Chapter two, coming right up!
I love angsty Link. In case you haven't noticed.
Chapter Two: Cynical, Sarcastic, Irritable
That night, it was in a bathtub.
It was completely filled with clear, pure water that wouldn't ripple, as if it were glass. The bathtub was as white as snow and decorated with elaborate golden ornamentation in the shape of small angels carrying small triangles in their small fingers. And it was in the middle of a vast, grassy, infinite meadow, where flowers sprung up and smiled at the sky. There was no end to it—the flowers and the grass and the bright, cloudless blue sky, stretched on forever. The light in the atmosphere was soft and golden, but there was no sun. The grass was swaying in perfect rhythm, but there was no wind. Simply the land and the sky and that bathtub.
He lay completely submerged in the warm, glassy water with his face turned to the sunless sky. But he wasn't alone. He was leaning backward against someone else, whose body made him calm and secure. Her two arms reached over his shoulders from behind and her two hands moved up and down his bare chest, softly. Lovingly. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against her shoulder, felt her breath on his cheek. Those delicate fingers continued moving up and down, soothing his nerves, relaxing his muscles more with every stroke. When he opened his mouth and sighed, he could almost hear her smile, and she leaned her head against his. He just let his entire body fall back, melt into hers, release all of the tension.
"You're always so tense," she said.
"I know."
"You need to relax."
"I know. But..."
"But what?"
She dropped her voice to a whisper and brought her lips to his ear, where the sound of her voice made his entire body tremble. Her hands moved up from his chest to his neck. She squeezed, and he fell back further.
"I don't know how to relax when you're not there," he sighed.
She laughed, gently, quietly, in his ear.
"That's always your excuse."
"And it always will be."
"It's already been a year, my love."
He didn't respond. Instead, he lifted his hand from the glassy water and held it up, watched it glisten in the light for a few moments. And then he watched her reach over and grab it. Her fingers weaved through his like silk, fitting together so undeniably perfectly. And there was that ring, beautiful and sparkling, sitting on her hand as if it had always been there and would always be there. She brought his hand back and pressed her lips against his skin. The touch was healing, cleansing, heart-wrenching. He couldn't help but furrow his brow and suck in his breath because the beauty of that touch was so painful.
"I know how long it's been."
"You can't stay like this forever," she murmured. Her lips moved from his hand to his temple, where they sat and made his entire mind numb. "You know you can't."
"Why not?" he asked, tilting his head. She squeezed his hand more tightly, but there was a hint of sadness there. He could sense it.
"You're going to forget my voice soon."
"No I'm not," he urged. "I never will."
"Of course you will. No matter how hard you try. We forget things. We move on."
"I can't."
"My poor hero," she said. Then, with her other hand, she reached across his chin and tilted his face just slightly. He finally looked into her eyes and was almost brought to tears by how breathtaking she was. "My poor, poor hero."
She brought her lips to his. Gave him life. Made any remaining tension in his muscles slip away into the water. Desperate to remember, to capture this moment and never let it go, he reached up and let his hand rest on her cheek.
"My poor hero."
Her hands resumed stroking his chest and he leaned his head against her shoulder once more.
"I won't have to forget," he said.
"Everyone has to forget."
"No, because I'm going to change it."
That laugh again, like music running down the back of his neck.
"What do you mean, you're going to change it?"
"I'm going to go back and change it."
Her hands stopped moving. They just rested against his chest, as still as the water itself. The sweet breath that had been keeping him sane stopped, leaving him with an empty silence. Even her skin against his suddenly felt cold. The grass stopped moving in the silent wind.
"Link, what—?"
"I love you," he interrupted. "Please just tell me you love me, too."
"Of course I love you. That's why I—"
"Don't say it. Please."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to."
The grass began moving again and he felt the warmth in her body return. He sighed in relief as she wrapped her arms around his chest and held him against her. His thumb stroked her forearm and he held on as if for dear life.
