It might as well have happened in another life for all the good Link's memories did him.
Zelda wanted him to have a chance at a childhood, she'd said. She wanted him to have a fresh start, something happy—she didn't want him to lose the best seven years of his life. And it had sounded good, to go back, for none of this to have happened—
But he hadn't realized that Navi would leave him, that so many dear friends would have never met him, that no one would remember a thing he'd done, that he'd never saved Hyrule because there had never been a Hyrule in danger.
He hadn't realized that Hyrule's peace would come at the cost of his own.
But the worst thing about it all was that even if he had known, he still would have done it. Even if Zelda had told him he'd be unable to find rest, that he'd no longer have a home in the forest, that he, a swordsman and adventurer, would have no place in this peaceful world—
Link would still have done it.
He just wished he'd known, so he could have prepared. So that he could have known that he'd lose all but a single mark of his heroism.
Link still had the Triforce of Courage.
It was all that remained of his quest, but it was enough—it was enough, and he thanked Farore daily for it. His Triforce was the one thing that proved his deeds, that proved he'd managed to prevent the world from falling to ruin. That he'd saved it.
Otherwise, Link knew he would have just had to do it all over again.
He closed his eyes, imagining the possibility.
If he was needed again, would he get to see Navi again? Would he get to meet the Sages again? He missed them—Darunia and Nabooru and Ruto and Rauru and Impa and Saria. Even though he could, technically, see all but Rauru, none but Saria would know him. And the forest was no longer his home, even if he was welcomed there.
Link's heart still ached for the Kokiri forest.
It was the one place he'd always been able to call home, and now… Now he knew he'd never be able to stay there forever. He wasn't a true Kokiri. He was a Hylian. He'd age, grow up, eventually be unrecognizable to his friends.
This time around, he'd tell them the truth, that he was a Hylian, that he was just raised as a Kokiri, that he'd grow up someday. As reluctant as he was to tell the truth, he knew he had to—because he never wanted to see Mido so upset again.
But he would never be able to stay there with them.
So the Kokiri forest would never again be his home.
As Ganondorf was arrested and tried—and found—guilty of treason, Link stayed at the castle to testify and give as solid an account of his adventure as possible, with Navi still there (however briefly) to back him up. The real surprise, though, was Zelda.
While Triforce bonds were mysterious things, and relatively unknown, at that, Zelda and Link had a matching set—and with that set came shared memories.
Zelda didn't have Link's memories, of course—but she had her own from that lifetime. When Link had been sent back to his childhood, Zelda's own memories went with him, and Zelda gained memories of those past seven years as soon as he appeared back in the past.
As she'd had scant contact with this boy, it seemed impossible that they could craft such a complex story on their own—and they had nothing to gain from framing Ganondorf. When it was clear all testimonies lined up, and that details of their memories lined up with people and places that could be proven even in this world, the testimony was enough to put Ganondorf in chains for good.
Still, save for Zelda and Navi, no one in this world had any memory of what he'd gone through. And Navi left soon after Ganondorf's capture.
None but Zelda remembered anything, yet Link still woke up gasping for breath, grappling for a sword he no longer owned.
"Still having trouble sleeping?"
As he sat up in the dark, the moonlight filtering through the room's great windows, he counted his blessings. At least he wasn't completely alone.
"Getting to sleep isn't the problem," Link said softly, voice still rough from sleep. "It's just… waking."
Zelda was quick to cross the room. Once she'd found out that Link didn't have much of a home to return to, she'd insisted that he stay at the castle—they had plenty of room, after all. Even after her father had agreed, though, and Link had gotten his own room, Zelda still snuck Link into her room past dark.
The King knew nothing of it—and Impa lied on Zelda's behalf.
Once Zelda had gained the memories Link brought back with him, she had nightmares alongside him. Impa had tried to help, but alone, she was useless. Link, being the only one in Hyrule who remembered Ganondorf's reign, was the only one to reassure her that she wasn't going crazy—and that they'd come out victorious in the end.
He was the only one that could reassure her that he had succeeded in the end.
She had recurring dreams of him dying in the final battle—dreams that somewhat concerned him—but Link put those out of his mind. Those had to be dreams, not memories, else he truly wouldn't be here. Either way, his presence reassured her. He reminded her that he'd lived, that he'd succeeded—that they'd won, together.
But there were many nights like tonight, too. Nights that Link woke up from nightmares no child should suffer from—nights where he bolted upright, reaching for a sword by his bedside when all that remained were pillows.
That night, he grabbed a pillow instead. As the princess crossed the room, he hugged it to his chest, hardly noticing when she sat next to him on his cot.
"Was it the Shadow Temple again?" she whispered, eyes soft and concerned.
Link shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. Quiet returned to the room for a while as Zelda let him take a moment to collect himself and find his voice. Finally, he spoke again, breath soft and words hesitant. "Saria," he corrected. "I… I realized that I… that I might never see her again. That if I failed, she might—she might be stuck there. I didn't understand, I didn't have enough time to think about… about what might have happened to her there."
Zelda took his hand. "It never happened here," she whispered softly. "She's in the Kokiri Forest, safe and happy. I promise, if you go there, she's waiting. She's safe."
As much as Link knew it in his head, it was good to hear it from another voice.
Without raising his eyes, Link couldn't help but ask, all the same, for one peace she could provide.
"Can you…"
The princess knew what was coming next. Without a word, she smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, then left him briefly to find her harp.
Though the lullaby was Zelda's, she found that it was one of the few things that could put the Hero of Time to sleep. In just a few minutes of the soft harp music, he'd lain back down, eyes slowly slipping closed as deep, slow breathing followed. It wasn't the most peaceful sleep—sometimes, Zelda wondered if Link would ever have a truly peaceful night's rest—but at least it was something.
Once she'd finished another soft few chords, her fingers stilled, and she set the harp on the ground next to his bed.
This night, like many others, Zelda stayed beside him long after he was asleep.
She was the one that had put him up to this task. And though these memories were of a life she would never live, she could remember watching him from afar, helping him as often as she was capable. She could remember seeing his scars alongside fresh injuries—she remembered dark circles under his eyes more often than she saw him rested.
Even if these memories were from a world that would (thankfully) never be, they were ones she would never be able to forget—and Link even less so.
So she'd watch over him in this way while she was still able.
Someday, she knew he'd set out on his own—she could already see his desire to leave, to be useful again, somewhere—but until that day, she would do what she could to lessen his pain.
They were a team, the pair of them.
Whether it was taking down Ganondorf or fighting away nightmares, they had to stick together.
Zelda pressed one more soft kiss against his hairline, then stole away to her own bed. Tonight, she prayed that Farore would give him peace, that Nayru would let him forget, that Din would give him something to call his own in this world.
She prayed that what she could give would be enough.