I got to a part in Antumbra that I can't really work with, so instead of just waiting for time to do its magic, I decided to work on this little thing I've been entertaining for a while. I don't plan for this to be too long - three to five chapters max. The next chapter of Antumbra is finished actually, but I like to post it once the following one is halfway done. I'll post it next week anyway, whether I manage to get through that or not.
All titles are from Marina and the Diamonds - Froot.
A big thank you to Mari for helping me with yet another fic!
Enjoy!
seasons come and go
Today is a slow day, but Link can't really complain as it gives him some peace and quiet to study. Perched on a stool behind the counter, he plays with locks of his hair and chews on his lip, flipping through an art history book, but most of his concentration is really focused on the notepad by the side and the random lines he draws.
A mug of coffee is set to his right, freshly brewed by Bo before he left to run errands some minutes ago, but it's lukewarm at best now. It did little to keep his drowsiness at bay and he's been fighting it for half an hour now, precisely the moment he retrieved the book from his backpack. Unsurprising, really, that he's more interested in coloring random shapes he's drawn in his attempt to study for an assignment due by the end of the week.
Link closes the book and pushes it away, stretches until a bone pops and a groan leaves his lips, and stands from the stool to find anything to do at the shop. He presses his digits to the soil in vases, checking their humidity and gauging if they need watering, shuffles some flowers away from the display windows so all of them can get equal amounts of light and rearranges the succulent stand until he's content with another arrangement. He likes it here, working in Bo's flower shop and splitting shifts with his childhood friend and his boss's daughter, Ilia. It's mostly quiet, he gets to meet a lot of new people, and most importantly, he's surrounded by nature all day long.
It's a source of joy, if he's allowed to say so, seeing people leaving here with a pretty bundle of flowers made by himself, a smile on their faces. Of course, he's had his share of seeing people coming and going with red rimmed eyes and trembling fingers, but it isn't his place to pry and ask what's wrong, and he tries not to wonder what's wrong. It's part of the job, seeing both happiness and sadness.
When sweeping the floor isn't enough to squash his urge to sleep, Link disappears into a room in the back and looks through the cooler for flowers to use in a new arrangement. Pairing blossoms never fails to keep him wired and it's exactly what he needs before his shift is over in an hour and he has to switch places with Ilia and go to class. They got a new batch of gladiolus yesterday, an unique shade of coral pink, and he's been trying to find flowers that will go beautifully with them.
Some other time, he decides, returning the flowers to the vases when the bell above the door chimes gently to announce a new arrival. He tugs at the forest green apron, brushes his fingers over the name tag and steps out to greet his customer, only to have his tongue tie itself in a knot and words die in his throat.
She is... Well, she's beautiful. Easily taller than him, even without her short heels, but Link himself isn't a tall guy so it's not surprising. Chestnut hair tied back in a high ponytail, manicured hands and simple jewelry on her fingers and wrists, deep blue dress that stops just above her knees. She's studying a large arrangement inside the floral refrigerator, roses, peonies, chrysanthemums and more, all in pretty pastel tones. He thinks it will fit her house nicely, if it's as charming as she is.
"Hello," he finds his voice at some point, some minutes after watching her analyze the flowers. "Welcome to Ordona Flowers. Can I help you?"
Her eyes, wow, her eyes are blue, darker than his own, framed by thick lashes, and her mouth is painted a pretty shade of pink and he tries hard not to stare. It tugs into a slight smile, though, polite and friendly enough to make her serious features crack. "I was going to ask for help, but I already found what I wanted."
"That's a great choice," he's walking over, opening the door and taking the vase so she can inspect it from up close. "I put it together this morning. Probably my favorite from this week, and it isn't over yet."
He's rambling - Goddesses, he's rambling and smiling tremulously after he notices it, but she doesn't seem to mind, enamored as she is with the flowers. "You are very talented -" her eyes flicker to his tag - "Mr. Link. I will take this, please."
