Part 1: Recover

His princess was much changed.

She'd cried often before — before it, before everything, by Hylia, how could you even name what had happened? He'd tried. He couldn't. His mind still shied away from it. There weren't many — any? — who had been born twice. But he had been. Once only months ago. And once before.

So. Before. That's what he would call it.

Before, she had been brimming with emotion. Overflowing with it. The way she moved, the way she spoke, everything showed her feelings as clear as daylight. It had happened often that her body had betrayed her: he'd watched her, always four steps behind, as any proper servant would be, as she struggled to hide her feelings. Her anger, her frustration, her pain.

But that was Before. Now…

"Link."

The way she said his name, now, that was different than before, too: soft. Breathy. Before, he'd heard her say his name in so many different tones — amused, frustrated, heartbroken, bored — but never this. Never so weak and listless. As though the hundred years he'd spent sleeping had wrung her out, squeezing every last drop of feeling out of her. They'd defeated Calamity Ganon. Sealed him away, for good this time. But at what cost?

She sat out on the terrace of Impa's home. It had been only proper for the Princess of Hyrule to take up residence in the Sheikah elder's home. At least, that was what everyone insisted. The memories rattling around inside his head, the loyal vassal he'd been Before, echoed the sentiment. But the Link that he was now, the one who had awakened to learn the world anew, had objected violently to the idea of removing an old woman from her home.

So Link had kept quiet. That old habit, at least, served him well.

Holding to that same silence as gently as he would a small bird, Link trod forward, stopping a proper distance away, just within the Princess's periphery. He knelt, looking at her, waiting. If anyone could read him without speech, it was her.

But she wasn't looking at him. She wasn't looking at anything, actually. Her eyes were shut, her face tilted to the moon. The sun had set several hours ago, but neither of them had been able to find sleep. Him, because one hundred years of sleep had been enough, and he itched at the thought of lying down again. Her — well, who knew. Instead, she sat on the terrace, listening to the gentle clinking of the wooden windchimes, content to feel the midnight breeze on her face.

"Come closer."

He approached, two more careful steps, and knelt. Not at her side — not quite — but closer than was strictly proper.

At least, according to the rules of Before.

The princess's lips curved in what might have been called a smile, but she didn't speak or move otherwise. Link hated that stillness. She'd always been so vibrant. So full of life. Even at the most formal of functions, she'd been unable to suppress that liveliness. She'd always been moving, or tapping, or fidgeting. But that was Before.

Too much had happened. So much had changed. They were relics in a new world, and the rules were gone. Link hardly knew where he stood with this new, subdued princess.

It had only been a few days, he reminded himself. Only a few days since the princess had sealed the monster away once and for all. Everything had moved so quickly up until then that the quiet, the slowness, set Link to itching. His senses had been screaming at him constantly while Calamity Ganon still lived. Now that he was gone, Link was still jumpy. He hadn't had quiet, true quiet, since….

He cast around in his faulty memory once again. It wasn't all back. Most of it was still gone, would probably never return. But he knew, in the way that people who read books knew about events that had never touched them, that his father had been a knight, and that Link had made the choice to follow in the family footsteps. He'd been chosen by the Master Sword — the details of which he was still hazy on. But after the sword had chosen him, everything had followed quickly. The Champions. The princess's relentless training. And then, Calamity Ganon. A desperate flight straight into a meadow full of nightmare machines. Agony. And then….

"Link."

He blinked out of his reverie. The princess had turned her face away from the moonlight. She looked at him, her green eyes wide and sad in her face.

"I owe you an apology."

For what, Link wanted to ask, and he knew the question was in his eyes.

"My powers were unlocked too late," the princess said softly. "It was your death that triggered their release. I'm sorry. I wish I could have protected you."

Link swallowed.

"I lay the blame for my death at Ganon's door," he said. "I can't claim to know the will of the Goddess. But I'm here. You survived, and the people have lived on. Hyrule is a peace now. That's really all that matters."

Nearby, the wooden chimes clanked. The wind sighed through the trees.

"Yes," the princess agreed, so softly that Link might have mistaken her voice for a breeze. "The world is safe. What comes next, I wonder?"

Link didn't know. He'd seen in his travels how people dealt differently with disaster and grief. Some rebuilt. Some faded away into nothing. Some became consumed with rage. And all that he had seen, the princess had seen. She would know as well as him what the variables were, what the outcomes might be. But there was no sign of the future in the way she sat. She had turned her face back to the moon, empty of emotion. Link would have given anything to see some feeling — even tears — on her face. Not this pale nothingness. She looked too much like a corpse.

"It's getting colder," he said as a night breeze blew through, rattling the leaves on their trees. It was nearing the end of summer. Fall was on its way. The nights were not as warm as they had been even a week ago. "Perhaps you should go inside, princess."

"Will you scare me in with lightning?" she asked without opening her eyes. The humor was there, barely — but there.

"If you'd like, though I imagine it might damage some of the nearby houses. Impa might not be too happy about that."

"No," the princess agreed. "There's been quite enough destruction already."

She made no movement, no sign that she would go indoors. Link shifted. He didn't feel like sleeping. But the fine hairs on the princess's exposed forearms were raised as the night wind blew across her skin, and he was worried about her.

"I haven't felt air on my cheeks like this in a hundred years," she said after a long stretch of silence. Another emotion: remorse. Just a flicker. "Keeping everything contained…" She trailed away, as though she didn't wish to talk about it. Link didn't blame her. He couldn't imagine spending a century locked in battle with that beast. He'd barely managed to survive a few hours.

His princess was truly amazing.

"I had noticed," he said with careful casualness. "When I crossed the bridge into Hyrule Castle, the air became staler."

"Yes. It was a hole in time," the princess said, and did not elaborate.

After a long while, Link rose. He stepped inside to fetch a blanket — one of the thick, quilted ones for sleeping — and brought it back outside. The princess wore the garb of a proper Sheikah maiden, a thick silk robe tied at the waist with a colorful sash. Even that silk would not keep her warm forever.

Carefully, Link draped the blanket around his princess's shoulders. One pale, china-fragile hand reached up to catch a corner of the blanket, pulling it more tightly around her.

"Thank you, Link," she said softly.

Link had the feeling that she wasn't talking about the blanket.

Day by day, she improved.

The only time that they were not together was once a day when the Sheikah women hauled the princess off to the nearby hot springs for a long scrub. Their warriors, they assured Link, were quite adept. Nothing would happen to the princess. But old habits died hard, even if they weren't fully remembered habits, and so Link found himself compulsively pacing a steady patrol around the perimeter of the hot springs, far away enough to give his princess privacy, but close enough that he could be there within a heartbeat if needed.

She always came back from these expeditions pink-cheeked and dewy, her hair hanging wet down her back, her expression only slightly less blank. Her time with the local women was doing his princess some good.

One morning, after the princess had finished her breakfast and Link had discreetly gobbled a few roasted apples — never within sight of his princess, being seen eating by his mistress would be uncouth — she cleared her throat.

"I have decided upon a course of action," she said. Her voice wasn't as emotive, as decisive, as it had been Before, but a faint thread of that was there, buried beneath that horribly vacant exterior.

Link waited for her to continue speaking. She did not fail him.

"In your adventures, when you revoked a Divine Beast from Ganon's control, you freed the spirit of the Champion imprisoned within," the princess said. "But I believe there may be more spirits to free. As you may recall, the Guardians were not empty when Ganon seized control of them. Each one was piloted by a Hylian soldier. I wish to free them now that the danger has passed."

Link paused.

"I had thought that when you sealed Ganon away, you broke his hold on the Guardians."

"It's highly likely," Zelda agreed. "But we need to be absolutely certain. I wish to visit every Guardian in Hyrule and verify that there is no scrap of hostile power within it, and ward it from future possession. And we owe it to the people to make sure that their spirits are freed. Even one spirit left imprisoned is too many."

Link thought it through. It was a good idea for more reasons than one — It would give them something to do, something to focus on, rather than just sitting here, waiting. It was a huge task: there were many Guardians, and Hyrule was a very large kingdom.

"We can ask the five races to help us search," the princess said, as though she had read Link's mind. "It will be autumn soon, and after that will come winter. We have no plans for rebuilding Hyrule yet, and so it must wait. This is a good project in the meantime. It will bring the people together. Give them something to unite around. And then, once our bonds are stronger, we can begin working together to rebuild. What do you think?"

"It's a good idea," Link said.

"Thank you," his princess replied. "I'll have Impa's scribes draft letters to be sent to the leaders of each region. They, in turn, can distribute the messages to their people, and begin creating maps. You and I will travel to the locations on those maps, and purify any guardians in question. Because we'll work together on this, I wish for both of us to sign this decree. Will you do that?"

