m always eager to listen, too.”

There— He almost scowled. She swore a line flashed between his brows. But all he said was “of course” before kissing her again and rolling to the other side.

“Goodnight,” he yawned. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Link… Goodnight.”

The sense of unease remained, but she was probably just being a worrywart.

━━▲━━

A press of soft lips on her forehead, the herbal aroma wafting towards her nose, the crescent moon’s light barely flitting in, and finally, “Good morning, need anything before I go?”

Zelda rubbed her eyes and sat up. “No, thank you.” She retrieved her tea from the nightside table and enjoyed a sip to complete the checklist of tickled senses. “Mm, good tea this morning.”

“Thanks,” he whispered. “Valerian root and lavender. I’ll see you and the kids this afternoon.”

He kissed her goodbye and as Zelda watched his muscled back disappear down the steps, she got that sinking feeling again. Valerian root and lavender—was he trying to tell her something? Both those ingredients are meant to reduce stress and anxiety.

No, no, she was reading too much into it if she seriously thought the tea was some kind of subliminal messaging. For Hylia’s sake, she explicitly told Link last night that she was feeling off! Of course he was being his usual, attentive, caring self and she was being irrational.

━━▲━━

Bug dragged his stick through the fresh mud. “S-H-E-I-K,” he spelled. “Sheik!”

“Look how neat your S is!” Zelda praised. “You’ve done a lot of practicing to get that curvature so nice! And how many letters are in your name, Bug?”

The four-year-old joined in with his mama’s count, “One, two, three, four, five!”

“Five! That’s right!” Zelda beamed. “This calls for a high-five!”

Holding out her hand, she bit back a grin as Bug wound back and slapped his little palm to hers with all his might.

“I count!” Tetra chirped, already drawing lines in the mud with her open hands.

“You wanna count, too?” Link questioned. He was sitting with an elbow propped on his knee, chin propped in his hand. Then he took the stick beside him and wrote Tetra’s name in front of her, saying the letters aloud. “How many letters are in your name, Tetra?”

“One… two… fie!” she cheered, clapping at her own achievement, and her parents laughed. Her hand shot up. “High-fie!”

“There are five letters in your name,” Link chuckled. “Good job.” He met her waiting palm with much less force than Bug.

“How many letters are in Papa’s name?” Zelda asked, scribing the letters within their view. “P-A-P-A. One… two…”

“Fie!” Tetra proclaimed again. She twisted on her butt towards Link, hands up. “High-fie!”

“High-five,” he echoed mirthfully, bestowing her with another gentle pat.

“Hey, TT, watch this!” Bug said, skewering his stick into the ground and pulling on it like a lever until a glob of mud flipped into the air.

Enamoured with her brother and anything he ever wanted to show her, Tetra toddled over and watched him again.

“You shoulda done your name,” Link grinned, scooting closer to Zelda. “Then five woulda been correct again.”

“True. How’s it feel to have an inferior, four-letter name, unlike the rest of your family?” Zelda teased.

“Terrible. I should probably change it, huh?”

Bug threw a handful of gravel into the mud, watching it pucker and squelch. Tetra mirrored the motion, though half of the debris she’d gathered released too late and struck the ground by her shoes while the rest stuck to her sticky palms.

Zelda turned her attention back to Link and joked, “You wanna officially start going by Linky?”

“Maybe. Or I could just use two L’s.”

She snorted. “Luh-Link?”

“Exactly.”

The mud made a bigger squelch, and she looked up to see the kids had acquired bigger rocks. Cherubic laughter chorused in response, and Zelda subconsciously set a hand on her belly.

“Help me get this, TT!”

“Otay!”

Oh, how she loved that her children got along. She hoped Bean would be readily accepted into this duo, when he arrived. The thought of their happy home of four becoming five—another pentad for Tetra to count to—rang idyllic in her head.

…Until she saw the rock Bug wanted them to lift together. A large, flat stone bigger than their biggest dinner plate.

“Oh, hold on—”

“No guys, we can’t throw that one—” Link denounced at the same time, louder than Zelda’s warning. He was already moving towards them.

“It’s not too heavy, Papa!” Bug insisted blithely, not understanding “can’t” really meant “shouldn’t.” He and Tetra heaved at the same time, lifting one edge when suddenly Link snatched Tetra by the waist and pulled her away.

The stone dropped back down with a soft thud.

“If that fell on either of your fingers or toes, that would hurt a lot,” he explained to the two-year-old before dropping her off with Zelda. Then he went back to Bug and knelt down low, speaking so softly Zelda had to strain to hear, “Our job as boys is to keep the girls safe, right bud? We don’t want to do something that would hurt your sister. Or you. That would be sad, right?”

“Right…”

“Hey, I love you, you know that?” Link said at his usual volume, roughing up Bug’s hair.

The boy’s scrunched shoulders suggested he was displeased but his wide grin revealed otherwise. “I know, Papa!”

Zelda let Tetra run free again. 

Hm, she thought. There was nothing inherently wrong with the notion that the boys should protect the girls. In fact Zelda would bet ten gold rupees that it was a lesson Link’s own father instilled in him at a young age. Link’s father often traveled with the Hylian Army, so it made sense Link would be entrusted with the safety of his mother and Aryll, if just for the perception of responsibility. 

But for some reason his comment to Bug irked Zelda anyway. Yes, Link looked out for her, but did she not also look out for Link across the years?

“Do you think boys are in charge of girls?” Zelda asked in the kitchen that night. She stood with her back to Link, butterflying cucco breast while he stirred onions and garlic in a big pot. The kids were preoccupied with a teetering block tower in the far corner of the room. 

“What? Of course not,” Link scoffed without looking up from the pot.

“Not from a hierarchical standpoint,” she clarified. “I know you don’t think like that. I’m wondering if you believe boys are responsible for keeping girls safe.”

Now he craned his head. “Well, yeah. Maybe not responsible for, but of course boys should look out for girls. Girls should look out for boys, too.” After a moment he set the wooden spoon down and leaned his back against the counter. “Is this about what I told Bug this afternoon?” 

She was reluctant to nod.

“I think everyone should look out for each other, but I was talking to Bug, so.” He returned to stirring. “I said it how I said it.”

It made perfectly logical sense. So why did it still bother Zelda so much?

Scientist mode activated, she started paying more attention on their family outings. And day after day, she saw Link move first to prevent Tetra from harm, even when both kids were partaking in the same activity.

She called him out on it only once, when the kids were scaling a fallen log. Link plucked their daughter off like a mushroom but left Bug alone.

They were climbing the same log, Zelda had pointed out.

Bug is older, he’d argued back. He has more balance and can handle a bigger fall.

But that didn’t explain the other times her husband stepped in prematurely, warning Tetra to be careful or preventing her from taking an age-appropriate risk like climbing, balancing, and general exploration. Zelda knew he’d only deny it if she accused him again, so against better judgement, she decided to run an experiment—as any scientist would.

Ever since Bug was teeny-tiny, Link would situate him atop Epona, a gentle mare he took care of at the ranch. She had the photos to prove it. So late one morning, Zelda and the kids trekked over to Hateno Pasture to visit their papa. He was delighted by the surprise pop in, and of course Bug—big kid that he was—was eager to help his papa muck stalls and refill the water trough.

Then, bringing Epona in for grooming, Bug did exactly as Zelda hoped—he asked to sit on her back, to which Link obliged. Then, as Zelda also predicted, Tetra requested the same. 

“Maybe when you’re a little older, sweetie,” Link apologized, stroking her hair.

“Up!” she whined, arms extended in a request to be picked up. “Up, Papa!”

“I’m sorry, Tetra—”

“Up!” she cried, stomping her feet in outrage. “Pease! Up!”

Inwardly, Zelda felt the same distress as her daughter. Because unfortunately, her hypothesis had been right all along. For whatever reason, Link was barring Tetra from the same activities as their son.

“What’s the matter with Tetra taking a turn?” she asked genuinely.

A hint of betrayal flashed in Link’s eyes. They always handled tantrums as a team, but here Zelda was taking their daughter’s side. His response was sharp, “I don’t want her to fall off, Zelda.”

“Then just hold her?” she contended. “It’s not like we’re going out for a ride.”

“Up, Papa!” Tetra cried, fat tears rolling down her plush cheeks, arms still raised in hopes of her pleas’ heed.

“Okay, there there, it’s okay,” he consoled, scooping Tetra’s butt into the seat of his sole elbow. Toddlers have a natural propensity to clutch their caregivers with their arms and legs for extra security while being held, a crucial instinct especially when being lifted by only one arm. This however, makes depositing either child onto a higher surface—such as the back of a horse—extremely difficult for Link. “Okay, are you ready? Hold on to Epona’s mane very tightly. D’you got it? You’re sure you got it?”

As Link navigated this transition, Zelda moved to Epona’s other side and helped barricade both children aboard the mare’s back.

Epona, sweet girl she was, did not mind her two wriggling riders at all. 

“Wow, look at you two!” Mama sang. She unlatched the Purah Pad from her belt and pointed the camera at her family. “Say ‘cheese!’” 

“Cheeeeese!”

She centered her kids in the frame but Link’s entire upper body was blocked by Epona’s. “Link, come on this side so I can see you!”

“No, thanks,” he clipped, “I’m good here.” His hand was still bracing Tetra. As soon as the shutter clicked he scooped her off Epona’s back and set her down, announcing it time to brush the mare’s coat—so Bug came down, too. After helping best they could with the grooming, Zelda led the kids home.

Luckily Link came back in a much better mood than they’d left him. Zelda felt bad for using him as a test, but she had to learn the truth for herself. Busy with dinner, Link hummed in the kitchen while she read a storybook to two starry-eyed audience members.

Their evening walk (along with the hike to and from Hateno Pasture earlier) left Zelda feeling extra winded, so Link kindly offered to put the kids to bed by himself. So Zelda sat upstairs with her book, feeling a dizzying mix of gratitude and unease. At least she’d finally put her finger on what had been feeling off lately. Now they just needed to talk about it.

