Work Text:
Link was already in the bedchambers when Zelda arrived, sitting near the fire with the blankets folded neatly beside him. The room smelled faintly of cedar and lavender, the last flickers of daylight fading behind the drawn curtains.
Zelda surveyed the room and then gave him a fixed look. A 'you're in trouble' look. "You dismissed my lady's maids again?"
Link didn’t even try to look guilty. “I did.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “That is a very coveted position. They will complain soon of having nothing to do.”
He stepped closer, voice low and easy. “Then I’ll invent work for them.”
“That is not how staffing works.”
"Zelda," he rumbled, purposefully making his voice low and letting his Ordonian accent come through in a way that he knew that she loved. "I am but a possessive man who loves his wife very much."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Very well then. You may proceed."
He took her hand and kissed it delicately, before slipping behind her to unfasten the small hooks at the back of her gown. He worked deliberately, unfastening each one with patience, knuckles brushing warm through the fabric as he steadied her automatically when she shifted her weight.
The heavy outer layers loosened first. He guided them down her arms instead of pulling, gathering the folds so they wouldn’t drag or catch. When the gown opened around her middle, he paused, hand settling warm and wide against the swell of her belly, low and heavy now. He could feel how far the baby had dropped, ready for the coming days. His thumb traced light circles over the fabric, and he bent to press a soft, careful kiss against the curve.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice low. “All of you.”
She let out a quiet breath, her hand resting over his.
He eased the rest of the gown down, crouching slightly so the hem cleared her feet, setting it neatly across a chair without looking. One hand stayed lightly at her elbow to keep her steady.
The laces and ties of her shift came next. He loosened them gently, freed her sleeves slowly, keeping his touch warm, steady, familiar.
When she was finally freed from the trappings of her day clothes, he unfolded her nightdress, a lovely loose silky thing that was lightweight for when she overheated in the night. "Arms," he said softly.
She lifted them over her shoulders. He guided the nightdress down, smoothing it across her back and sides, making sure nothing twisted beneath her belly. His palms lingered just long enough to check, to steady, to remind her she was cared for.
"Now sit," he said, nodding toward the cushioned bench near the fire.
She lowered herself slowly, one hand braced on the cushion. He could see the relief in her shoulders once her weight left her feet.
Link disappeared briefly to the hearth and returned with a folded cloth wrapped around a warm stone. He tested it against his wrist before kneeling in front of her.
“Feet,” he said gently.
She lifted one, resting it across his thigh without looking. He unfastened her shoe, then her stocking, careful not to tug. The warmth of the compress seeped into her skin, and she let out a quiet, involuntary breath.
“Too hot?” he asked.
“No. Good.”
He worked slowly, thumbs tracing the arches and balls of her feet, easing tension instead of digging. The warmth, the rhythm, the care- nothing rushed, nothing showy. Just love made practical.
Moving to her other foot, he repeated the slow motions, stealing brief glances at the curve of her low, pregnant belly. He bent, pressing another soft kiss just above her hip. “I love this. I love you,” he murmured.
He straightened, brushing his hands together. “Are you ready for bed now?”
Zelda shook her head slightly, hair falling over her shoulder slightly. "No, I think I want to get some knitting done first to unwind. Can you help me get up?"
He shook his head, rising to retrieve her basket of yarn and needles. “No need,” he said, setting it carefully beside her. “You’ve earned this quiet time.”
Zelda picked up the soft wool, beginning to work. She was making socks- his heart swelled every time that he looked at her work, they were just so tiny and small. He could scarcely believe that any day now, they'd have a person small enough to fit into them.
“Do you want me to read while you work?” he asked, sitting beside her on the cushions.
“Yes, please,” she murmured.
He stood up again and picked up the latest book they had been reading- some new research about crop rotation. Even in her relaxing downtime, Zelda's mind was always on her kingdom.
"Fields left fallow for a single season show measurable recovery in nitrogen retention..." he started.
Needles clicked. The fire popped. His voice rang steady. This was enough to bring yawns even to his mouth, hopefully it was enough for Zelda to fall asleep deeply enough that any movement from their daughter wouldn't wake her.