Link ducked his head respectfully.

"Of course, your highness," he said.

The princess paused. It wasn't her usual quiet — the grieving, empty kind — but more thoughtful. Link looked up and caught his princess studying him with… it might have been consternation.

"Don't bow your head like that to me again," she told him. "We are equals now."

"Highness, I hardly think so," Link pointed out before he could stop himself. "I'm a knight. You're the princess. Protocol aside, you are still the one who saved us. Even with this sword on my back, you outrank me."

"You're the only surviving champion and the hero who brought about the demise of Calamity Ganon," Zelda said. "I am the heir to a throne of nothing." Her eyes were steady on him. There was no sadness, self-pity, or anger in them. Only vacant acceptance. "We are equals," she repeated.

Link nodded slowly, more to appease her than anything else. He couldn't bring himself to agree.

The Sheikah had made her new garb that was exactly like the garb she wore Before.

Seeing her standing before him, her hair braided around her head in a crown, wearing that familiar clothing, hit Link like a punch to the gut. His legs stayed strong beneath him, somehow — but his surprise must have shown on his face because she smiled again, that small not-smile, and watched him with too-knowing eyes.

"It wasn't quite what I had in mind when I asked Impa for clothing I might walk and travel in, but I suppose it will do," his princess said in that soft new voice of hers. "How do I look?" she asked, turning one way, then the other.

You look like home, Link wanted to say. But he didn't understand the urge, so he suppressed it.

"You look very fine indeed, princess."

His princess nodded once, then turned. Her hair streamed behind her like a cape as she looked at the steep hills.

"You said there was something you wished to show me?" she asked. Link forced himself to start walking, moving one heavy foot in front of the other. Seeing her garbed as she had been a hundred years ago — strangely carefree days, for all that they'd been preparing for war — had caused something within him to crack and begin to bleed. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know why. All he knew was that his chest ached and his body itched to disobey him, to stop, to reach out, to do… something.

He continued forcing himself to walk.

"It's a bit of a hike," Link said by way of apology, leading his princess across the cleared grassy thoroughfare and up a side path. "It'll take us about an hour to get there." They passed by the statue of the Goddess. The princess paused for a moment, then shook her head and continued forward. Link, walking a proper distance away for all that they were beside each other, waited patiently. She had the blood of the Goddess running through her veins, Link remembered. He reminded himself to bring the princess to see the statue again at a later time.

Or perhaps not. He remembered how she had detested prayer at the end of their time together, back Before.

They walked together through the village, past the chicken coop and Claree's. Claree had insisted upon outfitting the princess with the very finest, most fashionable Sheikah gowns she had in her store, all at no charge. The princess had taken the gifts with grace and gratitude. Link personally wondered where that generosity had been when he had needed armor, but banished the uncharitable thought and focused on his princess instead.

They turned left up the hill that led to the shrine above the village. It was a long, steep climb, and though Link's legs were up to the task, he paused frequently so that his princess might rest. She was weak, surprisingly so — or perhaps unsurprisingly so, given that while he'd been sleeping and then, later, roaming around, she'd been imprisoned tightly, tucked on her knees, hands clasped in prayer, her body atrophying as her mind remained fully committed to the task. Link was only glad that she hadn't decayed like the gurus of the shrines had. He had been half-terrified that, upon freeing her from Ganon, she too would dissolve in green light, leaving Link utterly alone.

All praise to Hylia that his princess was still with him. Living, breathing, and broken — but here. The brokenness could be healed in time. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Is this what you wished to show me?" the princess asked as they reached Ta'loh Naeg Shrine. It glowed with a welcoming blue light.

"No, but we can stop and have a look around if you would like," Link told her. "We're about halfway to our destination, but the hill is the hardest part. We can take a break here to explore, if you want."

The princess ran the pads of her pale fingers down the weathered stone siding of the shrine.

"No, thank you," she said in her soft voice. "The shrines were never meant for me. Please, let's continue."

Remembering how his princess had tried to engineer her way into the old shrines — more than once, if his unreliable memory served correctly — he frowned at her back, but said nothing. Together, they curved past the shrine, up another hill, and into the forest above the Sheikah village.

"Nearly there," Link told her as he caught the glimpse of a pink fairy floating through the trees.

They rounded the bend and a meadow opened up before them. There, situated against the rocks, was the Great Fairy's Fountain, all pink splendor against the morning light.

"How lovely," the princess said softly, smiling. "I saw you visit this place, of course, but it's quite splendid in person."

"Yeah," Link grunted, clearing his throat. He hoped his princess didn't ask to summon the great fairy. Fairies, in his experience, were a little too hands-on in their work with him. "This isn't it either, though."

"Really?" the princess asked. She turned and faced him, confusion written clear across her face. "What is it, then?"

"Back here," Link said, leading her around the massive, firm flower petals. "Behind the fountain."

Nestled against the base of a tall tree, just beyond the shadow of the fairy fountain, a cluster of silent princesses grew.

"Oh," the princess said, half-exclamation, half-sigh. She fell to her knees before the flowers, cupping them in her palms.

"In my travels, I came across them many times," Link said. "And I remembered how you had fretted over them. They've taken root."

"Good," said his princess. She was smiling now, a real, genuine smile, directed at the little white and blue flowers. "I'm glad."

She was totally preoccupied by the plants — but she was showing a faint joy, so that was fine with Link. He gave her some space, letting her spend her time examining first the flowers, and then the other plants around the fountain. He laid out a sturdy blanket that he'd purchased back when he tamed his first horse, and on it he set some food he'd carefully packed away in his bag. Plates, forks, glasses, juice: all joined the little spread he set out for his princess.

"What's this?" She asked as she wandered over, her arms full of blue nightshade. In the dappled light of the meadow, they glowed faintly blue. "A picnic?"

"I thought you might like to have lunch in solitude," Link said as he withdrew a carefully folded napkin from the bottom of his bag. "You don't seem to care for being fussed over by the Sheikah."

The princess looked at Link askance, then settled down on her knees beside him. He took the flowers from her arms, bundling them gently with rough twine and setting them just beyond the meal, where they made a lovely little centerpiece.

"You never liked it when the servants fussed over you, either," Link said in response to her silence. "And after all that's happened, I thought that getting away from all the prying eyes might do you some good. Plus," he added as she watched him with that same level emerald stare, "if we stay here long enough, a blupee might show up. I've seen them bounding about in this forest before."

The princess turned her eyes from Link to the spread he had set out.

"It looks lovely," she said. A small frown creased her brow. "But you've only laid out a place for one."

Link paused, his hands stilling in the act of laying out forks in their proper position. For him to eat before her would be a violation of protocol. It would break the careful rules that bound them into their roles of liege and vassal.

Silence stretched between them like spreading water from a slow leak.

"I would like it very much," the princess finally said, "if you would join me in this meal."

Link inhaled through his nose. Then turned. Her green eyes were doe-large in her face. She was only seventeen. Or a hundred and seventeen. Though her skin was as unmarred as it had been the day she stepped into the castle alone to face the Calamity, her eyes told the story of every day that had passed in the century since.

"My princess, it isn't proper," Link finally responded.

"You said it yourself," she pointed out, tilting her head, sounding more like her old self than he'd heard in the weeks since they'd sealed Ganon away. "We are quite alone here. Well away from prying eyes. And besides, you know as well as I do that the old protocols died with…" she faltered. "With the Kingdom," she finished after swallowing thickly. Then, gentle as a butterfly landing on a branch, she pressed her fingers on his knee. "Please, Link."

It was the first time she'd touched him since Before. Awareness of her sparked through him like fire through a dry field. His leg burned — no, glowed — where she touched him. It spread through his veins, the warmth of her touch suffusing him. Was this her power at work? He wanted to fall at her feet and worship her.

She drew her hand away. The burn faded but the glow remained, pulsing through him like a fading echo.

"Of course," he said around a dry mouth, and pulled more plates from his bag.

While he'd become a perfectly adept cook, the food that they ate had not been prepared by him, but rather by one of the Sheikah elders. Salt-grilled meat, simmered fruit, and sweet leafy salads had been packed in bamboo bowls, their lids tied on with twine. To amuse his princess, Link told her of the Yiga clan's single enduring weakness: bananas, and how he had exploited that weakness and wreaked no small amount of chaos in their lair. She smiled at the appropriate points in the story — he wished she'd laugh as she used to — and picked delicately at her food. Had she eaten during her imprisonment? Link wasn't sure. He'd emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection as hungry as a bear after a two-year winter, and had been eating nonstop ever since. But his princess, he had noticed, ate like a bird: a few bites here, a few bites there, only to flutter away out of grasp once more.