Link wants to tell her she doesn't need to be so formal - really, just Link is fine - but she meets his eyes and that small smile is there again and his insides turn to goo. Mechanically, he walks over to the counter and dries the stems as best as he can before wrapping it up with paper; in the meantime, she lets her gaze roam over big vases of caladium to the side of the shop. The arrangement is large and thus is expensive, he tells her so, and she doesn't bat an eyelash as she takes a thin wallet from her purse and presents him with a brand new hundred bill.
It's expensive, but not that expensive. Again, he tells her that.
"Keep the change." She insists, cradling the flowers in her arms like they're precious. "For your tip jar."
He's left speechless, watching as she slips into the backseat of a sleek, polished black car that's been waiting for her, the chauffeur closing the door. Link only blinks when the car has driven away, out of his sight, and looks down at the bill still at a loss of what to do. They don't even have a tip jar.
Explaining to both Ilia and Bo how he got his hands on a hundred rupees when the arrangement cost only eighty is more taxing than figuring out that assignment he was neglecting that day. Ilia eyes the bill suspiciously like it could be fake, and Bo racks his brain for anyone that fits her description and that is rich enough to pull that off, but in the end reaches no conclusion. A little more money never hurts, but they can't quite get over the fact that the tip was worth just as much as one of their simpler arrangements.
A week later, it's getting colder outside and Link is trying to put together a centerpiece for an upcoming event, an audio book playing in the sole earbud stuck in his ear. He plucks away an orchid, a fake one made of silk that they keep around for this purpose, taps it against his chin and twirls the vase this way and that, trying to figure out why this piece doesn't seem good enough. He's still thinking of the gladiolus they got days ago, at the few that remaining close to withering that he hasn't yet gotten around to work with. Sometimes inspiration takes that time strike, and it sucks that he has art blocks both in college and at work.
Link pushes the attempt at an arrangement away, sprawls on the counter, cheek on his bicep, frustration seeping in. Today isn't his day, it seems, he must have gotten out of bed on the wrong side, which is impossible because he actually sleeps on the fold-out couch in the living room, but nothing is working on his favor. He's annoyed and the discarded sketchbook in his backpack is just another reminder of today's failures.
Gaze to the ceiling, he doesn't bother to pick himself up from the counter and asks, begs, please Hylia, I know I haven't set foot in a temple in years, but please, grant me this. His prayers are answered with the smooth voice coming from the earbud, which he rips off in one of his rare bouts of irritation. It clearly isn't helping.
The bell rings and he bolts upright, sends a quick thank you to the skies when he sees her there looking at a golden pothos dangling from the ceiling to the side of the door. She touches its leaves delicately and Link knows that plant is never going to wither for it's just been blessed. He takes her in, black pencil skirt and white linen shirt, heels, a purse dangling from the crook of her elbow, hair pinned up in a bun, nude lipstick. Dark blue eyes find him and he's suddenly nailed to the spot. Link entertains the idea that she must not be human.
"Hello, miss." He says, voice surprisingly steady. "How can I help you?"
She approaches the counter, heels clacking, somewhat out of place in a flower shop - she seems like the kind that fits better surrounded by golds and crystals and champagne glasses - but looks so beautiful here. "Hello. I would like another arrangement, please."
He swipes a hand to the floral refrigerator, tells her to follow him. "Of course. Were you looking for something specific?"
"Not really, no." Already, her eyes are sweeping over the flowers in display. He hopes she finds any of them worthy of her time. "Tell me about this one."
Link follows the line of her nail - a sharp little thing painted a brownish color, tapping the glass - to the arrangement white, pink and peach in question, the product of a restless night. "There are orchids, roses, lisianthus, hydrangeas and gloriosa lilies. They arrived yesterday, so they're fresh."
She hums, and he sends a quick mental reassurance to the flowers, because they're great and lovely. "I will take it."
It's the same old ritual, and he's a pro at it, wrapping them up in tissue paper and trading them for two crisp hundred bills that weight oddly heavy in his hand. Her smile lasts for just about a second before she bids him goodbye and leaves the shop, walking along the flow of pedestrians outside, no sleek black car in sight today.