She was sitting up in bed when Link climbed the steps with a water for her. “It was a fun surprise to have you and the kids visit today,” he smiled, sounding like he meant it. After he set the glass down, he began peeling off his clothes.

“They love their papa,” Zelda replied, as if answering a question. “And so do I.”

Undressing was a slow task with only one hand—and Zelda bit the inside of her cheek and watched. She’d learned the story behind each scar he bore, had even been there for the onset of some of his worst. And the way the nub of Link’s right arm moved like it was still helping always fascinated her. Sometimes the Calamity felt like a distant fairytale, until she beheld the chronicle written on the hero’s skin and remembered the realness of it all. They fought so hard for each other, just to lead the perfectly mundane life they led now. 

Link eventually grew privy to her careful inspection and met her glazed eyes as he pulled his hair from its half-ponytail.

“Somehow, you get more handsome every time I look at you,” she sighed, angling her head to receive his adoring kiss as he crawled into bed with her.

“You’re one to talk,” he chuckled, tucking his legs into the blankets. “You’re the actual, literal Goddess incarnate.” As if in prayer, he lowered his face in her neck and started worshiping her skin. His hand wrapped around her thigh, sliding just past the hem of her nightgown.

“That’s not true…” she murmured, growing lightheaded from the sudden affection. She scratched her nails through Link’s soft hair, parting it to the other side. “I only have Her divine blood.”

“Oh, I only have Her divine blood,”  he mocked, which was particularly funny coming from the man currently venerating her neck with teeth and tongue. “You’re beautiful, Zelda. You’ll always be a goddess in my eyes.”

She huffed, lashes lowering. “I don’t know how you can possibly find me attractive in this state…”

Link’s hand moved to the swell of her belly in response. “What, you mean ‘cause your body is currently performing the most amazing feat of carrying a whole-ass baby inside it? I’ll have you know that’s the fifth member of our hooktoss team you’re growing in there! Do you know how fucking cool that is?”

Zelda chuckled, defeated. “It doesn’t feel very cool at the moment, but you’re right.” Link, still listening, slipped lower and lifted her nightgown to press a reverent kiss to her bare stomach while she continued. “I should be grateful that we’ve had three relatively easy pregnancies and two unproblematic deliveries. Not to mention being blessed with taking care of two of the most kindhearted, curious little souls—”

Link, now hanging out by her hip, smiled sweetly up at her and added, “Soon to be three.”

“Not for at least another six weeks, with any luck,” Zelda laughed dryly.

“You’re the most amazing Mama, you know that?” he said, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. “The kids and I are incredibly lucky to have you…” Then he started to disappear under the blankets.

“That’s sweet. And you’re an amazing papa, too, Link—!” His name came out on a yelp thanks to the wandering of his mouth and hands. “But— We—” She fought for rationality, unwilling to let this conversation fall prey to the distracting ecstasy of his devotion. “I need to talk to you about something—”

The movement beneath the blankets halted at once. Link pulled himself up and into a sitting position, features laced with the utmost concern. Cerulean darted about her face. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted…” She sighed and reset. “We need to talk about how you treat Tetra.”

Cerulean steeled, concern gave way to unmistakable skepticism. “What do you mean, ‘how I treat Tetra’?”

“Well… You sort of… baby her, Link.”

A groove formed between his caramel brows. “Well, yeah, Zelda.” He tried to say it through a laugh but he just sounded irritated. “She’s our baby.”

Zelda shook her head, disagreeing. “She walks and talks. She’s a toddler, not a baby.”

“Semantics,” he huffed. “Point is, she’s only two. I was the same way with Sheik when he was that young.”

A scoff. She, too, was trying and failing to sound jocose. “Link, I had to beg you to be gentler with Sheik. You used to throw him in the air—with one arm, mind you—or carry him by the leg—”

She cut herself off when Link turned away, muscle feathering in his jaw. 

Despite the lance of despair she felt, she asserted, “When Bug was two you put him on Epona without hesitation. It’s not an age thing.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long time. Zelda kept her eyes on Link, and Link kept his eyes on the stairs.

Finally, his head dipped. “Then you’re saying it’s a gender thing.”

“Well— That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

He twisted back towards her with the certitude of someone who’d just solved a riddle. “That’s why you were asking me those weird questions awhile back.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You think I’m sexist.”

This statement knocked the wind out of her. “I did not say that,” she enunciated very carefully.

“No,” he said just as carefully, “You just thought it.”

This had gone too far. She tried to backpedal. “Link—”

But it was too late, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair and laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize looking out for our daughter made me a villain—”

“Link.” Now she was angry, too. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth? You know I don’t like when you do that.” He stopped looking at her again. “I never called you a sexist and I’d never call you a villain. I’m just saying you talk to Tetra differently than you talk to Sheik.”

His fist clenched. “I’ll just shut up then,” he bit. “Hylia forbid I care too much.” He pulled the blankets back, and though the act itself was unthreatening, the implication of such a movement was heartrending; 

He was leaving—

“Link, stop,” ordered Zelda, but it fell on deaf ears. “Where are you going?”

He tugged his clothes back on, not bothering to straighten them. “For a walk.”

“To where? When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Later.”

There was nothing she could say or do to make him stay at that point. Instead, she waited up as long as she could for his return, but it never came.

Chapter Text

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Touch, smell, sight, hearing, taste. She was always woken up in that order. 

But not today.

She stayed up as late as she possibly could last night, waiting for Link to come home. But if he ever did, it was after sleep overtook her. And this morning she was awoken not by his kiss, but by little hands. 

“Mama! Wakey wakey!”

“I’m awake,” she lied, and that’s when the wrongness flooded in. The evidence of Link’s presence stood damning—the curtains drawn back, cold tea on the nightside table. He’d been here, then. But he didn’t bother to say good morning.

The only time he’d ever deviated from their routine was when he himself was sick in bed. But his side of the mattress was currently as empty as Zelda’s ribcage.

“Mama, I hungy,” Tetra squeaked while tugging Zelda’s arm. To her kids, she realized, it was just another monotonous morning in their perfectly mundane life. They had no inkling that their parents had argued last night and that something was amiss.

She put on a brave face, even while her heart thumped wrong, wrong, wrong. “Okay. What shall we have this morning, my loves?”

“Pampakes!” Tetra cheered.

Bug jumped to his feet, narrowly missing his mama’s leg. “Yeah, pancakes!”

“Okay, let’s see if we have what we need,” she agreed. While her children raced ahead, Zelda rocked herself into an upright position and looked at the mug. Her tea sat; full and forgotten. 

Swallowing her heartache, Zelda reached over and cupped the cool ceramic in her hands.

I know how you feel.

━━▲━━

“When’s Papa coming, Mama?” Bug inquired, arms full of pinecones. “I want him to see mine and TT’s aquarium.” 

Their “aquarium” was just a bunch of pinecones and sticks floating on the pond’s scummy surface.

“I don’t know, Bug,” Zelda admitted, keeping her voice as curious and light as the question. The pond was near their house, but Hateno’s hills gave Zelda a decent enough view of the winding descent from the ranch. “Maybe the animals needed extra help today.”

She squinted at the path again, but still no sign of Link as far as she could tell. Her stomach sank.

“Look Mama, fishies!” Tetra called, tossing another twig into the water and disturbing its green film.

“Oh, is that right?” Zelda crooned. “What kind of fishy was that?”

“Gow-fish.”

“Goldfish,” Zelda laughed, “very good.”

“Yeah, and that one’s a shark!” Bug added, pointing to a half-sunken, algae-covered log. Now that he mentioned it, the strange split in its bark did look like a dorsal fin. Clever boy.

“Oh dear! Will the goldfish be okay with the shark there?”

“No, they’ll get eated.”

“Oh dear,” she repeated, biting back a laugh but trying to sound sad for the fishies’ sake.

Tetra spun to her brother, looking aghast. “I ha ih ta fishies ged eaded?”

…Didn’t catch that first part, but by some miracle her brother seemed to understand her babble. “No, don’t worry TT.” The four-year-old wrapped his arms around his sister with more force than looked comfortable, but Tetra didn’t seem to mind the loving restraint. “I won’t let the shark eat you, either!”

A sad smile pulled at Zelda’s lips. “You take such good care of your sister, Bug.”

“Mhm!” he nodded. “Papa says it’s my doody!”

Her heartache intensified. She really went and admonished Link for instilling this altruism in their son?

“That’s right, Bug” she agreed with a wobbly voice while pulling both kids into a group hug. “And when Bean gets here, we'll need to protect him, too. It’s all of our duty to look out for each other, always. That’s what families do.”

“Where Papa?” asked Tetra this time.

“Working hard,” Mama answered, kissing her baby's head. “How about we go wait for him back at home?”

It was another hour later that the door swung open and he stepped inside.

“Papa!” the kids shouted, leaping from their places on either side of Mama and her storybook to swarm their father’s feet.

“Wow, what a reception!” He leaned over and greeted Bug, then Tetra, in the order they arrived at his feet.

“Welcome home,” Zelda called, hoisting herself to her feet. Link flashed a half-smile at her before Bug pulled his attention downward again.

“Why did you be late, Papa?”

His smile turned sympathetic for his son. “I was a little late today, wasn’t I? One of the goats got out.”

“Goddout?” Tetra parroted, as a question.

Link grew animated as he regaled his kids with the story. “That’s right. There was a gap in the fence and he went woosh right over it! So Uncle Dantz went over to catch him, but then—!”

Zelda chastised the small part of herself that thought, however briefly, that the goat alibi was a farce. But Link would never lie to their kids about something like that—and he, himself, wouldn’t be able to stomach performing such a spirited reenactment if it was all a ruse.

You worrywart.

She decided to tidy up a few things while the children giggled and chortled at Link’s impersonation of a goat. She also used his distraction to sneak away to the bathroom—she had to pee for the past half-hour but couldn’t quite escape storytime.

When she came back, the kids had started their own game of make believe. They bleated and jumped like antsy goats eager to escape their confines—Wait, TT, I’ll try and catch you like Papa!—while Link smiled to himself from the kitchen island.