It was early afternoon by the time they'd finished their leisurely picnic. Link noticed his princess blinking as he bundled away the dirty dishes and empty bamboo bowls. He smiled. He remembered that look from Before. She always got sleepy after meals.

"If you'd like to take a nap, please do so," he told her. "I can see you're tired. It's a lovely field, and we're safe here. I wouldn't mind spending a few hours resting, myself."

"But you won't," his princess said in her breathy, tired voice. "You'll stand guard, just like you always do."

"I'm your knight," he responded, standing to shake out the picnic blanket, freeing it of a few breadcrumbs that had slipped off of one of their plates. "It's my duty."

"You were my knight," the princess agreed, also clambering to her feet. "But now I'd rather have you for my friend and companion."

"Princess…" Link said slowly.

"I will nap," she responded, taking the blanket from Link. "But only protect me because you wish to, not because you believe you have to. You've already fulfilled your duties, Link. Once we have purged the Guardians, I will formally dissolve our arrangement and you will be free of me."

What if I don't want to be free of you, Link wanted to ask. But he didn't. The words caught in his throat, in the filter protocol had built there the day he'd been chosen by the sword. He was her vassal. He was the guardian of the goddess's avatar. She should not be forced to carry the weight of his opinion in addition to the guilt that already slumped her shoulders.

She'd never slouched Before.

"Please rest, my princess," Link finally said, watching her as she settled into a soft patch of thick grass. She wrapped the blanket around her like a cocoon, curling onto her side like a child. "It is my honor and pleasure to watch over you."

"Always so formal," she murmured. Quicker than he would have thought possible — especially given how much difficulty she had sleeping at night — she dropped off.

Even when the worst of the terrors had ravaged the land, this meadow had always been safe. That didn't keep Link from checking around the perimeter, looking out over the forest. Nothing, as expected. He passed a while patrolling in circles, wearing a loose path in the grass. As the sun's light changed from the white of morning to the gold of afternoon, he settled himself beside his princess's head. Even in sleep, the burden of her century of struggle shone on her face. It was as though the pale mask she wore when awake slipped away, and the grief she carried in her heart emerged. Carefully, his touch feather-light, Link brushed a loose strand of blond hair off of his princess's brow, as he'd once seen Urbosa do.

In her sleep, the princess sighed, and turned her face into his hand.

The feel of her skin against his was even more powerful than the touch of her fingers against his clothed knee, for all that she was sleeping. Link had consumed more spicy food and warming elixirs than he cared to admit when he'd been scouring the Gerudo Highland, Hebra Mountains, Tabantha Tundra, and Lanayru Peaks for shrines or clues to his lost memory. If Link had only had the touch of his princess to warm him back then, he was quite certain he would have needed none of the potions or the armor to keep him warm. More likely, he would have melted the snow with the power of the fire that swept through him at the feel of her skin on his.

"No…" she murmured. Link shook himself from his contemplation and looked down at the sleeping princess. The grief was clearer on her face than ever, so plain that Link thought his own heart might crack apart with the force of it. "I'm sorry. I failed you. And now you have no grave. Forgive me."

She was dreaming of the champions, then. Or possibly her father.

"I forgive you," Link said softly, knowing it to be the truth. His princess had never mentioned seeing the dead, though she'd made references to Link's experiences with them. He had concluded that none of the deceased had been able to reach the princess through the force of their imprisonment, and then through the compulsion to execute their duty. He thought he'd sensed them at the castle, after Ganon had fallen, but now…

Now, they appeared to be gone, just as the gurus of the shrines had vanished once their duties were fulfilled.

His princess had stilled at the sound of Link's voice, the grief easing off her face slowly. He withdrew his hand from her carefully, missing the glow of her touch the moment it vanished. Perhaps this was why she wouldn't — or couldn't — sleep at night, Link thought. She was plagued by nightmares.

He resolved to find a way to help ease her guilt.

"I had forgotten," the princess said to him out of the blue a few afternoons later. They'd borrowed some horses and gone on a preliminary expedition to the foothills north of the dueling peaks. Link knew for a fact that there had been active Guardians in that area recently — he had vivid memories of being shot at while swearing and scrambling his way up a mountainside — and he and the princess had figured that day was as good as any other day for getting started. Now, they rode together across those rolling green hills, the crisp wind cool across their cheeks.

"What had you forgotten?" Link asked, pulling lightly at the reins of his horse, which had a mind of its own. He reached around to soothe the beast, murmuring comfortingly in one of its long ears.

"You bought a house," the princess said. "And built a town, did you not?"

Link cleared his throat.

"I did buy a house," he finally said. "The town thing… I only helped with that."

"Hmm," his princess hummed, smiling her not-smile. She wasn't looking at him. Simply looking out at the world, as she so often did — as though she couldn't quite believe it was there, was afraid to grasp it with both hands.

They rode in silence for a while longer. The silences were growing more familiar. She'd talked a mile a minute back Before, but now, she seemed to be content without words. Link, who had spent so much of his travels in silence, welcomed the company. And he wished his princess would speak.

"Why did you do it?" the princess finally asked. "Buy a house?"

Link shifted uncomfortably. Why had he done it? He thought about it. Thought about his answer. His princess waited patiently for him to marshal his thoughts.

"Part of it was pragmatism," Link finally said. "I needed a place to rest. Store my gear. It was near a shrine, so I could get there quickly and easily using the Sheikah slate. Having a house meant I could rest when I needed, keep some of my more sensitive gear so I wouldn't carry it into battle — all that." Link trailed into silence.

"And the rest of it?" the princess asked after a while had passed. "What was the rest of the reason why you bought the house?"

Link thought about it. Inhaled, then exhaled a puff of air on a long sigh.

"I wanted a place of my own," he said. "Not for hiding. But… I wanted that tie to this era. To plant my flag in the ground and show that this age was mine, too."

"I see," the princess said softly. They rode in silence for a while longer.

"I'd like to see it," she said eventually. "Your home."

"My home," Link repeated. He looked at her. She was studying the pommel of her saddle. He could tell it meant a lot to her. So he answered in the only way he could think of. "Of course," he said. "Whenever you want."

The wreckage of a Guardian rose up just beyond a green hill, and they slowed their mounts, the princess's dappled grey whickering unhappily at the bit. That reminded Link of another thing — something he'd promised to do, but hadn't yet done.

They dismounted from their borrowed horses, treading carefully towards the Guardian. Link made sure his princess remained safely behind him as he pulled the master sword from its sheath just a few inches so he could more easily draw it. But the Guardian stayed silent as they neared it. No ominous chiming, no groaning to life. Just emptiness.

They stood before it. It did not respond.

"Nothing," the princess said. She pressed her hands against the stone. The Guardian began to glow a faint, familiar blue. Friendly. Its hatch clicked open, and Link and the princess clambered up to look inside.

A green spirit crouched above its bones, disoriented and blinking in the daylight.

"Princess?" it asked after a moment. "Is this real? I've been trapped in here for so long…"

"You're free now," the princess said. "Go and be at peace." But before she'd even finished speaking, the spirit had begun to dissolve, flickering into green mist, then sparkling away into nothingness.

The bones, however, were another matter.

"We should bury him," the princess said sadly. "He died in service to Hyrule."

"We'll need a graveyard," Link answered. "We can't bury people just anywhere. We'll need to plan it with the rest of the races — they all lost warriors."

His princess watched him with that level green gaze, so Link continued.

"Our warriors' bones have waited a hundred years. They can wait a while longer for a proper rest."

Slowly, the princess nodded.

"Very well," she agreed. "That will do."

The hatch of the Guardian groaned shut. The air around it seemed a little warmer for the spirit's absence.

As they walked back to the horses, the princess paused, looking out over the kingdom. The wreckage of the castle lay in the distance, a blackened, burned-out husk. The Sheikah Slate hung at the princess's hip, swinging gently against her legs as they stopped walking and turned to stare at the view. The four divine beasts rose in the distance, silhouetted against the sunny, blue sky. The princess pulled the Sheikah Slate from her hip, looking down at it for a moment, and then back out at the view.

"We'll make our way to Zora's Domain," she finally said, speaking more to herself than to Link. "Divine Beast Vah Ruta has stopped working. Let's investigate the situation." She perked up, then deflated just as quickly. "Mipha's father…" she murmured, arms relaxing, Sheikah Slate still warm in her grasp. "I believe he would like to hear more about her. The least we can do is visit him and offer him some closure."

Link waited. This was the first time she'd spoken of traveling beyond the boundaries of Kakariko. She seemed to have reached a breakthrough. Her emerald gaze fixed on the spires of the castle where she'd been held prisoner so long.

