Chapter One: Reconciliation
Her body was basking in the morning sunlight as she allowed herself to finally breathe, for the land around her and the realm in it's entirety was finally calm.
Her golden hair conformed to her curves in the wind, and her feet sunk into the earth beneath her, the tall blades of grass tickling at her fragile porcelain skin. She was no longer a spirit holding back Calamity Ganon, but a free woman left to return to her Kingdom, once again.
He stood several steps behind her, dressed in his casual but clad attire; striding the royal blue Champion's tunic familiar to them both, along with a golden circlet entailed with diamonds, crowning his head like that of a royal. His long bangs almost covered his eyes, and yet, his gaze never left her stature—watching her petite frame as still as the sands; her hair blowing in the wind, revealing the tiniest segments of her pale skin to his peeving eyes. Her face, her body, her voice—all so real, and yet, so distant; as all he knew of her was comprised of past memories, envisioned a century ago.
-=o=-
It was peaceful between them, for the few agonising seconds which seemed to drag on for minutes, and yet, she couldn't bring herself to turn and face him. She couldn't muster the energy, the will to move a single muscle in her body, despite the burning want to do the opposite.
The feeling of his presence mere steps away from her own was more than enough to make her heart pound in her chest and ricochet at her ribcage; choking her as it wanted to escape at her throat. He was the one who made her heart soar time and time again, and yet, he was also the one she feared, or rather, she feared that he would fall victim to the calamity once more.
She dreaded to see his stoic figure behind her, struggling to stand as he laid in the filth of his own blood-stained clothes alike those of a century ago. She dreaded to catch him in her arms as he staggered to the ground, drawing his last ragged breath in her embrace, yet again. And yet, despite such thoughts—she knew everything was fine. She knew that the battle was finally over, and that it had been won by none other than him; her appointed knight; the promised hero of the prophecy whom wield the sword forged by the Goddesses.
Finally, clasping her hands together at her chest, she opened her mouth to speak. With a single exhale, the words she had been wanting to tell him for a century escaped her lips.
"…I've been keeping watch over you all this time," she began with a hitched breath. "I've witnessed your struggles to return to us, as well as your trials battle."
His feet grazed the earth's surface beneath them as he made his way toward her, eventually coming to a stop, a distance barely out of each other's grasp.
"I always thought… no," she shook her head, correcting herself. "I always believed—that you would find a way to defeat Ganon," she murmured. "I never lost faith in you over these many years…"
Shakily, she finally forced herself to face him. Her worries were shattered as she looked him up and down with her deep emerald eyes. There was still blood; that, she couldn't deny, and he seemed exhausted, physically and mentally. And yet, it was nothing compared to the last time she was physically within his presence. Even now, he was knocked down in battle, and yet, he stood back up again, as if unscathed; with a newfound strength and power unlike that of a century ago. He looked into her eyes, a meek smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She in turn smiled back, wiping away a few small tears forming in her eyes with the back of her hand—sniffling before regaining her composure, returning his gaze endearingly, a rosy discolouration forming across her cheeks.
She breathed, "Thank you, Link… the Hero of Hyrule." It was a moment of revelation; for the battle was finally over. The fighting, the loss, it was all over—and yet, an overwhelming fear began to dote within her, the choking want to be remembered by him. A voice inside of her, her consciousness, knew that she had to ask him.
So hesitantly, shakily, and against her protests, she opened her mouth to muster the courage; and the words escaped her, against her jurisdiction. "May I ask… do you really remember me?"
His feet moved on their own, involuntarily. Lowering himself to a kneel before her, his feet encompassed by the soft blades of grass, he took her petite right hand into both of his own calloused palms. He looked up into her eyes, rays of beaming sunlight beating down against his sun-kissed skin, coating his deep sapphire eyes with an overpowering glare. He feared he would be unable to say the words he knew she wanted to hear, for part of his memory was still shattered beyond comprehension, and yet, she understood him; his suggestive gaze telling her what she already knew. So she fell onto her knees with him, wrapping her free hand around both of his which gripped her own ever so tightly.
They made their way to the castle atop Link's steed, the sun at the highest point in the sky by the time they arrived. It left little of the realm to be overcast with shadow, revealing it's true splendour—even after the century of destruction that had been unleashed. The warmth in the air began to rise as the breeze sifted around them with ease, flowing through their hair.
He extended a hand to her from below as she lay seated atop his horse, gripping the saddle. Link's steed, a chocolate-brown stallion with a hefty figure and lengthened hide snorted fiercly, stomping it's hooves into the stones restlessly, unleveling dust and pebbles with impatience and frustration. She soothes the steed with her spare hand, stroking it's slick ashen mane, and in the other, she took his nervously, slowly lowering herself off of the horse.
Her balance faltered the moment her feet touched the stone pavement beneath them both. He grabbed her before she fell, pulling her toward him in a warm embrace, his fingers intertwining around the small of her back to hold her steadily. She trembled in his hold; restlessly gripping and pulling at his tunic as her tears began to flow copiously; staining the royal blue they held so dear.
She never cried—not until the events of the Calamity, and now. Her heart wreathed at the sight around them, along with the memories of the past, now rushing back to her like a flow of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She had seen the ruin of the castle through the eyes of the Goddesses who watched over Link along his journeys, but seeing it with her own eyes was a different experience; an experience which overwhelmed her with an unexplainable sorrow; a heart-wrenching pain. It was from finally realising the true destruction of what originally stood tall as the pivot of the Kingdom; Hyrule Castle; now her castle, dwindled to nothing more than the shell of former architecture—a reminiscence to the past.
She began to hear the voices of those who fell a century ago and to see their faces vividly within her mind—misguiding and blinding her thoughts. The faces and voices of the five Champions she personally appointed; the same Champions she formed unbreakable bonds with, including Link himself. The faces of the friends, those whom she considered family that she had across the realm, including Impa; mostly all whom have long passed and lived long, prosperous lives without her. They whisper to her tantalising, scrutinising words which remind her of her own failures—for her incompetence resulted in their deaths, and her century of solitude to atone for it.
-=o=-
He held her until she calms and her trembling dwindles to mere shivers.
With a heavy sigh, he released his hold on her, and she pushed herself away from him—her gaze lowering to her right hand where the symbol of the tri-force lay permanently engraved as a scar from battle. "I'm not a Princess—not anymore," she shakes her head. "I am nothing more and nothing less than a failure, bestowed with the name Zelda which the Kingdom recognises as royalty…
"I couldn't even awaken my own powers," she whimpered, cupping her face in her hands to hide her tears. Eventually, she lowered her hands, letting one fall limply to her side as she raised the other to her chest, feeling the slight vibrations and echo of her heartbeat, mostly, at the thought of him. "And you..." she began, her gaze landing upon his figure, planted in the centre of his chest. "You have done your duty, and yet you stay by my side," she says pensively, a slight furrow forming between her eyebrows.
He looked at her, sword in hand before giving her a slight shrug and proceeding to walk past her.
Swiftly, she turns, reaching out to catch him, but failing. "Why is that?"
He froze on the spot, looking over his shoulder as she beckoned toward him. He turned, taking a few steps toward her until they were arm-length apart, allowing him to place his hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze, as if she could break from the slightest touch. He looked into her eyes, a dark expression painting them; his eyebrows furrowed in a sort of pitiful grimace; the sort of expression that would scare either a friend or foe—that is, if they didn't know him like she did. "I'm not leaving," he whispered.
Even with such simple words, she felt the kindness lingering within them as they striked her eardrums. Squinting her eyes shut, she cries, her fists clenched together by her sides as she reminisced in the warmth that seeped through his fingers to her bare skin.
"Then, please… help me," she begs him between sobs.
