Archive of Our Own

0.

“I won’t.”

A shadow of a frown settles on Zelda’s face, and she examines Link for a few seconds before trying again.

“Link, give me the Ocarina.”

She inches her outstretched hand closer to him; he immediately takes a step back and shoves the Ocarina in his pocket before crossing his arms. “I don’t want to go back.”

She crosses hers, too, frown deepening. “Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Exasperation quickly smothers Zelda’s disbelief. It narrows her eyes. It clips her tone. “What? You have lost nearly half of your life!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, exactly. It’s already gone.”

“As I explained, I can return it to you,” she says, carefully enunciating each word. “You will be free to live the life you were meant to have.”

Holding her gaze, he just as carefully enunciates, “I want to live this life. With you.”

A flicker of happiness so brief she hardly has the chance to feel it shoots through her, and she watches Link for a few seconds before dropping her eyes to her clasped hands. To think that him telling her exactly what she’d secretly, selfishly hoped he would, would only lead to her stomach twisting itself into knots and her frantically searching for the right combination of words that will make him change his mind—make him see sense.

“Zel—um, Zel…da.”

It seems she was silent for too long. She faces Link again to find him shifting from one foot to the other and looking everywhere but at her.

“…Do you not want me here that badly?”

“This has nothing to do with what I want.” After a short pause, she continues with a hesitant, “Rather, this decision is irreversible, and I worry that you may regret it, in time.”

“I won’t.”

“You cannot know that for certain.”

“I can.” A cheeky, shaky grin slides onto his face. “And I do.”

A practiced one graces hers. “Well, then. Who am I to stop you?” Bowing her head, she adds a composed, “As you wish. You surely know best.”

Of course he doesn’t. But there’s nothing to be gained from continuing to argue.

Link closes the distance between them, tentatively brushes his fingers against the back of hers, and, when she doesn’t pull away, takes them in his. Perhaps one day, she tells herself as she stares into bright eyes and a bright smile that radiate a joy she can’t hope to achieve, she’ll come to believe he’s made the right choice.

1.

“Watch your step, Your Highness!” the gardener says as she escorts Zelda through the archway. “Got the toe of my boot caught between the stone at the start of the path here and almost fell flat on my face!”

Zelda’s given a mini tour of her newly-completed garden, a grid-like arrangement of small patches of a variety of flowers individually boxed in by low shrubbery, and with a modest stone fountain bubbling cheerily in the center and a nook in the corner of the far wall that Zelda falls in love with the instant she sees it. It’s nothing ostentatious, but the cushioned wooden bench tucked under an overhang draped in greenery exudes a coziness that instantly eases Zelda’s stress of the day.

“It’s lovely,” Zelda says warmly. “Thank you for your thoroughness.”

“Of course, Your Highness!” the gardener returns before dropping into a quick curtsy. “Then, I will take my leave.”

Zelda sits on the bench and spends a few moments drinking in her surroundings before readying her harp and idly strumming out a few notes—

“Your Highness! There you are!”

—that end in a discordant twang when her hand jerks. Stifling an irritated sigh and suppressing a glare that’s struggling to surface, Zelda looks in the direction of the rough voice to see the Master Mason jogging up to her and forces an accommodating smile.

He’s already begun speaking before she has the chance to greet him. He puffs out his chest, grin half-hidden behind an unruly mustache. “Just finished the memorial—”

Zelda’s grip on her harp tightens and her pulse pounds in her ears, ‘memorial’ expanding, expanding, spreading across her mind, sinking innumerable tiny hooks into her brain.

Breathe.

She forces her mind back to the present just in time to catch the tail end of the Master Mason’s sentence (“…guest quarters. Should only take a few more days!”), give him a generic response (“Well done. Thank you for the update.”), and dismiss him with a slight inclination of her head.

He scurries off, and Zelda lets her eyelids slide shut, her fingers automatically plucking at the strings of her harp as she thinks, each note bringing with it a sliver of calm. It would be best to visit today, she eventually decides. It’ll only eat at her the more time passes.

She’s lost enough in her playing that she doesn’t notice Link until he plops down next to her.

“I didn’t expect a musical welcome!” he says with a laugh.

She pops one eye open and shoots him a quick, teasing grin, then turns her attention back to her harp, trying to figure out how the rest of the verse should go. “I had planned for a full ensemble. Unfortunately, everyone is running late.”

He scoots closer and rests his head against hers. “It’s okay. I’d prefer it to just be the two of us anyway.”

They sit together, simply enjoying each other’s company. Zelda continues to play, and Link occasionally hums along once she’s settled on the chorus.

“Hey, Zel?” he says eventually.

“Yes?”

“Wanna watch a tournament?” She turns to see him looking at the sky. He continues, “Some of the soldiers were talking about having an informal one. It’s probably about time for it to start.”

“Would you mind if we made a quick detour on the way?”

“Nope. Where to?”

“The memorial was completed earlier today,” she says, tone as casual as she can manage. 

He seems to have picked up on her anxiety regardless. “Ah.” He stands, extends a hand for her to take, and pulls her to her feet. “Lead the way.”

The trek there is mostly silent. Snatches of muffled conversations from servants bustling about at the far end of the breezeway. A few attempted jokes. A few tight, but grateful smiles and polite laughter. Thudding footsteps and nigh-inaudible ones—over stone, onto grass, more measured and mechanical now, more in sync now, gradually slowing to a stop.

Just past the entrance to the—thankfully, otherwise empty—graveyard stands an austere, stone monolith ornamented with only an engraving of the royal crest in the center and a statue of the goddesses that sits atop it.

Trembling, gloved fingertips hover just in front of the stone, then drop back to Zelda’s side. “I wish I knew everyone’s names.”

Link takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure they’d appreciate what you’ve done for them,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”

The oppressive atmosphere begins to dissipate once they’re back in the breezeway, and he turns to her with a slight grin. “Now, do you want to watch people beat each other up?”

That earns him a genuine chuckle. “Yes, I am sure that will lift my mood.”

Link crawls into bed next to Zelda with a groan that’s quickly smothered by the pillow he faceplants onto. She throws a fleeting glance in his direction and shakes her head before continuing to read her book. “I take it that a warm bath didn’t help much.”

His response is a longer groan.

“I see.” She flips a page. “Perhaps you should have remained a spectator.”

Another groan, this one followed by muffled sounds that resemble words.

“‘But the tournament looked fun’?”

He nods.

“Then may you find the sore muscles and bruises worth it.” Zelda snaps the book shut, places it on her nightstand, and sinks deeper under the covers.

Fingers tap her shoulder.

“Yes?”

Some rustling, then, “C’mere.”

She rolls over to face a grinning Link, waving an arm to beckon her closer. “How needy!” she teases, but shuffles over into his embrace.

His arms close around her, and he plants a kiss on her forehead. “Night.”

“Good night.”

A smeared painting. Green and gray swirls. Uneven blue streaks. Splatters of pink and yellow dots as if from the flick of a brush.

Zelda’s eyes fly open. A vague sense of unease pricks at the back of her neck, and, somewhat disoriented, she shakily pushes herself upright. She sweeps her eyes over her surroundings and confirms that, no, nothing is amiss. Then what is it? Leaning back against the headboard, she knits her brow and fiddles with the sleeve of her nightgown as she turns the dream over and over again in her mind, unable to make sense of it, unable to shake the foreboding feeling that something is deeply wrong.

