Hello festive friends! Here's a bit of holiday nonsense that absolutely nobody asked for. It's like a gift, but maybe one you didn't want. This work of absolute garbage is a joint masterpiece compiled by the peerless CrazygurlMadness and myself. You can find this exact same fic on her profile on An Archive Of Our Own, since we're both equally responsible for this gorgeous disaster of a fic.
In her own words, "I don't think that when we started, we anticipated that the end result would be basically a full-length novel, but here we are, three weeks later, completely baffled." Yes, it's true: our chronic addiction to writing long-form trash continues yet again, and the results are absolutely stunning.
CM and I won't be marking which paragraphs were written by whom ― maybe you can take a few wild guesses. We don't want to detract from the core message, which is that Zelink is our life-source, and you can't stop us.
And in case you're wondering, here's the conversation that started it all. Enjoy!
Lyx: I started watching The Princess Switch but it's not the same without you sitting next to me and howling at all the bad tropes. Nobody gets me like you.
CM: Nooo, wait for me, we'll watch it together.
Lyx: Or, oh god, maybe… Maybe… Maybe we should write a holiday one shot together and see how many tropes we can work in.
CM: Yes, kthnx.
Lyx: If we do it, though, we can't plan it. We have to go in totally blind and just pass it back and forth every time one of us adds another ridiculous trope.
CM: Works for me.
Lyx: Okay. Here, I'll start it.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Chapter 1
Link stepped out into the cold and looked up at the sky. The clouds were hanging heavy and low. It would snow soon, he was sure.
He sighed.
He used to love snow. He used to love the holidays. But he didn't anymore. Now, all those lights and gifts and songs were just a reminder of everything he'd nearly had… and lost.
"You really need to cheer up," Granté warned him. "Miss Paya is going to be here soon and you know she'll worry if she sees you this glum."
Link scowled. "As long as we keep the grounds looking fine, Miss Paya will have nothing to complain about."
"I didn't say she'd complain―" Granté started, before pausing, inhaling the cold air, and taking another approach. "I know you can't get this through your thick skull, but she actually does care about you. And us lowly groundskeepers as a whole. Or, at least, gods, I hope she cares about me."
Link rolled his eyes, kicking a lump of frozen dirt. Granté was hopeless. "I'll be covering the topiaries in the East Garden."
"Fine," Granté muttered, watching as Link pulled on his gardener's gloves, "you do that, you Grinch. I'm not offended. Looking in the East Wing windows sure beats chatting with your best friend."
Link grabbed a set of tarps and stalked off, pretending he hadn't heard.
It was true Granté could be counted among his best friends. And if having a work colleague for a best friend wasn't the saddest thing in the world, Link didn't know what was.
Link trudged away from the gardeners' shed, which was a shed in name only. Like everything else at Lanayru Heights Park, it was oversized, grandiose, bordering on monstrous. Right now, it was swarming with junior groundskeepers dashing in and out, hauling armfuls of midwinter decorations to string up around the gardens and the exterior of the big house.
Link tucked his tarps a little more securely under his arm and threaded his way through the palatial garden, eyeing the plants critically as he went. The firly ferns were holding up well in the cold ― good, he thought, glad of the weatherproofing he'd done around the roots ― though it looked as though the swift violets might want a bit more fertilizer soon. Link made a mental note to do that once he was finished in the East Garden.
He made his way past the back of the big house, and spared a moment to glance at it. Through every window, he could see people frantically rushing about, dusting and vacuuming and hanging decorations. Miss Paya's annual Midwinter Ball was a massive, three-day affair when the most powerful people in the country gathered to relax and celebrate the new year.
For Link, it marked a time of grim bitterness.
Better to focus on his own work. If his eyes did not deceive him, and they rarely did, the snow would come overnight. He had to cover the fragile branches before they were loaded down with ice, the weight breaking the elaborate, elegant shapes into a mess that he'd struggle to fix come spring.