He takes her hand in his and nods, pulling her toward the entrance of the castle where the pivot stood tall, overlooking the kingdom. Through the metal gates, now laid upon the stone pavement as a shell, she looked up toward the throne room which was once her home, towering over them in height and glory. For a brief second, she believed that she saw the embers of the spirits of the Champions and her father—she could imagine them looking down upon her with proud-stricken smiles as her duty was finally upheld. Just as the thought entranced her, the embers dispersed toward the centre of the castle, toward it's depths—leaving nothing but a small trail of azure dust.
The wind passed through the midline shift of the Dueling Peaks, making it's way toward the stable and the surrounding fields. She watched him from a distance, nuzzling and whispering coaxing words to her newly appointed mare. It was... one of the more childish things she's seen him do, but nevertheless, it didn't surprise her.
The mare, a pure white with creme blonde hair was believed to be a descendant of the one whom lived prosperously, a century ago. The mare looked so similar to her previous mount, that trivially, for a few brief seconds, she believed the mare to be the exact steed she rode a century ago on her travels. As she approached, she noticed the fine differences; her hand sifting through the long coat, as opposed to short. Blue eyes, like Link's, as opposed to green, like hers. Black-strewn hooves, as opposed to dark, chocolate brown.
She offered an apple to the mare in her hand, which it accepted, nuzzling and licking at the residue remaining on her palm. All the while, Link worked at outfitting the mare; somehow coming out from a discussion with one of the elderly stablemen, holding the exact royal saddle and bridle her own steed strided pridefully a century ago. He polished it with the seams of his tunic, removing a few age and mould spots before throwing it over the steed gracefully; working around the mare and fastening it's belts all the while. If the white coating of the horse wasn't aiming to give her enough attention, the royal colours of the saddle and bridle was surely the icing on the cake. She would have opted for something more basic, less eye-grabbing, like what his own steed next to hers wears; travellers gear, knapsacks and blankets tied on the sides and ends of the saddle—but she was too nice to tear down such a significant gesture, to tell him to stop after he had already started. She didn't have the will to tear down his pride.
Link's quaint house, a brick laid cottage along the edges of Hateno Village remained barely unchanged and untouched over the time of a century. A bit of ivy growth and mould here and there, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a day's work, she thought. It was on the finer side of architecture and housings, given what they had seen on their ways.
The features were mostly identical. A single bed, contained upstairs in the loft. A timid gas stove, a few pots and pans buried to the side within crates filled to the brim with grain and spoiled fruit and vegetables. A small bathhouse behind the housing, which one would have to walk in the freezing cold to reach during winter for the most trivial of tasks. A creaky wooden staircase with several repair sites, pieces of discoloured wood nailed into the dark oak. And finally, an old wooden table with matching furnishings filled with natural spirals and knife etchings as a result of both boredom, sorrow and anger. It felt like home; the beige lined walls with age spots and the dark oak frames and floors complimented by the morning sunshine that beamed through the glass-paned windows providing her a strong sense of familiarity. The location itself provided her a secluded place to rest, recuperate and most importantly; reconcile.
So of course, when they arrived, two days after the events of the treacherous calamity; he offered the bed to her. A lone wolf who would much rather prefer absence in her presence, he insisted to sleep downstairs, or even outside. A kind gesture, as if she was his guest. As if she was just visiting for a while. His normal, shy nature, insistent on putting her needs first. She settled for sleeping by his side in the overly-comfortably sized bed; her back barely touching his as they laid facing opposite directions of each other. If he was against it, he certainly didn't show it with his nonchalant facial expressions.
One thing that did show, at least to herself, was her inability to sleep. Insomnia, of sorts. She thought she would be tired, that she would fall asleep in the blink of an eye the moment her head hit the comfortable futon, and yet, there she lay, staring across the room amid the dim moonlight. She was distracted by the sounds; the wind brushing past the windows, scraping at the glass with a nerve-spiking eeriness. The restless chirping of crickets off in the distance. The leaky faucet downstairs. His breathing and the subtle rise and fall of his supine chest which would just barely rustle his clothes and the blanket they shared.
He, in contrast, slept. He didn't wake up the next morning, nor the second. She monitored his breathing and pulse every few waking minutes she was within his presence, fearing that he has left her; that he has fallen victim to the Calamity that has now passed, leaving her to fend for herself; much like a foal rejected by it's mother, she thought.
So, in attempts to pass time, she read books. The same book passing through her palms, at least twice. She tidied his wounds, perfecting her dressings and herbal concoctions in her, or rather his mortar and pestle, like an art. She cleaned the house from it's dust-strewn shelves, neatening everything into an orderly fashion. She gardened, fussily picking a fresh handful of flowers to place in the vase on the bedside table every morning. She did their laundry, bucking and scrubbing at her old prayer robes and his tunic in a wooden pail and sifter at the pond to the left of the house. She bonded with her horse and Link's, tied to the stable stalls conveniently placed beside the house; feeding them more than their needed share of apples and carrots, weaving nearby flowers into her mare's mane as she worked on a braid. If there was nothing left to do, she sat down and studied the Sheikah Slate to her limited abilities, writing notes on spare pieces of parchment paper lying around the cavern.
-=o=-
Eventually, the time came when she ran out of the necessities, and she knew she needed to visit the village.
The shopkeeper looked her up and down as she entered the shop shakily, a pensive look across her face as if she had seen a ghost. He chewed a piece of wheat head in his mouth, a woven straw hat atop his head, his red plaid shirt half un-buttoned at the crest.
"Ah. It's you. I heard 'yer with Link," he greeted her gleefully as he chewed, leaning against the counter wall.
Her hand went to grab one of the woven baskets by the door as she strided over to pick out the few ammenities and necessities she knew would get her by. She looked up at him and scratched her head awkwardly, smiling as best as she could within that moment, holding the basket situated on her hip.
"That's me," she said with a smile, continuing to browse the items on the shelves.
"You here on business or sum'n?"
You could call it that, she thought to herself. "Yes. I'm not from... here, though."
"Well that's nice. 'Tis always nice ta' see new faces, y'know? He's pre' good with a sword, so I pay 'em to do my dirty work sometimes. And I don't mean murder or anythin'. I just don't take a likin' to guttin' my livestock. He does it for the shepherds up on the hill for a quick rupee, too," he rambled, crossing his hands in front of his chest, nodding at his own words. "Whadabout you? You also a sword kinda gal?"
Zelda froze. She was partially flattered he would assume she would be good with a sword, nevertheless in battle; especially seeming she is female—given the stigma attached to women in combat. All she would know about it as of yet would be to stick them with the pointy end. So she shook her head, laughing insincerely, "I'm just a friend. I'm not particularly good at anything."
He nods, eying her intently. They met at the counter, and he listed her items, counting them on each of his fingers. He then came to a revelation, his index pointed to the ceiling. "Ah! I forgot sum'n," he almost yelled, startling her. He ducked below the counter shelf, heaving a woven basket much like the one she held filled with grain toward her. She grabbed it, not compensating for it's weight before lodging it into the side of her hip. She proceeds to pack and prod her own items into the basket, forcing them into the cracks so she wouldn't have to make two trips. "Fruit and vegetables went a bit rotten so a' removed 'em." Was suppose to give it to 'em last week, but he wasn't home."
She looked at the basket, and then up at him. "We... no, my apologies. He was busy." Busy, yes.
She recalled him standing in the centre of the blood and malice stained atrium, shield and sword at the ready, cutting and severing various pieces of flesh with the ominous, potent smell of metal filling their nostrils. He's heaving, breathing heavily as if enlightened by a fire, and there's lightning in his beaming sapphire eyes as he stares down Ganon's atrocious physical embodiment, head to toe. He's wiping the sweat off of his forehead, sternly gripping the master sword in his hand as he does; pulsating a radiant sapphire matching his hasty pulse as he raises it skyward; readying himself to deliver the final blow.
