Happy Tuesday! We made it through another day. Go us. And now, MARCH IS NEARLY OVER. May April suck infinitely less.

And now, for Katia 0203, a little shortie-sweetie inspired by the prompt: "Spring cleaning."

Order up!


Drabble XII: Spring Cleaning

Though the little house in Hateno hadn't been their primary residence over the years, it had always been the home of Zelda's heart. It was the setting of many of her happiest memories: Link's proposal; their dreamy stay-in honeymoon; the birth of their children; teaching the children to climb, ride, shoot a bow and arrow, cook; lazy summer retreats, cozy family midwinters. So much laughter had filled the house. So many tears had been dried there.

After a lifetime of ruling, Zelda and Link had given up their crowns, abdicating in favor of their eldest. They'd retired, gladly and gratefully, to their little house in the country, to live out the rest of their days in peace.

Over the years, the little house had accumulated all of the flotsam and jetsam of a home well-lived-in. Boxes of mementos and keepsakes had piled up under the stairs. Zelda had been tripping over them all winter, and when the snow finally thawed and the weather warmed up, she took the first nice day to throw open the windows and doors and sort through the boxes.

"Want help?" Link asked as he creaked up from his seat before the fire.

"No, I can handle this on my own." Zelda waved her hand. "I can see you're itching to spend a little time outdoors."

"I thought I might patch the roof of the shed," he said. "So we can get a donkey to carry things to and from town for us."

Zelda smiled. They didn't technically need a donkey. There was a contingent of the Royal Guard stationed all around the house— discreetly, of course— and they'd come running if Zelda or Link so much as sneezed wrong. But having donkeys carry their belongings to and fro was the kind of thing ordinary people did, and Zelda knew that Link's fondest wish was to be ordinary.

Zelda carefully towed a few boxes out from under the stairs, moving more slowly and carefully than she would have in her youth. She folded up a thick blanket as padding, then knelt on the floor and began to sort.

Out came mementos: The tiny comfort quilts she'd painstakingly made for each of her children before their birth. A little bear, much mended and worn, that the twins (Miphra and Urbosen) had bickered constantly over. The carefully-fletched arrow that their son, Revallis, had made. Art that their youngest, Daruka, had proudly painted of the whole family.

There was the little wooden flute that Link had carved— warped and useless after Revallis had accidentally left it by the pond one afternoon, and an unexpected squall had drenched the tiny thing. The collar that had belonged to the children's beloved childhood hound, Wag.

And then, in another box: a crown of flowers, dried and crumbling apart, that Miphra had worn the midsummer that her sweetie had proposed. A piece of needlepoint art that Urbosen's first love had made for him, which Zelda hadn't had the heart to throw out when the relationship soured. There were assorted scraps of poetry that Darkua had tried her hand at writing (it wasn't very good, but Zelda was proud of the effort, and had kept it anyway). There were Revalis' painstaking, perfect sketches of the flowers and leaves of Hateno.

Zelda was smiling at one careful botanical illustration of a Silent Princess when Link clomped in.

"Boots off at the door," Zelda called out of habit— forty years of habit, specifically. As he had likewise done over the past forty years, Link grumbled but complied, kicking his boots off just outside the doorjamb, then striding inside in his stockinged feet.

"Find anything interesting?" Her husband asked as he eased himself down next to her, bringing with him the smell of new grass and mud. While he was still strong and swift, he didn't move as lightly as he had in their youth. Then again, as Link liked to cheerfully say, he still moved better than any hundred-and-sixty-year-old man ought.

"So many treasures," Zelda said, her hands moving fondly over a pair of worn, torn gloves that the children had given her for her thirty-fifth birthday. "So many memories."

"Ah," Link said, reaching past her to withdraw a little leather ball all covered in chipped and fading paint. "Remember how Daruka used to toddle after this, and Revallis would run and fetch it for her?"

"And then she'd drop it and it would roll away, and she'd cry, and Revallis would go running again," Zelda agreed fondly, bumping her shoulder against Link's. "Ah!"

She pulled out a set of matching Lurelino belts that the family had all been gifted on one vacation; she'd completely forgotten about both the belts and the trip, but remembering that happy, sunny month brought a smile to her face.

"We should send these to Miphra," Link said, running a finger down the braided belt. "I bet she'd like them for Daphnel to play with."

"That girl does love to play dress up," Zelda said, smiling at the thought of her precocious young granddaughter. She set the belts aside, then kept sifting. There were other scraps of memories— little insignificant things Zelda and Link didn't really recall why they'd saved— and those were set aside to be disposed of. At last, they were left with a single chest's worth of memories, which they tucked back under the stairs.

"We'll bring it out next time the children visit," Link said, rising to his feet. He reached down and Zelda took his hand, creakily unfolding to stand beside him. She leaned happily against her husband as she surveyed the cleaned-out area beneath the stairs, the little drift of things to be let go, the box of things that would remain.

"We've lived a good life, haven't we?" She said as Link wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"We have," he said. "The years have been kind to us." She could hear a smile in his voice, and she laid her hand over his. "I'm looking forward to seeing what the next decades hold."

"Me too," Zelda agreed happily. "It's about time we had a little bit of rest."

"Oh, I don't know." Link chortled. "I got to take a hundred-year nap. After that, even lounging about in a field would look exhausting."

"Oh, ha ha, Mr. Hero," Zelda scoffed, nevertheless rolling her eyes. "With all that sleep you got, it's a wonder you're still so lazy."

"It's an incurable disease," Link said. Zelda turned to smile up into her husband's face: a little more weathered, a little more wrinkled, a little more worn, but still just as wonderful and handsome and dear as it had always been. She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to one leathery cheek, and— as always— Link turned his head to catch her lips with his. It was a short, sweet kiss, and when he pulled away, he was smiling softly, almost dreamily.

"Would you like to take a walk down to the village with me, wife?" He asked, holding out his arm. "It's a beautiful day, and I think you've done enough spring cleaning for now. Perhaps we can stop and get a little lunch somewhere."

"That sounds lovely," Zelda said, smiling. "Let's do."

And so, arm in arm, they proceeded out into the sunshine together, walking happily forward into the rest of their sleepy, contented lives.


Ta daaa! I wanted to do a sweet little retirement bit. So I did. Looking through old keepsakes can be such a bittersweet thing, and I hope I captured that here.

I think I may take tomorrow night off, BECAUSE I CAN and because I need to spend time with my own family. (My baby is finally well! Hooray! Now all my husband needs to do is stop coughing…)

When we come back, this trash fairy will grant the wishes of Aroband and BlazingBlue202, who both asked me for 20s speakeasy pinstripe jazzy classiness. Since I'm a big ole sucker for the roaring 20s, we're doing it. Until then… yeah, I know, I know, you're sick of hearing it, but my mom brain is making me say it anyway. Stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.