Hefting his trimmer, he gave the first little scrub a cursory once over, snipping a few branches that had grown in late fall, the better to keep them from snagging when he wrapped them under a tarp. Then, picking the first sheet off the pile, he expertly wrapped the branches away, cocooning them together.
Behind him, someone opened the windows of the East Wing to air out the carpets ahead of the party, but he paid them no mind. All he could think about was how fortunate the shrubs were to have him.
His heart squeezed. Yes, even measly scrubs had someone to watch over them at this time of year. But who did he have left to watch over him?
Laughter wafted out of the house, buoyed by the cold breeze. Link caught a faint hint of a distant Midwinter carol, something about days being jolly and bright. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered singing along with that carol, with her sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Her feet had been up on the dash, and she'd been singing along too, both of them a little off-key but having so much fun they didn't care.
Had it only been a year ago? Hard to believe. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd come downstairs on Midwinter morning to find her gone, her things packed up, and only a note left behind:
Link, I'm sorry. I wanted to stay and give you a good Midwinter, but I just can't be with you anymore. I've fallen for someone else. I hope you're able to find happiness without me. I will always remember our time together fondly.
She'd left him for his best friend, and in the process had burned his social life to the ground. When she left, she took everything: his support group, his happiness, his whole life. Link snipped a frozen branch with more vigor than care.
He didn't need her. He didn't need any of them. After all, he had his work. He had his garden, and a garden wouldn't walk away from him in the middle of the night.
The worst of it was that she'd known what Midwinter meant to him. Growing up in the orphanage, he'd never had a family to celebrate with. He'd never had loved ones to bake fruitcakes with, or to decorate with, or to share a feast with on midwinter night. Growing up, he'd dreamed about having loved ones to celebrate with, and to him, the Midwinter holiday had represented that hope. And even though he'd never had a proper family of his own, when he'd struck out on his own and started living life on his own terms, he'd made friends ― and those friends had become like a little family. They'd celebrated with him. They'd gotten together to watch the silly old black-and-white movies where people burst into song. They'd made sweets and treats and eaten them together, sung the songs, made snowmen. When she'd come along, everything had finally seemed right. Life was perfect.
Too bad it had been too good to be true.
"I said, excuse me," a voice called out from behind him.
Link turned, his trimmer in hand.
A woman. Blonde, bundled up in a white fur coat, with earmuffs and pale blue gloves. A cloud of warmth evaporated from her pink lips when she exhaled, and at Link's stare, her expression wilted.
"I'm sorry," she said, wincing. "Did I startle you? You must have been really lost in thought. I―" She flapped a hand upward, the universal female sign for mild annoyance, and said, "It's stupid. I lost my brooch somewhere in this garden yesterday. I think. It fell out of my pocket."
Link stared at her.
Her shoulders came up to her ears and she continued, "I was just wondering if you'd seen it. It was a gift from my father."
A brooch. The words came to Link's mind sluggishly. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the grim line of thinking. Maybe it was the way her mouth looked when she talked. Either way, it took a moment before he could collect his thoughts.
She didn't let him speak, however. Even as Link inhaled to reply, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. "You might not have seen it. Maybe you weren't even here yesterday. Why do I always assume? Maybe you had a day off. But do you know who was working here yesterday? I'm sure I saw a gardener or two. Maybe one of them saw it. Gods, it figures, I am the most forgetful person in the world. I can't even tell if you were one of the gardeners that I did see."
"H―"
"But, I mean, I guess I could tell it definitely wasn't you. Because I would remember your face, for sure." Her eyes widened. "I mean― because you're handsome, not because― you don't look weird or anything. You look great, actually. I mean― Uh. You― I― I'll go ask at the big shed over there. Um. Thank you for your help."
Link's mouth gaped open, closed, reopened, but by the time he could muster words, she was already ten paces away, and then she was turning the corner of the garden wall, and then she was gone.
Which was when Link noticed how fast his heart was beating.
