notes: For the last Zelink week, I put all the days into one story; this time I'm just going to make a story for each day. I think it makes more sense that way with the prompt as each title On that note, happy Zelink week!
disclaimer: I don't own Zelda.
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She has been waiting a long time for this moment. For years, since she split with Impa out of necessity, the Temple of Time has been her home—it is a world of black and white and grey, where Sheik has little to do other than watch the dust drift through the sunlit chamber. The mice scurrying through the walls are the only life nearby—and the Redead shuffling around the ruined streets on their cold dead feet. She tries not to think about the colorful marketplace of the past, and how it had been full of laughter and life.
It feels like relief when Temple of Time flashes with blue light, and Sheik rises to her feet. The Hero of Time stands on the pedestal with the Master Sword in his hand. He's taller now, and his hair has grown longer, his arms thicker and stronger. Sheik stays in the corner of the room, hidden in the darkness, thinking that his adult appearance is exactly the way she imagined—beautiful, and fierce, and alive.
Link's eyebrows are drawn up in confusion when he looks down at his hands, at the Master Sword, at his new, long legs. He frowns as he slides the sword into the scabbard on his back. Navi bounces up and down in the air around him, speaking quickly and too quietly for Sheik to hear. Link says nothing in reply, unsurprisingly; he was always quiet in his meetings with the princess at the castle. A different life, Sheik reminds herself.
"Let's get out of here!" Navi squeaks and flies ahead towards the doorway, Link following close behind.
Sheik slinks out of the shadows, padding towards the sword's pedestal on silent feet as she watches Link's retreating back. He halts suddenly, and his hand flashes up to yank the Master Sword out of its scabbard, whirling around to face her. Good—his instincts are sound. He will need them.
His eyes are flashing over her figure, wild and wary, trying to measure her as a threat. "Who are you?" Link demands, his words coming out hoarse. He flinches, and Sheik imagines it must be strange for him to hear his voice come out so deep and unfamiliar. But, Goddesses, it is so sweet to hear, Sheik thinks.
"I've been waiting for you, Hero of Time," she says softly.
Something in his eyes flashes at the title—fear. And it dawns on her that he really was asleep—that the past seven years, for him, passed in the blink of an eye. That despite whatever title Rauru gave him, despite the legendary blade in his hand, he is still a ten-year-old boy who got dragged into this mess. A pang of familiar, weary guilt stabs at Sheik's heart, brushing over the old wounds that have marked themselves inside her.
All she can do is try to guide him—and that will mean lying with her every breath.
Sheik pulls out her lyre and begins to play.
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She is with Link whenever she can be, though she stays out of his sight always. She trails him from temple to temple, across the rolling plains, through what is left of Hyrule's towns and cities. She watches him as he gives the last of his money to the homeless and the desperate, and rescues defenseless villages from Ganondorf's monster-soldiers, and plays with the skin-and-bones orphans who line the streets. Link is giving hope to a world that has nearly forgotten the feeling. He jokes with Navi, and sings to Epona as he brushes out her chestnut coat, and apologizes to every beast he kills. He has a good heart, and a strong spirit.
Sheik does not have a good heart. Sheik is only a shadow, trailing along as Link lights up the world. She appears to him only to speak in riddles that point him in the right direction—and, occasionally, to offer her help against the few monsters that can be a real threat to him. Navi is the one who helps Link in the way he really needs—she keeps him going when the weight of the world becomes too much for his shoulders. Sheik is a poor excuse for a guide. And a worse excuse for a princess, says a voice in the back of her head that she quickly shoves down. She stays hidden, always ten steps behind him.
And yet—Link knows. They have a silent sort of companionship. She notices that he turns his head to glance back in her direction from time to time, and he always gathers and hunts enough food for two. He sets it out by his campfire at night, and though he says nothing, his invitation is there all the same.
Sheik doesn't know why she starts joining him at night, but it becomes routine. She stays well across the fire from him, but Link never comments or pries. Tonight he is telling her about how he freed Lon Lon Ranch from Ingo's tyranny, smiling widely when he describes Malon's defiance and Epona's impressive jump over the gates. Navi sleeps in his tunic pocket, her blue glow shining through the fabric and turning it turquoise. Sheik just listens, the mask hiding the quirk to her lips.
