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Princess Zelda couldn’t sleep.
Link realized it on their way back to Hateno, on the fifth night they set camp. He had his suspicions; the Princess was always awake when he fell asleep, was always awake when he woke up. And when he chose to forgo sleep to observe, she took to her mat, turned her back to him, and lied there, too still that it reminded Link of a statue. It was enough for him to confirm it.
Princess Zelda couldn’t sleep, and she was hiding it from him.
It was unfortunate for the Princess that Link observed her far more than what was deemed to be appropriate. He observed her enough to know how she moved in her sleep, how her soft murmurings rang when she reached the thick of it, how she curled up on herself upon feeling the wind’s chill, and how she sprawled as if welcoming the warmer winds.
This was not her usual slumber. Another change to add to the list he noted on ever since freeing her from the Draconification; side by side to the wide-eyed looks she cast to the horizon, to how she barely breathed in those instances, to how his calls to her didn’t seem to reach. It was in those instances that Link put his hand on the Princess’s shoulder, turned her sights toward him, and locked her eyes with his own until her thoughts returned to the present, to him.
It was another change, this. It required him a remedy, and he would put his all into finding it.
It was on the Princess’s request that they took the slower route to Hateno. She wanted to readjust, take in her surroundings now that she was walking on the surface she could only gaze at from above. Link obliged her, of course, and he took the opportunity to hunt for ingredients a recipe he learned from a villager required. It always managed to give him a good night’s sleep and had him waking up with his energy fully replenished.
The cooking process seemed to have interested the Princess, at the very least. She peered over his shoulder to get a closer look, taking in the scent rising up as the soup boiled with a pleased smile. “It smells amazing, Link.”
“It will help you sleep,” he said, finally broaching the subject.
The Princess’s smile faltered, her expression growing sheepish. She took a step back, and Link found himself missing the warmth of her presence. “So you’ve noticed.”
He nodded and turned back to the soup, focusing to bring it to the right consistency.
The Princess’s voice rose up with insistence, “You don’t have to trouble yourself. I’m sure it will come to pass some day.”
“It’s no trouble,” Link returned. “I want to help you.”
“Link…” she uttered, like his name unintentionally slipped from her lips, so softly it almost had him looking back, but the soup needed to be perfect for her.
It did turn out to be perfect, and the Princess praised it to the skies, but it didn’t manage to relax her as it did him. It didn’t have her fighting against her eyelids the way he did.
“You did your best,” she said, “The same stimuli could induce different response in people. Some, like me in this situation, could be resistant to the chemicals present in the soup.”
“We’ll try another way, then,” Link declared, struggling to say the words clearly instead of slurred.
It was on the image of the Princess, lit by the bright moon and the embering campfire, gentleness in her smile and eyes as she said, “As you wish, Link,” that Link lost the battle, his eyes drawing shut.
His second attempt employed the use of the many books his house’s small library had. He had collected the most of them, and the Princess’s picks made up the recent additions.
It was a book of hers that he chose the second night after they reached Hateno.
“You’re going to read for me?” Princess Zelda asked. “Like a bedtime story?”
Link shrugged. “If it helps.”
They both settled in their places, the Princess bundled up on her bed, and Link on a chair by her side.
As a “bedtime story”, Origins of Hyrulean Creatures wasn’t the best example, but the Princess appeared to find interest in it regardless, perking up at the mention of a particular creature or a dwelling, interrupting him to elaborate beyond the book’s scope. Still, she barely looked drowsy, let alone close to sleep.
It repeated in the following nights. Princess Zelda found delight in whatever book he picked, her commentary always interleaving his narration. It made for a lovely time, yes, but a lovely time wasn’t his goal.
He picked something from his own disorganized collection. A book with poor binding, its fragile pages jutting out even when it was closed. It was simply titled Record of Masks. It was fortunate his extensive lessons before coming to Hyrule’s service included the knowledge of old Hylian, because the book was fully written in it. Only the title written on the cover was an outlier. The work of the odd collector he purchased it from, perhaps?