Link looks down at the bills, and then looks some more until he could swear he could burn a hole through them. Instead, he only brushes his thumbs across the gravure of a gemstone before sticking them in the cash register.
Two weeks later and Bo is climbing up the walls of their apartment above the shop, wanting to know how Link got his hands in not only one, not two, but three hundred rupee bills, laid out on the dinner table like they're poisonous or might explode. Ilia squints at them, hands on her hips, the same look she fixes him with when he doesn't fold the couch back or leave the living room like it had been a victim of a tornado with pillows and blankets strewn about.
Link, on his part, has nothing to offer them. Mystery Woman has yet to tell him her name and, by some work of destiny, she only comes around when Link is alone in the flower shop. He doesn't think she's keeping tabs on him - she looks too important and busy for that - so, really, it has to be a coincidence since she comes on different days at different times. There's no pattern. He'll be lying, though, if he says that he doesn't make the prettiest arrangements on purpose, knowing she'll take a liking to them and will want to take them home. The last one had been ridiculously large with their best flowers, not pastel colored by all means, but beautiful nonetheless - and she purchased it.
Bo suggests to take a picture so they'll know. Link thinks he's joking - hopes he's joking, and Ilia scoffs, reaches for the bills and tells her father to concentrate on setting the table before the food goes cold.
Having a picture of her around is tantalizing, but knowing him, he might just take a picture with the flash on or something that will make him a fool of himself, so that's a no.
Sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, Link sketches with colored pencils possible seasonal arrangements for festivities at the end of the year, still a little far, but better safe than sorry. The leaves outside have just turned golden and are slowly falling to the ground, but they have to place orders and all the bureaucracy that's actually performed by Ilia. He's good with the flowers and clients, but doesn't know how to make a good deal to save his life.
His sketchbook is filled with poinsettias, common and favored for this particular celebration, but he doesn't see much appeal in them, personally, aside from the usual vibrant red. He can achieve the same red and green theme with more interesting flowers, thank you very much. Just last year, he'd made an arrangement out of tulips; anyone that came looking for poinsettias left them on the shelves while they still had tulips in stock. Link will have to come up with something new this year.
"I did not know you draw."
Link jolts, stool rocking dangerously backwards until he steadies himself by gripping the edge of the counter. His heart is beating fast, both from the scare and from the sight of her across from him, apologetic smile in place.
"Apologies." He wants to say he doesn't mind being startled and nearly falling, but only if it's her doing it. "I called you a few times but you were very focused."
He clears his throat, aware of the blush blazing his cheeks. "Ah, yeah, I tend to do that, sorry." Should he push the sketchbook closer to her? He settles for turning it around and she's content to look at it from a distance.
"Not only talented with flowers, I see." There's warmth in her voice and he wants to bask in it. "Art student?"
"Yes, I've always liked drawing."
"I used to paint a long time ago, oil on canvas." She traces one of the lines with a nail - painted peach - carefully. He slots that little bit of information away on his Mystery Woman file. "I am looking for another arrangement, though. What do you have for me today?"
Everything, if you want. She can even take the little cacti by the cash register that he loves if she so wants, he will gladly place the little clay vase in her hands and see her out the door. It's stupid how infatuated he is with someone he doesn't even know, but he was bound to fall hard for someone at some point - it had to be with his richest client, it seems.
It's a good thing Hyrule is so vast as it allows for every kind of flower all year long. Living in the capital has its upsides, but it might never compare to Ordon and its flowery fields. And so he presents her with a burst of yellow, sunflowers, roses, soft yellow orchids and mini green hydrangeas, perfect for warming up a home now that winter is approaching, and he tells her so. She agrees.
The two hundred rupee bills in his hand are now a familiar weight and he watches her, hair billowing once she opens the door, her coat and over the knee boots nearly blending in one. She looks down at her feet - no, looks down at a dog, a big one, white and gray so dark it could be black, sitting dutifully just outside the shop, peering up at her intently. Her lips barely move and she's got it standing at full attention, ready to follow her home.