-=o=-
The moon had not long risen over the town on the third day, providing an unusual chill to the air as night descended over the realm. Link was still where she left him, laying in the comforting bed upstairs in the cottage secluded from society. He was restless; the quilt tangled between his lower legs, the pillow leaning against the wall, an atrocious bedhead atop his skull, and yet, he still showed no signs of waking.
She lit the gas stove downstairs after doing her routine observations, stirring rice grains in an old casket pot with a dainty wooden ladle as instructed by the old musky-smelling cooking book she found lying in Link's storage. When finished, she ate her serve as she rocked in a creaky wooden rocking chair in front of the lit fireplace—lavishing in the warmth of the flames and the blanket cradling her, envying Link's cooking skills as she coughed and spluttered after each bite of her own cooking. Partially in disgust at her lack of skills, partially at the lack of flavour. When she is done, she positions one arm on her knee, resting her head in the crook of her palm. The other pokes and prods at the fire aimlessly with an iron stoker, staring into it's flames and embers as they disperse into the air; ash slowly piling up beneath the logs.
Eventually, he began to rise, restlessly tugging and pulling at the sheets and blankets lining the bed upstairs. Zelda hears the sound of rustling sheets along with his ragged breaths which she recalls so clearly, and she rushed up the stairs—her eyes instantaneously widening at the sight beholding her. She looks down at him in pure shock as he sweats and struggles, gripping at the Master Sword, attempting to unsheathe it from it's scabbard. He grunts and groans, eventually screaming and yelling inaudible words in what sounds like a combination of both anger and sorrow from the thoughts currently taunting him. She climbs on top of him, yelling at him and shaking him in attempts to wake him from the never-ending nightmare he is in. She cries, her tears falling onto his cheeks as she tries to pry the sword's hilt from his fingers. She had to encourage him, yell at him and pry the sword from his overpowering grip for at least ten minutes straight, emphasising that the battle is over, it had been won by none other than them. Finally, he opened his eyes, releasing the sword; allowing it to fall down onto his bare chest.
After that, he slept for another day; awakening to the smell of burnt eggs and intoxicating smoke alike that of the atrium. She hears him hastily running down the stairs toward her, his bare feet padding against the creaky wooden floorboards, and she turns to him with a welcoming smile, ignoring the flame enlightening greater below the pan.
He runs past her, grabbing the handle of the pan and running out the door. Without a second thought, he hucks it's contents off into the grass; allowing a flock of crows to swarm around it like vultures. She stares at him in shock, disbelief and anger. "I... I was fixing it," she muttered under her breath. He shook his head, pointing to the charred bottom of the pan; a small, oblivious hole forming within it's centre.
He fixes her something to eat, the aroma of both burnt eggs and spice wafting around the room as he worked at the pan carefully; adding mushrooms, garlic and onion along with a sprinkle of Goron spice for flavour. He cut several pieces of bread from a fresh loaf which laid in the woven-basket to the side before he popped them into the pan, soaking up the oils and left-over grittle. When complete, he placed her serve in front of her, immediately digging into his own like a starved carnivore.
"I thought I had it," she says, cutting into the yolk of her perfectly oval-shaped sunny-side-up egg, letting it seep into the whites and down onto the bread's crevices.
With his mouth full of food, he pauses; only to roll his eyes shake his head at her as he resumes eating by large mouthfuls. He eats the leftovers from the pans and pots, scraping the juices off of the sides with his fingers; proceeding to shove his fingers into his mouth, knuckle deep, like a child without proper table etiquette. When he is done smacking and licking at his lips, bread crumbs remaining around his mouth, he watches as she places her cutlery neatly in the centre of her plate; wiping her mouth delicately with a spare handkerchief.
His gaze wafts off to the weapon mounts behind her, the tributes perfectly positioned on their frames. The Champion's Weapons, which pay tribute to their past lives. Daruk's Boulder Breaker wielded with strength, Revali's Great Eagle Bow flown with confidence, Mipha's Lightscale Trident held with wisdom, and lastly, Urbosa's vibrant shield, the Daybreaker, along with her Scimitar of the Seven strewn with courage.
He goes to speak, but she interrupts. "I saw them. They were the first thing I noticed," she says, looking over her shoulder in his direction.
With a sigh, he lowers his head; shaking it. She could hear him swear under his breath, apologising as his hands went into his hear.
She shakes her head at him. "Don't be sorry. It gave me proper means to reconcile—to grieve. I had the time, after all," she looks down, twiddling her fingers in her lap. "I just wish they were still here."
He slowly walks toward her, reaching out to grab her hand. He pulls it toward him, planting her palm in the centre of his bare chest, unphazed by the touch. He doesn't have to tell her, because she already knows. The memories of the champions themselves are in their hearts.
She pulls her hand away, allowing it to fall to her side. "There is no more time for grieving. Not yet, when there is so much to do, and we have already wasted... four, no, five days. Purah, I heard, lives here, so... that's first... plan," she whispers, uncertain of her commandment.
He nods in agreement, helping her stand up with his hands before grabbing her knapsack that laid against the wall and fastening it around her back. She smiled at the gesture, walking out the door after she had packed the last of their bits and bobs together—beckoning for him to follow.
After two weeks, they arrived at the foothills of Kakariko Village dawning the edge of spring, just as the plum blossoms had begun to take bloom. She could hear the occasional familiar sound of the wind chimes in the distance along with the wooden talisman knocking against each other on their woven strands throughout the cool breeze; striking her eardrums as their proximity to the village began to close.
-=o=-
Upon learning of their precedented arrival not even a day prior, Paya fell into a state of utter panic. She wrung a damp cloth from the water of a wooden pail, running it across the wooden decking of the temple; vigorously scrubbing at the various nooks and cracks in the floorboards that nobody would care to take notice of. She stood on her tiptoes atop a wobbly stool, reaching high to dust the rafters just below the ceilings. She polished the balustrades and the creaky wooden staircases, inside and that which lead up to the residence. She worked until her fingers began to prune, her knees and soles red and bruised from the constant pressure.
The night prior, she spent a generous amount of time in the bathhouse; washing her hair and freeing it of it's copious knots and split ends, along with cleansing every inch of her pale skin with her personally made bath oils and soap concoctions. Her usual robes were freshly pressed and tied neatly at the seams, and her bedhead was brushed back and controlled slickly and neatly in the tight bun laying atop her head of the coming morning.
So, Impa wasn't surprised when Paya presented her a wooden tray during early hours. Atop of it laid various wooden bowls filled with different shades of pink and red paints. Impa sighed, shaking her head as she obligingly dipped her fingers into the moisture-laden red paste.
"You usually do this yourself, Paya," she said constructively, tilting Paya's chin upwards with her clean hand. Paya's eyes slipped closed as Impa's fingers drifted across her eyelids and upon the bridge of her nose; the presiding symbol of the Sheikah being traced upon her skin.
"It has been a while since I saw him last," Paya whispers, careful not to move a muscle as Impa skilfully worked her way around her face. She wouldn't ever risk wrinkling the paint—especially not today. Impa knew of her feelings toward Link; all the while, she knew they would never be reciprocated. Everybody within Kakariko knew... but nobody had the heart to tell her, nor to tear her down from her fantasies.
"I hope you're not expecting any changes. We should only expect that their waistlines may have grown by a few inches," Impa says, a slight chuckle escaping her pruned lips.
Paya's eyes opened instantaneously. "Grandmother," she replied, displeased.