"Although Ganon is gone," she said, startling Link — it was the first time she'd named the evil since they'd tiredly told Impa that all was over, "— there's still so much more for us to do, and so many painful memories we must bear." Her voice broke on the last word, and it was all Link could do to keep himself for reaching from his princess to comfort her. But what she was saying seemed to free her, because she kept going. "I believe in my heart, that if all of us work together, we can restore Hyrule to its former glory. Perhaps…" she paused, searching for words, then continued, "even beyond. But it all must start with us."

Link looked at his princess. Her shoulders were tense as she looked out at the land, and then they relaxed. There was a softening of her features too as she said, voice lighter than he'd heard it yet, "Let's be off."

She strode towards their horses. Link lingered a moment behind her, watching her go. She was strong, his princess. He set off, following her at a slow pace. He would follow her always, anywhere, to death and beyond.

A few paces away from the horses, she stopped. She didn't slouch — not quite — but she stiffened.

"I… can no longer hear the voice inside the sword," she said as her waterfall of golden hair shifted in the gentle breeze. "I suppose it would make sense if my power had dwindled over the past one hundred years," she added. She paused for a moment, then turned, looking at Link. Her expression was so solemn, green eyes so sad, that he paused.

Then she smiled, a true smile, brighter than even the one she'd given the flowers. Link felt the sun brighten above him.

"I'm surprised to admit it," she said, "but I can accept that." And then she laughed, a little laugh that froze Link in his footsteps a moment longer. She looked lighter than she had since Before. Freer. And she was smiling, really smiling.

He began to run towards her, then caught himself, and slowed to a more sedate pace. She smiled at him once more before setting out with him towards the horses. The wind blew flower petals around them — the last flowers of the summer, Link was certain— as they mounted up.

"We'll leave at the end of next week," his princess said. "Go to Zora's Domain first. And then, on our way back, we can go to Hateno and see your home."

"As you wish," Link agreed, his own pain resting easier than it had in a century.

The day they left for Zora's Domain, Link brought his princess another surprise.

It had taken him almost a full week to arrange it — several days of absence from Her, which he'd hated. But Impa had promised that his princess would be well guarded as she made arrangements for traveling, and his task was important.

"Is that…" the princess said slowly as Link approached, "Is that Wraith?"

"One of his descendants," Link agreed, running a fond hand over the pure-white horse's proudly arched neck. In truth, he was the exact image of the princess's old horse, Wraith, especially in the royal gear that Link had wheedled from the old man at Outskirt Stable. Finding That Damn Horse had taken some time, as had taming it. Fortunately, Link had been able to work on the second while riding the beast back towards Kakariko. Though he had barely slept since setting out on his small quest, the look of delight in his princess's eyes made all the trouble, exhaustion, and pain worth it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Animated and alive, his princess flung herself into Link's arms. He gave a low woof of pain as she slammed into the ribs That Damn Horse had injured in a kicking fit, and the princess pulled back in alarm.

"Link," she said, "you're hurt."

"Just a bruise," he responded, smiling down at the princess. "It's nothing."

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with subdued happiness. Link didn't know when his arms had come down to settle around her, but the way she was looking at him — as though he were the only man in the world, as though he were the sun — it made him warm. Hot. He carefully pulled away.

"He's a swift beast, and wild-tempered to boot," Link cautioned his princess as she nearly walked over to the horse. It was worth it — everything — to see her looking so happy. "If he starts to give you trouble, just soothe him. And if he's too much of a brute, we can swap horses. I did my best to train him on the ride over, but…"

"I'm sure he and I will get along just fine," the princess said softly, inspecting her horse. "Do you have any other surprises that you'd like to give me?"

Link thought of the two journals he'd grabbed from Hyrule Castle and tucked in his armor before fighting Ganon. He'd gotten blood on them, but having her words so close to his heart — it had given him strength.

"If I did," he finally made himself say, "don't you think I'd surprise you with them another day?"

The princess shot a look at him over her shoulder, a little arch, and then smiled. It was a small smile, but a real one. Her eyes were still full of joy from the return of her horse.

"You spoil me," she told Link. She swung into the saddle, and though the horse had pranced and shifted for Link, he sat as steady as a rock and docile as a sleeping lamb for the princess.

"What will you name him?" Link asked as he swung onto his own horse. A Sheikah handed Link the reins to a pack mule, and he took them with thanks.

"Oh," the princess said, still smiling. "I don't know yet. I'll have to think about it. Have you been calling him anything?"

"Horse," Link responded. "Damn Horse, occasionally."

The princess laughed, the sound musical and giddy. Link sent a prayer of thanks to the Goddess for the horse.

With a few more words to their hosts, they loaded up the last of their things — including a large basket full of food — and left. It would be a few hours' ride to the Dueling Peaks stable. Depending on how the princess felt, they would stop there overnight, though Link wasn't keen to do so and he was sure his princess felt similarly. It was too close to that field where the princess's sealing powers had awoken in such a horrible way.

If they didn't stop at Dueling Peaks, they'd likely journey into the evening to cross the Proxim Bridge and camp in the wreckage of the East Post Ruins. There was a cookpot there, and Link could easily forage some dinner for them in the surrounding woods and wetland. From there, it would be another day's journey north to the Wetland Stable, where they would board their horses; from there, they would meet a group of Zoras prepared with a raft to take them upriver to Zora's Domain. Link had tried to convince the princess to take the Sheikah Slate and warp to the Ne'ez Yohma shrine, and let Link catch up with her using the paraglider, but she had refused.

She said she wanted to travel, to see the country. Link could empathize with that.

They wound up stopping for a late picnic lunch in the shadows of the dueling peaks. The river ran cool and quiet beside them, its burbling the only noise that broke the silence between the two. Though she clearly didn't wish to say so, the princess was tired, and Link insisted she rest for an hour while he cleaned, broke down camp, and caught a few fish for dinner. True to his word, he woke her an hour later, and they were off again. They reached the stable after nightfall, and paid the stable workers there to tend to their horses. A quiet exchange of money guaranteed them a private room in the attic, and free access to the cookpot, where Link cooked up a quick seafood stew. When the princess wasn't looking, he threw in a few stamella shrooms: the day's journey had taken its toll. Link resolved to keep her stronger tomorrow.

The last of the sunset fireflies were buzzing away as autumn truly fell. As their dinner sat heavy in their stomachs and they looked out on the night world with all of its evening noises, the princess finally spoke.

"Hopeful," she said.

"What?" Link asked, turning to look at her. She had her arms loosely clasped around her knees as she sat on a treestump, gazing up at the night sky with bright eyes.

"The horse. I'd like to name him Hopeful."

Link studied her expression for a moment. She looked content. Like she was healing.

Like she was hopeful.

"I like it," he finally said, and was rewarded by the curve of her smile.

If travel had been good for the princess, working on the Divine Beast and facing up to Mipha's father had set her back several steps.

It had been a painful interview — painful, because both parties so clearly wished to be anywhere but where they were. While the Zora King was glad for stories of his daughter, the princess's anguish — raw, real grief, her guilt that Mipha had died because of the Hylian princess's failings (or so she believed) — seemed to trigger his own. No small amount of tears were shed.

In the words of the Zoras, their sadness thickened the water and fed the fishes with salt. And there was nothing Link could do to protect his princess from that pain.

If facing the Zora King had been difficult for the princess, entering Vah Ruta and seeing the many scars of battle that it bore within nearly broke her. She wept the whole time they were within the beast, the bitter salt dripping down her cheeks. She wouldn't allow herself comfort, though Link would have been happy to take her into his arms as he had so frequently near the end, back Before. Instead, she'd stood, spine ramrod straight, and gotten to work, eyes puffy and weeping and cheeks splotched the whole time.

Link was glad when they finally left Zora's Domain a week later.

They headed directly to Hateno Village, making good time. The princess didn't smile at all on this trip, and her hands tightened on Hopeful's reins as on the second day they passed Blatchery Plain, the site of so much unpleasantness so many years ago. The princess insisted on stopping and checking every last one of the Guardians for spirits and remains. These, however, had been purified when she unlocked her sealing power, and neither spiritual nor physical remnants of the soldiers who had died in the machines lingered.

They'd left the East Post Ruins before dawn, where already it seemed a hub for travelers was forming, now that the world was safe. Link wondered how long before the word "Ruins" was removed and it was simply the East Post. Probably not for some years yet. The sun was reaching its zenith, and Link's stomach, ever-persistent, was growling for food.

"Princess," he finally said as she prayed and grieved over the field. "Come eat. If we leave soon, we can reach Hateno by midnight." He didn't like to push her body as hard as they were, but Link believed what she needed most was the space to heal. Their first expedition, with her still so raw, was not what Link would call a success.

