Notes: Nope I have no idea what this is just take it and go.
Headcanon: Zant and Midna were best friends before Ganondorf showed up, he ambushed the Twili on her 17th birthday ball, she spent half a year looking for Link in the Light Realm, and another year travelling with him. This fic takes place 2.5 years after her being crowned queen.
Disclaimer: Yeah no I don't own Zelda, Nintendo does.
"I must say, Your Majesty," the duke murmured, inclining his head towards her with warm sparks in his dark eyes. "The nobles have told me that your beauty matches even that of your mother, the late queen, but I believe you have surpassed her."
Midna blinked, having been lost in thought. Today was, after all, the four-year anniversary of Zant's invasion—her twenty-first birthday. Four years to the day since the lost little boy she had once called a friend had corralled her people in the ballroom while he sought out the royal family. Her parents, her brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents—all of them, save one, dead by the end of the night.
The old hate curled in the pit of her stomach like a snake waiting to strike, and Midna reminded herself that it was over, had been over for years—Zant was dead, Ganondorf was dead, and she had gotten her revenge.
(Only, it would never really be over. Not for her, not for the princess of the Light Realm, not for the Hero the gods had chosen as an instrument of fate.
But Midna tried not to think of such things.)
"Quite the flatterer, aren't we?" she lilted in the soft, musical language of her home. She twirled away from him in a crescent of red silk, wicked as her eyes and dark as blood. Her partner pulled her back in as the violins swelled into a crescendo, her black slippers soft against the ballroom floor.
"Well, that was the line my father told me to deliver, anyhow," the duke admitted. "But it is true, if not slightly melodramatic. You are quite magnificent, Lady Queen. I hope you will consider our courtship in the future, but for now I will bid you farewell."
The music slid to a gentle stop, and the duke took her hand in his and kissed the smooth gray skin, then bowed away and disappeared into the crowd.
Midna watched him go. He was not like most of the suitors who came to court her—only interested in the title of king, the riches it would bring them, or the simplicity of marrying the beautiful queen. His compliments were genuine, and he was…he was nice.
But sometimes, Zant's voice laughed mockingly in the back of her mind, a constant reminder of the friend she had lost to madness and the lust for power. Sometimes, the memory of her beloved family's blood, staining the carpet of the throne room, still woke her up in the dead of night. Sometimes, there was an empty, tugging sensation in her chest, in the place that felt like it was almost still linked to the determination and the warmth that was Princess Zelda—or was she a queen now, too?
Sometimes—and this was the worst of all—she thought of Link.
.
.
.
Midna had not loved him, in the beginning.
Link had been but a tool in her blind quest for revenge—yes, the gods had chosen him, but she was the one who guided him, helped him, told him what to do and where to go. He had started off a naïve, careless goat herder, and she watched as he learned how to become so much more—how to save lives, and how to take them.
She had used him—she had been so cruel and so misguided and so lost. But Link hadn't said a word, because he was the Hero—he was too selfless for his own good.
The world was a heavy burden to carry, for a seventeen-year-old boy. Link's eyes had gotten harder, more guarded, with something scared and broken hidden behind them. He had pushed himself so hard—Goddesses, they had spent a year traveling without rest, killing monsters by the thousands.
Midna had begun to wonder if he would be able to forget, once everything was over.
Midna had begun to wonder if the damage done to him was permanent.
.
.
.
Quite literally a world a way, Link all but threw his belongings into the bag, packing as quickly as he could.
He could not escape this place soon enough.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
The words were quiet, but they rang out accusingly between them, and Link's shoulders tensed. He didn't turn around. He didn't want to see the look on Ilia's face, and he could already imagine it anyway—lips pressed together and green eyes shining pleadingly.
"I have to," he said tightly, because he was all tension these days, the closed walls of a once-hero who had been trapped in one place for far too long. He tugged on the straps of his saddlebags angrily, and still did not turn around.
"No, you don't," she said gently, but there was desperation lingering on the edges of her voice. "Your work is over, Link. Hyrule doesn't need a Hero anymore. The queen has plenty of soldiers to do your job for you. So why can't you just stay here in Ordon…with me?"
Link's hands clenched into fists and he thought, Because I can't stop being a hero and because I'm too restless to sleep at night and because I miss a certain Twili imp-princess and because I don't love you anymore—maybe I never loved you at all.
"I'm not the same person I was two years ago," he croaked, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. "You know that, Ills." The childhood nickname slipped through his lips—it would never really go away, anyway. But it felt wrong, unfamiliar, alien on his tongue—and Gods, it felt like centuries since he'd thought of this girl as his future wife. That had been before he had learned to kill, before the weight of destiny had crashed down on his shoulders. Before he had met the Twilight Princess.
"Can't we try?" Ilia murmured tremulously, and he heard her bare feet pad across his floor. "There was something between us, not so long ago. I know I lost my memories, but—but they're back, you brought them back. Can't we get back what we had before?"