Impa finished, wiping off her dampened fingers with the cloth Paya provided her. She daubed the plum perfume concoction onto the back of Paya's neck and behind her ears, finishing at her wrists; which she took and squeezed, asserting her attention.
"You're very courageous for giving up your bedroom," Impa smiled. "Thank you."
Paya shook her head at her grandmother's words. "Of course I must. Master Link and the Princess deserve better than to sleep in an inn."
-=o=-
Sunset dawned over the village, orange and rose hues blanketing the sky above them as they waited atop the temple veranda for the pair's arrival. Dorian waved to them from the foot of the staircase below, giving confirmation that Master Link and Princess Zelda had been spotted making their journey up the mountain.
Time passed, every mere second prolonging into what felt like hours as Paya listened attentively, hoping to see the knight in clad whom made her heart lunge in her chest. Eventually, she heard the excited voices of the villagers along with the hard hoofbeats against the earth—those of which began to intensify as they slowly traversed to the staircase, each atop their own horse. They reached the foot where Dorian greeted them, taking the reigns of Link's restless steed, allowing him to dismount with ease. He then turned, reaching out both of his arms toward Zelda to help her dismount herself. She took them, in turn squeezing his hands as thanks as she lowered herself gracefully toward the ground, slowly peeling back the hood of Link's travellers cloak to reveal her face.
It wasn't until that moment that Paya realised her true beauty. Paya knew the feeling within her chest well. It was familiar—the same heart-wrenching, gut-twisting feeling that overcame her as she gave her farewells to Link as he eagerly took off on his journeys upon fully regaining his memories and receiving the Master Sword; a single goal in mind—to save the Princess. It was the feeling of inferiority; the feeling that his eyes would never be laid upon hers alone. She had prepared herself for it, of course. Even before seeing her, Paya knew Zelda was beautiful. She read the stories and sonnets that spoke so highly of her, not only as a member of the royal, but the beauty bestowed upon her at birth that continued to flourish as she grew of age. She could easily attest to such claims, despite her unawareness, her effortlessness; her unruly golden hair atop her head sifting through the wind, her glistening emerald eyes which would envision images of green fields bundled with copious flora, her light freckles dotting the nose of her sun-kissed face as a result of sunny weather and travels. Dressed in regular travelllers attire, she would just seem like a normal human being; a traveller visiting an old friend. No one would ever think that she would be a member of the royal family, let alone the physical embodiment of a Goddess who sealed Ganon away. There was such a striking radiance about her that Paya felt... ashamed, almost, to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.
-=o=-
Zelda's gaze immediately landed upon Impa as she reached the peak of the stairs. A warm smile overwhelmed her petite face as she drifted toward the Sheikah Elder with tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Impa," she breathed, kneeling to embrace her. Their limbs intertwined, and Impa held her with strength.
"It's been far too long, my Princess. I feared you would have aged so much that I would not know your face, and yet, here you are—having not aged a day," she smiled, drawing back from their embrace to grasp her hands.
"And to you, too."
Impa scoffs, laughing quietly. "Certainly not, Princess. The next time we meet will be after my passing, I am sure of it."
"Grandmother," Paya warned her sternly, watching as Impa wiped at Zelda's tears with her delicate, pruned fingers. Zelda then opened her eyes, her gaze drifting toward Paya who blushed feverishly.
"You must be Paya," she whispered. Before Paya could react, she found herself being embraced as well; the blood rushing to her face even more than before, almost matching the tone of red paint appointing her skin. Zelda pulled away, her hands gently placed on Paya's shoulders. "I have eagerly awaited our meeting."
She was unsure of how to explain to Paya and Impa both without embarrassing them that she has, indeed, encountered Paya's presence before as she ghosted the temple through the eyes of the Goddesses much like she did with Link—keeping vigil on the blood moons. She knew that Paya would prime and posy herself before Link's visits. She knew that Paya would write in her diary every Sunday; accounting for the week's events. She even looked over her shoulder once, viewing her cursive, curly writing upon the oiled parchment paper which omitted a familiar musky smell that lingered about the low desk on the second floor; but the moment she did, she caught a glimpse of Link's name and leant back, figuring it would be best not to peeve. It was clear to Zelda that Paya was nervous, embarrassed, even—moreso than she was, so she vowed then and there to keep the details to herself.
"There's plenty of time for all of this," Impa interrupted before Zelda could muster a single word to address Paya as she consecutively bowed on the spot and muttered words of inaudible praise. "For now, it is time for supper." She gestured toward the door, beckoning for them to follow her inside. Linky, dressed in the clad blue Champion's tunic is by Zelda's side the moment he hears the word, previously entranced in conversation with Dorian. Eagerly and without hesitation, he takes the lead; finding his seat upon an aired cushion adjacent to the low oaken table.
Impa, being well aware of Link's gluttonous nature had prepared well before his arrival. The table was filled to the brim with a variety of dishes; a golden, frothing stew in the centre tossed with pumpkin and carrots, Kakariko's specialties, along with the familiar scent of Goron spice that Link usually adds to his own dishes. Surrounding the broth was piles of fried greens and steamed mushrooms, still simmering from the small cooking stove that sat to the side of the table. The most important dish however, to Link at the very least, was the pile of the finest gourmet meat he had ever laid his eyes upon, resting atop a large bed of fresh, seasoned rice.
The four of them sat at either sides of the table; Link contently digging into the feast in silence whilst the princess conversed with Impa and Paya regarding the details of their travels. Paya darted her head between Zelda and her hands that worked at making a traditional tea brew, sifting tea leaves through a cloth with a tea-whisk, scooping single, finer leaf portions into a wooden bowl to rest before bringing the kettle water to a boil.
"We firstly travelled to Hateno," Zelda began, showing Paya the map on the Sheikah Slate as she worked at sifting. "Link slept for two days—and then another, after he woke up from a hissy-fit," she said jokingly, looking at him.
He choked on his food upon hearing her words—a skewer in his hand as he coughed and heaved, recalling the event vividly. He gulped down the minced portions already within his mouth, wiping the grease and residue off of his lips with the back of his hand as his gaze returned her own; a furrow forming between his eyebrows as he grimaced at her. She laughed, and he shook his head with a roll of his eyes, resuming his feast. The kettle in Paya's delicate hands was simmering as she stirred and sifted the tea leaves within it's interior.
"We decided to stay for a bit longer than planned, to see the surrounding areas, as obliged. I met with Purah at her research laboratory. I wasn't expecting her to be—to be so…"
"Childish?" Impa interrupts, gripping her knee to control her soft laughter which warmed the room.
"N-No. I just wasn't expecting her to be so… small? If that's the correct word."
-=o=-
The blue flame outside of the house atop the hill overlooking Hateno lingered in it's oddly shaped stove, sapphire embers drifting toward the sky filled with dark cloud. Link held the creaky wooden door open for her, a polite gesture as per usual, and she was greeted by a child; shorter and wider in stature than that of a typical Hylian or Sheikah.
"Oh, oh! My Princess has returned!" The child spoke excitedly, pushing the over- sized red-framed opticals further up her nose as she bounced on the spot, her hands waving in the air. Zelda grimaced at the formalities, but her eyes widened in realisation after she identified the familiar dialect, and she dropped to her knees.
"Purah?" She smiled, her hands complacently stretched out before her in welcome.
"Hey-ho! That's me!" The child replied, running into her arms to give her a quick hug. She then pushed back from the embrace, walking toward Link and squeezing his legs tightly as he towered over her. He stumbled, his ears twitching nervously as he scratched the back of his head, his hair ruffling at the touch.
"What a great surprise you have bought me, Linky!"
