The princess looked on at her hero, who lay in her bed, covered to the middle of his chest with her silk coverlet which was the color of spring lavender. Rising from her sitting place, she advanced gracefully to the four-poster bed and parted the sheer white canopy curtains with great care – as if they were beautiful, silken spiderwebs that would unravel at her very softest touch.
She touched his forehead, only to draw back her hand slowly; a slight layer of cold sweat had formed there. What pervaded his dreams this night? After the horrific battle, her hero had been cleaned, medicated, and – once returned to the kingdom – dressed in fine silken sleeping clothes. Finally, he was promptly sent to her bed. Yes, he was very well taken care of now. But that did not mean he was mentally stable. He stirred, a worried frown forming upon his brows – if only very slightly. Even in sleep, he looked fatigued and tortured.
Drawing the curtains to a close behind her without a sound, the princess gently folded back the coverlet so as to not disturb the hero's already fitful sleep. She slipped into bed beside him. The pillows fell back to her liking as she moved to a sitting position and carefully placed the warrior's head to her chest, stroking his hair and murmuring calming words into his ear, hoping he would hear them even in his mind's darkest visions. His tensions decreased after a while and she would doze off staring into his peaceful face – lips slightly parted, long eyelashes pressed closed, slight blush and ruffled hair. Did everyone look so much younger whilst asleep? She smiled softly at the thought before unconsciousness swept over her, as well.
Once the afternoon light was streaming through her stained glass window and was being diluted by the white sheer of her bed curtains, the princess slowly slipped from the gentle caresses of sleep only to gasp quietly in surprise at the scene before her. Link, as he was known, no longer rested his head upon the princess' bosom but instead had wrapped his arms around her middle and buried his face into the soft flesh of her stomach. She felt the warmth of his cheek and couldn't help but think how much younger he acted as well. For he could have been that of a small child, snuggled into her torso with a contented, sleepy grin. Zelda – as she was known – couldn't resist giving a soft smile of her own as she reached to stroke his hair, tousling it gently.
Quite a few hours had passed before he began to ascend into wakefulness, but not before experiencing one last, terrifying nightmare; endlessly he ran from none other than himself, who waved a blade threateningly and screamed the word 'justice'. Justice or not, the only thing that Link could see in the eyes of himself was the ferocity of a bloodthirsty monster. Just as he reached that realization within his dream – the realization that a monster is exactly what he was, no matter who he would kill and for what purpose – his cerulean eyes were focusing on a chip in the wood of the farthest left poster of Princess Zelda's bed.
Princess Zelda's bed...
He looked upwards, only to be met with the most beautiful vision; he had to shake his head softly and make sure he wasn't still asleep. Her blonde locks tumbled over her shoulders in tight, curled waves and her rosy mouth was slightly parted in an eternal, incipient statement that would not come to pass until her time to wake. Link struggled to resist lunging up and coaxing her from sleep with his lips. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he breathed in her scent and took in the beauty of her chambers – so heavenly and graceful.
He wanted to stay forever, to lay here and grapple with his ever-growing passion towards the princess that lay vulnerable in his arms. And, oh, how vulnerable she was – ever refusing of marriage proposals or thoughts of courtship from faraway princes or nobles. But here she lay, in his arms, as if by some miracle. And they were still only good friends. If she lay fitted to him this way only by the bonds of friendship, what would the bonds of courtship bring? He tried to keep his thoughts pure but the sinful ones raced through his mind before them, inciting a shiver to rack down the hero's shoulders. He lowered his lips to her neck. Sighed.
She'd healed him and given him her bed, and all he was able to do was act as if he were bordering the age of fourteen, not twenty-one. There was no helping it, though; it happened all the time. This was a common occurrence. Any closeness between them – any strong enough to share each other's body heat – always made something primal stir within him that both frightened and amazed him. He was a gentleman, a very chivalrous man, but was this his true nature? He didn't want it to be so.
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