Well, she can figure it out in the morning if necessary. She returns to Link’s side and snuggles against him, letting his warmth and soft, regular breathing coax her eyelids shut.

Her thoughts continue to race.

Her unease wraps around her neck.

Sleep won’t come easily—or maybe at all, it seems.

Zelda throws off the covers with an irritated sigh, pulls on a light cardigan and slippers, and slinks out of their room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she can manage.

If she weren’t so desperately in need of peace, she might find the almost unnatural silence of the castle disquieting. As it is, she’s grateful to not be disturbed as she wanders aimlessly through the halls, searching for calm in the stillness, the solitude, the monotony of the scenery.

And if she were in a better mood, she might find it slightly amusing that she seems to have already become so attached to her garden that her subconscious has drawn her to the path that leads directly into it. Still, her mouth curves up in a partial smile, and she continues down the path, more and more and more moonlit greenery coming into view—she squints as she stumbles into abrupt, harsh sunlight. It doesn’t take long for her vision to adjust, and her throat constricts.

Dull, gray castle walls surround a modest stretch of green adorned with nothing more than a handful of small trees and two identical flowerbeds bursting with lilies. Link crosses the threshold into the courtyard and makes his way to the opposite end, to the short flight of stairs decorated on either side with a smattering of tulips, to the colossal arch jutting from the far wall flanked by decorative blue banners on either side, to the tall window with stone wings sprouting from the top of its frame, to Zelda.

She stands perfectly still as she stares into the window, too engrossed to notice that she’s no longer alone until Link, the back of his left hand glowing a soft gold, calls out to her. She spins around, wide-eyed and mouth agape, hand hovering by her jaw.

The phantoms of her and Link’s younger selves flicker once, flicker twice, are swept away as if dusted off a canvas. The faint moonlight returns. So does the stillness. So does the silence.

Her garden does not.

Zelda screws her eyes shut and tries to bottle her rising panic, begging herself to wake up. Please wake up.

2.

Zelda’s eyes fly open. A vague sense of unease pricks at the back of her neck, and, somewhat disoriented, she shakily pushes herself upright.

“Morning!” comes Link’s cheery voice from somewhere to her right.

She turns to see him getting dressed in front of the mirror by the armoire. His reflection smiles warmly at her. “I would’ve woken you up, but I thought you could use the rest. You don’t get enough as it is.”

“…I appreciate your thoughtfulness. What time is it?”

“Six-thirty. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I wouldn’t have let you oversleep!”

Still somewhat on edge, she gives him a quick nod of acknowledgment before heading over to the small lavabo by the window. Try as she might to keep herself focused on her morning routine, her mind starts wandering by the time she’s done washing up, her thoughts naturally drifting towards last night. That dream—

“So,” Link says, as he sidles up next to her with her dress slung over a shoulder, “where will I be escorting Her Highness today?”

Grinning despite herself, Zelda pats her face dry as she replies, “The Great Hall, please, Sir Link.” The moment the words leave her mouth, she grimaces. “My first meeting of the day is with Sir Erodan.” She tosses off her nightgown and plucks her dress from Link’s shoulder.

“Oh! Is that the…” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember, “serial complainer?”

“Yes,” she laughs, “the very same. It will be a miracle if we accomplish anything.” She finishes pulling on her dress and gives him a thin smile. “Though perhaps I may call it a success if the meeting ends without him having provoked someone into an argument.”

No sooner has she begun smoothing out errant wrinkles than Link places his hands on her waist and steers her towards her vanity before motioning for her to sit down.

“I’ll do your hair for you,” he points to the plate of fruit and slices of bread on the tabletop, “so you can eat.” Zelda throws him a dubious glance in the mirror, and he hastily—somewhat indignantly—adds, “I’ve seen you do it a thousand times. I won’t mess it up. Promise!”

She nods and begins slowly eating her way through her plate of food, scrutinizing his every move.

He takes the occasional glimpse at her face in the mirror as he works, taking every wince and skeptical frown as an indication to immediately course correct.

“Finished!” He steps back to admire his work, and Zelda would readily admit that it’s a job well done.

“Perhaps I should have you do this for me from now on,” she teases before rising and taking his hands. “Let’s go. If we leave now, we will have enough time to take the scenic route.”

They fall into a light conversation about their respective schedules for the day, with Link encouraging Zelda to vent as much as she’d like and making her promise to give him the highlights at dinner to which she enthusiastically agrees.

Zelda’s forgotten unease from earlier rips through her body once they round the corner leading down a path that starts to dredge up memories from last night, and her eyes instinctively dart to the path that branches off of this one and runs by her garden. Bewitched by a surge of morbid curiosity, she subtly diverts them down the other path—it’s a slightly longer walk, but they have plenty of time to spare. With each step, her unease builds until she’s on the verge of making up an excuse to turn around and go the other way, but the curiosity is irresistible now; it drags her closer, gently turns her head towards her garden, freezes her in place.

Dull, gray castle walls surround a modest stretch of green adorned with nothing more than a handful of small trees and two identical flowerbeds bursting with lilies. At the opposite end lie a short flight of stairs decorated on either side with a smattering of tulips, a colossal arch jutting from the far wall flanked by decorative blue banners on either side, a tall window with stone wings sprouting from the top of its frame. The gardener squats in front of a nondescript patch of grass, rooting around in her tool basket.

“Not used to it yet?” Link squeezes Zelda’s hand. “We can come back to spend some time here like yesterday if you want.”

What!?

The patter of disembodied footsteps marching past the two of them and down the paved path into the courtyard pulls Zelda out of her stupor. She tries to keep her limbs steady as she continues walking and tugs Link along with her, tries to keep her voice steady as she urges him on. “Then there is no reason for us to dally here.”

He shoots her a faintly puzzled look, but simply replies with, “…Yeah, I guess not.”

How successful she is, Zelda can’t begin to guess, but she musters up as much casualness and cheer as she’s able as she attempts to pick up the conversation where they left off. At the very least, Link rolls with it and looks as upbeat as she hopes she sounds, managing to keep her mind occupied all the way to the Great Hall. As many complaints as she rattled off about her upcoming slew of meetings, they’re now a welcome distraction.

“Good luck!” Link says, and struggling to keep a straight face, adds, “Especially with the serial complainer.”

Zelda fights back a smile and playfully swats at him. “Not so loud!”

“Oops, my bad.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Especially with the serial complainer.”

“I heard you the first time!”

He chuckles and leans in to press a quick kiss on her forehead. “Come find me when you’re done for the day.”

With a jaunty wave, he jogs down the corridor and disappears around the corner. Zelda’s unease starts trickling back once she’s alone again, and she sends up a prayer for solace to the goddesses that she expects to go unheard.

Once Zelda sees the final diplomat out of the room, she nudges the door shut and sinks into the nearest chair, thoughts that she’d been suppressing the entire day swarming her mind. Where the hell to even begin?

The scene of her and Link meeting clearly wasn’t a dream, as resistant as she was to acknowledge it. Then what was it? A vision, maybe?