He discovered the book’s contents as he read them to the Princess. And, as far as records went, it was an odd one. It told everything from the narrator’s eyes, detailing masks of designated purposes and their effects on the wearer. It told vividly about the effects of a particular few, how they went beyond bestowing an ability, transforming the wearer into another being—a Deku, a Zora, a Goron, and another incomprehensible thing. “It hurt at first, the transformation. But I became accustomed to another’s form with frequency. It felt easy, natural, so much so that returning to my own form felt… strange.”
Link looked up to the Princess upon ending that passage, finding her usual excitement replaced by contemplation. “Do you think this account is real?”
The book was old, and it wasn’t clear who the narrator was or what era they belonged to. It could just be a tale to tell by campfire. Or it could be real, and the narrator knew something about what the Princess felt. “I’m not sure, but maybe you can make your own account and compare.”
The Princess looked at him for a long while, and it had Link thinking he said the wrong thing, only for the Princess to break into a small smile. “I think I can do that.”
He didn’t read for the Princess in the next nights. She took into writing on her desk, alternating between furious scribbling and pausing.
She still wasn’t able to sleep, but the instances he felt like he could lose her grew less in frequency.
“Dueling?” Princess Zelda repeated, utterly bewildered.
Link nodded, gesturing at the wall of weapons he kept on display for her to choose from.
He had a good feeling about this one. Nothing made the body long for slumber like a warm bath after a day of fighting, after all.
The Princess studied the wall for a few beats before settling upon a pair of long daggers. The sight of them in the Princess’s hold invoked a memory—one that carried the image of her practicing the wielding of similar daggers under Urbosa’s stern directions. While she couldn’t be called a master of the art, she at least reached an adequate level.
A level she showed now, facing off against him.
“Stop being so blindly fast,” she said, taking a moment’s rest after executing a beautiful but fruitless maneuver that he evaded.
Link waited an additional moment before evading another strike of hers.
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
Beyond her frustration, though, there was joy in her. She requested round after round of him, even as he easily took victory in each one.
A drop of sweat slid down, from her temple to the angle of her jaw, veering off with a shift of stance to her throat. She jumped to a strike, then, and she almost managed to land it on him in that moment of distraction.
“Do you yield?” he asked at the end of it, reaching his hand for her to grasp.
“For now,” was her heaving response, taking his hand and getting up from her sprawl.
It was well into the night by the time the Princess was on her bed again, refreshed from the bath he drew her. Her eyes were fluttering shut, but she always opened them wide after, as if startled from a nightmare.
It didn’t work.
The mind was a powerful thing, one of the book Princess Zelda collected said. It detailed more about the concept, how people could will themselves into anything, even what could be seen as impossible.
Princess Zelda’s will was strong. The strongest Link ever knew. Could it be that the reason she couldn’t sleep was because she willed herself not to?
He asked her this in the night, after witnessing her eyes snapping open yet again. Her eyes widened even more at the question, seemingly shocked at the very possibility.
“What do you think could be the reason?” he pressed on.
“Perhaps it has to do with my former state as a Dragon. I didn’t need sleep back then. I just flew on and on…” She smiled then, and it was hallow, sardonic. “I’d fall if I slept, anyway, wouldn’t I?”
“You won’t fall,” Link said, the words falling out before he could think twice about them. He repeated them upon seeing the Princess’s wondrous expression, forming them into a vow, “You won’t fall, Zelda. I’ll be there to catch you.”
She laughed, a glimmer of tears in her eyes sparkling under the light of the lantern hung outside the room. “You always do.”
The fluttering of her eyes slowed after, the rhythm of her breathing growing steadier, gentler. He sang her a song as he accompanied her, the same one he did when she was a Dragon. She reached a hand for him, and he held it like a treasure.
Princess Zelda finally slept.