Blooming Roses
With only a lantern in her hand, Hilda stepped down the dark, dreary hall. It took her through the endless maze of corridors that Lorule castle had to offer, though she knew exactly where she was going. It was to hall she'd walked a million times, but more frequently now, than ever in her life. Hilda'd been coming here the past few days, that is—since she'd found the truth of her mother's demise. The princess turned the corner, reaching her destination.
It was a hall of portraits; painting in memory of Lorule's late royal family. At the beginning of the showcase was a large painting, very close to Hilda's heart. The latest in line, the one of her mother.
Ever since she was a child, the princess always came here in the midst of the night. It was the only reason she'd gone so long, without forgetting her mother's face. Despite her disdain with the artist whom had painted it, Hilda was actually very fond of the portrait. The princess even prayed to hit quite often—as though her mother we're actually listening. While Hilda knew her words would never be acknowledged, that didn't stop her, even as she grew older as less naïve.
Her Grace kneeled before the still image, saying her regular night's greeting. She laced her fingers together, holding her hands at chest level. "Good evening, Mother," she said aloud the vacant space. "I'm feeling a bit better than the past few nights. I hope you're doing well, too, wherever you are."
Hilda gazed up in the deepest longing, feeling a familiar sort of emptiness. She admired the painting; her mother was so beautiful. The queen had pitch black hair, shining the faintest shade of purple. Her eyes were crimson just like Hilda's, and she radiated a sort of grace—even in the still image. If Hilda was a few years older, one might even confuse the picture to be a painting of her. Really, she was the spitting-image of her mother, her father often told her so.
"I almost told father today," Hilda said, somewhat abruptly, "about… what really happened to you." The corners of her lips twitched downwards to a frown. Recalling the state the queen's husband had been in, Hilda explained, "but his condition yet takes its toll." She lowered her head, apologetically. "I didn't wanna cause him anymore distress. I'm sorry, Mother."
Hilda's father'd been suffering for a very long time now, since Hilda was but a small child. At a later age, he'd married into royalty, and after his wife had died, he all but lost the will to live—much less, rule a crumbling kingdom on his own. With a deceased wife and a dying land, the only thing keeping him alive was his light in the dark, the princess of Lorule herself.
From a very young age, Hilda had done her part to lead Lorule through its turmoils. Desire to bring her father hope was part of what led her to make the desperate decisions she had. It was out of the dedication she had to her people, yes, but very much out of love for her father, too. Now that it was all over, Hilda had yet to feel that same burden lifted from her shoulders. In fact, it was heavier than ever.
"Even though Lorule's regaining it's prior state, Father's yet to regain his," Hilda explained, recalling the painful image of the queen's yet-bed-ridden husband. "I'm starting to feel unsure that our new fortune shall shine on him as well… though I do certainly hope so." Hilda glanced to the empty frame next to her mother's. It would inevitably case her father's image one day… though she prayed that was no day soon. Then feigning a smile, with a weak sort-of optimism, Hilda corrected herself. "I mean, I'm sure that's the case. I'm sure he'll be better soon. Lorule will once again be with its king. And then, I'll let father know…" Looking at the ground, Hilda zoned out, dreading this deed that she knew she had to do. "I'll let him know what really happened to you."
For a split second, Hilda again felt her anger rising. Her mind once more started filling with all the treacherous things Yuga could've done to Queen Lorule. All the pain he could have caused her—that he inevitably did. The princess clenched her fists tight, yearning to destroy every remainder of Yuga that was left in the kingdom. Feeling the sting of the healing cuts on her palm, however, Hilda released her empty grasp.
The wounds on her hand reminded Hilda of the truth, of what she'd been so kindly told before. What was in the past was gone, and she could never hope to look to the future, if she continued to let it consume her.
"Mother," she said softly, "I'm… trying my hardest not to grieve and regret. I know that's what you'd want for me, I know that's what father will desire, too. And I know," Hilda paused, putting her hand over her heart, "Ravio wants that for me, as well." The princess recalled the traumatic incident a few days prior. She gazed down at her hand. She could almost feel Ravio's palm in her's once more.
"Ah—did I tell you?" Hilda perked up, looking back to the portrait of her mother suddenly, smiling as she did. "Ravio called me by my name the other day! Ah—just my name, I mean. I don't… I don't think anyone's ever done that. Besides you and father, of course." The princess paused, remembering the very tone of his voice.
"Hilda."
She thought of him, of his overly cheerful grin, of all the times he'd been there for her—even if she wasn't there for him. She thought of how he made her laugh, how he made her smile, of how kind he was, even if the world had all but driven him to the ground. She thought worlds of his loyalty, and of the person he was, and the person the Goddesses knew he could be. "Ravio… who would've thought?" Hilda spoke gently, a sort of euphoric smile on her face. "I think he'll make a fine hero." With a hopeful expression, she asked, "Don't you, Mother?"