Zelda sidled up to where he was arranging his ingredients and kissed his cheek. He didn’t turn his head to meet her lips—which he doesn’t always do, Zelda reminded herself—before stepping back to retrieve the one-handed cutting board. The wooden plank had a small square of metal spikes for spearing vegetables in place.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she offered gently.

He didn’t respond at first, just carefully wedged the leek into position. Then, “Me too.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Are you still good to watch the kids tomorrow while I have my prenatal check-up with Purah?”

He paused and looked at her, surprised. “S’that tomorrow?” She nodded, and he resumed cutting. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“You’re sure? I can probably reschedule if it’s an issue.”

“Yes. I just said it’s fine.”

Zelda didn’t like his tone. She tried not to match it when she said, “There’s no need to get snappy. I’m just checking.”

Though the kids were still occupied with their game, Link dropped his voice to keep them from hearing. “I’m not gonna wrap Tetra in ten layers of wool and lock her in her room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her jaw dropped. What the hell?

She hissed, “You’re not a monster for wanting to protect our daughter, Link.”

The knife chunked spitefully through the leek, but her husband’s voice stayed level. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“If that’s what you heard, then—” She cut herself off and searched his face disdainfully. Then you weren’t listening to me. 

The retort sat poised and ready on her tongue, but the tightrope they’re walking was already frayed. 

She held the words until they extinguished like smoke and exited through her nose. “Then I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you. I only wanted you to reflect a little.”

“Can we talk about this later?” he exasperated, but she grabbed his arm and lowered her voice further.

“You’re not a villain or a monster for keeping Tetra safe,” she urged, desperate for him to listen—it had to be said while it was raw. “I just think she’s ready for a little more risk and responsibility. A little.”

He was rigid in her hold, and she willed him to soften. She was growing lightheaded with desperation. Please, Link. We promised not to shut each other out. Her soul begged his to open back up. I’m yours, remember?

After a long, tense moment, he finally moved— 

And pulled his arm away. He kept cutting. 

Gods, why did the room feel like it was spinning?

“Link…?”

“I heard you,” he dismissed. “More risk and responsibility, got it.”

Tears pricked at Zelda’s eyes. Curse her heightened, third-trimester hormones. She retreated upstairs lest she sob in front of her whole family. She didn’t mean for her concern to blow up in their faces like a bomb-flower. She didn’t mean to disturb their idyllic, monotonous life. Everything was perfect! Why did she have to be such a worrywart?

She managed to pull herself together by dinnertime and braced herself to remain strong at the table; keep her kids from knowing anything’s awry. Link played the part perfectly, funny and sweet as always—so why was she still upset? Did she hope he wouldn’t be able to maintain this charade in front of their kids? Of course he wasn’t intentionally gaslighting her, but witnessing his usual demeanor on display for the kids made her question her ill perceptions, anyway.

“Mama’s sad,” Tetra noted using the same empathetic tone that was taken with her when she experienced big feelings.

All eyes turned on her. A tear dripped off Zelda’s chin onto her plate.

“Why are you sad, Mama?” Bug asked with the sweetest concern. He rose on his knees, peering over the table. “Is Bean hurting you again?”

Unable to form any words, Zelda just nodded mutely. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Link, but she knew he was watching her, too.

“Can we get you anything?”

She shook her head no. “Hormones,” she murmured in teary explanation. “Just ignore me.” So after a quiet moment Link posed a new question to Bug and the meal continued.

When bedtime rolled around, Link came up the steps with armoranth tea instead of water. “How are your cramps?”

She had been too dizzy with grief to join them on their usual walk that night.

“Awful,” she lied, if only to hear him say I’m sorry.

Instead he asked, “Do you want me to get you the warm chuchu jelly?” He handed her the mug but made no move to join her in bed. 

“No, thank you.”

His lips thinned into a straight line. “Okay.” Then he turned and bid her goodnight. 

“Wait,” she called back, sitting up. “You’re not coming to bed?”

He faltered on the top step. “The kitchen’s a mess. I’m gonna clean for a bit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Then she picked her voice back up before he disappeared completely. “Thank you…!”

She strained to hear his reply, but she’s not certain there was one.

For the second time, she tried to stay awake, listening to pots and pans softly clatter until he came back to her.

But, for the second time, she was so fatigued she fell asleep before that could happen.

However, this time she heard the curtains open before dawn. Then she smelled her tea, wafting flowery steam. She realized Link was still here—but he was leaving down the steps. She cleared her groggy head of morning fog and pushed her sleep-laden voice to call, “Have a good day!”

Swallowed by the dark descent, he pretended not to hear her.

No— No. Benefit of the doubt, Zelda. There’s a chance he truly didn’t hear her.

She picked up the mug in hopes its contents would calm her, but the amber liquid was just as anxious, quaking in its ceramic container as soon as it was suspended.

━━▲━━

The cold bell of the stethoscope pressed against her firm, round flesh. Lights of varying colors, flashing from electric current instead of flickering by flame. The steady whir and hum of the machinery which hosted that speckled aurora of light. The lenses of the Sheikah’s red glasses obscured her eyes, leaving Zelda with only pursed lips to read her expression.

“Heartbeat sounds good,” her friend noted matter-of-factly, moving the stethoscope around Zelda’s swollen womb. Then she pushed back in her seat and marked something down on a piece of paper. “Let’s check the results of your bloodwork.”

Purah was not a medical doctor, but she was smart as a whip and did a voracious amount of reading during Zelda’s first pregnancy. Her attention to detail and suped-up lab made her as good an obstetrician in Hyrule as any.

“I just didn’t think he’d be that upset about it…” Zelda lamented while Purah skimmed a finger over the results. “I wasn’t rude or anything. Do you think I was rude?”

The scientist didn’t respond, just dragged her nail along the small ticks on a graduated cylinder till she lined up with the fluid inside before marking her findings on the same sheet of paper. From an outsider’s perspective, Purah’s seeming inattentiveness and concise pragmatic answers when she did deign to respond could be seen as callous or apathetic, but Zelda appreciated the kind of listener it made her. Anytime Zelda needed to gripe or whine, she knew her friend would lend both an ear and a no-bullshit attitude. 

Link, of course, would readily listen to Zelda vent as well, but aside from the fact that he was the thesis of her current heartache, he also tended to back Zelda no matter the complaint. While the unflappable support of his echo chamber was sometimes nice, Zelda knew she could count on Purah to call her out on being ridiculous or unreasonable.

“What if he’s upset about something else?” the Sheikah finally offered, lifting a smaller vial to the light. “And his attitude is just cropping up now?”

“What would that ‘something else’ be?”

“Hylia if I know. Your guess is as good as mine.” Purah glanced over her glasses at Zelda and saw her dissatisfaction with that answer. “Do you smell?”

“Excuse me?” Zelda balked.

“I don’t know. I certainly wouldn’t climb into bed with some who smelled.”

Zelda lifted her arm and sniffed, then gaped back at her friend. “Do you think I smell bad?”

“No. I’m just spitballing here, Zellie.” She screwed the cap back on some container and set a hand on her hip. “Another nightmare put him on edge, maybe?”

Zelda shook her head dourly. “He’d tell me if it was a nightmare. At least, he’d always tell me that kind of thing in the past…” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “With the students or my own kids, I can always figure out what’s going on underneath the behavior—but I just can’t read Link. My own husband, for Hylia’s sake!” Unable to ward off the weight of reality any longer, her head dropped into her hands. “Oh, it has to be me, Purah! We were fine until I brought it up! I’ve ruined everything!”

“Buck up, girly,” Purah commanded dryly. “You two survived an altercation with the Demon King of a kingdomwide apocalyptic prophecy together. You’ll survive a little marital spat.”

Zelda sniffled. “Y-you think so…?”

Purah dropped her glasses like Zelda just sprouted Link’s missing arm from her head. She obviously thought the question was ridiculous, but she still answered, “Yes. I do.” Then she walked a different sheet of paper back to where Zelda was sitting. “Anyways, didn’t that prophecy say the divine princess and fated hero were destined to be together?”

“Well… I must’ve missed the stanza that addressed child-rearing,” Zelda chuckled humorlessly. “Because I feel like I’m navigating in the dark.”

“Point is, you two will get through this.” She took her usual seat across from Zelda and crossed her legs. “Have you been feeling dizzy or fatigued recently?”

“Oh Gods, have I.” Zelda gripped her head, feeling lightheaded already. “This disagreement with Link has been eating me alive.”

Purah nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed. Then she flipped her paper around. “Well, you’re also slightly anemic, so there’s that.”

“I am?” Zelda launched forward to look at the numbers. 

“Acutely, but yes.”

10.5 g/dL. The average hemoglobin level for a woman of Zelda’s height and weight was 13.5 g/dL, and anything under 12.0 was considered low.

“Tell that master-chef husband of yours to incorporate more leafy greens and red meat at mealtimes.”

“He does,” Zelda insisted. “Our diet is plenty iron-sufficient.”

Purah eyed her friend’s baby bump. “Don’t forget you’re fueling a second Hylian in there.”

Zelda grabbed the sheet out of the scientist’s hands and read it again. “I don’t understand. I didn’t have anemia with Sheik or Tetra.”

“According to what I’ve read, it’s actually more common in subsequent pregnancies.”

“But—”

“I don’t know why you’re arguing.” Purah gestured to the crinkling results. “Bloodwork doesn’t lie, Zellie. The data’s right there in your hands.”

“But…”

Purah didn’t interrupt her this time, and with no actual rebuttal the lab fell silent, save for the hypnotic thrum of the machinery. Zelda felt her eyes start to water.

“Woah, hold up, there’s no need to cry!” Purah panicked, waving her hands in the air. Good listener that she was, the scientist never could handle tears. “You and baby number three are going to be totally fine! You just need a little more iron and better nights’ sleep to ward off the fatigue! The worst that happens if you don’t is you run the risk of fainting.” Crimson eyes dropped to the floor, and her tone became speculative. “Which, actually, could lead to a lot of other complications like head or musculoskeletal injuries—but that’s besides the point!”

