The Sheikah Slate's screen flashed as she pulled up the diagnostics menu, and Zelda watched as the energy outputs of the Divine Beasts slowly declined.
"Well," she said to herself, "save Vah Ruta's, of course. That it had any power at all after the Calamity totalled it is a testament to its construction. Still, the others have been shutting down ancillary systems gradually, working their way toward powering down completely. Is it because they don't have pilots, anymore?"
The sound of running water could be heard, faintly, on the other side of the thick canvas that served as the walling of the Riverside stable. The sun was shining brightly outside. People were going about their lives, and the hum of conversation was a constant low drone in the background. Something in that sound made her feel more secure.
"That seems the most likely reason. If I recall correctly," and she was finding with delight that she did recall correctly more often than not, now, as her own personal memory seemed back in working order, "then they are now entering a state very similar to the one they were unearthed in. It is possible, then, that in time new pilots could be found, and new life given to the Divine Beasts."
There had been some small smattering of gossip, when they had arrived, concerning the flashes of light and the huge monster that had trampled half of Hyrule Field. No one in the stables seemed to know what to make of it—but then, no one in the stables had thought to connect it to the three youths who had walked in together that very evening and then paid for three nights' stay in advance. That was for the best, most likely. Word would spread about them, in time.
Zelda drew her finger across the screen, expanding the few readouts that Vah Ruta's remains were still capable of providing. The last of its systems were quite hardy, it seemed.
"Hmm. I wonder..."
For the first day she had been in something of a daze; all three of them had been, for various reasons, and all three of them had leaned on and supported one another. Paya had returned to her baseline behavior fastest, but Zelda fancied that it had been her own recovery that had been something like complete first.
Well. If we can ever truly recover from such things.
No amnesiac, she, nor princess, nor even oracle, though she remembered all of those women, carried them inside of her, might even fancy herself an amalgam of them. This morning, after two days unsure of who she was, she had woken in her bed—her companions already risen to some other task—and simply stared at the ceiling, revelling in the sensation of being able to remember herself. Remember her father, and her mother, and the Champions, and Link—and also remember Paya, and Yunobo, and Sidon, and Teba, and Riju, all at her leisure, with no great gaps save those that came naturally over time. As if she'd laid down her head and woken up a hundred years and some months later, a fuller and more capable person. A person who had walked through an epiphanous dream. A person better able to see herself.
"It is possible that, by studying Vah Ruta's remains, we may be able to gain a better understanding of its underlying systems, or even its manufacture. We might, in theory, even learn how to repair the Divine Beasts. Or rebuild one. Or build new ones, free of their prior vulnerabilities."
This was comfortable, too, and more than comfortable. She could not rely on the awareness of the goddess, or the expansion of her senses beyond mortal limits, or the almost infinite accumulated knowledge of her bloodline. Just her, in her own head, and the understanding of the world that she could build for herself. It should have been more jarring than that—on some level she worried over how easily she was adjusting—but if there would be a shock then she would deal with it as it came. For now thinking of the interlocking systems of the Divine Beasts, the scale at which they operated, the underlying principles that linked them to the Guardians, and the way that all of those pieces fit together in her head was its own pleasure.
"Zelda?"
She looked up from the screen. Paya was standing next to the bed in which she was reclined, the cuffs of her pants rolled up past her knees and a basket under her left arm. Paya looked—well, Zelda had thought calm, for a moment, but that was just her expectations clouding her perception. Her companion's color was high, and her breathing was controlled but seemed very deep.
"I'm sorry," Zelda said, sitting up on the bed and turning to put her feet on the floor. "I was rather lost to the world, just now. What's that you have there?"
"This?" Paya motioned with the basket, and Zelda nodded. "Staminoka bass. Master Link has been showing me how he prefers to catch fish." She did not quite stammer, did not stutter, but there was an energy in that sentence that spoke volumes.
Paya had not been nervous around Link, even from the first, which Zelda had been relieved by. She hadn't gotten a very good sense of how they were spending their time together—Link was never very talkative, and neither was Paya unless she was prompted—but the few times Zelda had seen them sitting around the cookfire in the evening or checking on the horses, they had seemed to be getting along well.
