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It was just two words. It should have been easy. It should have been natural. They should have been words he’d said hundreds of times already. But even with the words beating their wings against the inside of his skull, his throat felt tight, his lungs refused to fill, his tongue laid in his mouth like a creature wallowing in mud on a hot day. He pushed the traitorous muscle up against his hard palette, behind his teeth. He could do this. He just needed to open his lips and let the words escape.
The princess had turned to look at him. Now was the moment.
He nodded.
No! No, ugh! That wasn't—
But she had already turned to watch the trail, and the moment was lost.
Link had been trying to say "Yes, Princess." since they left the castle three days ago. It shouldn't be hard; he nodded at her all the time, like just now when she'd suggested they stop for a slightly early lunch at the stables before continuing. He'd chosen those words to focus on entirely because there would be so many opportunities for him to use them. But then he just didn’t.
He'd told himself it was mission critical that he talk to her. What if there was an emergency? If he choked up like this when the only pressure was inside his head, building and building as the words rattled around in there… well, what if it happened when he absolutely needed to communicate? It was just like combat drills, blocking over and over until it was second nature when it mattered. He just needed to practice low-stakes words now so he’d be ready when he needed them. He wasn’t mute, not really. He could do this.
He couldn’t do this.
His sister had told him to talk about horses because he’d had a phase where he talked about nothing else so it should be easy. He had watched the princess in the saddle and thought maybe he could help her be a better rider. But that was too many words and he couldn’t prepare them all in advance because she would have questions. He wasn’t ready.
So he’d chosen two words. Two words that were tumbling around his brain, waiting for their final escape. Waiting to cascade from lips too long closed. He licked his lips, maybe that would help. Opened his mouth a little, closed it, like a warm up. He’d loosen his jaw a little with lunch. He could to this.
Really, “Yes, Princess” wasn’t that different than “Yes, sir” and he’d said that many a time. It wasn’t like it was hard to agree with her. Given his taciturn nature, she’d switched to questions that could be answered without words. He hadn’t missed that she knew him well enough to make sure the answer would usually be yes.
In the stable yard, she handed him her reins and asked if he wanted the lunch special as she turned to talk to the stable master. The words, the words. They thudded behind his eyes, making an ache. He parted his lips--
Then nodded.
She smiled and turned, missing the way he bit his lips, trying to punish himself as recriminations swirled around in the empty cavern of his mind with two lonely words, lying in the dirt, gasping and trapped forever with no hope of escape. He watched her smile at the stable master.
He berated himself. It may have made sense to stay silent around others, let them see the sword and draw their own conclusions. Let them trust the silent hero. But when had this mask become a crutch? He shouldn’t need it. Not with her. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. How hard could it possibly be to say two words to her? They meant the same things as his nods. He was being embarrassingly childish, and he was starting to notice that letting the princess draw her own conclusions had been a mistake. She needed data. What kind of hero was he, letting her be hurt by his silence? Why couldn’t he just say the words?
He was starting to notice a lot of things about the princess. The way her face lit up when she talked about plants and animals and technology. The way her hair gleamed in the sunlight. The way her green eyes shone with curiosity. He wondered, sometimes, if the reason her prayers didn’t work was that they kept making her do it on stone, when she clearly needed a connection to green and growing and moving. Wasn’t it an act of prayer to care about habitats and the gifts of this land and the mysteries ancestors had left behind? Was the moss on the stone simply too thin to transmit her words to the world and to the goddesses ears? Surely the trees would echo to the skies how worthy she is if only she’d been allowed to speak to them instead of to unfeeling stone.
He was afraid if he didn’t let out the two words he’d chosen, maybe other words might escape instead. Words that might contradict what the priestesses taught.
Words that might tell her how beautiful she had looked yesterday in the late afternoon light with a notebook in her hand, sketching a plant that had caught her eye. Words that told her how much he’d been jealous of a guardian leg as she’d carefully manipulated the joints until they moved smoothly. He’d watched her gentle hands and felt an ache.
He ruminated through lunch, pretending each bite was a warm up. The words fluttered to life, clustering near his throat. He didn’t need other words, these two were enough. He would let them free and like uncorking a bottle the rest could flow. It was so simple. He was ready.
She looked down at his empty plate and asked if he was ready to move on.
… and he nodded.