There was a pause in Zelda's knitting, and Link paused, his mouth curving slightly. “Finally ready for bed?” he asked, already lowering the book.
She didn’t answer right away.
Then, very calmly, “Link.”
Something in his chest tightened. He set the book aside fully now. “Yeah?”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. Then to the floor. Then back to him, steady and composed in a way that felt… wrong.
“I believe my water has broken.”
For half a second, his brain simply refused the sentence.
Then he was on his feet so fast the chair scraped harshly across the stone.
"Okay- okay- are you hurting? Are you contracting? Dizzy? Bleeding?"
"I am all right," she quickly reassured him.
He searched her face anyway. Her color. Her breathing. The set of her shoulders. His gaze dropped to her belly, low and heavy and suddenly terrifying in its importance.
This was it.
This was the moment he had waited for and dreaded in equal measure.
Their daughter was coming.
And beneath the surge of awe- sharp, bright, overwhelming- was the other truth he could never quite silence. People died doing this. Good pregnancies still ended badly. Midwives could be perfect. Preparations could be flawless. And still-
He reached for her hands, gripping them tight. “You feel normal? No faintness? No sharp pain? Tell me if anything feels wrong. Zelda, I need you to tell me if anything feels wrong.”
“Link,” she said.
He looked up immediately.
“How are you so calm?” he blurted, voice cracking despite himself. “You should be- I mean, this is- are you scared? You can be scared. I’m scared.”
Her expression softened.
“Only one of us is allowed to panic at a time,” she said quietly. “It is your turn. I will have mine later.”
The words landed in his chest like something solid. Like something he could stand on.
He swallowed hard. Nodded once.
Then he leaned forward and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to breathe her in.
“I’m getting the midwife,” he said. "I'll be as swift as I can. Do not give birth until we return."
"Do not worry. These things tend to take some time, especially for the first."
He reached for her hands- gave them a reassuring squeeze- and then he was off.
He hadn't run this swiftly since the twilight invasion. The corridors flew past in a blur of torchlight and stone, and he had to be careful not to trip on the carpet.
Please, he prayed to Hylia, as he rounded corners and went down staircases. Please, keep them safe.
According to Zelda, descendants of Hylia's line were blessed with safe births. In all the known history of the royal line, and all the legends, the firstborn is always a girl, who has never died during birth, and it is rare for the mother to die.
The risk always remains, however.
Midwife. Midwife. Midwife. That's all he should focus on right now.
He reached her door and didn’t bother knocking properly- just slammed his fist against the wood.
“Open- please- open.”
The door yanked open almost immediately.
The midwife stood there already half-dressed for the night, sleeves rolled, hair braided back tight. Her eyes sharpened the second she saw his face.
“My Prince.”
"Zelda," he said, breathless. "Her water broke."
She was moving before he finished speaking, turning back into the room, grabbing a satchel from the table, already checking inside it by habit.
“When?” she asked, calm, clipped.
“Just now. I think. She- she was sitting. Knitting. Then she stopped and-”
“Is she contracting?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Pain? Pressure? Back labor? Tightening across the belly?”
“I don’t know,” he said again, voice cracking this time. “She said she was fine. She looked fine. She was calm. Too calm.”
“Good,” the midwife said, tying off the satchel. “Calm is good.”
She stepped past him into the corridor, already moving at a fast, purposeful walk.
“How far apart are contractions?” she asked.
“I don’t know if she’s having them yet.”
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Baby moving today?”
"Yes- less than in the past- but Zelda said that's just because she doesn't have enough space."
"She is correct."
They were hurrying up the stairs now. Not running- he has to force himself to not run up the stairs.
"Was the fluid clear?"
"What? I- I didn't- I don't know. I didn't look, I just-"
“That’s all right,” she said, cutting him off gently. “You did exactly what you should do. You came for me.”
They reached the top of the stairs. She adjusted her grip on the satchel.
"You rush ahead," she said to him. "I will join as fast as I can. Watch for her contractions and the time between them."
He nodded once- sharp, grateful, terrified.
Then he turned and ran.
Faster this time.
Every step was a prayer.
The bedchamber door flew open hard enough to strike the wall.