Still. There was no point leaving things ambiguous when they didn't have to be.
"Paya," Zelda said, and there wasn't a shift in Paya's demeanour so much as there was a shift in the air around her. "Are the two of you getting along?"
There, high color shifting to a blush. Paya would probably never be able to hide those reactions. "He's… very resourceful. And confident, and humble. A-and he tells very good stories, too. Sometimes I worry that if I talk too much, I'll offend him or scare him away, but—"
"Do you like him?"
A pause. Outside, one of the goats bleated, and the river kept running.
Paya looked at her feet. "He's very… I enjoy his company."
Zelda set the Sheikah Slate down on her lap, reached out, and took hold of Paya's right hand. She leaned forward, kissing the spot where Paya's wrist joined her palm, felt the elevated pulse against her lips. She broke off the kiss and straightened up as Paya slowly pulled her hand back.
"I'm very glad," Zelda said, because she was.
It took a few long moments before Paya gathered herself enough to nod and then continue, "I-I'm going to get started on cleaning these. If you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you and Master Link could lend me a hand."
Zelda fastened the Sheikah Slate to her hip, rising from the bed. "Certainly. I'll go fetch him. Is he still at the river?"
"Yes, just past the pens for the goats and cuccos."
"I will only be a minute, in that case. We will meet you out front."
They stepped outside together, Paya heading toward a spot remote enough that cleaning the fish wouldn't bother other guests at the stable and Zelda swinging around to the left. She walked past the stabling for the horses (all of whom looked to be in excellent condition, though she'd never had an eye for that sort of thing), and past the woodpile that kept the communal cookpot going. She'd actually chopped wood on the second day, to have something to do with her hands, and managed not to embarrass herself even with Link and Paya both watching. The weapons experience she'd gained on her journey, it so happened, was practical for things besides fighting monsters.
She rounded the edge of the stable and saw him, just as Paya had said, in the shallows of the river just beyond the space between the livestock pens.
Like Paya, his pants were rolled up past his knees; unlike Paya, he'd seen fit to remove his tunic, so that he stood in the water naked from the waist up. He was already tanning, his skin drinking up the sun as if it had been starved during his years of confinement. There was a second basket next to him, nearly full of bass. He was staring down into the water, facing away from her, hands poised to strike.
"Link," she said, and he looked up. "I think you might have too many fish."
He blinked at her, then looked at the nearly-brimming basket, then at her again. "Two more."
She bit back the urge to argue; they were already so far past 'enough' that two more would hardly make a difference. "Are you catching them with your hands?" He nodded. "And Paya was doing the same?" He nodded again. Well, that… that was certainly an interesting image. Could it really be so easy? She'd heard of fishing with nets, or line and hook, and the Zora were proficient with spears, but she'd never heard of using one's hands. She had to see. "May I try?"
He waved her over.
She removed her boots, placed them next to Link's on the shore, and rolled up the legs of her trousers. She waded into the water, which was warm and pleasant. She felt the weight of his eyes on her. "I am all right. I promise I will not trip. Now, please show me how to do this."
He purposely turned his attention back to the water, and she followed his gaze. There were some small number of very large bass milling nearby; how thick could these waters be?
Link said, "These fish won't notice you unless you get too close and move too suddenly. Some will, but not staminoka." As he spoke, he waded—very slowly—out into the water, drawing closer to the milling fish. They must not have seen him—or, no, perhaps they viewed him as terrain? Did they judge motion by water currents, instead of with their eyes? He continued in a quieter voice, "You just judge the distance. Make sure your reach is right. Limber up your fingers." He wiggled them, to illustrate. "And."
A flash, a splash of water, and one of the bass swam quickly away. The other, though, was above Link's head, flopping wildly in the air. Zelda had to fight the urge to clap. It was a very good trick. The Hero himself showed no particular emotion as he lobbed the fish through the air so that it landed in the basket.
"Now you try."
She nodded to him, then looked out into the water. The one that had fled had wandered back; the attention span (or memory retention?) of this species really was quite short. She waded forward, just as slowly as Link had done, and just as with him the fish did not react to her presence. Only violent movement seemed to alert them. She leaned forward, judging the distance carefully. Wiggled her fingers. Held her breath. And.