Oh no.
He turned, determined to put the girl from his mind, and focused on the next shrub. As he carefully assessed the plant, though, his mind worried at the question of the girl. Who was she? Probably a guest, though the guests weren't supposed to officially start arriving until tomorrow. Maybe she was some relative of Miss Paya's? Some old family friend?
If she was here this early, he reasoned, she probably wasn't anyone too special. Sure, she was likely rich and well connected, but this event was attended by intellectual luminaries, diplomats, aristocrats, royals. Even the Princess was supposed to be in attendance this year. Compared to them, the awkward girl with the bumbling manners was unimportant. Insignificant. Probably a nobody.
Still, as Link worked, he found himself scanning the mulched garden beds for the glitter of lost jewelry. The girl was clearly distraught about it, and probably nervous about being surrounded by so many powerful strangers. Finding her lost brooch was the least he could do, Link told himself. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with wanting to see that pretty girl smiling at him.
"You're a sucker, Link," he muttered to himself as he carefully wrapped plants. "You're getting sentimental in your dotage."
He finished without spotting the mystery girl's brooch, and trudged back to the shed with an odd sense of disappointment swirling in his stomach. Maybe someone else had seen it or found it, he thought as he crunched up the gravel path.
As he neared the gardeners' shed, Link caught sight of Granté. The other gardener was waving his arms, gesturing wildly and talking loudly. He looked rather red in the face, and Link drew nearer, wondering what had happened to agitate his excitable friend.
"No, no, no." Granté was scowling as he inspected one of the potted midwinter topiaries that two red-faced janitors were trying to haul into the house. "You can't put that plant inside. Miss Paya is allergic to the pollen."
"But… But Bolson told us to bring all the pretty plants inside," said one of the befuddled janitors. "And this is a pretty plant."
"Bolson," said Granté with exaggerated patience, "is an expert at decorating, but he's lousy at identifying plants. Leave that one outside ― you can put it by the door. Ah, good, you're here," he added, catching sight of Link. "Would you rather supervise what plants people take inside, or do you want to go deal with the florists? I heard Mils and Mina were having an argument about the best way to preserve Silent Princesses in a midwinter wreath."
"I'll go sort them out," Link said, glad for the excuse to be far away from the house… and the mysterious girl who had lost the brooch.
"What are you looking at?"
Paya's voice broke through Zelda's reverie, though it did little to cheer her up. Out front, security guards were doing their damnedest to sort through the line of vehicles, trying to decide which were legitimate caterers or decorators, and which were uninvited members of the press.
Paya came to stand at her side and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. "Oh, journalists," she said, softly. "No rest for the weary, I suppose."
"Don't they have families to go home to?" Zelda wondered aloud, ignoring the strong pang in her chest. "It'll be Midwinter soon. Surely they have lives."
Paya's red eyes turned to Zelda, and she shot her that look that was so indelibly Paya that Zelda averted her gaze. She did love Paya, as much as one could love a friend, but the constant series of looks ― that mix of pity and sorrow and meek appeals to bravery ― was beginning to wear her down.
"I thought Papa's funeral would incite them to have some decency." Apparently not.
"It has been several months," Paya said, gently. "I did think they held back admirably for the first three months after the… the tragedy."
"But the time for decency has passed," Midna said. "Now they want to know more about their mysterious crown princess." She accompanied this moniker with a sarcastic flutter of her exquisitely manicured fingers, though she did not look up from her winter copy of Mode.
Zelda eyed Midna critically. The Countess of Twilight was lounging on the chaise across the room, utterly unbothered by the spectacle out front. She, in contrast, was used to being the center of attention. No doubt she relished the reprieve of the spotlight being on Zelda, for once. Zelda scowled.
"I'm not that mysterious," she mumbled. "I can't even keep secrets."
"You may feel that way," Midna said, "but to them, you're mystery incarnate. The heir to the throne, kept out of the spotlight your whole life, now returned just in time to inherit the greatest honour in the realm― Can't blame the tabloids for wanting to know more about you."