"I love you so much," she said, "and I know you love me. But you can't keep doing this. Every single night. It's going to drive you insane."
He turned his eyes to the sky and reached back to touch her face, her lips, her silky hair. Felt her respond to his touch and breathe out.
"Then I want to be insane."
Link was awakened by the sound of loud, heavy knocking on his door. His entire body was tingling and he was gripping his pillow so tightly that his arms hurt. The warmth that he had convinced himself he was feeling was gone—perhaps had never been there at all. He refused to open his eyes as his mind drifted back to reality and his head pounded. The knocking was much too loud and much too rude.
"What do you want?" he screamed, turning over in his bed. He hated the sound of his voice like that, raspy and groggy and sad.
"Master Link, please open the door. There is a lot to be done today in preparation for the ceremony."
"Always in preparation for the goddamn ceremony," he mumbled into his pillow.
It had already come to that time of the day, the time at which he had to pick himself up and dust himself off and put on a face. One of strength and ability and heroism. The face of a leader. So, struggling with his desire to let his voice scream out in frustration, he stood up from the bed and embraced the cold air.
"Very well then. I'll be out momentarily."
He even surprised himself with his ability to mask the storm perpetually raging within him. After that day one year ago, when his entire world had crumbled, he had been convinced that life would be like a puzzle with a constant missing piece. He had been convinced that he would never be able to function again, that hopes and dreams and accomplishments would no longer be a part of his life. And yet, in the midst of his teetering insanity, he had somehow managed to reach this place. He had somehow managed to take not small steps, but giant steps forward, to a place where he thought she might like to see him.
If only you could see me now. What I've accomplished because of you, for you.
He wallowed in that same thought that crossed his mind every morning, every day, every minute, every second. But then he dragged himself up and stared at himself in the mirror and put on his mask. There were more steps to be taken today, more lives for him to change. Link moved to the entrance of his room and opened the door, where a soldier stood, young and bashful with red cheeks and bright brown eyes. He was one that Link didn't recognize. Perhaps a new recruit.
"Sir Link—I mean, Master Link—I mean—"
"Just call me Link," he interrupted. "That's my name, after all."
"O-of course."
"So, who wants to bug me first this morning?"
"The tailors, sir. They need your measurements. A-and then the painter wants you to sit for him. And o-of course there's the Royal Council meeting tonight, in which you'll be discussing—"
Link smiled, then put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Breathe. It's okay. What's your name?"
"L-Ladan, sir."
"Ladan. Thank you. Tell the tailors I'm on my way."
"Yes sir!"
The boy straightened his back and gave a salute, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, before rushing off. He seemed to be about the same age Link had been when he had begun his journey. Maybe younger. Link put his hands on his hips and stared after him, down the grand hallway. Then he stared up at the tall ceiling and braced himself for the doting, the questions, the expected answers. Finally, he stepped out of his thoughts and made his way to the throng of people waiting just for him, calling out, Master Link, our Knight of Honor.
But on his way out, as he did every single time he passed by her portrait, he knelt in front of it and said, "I love you." Then he stood up, took a single stepped forward, and pressed his lips against the golden plaque of her name.
"You're still not sleeping well."
"Of course not."
"You know, a lack of sleep can lead to the shortening of one's life span."
"Well, I've taken the risk of 'shortening my life span' in the past. I don't think I'll worry about it too much now."
Link sat down at the small table in the back of the bar, shrouded in darkness, rubbing his eyes and clenching his fists. Shad watched him, crossed his arms, furrowed his brow. Link hated it when he made that face. It made him feel as if he were doing something wrong, even though he knew that he was doing everything he could. So he avoided looking into Shad's eyes and stared down at the splinters of the table instead. Clenched his fists and unclenched them. He considered taking Shad's dagger, just so that he would have something in his hands to fiddle with. Lately, it had become harder and harder for him to bear idleness. So, of course, he began playing with the ring that dangled on the necklace around his neck.
"It's so odd," Shad sighed. "You seem exhausted and restless all at the same time."