Apparently she failed to account for light refraction in the water, because her hands only closed on the fish's tail. With a single thrash it slipped from her fingers and sped off—right towards Link, who hoisted it out of the water with no apparent effort or rush.
She was sure she wasn't glaring at him, she was positive, but he was still looking pointedly away from her as he tossed the fish into the basket. "That was a good first try," he said.
"Yes, well. Catching fish is a bit of a binary, isn't it? You either succeed or you go hungry." Or overeat less, as the case may be. "Still, you are right, I am pleased with my first attempt. In spite of everything, I can't expect to have hands as quick as yours or Paya's."
"No," Link agreed, and together they waded back to shore. He redonned his tunic while Zelda dried her feet in the grass, and once they'd both gotten their boots back on Link hoisted the basket under his arm. He was looking at her very seriously.
"What is it?"
His response was slow and measured. "Paya does have quick hands."
She allowed herself to smile. "She does, yes. She's been telling you some stories of our travels, hasn't she?"
"Yes." Another pause. "She's the sort of person who downplays her own role in those stories."
Now she couldn't hide her wince. "I… suppose that she is very modest."
Link just nodded. "You've traveled with her for a while. Will you help me, later? I want to thank her. For traveling with you. For helping you, and for helping me. I want to let her know I appreciate her."
Again, that same warmth in her chest. This, at least, she could do, and she did not need to ask Link for clarification. "Of course I will. We will both let her know." She gestured to the basket. "Right now, though, I think she would appreciate it if we helped her clean the fish."
They walked together, and as they walked Zelda stole glances at Link's profile. His bearing was not so different than it had been before the Calamity—but months before the Calamity, before even the incident at Kara Kara Bazaar, when he faced the world with stoic reservation, marshalling himself so he did not expose any weaknesses to the world or to her. His memory of the time before his fight with Ganon was, based on the few conversations they'd had, complete; still. There was a distance, here.
She did not remember much of the sensation of being one with the power of Hylia—her sensory memory didn't seem able to contain the experience—but she did remember standing with him in the dark. She remembered how happy he had been, speaking to her. From a century ago she remembered how she had felt during that conversation in the rain when he had told her so much more than she had realized in the moment. And seeing him like this? It was almost more than she could bear.
"I understand if you need time," she said, and almost instantly regretted the words at the way his attention jumped suddenly and totally to her. "After everything you've been through… I can't imagine. The world must seem so different, now. But if you need to talk about what happened—I mean, I can't offer advice, but I can listen, and Paya remembers when Ganon took her prisoner, and—"
He did not smile, but his eyes softened. "When I woke up in the field, and Paya was standing over me, do you know what I said to her?"
She shook her head. Paya hadn't mentioned this at all. Perhaps there had been no time, in the past few days, as they all recuperated in different ways.
"I said, 'Impa. I was having the strangest dream.'"
"Oh," she said, and the thickness of her own voice surprised her. She cleared her throat, marshalled herself. "Is that why you've been sleeping so little? Do you… I mean, do the bad dreams…?"
He shook his head. "Not bad dreams." He looked away from her, then, instead focusing on the spot they were walking to. "Intense dreams. Dreams where I'm fighting and Ganon is still there. It hurts, yes, and I'm exhausted, and I wake up feeling as if I haven't slept at all, but… even in the dream, I know that I'm fighting for you." He looked back at her. "And it's a good dream. No matter what."
A hundred years ago, seated beneath the scanty branches of a tree, listening to him talk about fighting for her, she had resisted the urge to grab his hand, resisted the urge to speak. She had mastered herself, denied herself, for shame and for her burden and for his protection.
Now she reached out and slipped her fingers into his. There was a moment of pressure—strong, blissful, even pressure—as he squeezed her hand. The warmth of his palm spread up her arm, suffusing her chest.
By a mutually understood signal they released their grip. Walked across the grounds of the stable. Found Paya cleaning fish beneath a tree just off the path.