And Link thought of Midna, of bright orange hair and blood-crimson eyes and her body going cold on his wolf-back as he rushed to Hyrule Castle. He thought of warm summer days by Lake Hylia and her energy field pooling around him and the tear that shattered the Mirror of Twilight. Link felt Ilia's warm fingers rest on his arm, tightening around his wrist.
(Midna's hands had always been cold.)
"I can't stay here," he said past numb lips, and slid his sword into its scabbard, slinging it around his back and stepping towards the door. "I'm sorry, Ilia. Ordon isn't where I belong anymore."
"Then where do you belong?"
The question hung in the air, silence close and pressing against Link's ears, and suddenly he didn't want to be in that room for one more second.
"I don't belong anywhere."
And so he left.
.
.
.
"If I may, Your Majesty, I have a question."
Midna let out a long, whistling breath and turned her attention from the window to the right of her desk to the Twili in front of her. "You may speak."
"You have been queen for nearly two and a half years, my lady," her advisor began. He was fidgeting nervously, and looked away from her gaze. She was infamous for her quick temper, after all. "But you have not yet accepted the hand of a suitor, despite their abundance and willingness. With all do respect, Your Majesty, the Twili need a king. Never has a ruler held the throne alone for such a long time."
Midna swallowed hard. "What are you suggesting?"
The advisor's eyes flicked up to sneak a quick look at her, then darted back to his boots. "The duke of the northeastern province, Your Majesty," he answered after a pause. "He is only two years your senior, and quite handsome, as I have heard the ladies saying. He knows quite a bit about politics, and is a refined diplomat. I believe I saw you dancing with him yourself at your twenty-first birthday ball a week ago, Your Majesty. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
Something clenched in her stomach.
All she could see was her Hero-boy, quiet and brave and lonely as he stared out at the setting sun; or, their first meeting in a dark dungeon cell, his blue wolf-eyes bright and frightened; or, the last time she had seen him, the heartbreak on his face as she shattered the only link between them.
Her throat tightened.
(Midna had never been any good at letting go.)
But her realm came first. Her realm had always come first.
"Very well," she breathed, and if there were the traces of a sob at the edge of her voice, her advisor said nothing. "I will court him."
.
.
.
Link fled Ordon like there were demons on his trail, riding low over Epona's neck with his shield and quiver banging a familiar rhythm against his back. The trees of Faron Woods streaked by him in blurs of green leaves and golden sunlight, and the wind lifted his hair off his neck in a tangle of honey-colored locks. It reminded him in a painful way of chasing after Talo and Malo and Beth with a wooden sword, when life was still simple and carefree. Or, the following day, chasing after Ilia and Colin and being yanked into the Twilight for the first time.
Later, he would feel guilty; for leaving Ilia, leaving the kids, leaving his home. Later, he might even regret his decision.
But now, breaking out into the treeless plain of Hyrule Field, with no destination and no limits, all he felt was freedom.
.
.
.
The duke courted her gently, with charisma and courtesy and charm. He was handsome—the servant girls practically swooned every time he passed them by in the corridors of the palace. He was funny, and honest, and kind. He brought her flowers, took her on long walks, danced with her in the ballroom with the musicians playing a quiet waltz.
The first time he kissed her, it was slow and delicate and quiet.
He was, really, an extraordinary man. And Midna did not love him.
Midna would never love him.
But Link…she had loved Link desperately. Still loved him desperately, even after two and a half years of separation. Loved him enough to give up her own life, to give up the world, if it would keep him safe. Loved him enough to give up her own selfish goals for revenge to save his realm as well as her own.
And that was what made it so difficult when the duke looked at her with light in his eyes and told her that he loved her.
Midna dug her fingernails into her palms where he could not see them, and tried for a smile.
.
.
.
"Midna's strong, Link. She'll be all right."
His fingers clenched into fists, and the Triforce of Courage thrummed in a steady pulse that matched his heartbeat. A warm glow shone softly from underneath his gloves.
"Maybe," he muttered. "Maybe not." Castle Town was bright and alive far below, and he watched from the tower's window as ant-sized people bustled around the fountain square.
The queen of Hyrule let out a tired sigh at her desk behind him. He had come to her because they had saved the world together—the Twilight Princess, the Light Princess and the Hero Chosen by the Gods; because they were connected, three children forced into adulthood by destiny and responsibility.
(And because he still had memories, from different lifetimes when he had been a different Link. A girl laughing as her blue Loftwing did flips in the sky; a pirate captain transformed into a princess; a mere child of ten, blue eyes wide beneath her Sheikah guardian's arms as their horse flew past him on a stormy night.
She had always been there.)
"Zelda, I need a straight answer. Is there any way you can get me there? Any way to connect our world to the Twilight Realm?"
He swung around to face her. She looked older these past two years, more mature, more worn out—Link supposed being the head sovereign of a nation could do that to a person.