"Thank you, Link," his princess said as he pulled her gently away from the old wreckage. He stuffed a pastry into her hands and watched as she ate the whole thing, then fed her another, and downed a flask of juice that Link had mixed with stamina potion. His princess made a face as she handed the flask back to Link, and they continued on their journey.

It was just before midnight, the crescent moon arching above them, when they rode out of the Ginner woods and up the hill to Hateno. Link could see his princess's surprise as they rode towards the blocky new construction that sat atop the first hill in the village. He grinned to himself as they crossed the bridge over the Firly Pond and reached his own little corner of Hyrule. It was dark, but glow lamps shone cheerfully inside. When they'd passed through the Riverside Stable on their way to Zora's Domain, Link had paid a courier to send a message to Purah that he and a friend would be returning within the next two weeks, and to please find a housekeeper to make the house ready for them.

They stabled the horses and pack mule in their little lean-to, combing them down well and treating them to fresh oats. Link closed the little gate he had asked Bolson to install on the bridge so the horses wouldn't wander away, and then showed his princess into his home.

"It's not much," Link told her, looking around.

"Are those…." She paused, then drew closer to the weapons displayed on the wall. "Did those belong to…"

"The Champions, yes," Link agreed. "The weapons were given to me by their respective peoples once I got each of the Divine Beasts under control. I used each weapon for a bit — that's what our friends would have wanted — but I also wanted to preserve them. So once I got this house, I decided to store them here for safekeeping."

"I see," the princess said, running her finger carefully along the flat edge of the Scimitar of the Seven. She was smiling sadly. He knew how she had loved Urbosa. "You're right. They would have liked that."

While his princess remained distracted by the weapons, Link filled the teakettle with fresh water — brought in earlier that day, from the looks of it, thank Hylia for friends like Purah — built up a fire in his fireplace, and began to make tea. He carried his princess's bags upstairs to the sleeping area, setting her things where she could easily find them, and then went back downstairs to the hearth. A small cot waited for him in the corner, and Link made another mental note to take some ancient parts to Purah in thanks. Then Link turned attention to his houseguest. The princess had seated herself on a low stool at an angle to the fire, and was staring pensively into the flames.

"You've accomplished so much," she finally said moodily. "And I so little."

Link remembered Urbosa chastising the princess — chastising her the last time they'd seen each other, in fact, telling the princess not to feel sorry for herself.

Instead of following in Urbosa's lead that way, he did something else that she would have done.

He was going to touch her.

"Don't," he said, voice low. He knelt before his princess, said a prayer for bravery, then carefully reached out, tenderly lifting his princess's hands from where they rested limply in her lap. He squeezed her fingers with his own, and sparkling heat suffused him. "Don't do this to yourself, princess. We all suffered, sacrificed, and accomplished things. You more than anyone."

"Me?" she asked bitterly. "How can you say that? If only I'd—"

"Yes," Link agreed, cutting her off. "If only your powers had unlocked sooner, far fewer people would have died. But that's not what happened, and there's nothing we can do about it now. But."

Link paused, taking a deep breath.

"You saved me. You kept me from dying, and you carried on the fight. You fought for a hundred years. You held on, all on your own, for a full century, princess. That's no small feat. You kept the world safe, kept the damage contained, kept me — all of us — alive to fight the battle again. And though I might have weakened the Calamity, you — Zelda, Princess of Hyrule — were the one who defeated him and banished him forever. Don't sell yourself short. Hyrule has you to thank for its survival."

The princess had gone very still, her eyes fixed on Link's shoulder. He took another fortifying breath, then continued.

"I can't imagine," he finally said. "I can't imagine what it was like. What you went through, trapped in there, with that… that thing. I am in awe of your strength. I may be courageous, but I'm nothing next to you. So please. Don't beat yourself up anymore. We all have failings to answer for. But we're atoning. And that has to be enough.

"We lived. So we can't carry on as though we wish we hadn't. It disgraces the fallen. The champions, our friends — they wanted us to live. To live on. So that's what we need to do."

The princess looked at him for a long time. Then, finally, she leaned forward, resting her head against the shoulder she had stared at. Though her breathing was carefully normal, a moment later, he felt hot tears soaking through the fabric of his clothing. Their arms were trapped between them — carefully, Link disentangled, then embraced his crying princess.

She wept for a long, long time.

At last, her tears slowed. She drew in a gulp of air, a great big shuddering breath, and then said into the fabric, her voice muffled: "Thank you, Link."

"You're welcome, princess," he said, stroking the waterfall of golden hair that tangled around them both.

"Say it again," she said quietly, from the vicinity of his collarbone.

"You're… welcome?" Link asked. A watery, hiccuping chuckle drifted up to Link's ears.

"No," she said. "My name. You said my name. I don't think you've ever said it before."

Link drew in a deep breath.

"It slipped out," he said. "I didn't — the protocol —"

"Hang the rules, Link," the princess said, finally peering up at him with red-rimmed eyes — a familiar sight from Before. "Anyone who cared about that sort of thing is long dead and buried. When we rebuild, we'll build new rules, too. And out here, in this little village nobody knows who I am. So please. Say it again. Call me by my name."

Link took another nervous breath. His stomach was full of butterflies. Purah would know who the beautiful blonde visitor would be… but the little Sheikah had never been much for the rules. Did he dare cross this delicate line?

He looked down at his princess's face, stubborn and hopeful and waiting as though the next words he said could give her new life. And the decision was made. The line was crossed. There would be no going back from this.

"Zelda," he finally said. "You are Zelda."

"Yes," she agreed, and leaned her forehead back against his shoulder. It took a long time for Link to slow the rapid tattoo of his heart — part excitement, part instinctive terror: even as Champion of Hyrule, such familiarity with the princess would have caused him to be stripped of his title and honors at best and put to death at worst. But once he'd calmed, once he could think clearly, he realized that the princess was right. Here, at least — in Hateno — nobody (other than Purah) knew who she was. Nobody had to know. They could simply… be for a while. Not the king's daughter and her chosen knight. Not the Champion and the Princess with the Sealing Power. Just two people. Zelda. And Link.

He began to smile. There really was a very good reason why his princess — Zelda, she was Zelda — was the brains of the operation, he thought. And when he looked down to tell her so, he realized she had fallen asleep. Dirty tear-tracks still marred her face. She hadn't washed off after traveling. Well, Link thought, a little dirt wouldn't kill the sheets. She could rinse off in the morning.

Gathering her into his arms — she really weighed no more than a feather, even after his continuous feeding of her — he carried her up the stairs to the modest loft, and laid her down to rest in his bed.

The next day, the princess slept late and awoke mid-morning, yawning and blinking.

Link had already been to the village to beg a few eggs from his neighbors, and to make arrangements for Bolson to build more furniture. Link could do many things related to fighting and survival, but constructing his own furniture was not one of the areas in which he had ever had need to work on that particular skillset. He'd only bought the house recently and hadn't had time to learn to build things, and Before…

Before, he'd been a knight, and the son of a knight. That meant that his father had been titled and landed. So someone had built all their furniture for them.

Regardless, Link didn't mind parting with his hard-won money for a little help. He'd managed to accrue a small fortune in the course of his adventures, and being free with his money and favors had only benefitted him. The people of Hateno knew to give the rich traveler his space, and didn't ask too many questions. He was hoping that would work in his favor now that the princess, Zelda, was in residence at his home.

He hoped the tongues wouldn't wag too much.

Link had hesitated to leave his princess alone while she slept, but Hateno Village was safe. Though he'd encountered roaming Yiga before outside its borders, they never ventured into the village proper — likely because of the zapping, sparking wards laid down by Purah at the village's edge. Scientist though she may be, she was still a Sheikah, and could cast a mean protection spell. Link had felt another of Purah's spells on the property that he'd purchased. She'd warded it so that he and his guests would be safe from any ill intent.

So, without too much concern aside from the fact that it went against every ounce of training he'd received in the royal guard, Link went into town, made arrangements, purchased food, bought a few simple frocks for his princess, and headed home, hoping that she hadn't awoken yet.

In fact, she hadn't. She didn't rise until the smell of cooking eggs and ham drifted up to the loft. She poked her head over the side, expression bleary, hair a tousled mess, face still a little swollen from the previous night's tears.

"Is that breakfast I smell?" she asked as Link poked at the cookpot placed over the deep hearth.

"It is," Link said. He hefted a jug of warm tea as well. "Want to come down?"