Behind Purah, Symin waved to the pair awkwardly before ducking behind the wall with his head in a book—not one for formalities. That, or, he didn't know about her. She appreciated it, nonetheless—partially sick of meeting new people, partially sick of acquiring even more people to call her by her formal title she dreaded to hear.
Link worked at freeing himself from Purah's grasp, eventually succumbing as Purah began detailing her age experiments to Zelda; her hands still tightly wrapped around Link's calves.
"An age reversal rune, you say?" Zelda said, eagerly taking note as she observed the Sheikah Slate within her hands. Purah nodded, finally releasing her grasp off of Link—resulting in a sigh of relief from his behalf.
"My old diary documenting the experiment is upstairs, if you want to have a read," she hummed. "Link could probably tell you all about it, though," she said cheekily, winking at him.
Link sneered. Out of curiosity, he stumbled upon her diary one day as he was searching for documents regarding the Divine Beasts—or so he says.
Purah didn't believe his excuses, and she yelled at him. "Hokay then. I believe you… Not!" "Control your appetite, you bonehead!" "Can't you just go find food somewhere else?!"
-=o=-
"Oh, I know. A failed experiment, if you could ever consider it a failure," Impa says, interrupting Zelda's train of thought. After all, the age reversing rune did do it's job. "She has the body of a six year old. Never mind that—how is she? Still terrorising the local children?"
Zelda laughs, covering her mouth with her hand to maintain politeness. She settles, a beaming smile upon her face. "Oh, yes—do you hear from her often?"
"Sometimes. More than enough to know the details," Impa says, raising the tea platter to drink from the cup Paya had just skilfully poured. She lowers it, pausing to examine the bottom of the saucer through the dark fluid. "Well?"
"Well?" Zelda repeats, questioning her.
"You must permit me to pester you about these things, Princess. What are your plans, as of now?"
"Plans?" Zelda says, her hands falling to her lap and intertwining together.
Plans? Dear Goddess. She wasted a week simply recovering. The next week, they spent their time in the areas surrounding Hateno for mere site-seeing purposes. Link was the one who was organised—taking the initiative for blueprints to be made as she sat there, her incompetence taking hold.
She sighed. "I don't really… have any plans. Not yet. I've never been this free, so, as of right now, there is still so much I wish to see and do before I begin anything of the sort. I want to visit the four domains. I want to visit the castle, I—"
"Ah, princess—"
"Link, however, organised for some blueprints to be made with a certain construction company. We reviewed the basic fundamentals before we set off."
-=o=-
The blueprints detailing Hyrule Castle, drawn hastily over the course of a few days with lead and ink on spare pieces of parchment paper were simple to understand. Clear and concise, just the way she liked it, the way Link specifically requested—and yet, she barely understood them as they lay jumbled and sprawled out across the furniture of Link's house; the table in the centre of the lodging barely able to fit them all.
Regardless, she insisted to be informed and involved at every step of the rebuild of the Castle. Even if it was from afar. Even if she would just pop in to view the progress here and there. She still held such a responsibility, as much as she wished she didn't.
Bolson, the leader of the company, shook her off as he put a hand on her shoulder, his other hand on his hip as he puckered his lips. "As I see it, sweetie, you deserve something way more, how to put it… Marvelous? Magnificent? Fabulous, even? You have to leave the dirty stuff to the plebs like us, honey," he said with a wide, cheeky grin planted across his face. Zelda smiled at the gesture, squeezing the hand on her shoulder in thanks; letting it fall as she proceeded to look over his shoulder; trying to process the information. She had seen blueprints before—mostly for the Divine Beasts and other ancient Sheikah technologies, but this was... different. They were somehow concise to the eye, and yet they included the finest details; including what remained of Hyrule Castle that they planned to work with, along with almost exact measurements for some walls and rooms Link provided them from a night's survey. It was... intriguing.
Bolson and Karson, alongside some of the finest, hand-picked construction workers from Hateno observed Bolson as he spoke, his hands dramatically gesturing his words as he explained the process of the blueprints to the unknowing pair and additional workers who were unfamiliar of Bolson's thought processes.
All of the worker's names, of course, had to end with 'son', as per company rule. There were others who didn't meet that requirement, of course, to build up the labour force by Link's recommendation—but Bolson frowned upon them, even rolling his eyes—tending to keep his distance wherever suit. He almost insisted on having each and every one of the workers brought up on a stage of sorts to introduce themselves to her, to examine their pros and cons—and Bolson kept shaking his head at Zelda's polite, almost shaky declines of his offer. "Nothing but the best for you, honey."
Instead, she got to know each and every one of them casually; sitting with them and conversing over food and drink—laughing at the jokes and stories they would tell her as they swigged at bottles of ale and mead. She felt tranquil; like that of a normal being without the responsibility of the Kingdom's rebuild atop their shoulders to weigh them down, despite how uninvolved she truly felt.
Link sat a fair distance behind her, spending most of the night silently feasting and prodding at the leftover bits on the worker's plates. Night arose sooner than planned, and the workers drunkenly stumbled to their quarters; the Bolson construction homes just before the bridge to Link's cottage. Bolson himself packed up his tools, delicately placing them into the knapsack which swayed along his waist before rolling up the scrolls of copious blueprints and hugging them toward his chest.
"Okey-doo, that's the plan! Keep in touch, yes? We'll have them done for 'ya in no time," He said dotingly.
"Of course," Zelda said excitedly. Her excitement then quickly faded as her gaze lowered unto the basic blueprint scrolls Bolson held tightly. "But I have to ask…" she began with a sigh, continuing, "Why are you willingly helping us?"
Bolson laughed, his hand exaggeratedly airing off his face as if he was swatting away a fly. "Oh, honey. Princess. Whatever you like to be called," he began. "If I help you, I'll be remembered for centuries to come! I'll practically be famous. Imagine that, hey?"
"Yes, but—"
"And, not to mention, Link did help build us a town over in Akkala. Quite a fine job he did, if I do say so myself. I'm practically jealous..." he said, looking Link up and down with an indicative smirk. Link almost spat, turning his head and coughing into his fist quietly to disguise it. "It's quite a good deal. It's all the compensation I'll ever need!"
A chill was overcast Kakariko Village, and it was time to turn in for the night. Zelda, now accompanied by Paya alone, leant upon the wooden balustrades overlooking the village. Dressed in her old travellers gear, she felt... somewhat trivial; the familiar Champion's blue and snow white chemise with intricate gold entailing still fitting her as flawlessly as it did a century ago. Paired with it, she strided her ashen corduroy pants tucked neatly into her brown leather boots, along with the leather belt and knapsack fastened around her waist for minimal luggage which completed the look. Impa somehow managed to keep it intact for a century, along with a pair of her winter garments—a thick, woolen coat stretching to her knees paired with fleece boots. Impa insisted that she wear it, despite how utterly inadequate it made her feel.
Link could be seen in the distance, a small dotted figure atop the cliff side which overlooked the village and the field toward Hyrule Castle. Next to him, an ancient shrine stood tall, covered in roots and moss at the base, the rest illuminating and glowing an sapphire through the darkness of twilight.
Paya eyed him endearingly, her face resting in the crook of her palms with a slight blush painting her cheeks as her eyes doted with passion.
Zelda almost scoffed at the sight. "Dare I say—do you... fancy him?"
Paya snapped out of her entranced lovestruck daze, her hair standing on their ends. "W-Who?"
Zelda smiled. "Link."
Paya's face lit up with a red raw blush. She almost shook; nervous convulsions travelling throughout her spine. She waved her hands in front of her nervously as she stuttered, "M-Me? Link? There's... There's n-no way! Not in the slightest! Never!"
Zelda laughed. "Really?"