(Similar to the effects of being a Hero.)
"I'm sorry," Zelda murmured, and circled around her desk to halt in front of him. Her gloved hand dropped onto his shoulder, and her eyes were sad. "It's impossible. The only way to travel between worlds is the Mirror of Twilight, and it's…gone."
The memory flashed between them—a flash of orange hair, a final tear, and one last 'see you later'.
Link made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and turned to leave.
"She did love you, you know," Zelda told him, quietly.
"I know," he answered very softly, and slipped out the door.
.
.
.
He ran from Hyrule Castle in much the same way as he had left Ordon—without goodbyes or apologies, just the simplicity of Epona's hooves pounding on the stone of the bridge with only the light of the moon to guide him. He knew the way by heart now, anyway, after a year on the road, working to save the world.
It had been horrible, yet it had been glorious. It had changed him beyond recognition, from a simple farm boy to a hero who knew death and exhilaration and sacrifice and the feeling of rushing over the plain as fast as his horse could carry him, nowhere to go but forward.
That last one, maybe, hadn't been such a foreign concept. Link had thought once that he'd live in Ordon forever; take over the ranch after Fado retired, teach the kids how to swordfight, marry Ilia and start a family with her.
He wasn't sure he could ever go back there, after running away like a coward—he could slaughter hordes of monsters without blinking an eye, but in the face of his childhood home, he was afraid. Because the past year—it hadn't been home. It had been a prison.
And now there was only one place left to go.
Link threaded his fingers in Epona's mane, and turned east, towards the desert.
.
.
.
It happened suddenly, on a walk through one of Midna's favorite courtyards, a garden overflowing with foliage. She and her siblings had often come here to play, when they had been younger. That had been a long time ago.
The duke had his arm looped through hers, and he was laughing at something she had just said. He had a warm, pleasant laugh, the kind that makes you smile just by hearing it.
Midna wished sometimes that he was cruel. That he was twice her age; that he could not measure up to her beauty; that he was a drunk or a coward or an arrogant fool.
It would have made him easy to hate.
But she could not hate this man.
"You deserve someone who loves you, you know," she said abruptly.
The duke's smile faded, and was replaced by a frown. "Do you not love me, my queen?"
Midna tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, and felt thirsty, parched, yearning for the taste of something she could not have anymore. "My heart," she whispered, "was left behind in the Light Realm."
There was a long pause before he answered. "I know, my lady," the duke replied. "I know. But I do love you, and I would sooner die than see you married to a man thirty years your senior, or a man who treats you like less than the queen that you are. And perhaps…perhaps in time, you could learn to love me, too."
Cold trickled down her spine and froze each vertebrae, until she was rigid, immovable, paralyzed in the middle of the garden with her eyes locked on the duke.
He sank down on one knee, and presented to her a little black box, flipping open the lid and revealing the ring inside.
"Lady Midna, queen of the Twilight Realm," the duke said, "Will you marry me?"
And Midna ran.
.
.
.
She dropped to her knees at the edge of the cliff where the portal had been, very much like she had two years ago, coming home after shattering the Mirror of Twilight.
The looks on their faces had been cemented in her mind ever since. Zelda had been sad, but understanding—she knew what it was like, being a princess, holding the fate of a realm in your hands. But Link—Link had looked so hurt, so betrayed, so lonely in her final moments in the Light Realm.
Midna had hated the sun, in the beginning, hated its harsh light and its constantly changing cycles. But she had grown to love it, too—she had grown to love a lot of things.
Her nails dug into the soil beneath her fingertips. She was the queen. She would have to go back there, apologize, and accept the duke's proposal.
But for now—
She tilted her head back to look at the Twilight, the lazy black and pink-red shifting and drifting along. A single tear rolled down her cheek, not unlike the tear that had broken the only connection between her and the place that had changed her life.
Midna had loved Link desperately. Still loved him desperately; would probably love him desperately until the day she died.
That was what made saying goodbye so painfully impossible.
.
.
.
Ironically, Link arrived at the same time she did. The wind howled through the Mirror Chamber, blowing in great gusts full of sand and heat. He climbed the steps mechanically, in the light of the sinking sun—it figured, that he would get there just in time for twilight.
His eyes landed on the empty frame of the Mirror of Twilight, and he stared at it for a long, long time.
He thought of leaving Ordon for the first time and being pulled into a strange, dark world. He thought of killing Ganondorf, the way his eternal enemy's blood had run down the length of the Master Sword until the green sleeve of the Hero's tunic was turned crimson.
He thought of a tiny Twili imp-girl with bright orange hair and a sharp tongue and far more compassion than she would ever admit to. He thought of a girl standing on the crest of a hill, finally whole, crimson eyes mischievous as she made a teasing remark.
Link sank to the ground with his back against the Mirror's frame and covered his face with his hands, lost in memories of a princess who had ensnared his heart and run away with it, never to return.