Rusl comes to visit them on the fifth of November and brings the first batch of poinsettias, along with Link's cats, Pumpkin and Cheese, cleverly named after Ordon's specialties and following his tradition of naming every pet after food. Link owes a lot to Rusl, his uncle and godfather, who raised him from a young age since his parents passed away in an accident. He grew up listening to stories about them, flipping through picture books, which helped him feel closer to his own parents. The only time he ever visits their graves nowadays is when he goes back to Ordon during holidays and he's planning to bring them two of his best arrangements.
He's counting down the days until their departure, eager to go back to his hometown. If the weather so permits, he might be able to grab Epona and ride around the fields to his heart's content. It's one of the things he misses most about Ordon, along with the fresher air and all the lush trees. Ordona Flowers is his home away from home.
Two elderly ladies are hovering by the shelf full of poinsettias in an avid discussion about which ones are prettier, sticking to their seasonal tradition and ignoring this year's special arrangement on display. All of them are unblemished, in perfect condition, but Link knows better than to intrude a passionate argument, so he sticks to the counter, running fingers through Pumpkin's orange fur as it sleeps on top of his books. It's a good thing he doesn't need to do any college work today, because he wouldn't have the heart to move her when she's so comfortable. Cheese is occupying the stool, tail flicking back and forth, watching the ladies like they're a great nuisance. He's always been a bit moody. Link reaches over to pat his tri-colored fur, earns himself a green eyed glare from below, but keeps patting him until he purrs.
He looks up when the bell chimes, smiles bright when he sees her entering the shop, gloved hand cupping her pink cheeks once the door closes, car parked outside. It doesn't look like it's going to snow this year, but the temperature has dropped drastically in the past weeks. Link doesn't have much time to observe her outfit of choice for the day, because she's coming over to the counter with steps so purposeful he swallows.
She parts her lips, eyes boring into his own, but stops when she notices the cat on the books, letting a soft oh a second later when she spots the second one sitting on the stool. "These are new."
"My uncle brought them over a few weeks ago." He watches as she lifts a hand and tentatively runs her fingers on top of Pumpkin's head. She has a dog, so he understands her hesitation.
"Where are you from?" She inclines her head to peer down at the cat, Pumpkin purring a little louder. "You have some accent. I have been wondering where I have heard it before."
He's blushing now, he can feel the way it creeps up his neck and across his face. Link scratches the inner side of his wrist to keep from burying his face in his palms. "Ordon. We've been here for a few years, so I lost some of the accent."
"I see. Ordon is beautiful." Her hand falls away and her attention is only on him once again. "I need some seasonal arrangements and I see you have one sample already."
They both look at the glass vase on the other side of the counter, cherry red petals mingled with white ones and tones in between, dahlias, roses, amaranthus, dusty miller for that frosty hint of winter and eucalyptus leaves for a touch of green. Not a cheap arrangement by any means; maybe that's why the elderly ladies ignored it, and maybe Link is too used to her tastes and goes overboard most of the time.
"I need five of them."
That's... That's going to cost a lot. He shouldn't be surprised by now, but hides it anyway and ducks into the cooler in the back to retrieve five, and finally understands why the ladies have been standing there for half an hour as he looks through equally perfect arrangements trying to find the best of the best. Another woman takes the first two he sets on the counter, and he bites his tongue to keep quiet when she pins him in place with her severe expression, lips pressed in a tight line. Link feels like she's assessing him and deciding if he's a threat to national security. Scary Lady places them in the car with the help of the driver, Mystery Woman looks through the other potted plants and he fetches the last three to keep his hands from shaking.
When all the arrangements are stored away in the car, she comes up to him with a vase of poinsettias and an apologetic smile. "Forgive me if Ashei startled you. She's my bodyguard for a reason."