Paya shook her head, her thin lips parting slightly, allowing her to breathe, "...Y-Yes."
It was a lie. Zelda didn't have to persist to know the truth—it was shown in her eyes clouded over with thought, the slight rose blush on the tip of her nose and ears as she was in his presence, the way she stuttered as she spoke of him. She knew it, and yet she couldn't help but feel an uncertain pain taking hold within her chest.
Zelda turned, beginning to walk down the stairs. "Please excuse me, Paya," she said, looking over her shoulder. She couldn't bear to watch her—but Paya, yet again entranced within a daze paid no notice.
-=o=-
Zelda strode up the hill to meet him, watching him from behind as he cut and sliced through the air with quiet breaths and heaves; beads of sweat dripping from his nose and chin unto the earth below. He noticed her approaching and paused, turning to look her up and down, his sweat-slicked bangs covering his face.
"What?" Zelda said irritatingly.
His expression was… unreadable. Especially in the darkness; as the moon was shrouded by cloud, and the only thing enlightening his stature was the familiar azure glow from his sword. It was a combination of what seemed like curiosity and concern; a singular raised eyebrow, a furrow formed between the middle. She believed for a second she saw him grinning, but the thought was ceased as he turned around—proceeding to walk toward the cliff overhanging the village, sitting down and letting his feet dangle off of the ledge daringly. He placed his sword in front of him; his calloused palm gripping the hilt as he used the corners of his tunic to polish it's length with the other.
She quickly took a seat next to him, her hands complacent in her lap as she crossed her legs. She rolled her eyes, her neck turning to his direction, allowing her hair to cascade down her opposing shoulder. "Seriously."
Glowing emerald fireflies began to swarm toward them, the sounds of the occasional restless cricket rustling through the lengthy grass blades nearby and the occasional hoot of an owl within the trees. They were still. It was quiet. But she still heard his faint whisper, which she probably wasn't supposed to take notice of. "Your outfit."
The fireflies dispersed hastily in fear, and they were in a sapphire-elicited darkness yet again. "…What of it?" She asked, frowning.
He shrugged, almost sarcastically murmuring, "It's... nice?"
She smiled, her mouth opening to thank him, but she noticed his distracted gaze—drifting off of the cliff face, toward the castle that could be seen in the distance, barren and bare. Her gaze landed upon the sword which rested atop his thighs; and she reached for it, her delicate hands grazing over the violet and green strewn hilt. She gripped it sternly, slowly pulling it toward her; sliding it across his lap to her own.
She honestly thought that he would stop her. She was waiting for his hasty, shaky, overprotective gestures to take hold—that of which would grab her at the wrist and push her away. In fact, she was hoping for it, because truth be told, she had no idea how to properly hold a sword or examine it without seeming… hopeless. Incompetent. Clumsy. She had no idea why she reached for the sword in the first place, apart from curiosity's sake. Unfortunately, such thoughts nor actions never came from him—he only looked down at her hands, watching every action she took. Dear Goddess.
Despite Link sitting beside her, unbecoming and unknowing of his thoughts, she was half taken-aback. The Master Sword, supposedly forged by the Goddesses of yonder, within her grasp. She had only ever seen the sword in it's full glory from a distance; for other times, it was hidden within it's scabbard, laying between his shoulder blades or fastened to his belt—almost as if it was a part of him. She eventually grasped the scabbard and slowly sheathed the sword to the hilt with clumsiness; the final sound of the metallic seal striking their ears.
"Can you teach me?" She whispered, holding the sheathed sword out to him. She looked down at the sword extended before her indicatively, hoping his gaze would follow suit. "Swordsmanship, I mean."
He was silent—his mouth half-gaped open, his eyebrows partially raised, his eyes widened more than usual. "Why?" He asked suddenly, taking the sword from her and placing it on the earth between them.
Her gaze drifted past him, toward the castle. She twirled a strand of her hair in her fingers, and sighed with heavy, exasperated breaths, observing the sight in the distance beholding her. "There's not much else I can do," she eventually murmured, her whole body turning to face him. "I can't just watch you…" she continued, her hands reaching to graze over the sword's scabbard. Her forehead lowered to rest upon the peak of his shoulder, her gaze directed toward the engraved symbol on her right hand which forced her to squint her eyes shut. "Please," she almost begged croakily.
He was still, but she heard his slight ear twitch above her hair. It was unfamiliar, no, he was unfamiliar. She knew him, better than anyone else—and yet, at the same time, there was a new part of him that she didn't know as of now. She had already discovered that he was a lot more expressive than he was previously; as compared to the stoic, silent knight he once was. A century ago, she coaxed it out of him—the reason for his silence, utilising the assistance of good food and the night's moonlight upon her bedroom balcony in the castle.
-=o=-
She could recall it as if it were yesterday. He sat there, leaning against the stone wall that lead into her study, twiddling with his fingers as he looked down into the space between his crossed legs—beside him, his sword. "I just..." he stuttered, continuing, "I just have to bear them alone." She knew it was hard for him to say—and yet he continued. "The responsibility of... of being your knight." He paused, his hand grazed over the sword which beckoned for her gaze to follow. "The sword."
She sat down next to him, her robes slid against the stone as her body lofted downward. Their fingers barely touched—a century ago, he was cold, and yet she could still feel his radiating heat.
-=o=-
The memory, at the time, allowed her to understand him in a whole new light. Much like herself, he was beseeched with such heavy burdens—the responsibility of being her appointed knight and the attention that followed. From the moment he was able, he knew his role would mirror his father's; and it followed him further from the moment he unearthed the Master Sword. He found it necessary to stay strong and silently bear the burdens—alone. At that time, she had never so badly wished to see what lay behind his calm waters; to hear him speak freely and openly with her as a friend, rather than individuals each just trying to fulfill their own responsibilities.
She got what she wished for. Now, he conveyed so much thought and emotion through his subtle expressions and one-worded responses, despite how trivial it may seem. She got what she wished for, and yet, she couldn't help but feel... a little in the dark? Perhaps, he feels the same; perhaps, she also lost a part of herself along the past century.
Eventually, she came back to her senses as he pushed her back slightly, squeezing her shoulders lightly before he stood—throwing the sword over his back. His sapphire eyes, alike the sword, almost glowed in the dim moonlight as he looked down at her—entranced with an uncertain anger.
"No Princess should ever wield a sword," he said abruptly, almost too quick to be legible, swiftly turning to walk down toward the village before giving her a chance to reply.
-=o=-
Zelda was furious. It was shown in her eyebrows—the dented furrow that formed between them. The way she clenched her fists together as she walked. The way her ears would point backward in the slightest. In fictional stories, she read that steam would be spouting out of her ears in these situations. All in spite, she asked Dorian—even though his skills were inferior to those of Link's.
"Prin-Zelda... Of course I will, but wouldn't Master Link be better suited for the task?"
She shook her head at his words, her hands on her waist as she turned—beckoning for Dorian to follow her up the hill to the shrine.
Paya was... jealous. To an extent. It was unbecoming of her, as she was forbidden to wield a sword herself as Impa's next of kin. And yet, watching the Princess—she couldn't help but feel even more inferior than she already was. So, she divulged her head into her leather bound books, timing her page turns with precision as she mindlessly read the jumbled words on the stained paper. She helped Link and the village farmers pick freshly grown carrots and pumpkins from their roots embedded in the soil, getting dirt under her fingernails. She washed and scrubbed at her own clothes and their's in the pond below the temple, laying them out to air and dry in the day's sunshine blessed upon the spring-bound village. It was all in attempts to distract herself—but her thoughts came rushing back to her every time her gaze fell upon Link; whose gaze was locked atop the hill where she would be found, a sorrowful expression painting his dark eyes as they drooped.