Link scaled the fish, his knife taking off whole sides of gleaming silver in a single stroke so that he could deposit the scales cleanly into a cloth bag that he would later wash in the stream. Paya gutted the scaled fish, cleaning the entrails so that some could be used for stock while others were turned inside out and stuffed with the other organs to make sausages. Zelda segmented the fish, at Paya's direction.
This was how it had gone for the past two days: all three of them would work together to prepare ingredients, and then Paya would cook. Link sat back during those times, watching the fire underneath the pot. When the time came he ate only very little. That worried Zelda—and Paya had heard enough stories of his appetite that it worried her, too. They both agreed that there was little they could do about it—though if the behavior continued, they were resolved to try to address it together.
While they worked, they talked.
"We are reaching the end of our initial deposit," Zelda said. "There are enough beds, and all the commotion has frightened most travelers into staying away from Hyrule Field, so we wouldn't be taking up too much space if we stayed longer."
"Lodgings for three are expensive," Paya said.
"Be that as it may," Zelda said, "we have more than enough rupees on hand. We could stay here for a month without putting any real strain on our resources."
Link said, "Where would you want to go?"
He was speaking to Zelda. The birds were singing in the trees around them, and the heady fragrance of woodsmoke wafted over from the cookfire. Zelda had to fight the urge to look at Paya, who she knew was also fighting the urge to look at her.
Well. She might as well be honest; if she couldn't be honest with Link, she couldn't really be honest with anyone in the world.
"I was thinking that we should examine the Divine Beasts, if possible. Each of them seems to be losing power, and I want to discover why. If it is because the influence of the Champions is fading, then finding other suitable pilots may allow us to reactivate them. Each of them could be very useful to the peoples of Hyrule in different ways."
Link nodded thoughtfully, the scaled fish in his hand momentarily forgotten.
"Master Link," Paya said, "would you pass that to me?"
He held it out to her with an expression that could not be described as reproachful.
Still, the bodyguard looked down and blushed furiously. "S-Sorry. Link." She took the fish from his hand, then coughed. "Zelda, if that is your goal, perhaps it would be best to head toward Vah Ruta first?"
"I concur. Ruta was almost completely destroyed by the Calamity, and we may be able to glean a great deal of information from the wreckage. It would be an excellent starting point, allowing us to reason out principles of design that might tell us how to better maintain the other Divine Beasts. I think that, if I contact Purah, she would be very eager to join us there." She realized how long she'd been talking, then cut the head and tail off a fish and dropped all three parts into one of the baskets. To Link: "Do you feel like traveling, or would you rather rest a while longer?"
The Hero looked up, and dappled sunlight fell on his face. After long seconds, he said, "I'd like to see Zora's Domain again."
Paya's shoulders lowered as the tension left her and Zelda felt a grin spreading across her face and did not care at all to restrain it. "Wonderful! If I use the Sheikah Slate, we can be there as soon as we're done eating, and—"
And she stopped, seeing Link rubbing at the back of his head, the one sign he ever gave that he was embarrassed.
Paya's hand was shaking as she laid it on Link's shoulder. The Hero turned to the last Champion, and Paya said in a steady voice, "Whatever is on your mind, you should say it. You aren't inconveniencing us."
Link blinked at Paya before looking to Zelda, who gave a very controlled nod so as not to hurt her neck in her enthusiasm.
Again, his hesitation. Again birdsong, and woodsmoke, and the sound of his knife scraping across a fish. Then: "It's… been a long time since I travelled the path to the Domain. Would it be all right if we rode?"
"Yes! Yes, of course it would be. We're no longer in any hurry, after all. We have all the time in the world." Zelda did not even try to hide her excitement, now, and as their plans for the next days and weeks grew more concrete in her head she piled on more details. It would be good to travel again, by horse, without worrying about the world ending. "This will be grand. We should definitely stop by the Domain, and once we arrive, we can warp directly to Vah Ruta's remains. Oh, the Zora will be so happy to see you."
"Especially King Dorephan," Paya said.
Link's eyes lit up, and for the first time since standing in the field he looked genuinely excited. "Is the king well?"
"Yes," Zelda said. "A little more scarred, perhaps, but healthy and as strong as ever. He said that, when Ganon was defeated, we should bring you to him. And Sidon will probably be ecstatic."