Zelda was sitting on the bed. Her face was calm, but pale. He rushed to her side.
"Is everything still okay?" he checked frantically. He'd leave more specific questions for the midwife once she caught up, but he needed her to be okay right now. His hands were hovering, unsure whether to hold her hands or her shoulder.
"I'm managing," she said, taking his hand in her own and squeezing lightly. "I think the early contractions are starting, but I want to check with the midwife to be certain."
His chest tightened. "Anything- anything- I can do for you?"
She nodded. "Help me change into a clean nightdress? This one is soaked."
"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He went over to her closet in big, long strides. Why were there so many clothes, and why couldn't he find what he was looking for? Because he was panicking, that was why.
He forced himself to slow down, dragging a steadying breath into his lungs. He still couldn't find a damn nightdress, but he found a shift that was comfortable and soft and would fit.
He came back to her quickly, kneeling in front of her.
“Okay,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Okay. We’ve got this.”
He set the clean shift beside her on the bed and reached for the hem of the soaked nightdress, hands careful but quick.
“Lean on me,” he said.
She rested a hand on his shoulder and lifted her arms. The wet fabric clung as he worked it up and off, heavy and cold. He dropped it to the floor without looking at it again.
“Sorry,” he muttered automatically, even though he wasn’t sure what for- the mess, the rush, the way his hands were shaking.
He shook out the shift once and gathered the neckline open for her.
“Arms.”
She raised them. He guided the shift down over her head, easing it over her shoulders, then carefully pulling it down over the curve of her belly, making sure it sat loose and didn’t catch anywhere.
He smoothed the fabric once at her sides, then pulled his hands back like he’d just remembered himself.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, voice steady. “Thank you.”
A pause.
Then her breath caught- not sharp, not panicked, just… tight.
His head snapped up. “That one?”
“I think so,” she said, focusing somewhere past him. “Low. Like pressure. And tightening.”
He nodded quickly, already counting without meaning to, eyes flicking to the hearth clock and back to her face.
“Okay. Okay. Just breathe,” he said, like he had any right to be giving instructions.
He shifted closer, one hand hovering near her knee before settling there, grounding himself as much as her.
“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Midwife’s coming. You’re doing good.”
She let out a slow breath as the pressure eased.
“Link.”
“Yeah?” He was already leaning closer.
“Can you braid my hair back?” she asked. “I don’t want it in the way.”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He moved behind her onto the bed, gathering the long fall of her hair carefully, like it was something fragile. His fingers moved slower now, more deliberate, separating sections, smoothing them down before crossing them over each other. Something he could do. Something useful. Something that didn’t feel like waiting.
“You’re okay?” he asked quietly, almost to her shoulder instead of to her face.
“I am,” she said. “Just… uncomfortable.”
He was tying her hair off with ribbon just as the door opened.
The midwife stepped in and briskly went over to Zelda's side, then reached for her wrist.
“When did your waters break, Your Majesty?” she asked, already setting her bag down and reaching for Zelda’s wrist.
“About fifteen minutes ago,” Zelda said.
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Baby moving today?”
“Yes. Less than usual.”
“That can happen after membranes rupture.” Her fingers stayed steady at Zelda’s pulse. “Contractions?”
"I- I think so? It feels like cramping, but it comes in short bursts."
"That sounds like early labor contractions to me. Alert us when the next one starts so we can start timing them."
The midwife asked a flurry of other questions- all that Link could do was uselessly hold Zelda's hand and stroke her arm reassuringly. If all went well, he would be doing a lot of that for the coming hours.
"I need to check how dilated you are," the midwife announced. She glanced at Link. "Do you wish for me to send him out?"
Zelda shook her head frantically. "No, I would very much like him by my side throughout all of this."
The midwife gave a small nod, her hands deft and professional as she guided Zelda into position on the bed.
“Alright, then,” she said softly, keeping her voice low and calm. “We’ll do this quickly and gently.”
Link stayed close, gripping Zelda’s hand, brushing his thumb across hers in steady, slow circles. Zelda’s other hand pressed lightly to her forehead as the midwife worked, murmuring quiet instructions to help her relax her shoulders and breathe through the stretch.
