Hello, friends! It's the weekend. Everything is good on my end. I hope you and yours are all safe and healthy.
And without further ado, a BotW story about rebuilding after losing everything.
Here we go!
There was something wrong with Zelda.
It wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone who hadn't spent every waking hour of every day for over a year carefully watching her every move. The indications were small but present: The way hollows appeared under her eyes. How she began to turn away from food. How she was paler.
Link was worried.
The last (and only) time she'd been like this was nearly ten years ago, when she'd emerged from the torture of the Calamity. Though she'd been glowing and golden at first, that glow had faded, and as she grew to see the devastation that had happened in her absence— as she lived through the scope of her grief and loss— she'd become withdrawn. Listless. She'd been unable to either sleep or eat. Link hadn't been able to shake her from her despondency. Nor had Purah. It had taken an intervention from no lesser person than Master Impa to put light back in the princess' eyes.
But Master Impa was gone, now, passed away three winters ago. And something was wrong with Zelda.
Link watched his wife as she smiled wanly over her bowl of soup at Paya and Granté, who had come to Hateno to visit Purah and introduce the woman to her new great-great-niece. They'd asked if they might come say hello on their way in.
Ordinarily, Zelda would have eagerly bounced around, chattering about what to cook (or, more realistically, what Link would wind up cooking on her behalf), rearranging trinkets on their shelves. Paya was her dearest friend in this era, and the two were as close as sisters. Link and Granté were equally close, and when the four of them had been neighbors in Kakariko Village— right after the end of the Calamity, when Zelda was still acclimating to this new world— Zelda and Paya had spent many long afternoons together while their husbands were off doing assorted small (but dangerous) chores for Impa.
When Link and Zelda had finally moved out to Link's house in Hateno (because Zelda decided she was ready to really start over, to really shed the identity of princess), there had been no small number of tears. Zelda had hated parting from Paya. Every visit had brought a sparkle to Zelda's eyes and a spring to her step— until now. Earlier today, Zelda had merely shrugged when Link asked what he should cook, and replied with an unenthusiastic, "whatever you feel like. It doesn't matter to me. I'm not very hungry."
That was not the Zelda Link knew, loved, and had married.
Paya and Granté's infant daughter was sleeping in her basket near the table, and every few minutes the parents would glance down to check on the little girl. Every time they did, Zelda's smile would become a little more frozen, a little more brittle.
"I just wish Grandmother could have met her namesake," Paya said, glancing down at little Impaz, who was snoring gently. Her tuft of golden-silvery hair glinted in the lanternlight. "Although she probably wouldn't have wanted much to do with her. Grandmother never much cared for babies."
"That was true even before the Calamity," Link offered, when it looked like Zelda wouldn't chime in. "I remember a crying child running to her for a hug once. I don't think I ever saw her leap that fast outside of heavy sparring." He looked at Zelda to see if she was smiling— she'd been there, too, and had snorted with laughter at the sight of the fearsome Sheikah master fleeing from a wailing toddler— but her smile was wan, bland, clearly artificial.
Fortunately, it seemed that Paya and Granté didn't notice. "That does sound like Grandmother," Paya agreed fondly.
"Have you been out to Akkala to see your parents yet, Granté?" Zelda asked.
"Not yet," he said. "It's a bit of a trek, even if we only go as far as Tarrey Town. My mother wants to come out to meet her grandbaby, but pops is too old to make the trip, and Impaz is too young for it. So it'll be a while yet before we make it out there."
"It's a shame it's so hard to get to Akkala," Paya mused. "The highlands are the most beautiful place I've ever seen. I don't think I've ever been anywhere as peaceful as the Spring of Power."
"Yes," Zelda agreed without much enthusiasm. "It is lovely."
Later, after Paya and Granté had gathered up little Impaz, bundled up for the brisk autumn hike, and left for town, Link steered Zelda to a rocking chair.
"I'll clean," he told her, even as he mentally began to plan his ambush of her. "You sit."
"I can do it—" she started to protest without much feeling, but Link shook his head once in a sharp negation.
"Sit," he told her instead.
He opened the door and whistled for the dog, which came loping around the corner of the house.
"Trouble, go," he ordered, pointing at Zelda. The mutt shook itself, wagged its tail a few times, and blasted inside to plop down at Zelda's feet, panting adoringly up at her.
He scrubbed and dried and put away the plates and pots and pans and silverware, tossed the napkins into the laundry, swept up the various crumbs that had fallen on the table and tossed them out on the composting heap with the food scraps. He wiped down the cooking and food preparation surfaces.