Zelda palmed at her eyes, swiping away the tears before they could fall. “I’m sorry— It’s just— With everything that’s been going on…”

“Don’t sweat it, seriously.” Purah patted her friend’s knee with hesitant support. “You’re going to be fine, your baby’s going to be fine, and your marriage is going to be fine.”

Face still hidden behind her wiping hands, Zelda acknowledged her friend’s encouragement with a silent nod.

Still, Purah sighed. “Do you need me to talk to Link for you?”

“No… thanks.”

“You sure? I could kick his ass,” she offered. “Or I could keep it strictly professional. Inform him of your mild anemia and all that.”

“No, but thank you Purah.” Zelda sniffed again and blinked away the last of the moisture obstructing her vision. “For everything. You’ve been a huge help.” She staggered to her feet and hugged her friend.

“Anytime, Zellie.”

Despite being downhill, the walk home nearly took her out. Maybe she only felt worse now that she knew she was anemic, but regardless, the descent was as slow as the climb.

The kids were playing in the yard with Link when they spotted her. “Mama’s home!” Bug shouted. He and Tetra raced to leap into her arms the way they do with Papa, but she waved them off.

“Careful! Careful, Mama might fall over if she tries to hold either of you right now,” she explained. “Then we’d all go boom on the ground!”

This seemed like a great idea to the kids, and they started purposely jumping just to fall over, yelling “Boom!” when they hit the ground.

“Have they been good for you?” she asked Link, moving to where he sat on the front step.

He seemed offended by the question—“Of course”—but maybe she was imagining it. 

One thing she wasn’t imagining was the sudden dizziness that crashed over her, and her butt hit the step harder than she meant to.

Link noticed, and his cerulean irises briefly scanned up and down with a hint of concern. “Everything check-out okay? You and the baby both good?”

After an exhausted breath, Zelda shook her head. “No.”

His body jolted, shoulders angling towards her.

“I’m anemic.”

He didn’t know what that meant, and Zelda hated that a piece of her revelled in the extreme remorse that washed over him.

By now the kids had taken the game far enough down the hill for Link to swear without being overheard. “Holy shit, Zelda— Does— Are you— Is Bean—?”

“Anemia is a perfectly treatable condition,” she assured him.

His body visibly relaxed, though his face still held devastation. 

“It just means I’m iron-deficient.”

He nodded slowly, processing. “So… more red meat, poultry, fish and eggs?”

“Among other things. There are some iron-rich plants too.”

“Can I get you something right now? Hard-boiled egg? Water?”

If there was one thing Link was particularly good at, it was shelving the agenda. He could recognize when something bigger took precedence, and he’d readily put aside his own negative emotions—wherever they stemmed from—in order to help someone else in greater need, especially his wife. It was this ability of his that allowed Zelda to see her Link underneath the shroud of their current squabble.

Purah was right; of course Link still cared about her. Of course they would be okay.

“Water would be wonderful,” she answered, the words carrying out on a faint wobble.

He stood up and offered his hand out to her. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit? The kids and I are fine out here.”

“You sure?”

He nodded, and she took his hand. He hadn’t willingly offered her any physical contact in nearly two days, but to Zelda it felt like a lifetime. He hauled her to her feet with ease despite her extra baby weight, and Zelda felt herself swoon as she had when she first held his hand a decade ago—or maybe standing up too fast had just made her lightheaded again. Regardless, she stumbled forward a step but his arm caught her and kept her steady.

Either way, her overly volatile emotions made her want to cry here in his hold.

━━▲━━

Not only did he bring her tea and water, he actually sat on the edge of the bed that night. She lowered her book and waited for him to say something. But for a while they just beheld each other. Link hadn’t aged a day since he bumped into her at the castle training yard all those moons ago. His caramel hair was still long and luscious, his cerulean eyes luminous and kind, the youth of his face still present in his soft cheeks and rounded jaw. At one point he opened his mouth to say something to her, but nothing came out so he closed it again.

He was still shorter than her, but neither of them minded. Carrying a sword had made him strong and lean, a musculature he maintained with the manual labor at the ranch. The only real difference between now and then was his right arm—or the lack thereof.

Zelda had undergone a more notable metamorphosis. The evidence of three pregnancies told a story as vivid and remarkable on her body as the scars on Link’s. The buoyancy of her curves had receded, her belly button now rested slightly off-center. Her hips had widened, she’d gone up a shoe size, and her golden tresses grew in thicker and wavier. Stretch marks and dark spots would forever mar her skin.

But they loved each other all the same. 

Link sighed, “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole recently.”

Zelda resisted the urge to tell him it’s okay. Instead she asked, “Was what I said really that upsetting to you?”

He pondered this a while, running his thumb back and forth over the hem of the sheets. Then he looked at her, his tone honest and unaccusing; “Yes.” 

Emerald analyzed him, like his body language could fill in the blanks. But he was as hard to read as ever, so she finally inquired aloud—why?

“Because I just don’t see how keeping Tetra out of danger could possibly be bad,” he explained resignedly.

As gently as she could, Zelda replied, “Because she won’t learn her own limits if you always set them for her.”

His hand covered his eyes, thumb and ring finger massaging his temples. His gold wedding band gleamed in the candlelight. “Here I thought I was doing a good job helping you raise our kids, but you tell me I’m setting Tetra up for failure. Now I’m second guessing everything I do as a parent.”

She leaned over and squeezed his knee, a tether to a ship before it sailed too far away. “I’m so sorry I made you doubt yourself. You are a fantastic papa, Link. You know I believe that. And you know it deep down inside, too, even when I and my stupid mouth seem to imply otherwise.”

His expression underneath his hand when it dropped tightened her chest. Weariness blanketed his features—the kind that suggested he hadn’t had a proper night's rest in days.

…He probably hadn’t.

But the look on his face also told Zelda he was still open to what she was saying, and so she exhaled a small breath through her nose and continued. 

“The thing is… we’re not done growing, either,” she murmured. She brought her own hand up to his jaw, thumb brushing once over his cheek to settle in place beneath his ear—a touch he leaned into. “As long as we’re alive, there will always be room for improvement, somewhere. When I suggest something, it doesn’t mean what you were doing before has ruined or sabotaged our children’s futures, Link. There is always tomorrow to try again.”

His hand rose and enveloped hers. His eyes were glassy. “But when she climbs something high, all I can see is her falling, Zelda.” Then his face pinched, the scene seemed to continue behind his eyelids at that very moment. “When she goes near the water, all I see is her going under and not coming back up. When she comes in the kitchen while I’m cooking all I see is something hot or sharp hurting her. It’s so real I feel it physically in my body.”

This made Zelda’s blood run cold. “You mean like—?”

“No, not like the heartbeat.” He denied it before she could finish the question. During the Calamity, both her and Link would experience a weird premonition—a heartbeat in the ground beneath their feet—whenever the other was in immediate danger.

Zelda relaxed, but only a little. Had the heartbeat returned to Link as a harbinger of their daughter’s imperilment… She didn't know what she’d do. Tetra was, after all, the next daughter in the Goddess Hylia’s divine lineage. Suddenly Zelda had a deeper empathy for the anguish her own mother and father must have felt when they learned their infant daughter was the one destined to face Evil Incarnate.

If he were ever to resurrect…

Zelda felt, in every one of her cells, a visceral readiness to put herself back at Ganondorf’s feet before she’d ever let him get near her children.

But… maybe their place in the prophecy still had something to do with it anyway…

“And no nightmares?” she asked Link aloud.

He shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary, at least. I really think it’s because she’s just so little still, Zelda.”

 She swallowed the urge to debate him on that point. Link was never this cautious with Sheik. She knew it; she even had photo evidence. But Link was finally talking to her again, and she was tired of their being angry with each other. So despite her heart’s request, she let it go. “Alright. I believe you.”

He frowned at her. It put her back on edge—why was he frowning at her?

“You’re lying.” 

He saw her shock and chuckled, which at least made Zelda’s lungs a little less tight. Before she could ask what made him so sure, he leaned over and rubbed his thumb over the crease that had apparently formed between her brows, as if he could erase it. “You're my wife. I’ve had the honor of staring at your face for the past ten years enough to recognize the subtle changes.”

Rude, Zelda thought with a smile, since he can still be so cryptic to me.

“Okay,” she admitted aloud, “I may not agree that it’s an age thing, but please, Link, if you’re going to keep avoiding our bed, I’d prefer we pretended I never said anything at all. I’m tired of quarreling.”

His lips thinned, but the look read more contrite than anything.

“Although… I do have another theory,” she ventured. Link’s eyebrows lifted curiously, so she continued formulating her half-formed hypothesis out loud. “I mean… Tetra is technically the next princess in the royal family bloodline. Perhaps the sealing power passed on to her, if Hylia’s still lending it to us at all. Or, even if it didn’t, I wonder if your role as fated hero gives you an intrinsic need to protect all of Hylia’s daughters. What do you think?”

He looked away, cerulean flickering to different knots in the floorplanks. “Maybe,” he said softly.

She closed the book in her lap, its papery soft thud drawing his attention back. “For the record, I don’t think you’re sexist. And I wish with all my heart you’d come to bed.”

He didn’t respond, so she pulled down the blankets best she could and patted his divot in the mattress. “Please? I’m anemic and eight months pregnant with your third child. The least you could do is sleep next to me.”

He guffawed, a real bottom-of-the-chest laugh. “Don’t make it sound like it’s some kind of torment for me to endure on your behalf. I like sharing a bed with you, Zelda.”

She wriggled down till her chin met the hem of the blanket. “Prove it.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, but reached behind his back and pulled his tunic over his head. After the rest of his clothes fell away, he climbed in beside her. He pulled and tucked the blankets around himself and then turned to her.

“See? Easy.” He smiled, and she giggled. “You’re like the easiest person to sleep next to. You never kick or snore or steal the blankets.”

“...Do I ever smell bad?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Then she grinned, bringing her hand above the blankets to show it was being offered to him. “Guess what?”

He interlaced his fingers between hers. “What?”

