AN: I hate writer's block. I love Zelda. I've more ideas for this fandom, I just need to make them justice. I don't own The Legend of Zelda and I hope you like this, despite the fact how short and contentless it is. :)
Friendship.
Their friendship will stand. The bonds are made of steel. — LinkSaria.
.
Kokiri Forest was never quiet, not completely. Saria liked that, for absolute stillness can be haunting in a way too. Silence can be consuming, thick and deep and all over the place, which was—with a couple of other reasons at hand as well—her reason for staying. It wasn't about the need—it was her wish.
Saria was easily pleased. She didn't need much. She didn't need things. Things broke, melted to rust and composted to the nutrient soil. It wasn't things she needed—no one needed that to that level they seemed to be consumed nowadays. In the cities.
However, even Saria had a weakness. She held few eligible things close at hand—at heart—and even them could be lost. Betrayal was sinful, good-bye hurt more than a spear through the ribs. Goodbye meant for her no certain hello. It was so easy to walk out—she would never be so naïve that she always thought those milky promises would turn out vivid.
She was still human, though, she kept dreaming. At least when it came to him; Link.
Oh, yes, Link. Sure enough, having him there was always a comfort. It didn't matter that he was shy, nervous around sentence-structure and hardly popular among the other Kokiris. Saria wasn't the one to judge from these things—she liked him and that was more than enough. She liked what she saw in him, the problem with this was—Saria knew Link didn't belong with them. There was one safe zone living in this forest in general, the one you had here would stay. The choice was never up to them. Link, nevertheless, could make a choice. And why would he stay here?
Really, why?
Saria swung with her thin, bare legs in the air and moved one finger across her ocarina's material. The instrument was handmade in every sense, which was the point in making one herself, because when she shared her other similar one to Link—it was a gift with a meaning, not one you made to be polite. Maybe he would see things she never could say with words alone. They were so young, this was so complex, she had to scale it down to their level but still keep it in the spotlight.
She lifted the instrument to her lips and tried a tune. It escaped through one of the holes and expanded in the air. This had become a little hobby of hers, sitting here in her own little meadow and play along with the woods. It was easier than to wait, fill it with activity. Because Saria couldn't stop waiting for him. He meant so much for her and letting him go was an impossibility.
Friendship is like that—often loose and fragile, but sometimes harder than a Goron's shell. Love is one thing and friendship is another and they have their differences and similarities. That doesn't mean friendship is less important, because it isn't. Friends are there for you. Love is even more fragile. Emotions grow and flutter and become mud in your head which you have to tackle in order to see it for what it really is.
Friendship can be very easy. This was the reason Saria depended for it so much, for her friends were light-bulbs in the thickest darkness. She never wanted them to break, to shatter in front of her and out of reach for her hands. It hurt when Link left, not because he shattered, but because he might.
Saria dropped the ocarina in front of her two boots and looked upwards. For some reason, her fairy seemed to be in his own world, spinning around her in two irregular circles before taking full speed at the entrance.
Things often got explained at the end of the book, Saria reasoned, as she saw a white fairy—Navi, it had to be—in the distance, and the two dirty boots that followed.
She remembered something, now. He probably saw this the same way as she did. She said to him there at the bridge leading out of the forest, that they would remain best friends ordeal after ordeal, and he stood exactly at the same position. That was why they were friends—they wanted the same thing.
Maybe, with him, it was okay to wait for years—sooner or later he would come back. He wouldn't forget.
"Hi, Link," Saria greeted as Link stopped in front of her, restlessly brushing his blond hair out of his eyes. "I knew you wouldn't have any problems finding me here. If you tried to look, I mean."
He carefully cracked his lips in a smile. He wasn't used to smile, which made the few ones so extremely sweet. "I followed your melody," he said after a while.
"I can teach you this melody," Saria continued and tilted back a little where she sat on the stump.
Link simply looked at her, moved his head slightly to the right, before imputing, "Can I—Can I always see you, then?"
She smiled. "Of course you can," she said and picked up her ocarina, nodding to him to bring up his too. "I always want to be your friend."
Always. Always is often too big of a promise to make. But she wanted it. She needed it. She wanted to be certain.
The thing was, she couldn't. Hearing it, though, still made her fully content.
"We will," he said and followed her notes.
We will. Friends. They could.
.
We need friendship. In order to have it, we have to trust. Even when we are apart—we are still close. You have to trust it, it's going to work.
It can work.
This would. Somehow.
.
the end.