The painting, however, was certainly a dream. It was a distorted image of her courtyard.

Was it prophetic? Her courtyard exists now, after all.

She shoots the thought down as quickly as it surfaced. No, she knows what those dreams feel like. Furthermore, the dream didn’t quite “come true” so much as superimpose itself on reality. And only she could see it.

Why is she seeing any of this in the first place?

…

This is going nowhere.

With an annoyed click of her tongue, Zelda casts a sidelong glance out of the window next to her, bolting upright and doing a double take when she realizes the sky is beginning to darken; she’ll be late for dinner if she doesn’t hurry. She books it out of the room and down a few hallways until she reaches a balcony overlooking the training grounds.

Her gaze instinctively falls on Link, helmet tucked under his arm and chatting away with a few soldiers. Mood lifting despite her simmering frustration, she—

Clumps of leaves cling to his armor in patches, vines wind their way out of cracks in his greaves, tattered chain mail peeks out from behind gaps left by broken off chunks.

—grits her teeth, attempting to will away the vertigo, the vomit churning in her throat—

Breathe.

—and walks off without a backwards glance.

3.

“There have been reports of an increased bandit presence along the route to Zora’s Domain. Goods were stolen, of course, but one merchant claimed that they attempted to abduct his daughter.”

Epona whinnies and paws the ground—

Zelda digs her fingernails into her palms until Varyn flickers back into focus.

“—life. He’s refusing to deliver anything else without escorts or confirmation that the bandits have been taken care of.”

“I see. Perhaps we can do both. Run this by Link as soon as you are able; he would know best how to divvy up the tasks. Let me know what he decides.”

At Varyn’s blatant confusion, Zelda gives him a knowing smile. “Yes, I would typically do it myself, but I have precious little spare time today. I may not be able to discuss this with him before he retires for the night.”

“I see, then I will drop by your office after I’ve talked to him.” Her advisor drops into a deep bow. “Have a pleasant rest of the day, Your Highness.”

“You as well.”

He bows again and walks off, leaving her alone in the corridor. The moment he’s out of sight, Zelda leans back against the wall and allows her compounding exhaustion to ease her eyes shut, albeit only for a few seconds; she can’t rest just yet. And so, with a sharp, harsh inhale, she pushes herself upright and hurries to her office, eager to take advantage of her waning productivity.

It might be a good idea to head to the dining hall for dinner, as Zelda’s stomach reminds her.

And Link will certainly be there.

She drums her fingers on her desk. The least she could do is drop by for a few minutes, and she knows he’d be happy to see her. Her eyes do a quick once-over of the stack of documents to her left. No, she should finish reviewing them while she still has the energy. He’ll understand.

How long do you plan to keep this up? It will only take another day or two before he notices what you’re doing.

She reaches for a petition from the top of the stack and is hit with a headache so abrupt she flinches, fingers scrabbling at the arms of her chair to keep herself from toppling over.

Ah. Well. This was to be expected. There’s only so long she can push off a vision.

Zelda traps her bottom lip between her teeth, runs her tongue along it, and quickly mulls over her options. Should she push it off again? She can probably manage once, maybe twice, before the headaches become unbearable. Still, it may be best to just get it over with. There’s no better time to have a vision than when she’s alone.

She steels herself.

And gives in.

Epona whinnies and paws the ground. Link, Hylian Shield strapped to his back, stands by her side—attentive and silent as he stares into the eyes of a somber Zelda. “Even though it was only a short time, I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she says, cradling the Ocarina against her chest. “I’ll never forget the days we spent together in Hyrule…”

The scene shudders, and Zelda’s surroundings snap back. She rushes to her chest in the corner, throwing it open to gather its meager contents into her arms and deposit them on her desk. She drops back into her chair and sifts through them—a few scrolls on visions, books on alternate selves, notes she’s taken while reading each one—until she finds the list she’s started keeping of all of her visions and dreams over the past few days. She freezes just before adding a note about her most recent vision, eyes scanning the paper:

An abstract image of my courtyard.
Link, as a child and with his piece of the Triforce, meeting me in my courtyard.
Link’s armor changing.
Link and I holding the Ocarina between our hands.
Link and I, as children, sitting in a field.

Her grip on her quill tightens, and she writes:

Link and I, as children, about to part.

The same knots that twisted her stomach years ago return.

By the time Zelda finally calls it quits for the night, the halls are nigh deserted and lit only by torches and uniform patches of moonlight shining through the windows. She exchanges quick greetings with the few people she passes on the way back to her room and is hit by a sudden flash of nervousness once she’s standing in front of her door, hand resting on the door handle.

Deep breath.

Relax.

She nudges the door ajar, pauses, then inches it further open until she catches sight of Link, already conked out.

The ensuing wave of relief is short-lived, immediately snuffed out by a guilt she’s become far too accustomed to. She quickly averts her gaze—looking at him is just making it worse—and spends as much time getting ready for bed as she can. Maybe she should stay in the bath to do one more full-body scrub? Maybe she has a few tangles in her hair that she missed combing out? Once she’s run out of excuses, she trudges over to the bed and lingers at the edge before forcing herself to climb in, staring at the ceiling until she finally begins to drift off.

Zelda hugs her knees to her chest, absently watching the candle flicker on her nightstand.

“Now, go home, Link! Regain your lost time! Home... Where you are supposed to be...the way you are supposed to be...”

Words from a dream she can barely recall slither through her mind, carrying an inexplicable dread that sets her teeth on edge. She glances at Link curled up and sleeping peacefully next to her.

You should not be here.

4.

The neat stack of documents that previously occupied a third of Zelda’s desk is now a messier stack of documents in the half-open chest in the corner of the room, replaced by an unorganized, precarious stack of books and a smattering of scrolls.

As draining as it’s been, the slight upside of working herself half to death as much as she has been recently is that she has more free time than she would otherwise to look into what’s happening to her. Not that it’s been much use. She impatiently flips through a few pages of yet another book whose author claims to be an expert in “alternate realities.” Unsurprisingly, it’s nothing more than someone’s flight of fancy. She scoffs as she tosses it onto the growing mound next to her desk of books she’s read through; at least this one was marginally more coherent than the rest.

She mechanically reaches for the next book on the pile, breath catching in her throat when she hears a familiar knock on the door.

Dammit.

She shoots up from her chair and sweeps the scrolls and her notes into a drawer, yanks her chest away from the wall to shove the mound of books behind it, and gives her office a hurried once-over; it’s a little disorderly, but not enough for him to be concerned about her mental state.

Hopefully.

A split-second’s pause as she sits back down and does her best to look calm—she can’t take too long; he knows she’s in here—before she calls out, “Come in.”

A split-second’s pause, and the door opens. Link steps through, smiling when he sees her—it’s at odds with the nervousness written on the rest of his face—and waves the bag in his right hand. “Brought you lunch. You’ve been working a lot lately so, um, I thought you might not be eating well.”

She smiles, too. Maybe hers is more believable than his. “How thoughtful of you.”

He taps the toe of his boot on the floor, then shuffles up to Zelda’s desk, takes the spoon and covered bowl from the bag, and sets it in front of her. Another pause, then he heads to the table a few paces to her right and takes out his own meal.