"Sidon," Link said. "He must be so tall, now."
They kept working in silence, but now Link's mouth was upturned in a nostalgic smile.
The fish cleaned, the trio carried the prepared meat to the cookpot. Link took his bag of scales to the river to rinse out, and Paya and Zelda worked on preparing the cookpot for the fish. With this much fresh bass, their only real choice for getting it all cooked in a timely manner was to let the whole lot simmer for hours until it was a thick, rich stew.
While they were adding thick-cut carrots and pumpkins, Link came back and sat next to the fire.
Zelda, realizing that she was hindering Paya's efforts more than aiding them, got to her feet. Paya looked up from the cookpot long enough for their eyes to meet, long enough for the months they'd spent traveling to lend color and meaning to the nod that the bodyguard gave to her princess, before returning to her task.
Zelda sat next to Link.
She could not have said why the hands of the people around her occupied so much of her attention, of late, but it felt right when she took both of Link's in hers. This was bold; this was more than bold, and in spite of her desire for boldness she looked to his face and sought some answer there. He looked back at her with an expression that most would have found unreadable—but not she. She could see, in the lines of his face, that he was waiting. Waiting to see what she would do. Waiting to see what she desired.
She pulled his gloves off, running her fingertips over the callouses on his palms, the proof of his devotion to the sword.
They do not look as if he has been fighting for a hundred years. There is something here. Why do I recognize this feeling?
Her breath caught.
I am lying on the Blatchery Plain. His arms are around me. My hand is on his face—and then his palm supports that hand as it falls. He is strong, and calloused, and I have never seen anyone look so sad.
Yes. His hands were just as they'd been on that day. For one moment she was transported back—not to the pain, not to the fear, not to the sorrow that she had laid on him, but to the feeling of his hand on hers, his cheek beneath her palm.
She lifted his left hand and placed his palm against her cheek. Looked up at him.
His expression was soft as he leaned down. As he pressed his forehead against hers, the gentlest pressure in the world.
She closed her eyes, wished for this moment to stretch out, and out, and out. Just this. I don't need anything else but this.
There was... something, from Link. Not a trembling; he did not tremble. Not a thought, exactly; she could not touch the thoughts of others anymore. But something told her, deep and sure and positive, that as much as she had everything she needed, there was still more she could do. For him. Something to speak to the disquiet in his heart.
They raised their heads, and she released his hand, and the two of them settled into more comfortable positions, facing the fire. Paya agitated the vegetables with a wooden spoon, trying not to look so obviously happy. Link leaned forward, and there was tension in his shoulders.
I know that look. How often has he seen it in me? How many times, seeing it, did he lead me into my lab? To my notes? To the work of my own hands?
She laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He turned to look at her. She motioned toward the fire with her head. "Go on," she said.
A moment's hesitation and Link got to his feet, crossing over to Paya. She looked up at him with wide, almost confused eyes.
"May I take care of that?"
Paya nodded, stepping up and away, dusting off her legs before going to sit beside Zelda. Link took her place by the fire, began adding more sliced carrots and chopped pumpkin—and then a very great deal of milk, and a pinch of Goron spice, and rock salt that he crumbled in his hands.
There was a certain ease in the way his hands moved, a certain comfortable familiarity with the ingredients he used, and Zelda found herself staring at him as he worked. She glanced up long enough to see that Paya was staring, too. Here, for the first time, Zelda shared Link as only she had seen him before: doing what he loved to do with his hands, beyond holding a sword.
Hyrulean herbs and toasted lotus roots were added to the stew as it boiled, and Link stirred the pot. He tilted the baskets of fish into the mixture. The smell coming off of it grew stronger, more enticing, and Zelda found that she was hungrier than she had thought. The vat of food in front of them was large enough to feed dozens of people—and, slowly, the guests and travelers and messengers and stable hands began to drift closer, drawn in by the smell of the food prepared by the three youths. The young cook went on, not noticing the world around him.
Paya's hand slipped into hers, and she returned the touch.
The air was filled by the sound of Link's humming.
And finally—finally—Zelda felt at peace.
You do not need to know more.
This is enough, surely.