"Do you know what they are up to, Master Link?" Paya broke the silence between them as he leant against the temple balustrades and she scrubbed at the decking. She paused, sitting up to wipe the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand, her labour and exertion doing volumes to hide her feverish blush. She still didn't know how to talk to Link without feeling… nervous.
Link scoffed, waving his hand in front of his face. "'Course I do."
"If I may ask… why aren't you teaching her instead?" Paya said quietly. She was happy that she had Link to herself for the time being—and yet, his focus was always on her, even when they were apart. For a second, she wondered if Link was entranced with the Princess romantically. She had thought it before, even written it on paper in her diary within the Temple's loft—but now wasn't the right time. She slapped her cheeks with her small palms, making them even more red than before, proceeding with her work.
Link looked at her, frowning as he raised one eyebrow at her gestures. With a somewhat goofy, confused smile; his gaze returning to the dotted figures atop the hill.
-=o=-
Dorian and Zelda hid between the trees. They sparred between the tall grass blades, often wandering off into the nearby woods in the shadows of twilight. It was the same place. Every night. For hours straight.
She gripped a knight's broadsword by the hilt in her right hand, her thumb positioned just below the sword's shield as Dorian had showed her—or rather, the way she had memorised Link grip his own.
"You learn quick," Dorian huffed, placing his makeshift wooden blade against the cliff close to the shrine.
She laughed. Quick? Certainly not. It had been days. She practiced every waking hour. Either that, or she was playing with the Sheikah Slate like a child under Impa's guidance in the time that allowed. She was out of everyone's sight—including Link's own, as they continued to avoid each other unknowingly.
"I have a good teacher," she smiled insincerely, sheathing her own into the scabbard tied along her leather belt.
"Time to hit the hay," Dorian said. He then bowed before her. "Sleep well, Princess."
She waved her hands before him, dismissing his gesture. "Please. It's Zelda."
Once he had disappeared out of her sight, she walked further into the woods—practicing routinely, as per usual, sparring at air.
And then… she feels it. Just a small tingle in the base of her skull, slithering down her spine as she practiced mindlessly; but it began to feel more clear—more certain. She doesn't make any sudden movements, stilling her heaves of the blade before her to focus. She knew what to do in these situations—to keep her gaze low and her breathing steady. She isn't worried, exactly—she knows that if she detects it, Link and the Sheikah members do also. It was situations like these she was preparing herself for, after all.
Her eyes slipped closed. She listened—the slight rustle of the leaves and grass in the wind, the occasional wind chimes knocking against each other and—footsteps. She could just barely hear them, but she was certain. There was no doubt about it. She readied her sword before her; studying her peripheral. Her heart began to race, tiny streams of sweat travelling down her arms to the tips of her fingers, loosening her grip on the hilt. She knew she was probably overreacting—it was probably just a rabbit or a deer foraging, perhaps, even a blupee—but the footsteps began to louden. They were fast. Close. And she couldn't see nor detect what direction they were coming from.
Before she knew it, something unknown had begun to run toward her. It, whatever it was—was about to pursue her, much like the times of a century ago, whereby Link was by her side without a thought for his own life. With a hitched breath, she quickly readied her sword within her right hand, gripping the hilt sternly as she positioned the blade to cover her body in defence. Her left foot landed in front of her, her boots seeping into the mossy earth as she re-distributed her balance, allowing her to turn in the opposite direction—her hair following as she did, almost blinding her vision. As she steadied herself, she heard the figure slide downward and out of her sight—shifting toward her behind once again. She turned almost instantaneously in response, but a stern hand wrapped around her mouth prevented her from tilting her head more than halfway; another hand gripping and squeezing at her right wrist, forcing her to drop the sword. She mustered a muffled scream at the pain and pressure within the tight grasp upon her mouth, her hands now locked behind the small of her back. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes as she struggled and attempted to wring herself from their grasp.
The figure, evidently, towered over her in height and stature. She kicked at their knees to no avail; wriggled herself free only to be entranced in their arms yet again, screaming Link's name only to be heard as muffled pleas.
In pure desperation, she squinted her eyes shut, tilting her head downward which allowed her teeth to reach forward and bite down on the fingers enclosing her mouth. She gasped and spluttered as the perpetrators hands fell, allowing her to barely pry herself from the now weak grasp on her wrist as she dived toward the earth where her sword lay.
She sobbed, positioning the sword in front of her as she attempted to stand from her knees which shakily forbade her, planting her to the earth like dead weight. Before she had a chance to catch a glimpse of the figure, whoever it may be, another shadow dashed past her through the swift movement of the wind—the sound of metal parrying against metal shocking her, before a sword was heard landing unto the earth, dagger-first.
She looked over her shoulder just barely, the familiar champion's blue being the first thing she saw. He stood there, his master sword glowing fiercely as it pointed up toward the figure's throat who towered over him in height. The stranger was dressed in normal traveller's attire, as opposed to what she thought she would see—the familiar red and black Yiga gear of those whom pursued her a century ago. He was a Gerudo man; olive skin with red, almost calamatious eyes. He was tall with broad shoulders and toned muscles that could be seen in the tight indents of his attire. He had dusty red hair that reached to his collarbones, tied out of his face with a small, messy braid, the dark cloak he strode reaching to his knees barely folded over his features.
"Who are you?" Link hissed. At first, he didn't answer, so Link pushed the sword further—the tip of the metal sheen barely seeping into the man's skin; a spot of blood forming at the tip.
The stranger placed his hands before him in defeat. "Just an underling," the stranger said with a deep voice before snickering.
"Your business?"
"Looking for the one who calls themselves Link and the Princess with the claim to the throne," He says, looking down toward the sword. His eyes then rose to match Link's gaze, darting between him and Zelda. "Assuming that's you two?"
"And what if we are?" Link sneered, tilting the sword slightly as he looked along it's glowing blade; it's tip never leaving the Gerudo's vitality.
"I'm here to deliver a warning," the stranger said, turning his head as much as his body would allow, otherwise prevented by the blade. "There's people—only a few, but they're skilled. They're looking for you to fulfill a prophecy."
"What?" Link asks, placing his left hand on the hilt adjacent to his right as he repositioned it; focusing his gaze on the stranger as he furrowed his eyebrows and gritted his teeth. "Who? What prophecy?"
The stranger gulped, his Adam's apple dislodging in his throat.
"If you can't tell me anymore, then we're done here," Link said abruptly, his grasp on the hilt tightening as he readied himself to pull backward and deal a fatal blow.
"You sure you want to do this in front of your Mistress?" The stranger snickered, looking past Link's shoulder to where Zelda sat, gripping the broadsword to her chest shakily. Link quickly looked over to her as she returned his gaze with tears welling in her eyes. She shook her head at him—and he knew better than to show no mercy. The moment he looked back, willingly ready to spare him for her sake, the Gerudo stranger was gone without a trace.
She dropped the sword from her grasp and crawled toward him, looking up into his eyes as he dropped his own unto the earth, kneeling before her as he almost routinely turned her and examined her body for any scars or injuries, his hands scathing over her pale, shaky skin. He didn't stop, he was restlessly shaken—exhaling heavy, exasperated breaths and gritting his teeth, his hair unkempt from rest. She had to lean toward him to cease his worried movements, her head falling into his chest, allowing her hair to cascade around her face and hide her tears as she sobbed and writhed whilst slightly rocking back and forth on her knees. She was scared of death, even though she had stared it right in the eye and survived, lo, a century ago.
His head barely leant on top of hers as he muttered curses and apologies under his breath. His hands laid by his sides, sinking into the earth as he clenched his fists in anger.