Her eyes twinkled, anxious to reveal their secrets. “I think I might be a liiittle bit obsessed with you.”

Crows’ feet framed his eyes and lingered—maybe the only other tell that Link was not so impervious to time’s ever-flowing sandglass. “Lucky me. I happen to be kinda obsessed with you, too.”

Chapter Text

She had the most pleasant, familiar dream—a resplendent orchestration of senses but no clear subject matter. Vivid colors bleeding together, aromas like rain, hypnotically low thrums of sound. It was like the sensory contents of a perfect day diluted into a teaspoon of smooth medicine, slipping like silk down her throat. The dreamy softness spread to the surface of her cheek, and the smells started to distinguish themselves into that which was nameable: notes of honey and jasmine.

The susurrus of the curtains was crisp and otherworldly, and Zelda realized she was no longer within the dreamscape, but waking from it.

“Good mooorning. I’m getting ready to head out. D’you need anything?”

Zelda smiled blissfully. At last, order had returned.

“Mmmn…” She rolled towards him. “You could take a sick day and climb back in bed?”

He considered this more seriously than she anticipated. “Do you need me to?”

She closed her eyes and rocked her head. “No, no ‘need’… just want.”

He huffed an amused breath, and the next thing she felt was the mattress dip towards his side. She blinked roughly to see he’d taken a seat at the edge, though he wasn’t seriously climbing back in. “In that case I should probably still go,” he apologized, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Though I would love to stay. Maybe another day?”

Zelda hummed a happy sound in response.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you last night,” he realized, “Dantz wants to do a yard clean-up day to get ahead of the autumn debris. He invited us and the kids to have a small cookout tonight.”

“How fun!” Zelda chirped. “I’d love to, if my anemic body’s up for it.”

“Sounds good.” He bent over, heels lifting off the ground in order to reach Zelda’s forehead with his kiss. “I’ll check back in when I get home.”

Zelda decided to get up after he left. Leisurely finishing her tea, sneaking an extra chapter of her book and then slowly getting dressed, Zelda went downstairs and prepared scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. 

“Wakey wakey…” she singsonged in the doorway of her kids’ bedroom, crossing the floor and opening their curtains to let the morning light in.

It felt wonderful to be back in order.

━━▲━━

“Tell me about your picture, Tetra,” Zelda encouraged, eyeing the seemingly random scribbles of color.

Her daughter pointed to the center of her page, explaining, “I heppin ta big un em rahfer stick. Wif Papa.”

“Stick with Papa,” echoed Zelda, grateful for enough words to pretend she understood. “That’s right, it’s not safe to wander off by ourselves.”

“No, Mama,” Bug corrected. “Sticks with Papa. TT and I are gonna help Papa collect sticks.”

“Ohhh, you mean for the burn pile tonight,” she understood. It’s amazing that Bug had a better grasp on Tetra’s babbling than their own mother did. Another reason why kids are so incredible, Zelda thought. “That’s so nice. You two are such good helpers!”

“We go now?” Tetra asked, blue eyes imploring.

“No sweetie, we’ll go tonight. Uncle Dantz and Miss Koyin invited us to join them at dinnertime.”

“I wanna go now.”

“I know you want to go now,” Zelda consoled. “But it’s not dinnertime yet. If you’re tired of sitting, we could go for a little walk?” Already set on the idea, she pushed herself to a stand and wobbled a little while finding her footing. “It’ll help us pass the time until we can go; does that sound like a good idea?”

“Yeah!” her children agreed.

Nope. Bad idea.

They made it ten minutes from their house when Zelda grew so dizzy she had to brace herself against a tree to keep from fainting. She reassured Bug she was fine at least five times—the boy really was a mini-Link—and that she just had to sit until her vision stopped tilting. Then they trudged home at a snail’s pace where the kids played with building blocks instead. When they grew bored of that, Zelda read to them in her bed until Link came home.

 They ran downstairs and greeted him with their usual enthusiasm. “Where’s your mama?” she heard him ask.

“Mama’s dizzy!”

Less than a minute later, they were all ascending the steps together. Literally. Bug was perched on Link’s shoulders gripping two tufts of caramel hair like reins while Tetra nestled in his arm like a fisherman on the crescent moon.

“Mama’s dizzy,” Link repeated by way of greeting.

“Mama’s dizzy,” she confirmed solemnly, yet grinning like an idiot at her family posed as bushy-tailed squirrels in their tree.

“I think we should talk to Purah about some iron supplements,” he said.

“I think so too.”

Bug kicked forward, pushing Link’s head down for a better vantage. “Mama hasn’t been eating her vejables!” When his parents wondered what made him think so, he regurgitated an all-too-familiar phrase: “You hafta eat your vejables to grow up big and strong!”

“Don’t worry, Bug,” Zelda laughed, “I’ve been eating all my vegetables. But Baby Bean is doing so much growing it’s making Mama dizzy anyway.” 

Link set Tetra down on the bed, then bent over and dumped Bug from his shoulders. Zelda invited them to her side so Link could have a seat.

“So the cookout is probably a no-go, huh?”

She smiled apologetically and shook her head.

“That’s okay,” Link assured. “We can stay home. I have loads of ingredients to use here.”

“No cookout?” Bug sulked.

“Cookout!” Tetra, not quite up to speed, added cheerfully. “We go now?”

“I’ll be fine here by myself, if you still wanted to go,” Zelda stated, though it was actually a question. She gave her husband a wordless eyebrow raise, an adults-only check-in to gauge whether he was comfortable with that plan.

“Well… it might be a little tricky to keep an eye on two kids while people are trying to grill and burn sticks…”

“Let’s stay home then,” ceded Zelda, ready to back him up whatever the decision. “There will be more cookouts.”

“Aw…” pouted Bug.

“Pease?” Tetra added, jutting out her lower lip.

Bug grabbed her shoulders with a sudden idea, saying aside, “No, TT! Let’s ask them really nicely!” 

…As if that’s what she hadn’t already been trying.

“P(l)eeease?” they begged together.

Link patted both their heads in turn and gave them an apologetic look. “You two really want to go, don't you?”

“Yeah!”

Bug clenched his fists, eyes twinkling with determination. “What if we’re on our bestest behavior, Papa?”

The corners of Link’s mouth quirked up, jesting, “I thought you were always on your bestest behavior, Bug.”

The four-year-old clearly thought his dad didn’t understand his offer. “No, Papa— Not our bestest— Our bestest means like— It means super-duper good.”

Link feigned awe. “Woah. Super-duper good behavior, you say?”

Bug nodded emphatically while Zelda leaned forward and clarified, “So you’re  going to do everything your papa asks the first time he asks it?”

“Mhm!” Another eager head-bob.

“You promise?” Link pushed.

The boy’s neck bones had to be made of rubber with the enthusiasm he put into that nod. “I promise!”

“And you, Tetra? Can you promise to be good?”

Her blonde head bobbled as well. “I pomiss!”

“Alright…” Link said, standing up and putting his hand on his hip. “Since you’re both promising to be on your bestest super-duper good behavior, then I guess we can go.”

The jubilant cheers that followed were music to Zelda’s ears. “Thank you, Papa!”

“Oh!” she blurted, hugging herself. “Bean’s celebrating too! Come here— Feel him?”

Four little hands plastered her stomach, and she helped guide them to where the baby’s movement could be felt.

“He kick!” Tetra gawked.

“He kicked!” Zelda sang back in agreement. “Say, ‘Hiii Bean!’”

“Hiii Bean!”

“Say, ‘Are you happy, too?”

“Aryoo happy, too?”

As if in response, the baby kicked again, and Bug and Tetra’s amazement was worth all the rupees in the world.

━━▲━━

The delicious scent of smoked meat had already filled the air as Link led both kids up the winding hill to Hateno Ranch. Some polite chatter flitted to their ears as they approached, but before they drew too close Link stopped and turned around, squatting low and eyeing both of his beautiful babies in turn.

“Alright, team. One more check-in before we arrive. What’s rule number one?”

“Listen to Papa,” Bug answered, confident and clear like a knight under oath. Tetra answered with conviction too, but her syllables were not so crisp.

“Good. Rule number two?”

“‘Member our pleases and thank yous.”

“And most important of all…?”

“Stay away from the fire!”

Link kissed their foreheads. “That’s right. We’re here to have fun and be safe.”

When the three of them joined the small group, they were immediately received with warmth and excitement. Dantz and Koyin had invited few people to the get-together: Medda and his daughter Aster—a few years older than Sheik—and Uma, an elderly lady with a desire to keep the village lovely and presentable. It was a wonderfully small group, and the kids were practically celebrities amongst them. 

How could they not be? Aside from being the offspring of the divine princess and fated hero, they’re pretty stinkin’ cool kids, Link thought.

“Uncle Dantz!” Bug greeted.

“Hey, kiddo!”

Aster had brought a school friend, Narah, a fun-loving girl who loved to run and catch bugs—which included boys nicknamed Bug. “Gotcha!”

The four-year-old shrieked in delight and wrestled out of the older girl’s hold before darting off, Narah in tow. 

“Way for meee!” Tetra called, lumbering after them. Link’s heart panged seeing her scamper off in the dark, but Link squashed the feeling at the bitter sound of Zelda’s voice in his head: You treat Tetra differently than you do Sheik. 

No, stop that. There’s nothing wrong with how you worry about Tetra.

He became suddenly aware of saucer-wide eyes staring up at him as if he were a Zonai. Aster, one of the students at the schoolhouse, seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Where’s Miss Zelda?”

“She’s at home,” he replied. “She was feeling a little dizzy. Want me to tell her you said hi?”

“Tell her to come back to school,” she said with little change in her tone. “I miss her.”

Aster, like Link and Zelda, lost her mom at a young age, and had imprinted on Zelda during her time as a teacher. “Aw, I’m sure she misses you too, Aster,” he chuckled, only slightly unnerved by her unwavering gaze, 

“Aster, come on!” her friend shouted, and without goodbye the schoolgirl spun on a heel and ran to join the chase.

“No Zelda tonight?” Dantz called, forgoing hellos.

