Work Text:
Love Language
And love was not what I thought it was… more like surrendering to something, and more like resting than running (And Love by Florence & The Machine)
—
Zelda received the first note from her secret admirer the day after the dreadful Champion ceremony.
While the other Champions hovered around them, Link had accepted his tunic from her, his face as blank as an empty slate. His calloused fingers had caught on the threads she had painstakingly embroidered, as he traced the crude outline of the wretched sword strapped to his back. How Zelda despised the ease in which he'd claimed it, while she struggled to unlock her latent power. She cursed the unfairness of his success and her continued failure.
Her bitterness had threatened to choke her, and she'd clasped her hands tightly in front of her until the resulting pain consumed her instead. The pads of her fingers were tender and sore, covered in tiny scabs where she'd prick herself numerous times over, frantically stitching the tunic. She'd put it off to the very last minute, and with every stitch it had felt as if she was unspooling pieces of herself until there was nothing left but an empty bobbin.
Link had pulled the tunic over his linen shirt without comment and knelt before her. As she had stared down at his bowed head and mechanically recited words memorized by rote, her mind had drifted, reflecting upon everything he was that she was not. The praises of her father and the citizens of Hyrule lifted him up, while her knees buckled beneath the weight of their disappointment. Everyone loved and adored him. The same could not be said for her. He was strong and she was weak.
Sleep had done little to ease her distress and when she awakened, all the troubles had settled back around her like a heavy cloak. Her chambermaid carried a tray containing her breakfast to the bed and Zelda sat up with a sigh. The domed silver lid reflected a haggard face she barely recognized back at her. Dark circles prominently stood out beneath tired eyes, the hollows of her cheeks more evident in her alabaster complexion.
She lifted the lid, revealing a bowl of rice pudding sitting on a plate along with a fruit salad and freshly baked bread. However, it wasn't the steam rising from the pudding that caught her eye, but the parchment tucked beneath the plate. She slipped it out and looked down at the folded piece of paper in her hands. Her name, Zelda, written in an uneven script she didn't recognize filled her vision.
Just her name. No title. The only person who called her Zelda was her father, but he wrote with the flourish of someone well taught in the art. The note could not be from him.
Unfolding it, her eyes scanned the short message and by the end her heart was making itself known in her chest.
You are a guiding light shining brightly in the darkest night. You are seen, even if you cannot see yourself.
Her eyes swam with unshed tears as she reread the profound words measuring her worth written in the unpracticed scrawl. There was no signature, and no way of knowing who had sent the much needed validation. But, it lifted her heart and gave her the strength to face another day.
—
You have the voice of a songbird—lyrical and inspiring. The words you speak may seem of little consequence to you, but for anyone fortunate enough to hear, they blend together to form a beautiful melody.
Holding yet another unsigned inspirational note that had been slipped beneath her chamber door, Zelda flung the door open. She was surprised to find her guard wasn't at his post but just down the corridor assisting her maid in collecting linens scattered over the floor. She took a step in the opposite direction, but the long hallway was deserted. Whoever had left the note must be fleet of foot or had instructed either her maid or her annoying shadow to leave it for her.
She turned back to the duo as they were rising back to their feet. Her chambermaid's cheeks were flushed, and she clutched the linens tightly to her chest.
"Thank you, Sir Link for your kind assistance," she squeaked, flicking her eyes in Zelda's direction.
Link merely nodded his head and after giving Zelda a short bow, resumed his post without uttering a word. Which wasn't a surprise since she had yet to hear a single syllable fall from his lips. Aside from the occasional grunt when he was sparring or the few times they had encountered a monster along the course of their travels he was as quiet as a mouse. Zelda had caught herself on several occasions filling the silence with endless prattling. While voicing her speculations helped her work through the issues they were experiencing with the Divine Beasts and Sheikah technology, it irked her that he had nothing to contribute to those endeavors. He was the epitome of all brawn and no brain in her opinion.
Perhaps he was too busy fulfilling his obligation of surveying their surroundings for potential threats to pay any attention to what she was saying. If that were the case, then surely, he had observed who had left her the letter.
"Did either of you see who delivered this letter just now?" She asked, looking pointedly at her unwanted knight.
He barely gave the parchment a passing glance before shaking his head.
"The one time I actually need you to do your job and you fail?" Zelda refrained from rolling her eyes and squeezed the hand not holding the letter in a tight fist. Dismissing him without a further glance she turned to her maid. "Clara?"
"My apologies, Your Highness. It's my fault Sir Link was distracted. He assisted me after I stumbled on a wrinkle in the runner. I'm afraid I didn't see anyone either."