She gripped his shoulders, pushing herself back. Their foreheads almost touched as she shook her head at his murmured words. "Why be sorry?" She whispered between sobs, vigorously wiping her streaming tears with the back of her hands, causing her eyes to redden. She then smiled, whispering, "I know you would have saved me."
He took her wrist upon hearing her words, red and raw from where the perpetrator restrained her, and held it softly; his thumb grazing over her pulse. "But what if I didn't make it?" He said, looking into her eyes with a sorrowful expression. It was painful, almost; the way he looked at her through his sapphire eyes—emotionless and dark, as though had failed her. His spare hand wiped at a single tear forming in her eye before falling to his side, yet again.
"Link, I—"
"I-I should have known."
"Known what?" She asked with a whisper.
"That this would happen," he hissed, looking over toward his left where the dagger lay.
She didn't question him, she just shook her head, her hand grasping his which held her wrist gently as she lowered it to the ground. "Then please, Link, teach me so I know—"
"I will," he said apologetically, a croak in the back of his throat as he held back his regret. "I just…" he began, looking down toward their hands. His hands then went into his face full of hair, and he shook his head in them roughly.
Zelda tilted his chin up with her free hand, making him look her directly in the eyes. "You always look down when you are with me, Link. Don't."
He leant backward, his mouth half-gaped open as the words left her mouth. He smiled feebly, looking into her eyes as he tilted his head slightly, opened his mouth to whisper, "I just felt... unneeded."
Him? Unneeded? She was the one who felt unneeded by him. He had done his duty—upheld the prophecy by dealing the final blow to Calamity Ganon; allowing her to seal him away—he was no longer held back by the title of her appointed knight, which disallowed him his freedom. She felt unneeded by the Kingdom—of which she had no claim toward, no throne; for she left it to rot with ash and malice due to her incompetence. And yet, despite everything, he still stayed by her side. Travellers offered her goods, along with words of praise. Enemies pursued her, despite her holding no redeemable threat.
"Never," she said, removing her hand from his chin to cover her mouth as she snickered. "I'm too clumsy."
He almost scoffed, breaking out into a warm, hearty laugh, nodding, "You do need to watch your six."
She striked her sword against a piece of flint upon a torch, and it lit instantaneously; a strong flame overcasting the shadows encompassing them. Link, by her side, followed her as she made her way through the foreign cave, observing and noting the inscriptions and carvings on the wall, consisting of paintings and a foreign language detailing a supposed untold prophecy, long forgotten by time itself. The glowing words floating throughout the air seemed to lead her toward... something. She could feel it, like an instinct, a knot of sorts within her core telling her to push forward, to keep going, in which she upheld. Suddenly, she dropped the torch in shock at the sight beholding her—turning toward Link, but her vision was ceased as she woke up.
She kicked the sheets off of her. A week had past, and Zelda awoke from her slumber every night during the early hours of the morning, without fail. She was roused and sweaty and heaving and gripping her sword until Link sleepily pried it from her grasp and laid it to the floor, an eyebrow raised in concern as he wafted himself onto the bed next to her with a thud.
By now, she could no longer remember the words of the Gerudo man, let alone his face. All she reconciled upon was a singular word which fell from his lips and striked her interest, being 'prophecy'. They kept it to themselves—not wanting to raise concern. It had yet to leave their minds, mostly her own, perhaps the very cause of her nightmares which were so vivid, as if she had seen them before through her own eyes—and yet, the moment she rose, she was unable to recall a single thing.
Link pulled her closer, allowing her head to fall into the crevice joining his neck and shoulder blades. He began to slowly brush the loose, messy strands of her hair with his calloused palm as he did every night, before he, slightly unhopeful, whispered to her, "Remember anything?"
He asked her the question every night, but the answer was always the same. She shook her head slightly as the tears began to well and cascade down her cheeks, staining them both.
-=o=-
In the warmth of the afternoon, Paya readied their horses, tying their bags and knapsacks onto the saddle strings and billet, leaving enough space on the cantle for their weaponry. She fed each of the horses apples out of her slightly bent palms. Link walked up to her, swiftly taking her hands and straightening them; her palms now flat with the apple resting in the centre.
"Wouldn't want to get your fingers nipped off," He said cheerfully, his hands falling to his hips as a slight grin painted his face.
She blushed, a bright smile spreading across her cheeks as she soothed the horse's manes in her spit-slicked palms. "N-No… I suppose not."
Zelda walked up to them, a silver broadsword attached to her hip by the belt. "Paya," she whispered, grabbing her hands with a smile. "We thank you for your hospitality."
Paya shook her head, sweating. Her heart wrenched slightly at the use of the plural. She had calmed, speaking to Zelda and Link over the past two weeks—and yet being with them directly still made her nervous. Thinking of them together still made her sorrowful. "N-Not at all, Princess. Link."
Impa came down from the temple with the assistance of Dorian and Kado by her side. She walked slowly, bobbing up and down as she took small steps toward them. "It is an honour to have been graced by your presence for this long, Princess," Impa said croakily as she approached her.
"Not at all," Zelda breathed, embracing Impa. "I am sure we will see each other again."
Link, not one for formalities, quickly pulled her toward her horse, hoisting her up toward the saddle by her hips. Afterward, he quickly mounted his own, looking ahead as they prepared to venture.
Not long after leaving the village through the western-bound gateway, Zelda steadied her horse, gently lowering herself to the ground on the land which overlooked both the entrance to Kakariko and Hyrule Castle as she held it's reigns. She briefly stared between the two indecisively before grabbing the Sheikah Slate, observing the map.
"Divine Beast Vah Ruta… looks like it stopped working," she said curiously, looking toward Link. He dismounted his own horse, fluid and hasty, walking over to her to view the Slate himself, humming in thought.
"Let's investigate the situation," she says, a mix of excitement and concern in her voice. In the past, her heart rate would sky-rocket out of normal ranges the moment the topic of ancient technologies arose; whether she was eavesdropping, inquiring or reading. But now—she was uncertain. She didn't want to make it seem as if she was running from her responsibilities. It still did peak her interest to that extent—however whenever she thought of it, she was reminded of her Father, the Champions, the deceased; which forced her to come spiralling back down to reality, where she stood atop a hill of corpses in her nightmares, rather than a throne. She sighed at her thoughts, looking over toward the trail to Zora's domain, encompassed with steep hills and rock-strewn scapes.
"Mipha's father… I believe he would like to hear more about her. The least we can do is visit him and offer him some closure," she breathed, lowering her head. "Although Ganon is gone for now, there is still so much more for us to do, and so many painful memories that we must bear. I believe in my heart, that if all of us work together… we can restore Hyrule to it's former glory…"
With a pause, her grip on the slate tightened, and she pursed her lips together. "…Perhaps, even beyond… But it all must start with us," she said with a smile. "Let's be off."
Link follows her, a few steps behind as she walks toward the horses—but she pauses. She comes to a complete stop in the centre of the field, exhaling deeply; resulting in a worried look from Link.
"I can no longer hear the voice inside the sword…" She began, twirling a golden strand of hair in her fingers as she looked up toward the clear blue sky. She then shook her head, before leaning on her heels and turning toward him. "I suppose it would make sense if my power had dwindled over the past 100 years."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she smiled, whispering, "I'm surprised to admit it…but I can accept that."
She briefly looked down to the scar upon her right hand; the symbol of the Triforce engraved within her skin as nothing but a memory. Her hands then moved around to her back, intertwining clumsily. The smile grew toward that of a laugh, her golden hair flowing around her as the wind blew, encompassed with falling petals which had a sapphire colour alike that of his eyes.
He smiled back, walking up to her as he threw his traveller's cloak around her, tying it at her collarbones hastily before they set off, as if nothing had changed.