Seven Years of Solitude
It started out as a harmless little crush. Not that Malon would ever admit to having affections towards a weird kid in green shorts.
Her girlish crushes were nothing new. She liked to think of herself as a simple country lass, and required nothing of her love interests outside an appreciation for farm animals… and maybe a cool sword. Preferably a really big sword—complete with an equally gargantuan shield. A slick, neat-looking suit of armor wouldn't hurt either.
She frowned when she recalled the fairy boy's scrawny little blade-thing. If you could even call it a 'blade-thing.' It was more like a glorified butterknife.
Her frown deepened as she pictured his shield in all its dopey, wooden glory. Furthermore, the kid didn't even have a cool suit of armor to compensate (or help hide his face from the shame of it all.)
Malon sighed. At least Epona and the cows seemed to like him. It was too bad she couldn't say the same about the chickens though.
The first time Link came to the ranch was marked as the day her chickens turned homicidal.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she remembered saying to him, as she watched the gleefully sadistic fairy boy indulge in the delightful practice of butchering her chickens
He had grunted in response, just as the bomb he'd planted in the center of the field exploded in a sea of feathers.
Malon watched helplessly as her sweet, angelic chickens flew into a blurred rampage. The fairy boy made a desperate attempt to flee.
Needless to say, the idiot ended up a lifeless mass in front of the horse feed.
After calming the anarchic mob with a couple buckets of corn, Malon proceeded to drag an unconscious Link into her room, where he remained for the course of the evening.
The memory was enough to make her grimace. This doofus was supposed to be the one to restore peace in Hyrule? This blockhead, who finds pleasure in lighting poultry on fire, was to be capable of making women swoon at the very presence of his being?
Malon scoffed at the thought. Oh please. The guy couldn't even contain his stare when he watched the mushy newlyweds in from the marketplace make out. She couldn't believe she actually had a crush on such a softie.
Although…she supposed that some females found the sensitive disposition to be rather endearing. And there was lots of time for Link to learn the art of womanizing. He was still young, after all. Anyhow, Malon preferred older men. Men with chiseled features and artful grins, with prominent eyebrows and strapping physiques. Men who had manly names, like Troy or Arthur—or Butch or Spock.
As a little girl, Malon would find herself perched on the steps of the marketsquare shops, watching as the knight guards gazed absent-mindedly at the blustering commotion.
Malon had kind of a soft spot for stony-faced guys with nice arms and pretty horses. The scrawny fairy boy couldn't even begin to compare. Outside his prominent brow ridge, Link was not her type at all.
So naturally, Malon was pleasantly surprised when the fairy boy returned seven years later complete with the post-adolescent glow of studly prestige.
Ah yes, the lad grew up fast. Gone, was his pathetic excuse for a shield and sling-shot previously used to fling pebbles at her chickens. Granted, he wore tights now (which Malon found herself rather disturbed by) and his glaring fondness for the color green had yet to wear off, but there was no denying the truth: Fairy boy was a certified Lothario.
It was too bad his newfound brawn did nothing for his childish love of attacking poultry. Thus, their first meeting in seven years involved Malon stumbling across his palsied body in the cow feed.
For the second time in her life, she was forced to drag his limp form into her living quarters. Unfortunately, there were several key differences in the two events-- the obvious being that Link had managed to put on a good amount of weight since their last encounter.
Pulling a grown male across a giant field was not an easy task. However, pulling a grown male who liked carrying a myriad of hefty equipment, arrows, nutshell-type-thingys, and giant gold stones was a near impossible task.
By the time Link was sprawled laxly across her floorboards, Malon was ready to collapse in a heap right beside him. Idly, she wondered who would milk the cows the next morning if she were to curl up and die from heat exhaustion.
Malon turned to the dozing fairy boy.
"Puberty's been good to you, eh?" She poked the boy's midsection, which stiffened at the sudden contact. Malon allowed her gaze to run down his inanimate form, frowning with disapproval at the funny white tights.
"Clearly though," she muttered, "It's done absolutely nothing for your horrendous taste in attire."
He let out a subliminal snort in response, continuing to bleed (and drool, she suspected) all over her rug.
Having had enough of his vegged-out stupor, Malon pried his lips open and forced an entire bottle of milk down his throat.
Link awoke to find cow juice streaming from his nostrils. Nearly drowning in dairy, he turned to the mirthful girl crouched beside him. If his vision wasn't being blinded by milk, he could've sworn she looked rather pleased with herself.
Malon failed to stop the smile spreading across her face.
"Hey there, fairy boy," she said, when the retching had died down, "Nice tights you got there."
He stared. Actually, 'stared' may have been a bit of an understatement. Gawked, was more like it.
The air was drenched in silence. Link barely even blinked.
Clearly, puberty had done nothing for his lack of speech either.