Leave these three to their happy ending. Imagine for yourself what future waits for them; they are young, and their hearts are still growing, and the feelings that exist between all three of them will surely change. Perhaps they will become more sure, and the potential will blossom into something permanent and beautiful; perhaps they will become more sure, and in that surety there will be friction that they could have never predicted arising from their shared gratitude, their shared affection. That would be beautiful, too, wouldn't it? What is a happy ending without some strife?
Leave them. Leave them to the scholar's research, where she will study the Divine Beasts and unlock the underlying secrets of the cosmos, not by some accident of her birth but by the focused and laborious application of her mind. Leave them to the attendant's growth, where she will stand tall next to the pair from the stories she loved as a child and come to understand her place beside them. Leave them to the Hero's rest, his long-earned reward for a century of devotion, and sacrifice, and pain.
Leave them. They are happy. They will be happy.
Turn away, now. Let it be enough.
But, no.
If you have come this far, you wish to know the whole truth. Our journey has been very long, after all. You've followed all three through pain and loss and triumph. You wish to know. You have to know.
You can still leave them, you know. You can still let them have their happy ending, make it anything you want. You don't have to keep going.
But I see your decision has been made. So be it.
You have traveled with them far; you have seen, particularly, into the mind of the scholar. You know well the wall of her amnesia. You remember how it crumbled.
So, too, you remember the last brick, overgrown with memory, papered over by the intensity of her life, of the surety of her identity. One brick of a mighty wall; the last brick.
The last secret, hidden even from Zelda.
Pick it up.
Look.
As it was in another time, another life, so it was here.
Beneath Hyrule Castle there was a chamber in which the Calamity had been imprisoned for ten thousand years and a century more, first by the power of the Royal Family and then by the hand that wielded the Sword That Seals the Darkness. This, according to all living memory, was the darkest depth of the kingdom, the secret vigil on which stood hundreds of generations of queens.
Perhaps some of those queens understood. None of them knew, of course. Knowing would have required knowledge that had been buried inside all of them, hidden beneath a single brick.
Knowledge that there was a deeper darkness. That there was a place beneath those depths.
Down, down, into the earth, until bedrock opened and a space yawned—not a cave but an entire country, an underworld to match the overworld on which Hyrule sat.
Beneath Hyrule Castle, deep beneath, one might find a path. As Zelda and Link and Paya walked in the sunlight, they unknowingly tread above a vast bridge, illuminated by the constant light of subterranean stones.
Zelda would have recognized the make of that bridge, the architecture that fed it; it was Zonai, of a people who had left almost no structures on the surface after they faded from the pages of history.
Zonai, too, was the temple that stood at the far end of that bridge, a fortress to keep out the world—or to keep in the last secret, so terrible that it had been denied to the passage of time, stripped from the memories of gods and mortals alike. Some knowledge, after all, was too terrible to be known. Some truths had been hidden. Some truths needed to be hidden.
One of these: that the Calamity was not a creature in and of itself but a scream, an echo of a mighty voice raised in fury, born out of the Malice of a bottomless heart. That it only thought itself the source of all evil, that it vied to emulate the memories of a life not its own. That it was a shadow cast upon the wall. That the Calamity was gone but the hunger persisted, yawning in the dark.
In the heart of that temple one might stand, and see the trap laid there: ancient Gerudo script floating in the air, marking an incantation to shackle darkness. A hand, an arm covered in Zonai jewelry, clutching at life, forcing it to stillness.
And if one was in that place after the Calamity was destroyed, if one stood there as Zelda and Link and Paya shared their meal with the people who lived on by their courage, if one stood in the shadow of the figure whose body was frozen in a contortion of pain and fury, and one listened, one could hear. Slow, at first, and then quicker. Louder. More insistent. More real.
He had been watching the land, watching the suffering of its people through golden eyes. So too was he watching the three. For ages he had watched them all. Like a dream.
He had been dreaming for so long that the possibility of waking was, itself, a shock.
The sound grew louder. No longer a suggestion. It was the anthem of that place, the promise of confinement ended. One could listen. One could hear its song.
The pounding of a drum.
The beating of a mighty heart.