Link approached his boss and Medda at their small grill fire and had a peek at what was for dinner. Steak, pepper and onion kebabs. “No, she wasn’t feeling great.”

“That’s a shame. Glad you and the kids could make it though, Link.”

“Us too,” he agreed. “Can I help with anything?”

“Koyin and Uma are gathering sticks, if you want to lend a hand.”

“Fortunately for you I have exactly one left to spare.”

So Link meandered over to the women, collecting fallen twigs, sticks and branches and tossing them on the burn pile. The flames, though very-much under control, licked high above Link’s reach, even on his tip-toes. 

“You know, when I was born, it was during the Age of Burning Fields,” Uma shared, her voice crackling like the enormous bonfire. “I was nine years old when I saw my first tomato plant.”

“Wow!” Koyin remarked. “What did you do for food while the land was nonarable?” 

“Dried meats and fish if we were lucky… but mostly gruel. Lots and lots of gruel.”

“Did it taste any good?” Link asked, snapping a large stick into halves by standing on one end. The burn pile threw enough heat that he was debating taking his overcoat off, despite the autumn air rolling in cold from the hills.

“Oh, I still can’t stomach regular porridge,” the elder answered.

“Yikes.”

Little footsteps pounding on the grass snaked beneath the sound of the flames. “Papaaa!”

Link crouched down to meet them at their level. 

“When’s dinner?” Bug inquired, gripping Link’s overcoat. “I’m hungry!”

“Dinner is right now,” Medda proclaimed in answer to Bug’s question, carrying a tray of grilled goodies above his head. “Let’s sit at the picnic table!”

They all fit around the wooden table, swapping stories and laughing. Link didn’t realize how hungry he was until he had his first bite—and then the nausea he didn’t realize he’d been combating started to subside as well. Dantz occasionally got up to add more sticks to the burn pile whenever it settled, and Link actually did get hot enough to remove his overcoat. 

Aster and Narah, with their quick hands and small appetites, were first to leave the table, and they relieved Dantz of fire duty so he could sit and finish eating uninterrupted. They giggled as they threw more sticks in, and Bug grew antsy beside him.

“Papa, may I please be excused?” he practically begged. “I want to help Aster and Narah!”

Link checked over his shoulder, and the sight of the girls next to the bonfire made his stomach turn all over again. “It’s fine if you’re done eating, but I want you to sit and stay here. Aster and Narah are doing a big kid job right now.”

“But I’m a big kid,” Bug protested.

“Yes— You are a big kid,” he agreed, then corrected, “But they’re doing an older kid job.”

The boy crossed his arms in an overly dramatic display of disappointment.

“Sorry, buddy. Maybe you could find more sticks and add them to that pile,” Link offered, pointing to the to-be-burned stack the girls were pulling from.

This appeased him. “Okay!”

“Papa, I pease be escue?” Tetra asked.

“Yes. You may be excused. Are you gonna help Bug?”

She nodded and the two of them dashed away, off to the edge of the firelight to find sticks that had yet to be claimed. Link shifted into a straddle across the bench to keep one eye on them.

“I remember when Aster was that young,” Medda chuckled. “Tough age.”

“Tough,” Link agreed, “but so darn cute.”

“Savor it, buddy,” Dantz teased, putting an arm around Koyin, now a young adult herself. “It’s gone before you know it.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Link laughed good-naturedly. “I’m already dreading it.”

“You’re expecting number three, right? Uma asked. “Have you picked out any names?”

“Yep, just another sixish weeks to go. And no, I pretty much leave all the naming up to Zelda. She’s much better at that sort of thing.”

“That’s right, what were some of the names you’d suggested for Sheik?” Dantz chuckled. “Ottoman? Mozzarello?”

The others laughed, and Link smirked, angling his index finger at them. “Hey, those are both great names and you all knew it. I’m still partial to Moss, but I doubt Zelda will go for it.”

“Well, you won her over on ‘Bug’ somehow,” Medda remarked.

“That’s just a nickname, so it doesn’t really count.”

“Speaking of which,” Koyin ventured, “Didn’t you tell them not to throw sticks in the fire?”

Link whipped around, horrified by what he saw. “Tetra! Sheik! No!” he barked. He was there in barely three steps, ushering them both away from the fire. “I specifically told you not to go near the fire!” he whispered harshly.

“But you said we could add sticks to the pile…” Bug murmured, eyes wide with fear and confusion at being yelled at.

“That pile,” Link hissed, pointing more sharply to the stack of waiting fodder. “I said you could add them to that pile. Not the fire, Sheik.”

His son’s wide blue eyes—Link’s own eyes—fell to the ground. “I’m sorry…” 

Link felt the heightened pounding of his heart, the headache that was constricting around his head, and willed them both away on a slow breath. “Thank you for apologizing. I’m sorry, too. I guess I needed to be more clear.”

Medda wandered over. “Aster, why don’t you and Narah go play some more? I’ll take over here.”

“Great idea,” Link agreed. “You two can join them,” he ordered Bug and Tetra, giving them each a pat on the butt to get them going.

And off the four of them ran. Link let out a long, loud exhale in their wake.

Medda, obviously within earshot, crossed his arms. “Tough age,” he consoled.

“Tough age,” Link agreed again, watching them gambol. “But so darn cute.”

They gathered in a circle and sat down, attempting some sort of rhythm game with their hands. Bug had an adorably intense look on his face, trying his best to figure out the patterns, while Tetra just wanted high-fives. The older girls were nice enough to humor their ineptitude, even breaking it apart for Bug to try and learn in smaller pieces.

Medda thumped Link on the shoulder, regaining his attention. “They’re playing now, come take a load off.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m—”

“No, no, I insist,” the older man pushed, ushering Link back to the table. “I can’t imagine you get off your feet much these days. Hylia knows you won’t when you’ve got three little ones cavorting around.”

Despite his internal protest, Link let himself be shepherded back to the picnic table, where he chatted with the other adults for all of five minutes before he felt the need to move again and started to clean up, which the others promptly joined. He checked over his shoulder every five seconds to make sure his kids were still playing safely. They had since swapped to a chasing game.

“Tag! You’re it!”

Bug’s fingers swept across his sister’s back. She turned breathlessly, beaming ear to ear as she took chase. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance against her older opponents, but after a minute of uncoordinated pursuit, Aster strategically slowed down so that the toddler could tag her. How sweet.

“Oh, you got me!”

“Tag! Yohwit!"

A wave of exhaustion crashed over Link. He knew keeping an eye on a two- and a four-year-old at an event like this was going to be work, but he didn’t expect to be quite so drained. He looked up at the half-moon, trying to guess if it was past their bedtime. Regardless, it would be wise to go home soon and check on Zelda.

He made his short rounds saying goodbye, redonned his overcoat, and then wandered over towards the kids.

“Okay, Alerons! It’s time to go!”

His announcement got swallowed by the joyous shrieks of their chasing game. So he continued his approach and tried again. This time Tetra came bobbling over, but instead of stopping short she slapped Link’s thigh and turned tail. “Tag, Papa!”

“No, Tetra, it’s time to go now,” he repeated, trying to balance amusement and the staidness in his tone. The older girls were smart enough to stop playing, but his kids continued to run and plod away.

“Come on, Bug, game’s over,” he called.

His son peered over his shoulder but continued to run. “You have to catch me first!”

“Nope, sorry. Tell Aster and Narah thank you for playing and let’s go check on your mama.”

Disappointed but receptive, Bug slowed to a feet-dragging pace and approached the girls while Link returned his focus to his daughter. 

“Come on, Tetra, we’re going home.”

She stopped several yards ahead and pouted at him. “No!”

“Yes,” Link called back.

“No! Yohwit!”

“The game is over, Tetra. Follow your brother and say thank you to the girls.” As Link was saying this, he tried walking towards her. 

Her cheeks plumped up with a big smile and she toddled in the opposite direction. “Cat me!” she ordered.

“I’m not going to catch you. We can play some other time—”

But the adorable, stubborn, strong-willed, disobedient little cherub continued to scamper, without looking where she was going. And she was headed towards the burn pile.

“Stop!” Link yelled, but she still thought it to be part of the game.

Nightmarish visions flashed rapid before his eyes— 

Her sweet blonde head catching flames as easily as a field of Tabantha wheat— 

Charred skin like blackened soil— 

Across the village, a careless candle. Dry thatched roofs. Conducive winds.

Smoke is warning her, but she can’t see it.

His voice is tearing, but she can’t hear it.

Save her. Do something. Anything—

You’re her big brother damn it—

His hand darted out and snatched her arm. “Get away from the fire now, Aryll!”

He yanked the small girl away from the pyre. His grip on her delicate skin was too tight—a pressure not from anger or cruelty, but of a primal fear so visceral letting go meant the difference between life and death.

Tetra let out an agonizing cry, twisting in her papa’s iron grip to try and alleviate the pain. He pulled her to him and crushed her into his chest instead. “Don’t scare me like that!” he hissed, and she continued to wail into his overcoat.

“Ow, Papa!”

Through the adrenaline and cortisol, Link began to realize what he’d done. The red imprint of his fingers marred his daughter’s immaculate skin like a burn, and he quickly summoned Bug to his side and fled home, leaving behind nothing but the sound of Tetra’s cries.

━━▲━━

The front door opened and Zelda lowered her book to listen. She couldn’t make out the individual words, but she heard Link administer quiet instructions and wondered if either Tetra or Bug was already asleep in his arm. Regardless, the deliberate footsteps and lack of complaining seemed to suggest he did not need Zelda’s help putting the kids to bed, so she opted to stay put and thank him for his patient diligence when he came upstairs.

However, not five minutes later, the front door opened again. She inclined her head, straining to listen if someone else had come inside behind Link, but the hushed voices and muted footsteps ceased altogether. He went back outside, then. Maybe he forgot something.

Would he really trek all the way back to Hateno Pasture to get whatever he’d left behind when he’d be there in the morning for work? Or maybe the adults were having a bit of an after party…?