After a moment, the midwife withdrew her hands and looked up. “You’re already at three centimeters,” she said, a faint smile touching her lips. “Progressing well. Everything is as it should be.”
Zelda let out a shaky breath, half relief, half disbelief. “Three? Already?”
“Early labor moves at its own pace,” the midwife reassured her. “You’re doing beautifully. Keep breathing, keep focused, and let the contractions do the work.”
She straightened, eyes flicking toward Link. “Your Highness,” she said, already turning back to Zelda as she spoke, “go alert a servant. We’ll need linens- as many clean ones as they can gather. And have them start boiling water. Plenty of it. Also bring more candles. And towels. And something for her to drink- broth if the kitchens still have it warm.”
Link nodded immediately. He liked having things to do.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing Zelda’s hand once.
“I know,” she said, voice steady, even as her fingers tightened around his.
He slipped from the room at a near run, calling for the nearest night servant the moment he hit the corridor, voice low but urgent, repeating the midwife’s list twice to make sure nothing was missed.
He slipped back in. Even in the few minutes that he had been gone, Zelda looked sweatier now. He crossed the room to hold her hand, and it was positively damp. She gripped it tightly in turn.
The servants slipped in and out of the room, all of them female and all of them unobtrusive. Zelda uncomfortably sipped at some broth and called for some tea.
Link stayed close, hand never leaving hers, eyes flicking constantly between her face and the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. Each small groan she made made his chest clench, but he learned quickly- he could tell when a contraction was coming before she even spoke.
"May I... may I pace a little?" Zelda asked the midwife. "My legs are feeling quite restless, and I think it would help. My contractions aren't too regular yet."
The midwife readily agreed, encouraged it even, and then they were up. He was offering his arm for balance and had his other arm wrapped around her waist. Zelda's breathing was getting heavier and harder- at first he thought that it was just from the exercise and worsening of the pain- but he looked at her face and then thought otherwise.
He brought his hand to her cheek, tilted her face down to meet his. "Are you alright?" he checked.
She couldn't quite make eye contact with him. "I believe... it's my turn to panic now."
"What can I do for you?"
“Talk to me,” she said, fast, breathless now. “About something else. Anything. I don’t care. Just- not this.”
Link’s brain went completely, utterly blank.
Battle tactics? No.
Castle logistics? Absolutely not.
Childbirth mortality statistics? He nearly laughed hysterically at that one.
He swallowed hard, scrambling.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I- alright.”
Zelda grabbed his sleeve, grounding herself there like an anchor.
“Tell me about Ordon,” she said. “Something boring. Or amusing”
Amusing.
He could definitely do amusing.
“Okay,” he said again, voice steadier now because it had to be. “Um. The goats used to get out. Constantly. There was one- Tan- who learned how to open the south gate latch.”
Zelda blinked, focus snagging on it.
“Goats,” she repeated faintly.
“Yeah,” he said, latching onto it. “Yeah. And Mayor Bo refused to admit it was the latch. He said it was ‘goat cleverness’ and we had to respect it.”
A tiny, disbelieving huff of breath left her.
He kept going.
“Tan used to head straight for Rusl’s garden. Every time. Knew exactly where the good greens were.”
Zelda pressed her forehead briefly against his shoulder, breathing uneven but slower.
Another contraction started.
She grabbed him hard- but she stayed standing.
Stayed listening.
“And one time,” Link said, voice low and steady near her ear, “Tan got into the house. Just walked in like he paid taxes there.”
Zelda made a broken half-laugh against his shoulder.
“Link,” she said weakly. “That is not possible.”
“It is when you live with idiots who don’t close doors,” he said.
Link felt her shudder against him, the small laugh fading as her body tensed. Her hand clutched his sleeve tighter, and he could feel the subtle tremor running through her.
“Easy, easy,” he murmured, pressing a steadying hand to her back. “Breathe with me. In… out…”
But before he could coax more, a sharp, stinging contraction hit. Her breath caught in a ragged hiss, and her body folded forward instinctively, pressing against him for support.
“-Gods,” she gasped, voice ragged, then, louder and rougher than he’d ever heard from her, “-damn it.”
He opened his mouth instinctively to tease her, a little joke between them- then saw her face and shut it.