Dammit.

It’s not as though she plans to kick him out, but his presence is going to make this significantly harder.

Especially since, she thinks as she fights back a frown, she can see him examining her out of the corner of her eye.

Deep breath.

And with it comes a shallow wave of calm. Zelda’s not all that hungry, but it’d probably be a good idea to eat anyway, more for his peace of mind than anything else. She doesn’t get up to join him at her table, however, instead choosing to eat while continuing her research.

An almost impossible task, it turns out. She lowers her head a touch so she can’t see Link, but she can still feel his stare. Nothing she’s reading sticks in her mind, each word no more than a beautifully drawn interconnection of lines. Even the sparse sounds in the room—the occasional slurping of soup, a spoon scraping a bowl, the crunch of whatever Link’s eating, and the occasional flip of the pages Zelda’s pretending to read—is wearing on her.

“…Zel?”

His voice is so timid, so quiet that she’s convinced she just imagined it at first.

Eyes still glued to her book, her own voice carefully even, “Yes?”

“Are you…how are—how are you doing?”

She looks up—it’ll be more convincing if she makes eye contact—and meets his gaze; it’s tender now.

“I am simply busy.” She offers him a small shrug. “Unfortunately, this is one of those weeks.”

“A little over a week,” he says softly.

He’s been counting? “Yes, I suppose it has been. Time has certainly slipped away from me, hasn’t it?”

Silence falls between them again. Link watches her for a few beats before dropping his eyes to his hands clasped on the tabletop.

“Um. I don’t want to sound like I don’t believe you,” he starts slowly, “but is that really all it is?” He locks eyes with her again. “You know I’m here for you if you need anything, right?”

She smiles, and this time, it’s genuine. “I know,” she assures him. “And I will always be grateful for you.”

That dispels some of the gloom from his face, and he smiles, too, though it’s dimmer than usual. “Do you want to hang out in your garden”—Zelda suppresses a grimace and quickly redirects her attention back to Link and away from the anxiety wrapping around her shoulders—“for a bit around dinnertime?”

Just the thought of turning him down hurts, but she doesn’t have a choice.

“I may not have time today—” The guilt starts eating her up enough that she hurriedly adds, “but I can offer you a compromise. You can stay here while I work, if you’d like.”

To her surprise, he lights up; her guilt thickens. “Okay! I’ll find something to do with myself.”

With one last smile and a small nod, Zelda has another spoonful of soup and attempts to continue reading.

There’s a good chance him simply being here will be too distracting for her to make much progress, but she’ll manage.

5.

Tightly drawn lips mouth the titles of each book—anything containing the word “reality” or something even remotely adjacent—in the section of the library dedicated to the metaphysical. They curve into a disappointed frown at almost every certainly useless book, but Zelda plucks each one from the shelf anyway and adds it to the growing pile on the nearby table until it’s level with her waist. That should be enough, she thinks, and sits back down, ready to resume her task that grows more daunting, more frustrating as the days pass.

A soft, steady tapping against the window to her right breaks Zelda’s already flagging concentration. She glances at the window to see wisps of slate gray storm clouds dotting a darker sky, and her bleary eyes drop to idly follow the trail of a raindrop as it slides down the glass until it drops out of view. Eyes back on the scroll stretching across the table, she reads the same few lines over and over, trying to force herself to absorb what’s written, but soon gives up. This is impossible.

The steady tapping continues, and it’ll easily take advantage of Zelda’s exhaustion and lull her to sleep if she lets it. She decides that she will; she’s not getting anything done like this. She shoves the scroll aside to cross her arms on the table and rest her head atop them, burying her face in the crook of her elbow. Her eyelids slide shut almost immediately, not that she could keep them open if she wanted to, the drone of the tap tap tap tap tap—

Thick clumps of inky clouds roll endlessly across the sky above the outskirts of a town below a small cliffside. People huddle around an effigy of the goddesses. Hands clasped, they face the heavens.

The clouds begin to part like a curtain being drawn to reveal a brilliantly gold sky. The prayers stop, and a smattering of cheering and laughter ripples through the crowd—expressions a mix of disbelief, of joy, of hope.

One drop, then another, then a couple more, then a light drizzle, then rain heavy enough to send everyone scurrying back to town. It falls in thick sheets, showing no signs of stopping. The water pooling on the ground rises, showing no signs of stopping. The sky is no less brilliant, no less golden.

A faint outline encircles it almost in its entirety.

Growing sense of unease.

Of foreboding.

Of unbridled terror.

The outline flickers. Three eyeballs crowd into one eye socket.

They swivel to look directly at—

Zelda’s ripped violently from her sleep and swallows a pathetic whimper as she grabs at the edge of the table to keep from tumbling to the floor. Once she steadies herself, she frantically resumes her research; unspeakable terror monopolizes her thoughts, but she forces herself to push past it.

She never counted on the goddesses’ help, having long since stopped expecting them to answer her prayers. She’s more convinced now that she was lucky to never capture their attention. More convinced now that she will have to be everyone’s salvation.

6.

Only a couple days have passed since Zelda’s decided to conduct her research in the library, yet the corner she’s set up in is already more cluttered than her office had become. She’s hunched over at the table, hidden behind the books she’s yet to read that are in a semblance of an ordered pile to her left; the others lie discarded wherever she’s tossed them. Frantically scribbled notes that she occasionally adds to are splayed out to her right. Ink-blotted fingertips fumble through page after page, linger, slide along each line in any passage that seems at least vaguely relevant, grab hold of the edge of the page, rip it free, place it on the pile of similarly torn out pages, resume their fumbling.

Not here.

She tosses this book, too, and snatches the next from the pile, wrenching it open in front of her and scanning through it as quickly as she’s become accustomed to.

You haven’t found anything worthwhile.

Not here.

She grabs another book. She tosses it.

You never will.

And another.

That is because this reality shouldn’t exist.

And another.

It is only a matter of time before it is overwritten and everything you have ever done is rendered meaningless.

One after the other after the other after the other—

You know that, don’t you?

A primal scream tears out of Zelda’s throat as she leaps to her feet and hurls the book at the wall; it ricochets off and launches into the decorative vase on the nearby pedestal, sending it plunging to the floor. The shattering is muted by the roar of blood in her ears.

Then why are you doing this?

Her rage will burn her alive, her fear will devour her if she doesn’t.

What right do you have to exist at the expense of your other selves in the first place? 

“What right do they have to exist at my expense? Why do they matter more than I do? Am I less real than them simply because I am in the wrong reality? That is enough to make my existence so worthless that I should die!?”

You are already in your death throes.

You just have yet to accept it.

7.

What am I to do? The question echoes in Zelda’s head, bounces around her skull, incapable of being answered, though not for lack of trying. Even putting the matter of her own existence aside, she’s continued her research; this has never been something that affects only her. But she’s far too drained to do much of anything right now. She sits in the corner of her library nook, body listing to the left, back against the bookshelf, head resting against the wall. Unfocused eyes stare blankly ahead, blinks getting slower, longer as exhaustion weighs on her eyelids, soon forcing them into a squint once the sting of tears sets in.