Regardless, Zelda forced herself out of bed just to confirm her babies were truly tucked in and fast asleep. When she opened the door to their room, she saw Bug had climbed into bed with his little sister. He sat laying awake petting the wispy blonde strands of her hair.

“What are you doing, Bug?” she smiled softly, trying to stop her heart from bursting at the sight.

“TT was sad,” he whispered, but trying to project the words to his mama across the room made it just as disruptive as having said them at a normal speaking volume.

“Why was TT sad?” Zelda frowned, stepping into the room and crouching down at Tetra’s bed. She was konked out with her head in Bug’s lap and her thumb in her mouth. There was a light bruise on her arm, one she must’ve gotten at some point during the cookout.

“Papa yelled at her.”

Zelda’s scowl deepened. “Why did Papa yell at her?”

“She goed near the fire.”

“Oh.” Mama stuck out a sympathetic lip. “That’s scary, isn’t it? I bet you Papa was scared, too. That’s why we need to be good listeners, right?”

“I was!” Bug complained, and she immediately rubbed his leg.

“I’m sure you were. It sounds like TT is still working on her listening ears, and that’s okay. Do you know who else forgets her listening ears sometimes?”

Bug blinked, his round cerulean eyes intensely curious. “Who?”

Zelda smirked and jerked a thumb at herself.

“Noo,” Bug giggled, thinking she was being silly.

“I’m serious!” Zelda grinned back. “It can be hard to remember to listen, but it’s important, so that’s why we all have to practice.” She leaned in closer and dropped her voice, making him listen with all the more attentiveness. “Guess who else forgets his listening ears sometimes…?”

Bug considered this a moment while Mama untangled him from his sister. Then, “Papa?”

She thrust her chin up and down before lifting him away to his own bed. “Yep. Even Papa.”

“Really?”

She nodded again as she set him down. “Really. ” He laid dumbfounded with this information while Zelda tucked the blankets behind his lithe torso and brushed his unkempt caramel bangs away to kiss his forehead. “Do you know where Papa is right now? What did he tell you when he left?”

“He said”—Bug took on what was probably meant to be an impersonation of Link—‘be good!’”

Zelda tried not to laugh out loud. One part because the mini-Link before her was just too damn adorable to fathom, and the other because she should have expected better than to get any useful information out of a four-year-old.

“Well, it was very kind of you to comfort your sister when she was sad.” She pressed another kiss to his nose. “Now it’s time for you to go night-night, too, Bug. I love you.”

“I love you.”

She made for the door, pausing to look back. The word goodnight was almost out her mouth again when—

“Mama?”

“Yes, Bug?”

His blue eyes searched the wood ceiling. “Who’s Aryll?”

Bean kicked in her womb. 

“...What?” she breathed. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“Papa called TT ‘Aryll’ when she goed near the fire.”

The entire house threw itself into a vicious spin, like she was at the edge of a centrifuge, and Zelda had to brace a hand on the wall to keep from collapsing. Oh.

Oh, no.

With just that one word—that name—everything clicked into place with the force of a tectonic shift. It wasn’t Bean troubling her tummy, but licks of anxiety. She was so dizzy she was going to vomit, so she let go of the doorknob and bit down on her knuckle. Oh, Goddess—

“Why did he called her that?” Bug repeated.

“I-I’m not sure, Bug,” Zelda lied. Not because she didn’t think Bug couldn’t handle the truth. But because she couldn’t. “I think it just came out by accident.”

“Why?”

“Such a curious little mind.” The praise was sincere, though the smile was forced. “And that’s an important question that deserves an important answer. But right now it’s time for bed, so we’ll have to have that talk another time, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Goodnight,” she said again before softly shutting the door. Then she fell back against the frame. Heartache crashed and swelled in her mind and she was certain that wherever Link was, he was spiraling down even stormier waters. Before she knew it, she was out the front door. She had to find him—

Pause. She spun back towards the house. She couldn’t leave the kids alone—

But they were in bed. They’d be fine. She pivoted again, descending the porch stairs. She would only be gone for a little bit—

She froze on the bottom step. She didn’t even know where Link was. Who knew how long it’d take her to find him—

She twisted, bracing her opposite hand on the railing to climb back up.

Purah. She could get a hold of Purah. She marched quickly and quietly back inside and upstairs and snatched the Purah Pad from the small desk across from their bed and initiated a video call.

A very disgruntled Sheikah appeared on the screen. Hair down, glasses absent, crimson eyes droopy and unamused. “This better be an emergency, Zellie, because I’ve told you—”

“Link’s missing.” She had thought she was doing a pretty good job keeping it together until she heard the words come out on a near-sob.

“Woah, relax. I’m sure he’s fine, Zelda.”

“He’s not fine!”

Arm moving off screen, the scientist produced her glasses and situated them atop her nose. “What makes you so certain?”

The syllables flew off her tongue. “Dantz had a cookout— Link took the kids— I wasn’t there, but I guess Tetra went near the fire— he called her Aryll, Purah! Link dropped them off and left without a word— I have to go after him, b-but I can’t leave the kids—”

“Okay, okay, easy. Deep breaths.”

Zelda clamped her jaw so tightly she felt her teeth grind. She forced the air in through her nose—1, 2, 3, 4—and out through her mouth—1, 2, 3, 4—while Purah went on.

“I will concede that he’s probably not out on a happy stroll around town, but I highly doubt he’s in any danger. So, you can either take another deep breath and wait for him to come back—” She saw Zelda about to protest and spoke louder, “Or, I will send up a couple drones to find him before you pass out wandering aroun—aaand you’re opting for the latter, aren’t you?”

Zelda nodded. “But I need you to stay with Sheik and Tetra while I’m gone.”

“Zelda…”

“Please, Purah— They’re already asleep— You need only sit on the couch and wait for me to get back!”

The scientist reached under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “The things I do for you and that stupid husband of yours…”

“Oh, thank you, Purah! Thank you thank you thank you!”

It took far too long for the Sheikah to make it to their abode. Thankfully, the first thing out her mouth when she arrived was, “Ebon Mountain.”

Link was all the way up there? Hylia. No matter. 

“Wait, Zelda— You can’t climb Ebon Mountain—”

“Purah—” Zelda whipped around, about to argue when two green potions were shoved in her face.

“Not without these,” Purah finished. Zelda hesitantly took them from her friend, after which Purah swiped the tablet off Zelda’s belt and started typing something in. “This will highlight the route you should take. It’s the most direct path without having to climb anything too steep.”

She handed it back and Zelda stared into her friend’s crimson eyes for a beat. “Thank you, Purah,” she breathed. “For everything.”

The Sheikah frowned. “And you’re sure— He was just sitting there when I looked, Zelda. You’re sure you can’t just wait for him to cool down and come back himself?”

She shook her head apologetically, and Purah let out a resigned sigh, which served to slightly upend Zelda’s frown—because they both knew it had to play out this way. It’s why there were two stamina elixirs already in her hands.

And thank goodness, because Zelda would not have made it to the top of Ebon Mountain within the hour—let alone at all—without them.

She forced her legs up the last incline and felt whatever air remaining in her lungs dissipate when she spotted Link’s caramel head. He was laying supine on the skinny strip of land that divided the two ponds, eyes closed, feet extended away, lone hand resting atop the water as if it were a surface of glass.

She could barely make out the deep cerulean of his irises, opening in the dark at the sound of unexpected footfalls. He shot upright and twisted sharply at the hip. “Zelda— Hylia above— What are you doing here?!”

He rushed towards her, bracing his hand behind her back like she would collapse at any moment. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, voice hoarse from disuse—or perhaps too much. Zelda wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him to her as best she could with the baby bump. Gently, she whispered, “I was worried about you.”

Link’s every word wobbled with more sorrow and remorse than the last, “Goddess— I never meant— You shouldn’t have climbed all this way—” till he was actively crying into her shoulder. He clutched so desperately at the small of her back that it choked Zelda with her own collar.

She tangled one hand in his disheveled hair, the other underneath his shoulder, pressing him to her like she could quell his shaking with just the certitude of her presence. But she was not so stalwart to the love of her life’s devastation, pouring from his eyes, bursting from his chest, emanating in tremors from his shoulders, and she began to cry too.

“Oh, Link…”

“It’s all my fault—” he sobbed.

“No—” She pulled back, gripped his face with intensity— “No, it is not your fault, Link. None of this is your fault.”

She kissed him quickly. His lip quavered like a slip of paper in the wind of a jagged inhale.

“The Akkala fires were not your fault,” she asserted. Though her voice still shook, her words were resolute. “You were not responsible for the flame that started it, or the drought and winds that fueled it. And you were not and are not responsible for your family being in that house when it burned down. You were twelve.”

His face crumpled between her palms. “And she was eight—”

He became languid weight in her arms, but Zelda propped his head up before he could lower it back into her shoulder. She needed him to hear, “And you gave her a wonderful eight years by loving her every second of it.”

His eyes were no longer open, brow twitching like a horse’s skin keeps unwanted bugs away. Zelda kissed his lips, the creases above his nose before letting him fall against her once more. She guided them both to the ground and rubbed long, loving ovals into his back. Her fingers bounced along the ridges of his spine, and she pressed her lips to his caramel head. He smelled of fire.

“I understand now,” she whispered into the softness of his hair, “why you’ve been so protective of Tetra.”

Link’s fist tightened on Zelda’s back again. The pond beside them sat still as crystal, reflecting the stars.

Whether he realized it or not, Hylia gave Link the chance to make amends with his past through their daughter. Every time he admonished or lifted Tetra away from danger, it was not because she couldn’t handle the risk. It was because he couldn’t handle it.

“I fucked up—” he gasped. “I was trying to protect her— I was trying to protect her and I hurt her—”

Hands stilled. “Link, it’s okay. She can handle a little scolding—”

“No,” he bit, “I grabbed her. So hard it bruised. Like some monster—”

When Zelda blinked, the memory flashed behind her eyes—the purplish mark on her daughter’s arm—and her heart grew heavy at the thought of Link being the reason behind the marring of that perfect skin. 

“Were you angry at her?” she asked, almost so quiet she wasn’t convinced the words weren't still residing in her thoughts.