The princess grunted in the affirmative, and then emerged a moment later, a thick blanket wrapped around her mussed traveling clothes. Autumn was coming early to the mountains, and the air coming in through the open downstairs windows was pleasantly cool. Though down in the lowlands it was still the balmy end of summer, here it was brisk, the leaves changing color, the wind off the Necluda Sea surprisingly chilly. Link made a list in head of places around the village where he wanted to take his princess while the weather held.

"Here," Link said, making up a plate for his princess. He'd gotten good at predicting what kinds of portions she would eat, and ladled her food out accordingly. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," she said, tracing a finger across the wooden tabletop. "I don't think I've slept that well since — well, since." She took a drink of tea, savoring the brew with shut eyes. Something about the sight caused Link's heart to lurch in his chest, a pleasant sort of double-thump that took his breath away.

"Once we're finished eating," Link forced himself to say, laying a plate for himself — his princess had been very specific about her new preference for sharing her meals with him, and he could oblige her here, in the privacy of his home — "I'll take you to the nearby hot springs so you can rinse off. Then, if you like, we'll go to the lab."

She perked up a little, opening one green eye and looking at him.

"Lab?" she asked with interest.

"There's a research lab here," Link said offhandedly. "Dedicated to understanding the ancient technology."

"Ah," the princess said with a smile. "That's right. With the little girl." She shut her eyes again. Her response confirmed what Link had inferred: that even though she'd watched over him every step of his journey, she had in truth only seen, and not heard — otherwise she would know that the so-called little girl was in fact their old friend Purah.

"Thank you for your kind words yesterday, Link," she said in her insubstantial voice as she took another close-eyed sip of her tea. "My heart feels far lighter. You told me precisely what I needed to hear. Thank you."

"You're welcome, my…." Link trailed off, tongue tied. Her eyes opened, her brows raised, and she watched him expectantly until he amended, "Zelda."

She smiled again, that sunshine smile, and Link's heart did another one of those double-thumps in his chest. Then she looked at her mug of tea — empty — and frowned at it sorrowfully.

"Here," Link said, reaching across the table to take her mug. In the time it took him to refill her drink and set it back before her, she'd begun to eat, and he didn't want to disrupt her.

"I went into town while you slept this morning," he told her. "I arranged for some more furniture to be made for the house, so we should have another bed soon. And I got you a present," he added, nodding at a soft parcel wrapped with linen and tied with rough brown string.

"What is it?" the princess asked once she had finished chewing a mouthful of eggs.

"A few frocks," Link responded. "All you packed for our trip were trousers and work clothes, and I thought you might like something softer to wear, to help you look a little less obtrusive here."

His princess smiled at him softly. "That's very thoughtful of you."

They finished their breakfast, and the princess went to unwrap her gowns. There were three of them: one each in blue, gray, and green, the preferred colors of the people of Hateno. His princess chose the gray gown and grabbed some underthings from her pack, and then they set off for the nearby hot spring. It was mercifully devoid of people, and Zelda shooed Link away so she could disrobe and slip into the water with a soft sigh.

"There's a bath house in town as well," Link told her some time later, keeping his back turned to her as she splashed in the water. "But today is the men's day at the bath house, and I figured you'd want to rinse off the travel dirt today."

"Yes, thank you," she said, the water splashing lightly as she turned to her ablutions. Link waited as he always had whenever she was tending to something personal: his back to her, senses on high alert, tip of his sword resting against the ground as he watched for anything that might disturb his princess.

Link remembered standing this way with her dozens of times as she prayed. He'd done his best to be as unobtrusive as possible, guarding his princess with his body as best he could, and trying hard not to hear her whispered prayers.

But, of course, he always heard everything.

Thankfully, there were no tears this time. Instead, quiet splashing and the occasional drift of the princess's lilting hum as she scrubbed herself drifted to his ears. Link had positioned himself downhill of the spring, squarely in the path that ran between two steep rock walls. Fortunately, the hot spring was remote, and nobody disturbed his princess's peace. After half an hour, he heard her splash her way out of the water. Fabric rustled as she dried herself off, then dressed herself.

"Alright, Link," she said. "It's safe for you to come back now."

Link turned. His princess buckled the wide belt around the gray dress and smoothed down the embroidered apron that fell down her front. She hadn't let down her hair, which she had braided around her head in a thick coronet to keep dry. A basket beside her held her dirty laundry, plus the little sand scrub she'd used to scour herself.

"How do I look?" she asked Link, looking up. The dove gray of her dress brought out the startling brilliance of her eyes, and with her cheeks flushed pink from the spring and her golden hair braided around her head, she looked like a nobleman's dream of what a country girl should be.

"You're missing something," Link said. He moved to the side of the meadow and picked a few little flowers. His princess tilted her head to the side as he approached, the delicate white blooms held careful in his fist.

"Link?" she asked him.

"Hold still," he told her with a grin. With gentle fingers, he slid the little white flowers into her braid, then stepped back.

"There," he said. "You look perfect."

She gave him the strangest look, then flushed and smiled shyly.

"Thank you," she said. She stooped, reaching for her basket, but Link beat her to it, sweeping it up and over an arm.

"I can carry that myself, you know," she told him.

"I know," Link said lightly, not handing the basket back. He nodded down the path to the village. "We can drop your clothes at the pond where village women do laundry. It's on the way to the lab."

"Is the lab that structure I noticed this morning?" the princess asked. "Up on the hill behind the village?"

"Yes," Link agreed. "It'll take us around two hours to walk there from the village, unless you'd rather take the horses?"

"No," the princess said. "Let's walk."

They set off back down the hill, the princess leading the way as she always did. As they re-entered the village, she noticed one of the many lanterns lining the path.

"Why does it burn with a blue flame?" she asked Link, falling in beside him as they entered the crowded streets. Link was uncomfortable having her walk beside him — it was entirely improper, given the differences in their station — but walking behind her would draw far more attention to them than walking beside her. So he choked down his remembered panic and forced an easy smile.

"That's ancient flame," Link told her. "The Sheikah left an ancient furnace out here. It's what powers the lab."

"Mm," Zelda said. She pursed her lips, clearly trying to remember. "You were sent to retrieve that flame, weren't you?"

"Right," Link agreed. "And I rekindled the lanterns on the way."

The princess hummed her agreement. At the little pond near the center of town, Link released the basket to one of the local women who washed clothes there, with the request that she return it to his home and the promise of payment upon receipt. The woman looked in surprise from the princess back to Link, and then nodded.

"Of course, Traveler," she said.

Link thanked her, and did his best not to jump out of his skin when he felt a smooth hand loop itself through the crook of his elbow where the basket had previously rested. That same sensation, the glowing like fire, suffused him. Link wondered if he was creating a beacon so bright it could be seen from Hebra.

"To the lab, now?" the princess asked, leaning against Link. He swallowed thickly. She touched him so easily, so casually, as though it didn't have the same effect on her as it did him. And yet… he'd watched her for far too long, back Before, that he could easily read the subtle changes in her. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were sparkling. And her breathing was a little lighter than usual.

Well. Maybe it — whatever it was — affected her too. Though there was another explanation as well. She'd been a century without touch. He wouldn't deprive her of it now.

"Yes," Link agreed, gesturing with his free hand. They left the small square and the washerwomen who watched them go with curious eyes, then put their heads together immediately — likely to gossip about who the woman was that their Traveler had brought home.

They passed the inn, and Link amused his princess by telling her stories about catching crickets to help a local boy woo one of the girls who worked at the inn. She laughed, as he'd hoped she would, and they slowly passed through the outskirts of the village, winding their way up the tall hill towards the research laboratory.

The traveling and food had made his princess stronger, and they didn't have to stop as often as before, when they'd scaled the hills outside of Kakariko to reach the Great Fairy's Fountain. Still, they paused several times, often so Zelda could survey the breathtaking views. It was just after noon when they reached the lab at last: smoke puffed out the tall chimney, the ancient fire burned brilliantly blue in the hearth, and cheerful music wafted out, along with the sound of a child's shout.

Link rapped on the door a few times, then poked his head in.

Purah was standing on her stool, imperiously pointing at a sparking pile of… rocks? Her assistant, Symin, was frantically trying to put out a brilliantly green fire that bloomed around the mess.

"Ah, Link," Purah said, dancing a little jig on her stool and striking a pose. "Welcome back. How was your travel? Who's this mysterious friend?"

Link opened the door more fully and stepped in, his princess just behind him. She peered around his shoulder and smiled at the child.

"Hello," she said softly.

Purah stared at Zelda. Then back at Link. Then at Zelda some more. Then, she let loose with a loud wail, erupting into tears as she flung herself off the stool.

"Princess!" she sobbed, throwing herself against the princess's legs. "I thought I would never see you again! Link, how could you surprise me like this?"

