The Princess of Hyrule stood upon her battlements, facing west. The evening's gentle breeze ruffled her hair, played her thin silk dress about her body, and she huddled under its chill caress. Even in the dying light, Death Mountain stood clear before her. The game has begun. The pieces are in play. She has set her country lumbering down the path to either doom or salvation.
So why does she feel so normal?
The goosebumps running down her bare arms came from the cold alone, not the enormity of the task before her. She knew, certainly, she has just sent a promising boy into more danger than any child—no, any person—should ever have to face, but try as she might she could not make herself feel the weight of that decision.
Perhaps that was why the princesses always loved the heroes in the stories: so they would be careful with their lives, and not gamble them on a whim. But Zelda knew that you couldn't just fall in love in a few hours. Besides, she was a princess. She should be able to value everyone's life without having to love them. Not like that, anyway.
Around her paced a handful of guards. She had never spoken to a single one; she didn't think she could even tell them apart, if pressed. Yet one day, she would have to weigh their lives against the health of the nation, and to gamble with them, and every single one would march toward death on her behalf.
Trembling hands clenched onto the parapet in front of her. Nayru, help me! The Goddess of Wisdom maintained her cold silence.
"Highness?" Impa's muted voice floated up from the stairway below her. "Now would be a rather inopportune time to catch cold."
"I've placed my bet," Zelda said. "That boy carries our fate now. There is little left for me to do."
"And yet you are troubled." The last of the Sheikah took her place beside the Princess. With her form-fitting breastplate and the shortsword strapped to the small of her back, Impa was far more lightly armed than any of Zelda's guards. She moved with a lithe grace that rivaled even the best of the court dancers, and her exposed, knotted muscles seemed ready to explode in a violent frenzy at the slightest twitch. An undying flame blazed in her red eyes, and her pure white hair showed not age, but a proud maturity. Beside her, Zelda felt far safer than among a full contingent of her royal guard.
"I was only a little older than you are now, during the Civil War," Impa continued. "The king was not wise. Time and time again, he would throw his deadly Sheikah at missions we were never meant to handle."
Zelda's jaw hung open. Impa never talked about the Civil War. The one time she had ever struck her, Zelda had been pestering her relentlessly for stories of battle. Regret was shared on both sides, and Zelda learned there were some conversations one simply did not have.
"Impa, are you sure you want to talk about this? You don't have to-"
"Yes I do. Darkness grows, and we must be prepared. Are you through interrupting?"
Zelda faded into silence.
"As a result of the king's rash battle plans, I soon found myself the commander of a mixed contingent of Hylians and Zora. Our mission was espionage. One cannot simply lay siege to a people that eats rock. We had to find some other weakness to exploit.
"The fourth team I sent out found the third team's heads staked outside the entrance to Goron City.
"When they brought them back for a proper burial, I vomited in front of everyone. I refused to send anyone else out. They went anyway. They organized themselves until I finally remembered that we had a job to do. We found the Gorons' weakness, and not long after they begged for peace. Had I not led this mission, the war would have been much bloodier."
Zelda thought of the strange boy, and his calm acceptance of his quest. He had looked at her with his wide blue eyes, paused only a second, and nodded. He had trusted her completely. She was not even sure she trusted herself.
"He's just a boy," she said.
"A boy who knows his duty. He made his choice freely."
"What if he fails?"
"What if he triumphs?"
Impa placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was not what she needed. She needed a hug. She needed to snuggle beneath voluptuous sheets with a steaming mug of cocoa as Impa told her tales of the Era of Chaos.
But not in front of the guards. They could not see her inner weakness. Not again until the evil man who had her father's ear was vanquished. The time for being a girl was past. She was a princess, and she would fulfill her duty.
Impa's steady hand was not what she needed, but she could accept nothing more.
"We see off our honored guest tomorrow," Zelda said, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "If I'm drowsy, I may let something slip. Do you have any more of those sleeping herbs on hand?"
Her mouth curved into a wry smile. "A fine nursemaid I'd be if I didn't. Come along, Highness, we'll get you fixed up."
Zelda followed her inside. This would not be the last night she needed a sleep aid. She would take as many as she needed to do her job. She owed it to Hyrule.
She owed it to Link.