"I figured out your secret, you know," he says suddenly.
Sheik freezes—every bone in her body is ice, and it is all she can do to keep from reaching for one of the many knives she keeps concealed in her clothes. This is Link, she reminds herself, and yet the fear is there all the same.
Ten years as a princess and seven as a Sheikah keep her face smooth and emotionless, but inside she is reeling. She's been so careful—her magic gave her Impa's copper skin and crimson eyes; she cropped her hair short in the front and keeps the rest in a long braid tucked into her tunic. The mask hides her face below the eyes—she never lets him close to her besides. She waves away all of his questions involving the princess. She's been so careful. She is drawing breath to speak—whether to deny the claim or to beg for his forgiveness, she isn't sure.
"I get it," Link assures before she can say anything. "I know you're a good fighter, but you're still on your own. It's easier if people think you're a boy…" he grimaces. "Bad things happen to girls on the road."
Oh, Sheik thinks as her blood begins to thaw. "How did you know?"
"Navi realized it, actually," he replies, looking down on the dozing fairy fondly. "She said you have curves, like a girl." His cheeks flush. "And I noticed that your voice is sometimes higher, like when we're in a fight or you're yelling at me for getting hurt."
Sheik lets out a breath. "I am sorry for lying to you," she says slowly. You have no idea.
Link shrugs, as though it doesn't matter either way. "Anything else you're keeping from me?" he asks, but his voice is teasing. It still hurts, but none of that pain reaches her face.
"One more thing," she says, holding up a finger. "You're a terrible cook."
The memory of his laughter is something Sheik keeps close to her heart.
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Sheik is perched in the branches of a gnarled elm overlooking the graveyard, idly plucking at the strings of her lyre, when she sees Link stumble out of the Shadow Temple. The sickly pale shade of his skin has her heart lurching in her chest right away as she scrambles down from her tree. One of Link's hands is still latched onto the Master Sword; the other pressed against the side of his neck, just above the shoulder. From the amount of blood soaked through his tunic, Sheik can tell the wound goes deep.
"Sheik," Navi greets in relief when she approaches. "Be gentle, all right? He's…a little shaken."
There is something faraway in Link's eyes that she knows is not only from the blood loss. But for now, all she can do is give him her shoulder to lean on so she can lead him over to the elm tree where her pack is. "Sit," Sheik commands as she wets a cloth with her water skin.
Link obeys silently, finally letting go of the Master Sword and pulling his other hand away from the wound. He hisses in pain when Sheik begins to clean it, but does a better job of holding still than he usually does when she treats his wounds. He is looking down at his blood-caked hands.
"Link," she says quietly, cautiously. With the wound clean, she can tell that it was made by long, vicious teeth. "What happened?"
"Dead Hand," Link answers vaguely.
"They really scare him," Navi whispers to Sheik. "Ever since he fought that first one at the bottom of the well. He froze up, and it…it got him."
"You're safe now," Sheik assures. A lie—neither of them will ever be safe until Ganondorf is dead at their feet, and perhaps even then there will be more threats to come. She begins to stitch the wound closed, fingers deft and quick.
He just shakes his head at that. "I don't want to go back in there," he mumbles miserably, and his hands are trembling.
Impa is in there, Sheik may have said, or, the fate of Hyrule depends on it. But it is Zelda whose heart is breaking for him, and it is Zelda who reaches up to brush his hair out of his face, fingers ghosting lightly over his cheek. "I know," she murmurs. I don't want you to go back in there, either. "I know. But that's for tomorrow. It'll look better in the light of the morning. Get some rest, Link."
Another lie—morning will only bring another set of troubles; another set of horrors for him to fight through. Deception is all she seems able to offer, and she hates herself for it. She thought the waiting ended when Link woke up in the Temple of Time, but she is still biding her time until she can finally show him her real face.
One day, she thinks as she drapes her blanket over his shoulders. One day you'll know.
"Sheik?" Link says, cracking open one vibrant blue eye to look up at her.
"Yes?" Her hands hover over his shoulders, aching to reach for him, but she pulls away and folds them in her lap instead.
"Thank you for being here."
"Always," Zelda promises. "I'll always be by your side."
That, at least, is the one truth she can give him.
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