Blowing out a frustrated huff, Zelda turned on her heel and marched back into her chambers. Clara followed meekly after and set about changing the linens on the unmade bed. While her maid puttered about the room, Zelda stood by the window and studied the note in closer detail.
The words were so romantic. It made her wonder if the court poet had sent the messages. But, his feelings for her weren't exactly a secret. She doubted he'd send them anonymously for fear someone else may steal the credit for his work.
As the days and weeks passed, she received several more correspondences. She stored them in a box she kept hidden beneath her bed. They became a comfort to her, something to read and cherish when she felt at her lowest. Almost always, they lifted her spirits enough to face the challenges of another day.
—
The silence stretching between them was so taut, Zelda was certain it would soon snap. Her empty, but profusive apologies to Link after he had bested the Yiga assassins and saved her life had seemingly fell upon deaf ears.
He'd chosen to ride beside her instead of a few paces behind. She could only assume it was in case she decided to escape him again. She imagined he could reach over swiftly enough to relieve her of the reins if she was of the mind to do so. Throughout the day she had surreptitiously glanced over at him. As usual, his impassive visage gave nothing away of what he may be truly thinking or feeling in regard to her most recent stunt.
She'd thought nothing of walking to the far side of the Kara Kara Bazaar in search of finding a electric darner to add to the compendium she was compiling in her Sheikah slate. She was a hopeless cause. A liability that had nearly seen the end to, not only her life, but his, as well.
If he wasn't as silent as the night, she'd think he was so angry, words escaped him, but as always, she had no inkling of where she stood in his eyes. She suspected he already thought little of her, and her awful transgression outside the oasis had validated her continued carelessness and failure. At least to her.
She stewed in the ire boiling within her. Fury, that, for once, was directed inward toward the root cause—her vast disappointment in herself.
"Reprimand me!" She finally shouted when she couldn't take the silence a moment longer. "Why won't you speak your mind? Surely you are angry with me for needlessly risking our lives!"
He shifted the reins he held loosely in his hand, and continued staring ahead as he mulled her outburst over in his head. When he finally spoke, she was surprised, not only that he chose to speak, but at how mellow his voice was, without an ounce of the acrimony she'd been expecting.
"Why would I be angry with you for doing something that makes you happy?"
She barked an unseemly laugh. "You can't be serious. I nearly cost us our lives."
He shifted in his saddle to fully glance at her. "It was the Yiga who were at fault, Princess, not you."
Before he fixed his gaze back upon the road ahead, she caught a flicker of compassion and understanding in his eyes that she would have easily missed anytime before that moment. She also noted for the first time that they were the exact same color as his Champion's tunic.
It made her wonder what else she may have overlooked in the last few months since he'd been promoted to be her appointed knight. Anytime they were forced into close proximity, her gaze invariably landed on the hilt of the sword beyond his shoulder, rather than his face. That realization made her feel even more worse. How could she hold his silence against him when she had never bothered to see him at all?
Even in the dry heat of the Gerudo Canyon Pass her cheeks burned with shame, and for once words failed her. There were none she could speak that would make up for that ignoble fact.
—
The balance in their relationship shifted after that fateful day. Zelda was surprised at how easily they'd fallen into what she tentatively called a friendship. She didn't mind Link's companionship now that the ice had been broken.
He often trailed after her, carrying a stack of books for her, while she perused the library shelves and absentmindedly added books to the growing pile in his arms. Now that she was more observant, she learned he'd make a small sound if he found a particular title of interest. He'd huff through his nose if he thought the book wouldn't warrant further inspection, or hum softly if he agreed with her choice. Almost always, his assessment was correct. Something warm had taken root within her with that discovery, for it meant he actively heard everything she said, no matter how inconsequential.
There was much more to him, hidden away beneath the surface. She paid better attention and he spoke when the situation warranted more explanation than a mere look could provide. But he was very adept at communicating without the need of words, unlike herself.
Earlier that day he'd accompanied her outside the castle to gather more samples for her compendium. She'd grown melancholy when she'd found the lone silent princess, thriving among the field of wildflowers. His calm presence at her side as she mused over her struggles to cultivate the same flower domestically had been a comfort to her. But it was the look of revulsion on Link's face when she'd found a hot-footed frog and teased him with it that had truly made the excursion memorable. It further proved he wasn't the mindless automaton she had once surmised him to be.
Unfortunately, it had begun to rain and they were forced to cut the excursion short. They were now ensconced in chairs at a table in the library. Link studied a book on strategic defense while she attempted to paint a water color likeness from the silent princess image she'd taken with her slate.
