Work Text:
In the early morning in a little house in Hateno Village, there is a routine. One that neither Zelda nor Link realize consciously, but their bodies know. The bodies that are magnets of fate, tangled into their limbs.
It goes a little something like this:
Zelda’s body is soft and golden in the light, her hair floating soundly around her. She stirs simply, her mind rising beyond the settled nightmares that float in her mind. Her body rises a bit, stretching towards the sun, a pull of a magnet. The drilling of the early morning prayers that her father would grind into her, stirring in the young girl’s mind. Her face twitches, just a bit.
Link and Zelda always start on separate sides, neither acknowledging the reach that they both wanted, the itch in their bodies to touch—the years of professionalism layered into their conscious skin. They silently split the bed end to end. Even with the gap between them—which Zelda would laugh at, that her father would demand at least a pillow—the presence of a person was enough.
Zelda’s face twitches, her sleep interrupted by her body’s pull to awaken, to rise with Hylia’s touch. Her body tenses, just a bit, small ridges on her back poking up, a rise in the curl of her spine. Her body pulls her to start the day, rising to acknowledge her fate.
Link’s body reaches, rough, patchy skin meeting Zelda’s soft. A stark contrast between them, the muddled, scarred skin of the hero reaching and softening towards his pricnesses—soft and unblemished.
He was more than semi-conscious at this point, blue eyes blinking sleepily, feverishly on Zelda’s tense body. In the shroud of her blond hair and her white nightdress, Hylia touched by the soft sun, and he stares at her, yearns for her.
Link’s blurry mind reaches out to Zelda, magnets clicking them together. The bed dips, just a bit, as she falls into his arms. Her face folds into his scarred chest, a tuck away from the bright light that tempted her body, but not her mind. Their bodies tangle together into one, a steady presence that offered each other the other one’s half, heartbeats mulling into each other. Forever prophesied, forever bonded through time—in these steady mornings, they are each other.
Dawn light filters into the room, casting a soft glow around the loft. They have hours before they rise, but for right now, they doze in the comfort of each other’s arms. In the softness of the shadowed rises, they sleep, tangled limbs askew around the bed.
(In a bit, they will rise, Zelda’s eyes awakening to Link’s chest, and his arms around her back, seeing Link sleep softly. She will curl her fingers into his hair, caressing it softly and thoroughly, because Hylia knows he won’t. Her feet will tiptoe down into the ground floor, and Link’s will follow. Only the cucco’s call will split their morning—as the rise of oatmeal rises into the day with the sun.)