"Pardon?" his princess asked, dropping down to a crouch so she was level with the child. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you."

"Of course you don't recognize me," Purah wailed. "I messed up an experiment and started aging backwards. It's me, Princess. It's Purah!"

"Purah?" Zelda gasped. She covered her mouth with her hands, looking up at Link with wide green eyes. He smiled at the look on her face and nodded.

His princess turned back to her old friend. Without a second thought, she flung her arms around the child and began to weep as well.

Link decided to leave them to it and put his mind to helping Symin put out the fire.

"So that's the long-lost princess, eh?" he asked with a grunt, flapping a blanket over the flames in an attempt to smother them. "None of us knew she'd survived."

"She's still recovering," Link said, wishing he hadn't left his fireproof gear back in his home's little storage shed. Maybe he should loan it to poor Symin. "We're keeping the news quiet."

"So where have you two been?" the bulky man asked, puffing a strand of white hair out of his soot-streaked face. The green flames were dying down, though the sobbing on the other side of the room seemed to have mixed with laughter somehow as the two women greeted each other after so long apart.

"Kakariko, mostly," Link said. "With a brief trip to Zora."

"How'd it go?" Symin asked. The last of the fire went out with a coughing poof, and he rocked back on his heels, exhaling in relief.

"Not well," Link replied. "She had trouble in Kakariko, too. I'm hoping that she'll be able to find the space and quiet she needs to heal out here."

"Mm," agreed Symin. "Hateno's a quiet place. They don't pay too much mind to what's going on in Hyrule Proper. It's a good notion. And the harvest festival is the week after next. A little celebration may be good for her."

"Harvest festival?" Link asked. "What'll it be like?"

"Lotta pumpkins," Symin said. "Candies, dances, and a bonfire."

Link cast back in his memory. He remembered balls — stuffy affairs spent wearing his finest uniform and standing behind his princess, who sat upon her throne and tapped her foot in boredom. Nobody dared ask her to take a turn with them — but Link also remembered seeing her frolicking around, doing leaps and spins in her lab or out in meadows.

He would find out if his princess liked to dance.

Link and Symin talked a bit longer, Link keeping an eye on his princess as she caught up with Purah. It had been so long since they had seen each other, and so much had happened — well, to Purah, at least, and the girl-woman was talking a mile a minute, with Zelda nodding encouragingly and asking the occasional question. Link had heard them talking about all that had happened in Purah's life, including the experiment that accidentally reversed her aging process. At the mention of the Age of Burning Fields, the princess's expression darkened, and Link excused himself from Symin to come to her rescue, as he always would.

"— and of course, all the crops going up in smoke led to quite the famine, and—"

"Purah," Link cut in. "We had a research-related question for you."

At the mention of her beloved research, Purah's eyes lit up behind her round glasses.

"What is it?" the girl-woman asked excitedly.

"Currently, only one person can use the Sheikah Slate to warp to any activated Guidance Stone," Link explained. "We were wondering if that could be expanded to two people?"

"It would make traveling an awful lot easier, wouldn't it?" Purah asked thoughtfully. "I might be able to do it. Princess, if you'd be so kind?" She held one small, pale hand for the Sheikah Slate. Zelda unhooked the slate from her hip and passed it to her old friend, who began to tap on it and mutter.

"Need to do some tests— widening the range—" said the girl.

Link didn't need to look at his princess to feel the palpable relief radiating off of her.

"I'll work on it," Purah finally said at last. "I need to run a few preliminary tests, which will take a while. Are you comfortable leaving this with me?"

"For a little while," the princess said. Her voice, Link noted, had weakened a little. He stomped down the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder. Instead, he balled his hands into fists and watched her.

Watched the curve of her cheek, the flutter of her lashes, the minute movements in her jaw and neck, as he had always watched her. As her protector. Her champion.

He wished there was more he could do for her.

"I recognize you likely won't be staying in Hateno very long," Purah said to the princess, pulling Link from his ruminations. "So I'll send word every morning on my progress. Of course, you're welcome to come by here any time to visit and see how the experiments are going." Her eyes flitted from Link to the princess, old eyes in a young face. What she saw must have sobered her a little because her expression sobered. Then she hopped off the stool.

"Well, come on," she said brightly. "You've walked all this way — let me feed you and show you around, at least!"

They had a quick lunch of sandwiches. Meat, cheese, and a spicy spread complimented the crunch of fresh greens very nicely. Then, Purah gave them the grand tour, escorting Link and the princess all over the property. Zelda exclaimed over the massive telescope perched on the roof, and spent no small amount of time looking around at the surrounding landscape with the huge lens. They journeyed to the top of the tower, where the princess and Purah spent quite a while with their heads bent over books, mumbling things about calibrations and vibrations and other things Link didn't understand. Link leaned against the wall, waiting for his princess as he so often had. Symin came and went with another tray of sandwiches, plus cocoa for the ladies. By the time afternoon was working it way into evening, the princess was yawning into her hands and Purah was fretting.

"I can see you're tired and ready to leave, princess," the girl-woman said. "Can we offer you a ride back down to the village?"

"No, thank you," the princess said softly. "I'm rather enjoying the exercise. But thank you for the offer. "

"Of course," Purah agreed. Next came the long round of goodbyes, promises to get together again soon, and Purah's reassurances that the Sheikah Slate would be in good hands and she'd send an update first thing each morning. The little Sheikah asked one last time if they were quite certain they didn't want a ride. The princess demurred, and they were on their way.

Halfway back to the village, the princess stopped at a steep ledge, looking out over the craggy landscape.

"Zelda?" Link asked softly. The sun was making its descent towards the horizon, and the landscape was shot through with orange and gold light.

"The Age of Burning Fields," she murmured. "I wasn't aware that Hyrule had burned."

Link stepped up beside her, looking out at the view.

"How much were you aware of? When you were trapped in there?" Link asked her as the wind dragged its fingers across their cheeks. The princess's braided coronet was becoming mussed, strands frizzing out in the wind.

"Only you," the princess said. "You were my only connection to what was happening outside of Hyrule Castle."

Link frowned.

"But I was asleep," he said.

"Yes," the princess agreed, her mouth twisting bitterly.

Link waited. His princess seemed to be not lost in thought, not precisely, but picking her way carefully through memories.

"Those first few years," she said in a low voice, so quiet he could barely hear her. Threaded through with the familiar pain that was so often present now. "When you were still so near death. Those were the darkest. My grief was still so new, and my powers were so unfamiliar. I was terrified every moment that my grasp would slip and Calamity Ganon would burst free. And my only escape was to send my mind to you — near death in the sleep of restoration. I was terrified you would never recover."

"But I did," Link said softly.

"Slowly," the princess agreed. "We didn't have as much power fed to the Shrine of Resurrection as we should have. Calamity Ganon suppressed it, somehow. And the damage to you was so catastrophic that between it and the low power, you only regained about one percent of your body's functionality each year. I was so hopeless at first. The first decade was very dark indeed."

"Zelda…" Link said. Her hands hung loose at her sides. Link had the sudden, sparking urge to reach out, to grasp her hands with his as he had the night before. As he was summoning his courage to do so, she turned, smiling sadly.

"Let us speak of it no more," she said. She began to march down the path, and Link watched her go for a moment before scrambling down after her.

They were going to have to talk about it at some point, Link thought to himself. There was too much blood and death between them for her to go on avoiding the subject whenever it came up. He could tell it hurt her to speak of it. It wasn't the same old pain as what she'd expressed around her missing powers — it was deeper. More jagged.

It reminded him of a poisoned wound. Link wondered how he could help.

Ahead of him, his princess had stopped walking. She didn't look at him, but it was clear that her entire attention was fixed on him.

"Walk beside me from now on, Hero," she said softly. "Please. Don't make me walk alone any longer."

Link inhaled. Another boundary crossed. Another piece of protocol discarded. She wished him to stride beside her as an equal partner, not as a vassal. He was quite certain she knew what he was asking.

But who was he to refuse her? Not when she was so clearly still cracked in half from pain and grief.

"Of course," he responded, stepping up to walk beside the princess. She didn't loop her arm through his to tow him along — not this time — but though her face was still sad, her step was a little lighter.

Link studied the nervousness, the hope, and the sinking feeling in his stomach. His princess was changing the rules on him, stripping away the walls that protocol had erected between them one brick at a time.

What would they find when those walls were gone? What would they see of each other? What would be between them instead?

He was terrified to find out.