Perhaps Ravio denied that part of himself, and of the fate the Goddesses had set forth for him, but Hilda truly believed that he could be just as amazing as Link, should he try his hardest. In her heart, Hilda already thought Ravio was as miraculous as his counterpart, though, in a very different way. Hilda knew he was anything but brave, of course—she understood that. But as she glanced down at her own palm, she flipped her hand, gazing at her own mark of the Triforce. She remembered the very fact she was trying to pursue, herself. People could change.
Ravio always encouraged Hilda, no matter how harsh the circumstances. He never stopped helping her be a better princess, and as of late was no exception. He had faith in her wisdom—that she'd come to fulfill the destiny the Goddesses had set for her. He was as loyal as a subject—as a friend could be. Hilda only wished she could return the favor. She wanted to aid Ravio as he aided her—and not with just this, but so many things. Her thoughts trailed off, thinking of those very many things.
"Despite all that's happened in my life, Mother," Hilda spoke softly, "I feel… less alone than I ever have. It's such a strange feeling." With memories still lingering on her life-long friend, Hilda said, "When I'm with Ravio, everything hurts so much less. I think… I think it's always been that way, actually." Hilda paused, contemplating her feelings. "I've always thought he just had a way of leading me to reason, but now," with a certain fondness in her voice, she said, "he teaches me how to hope as well."
Hilda paused; her words seemed to spark a dull realization in the back of her mind. "Did… Did you have anyone like that in your life, Mother?" she asked, looking to the empty picture frame beside her. "Was it… Father?" she said, before asking timidly, "Was it the person you chose to be your king?"
Suddenly, almost unconsciously, Hilda remembered the sensation of Ravio's comforting embrace. It was unlike any she'd ever received. It was warm, it was safe. Hilda put a hand to her heart; her chest felt tight. Acknowledging the new sensation for the first time, Hilda swallowed hard. The princess felt her heart skip a beat, as she dared to ask the question looming over her head.
"Was it the person you fell in love with?"
Hilda wasn't oblivious to her feelings, or to herself. Yet, as of late, she couldn't help but question her heart at its core. She knew she'd always felt a very special fondness for Ravio—he was one of her dearest friends in the world. Ravio had always given her a reason to smile, even before Lorule was whole again. Daresay, he might've been the only optimism she'd ever known—but he certainly wasn't the kind of person she'd fall in love with.
Was he?
In the faint light, Hilda gazed down the hall of portraits; every queen was accompanied by their well-esteemed king. Men so regal and refined; heroes to the women they loved, and to a dying land. All her life, Hilda'd wondered who'd end up in the portrait aside her's. She imagined whomever it was to be strong, regal, refined, and nothing less than her own knight-in-shining-armor. So now, picturing Ravio in such a scene—Hilda could only laugh out loud.
The princess wasn't about to deny that he had his flaws. To start, he was probably the biggest Ruppee-pinching gold-digger she'd ever known. His understanding of what "proper-hygiene" entailed was a little less than precise, to say another. He was sarcastic, overly energetic, even a tad unconsciously rude at times—and perhaps his greatest downfall, of course, was his lacking bravery. Ravio was as cowardly as a rabbit. He was the farthest thing from a knight-in-shining-armor. Yet, despite knowing such to be true, Hilda found herself smiling even wider than before. The more she thought, the faster her heart beat.
Perhaps he did have his downfalls, but Hilda realized—wouldn't have him any other way. She loved his goofy personality. She loved his energy, his sense of humor. That was just Ravio. That still made him anything but a knight, of course—yet, Hilda felt another alternative, deep in her heart.
Perhaps he wasn't a hero, but he could be. Even the Goddesses thought it to be true, and now… it seemed to make more sense than ever. "If he can find redemption in me," she gazed up to the portrait of her mother, a blissful smile on her expression, "then perhaps I can do the same."
Her cheek lit a soft hue of pink, like a blooming rose. "I want to help Ravio find the courage in himself," she said, then pausing for a long moment. "I will help Ravio find the courage in himself." Her heart fluttered, with the words of her new-found resolve. "One day, I promise," she looked up to the dark ceiling, smiling all the while, "he'll be a hero."
All her life, Hilda'd wondered who would end up in the portrait beside her's—and suddenly, she'd come to realize the only image that fit perfectly. The image of that one person she could see at her side for an eternity—for he was one who'd always been there already. It was the image of a boy with dark purple hair, a blue-striped scarf, bunny ears, and the most cheerful smile in the world.
"He'll be my hero."
