Worries in the Night
Chapter 4
When Link reached the room whence he had sent Zelda just moments before, he found that she was just then slipping into her white, silken nightgown, her once tear-stained features solemn, but dry. She didn't turn to face him, but went about her routine duty of drawing down the bed-sheets and fluffing the pillows as if she were alone.
Link regarded her with concern for a prolonged moment, but said nothing, subsequently changing into his night trousers, his lips drawn tightly with unease. When he was dressed, Zelda was already in bed, snuggled up below the covers, her face turned away toward the wall.
Link gently pulled down the blankets and crawled in beside her. Though Zelda's breathing portrayed that she was asleep, Link could always discern the difference between when his wife was truly dreaming or feigning slumber. He could feel a drift of worry rising from her motionless form.
Quietly, he waited for her to open up her heart and tell him what was bothering her, ready to listen and gratify; but as the moments dragged on and no ease offset her tense muscles, Link decided to make the first move.
Gentling stroking her shoulder, he murmured, "Zelda—"
"Link!" Zelda interrupted. Leaping around, she pulled herself into his warm chest, and he cradled her lovingly. "I just don't know what to do…" she sobbed into his skin.
"About what?" Link's face was soft and earnest. Zelda's eyes rose to his, and she gaped at him, her lips trembling, her eyes pleading and vulnerable.
Link despised the look of fear distorting her face, and his heart shuddered deep within him as he recalled the very first time Zelda had made that expression, years ago, in a dark and grimy room, lacking hope and seething with evil.
It had scarred her—that look had—scarred her face, but more importantly, her heart. Her heart had once been strong and willful, dignified and not easily frightened or troubled, but that fateful day broke her, transformed her into something Link never had wanted her to be—something he couldn't bear to see her become.
On occasion, in the darkness of nighttime, Zelda would dwindle into a mood she couldn't control. It hadn't happened anytime recently, but when it had, her pupils had retracted and she'd entered a delusional tantrum. Some nights, it was worse than others, but most times, she'd just cling to Link, trembling in the dark, crying into his neck, while he comforted her. Other times, she would flail about the bed and claw recklessly at the blankets as though they were snares of knives. Sweat bleeding from her swollen pores, she'd twist around frantically and scream at the top of her voice. Most times, Link couldn't understand what hysteria-driven words she'd shriek while under the influence of insanity, for her speech was often slurred and passionate; yet sometimes, he'd catch a few sentences, instantly regretting that he had, for they'd burn into his mind—an eternal flame nothing could extinguish.
"Link! Don't leave me! Never leave me! Oh, I'll die! Oh, I'll die if you leave! I'd rather die than be alone. Oh! Come back!" she had cried once during an uproar.
Link would feel so helpless, being unable to appease her, though try as he might. He'd hold her firmly and speak to her in soothing tones, whispering and emphasizing how much he loved her and how he'd never let her go, but she couldn't hear him. Sometimes her mood raged so wildly, that he had to hold her down, lest she harmed herself, and too often he'd come out of bed in the morning, his arms blotched with unintended bruises.
Zelda didn't know what she was doing. All she knew was that she'd blank out in the evening and awaken later when the sun was dawning, remembering nothing about the night previous; yet, as she tried to recall her actions, a sore longing would ache through her heart, a feeling as though she was lacking something important.
Link had told her briefly about her delusions, but he'd decrease the extremity of the occurrence and hide the bruises she never knew came by her own hand. There was no doubt about it that if Zelda did come to know the entire truth about her outbursts, she would run away, wanting to protect Link and her son from the monster she sometimes became—the monster Link feared the most and the only one he could not defeat. That was the main reason Link never told her completely about her delusions. He loved her so much he'd sacrifice his sleep and sanity to keep her in the safety of his home. Out there in the world, who would comfort her? Who would shield her from herself?
As Link pondered over these troubles, the recollection of a dark, armor-clad fiend rippled before his eyes.
He—he did this to her. Link's eyes flashed with malice at the thought, but the offender was dead now, never to rise again. Yet, the wounds he left behind, no matter what dimension he now tread, whether it was beyond reach of the living, would never heal.
When Link aroused from his thoughts, Zelda was still gazing at his face absently, trembling and distant; and the look caused his eyes to gleam with unshed tears. He leaned down and ardently kissed her half-open lips, but she didn't return the caress. "I'll always protect you, dearest. No matter what…" he whispered. To his surprise, Zelda immediately stopped trembling when she heard his voice, and her sight focused, illuminating the pretty blue, insightful eyes Link fell in love with.
"I know, Link. Thank you…" she murmured earnestly, swallowing the lump which had formed in her throat, but it bobbed back into place. "But…" She gazed deeply into his eyes.
"Yes, dearest?" Link stroked her soft brunette hair.
"I…I am afraid, and I don't know why. It is so strange." Zelda drew her hand out from beneath his arm and pressed it against her heart. "It hurts."
Link rested his hand against hers. "Don't be afraid, Zelda. Everything is fine. I'm here, Cason is safe, and—"
"That's who I'm worried about," cut in Zelda sharply. She closed her eyes and breathed in a deep breath. "I don't understand it, but I fear Cason's new acquaintance, the girl he seems so fond of. I feel as though she is not who she pretends to be." Zelda shook her head and opened her eyes, awaiting Link's response.
"Did you meet her?" he asked, wondering at Zelda's worry over what he considered a simple matter. Zelda shook her head again, slowly.
"No… But… I feel it Link. I just feel it. Cason is a yet a child, and without his sight, how can he discriminate between truth and pretend...or good and evil? The girl might have been playing someone younger, filling his head with nonsense. ...I fear the attachment he had formed with her."
"Zelda, you must understand that Cason is no fool. He has a good head on his shoulders, regardless of his age or lack of sight, and I doubt very highly that he had met one disguised as someone else," Link replied after a moment of silence.
"Yes, my worries do seem quite outlandish, but, Link, if you could only feel the weight in my heart about it, maybe you'd view it differently." Zelda was quiet a moment, and then she continued. "Link… You don't suppose that she was…a…" Zelda shuddered. "A zyviel?" she finished with a sob. Link's eyes widened with astonishment.
"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed, but calming his tone, he questioned, "Honey, is this what worries you?" Zelda sighed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Not quite so much as it had, now that you've confirmed to me its foolishness… I just want to protect Cason…"
"So do I, but we must remember to protect him from the right things. A real friend is not evil, and we mustn't deter Cason from finding one." Zelda knew this, of course, but she nodded solemnly as if just realizing the fact.
"You are right. Thank you for comforting me." She snuggled her head down on Link's arm and closed her eyes.
Link gazed at her silently for at least ten minutes, in deep contemplation, until his neck began to ache, and he finally laid his head down upon the pillow.
As the cricket's monotonous chirp filled the room, Zelda and Link fell fast asleep, cradled in each other's arms.