The Great Hall is silent and still, bathed in darkness save for a handful of scattered strands of moonlight, deserted save for Zelda. She stands before a stone statue of Link—right hand holding a Hylian Shield at the ready, left arm triumphantly raising the Master Sword to the sky—that dwarfs her in size many times over, expression wistful as she gazes up at him. She presses one hand against the plinth and bows her head.

The vision dissolves, leaving behind a hollow, unbearable loneliness that pounds in her chest. She walks her hands up the wall to help her stand on shaky legs and speeds to the exit of the library once she’s certain they won’t give out on her. It’s late enough that Link’s almost certainly asleep, but she finds that she doesn’t care.

Can she not stand to be alone now? Does she just need to see him? Is she worried that he might be—she refuses to entertain that thought. Whatever she’s feeling sends her rushing, no, sprinting to their room, nearly slamming the door against the wall when she throws it open. As she’d guessed, Link’s fast asleep, but relief courses through her once she lays eyes on him, and a small, involuntary smile graces her lips.

Zelda gets ready for bed in record time and slips under the covers, facing Link, his expression more peaceful than she’s seen in a while. She tenderly runs her fingertips along his jaw, then eases into his arms, head resting on his chest, left leg thrown over both of his. The steady beating of his heart, the confirmation that he’s alive cloaks her in a level of calm she hasn’t felt in weeks. Maybe this will be the one night she won’t spend in distress.

8.

Fingers combing through her hair and breath tickling her skin coax Zelda from her sleep. She groans, still drowsy, and reluctantly opens her eyes; she’s greeted with Link’s wide smile and tender, “Morning. I didn’t expect to wake up to you using me as a pillow.”

A soft laugh rumbles in her throat, and she yawns a, “Good morning,” before abruptly scrambling upright and scooting towards the edge of the bed, the sunlight piercing through the window sobering her up in seconds flat. She can’t dawdle. She has to—

Link’s hand darts to her wrist before she makes it far. “Wait! It’s still early.” He lightly tugs at her sleeve and looks up at her with a pleading expression that sends a sympathetic pang through her chest. “Let’s lie here for a little while. It’s, um, we haven’t had much alone time lately.”

“…We haven’t,” she mutters.

She should stay.

She shouldn’t.

She wants to.

She needs to.

No sooner has she laid down next to him than he scoops her into his arms and rolls onto his back.

“I know you’re a busy woman,” he says, brushing his nose against hers, “but I’m sure you can spare a bit of time.”

“I suppose I can.”

You can’t.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” he teases before drawing her into a kiss.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Her hands trail down his upper arms.

You were just on the verge of a breakdown.

His squeeze her waist.

Desperate, violently so, to find a way to keep this reality from being overwritten.

She grabs fistfuls of his shirt.

Yet you decide to use your time like this?

His lips travel down the side of her face, her neck.

Pathetic.

She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to repeat grounding words to the rhythm of his pulse.

You will kill everyone with your selfishness.

It races too quickly to keep time with, and they jumble together.

But you have doomed everyone once before.

He holds her tighter, and she’s flooded with warmth.

And you are willing to do it again.

She rests on him for a few more seconds before propping herself up on her forearms, suddenly claustrophobic in his embrace.

As useless as ever.

He cups her cheek and stares into her eyes, his own shining with the depths of his affection for her.

It’s blinding.

She struggles not to turn away.

Link leads her by the hand—“Let’s take the scenic route again,” he’d said—and this time she makes certain they won’t pass by her courtyard, doing her best to sound engaged as he chatters on about the day he has ahead of him and catching her up on what she missed while she was in isolation. Focusing on their conversation is nigh impossible; her mind’s continually jerked towards her flood dream—not that she’ll ever forget it—towards the urge to go, hurry up, you don’t have the slightest idea what to do, you don’t have the luxury to spend your free time strolling around the castle grounds as though the world won’t end if you don’t h—

Her train of thought abruptly splinters, and Link falters. They look at one another and back at the hallway in front of them; there’s an unusual, though not too egregious, level of bustle given how early it is. He opens his mouth to presumably ask Zelda about it—not that she knows either—when a young woman by the tapestry to their right heaves a dramatic sigh and exaggeratedly claps her hand over her heart.

“If only you loved me as much as Her Highness does Sir Link!”

Her partner laughs good-naturedly. “I can’t afford to commission a statue of you, but I can carve you a figurine instead.”

Icy hands curl around Zelda’s spine; her breathing turns short, rapid, unsteady before she hurriedly forces it back to normal.

Link eyes her quizzically. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“Don’t play coy!” he teases. “The statue thing.”

She fiddles with her sleeve, mind racing so quickly her thoughts trip over themselves. “I—”

“Actually,” he starts jogging the rest of the way down the hall, tugging her along behind him. “I want to see for myself!”

Following the direction of the slight commotion leads them directly to the Great Hall and the massive statue of Link that’s exactly as she saw it. A shadow of the deep loss she felt then lightly squeezes her heart, and it’s cut through by a flicker of relief that’s quickly snuffed out with an unspeakable dread.

“—didn’t have to.” It takes her a second to realize Link’s speaking. She glances at him; he’s transfixed, gaze traveling along the statue from top to bottom and back again. He turns to her finally and takes her other hand, too. “Thank you,” he mutters sheepishly. “It looks really nice.”

Zelda doesn’t know how to respond and simply squeezes his hands, hoping that will suffice. It seems to; a smile’s plastered on his face as they continue on to the training grounds and part ways after Link’s quick, “I’ll drop by your office to pick you up for lunch!”

She hurries the rest of the way down the hall, breaking into a sprint once she’s alone. It’s vanishingly unlikely, but if other people can see the statue, too, then maybe—

She takes a second to readjust her clothes and fan herself after running nearly the entire way to where the construction crew has been staying. After checking her face over in her hand mirror—looks calm—she strolls over to the two crew members chatting over a small breakfast.

“Good morning.”

They’re almost comically caught off guard. Jiro scrambles to his feet and immediately extends a deep bow; Sab hacks and coughs as he tries to force his food down his throat and simultaneously return Zelda’s greeting.

“I apologize for disturbing the two of you, but I would like to ask the Master Mason about the statue in the Great Hall. Do you know where he is?”

Sab perks up. “Actually, I was just talking about it with him before he left to grab some supplies in town!” He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Said it’s a fine piece of work, and he wanted to ask you who you commissioned, Your Highness!” 

Well, it’s not like she wasn’t expe—

“…statue?” Jiro frowns and looks between Zelda and his friend. “What statue?”

“What do you mean ‘what statue’!? That massive one of Sir Link in the Great Hall! You can’t miss it!”

“I was just there, and there wasn’t any statue!”

“Everyone’s talking about it!”

“No, they weren’t. You don’t think I would’ve heard—”

Zelda’s already tuned them out, much too focused on why the hell one of them can’t see it. She disappears quickly, quietly, leaving them to their bickering as the gears continue turning in her head. Clearly he’s not the only one, but how many people can’t? Was she too distracted by the statue itself to notice who couldn’t? Were they just not around? What to even make of this?