"I am exhausted and restless all at the same time."
"Also a bit cynical."
"And sarcastic. Oh, and don't forget irritable."
Shad smirked and began flipping through the pages of his notebook. Always the pages of his notebook. Link wished he had a notebook to flip through when he didn't have anything to say during conversations. He squeezed the ring so hard that he felt a mark appearing on the palm of his hand. It was only noon, but he considered asking Telma for a drink anyway.
"So, how was your morning?" Shad ventured.
Link shrugged and leaned back in his chair, just far enough that he was nervous about falling backward. But he knew he wouldn't.
"Fine. Those old council members sent someone to wake me up at the crack of dawn."
"For what, exactly? The council session isn't until tonight."
"Logistics for the ceremony, something like that."
"Come now, is it really that difficult to plan?"
"I'm not sure I'm the right person to be asking."
Shad scoffed and fixed his glasses, crossing one leg over the other in his seat.
"Well, you are the one being knighted," he smiled. "I assumed you would know."
Link managed to smile back and shrug again.
"It's a wonder you people are giving me so much power," he mused. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Shad raised his eyebrows, licked his finger lightly, and turned the next page of his notebook. He had broken eye contact with Link and was reading—or maybe pretending to read—while he spoke.
"I hardly think that's true, Master Link."
"I hate that title."
"Speaking as a member of the council, I believe you know exactly what you're doing."
Link didn't respond. He just stared up at the ceiling, fiddling with the ring, letting his thoughts about the past couple months flow through his head. The concepts still hadn't settled. It seemed as if every moment, someone was telling him what to do. And then the next moment, someone was asking him what to do. When people looked at him, they were looking up, and he didn't like that. He didn't like looking down. He wondered how Zelda had ever been able to do it.
"Link, sweet pea, you know I hate when you lean back in your chair like that," Telma grumbled as she brought him his daily bowl of soup. "You're gonna fall, and I'm gonna get blamed for injuring Hyrule's Knight of Honor. They'll have my head!"
"Sorry, Telma."
He forced himself back to earth and dug his spoon into the soup. Deep red. Probably tomato today. She stood at the table where the two friends sat, her hands on her hips and her cat rubbing restlessly against her legs.
"How are you feelin' today?"
"Fine."
"You look tired."
"Thanks, I really think it helps to hear that one hundred times."
"I mean, even more tired than usual," she sighed.
Link stuffed the spoon into his mouth and ignored the pain of the steaming soup on his tongue. Shad and Telma glanced at each other wordlessly. He knew the questions that were coming and he mentally prepared himself.
"When did you go to sleep last night?" Telma asked.
"I don't remember."
"I think the old chap is lying," Shad interjected.
At that, Link slammed his spoon down on the table and buried his face in his hands, tugged at the knots in his hair.
"Do you know why I come here?" he asked. "Why I've come here every single day for the past year?"
Neither of them answered, so he looked up at them and forced a smile.
"I come here because I don't have to deal with the questions, the stress. It's not stressful here. Nobody is telling me what to do, nobody is asking me how to rule an entire kingdom, nobody is taking my measurements or doing my hair or painting my portrait. Nobody is telling me how awful I look and I get to eat delicious soup. So please, don't take away my haven. I didn't sleep because I didn't sleep, okay?"
Shad and Telma's eyes had become sympathetic. Almost pitying, and Link felt something squirm inside of him. If there was one thing he hated seeing in people, it was pity. He didn't want to feel pitied. He cursed himself for saying anything at all instead of just picking himself up and leaving.
"Link," Shad said quietly, "how many days do you have left?"
He picked up his spoon and began to eat again.
"Ten."
"Just one more question, sweet pea." Telma placed her hand on top of his head and ruffled his hair. "Will we have to start referring to you as 'Master Link' after the ceremony?"
"Oh, don't tell me that!" Shad laughed. "I don't know if I would be capable of it."
"No, no," Link smirked. "Your Majesty will do just fine."