Her face was positively murderous. No telling the things she might do if he made the foolish mistake of saying anything about the swearing. He borrowed some of her wisdom to instead rub her back reassuringly.
The midwife gestured for Zelda to the bed. “We need to check how dilated you are.”
Zelda lowered herself onto the mattress with a faint groan. “I assume curling up on the floor wouldn’t be ideal for labor?” she asked cautiously.
The midwife chuckled, shaking her head. “No, Your Majesty. If you must curl up, the bed is far better. I’m afraid if you get on the floor, we may never get you off it.”
The midwife moved carefully, her hands steady and professional as she checked Zelda, murmuring quietly so only Zelda could hear. Link stayed at her side, hand gripping hers just a fraction tighter, watching every small reaction.
Zelda let out a low hiss as the midwife worked, then pressed a hand to her forehead. “Link… a cool washcloth, please,” she said, voice tight.
“Of course,” he murmured, immediately moving to the basin the servants had brought. He dipped a cloth into the cooled water, wringing it gently so it wasn’t dripping, then returned to her side.
“Here,” he said softly, brushing the damp cloth over her temples before settling it across her forehead. Zelda closed her eyes for a long moment, pressing her face slightly against the cool fabric, letting out a shuddering breath.
"More stories," Zelda demanded.
"Okay, okay- I think you know all the best stories- want to hear about the cuccos? Those bastards hated me when I was little-" he started.
He grinned, keeping his voice low and steady, recounting in exaggerated detail how he had tried to sneak past them in the barnyard, only to be chased around like some kind of feathered army, pecks and wings flailing. Zelda huffed a laugh, groaning in between each burst of pain, but she stayed with him, clinging to his arm when the contractions hit.
Time passed. Zelda cried and groaned and cursed more than he had ever heard from her in his entire life. Honestly, less than he thought was deserved.
The midwife checked her again. Her expression shifted, but he couldn't figure out her expression for a moment, and his stomach dropped- was all well? But no, that wasn't a bad news face.
"Your Majesty," she said. "You're entering active labor now."
Zelda went very still, eyes squeezed shut, breath pushing hard through her nose.
“How much longer,” she asked, voice rough and thin, “until it’s over?”
The midwife paused- not evasive, just honest. “It’s difficult to say. Likely still some time… though once this stage begins, things can sometimes move quickly.”
Another contraction started to build, and Zelda’s jaw clenched, shoulders drawing tight.
“And,” the midwife added, gentler still, “if you still wish it… we should probably summon the witnesses.”
Of course. The witnesses.
Queens did not simply give birth in private. The birth of the heir had to be witnessed by ladies of the court, enough eyes to silence any rumors before they could begin. Link had understood the reasoning the first time it had been explained to him.
He still hated even the very idea of it.
Zelda let out a long, miserable groan, dragging a hand over her face. Her eyes stayed closed.
“Fine,” she snapped after a moment. “Fine. Yes. Do it.”
She sounded like someone agreeing to be executed.
Link shifted slightly. “If you don’t want them here-”
Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at him- sharp, furious, exhausted, and deeply, deeply done with everything.
“Do not even suggest such a thing,” she said, low and deadly. “After all of this.”
He swallowed. Nodded once. Message received.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
Another contraction hit, and she grabbed his arm again, nails biting through the fabric, breath breaking into a strained hiss.
Link leaned close, steadying her, then pressed a quick kiss to her temple before easing away.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
He stepped toward the door and opened it just enough to slip through. The servant stationed outside straightened immediately.
“Active labor,” Link said, voice low but firm. “Summon the witnesses. Now.”
The servant bowed and hurried off at once.
He closed the door again, careful not to let it click too loudly, and stood there a moment longer than he meant to, staring at the wood grain without seeing it.
Then he pushed off and went back to her.
Zelda had shifted, braced on her elbows now, breathing sharp and fast like she was trying to outrun the next contraction. The midwife adjusted something at the foot of the bed, voice low and steady, giving quiet instructions that Zelda followed with the stubborn focus she gave everything.
Minutes stretched. Warped.