The faint sound of yelling, weapons and armor jangling, and rough laughter interrupts her rumination; ah, it seems she’s made it back already. As always her eyes find Link. Clumps of leaves cling to his armor in patches, vines wind their way out of cracks—

She snaps her gaze back in front of her and speeds up, light vertigo beginning to set in. She thinks she hears him call out to her, but she can’t say for sure; he’s too far away, and the ringing in her ears is too loud. Not that it matters. She wouldn’t have answered.

Heavy, quick footsteps approach her from behind, and while she’s debating whether she should run or just try to endure being so close to his armor, she’s abruptly spun around and drawn into a loving embrace. Link pulls back slightly with a smile and—

Link’s helmet, devoured by rust and overgrowth, shoved onto a grimacing skull. A small red orb stares back at her from a pitch-black eye socket.

Her instincts take over before her mind has a chance to catch up; she wrenches out of his embrace and shoves him back so hard he nearly stumbles to the floor. She can’t look at his face. She doesn’t want to know what expression he’s making.

Her legs carry her out of the room before she has the chance to do anything else. Hallway after corner after side passage after archway after staircase, scenery whips by as she continues onwards, force her to run and run and run until—

She stumbles into a vacant room, just managing to slam the door behind her before collapsing to her knees. Chest heaving; insides curling with nausea; heart ready to rend itself in two from grief, from guilt, from—

Link’s helmet, devoured by rust and overgrowth, shoved onto a grimacing skull—

She clutches her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. “Stop!”

Uncontrollable tremors spread through her body; she grits her teeth and hunches over, forehead pressing against the floor, the sting of tears—

Link’s helmet, devoured by rust and overgrowth, shoved onto a grimacing skull—

Voice hoarse and strained, leaving gouges in her throat as it claws its way out, “Stop!”

Mind beginning to fracture, teetering on the edge of oblivion, she—

Under the dense canopy of a fenced-off tree in the castle graveyard is a dwindling crowd of dark clothing and somber faces. The bereaved continue to trickle out until only Zelda remains, hollow eyes staring unblinkingly at the fresh grave at the foot of the tree.

A golden wolf trots up to her from behind, nudging her hand—she snatches it to her chest—and brushing against her legs as it pads to the base of the tree. It turns to face her before sitting on the grave, motionless, bright red eyes trained on hers, luminescence cutting through the dark.

The slight apprehension that colors her features turns to recognition turns to disbelief turns to—she drops to the ground and throws her arms around the wolf, sobbing quietly into its fur as it nuzzles against her.

9.

Zelda rolls onto her stomach on the daybed—

…Daybed?

Confusion setting in, she groggily opens her eyes just past a squint—the sunlight’s far too bright—and shuffles deeper under the blanket—and where did that come from?—draped over her.

“Zel.”

She flinches. Snippets of her last vision rush through her head at the sound of his voice, cascading over one another too quickly for her to latch onto any one in particular.

After taking a second to brace herself, she sits up and looks in his direction to find him sitting at the foot of the daybed; she can’t even imagine what sort of face she must be making for the somberness on his to have so abruptly morphed into horror and concern.

“You…something’s really wrong, and I think it has been for a while.”

They’re certainly past the point of her being able to lie about everything, but what to say to him? Should she say anything?

“That’s why, um, I had Varyn clear your schedule for the day.” Before Zelda has the chance to react, Link hurriedly explains, “I know you might be mad at me for it, but you seriously need to rest!” A slight pause followed by a hesitant, “And we should talk.”

Well, it was really just a matter of time before this day arrived; the writing’s been scratched into the wall for quite a while now. 

She nods, more to herself than Link. “Where would you like to start?”

“What’s been happening with you lately?”

“You will have to be more specific.”

“You’re, I dunno, you just seem really stressed.” He smiles slightly. “And don’t say that you always are. I mean more than usual.”

She shrugs. “That happens from time to time.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

He narrows his eyes, and an undercurrent of irritation colors his tone. “I know you know what I mean. Playing dumb isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not. I want to know precisely why you think this is different.”

The second she finishes her sentence, he responds with an emphatic, “I know it is.”

His gaze drops to her hands folded in her lap. A long pause stretches on as he seems to struggle with what to say, before finally continuing, voice so strained that it’s nigh unintelligible. “You’ve been distant for weeks—” His face crumples, and his voice begins to tremble, “and yesterday…”

Zelda fights back her own tears, heart beating dully in her chest. “Yes, yesterday…I can’t apologize enough for how I acted. I hope you can forgive me.”

His eyes are still a little watery, nose still a little red, but he manages a gentle smile. “I already have.”

She returns it. “As kind as always. My reaction had nothing to do with anything you did.” They’re also past the point of her being able to hide everything. Still, she hesitates; there’s no taking this back once she says it. “I have been seeing glimpses of other realities since the day my garden was finished, and I have been researching it for almost as long.”

“‘Glimpses of other realities,’” he repeats, slowly and articulately, like he doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

“Yes. When I looked at your face as you held me yesterday…” Zelda pauses to gather herself, clenches her jaw, swallows, and continues. “I saw a skull wearing your deteriorating helmet. I have seen your armor in disrepair since the beginning, too. …I seem to have particularly visceral reactions to it.”

To Zelda’s surprise, Link doesn’t look surprised. Rather, it seems like something clicked.

“My armor changed late last night, and I’m guessing it’s the way you’ve been seeing it. I had no clue why it suddenly looked like it hadn’t been worn in at least a hundred years.” He frowns. “I guess I do now.” Eyes somber, tone unsteadier than he seems to be trying to keep it, “Then is whatever’s going on in that other reality going to happen in this one, too?”

Under the dense canopy of a fenced-off tree—

No.

“That is what I’m afraid of. Every time I see a glimpse into another reality, there is no way to tell what—if anything at all—will appear in our world or when. However, I think it will continue unless I find a way to stop it.”

“We.”

Startled, Zelda snaps her head in Link’s direction, and he holds her gaze, tone firm as he continues, “Unless we find a way to stop it.” He slumps back against the wall with a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been spending weeks trying to figure out how to save our reality from being destroyed on your own. Now I,” he adds somewhat irritably, “am going to save you from your self-destructive tendencies.”

That earns him a genuine, albeit subdued laugh. “I’m afraid they won’t disappear that easily, but I appreciate the thought.”

He flashes her a faint smile and pats the spot on the daybed right next to him. She does as he implicitly asks, letting her body fully relax when he wraps his arm around her waist.

“So I’m guessing that other stuff from different realities appeared here, too?”

“The statue of you in the Great Hall is from another reality. And my garden was replaced by my old courtyard back when this all started.”

His face is the picture of unparalleled shock. “That courtyard!?”

Zelda nods.

“Huh. That’s kind of an odd one since it did exist here at one point.”

She acknowledges his statement with a simple, “Quite,” and rushes to move on; that line of thought won’t lead anywhere good. “Only I could see it, however. I am not sure if that may have changed, given that so many people—but not everyone, as I found out—can see your statue.”

Link doesn’t respond immediately, so she glances at him to find him staring at the floor, brow knitted and clearly deep in thought.

“What is it?”

“I said my armor changed last night, but now that I think about it, it’s felt…off for a while even before that.” He shrugs. “It was sturdy as it always was, though, so I didn’t think too much of it.”

She perks up. “Have you experienced anything else? Dreams, even?”