He only nods dumbly and runs his fingers through Cheese's fur. Oil painting when younger, a dog, a bodyguard, her own driver and endless fancy clothes; it's all he knows about her. "Don't worry about it." He taps at the calculator to sum everything up and turns it around for her to see.
Wallet already in hand, she seems to consider her options of cards, which he assumes are many. "Do you take credit or debit?"
"Both, actually."
A black card is set onto the counter. "Debit, then."
Link licks his lips and steals a quick glance at the card - Z. Nohansen - before quickly setting everything up and letting her type away the password, setting his gaze on the elderly ladies still bickering until the machine beeps in his hand. He gives her the receipt and the card, something a little like lightning shooting up his arm when their fingers brush for the briefest of seconds.
"Thank you again for shopping with us, Miss Nohansen."
She starts, freezes, and slowly smiles back at him. "Of course. Happy Holidays, Mister Link."
Poinsettias in her arm like the most precious cargo, Miss Nohansen leaves the shop and slips into the car, bodyguard close behind, and it pulls away as soon as the door closes behind them. Link leans his chin onto his hand and braces his weight on the corner, caressing Pumpkin idly and watching the vacant spot on the street with hearts in his eyes.
Bo actually chokes on his soup when Link tells them the news. Ilia's got a startled expression on her face, but it's been there long before her father put that piece of steak in his mouth. She's standing from the chair and thumping his back until he stops coughing, and Link runs his toes along Cheese's side where he's sprawled by his feet beneath the table.
What is so amusing about Miss Nohansen that got that out of them?
Finally, Bo sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and gulps down some water, eyelashes bright with tears. Ilia slumps on her chair, head tilted back, eyes to the ceiling, doing the best impersonation of a gaping fish Link's ever seen. It stays quiet for several seconds that feel like hours until Bo recollects himself and Ilia pierces Link with her fiercest, most disbelieving stare she saves only for when he's being particularly dense. He squirms and tries not to shrink, pokes at his vegetables to relieve some tension.
"You said the name on the card was Z. Nohansen?"
Link turns his eyes to Bo and nods mutely.
"Sweet Goddess Hylia," the man whispers, hands a dead weight on his lap, eyebrows inching closer and closer to his actual non-existent hairline. "Link, doesn't the name ring a bell to you?"
He frowns, crosses his arms defensively over his chest. "No, it doesn't."
"You are unbelievable." Ilia throws her hands up with an exasperated groan. "Really, Link?"
"Well, if you'd tell me who she is instead of making me feel stupid," he bites back and leaves it at that, slumping back on his chair.
Ilia sighs and nods, realizing their mistake, and pats her father on the shoulder so he can explain everything. "That's Zelda Nohansen, son."
"And what about it?"
"Link," Ilia presses her palms to the table, "Zelda Nohansen. You know, from the long lineage of the Royal Family of Hyrule? Hyrule's Princess? Not that they rule anymore since the council has been established many years ago, but yeah, she's royalty."
Oh.
"Zelda Nohansen has been going to our shop for weeks and we didn't even know."
Ilia launches into retelling the Royal Family's history, ever the perfect picture of a history major, as Bo resumes eating, but Link only listens to it with half a ear, poking at his food, mood dampened. The conversation dies down and he helps clean up, scrubs the dishes with so much apathy to his movements that Bo tells him to rest and takes his place instead.
He had known from the start that Zelda was out of his reach, that she would never be more than a crush. Although distant, she didn't seem like the kind to be snob, even with so much money in her bank account, and he dared himself to daydream of holding her hand and tucking her hair behind her ear. It was a nice thought, accompanied by a wave of warmth and hope that she'd find his simplicity endearing. Link never cared for brands and expensive things, and if she was okay with getting more flowers than ever as gifts, then they could work.
But she's not just mysterious acquaintance with lots of bills in her wallet, is she? Not only is the financial gap between them so big it looks more like a chasm at this point, she's a princess too, an actual one, blue blood and all that jazz used to describe royalty.
Lying in bed with arms folded beneath his head and staring at the ceiling, Link realizes he never stood a chance.