"I saw an article wondering whether you already had children," Paya admitted guiltily, as though the very possibility that she'd have seen a tabloid cover was a betrayal.
"Children?" Zelda echoed, horrified. "I'm twenty-four. Barely out of my Master's―"
"Oh, yes," Midna cackled. "Prime childbearing years. Have you considered an empire waist for your dress at the ball? Nothing gets the pregnancy rumour-mill bothered like a good empire waist."
"I am not pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not even dating. Until just recently, I was utterly buried with my work at the University―"
"Spent an awful lot of time with your thesis supervisor, did you?" Midna clucked.
"Well, I had to, it was my thesis―" Zelda interrupted herself and glared at Midna. "You're the worst. He had three children my age. A professor, old enough to remember when bliauds were in style."
"Yikes," Midna grimaced. "Remind me to send you my shopping advisor. If that's who you're asking for fashion advice…"
"It doesn't matter, anyway," Zelda said, deflated. "If I can't find my father's brooch the whole point of my Midwinter Ball dress is moot. The gown was meant to complement the darn thing... honour my father…" She sighed. "Now I'll just look like a flighty debutante, scarcely out of mourning. The press will have a field day with that one." She would have to rotate the dresses― pick something else for tonight.
Midna and Paya exchanged a long look. Zelda hated those looks― the ones that said that Zelda was in over her head, that keeping her out of the spotlight for so long was a mistake. On Zelda's worst days, the ones when she railed and raged against her father for leaving (and everything else he'd ever done, too), she agreed with them, that her sheltered upbringing had been a mistake, and that now she was being thrown to the wolves before she was ready. But even in those dark moments, she knew her father had just been trying to protect her, to give her the kind of life her mother had wanted for her. She'd never been normal, not precisely, but she'd been able to experience what life was like for Zelda, not Princess Zelda.
And all that was over now.
"What a mess," Zelda finally said, turning away from the window before she did something like running her hands through her hair or scrubbing at her eyes ― something to further Midna and Paya's shared belief that Zelda couldn't handle what was coming next. Because she could handle it. She could. "I'd best get down there and keep looking for it."
"We have staff for that and I've warned them to keep a look out," Paya volunteered warily.
Zelda knew. She'd seen the staff up close, and the staff had been very handsome indeed ― so handsome that Zelda had forgotten every ounce of her ten years' of brutal finishing school etiquette lessons and babbled like a green debutante. She blushed at the thought ― the memory of how poorly she'd behaved, and how handsome that gardener had been.
Fortunately, Paya seemed to mistake Zelda's embarrassment for frustration, because she waved her hands hurriedly. "But if you want to go look again, you can."
"I may go when things calm down out there," Zelda said. Last she'd seen, people were scurrying back and forth decorating the gardens (and winterproofing the delicate plants that might dislike the snow). "I'd hate to get in anyone's way."
Oh, but what she wouldn't give to see that handsome gardener again… he reminded her of a painting that hung in the Royal Palace, of one of the old heroes of bygone times. Lean, with an athlete's build, hair the color of wheat, a face that was almost girlishly pretty but was saved by slashing brows and intense eyes that were as blue as the sky on a cloudless day… eyes that had seemed to look right through her…
"Are you alright?" Paya asked hesitantly. Zelda snapped out of it.
"Fine," she lied. "Just trying to think where it could have fallen." She shook her head. It had been sheer foolishness to tuck the brooch into the pocket of her coat, but it was far too ostentatious to wear, and she liked being able to put her hand in her pocket and touch it. It made her feel like her father was with her. But she should have known it would fall out of her pocket. She was truly an idiot. "Let's talk of other things ― maybe it'll come to me. I've never been to a Midwinter celebration like this before. What should I expect?"