Another long pause as he thinks. “…Yeah, I think so. I don’t remember much of it, but I had a dream a few nights ago about a really heavy rainstorm.” He gives a half-snort, half-laugh. “That’s all it was, but I still felt weirdly tense when I woke up.”

The outline flickers. Three eyeballs crowd—

“Hey, Zel?”

“Yes?”

“D’you know why this is happening?”

“I do not.”

“Ah, I guess that’s not surprising. If you knew, you’d probably already have an idea on how to stop it.”

“Mm.”

A semi-uncomfortable silence settles over them. Zelda counts the leaves of the plant by the window to keep herself from spiraling.

“So…” Link’s voice draws her attention. She turns to him, and he continues. “Now that we’re a team, is there anything I can do that you can’t?”

The answer comes to her surprisingly quickly. “You could talk to other people and see what they have been experiencing over the past few weeks. You have a knack for getting people to tell you their deepest thoughts.”

He laughs. “I’m just a really good listener!”

“That you are.” She glances at the clock in the corner. “It is still fairly early. Do you think you could get started soon? Once you feel like you have gathered enough information, we can reconvene in the ‘Metaphysics’ section of the library. I have been working there instead of my office.” She rests her head against his shoulder. “I will go over my notes in the meantime and continue scouring through my books, though I don’t expect my search to be any more fruitful than it has been,” she adds dryly.

He pats her on the head. “I would tell you that that’s a sign that you should just rest and wait for me to get back, but I know you won’t do it.”

“That is because what if—”

“I know, I know. And I get it, but I wish you’d take care of yourself more.”

“Then I will make you a promise. If we make enough headway today, I will take it a touch easier over the next few days.”

Link perks up and shoots her a sly grin. “I’m going to hold you to that!”

Zelda smiles, too. “By all means.”

10.

The thud of something striking wood shatters Zelda’s focus. She looks up to see Link leaning against the far end of the bookcase across from her, expression a mix of exhaustion and triumph. “I’m back,” he produces his notebook with a flourish, “with notes!”

He plods over and hands it to her—“If you wanna read through it yourself for details,” he says—then sinks into the chair next to her. “But, to summarize, almost everyone I talked to can see your courtyard now, and about half said they’ve had a dream in the past week or so that left them unusually rattled—wait.” He pauses, then snaps his fingers. “‘Dread.’ Most of them used the word ‘dread’ to describe how they felt. I think that’s a better descriptor of how I felt after my dream than whatever I said earlier.

“No one remembered their dream, though. They were just positive they had one. Um…” He toys with an earring as he thinks. “Oh! Back to your courtyard. When I asked, people said that they just assumed it was something you requested.”

Zelda pops open his notebook and starts flipping through the pages. “As was the case with the statue of you.”

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone else noticed your armor deteriorating aside from you and I?”

“Don’t think so. I left it in the armory, and no one’s said anything about it. Er, though,” he adds somewhat sheepishly, “I guess the number of people who go to the armory in the first place is kinda limited…”

“Oh!”

“What is it?”

Zelda shows him the page she’s reading. “It seems like the whole of the construction crew can see your statue now!”

“Oh, yeah! One of them was telling me he couldn’t see it yesterday and thought everyone else was messing with him.” Link drums his fingers along the tabletop before continuing. “He didn’t seem to want to think too deeply about it.

“Anyway, people started being affected by whatever’s going on about a week ago. As you can probably guess from what you just read, it seems like it’s spreading…” He trails off, and his voice is much softer when he continues, “Zel, don’t make that face.”

“It is not as though I didn’t already know that it was worsening, but hearing it said aloud is—” Her voice catches, and she takes a second to compose herself. “I suppose it makes it more concrete.”

Link hugs her against him and runs his hand along her arm. “We’ll think of something. I’ll think of something.”

Silence falls as he tries to do exactly that. Zelda focuses on the mechanical whirring of the clock in the corner.

“Why don’t we just,” he says eventually, “I dunno, destroy the stuff that shouldn’t be here?”

She heaves a deep sigh. “I highly doubt that will fix this.”

“Why not?”

“We would be treating the symptoms, not the root.”

“But we don’t know anything about this, so what if ‘treating the symptoms’ is ‘treating the root’? What if,” he sits up straight, conviction blatant now, “the replacement is just progressing because it hasn’t faced any resistance?”

“…If that’s the case, then at the very least this may buy us some time.”

“Or it could work outright.”

The corners of her lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “Or it could work outright.”

Link gently pushes the corners of her lips further up with his fingertips, and she laughs. “Or it could work outright!” she repeats, much more enthusiastically.

He beams. “There we go!”

“Then,” she continues brightly, taking his hands, “I will talk to the Master Mason tomorrow morning about demolishing the statue and my courtyard.”

“And I’ll melt down my armor, or something.”

“Well, I suppose we have a semblance of a plan!”

“We do!” Link hops to his feet and pulls Zelda up with him. “Now, you’re staying with me for the rest of the night so I can make sure you eat dinner and sleep.”

“I can take care of my—” He gives her a look so skeptical she decides it’s not even worth finishing her sentence. She clicks her tongue with an accommodating grin. “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

I have something to try now, Zelda tells herself yet again as she lies awake in bed, one hand in Link’s and listening to his soft snoring coming from somewhere around her right shoulder. I had nothing before, but now I do. Moreover, I have help, too. It will be easier moving forward. Surely it will.

She lets the words settle in her thoughts, hoping that if she sits with them long enough, the conviction Link gave her before will find her again.

Instead, the longer she waits, the more strongly her ever-present unease takes hold.

Yet again, she starts anew.

11.

Tired eyes strain to read through Link’s notebook lying open on the desk, letters growing fuzzy and indistinct. Deciding that there’s not much use in continuing, Zelda gazes out of their bedroom window, quill listing between her slack fingers. She notices Link creep into the edge of her vision and lean against the wall just next to the window but doesn’t react.

“You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

“I do not know if”—I doubt that—“our plan will work, but I was too impatient about trying it to fall asleep.” She musters a weak smile. “Though that is not to say I am any less impatient.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I get it.” He throws a glance out the window, then jerks his head towards it. “I think it’s late enough for a lot of people to be awake now.”

With a quick nod, Zelda rises, and the moment she’s on her feet, she’s swept into a gentle hug. Link nuzzles into the crook of her neck. “It’ll be fine. I know it.”

“Mm.” It isn’t doing either of them any favors being pessimistic, so she quickly adds a more spirited, “Then let us get started. We can update each other at lunch.”

Link’s already waiting for her outside of the dining hall, clearly lost in thought as he frowns down at his hands and tugs at a glove. Zelda sidles up to him and drums her fingers on his left shoulder. He snaps to attention, and a slow grin spreads across his face when he realizes who it is. “We meet again.”

“We do,” she says with a similarly playful grin.

“I saw the Master Mason and his crew breaking down the statue in the field by the training grounds. They work fast!”

“They are quite efficient,” she agrees. “I suppose they will get around to turning my courtyard into a library sooner than I expected.”

Link gapes at her before squinting slightly. “Do you really need another library?”

She’s more than a little indignant, but no less light-hearted when she responds with a sharp, “Yes!” Slightly more serious now, she continues. “And your armor?”