She turned her sketchbook toward him. "Well? What do you think?"
He looked up from his book to study the picture before giving her an affirming nod. Lips thinning, Zelda scowled back at him in return.
"You've approved every one I've shown you thus far!" She waved her hand over her previous failed attempts scattered on the table between them. "This must be perfect for my compendium. Anything less will be unacceptable."
"They all looked perfect to me," he said, giving her a half smile.
"Clearly that discerning eye of yours doesn't extend to critiquing art," she muttered, ripping off the sheet and adding it to the other discarded pages.
Picking up the rejected pieces, he shuffled through them with rough hands that were surprisingly gentle, handling the pages with care. As if they were worthy of such attention.
"Trust me, they are amateurish at best. Would you please throw them out for me?"
He shrugged, and arranged the parchments into a neat stack before placing the pile inside the front jacket of his book.
—
She should have known better than to think since she had overcome her prejudice toward Link the tide would suddenly turn in her favor. How quickly a few harshly spoken words from her father dashed any progress she'd made boosting her confidence. He left her standing on the parapet in stunned silence, his disparaging words settling around her shoulders like a funeral shroud. That this most recent scathing reprimand had occurred in front of Link, was mortifying. For his part, he remained kneeling, head bowed until her father had stormed past and disappeared into the depths of the castle.
But when Link rose to look at her, the fury she saw flicker in his eyes on her behalf only made things worse. Her own anger flared, hotter than the burning sun, and she lashed out, barely registering how her voice cracked.
"You needn't stand there pitying me! All you had to do was pull a silly sword from a stone!" She was immediately sorry for her outburst, but she couldn't stop herself from barreling ahead. "It isn't fair that Hylia awarded you with a physical representation of your worth, while I continue to languish with nothing to show for all my hard work!"
He didn't flinch at her words or attempt to interrupt her with any kind of rebuttal. Instead, he waited for her to finish spewing everything she'd been keeping pent up inside. She hated how calm he was, standing strong in the buffeting winds of her storm, his lips pressed together in a thin line. It only proved how better prepared he was to face what lay ahead of them, while she continued to flounder in a sea of fear and doubt.
"Go ahead and say it!" she spat, sucking in a ragged breath. "I'm worthless and you've been chained to me. I'm going to drag you down in the undertow of my failure!"
How she wished a black hole would appear and swallow her whole so she wouldn't have to stand there a moment longer. The best she could do was spin on her heel and run to the sanctuary of her study. Once the door slammed closed behind her, shutting out the harsh reminder of everything she wasn't, she crumpled to the floor and wept.
She didn't know how long she cried before curling up in the middle of the floor and drifting to sleep. It was nearly dusk when she awakened from her slumber. The light in the room had grown dim and golden. What good was crying? She had long since abandoned the idea of weeping bringing her any kind of catharsis. The only hope of her finding peace lay in a power that refused to reveal itself to her.
If she was to prove to her father that she was trying her best, she would have to prepare for her evening prayers. To miss even one would only give him further proof that she wasn't trying hard enough. Her stiff limbs protested as she uncurled herself from a tight huddle. Blinking, her eyes felt as if they'd been lacerated by tiny shards of glass and the salty tracks down her cheeks were further evidence of her tears.
Rising shakily to her feet, something sitting in the shadows on her desk caught her attention. Using a taper to light a nearby lamp, she nearly cried out when the glow illuminated a small bouquet of delicate origami flowers. Upon closer inspection she realized they had been folded out of her sketches of the silent princess.
Beneath lay a folded note bearing only her name in the same messy scrawl of all the others. But she cared little for the refinement of the script, as the written words and the message they delivered was all that truly mattered to her. Zelda pulled it out and opened it with trembling fingers.
Self-worth isn't measured by accumulated success, but in the example set for others. Your grace and selfless perseverance despite continued adversity deserves to be lauded.
Her pulse drummed in her ears as she ran fingertips, now healed from the task of stitching a tunic for a boy she thought she despised, over the delicate petals of the flowers. They'd been artfully crafted from the discarded pieces of her efforts she'd deemed unworthy to commit to her journal.
The notes and this gift spoke of someone who saw her as more than a princess and a failing savior for Hyrule, but as a person, in need of gentle kindness. She swallowed the lump forming with the thought that swiftly followed. They saw and realized something even she had not until this very moment—that she needed to be loved.
Pressing the note tightly to her chest, Zelda drew a steadying breath and opened her study door. He stood at his usual post, silent and sure, hands clasped tightly behind his teal tunic, as he waited for her with endless patience and compassion.