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The view was too beautiful to be sad.
Somehow, the emotion couldn't be contained by blushing skies and laughing fields. Sadness burned her eyes and salted her cheeks.
“I'm not the same person.” Zelda whispered to the brunette boy beside her, beat up and bruised. His eyes carried waves of emotion. She couldn't see them. She focused on the fields of dusty green.
“That's alright,” his voice was a half laugh, the kind that was reserved for old and weathered souls. It didn't fit in her ears right, much less his lips, “I don't think I am either.”
Zelda willed herself to see the fuzz of his hair behind the shield of her lashes.
She rubbed her fingers along her knuckles. “I want to get to know you again.”
The boy—Link—turned his face towards her. The tides of his gaze pulled her in willingly. Zelda smiled despite herself, a small broken thing. “You want to know me too?”
Something in his eyes flared. “If you'll let me.”
“What if you don't… What if we're never the same?”
The spark withered beneath her question as if choked by a sudden wind. Link considered his words for a long time.
“We don't have to be,” he said finally. “We won't be. We'll be different. But ‘different’ doesn't mean ‘unhappy’. I don't care anyways. I want to get to know you, whoever you are. If you'll let me.”
The feeling of returning to something unfamiliar scared them both, Zelda was certain of that. But both of them were willing.
Change was terrifying. Destiny choked like a crown of thorns. Zelda was cast onto them, leaving her friend to scramble through trials and cut his hands on promise.
If his perseverance showed her anything it was that he was stubborn (she knew that already). It also showed that he was deliberate. Not devoted. The word sounded wrong. Nothing had to be set aside for her, just shared.
Shared time, shared space, shared words, no matter how sparse.
Something stronger than fate held them together, want. A mutual agreement to stay at the others side.
Slowly, Zelda held out her hand to him. She felt the weight of heavy silk on her arms, nearly dragging her down like chains. An open palm.
“Hi.” She started. Her voice was flat to her own ears. “I'm Zelda. Nice to meet you…?” She dragged on deliberately.
“Link.” He filled in her silence after a beat, clasping his calloused hand in hers. “Y'know, the boy who tried to stomach too many slices of pumpkin pie in one sitting, got sicker than sick, nearly flunked knighthood altogether.”
Flunking anything at the age of six was quite unheard of. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Over pie?”
“You should've seen it.”
“I did. I was the one who sat on the floor,” she spoke slowly as if the memory were unfolding in front of her, “and made up stories—”
“—so I could sleep.” Link finished for her. She'd nearly forgotten how bright his eyes could get, even on cloudy evenings... He smiled a smile that captivated stars.
Zelda remembered it. She hadn't known Link very well at the time, she was only so young, but she'd never forget how distant he was, how quiet. He had no parents, so all of Skyloft became parents to him. There was something about how he carried himself that made her curious, like he would climb buildings without ladders just to appreciate the view.
He'd fall asleep outside, swarmed by grass and insects, a natural bed of wildflowers and packed dirt, his arms a pillow. Any adult nearby would usher him inside and coax him to bed. He didn't need much convincing.
His tiny hands scooped up any bugs he could find, leading them away from heavy footsteps. Zelda found herself watching him often. Whenever he caught her, he'd just stare back. And so, their silent contests began. He was weirdly good at not blinking. Eating an abnormal amount of pie, however? Not so much.
That night, between his unbearable bellyache and silent tears, they became friends.
Zelda was able to read him easily when he was close enough. Whatever Link said was… Mostly incomprehensible, but he made her laugh despite his discomfort.
Even in long stretches of silence when Zelda nearly ran all of her ideas thin (a first for her. It was uncommon for her to run out of something to say) and she was certain Link was asleep, she'd look up only to be met with blue eyes that appeared too big for his face, arms cradling his stomach as if to garner sympathy from her as he peered over the mattress to stare wordlessly.
It seemed to work. She wove more stories for him. Link snored when he slept.
Zelda was relieved as she allowed the warmth of the memory to seep into her skin.
She remembered.
She remembered in full.
Being any part of the goddess scared her. It made her question how much of a human she was and how much of her thoughts, dreams, hopes and motivations had been her own. She never felt so heavy and burdened. Her heart nearly collapsed under the pressure.
But she knew that if anyone understood that weight, it was Link. They were forged into this together. They'd help one another get out.
She wasn't even looking for Zelda at this point. Just a person beneath the sheet of divinity.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Link whispered in the silence as he watched wind dance along tall grass, giving her hand a soft shake.
Her eyes were like stones, dragging themselves up the curved slope of his pointed nose, cupped by the overcasting light of dawn. Scars carved canyons through his skin.
“Likewise.” Zelda nodded. She hadn't let go. He hadn't either. Mutual comfort was rekindled in the blood swarming beneath their skin and the pressure of rough hands.
They were back where they started, the genesis of their friendship.
It can't be too bad, Zelda thought to herself, seeing no use in blinking back the tears that rolled down her dirt smeared cheeks. I get to fall in love all over again.