Eventually, the selected ladies of the court began filtering in. One of Zelda's ladysmaids had taken it upon herself to manage the crowd and make sure that they gave them some distance so that they wouldn't have to worry about it. He's sure that he wouldn't remember which one it was after this, but he'll still try to seek them out afterwards to thank them.
The ladies, unable to get close, craned their heads and gawked. This was a historic event after all. They were kept in line enough to keep their talking down to whispers.
He shook his head. He didn't care about any of them. He had his wife to attend to. He did his best to zone them all out and put all of his attention on Zelda.
Another contraction rolled through her, harder this time. Longer. She gasped, then swore again- quieter, but meaner- and pressed her forehead into his collarbone like she could hide inside him for a minute.
The midwife moved between her knees, voice calm but carrying now. “Good. Good. Don’t lock your shoulders, Your Majesty. Let it move through you.”
Zelda made a noise that was very clearly not agreement, but she did it anyway. Forced her shoulders to drop. Forced the breath out slow.
Another check. Faster this time.
The midwife’s posture changed- subtle, but certain. Like a soldier recognizing the moment a battle tipped.
“Zelda,” she said, steady and direct now. No titles. No softness. “Listen to me.”
Zelda dragged in air, eyes wild but focused. “I am.”
“I think,” the midwife said, “we are very close.”
Zelda let out a shattered, disbelieving laugh that broke halfway through and turned into a gasp when another contraction slammed into her.
She grabbed his sleeve, then his wrist, then just locked onto his hand like it was the only solid thing in the room.
“I hate this,” she choked.
“I know,” he said, because there was nothing else to say that wasn’t a lie.
The midwife shifted closer. “Alright. I need you to move for me. That’s it. Good. Good.”
Zelda sucked in a breath, sharp and shaking.
“I think-” she said, voice breaking, “-I think it’s time.”
The midwife met her eyes, completely unshaken.
“Yes,” she said simply. “It is.”
There was wailing.
Strong, loud, utterly furious wailing.
Link looked up just in time to see the midwife lift a tiny, slippery little girl and lower her carefully onto Zelda’s chest.
She was crying like hell.
Still damp from her arrival into the world, wisps of dark hair plastered to her tiny head, fists clenched with all the indignation a newborn could possibly possess. She was so impossibly small that Link’s heart seized just looking at her, every instinct in him screaming that something so tiny should never have to exist in such a big world.
Zelda let out a sound he had never heard from her before.
Not quite a sob. Not quite a laugh.
Something in between.
Her trembling hands came around the baby instinctively, cradling her close against her chest as tears spilled unchecked down her face. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. Neither could he.
Their daughter.
Zelda made her.
Somehow, impossibly, the woman he loved had made an entire person.
And now she was here.
Unbelievably small. Link found himself staring at the shape of her with something like disbelief that refused to settle into anything simpler. Her nose kept scrunching in sharp, offended little motions. And her ears- her small, faintly pointed ears- were already twitching.
Home at last.
Link became dimly aware that he was crying too. At some point his knees had found the floor beside the bed, though he couldn’t have said when. His eyes never left them.
The midwife was saying somethin- congratulating them, perhaps. Around the edges of the room, servants moved quietly, replacing linens, gathering basins, speaking in hushed voices that blurred together until they sounded no different than the crackling of the fire.
Someone ushered the witnesses from the room.
Link barely registered it. Only the soft shift of movement at the room’s edge, the sense of space widening as everything unnecessary was gently removed.
The door closed again somewhere behind them.
After that, there was only the bed.
Only Zelda.
Only their daughter.
The baby had begun to calm, her furious wails fading into uneven little complaints. Zelda rested one careful hand against her tiny back, fingertips barely moving with each breath. Link found himself watching that rise and fall with complete concentration.
Breathing.
She was breathing.
Every tiny squeak she made seemed to settle something inside him.
At one particularly indignant cry, Zelda laughed through her tears and bent to kiss the damp little forehead.
“You’re perfect,” she whispered.
She didn’t look away from her.
She couldn’t seem to.
Neither could he.
Link found himself reaching out a hand. He wanted to... he wanted to touch her. Feel the warmth of her skin. Confirm that she was real.
"Can I....?" he asked, voice hesitating just a little.