“Took much longer than I thought it would to melt it down fully, but I managed.” He frowns. “Well, I hope that counts as getting rid of it. I dunno what else I could do.”

That is exactly why this—“I see. Once you are finished with your day, come by the library. It would be a good idea to think of alternate options in the event that we are unsuccessful.”

“You really like your fail safes, don’t you?”

“I would rather have one—”

“Multiple.”

“Yes,” she admits with a laugh, “multiple. It is far better than being unprepared.”

“I don’t disagree.” He chucks her lightly under her chin. “And I’m always up for more brainstorming.”

“Good. Then I will see you then.”

Zelda’s hardly finished speaking before he darts in to shyly press a kiss on her lips too quick for her to return. She blinks at him. “That was sudden.”

“I dunno, I just…um, I love you. I just wanted you to know.”

“I do,” she says, still somewhat confused, but adds with all the sincerity she can, “I love you, too.”

He gives her an affectionate grin and squeezes her hands. “See you later.”

Zelda takes a step back and stumbles slightly when he tightens his grip. She shakes her head in mock exasperation. “We can’t part if you refuse to let go.”

“…Yeah.” It still takes him a few more beats until he finally does, reluctance etched in his face. “Okay, see you later. Seriously, this time!”

She hops out of reach before he has the chance to change his mind. “‘Seriously,’ I will see you later.”

Throwing one last wave over her shoulder, she hurries off to the meeting she’ll almost certainly be late for.

Zelda mutters a curse under her breath as she jogs to the library, already preparing an apology for running late. Narrowing her eyes, she slows to a stop once she’s about to pass her office. The door’s wide open, and there’s a trail of dirt leading up to her desk. Dread clings to the inside of her throat, deepening as she nears the room, almost choking her when she reaches her desk. She drops her gaze to the messy note atop it, and her heart sinks when she realizes it’s from Link. He was clearly struggling to write it; it starts out legible, though rushed, and gradually becomes much less so, the final line painstakingly written by a hand that could hardly hold a quill. It takes a few attempts, but Zelda manages to decipher:

‘Don’t look for me.’

She turns back towards the open door and is hit with two realizations, one right after the other.

The trail of dirt leading up to her desk is instead leading away and around the corner to the right.

That’s not dirt.

She tears out of her office, sprinting full tilt down corridors, vaulting over flights of stairs, into an area of the castle she’s only been in once since it was built, all the way up to a nondescript door that she wouldn’t have spared a second glance at if she hadn’t been led directly to it.

Zelda turns the knob, pushes—it won’t budge.

“Link!”

No response.

She bangs her fist on the door hard enough for it to rattle. “Link! Open the door!”

Still nothing.

She backs away, squares her shoulder, and rams into the door. Again and again while yelling at Link to let her the hell in until she finally gives up and, in a fit of rage, drives her heel into the spot just underneath the doorknob. She hears what sounds like a few large objects falling to the floor as the door flies open, and she rushes in, pausing to do a quick scan of the room, or what she can see of it, anyway; the only light is from the few rays of the setting sun drifting in from the lone, small window set in the far wall.

Zelda picks her way through the detritus, squeezing past a table leaning upright against the wall, stepping over a collapsed shelf, her footsteps and shaky breath disproportionately loud in the otherwise silent room. A flicker of movement to her left catches her eye, and she cranes her head, squinting to try to make it out.

“Link?”

No response.

No matter. She’s heading over there anyway. Walking past a few more bookshelves leads her to a relatively open space, and her gaze immediately finds the source of the movement. It’s in the corner across from her and partially veiled in shadow, and—what is she even looking at? She inches closer.

An arm repeatedly folds in on itself. Another blinks in and out of existence. Another—
A small leg almost fully swallowed by a broken, vine-covered greave struggles to support the body it’s attached to—
Two faces being endlessly mashed together as if invisible hands were playing with clay—

Familiar eyes find hers from the darkness.

An emotion so foreign it can’t be described, so overwhelming it makes her forget what it’s like to feel any other way.

She sinks to the floor and buries her face in his tunic, closing her eyes when she feels his approximation of a hand gently pat her head.

She doesn’t know when she started crying, but she can’t seem to stop.

12.

Coughing up a lungful of dust, Zelda wakes up to a sore back and hips, and surroundings bathed in an eerie glow that makes her eyes water.

Where…?

She groans as she sits up, freezing when she’s hit with a realization seconds later that forces her throat to close up and her breath to come in ragged, strangled gasps—she knows exactly where she is. She casts a fleeting glance at—

Her heart pounds with deep, forceful thuds that seem to echo in her ears in the preternatural stillness of the room before a sudden wave of calm washes over her and helps her to her feet.

She has something she needs to do.

The wheels of the handcart clatter across the stone, drowning out Zelda’s intermittent grunts of exertion as she pushes it down a path she hasn’t tread in weeks. The eerie glow from before grows more brilliant the closer she gets to her destination.

Not much farther now.

Just a little more.

Almost there.

A sharp, involuntary gasp, and Zelda stops at the entrance to her courtyard—the walls are gone now, but that’s the last thing on her mind—transfixed, widened, unblinking eyes struggling to absorb what they’re seeing.

The sun and moon shine together in a patchwork sky of pale blue and inky black dotted with stars. Globules of viscous, iridescent raindrops make their slow descent to the ground as if being gently guided down by invisible hands, leaving behind almost imperceptibly small holes in the sky. They splatter like paint once they land, staining the grass in a kaleidoscope of colors before swallowing it and continuing deeper into the earth.

She closes her eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

And opens them again.

“It seems that today is the day the world ends,” Zelda tells Link, matter-of-factly. “Or, more accurately, it is the day our reality ends. …Though I suppose there is no appreciable difference.” She stares numbly at his covered remains in the cart. “Maybe it is for the best that you passed on before suffering through whatever awaits us. You have endured more than enough.”

She pushes him until they’ve reached the center of the courtyard, then detaches the shovel from the side of the cart, sets her jaw, and sinks the blade into the dirt.

It’s been a long while since she’s last dug a grave—some time when she was Sheik is all she can say for certain—but her muscle memory is still there, and it guides her limbs with mechanical precision; the monotony of the movements puts her in an almost meditative state, distracts her from dwelling on whom this grave is for.

Hmm, that’s probably deep enough.

She goes back to the cart for Link this time and gingerly scoops him into her arms, careful to keep the shroud in place, carrying him to—her hold on him tightens; unable to let go, unable to look down, she wavers at the edge of the grave.

He deserves to rest.

Burying him goes much more quickly than digging the grave itself did. Is she just more efficient? Would she lose her resolve if she hesitated? Both?

She smooths the mound of dirt once she’s done, takes one more trip to the cart for her harp, and returns to sit next to Link.

“…I am glad I can be with you, in the end.”

With nothing left to do, she plucks at the strings of her harp as she watches the rain pick up and the holes in the sky continue to widen into a faintly rippling void—

An earsplitting screech reverberates inside her head, followed by a terror that seeps into her skin, wraps around her bones, slinks into every crevice of her brain. Yet she can’t look away, splintering mind desperate to make sense of a nothingness, an emptiness so complete it’s beyond comprehension.

It blinks.