"Lots of good food, fine drink, and dull conversation," Midna said as she flipped a page in her magazine. "The intellectuals will try to show how smart they are, the nobles will try to show how fine-mannered they are, and everyone will be making you sick with their compliments and carefully-phrased prying questions. Best prepare yourself for disappointment now. It's nothing like in the holiday movies."
"Not even the masque?" Zelda asked in feigned disappointment. The masked ball happened on Midwinter Eve itself, the shortest night of the year, and everyone said it was a time of romance and wonder. Guests dressed in glittering finery and hid their faces, dancing by candlelight. At midnight, everyone took off their masks to greet the new year with fresh faces ― and to see what unexpected friends they might have made. Zelda had always wanted to attend a Midwinter masque, and had secretly dreamt of dancing with a handsome prince who would take off his mask at midnight, declare love…
Which was absurd, of course. Zelda knew all the princes from all of the neighboring kingdoms, and they were all awful. She grimaced as she remembered that Duke Ghirahim of Faron ― a small duchy that had once been part of Hyrule, but had gained independence several centuries prior ― would be in attendance at the party. He was pretty enough that he was on the tabloids nearly every day, but Zelda had met him a few times, and he was a cruel, selfish jerk.
"Nevermind," she said before Paya and Midna could answer her question. "I've just realized Duke Ghirahim will be at the masque, which will make it about as far from romantic as anything can get."
"Good," said Midna. She closed her magazine and stood, stretching. "I'm glad I didn't have to shatter that illusion for you. I'm hungry. Let's call for food."
Paya led the way out of the parlour, and together the three women stepped back into an absolute flurry of activity, the likes of which Zelda hadn't seen since the funeral preparations, months ago.
"You think this is bad," Midna said, leaning in, "wait until your coronation."
Zelda inhaled slowly, willing herself not to panic. Now was not the time for that. She had promised herself that she would enjoy this last Midwinter before duty called her forever. She had sworn to herself nothing would keep her from having at least some good cheer.
If only she hadn't lost her brooch, though… In time, she could probably have another one made ― the red crest of Hyrule wasn't exactly an unknown design ― but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't have that etched message on the back, specifically for her, that sweet prayer her father had engraved for her.
In the months since his death, she had taken to running the pads of her fingers over those tiny graven words, memorizing their shape, and taking solace in their intent.
'Beloved Zelda, I wish you a throne of nothing but joy, HRH R.B.H.'
How often had she curled around that brooch when the grief grew near and overwhelming? How often had she found bracing strength in her father's prayer?
She would find joy. She would. And it had to begin somewhere. Somewhere like here, at Paya's exclusive Midwinter festivities. She would not think too hard on her grief. Her father had always urged her to revel in the season.
And she would find that darn brooch if it was the last thing she―
"Oof!"
She hadn't looked where she was going. Suddenly her balance was thrown, and she felt herself falling, a tangle of clumsy limbs, until she landed. Hard.
With a knee in her stomach.
With the wind effectively knocked out of her, Zelda blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Something smelled of… of the outdoors. That cold air scent of growing things and earth. It was comforting as only her father's country estate had been. Except she didn't recall the smell of that particular aftershave anywhere in that remote country hideaway.
The knee she was draped over was warm. She scrambled to move, to recover her composure, to push herself off― which was when she saw him.
Again.
The gardener.
Oh dear.
"Zelda, oh gods, are you alright?" Paya exclaimed, rushing forward to help her up and off of her unfortunate employee.
"I'm―" She stumbled backwards, feeling herself flush a deep red. "I'm fine― I'm so sorry," she added, for the gardener's benefit. Gods, he was attractive. Even when he was prone on the ground and stunned speechless. She stepped forward to offer him her hand. "It was very heroic to take the brunt of that fall. You will have to forgive me― I simply have no business wandering around as heedlessly as I do."
"Oh. It's alright," he finally said, shooting her a smile that effectively and utterly disarmed her. He took her hand, though he did not pull as he stood. His fingers were warm despite the cold outside. She felt rough calluses for the briefest instant before he let go.