They lingered in Hateno for several dreamy weeks. Link took his princess to the beach, up the mountains, even to the top of the nearby Hateno Tower, though at his princess's request they avoided the Spring of Power. They helped the villagers with the harvest, were chased out of the house by Bolson (who was very insistent that his team could assemble furniture without help, you adorable little couple~), and spent lazy hours resting in the green meadow outside Link's house. Zelda had begged a few books from Purah, and lounged on blankets laid out in the grass, making notes in a little journal Link had bought for her from Beedle when he passed through town several days earlier.

Her other journals — her journals from Hyrule Castle — sat in the bottom of Link's packs, folded away (for the time being) in his storage shed. He felt some days like they were burning a hole in the back of his skull. How could he give them to his princess, he wondered one afternoon as he practiced his sword work. How could he explain that he'd violated her privacy? That he'd read them, not so much out of a hope to find information about Ganon, but because he so desperately wanted to remember what it had been to be carefree — well, relatively— with her?

"Link," his princess said in her soft voice, startling him so badly he nearly dropped his sword mid-swing. The volume and enthusiasm she'd so often expressed Before were gone, but there was emotion in her voice now. Real feeling. Hateno was doing her good.

"Yes?" Link asked. His princess was lying on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air over her rump as she compared two ancient tomes and made notes. She was wearing trousers, and Link forcefully tore his eyes from the silhouette of her very shapely legs. She was putting weight back on, her body rebuilding itself.

That was the only reason why he was assessing the shape of her legs. Obviously.

He realized she was looking at him, expectantly waiting for a response, and Link resisted the urge to tug at his collar. She'd realized a long time ago that when he did that, he was hiding something.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, meeting his princess's green stare with his own blue one and keeping his hands firmly away from his collar. "Can you repeat that, please?"

"I said," his princess frowned, "I think we ought to go back to Kakariko soon. I'm sure Impa has begun hearing back by now from the different races about Guardians. Once Purah has finished her work on the Sheikah Slate, it should be an easy matter of traveling around to assess the reports. This will give us the opportunity to also open discussions on rebuilding the palace and Castle Town, and should allow us to begin making reparations to the families of the fallen Champions." Her face darkened, but she didn't slip into the blackness of grief. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea," Link said. "Are you sure you want to go back to Kakariko, though? If we can teleport with the Sheikah Slate, we can just as easily stage everything from here."

"Are you so anxious to stay close to Purah?" Zelda asked him, arching a single blonde brow.

"No," Link said. "That's not it." He couldn't tell her that, since they'd taken up residence, this place had started to really feel like home. Not just because of the furniture, though that helped a good deal — but having someone else in the house with him, even if it was his princess, made him calmer. He was less alone. The other day, he'd imagined teaching a blonde-headed son to fish in the small pond, while a daughter climbed a tree, being shouted down by her mother, who sounded an awful lot like—

Well. He wouldn't burden Her with those impossible dreams. He was a guard. She was his first and only priority. He would never marry. His princess came first in his heart and his mind, now and always.

And that princess was still waiting for him to explain his odd remarks. Link swallowed.

"You seem happier here," he fumbled out. "Surrounded by the Sheikah — you were unhappy with all their eyes on you."

Zelda sighed. She shut her journal, then propped her head in her palm.

"I suppose it's true," she said, dragging the feather end of her quill in lazy curlicues across the blanket Link had spread out for her. Horse blanket, picnic blanket, study blanket — the thing had seen far more use since his princess came along than it had in the entire duration of Link's adventuring. "All my life, I've been at the center of everyone's gaze. It was hard. It is hard. Especially now, after all that has happened. All I want is some quiet and reprieve. I want to rest." She paused, face resolute and sad.

"But I can't rest, Link. We have a nation to rebuild. And it doesn't matter how tired I am, or how afraid, or how much I want to scream at everyone to stop staring at me. All that worship and pity. I can't stand it." She threw her quill down, then pushed herself up to her knees, fixing Link with a baleful green gaze.

"It doesn't matter what I want, though," she told him. "It has never mattered what I want. And it never will matter. I am the princess of Hyrule. The kingdom has been broken into pieces, but we can fix it. I know we can. And that means I can't hide anymore. I have to step up, and take charge. Begin purging the Guardians. Begin leading the rebuilding effort. So even though I don't want to go back to Kakariko, I must. It is my duty as the last daughter of the Bosphoramus line."

Her little speech had left her breathless. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled. Link had the sudden urge to go to her. He tried to suppress it by sheathing his sword, but that only freed up his hands, the mischievous, disobedient things that they were.

He knelt before his lady.

"What is it that you want, then?" he asked her, studying her face intently. A tendril of blonde hair wafted before her eyes. With careful fingers that rose in spite of his best attempts to keep them to himself, Link tucked the itinerant strand behind one delicate, pointed ear.

She inhaled sharply as Link's fingers ghosted across the arch of her cheekbone. Her drop earring quivered as his fingers passed by. Her eyes, emerald and wide, shot to his.

"I think," she said, voice wavering a bit, "the better question is, will you stand with me?"

"Huh?" Link was so flummoxed he sat back on his heels, studying his princess. She'd always had a knack for surprising him, back Before — apparently, now was no different.

"Will you be my partner in this?"

"I…" Link paused, frowning. He cocked his head to the side. "Partner?"

"Yes, partner," she grumbled. She poked him forcefully in the chest. "Equals. Remember?" She punctuated the question with another sharp poke. To please her, Link went toppling over to land on his rump.

"But I'm your guard," Link said to the sky. His princess sprang to her feet and began pacing. "Your appointed knight. Protocol dictates I can never be your equal. Only your vassal."

"Which I can't forget," Zelda said, gesturing irately. "Because you won't let me forget. A hundred years have passed and all the old ways are dead, and still you insist on following all the proper decorum and ridiculous protocol. Why, Link? Am I really so repulsive to you?"

Link propped himself up on an elbow, watching his princess stomp back and forth across the field. He didn't need to ask a follow-up question: true to form from Before, she continued to rant.

"I try to make it clear to you that I want you to be my equal, and you insist on staying four steps back. I tell you to walk beside me, and you do it only because you're following your bloody orders. I must conclude, being of a scientific mind, that you are not interested in — in—"

"Interested in what?" Link asked as she angrily fumbled for words.

"In being my friend, you absolute dolt!" she shouted, so loudly that birds scattered from the nearby tree.

She was breathing hard. Link looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks flamed. She spun, presenting him with her back.

"You were friends, good friends, with the rest of the Champions."

Not Revali, Link wanted to point out, but now did not seem to be the time for correcting his princess.

"You had their respect and they had yours. You talked with them. Worked with them. Treated them as equals and exchanged ideas. But never with me. Always four steps behind me and bloody silent. Even now. Even when all we have is each other, you insist upon your dratted protocol."

"Princess," Link tried, but she kept going.

"Well, I may not be Mipha or Urbosa, but I need friendship too, and if I'm going to get through everything that's coming I need someone who will be honest and open with me and — and…" Words deserted her. She huffed and puffed, and Link had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at her. She looked like a very irate kitten.

"Zelda," he said, in the tone of voice he used to soothe skittish horses. "Please. Sit down. Of course I'll be your friend."

"Oh, no you won't," she said grumpily, though she did plop down into a tailor's seat beside him. "You're just saying that because you believe it's your duty."

"I don't," Link said, trying to contain his humor. At the sight, up close, of Zelda's genuine unhappiness, he sobered. "I don't. It's just… breaking protocol makes me worried."

"Worried?" she asked, turning her doe eyes to him. "Whatever for? Nobody here is going to strip you of your titles and cast you out of the kingdom."

"No," Link agreed. "But I can't help but think… those strict rules, princess. I believe they were all put in place for a reason. To protect us from each other."

"To protect us from each other?" the princess asked, puzzled. "Why on earth would we need that? Have I not shown that I will defend you at any cost? Have you not shown the same?" She reached out and grabbed his hand. Fire raced through him. "I know that you will always protect me, Link. I have absolute faith in you. So please." Her voice softened. Her grip on him tightened, as though she was afraid he would flee. "Please, Link. Be my equal. Be my friend."

He could deny her nothing, Link realized, looking at her beautiful, desperate face. And it wasn't just because he was her sworn protector. No— this went much, much deeper, and he shied away from naming the emotion that swirled through him at the sight of his princess's distress.

The person she most needed protection from was him, he realized with a sinking feeling. And she was asking him not to.

Link shut his eyes.

He could refuse her nothing.

"Defying protocol will be difficult for me," he said. "But I promise, Zelda. I will try to be your equal and your friend."

"Oh, Link," she said, throwing her arms around him and pressing her body against his own. "Thank you."

The sinking feeling in Link's stomach opened deeper as fire at her touch sparked through him. He wished that the pit there would swallow him whole.

Friends. In the name of Hylia, how would he manage that?