Zelda looked up at him, soft and certain all at once, and nodded.
“Of course you can,” she murmured. “Let her meet her papa.”
Carefully- so carefully- he brought his hand forward to gently brush against her head.
He barely touched her at first, like he expected her to vanish if he pressed too firmly. The downy curls there shifted under his fingertips, impossibly soft, warm from where she lay against Zelda’s skin.
Link went very still.
“She has hair,” he whispered, a breath of stunned laughter breaking through the words.
Zelda let out a small, tired huff that might have been a laugh, her eyes never leaving his hand. “I noticed.”
The hair was dark- for now. It would probably lighten up considerably when it was dry and not damp. For someone who had only just arrived in the world, it was thick, startlingly so. Her tiny curls were already gathering in soft, unruly wisps.
He swallowed, throat working.
“She’s…” he started.
Then stopped.
Because nothing he had felt large enough.
“I know,” Zelda responded, barely louder than the baby’s breathing. "I know."
The baby squirmed suddenly, a sharp, jerky little movement. One tiny leg kicked hard enough to jostle the swaddle, heel bumping faintly against Zelda’s ribs.
Link made a choked sound- half laugh, half something dangerously close to a sob.
“She’s kicking,” he breathed, wonder and disbelief tangled together. “She’'s- she’s kicking.”
Just like she had before. Inside. Constant and insistent and alive.
Zelda smiled, helpless and overflowing all at once. “She’s been practicing for months.
Zelda’s hand tightened slightly around the baby, stilling the small, restless movements against her chest.
She watched Link for a moment longer than he expected.
Then, softly, “Do you want to hold her?”
Link’s breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.
For a second he didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to understand the question had been meant for him.
Then, very carefully, “Can I?”
That made Zelda laugh.
“Link,” she said, smiling through tears, “you’re her papa.”
Link shuffled impossibly closer to the bed, and made sure he was right next to Zelda so that the space to transport the baby was as small as possible. Zelda adjusted her arms, then carefully transferred her over to Link.
Link slid one hand beneath her back and the other carefully beneath her head, remembering every lecture the midwife had ever given them. Newborns couldn’t support their own necks yet. Her head felt impossibly large for someone so very small, and he found himself instinctively cradling it a little more securely.
Then the weight settled fully into his arms.
He forgot to breathe.
She was…
Warm.
Warmer than he’d expected.
The baby squirmed once. Made a tiny, offended noise.
Link froze.
Then she settled.
And he broke.
Tears spilled fast and helpless down his face, his mouth opening on a shaky breath that never quite turned into a sob.
“You made this,” he whispered.
He looked at the baby.
Then at Zelda.
Then back at the baby like he couldn’t decide where the miracle was supposed to be.
“You made this,” he said again, voice cracking harder.
Zelda’s throat tightened painfully.
Link pressed his lips together, trying and failing to get himself under control.
“Zelda,” he breathed.
She huffed out a small, wrecked laugh. “There's two of us now,” she reminded him. "You're going to have to be more specific."
Link blinked.
Then let out a wet, half-hysterical laugh, shoulders shaking.
“Hylia help us all,” he said, almost under his breath.
But he smiled when he said it.
And he didn’t stop crying.
Link looked back down into his arms.
She had settled almost completely now, the furious cries dwindling into sleepy little snuffles. One tiny hand had escaped the blanket again, opening and closing against nothing before curling into a fist.
He offered her a finger, and her hand instinctively closed around it. Her grip was stronger than he was expecting. Her entire hand barely wrapped its way around one finger.
Another laugh escaped him, quieter this time.
He looked over at Zelda.
She was watching them.
Not the baby.
Him.
There was exhaustion written into every line of her face, but behind it was something softer than he’d ever seen before. Peace, perhaps. Relief. Or simply the quiet certainty that everything had turned out exactly as she’d hoped.
Link reached across the space between them and found her free hand.
She intertwined their fingers without taking her eyes off their daughter.
The three of them stayed like that.
The fire crackled softly.
Outside the windows, dawn had begun to creep over the castle, pale gold filtering slowly into the room.
Link scarcely noticed.
He had everything he had ever wanted.