Oh no. Her heart had no business pounding as hard as it did in that moment.
"I, uh, I guess you're still thinking about that brooch," he said. "The whole team of gardeners is on the lookout. If it's out in the gardens, we'll find it."
Gods, she hoped it was in the gardens. Then maybe he'd be the one to deliver it―
"Anyway," he said, wiping the dust on his hands idly on the sides of his work trousers and casting an embarrassed look at his employer, "we're ready for the floral review, Miss Paya."
Paya exhaled, evidently relieved to see neither of them was injured. "Oh, very good. Thank you, Link."
The gardener's eyes jumped back to Zelda, for the briefest instant, and then he was nodding at the three of them and excusing himself.
Which was when Zelda noticed how hard Midna's razor-sharp nails were digging into her arm. Casting a glance at her childhood friend, Zelda saw the beauty's eyes following Link out of the room, until he was out of sight.
"Who," Midna hissed, "was that?"
Paya blinked at them both, confused. "That's Link. He's one of my head gardeners. His team has been working on the grounds and getting the indoor wreaths ready―"
"You poor innocent," Midna said, rolling her eyes, though she was smiling fondly, "that is not what I meant. Obviously, I want to know if he's on the menu for room service."
"Midna!"
Paya's cheeks were scarlet, her eyes wide and horrified. Her mouth had formed a little 'O' of astonishment. She turned her embarrassed gaze to Zelda. "Do you know what she's talking about?"
"I have no idea," Zelda said with as much serenity as she could. Her pink cheeks betrayed her, though, and Midna cackled.
"He's a gardener, is he? I'm sure he knows his way around a bush or two," the Countessof Twilight teased. She waggled her brows. "He's well cared at tending to flowers. I'd wager he's sampled some nectar in his time. I bet he―"
"Midna," Zelda said, "please, shut up."
"Fine, fine." The countess was still smirking, though, and Paya looked like she was about to combust from the horror of it all.
"I have to go deal with the flowers," she said. "I'll be back soon. Just… order whatever you want from the kitchen, and don't harass my staff!" With a last scandalized look, she turned and fled from the room. Midna watched her go, then shook her head and make a tsking noise.
"It's amazing that society hasn't eaten that one alive yet," she observed. Zelda smiled a little, then turned and assessed her friend. She'd known Midna since they were both girls: they (and Paya) had gone to the same elite private schools, then finishing schools, then university. But while Zelda's family had kept her intentionally out of the limelight, Midna's had thrust her into it. The Estate of Twilight was small, yes, but it was also by far the wealthiest of the noble estates, and Midna's family was second only to Zelda's in both age and wealth. And if the ancient and honorable family of Dusk couldn't sit on Hyrule's actual throne, well, they could sit on the throne of culture. Fashion, music, art… the Dusk family led every style in Hyrule, and Midna had taken up the mantle of countess with both aplomb and the flair that was unique to the Dusk family.
"How do you keep from getting eaten alive?" Zelda asked her friend as nonchalantly as she could. "By society, and the magazines, and everyone else?"
Midna turned and regarded Zelda, her head cocked thoughtfully to the side.
"A perfect manicure and fabulous shoes go a long way," she said. "And bravery. You have to show them that you don't care what they think of you. Nothing turns heads like courage."
Zelda nodded, though she wasn't sure she understood.
"My mother always said there's a fine line between courage and recklessness," she ventured.
Midna barked a laugh. "It's true, and to be a style setter, you have to have a bit of both." She patted Zelda once on the shoulder, sobering. "You'll be fine. Everyone loved your father. They all want to love you as well. Just don't screw it up, ok?"
"Sure," Zelda said dryly. "Don't screw it up. Great advice."
"I know," said Midna. "Now come on. Let's go get some food."
CM: Yo, let's reverse Cinderella this shit.
Lyx: You bet your ass we're fuckin' doin' it.