A microscopic piece of her feared Link’s fallibility—the fact that he had the capacity to hurt and could lose control same as anyone else. And Zelda feared that fear, loathing that it was within her at all.

But she knew all too well that rage blinded rationality. Her abuser, Mido, hadn’t ever “meant” to hurt her, either—but unchecked ego and ire manifest in dangerous ways.

“I’m pissed at myself!” He buried his face in her chest. “For being rattled so easily! Triforce of Courage my fucking ass!”

Despite his renewed distress, Zelda felt a sprout of relief from within her kernel of fear. If it was terror—not anger—at the root of his outburst, she could handle it. They could handle it.

“Link, you’re not any less brave for feeling scared. Courage is persevering in spite of fear, remember?” She ran her nails through his silky caramel hair, removing the cerulean hair tie when it hindered her finger-comb. Then she pressed her lips to his smoky-scented forehead. “And in no world does worrying about our daughter’s safety make you a coward, anyway. You’re a wonderful papa and a wonderful husband and I’m certain it’s thanks to the wonderful son and brother you were growing up. I know it’s hard to let go of the responsibility you feel for your sister’s safety, especially when Tetra looks so much like her. But she’s her own person, my love. And I promise we will find a way to move forward where you feel secure in the risks Tetra can take.” She smiled wistfully against the crown of his head. “That’s what we do, right?”

He nodded against her chest. “We figure it out,” he replied, finishing their mantra. His voice was muffled in her clothes, but she heard it as clearly as she heard it all the times before.

No obstacle was insurmountable when they had each other. Whatever the trial, whatever the tribulation, Link and Zelda would always find a way to endure.

━━▲━━

When they made it home some time later, the kids were wide awake running circles around Purah, who—putting it delicately—looked as if she’d been mauled by a lynel.

“You’re home!” Bug exulted.

“Thank the Goddess,” Purah muttered.

The kids veered out of their figure-eight pattern towards their parents. Bug, reaching Papa first, launched onto his legs, so Tetra made for Mama.

“What are you two doing awake?” Zelda asked, not needing to fake the amusement in her voice. Normally she would be upset by this midnight energy blast, but coming down the mountain of Link’s emotions, she was grateful for the ease of these smiles in her home. Purah looking utterly disheveled was admittedly hilarious, too, considering the Sheikah’s disinclination to engage with children.

“Those little gremlins of yours have some freakish sixth sense,” Purah hissed, not partaking in any of the room’s merriment. “As soon as I sat my butt down to read, they came bursting out here with the energy of a thousand hot-footed frogs!”

“I’m sorry, Purah,” Zelda said, trying not to laugh. “I owe you one.”

“You’re damn right you do!”

Bug excitedly kicked his legs like his seat on Link’s arm was a swing set. “You’re damn right you do!”

Zelda glowered at the scientist, who had the good sense to look a little bit apologetic. “Okay, maybe you don’t owe me as much.” She grabbed the untouched book she never got to read and approached them at the entryway. “But next time you need a babysitter, make sure I’m Plan D or E on your call list.”

Zelda set Tetra down and gave her friend a hug on her way out the door. “Thank you, Purah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

When she was gone, Bug replaced her in Zelda’s arms, but Tetra did not do the same to Link. Even when he crouched down and beckoned her, she backed up a step and blinked warily. He leaned in towards her, and she darted behind Mama’s legs.

“Tetra, it’s okay,” Link said lightly, such that only Zelda could detect the hurt in his voice. “I won’t pick you up if you don’t want me to, but can I get a hug?”

Zelda tried stepping out of the way, but the two-year-old shifted with her.

“I promise I’m not mad at you.”

Zelda didn’t force her to go, and the two of them only had to wait a few seconds before the young girl hesitantly stepped out from behind her mama’s legs and shuffled towards Papa.

She stepped between his knees and he wrapped his arm around her with aching gentleness. Then he kissed her hair and immediately lowered his arm to allow her to escape, though she only backed up a half-step.

“I’m really sorry for how I yelled and grabbed you at dinner. But sometimes as your papa I have to yell or grab you to keep you away from danger. It doesn’t mean I’m mad or I love you any less. I acted the way I did because I love you, and I was so scared of you being hurt by the fire,” he said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you so hard that it hurt you. Papa never wants to do anything that hurts you, Tetra.”

She twisted back and forth on her feet, cautious but curious. “Papa was scawed?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Even papas get scared. In fact, your papa is very, very scared of fire.”

Bug pumped his legs again. “Why?”

Zelda put her hand on Link’s shoulder for pause. “That’s an important question. Why don’t we all get snuggly in Mama and Papa’s bed where we can talk about it more?”

They brought extra pillows and blankets and roosted together with all the coziness of a family of starlings seeking shelter in a thunderstorm. Link and Zelda reclined against the headboard, their babies tucked between their legs. Zelda brushed and braided Tetra’s hair while the young girl pretended to do the same with the doll in her lap. Bug was turned towards them, granting his full attention like Zelda’s school students at storytime. Link fidgeted with the hem of his tunic before taking a large breath that garnered everyone’s attention.

But when he opened his mouth, no words came out, and he shut it again.

Holding a lock of Tetra’s hair back, Zelda stopped brushing and briefly squeezed her husband’s hand. Through some unspoken bond, she asked if he wanted her to start, and he agreed.

“When Papa was a little boy, his family looked a lot like ours does right now,” she began. Her fingers unthreaded from Link’s to slide along his arm instead. “With a papa and a mama”—then she patted Sheik and Tetra’s heads in turn—“and one big brother and one little sister, too. The name you heard—Aryll?—that’s the name of your papa’s little sister.”

Bug gripped his ankles. “How come we’ve never meeted her?”

“Well… she’s not around anymore. She passed away.”

Link hung his head, hand covering his face.

“Papa’s sad,” Tetra noted sympathetically, hair pulling in Zelda’s hold as she twisted on her butt.

Zelda finished off the braid and let it drop. Then she rubbed Link’s shoulder. “Yes. It’s a very sad thing when people pass away. When people’s hearts stop beating they can no longer talk to us or play games or give us hugs. It’s hard when we can’t do those things with people we love anymore. And Papa loved Aryll very much.”

“Why did she pass away, Mama?”

Zelda inhaled slowly and thought about her next words. “There was a very big fire and she couldn’t get away from it. Then the fire made her heart stop beating. That same big fire made Papa’s mama and papa—your grandma and grandpa—pass away, too.”

“Fiyo bad!” Tetra growled.

“Well, fire can be bad, but does a lot of good too,” Zelda reasoned. “It keeps us warm in the wintertime and we use it to cook food and make beautiful pottery. But yes, it can be bad, and that’s why your papa and I always want you two to be safe around fire.”

Link’s lungs stuttered, and Bug crawled forward and rubbed his knee the way he’d known his parents to do. Then he stood up on the bed and hugged his dad around the neck before ruffling caramel hair. The role reversal was too darling, and both Link and Zelda couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thanks, Bug,” Link sniffed.

“I love you, bud!” their son chirped.

Link chuckled again, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I love you too, buddy.”

“I’m glad you can’t pass away,” their son then said, and Link stiffened a little.

“Well—” Zelda started, then stopped. Maybe they’d said enough for one night.

“What, Mama?”

Zelda decided it was worth telling their kids truth. “Everyone has to pass away eventually, my love.”

His eyes blew wide. “Everyone?”

As much as she wanted to preserve their innocence, Zelda would never lie to her children. “Yes, Bug.”

“...Even me?”

After a tense beat, Zelda nodded. “Yes. We all pass away eventually.”

Tears quickly filled the boy’s eyes. “But… I don’t wanna!”

Zelda tucked him against Tetra and hugged them both. She felt Link’s arm slip behind her back as he pressed into the group hug, too.

“It’s okay to feel a bit sad or scared about it,” Zelda murmured. “It’s a scary thought. But you won’t pass away for a long, long time, Sheik. You have many more years of hugs”—she squeezed both her children—“and kisses”—one for each of their heads—“and tickles!”—this time they burst out in laughter as they wiggled away from Zelda’s sneaky fingers. Then, with a little more lightness from the midnight moon, she continued, “Not to mention all the jokes to tell and books to read and games to play…”

“And monsters to fight?” Bug added hopefully.

“But of course,” she agreed.

“And fish to catch?”

“Absolutely.”

“And—?”

She let him list as many things as he needed confirmed. Tetra added a few of her own, and even Link refound his own scratchy voice to join.

Finally Zelda held her son at arms’ length and palmed his soft bangs out of his brightened eyes. “You and Tetra have much, much, much more living to do before you ever need to worry about passing away. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Mama and I have a lot more living to do too, so don’t worry about us either, okay?” Link added with an exhausted but heartfelt smile.

“Okay.”

Zelda tilted her chin. “We also have a lot of sleeping to do before tomorrow, so it’s time we all went to bed.”

She made as if to get up, but Tetra threw her head down into the pillows. “I sweep heewe.”

“You’re sleeping here?” Link echoed.

“Me too!” Bug proclaimed, darting under the covers between Link and Zelda. The parents locked eyes.

Link, cerulean irises still gleaming with heartache, smiled and shrugged, so Zelda acquiesced too, and they all snuggled in beneath the blankets.

Within minutes, the young ones were clocked out. Zelda peered over their little heads in the dark to her husband’s luminous eyes.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to her.

She shook her head ever so slightly. No need to thank me. Her hand reached over her children’s heads to the space between them, and Link interlaced his fingers between hers and squeezed.

I love you.

I love you, too.

And so, beneath the roof of their home and the stars that illuminated it, Link and Zelda held their children close. Though the day had reached its end, they had not, and there were years yet to dance in sunlit meadows, to chase dreams in the shape of fireflies, and to steal one more kiss before bed in the promise of countless tomorrows to come. 

There would come a time, yes, when the soft cadence of laughter, the small hands in hers, the warmth of Link's gaze at dusk—would exit the gentle rhythm of her days. But not tonight. Tonight was just another page in her perfectly monotonous life, and she would not trade it for all the legends in the world.