Then he went to confront his wife.
He settled into the rocking chair beside hers, holding out his hand across the short gap between their two seats. After a moment, she reached out and caught her fingers with his. He syncronized his rocking with hers, and Trouble's happy panting created a counterpoint to the squeak, squeak of their chairs.
"Are you going to tell me about it?" Link finally asked her.
Her lips quirked. It was a mark of how long they'd been together that she didn't try to play dumb or pretend everything was fine. They knew each other well enough by now to know better than try and lie.
She inhaled slowly, thoughtfully. Finally, she spoke.
"Paya and Granté seem happy, don't they?" She asked musingly.
"They do," Link agreed, wondering what Zelda was working her way around to.
She rocked for a few moments more.
"Paya seems to like being a mother. And Granté is a good father."
"Paya has always been the nurturing sort." Link was trying to stay noncommittal, but he thought he knew where this was going. "Granté is a bit more of a surprise, but not much. Robbie was a pretty involved dad."
Zelda hummed a non-answer. When she didn't speak for several minutes, Link tried a question.
"Do you… want to be a mother?"
Her rocking slowed, and her free hand fluttered down to press above her abdomen.
"Do I want to be a mother?" Zelda repeated, tone thoughtful. "I truly don't know, Link."
That was the same answer she'd given before whenever they'd talked about possibly having children. Link understood. Hell, he felt the same: After all they'd gone through, all they'd loved and lost, the thought of being so vulnerable again, of opening themselves up to such joy and pain, was terrifying.
"But it doesn't matter," Zelda said, and now she sounded sad.
"Huh?"
"What I want doesn't matter," she repeated. "The thought of having a child… it terrifies me. So much could go wrong. The baby could die. I could die. You could die."
"Right," Link said, confused. "We know the risks. But… why do you say what you want doesn't matter? It does?"
She tugged her hand away from his and knotted her fingers in her lap, looking down.
"I don't think I want to have a baby," she confessed, voice a broken whisper.
Link watched her, utterly perplexed by her odd behavior.
"Alright," he said slowly. "If you don't want to have children, we don't have to have children, and I won't make you." Was this what she'd been chewing over lately— the realization that she didn't want to become a mother?
"You don't understand," she said. "I don't want to have a baby. But it doesn't matter."
Link dragged a hand over his face.
"What you want matters. I just told you, I won't—"
"No, Link. I'm going to have a baby, and I don't want to."
He blinked at her, completely lost.
"You're going to— like, you've decided to…?"
"No." She looked up at him now, humor and hopelessness warring on her face. "I mean the contraception spell failed and I'm pregnant."
"Oh," Link said, because what else could you say to that. He stared at her dumbly. She looked back at him, that hopeless humor melting into something more desperate, more vulnerable. "You're pregnant?" He repeated.
"Yes," she said.
"With a baby? Our baby?"
"Yes," she agreed. "That's generally how pregnancy works."
Link stared at her for a moment longer. Her shoulders began to rise up towards her ears as she curled in on herself. At the sight of that small, defensive shift, Link hopped out of his chair, strode over to Zelda (nudging Trouble out of the way as he did so), and held out his hands. She looked up at them in confusion.
"What?" She asked.
"Give me your hands," Link told her. Finally, she did, placing her palms in his. Link tugged her up to a standing position and swept her into a hug, pulling her as close as he could. He felt her stiffen, so he murmured in her ear, "I'm scared too. But we'll figure it out. Together."
And then she cracked, wilting against him and weeping into his shoulder.
"I feel so awful," she blubbered. "I should be happy. Why can't I be happy?"
"Probably because you aren't eating or sleeping," Link said, stroking her hair fondly. She sniffled wetly, an undignified, incredibly human sort of sound.
"You noticed?" She warbled. Link scoffed. Stupid question.
He held her close while she cried. Eventually, he settled down on the rug, his wife curled in his lap, her head on his shoulder as she confessed all the dark fears that had been haunting her. The awful losses of a century ago had made her skittish, had made her afraid to love again. And then there were the ordinary fears, too: That she wouldn't be a good mother, that she wouldn't be kind enough or patient enough, that she'd be so tired she made a mistake, that the child would grow up poorly.
That her relationship with their child would be just as strained with her own relationship with her father.
That their child would grow up as she had grown up. Motherless.
Link rocked her and soothed her and listened to her. Every once in a while, Trouble would wander over, tail wagging hopefully, to lick some of the salty tears off of Zelda's cheeks.
Finally, she ran out of both words and tears. As she tucked herself beneath Link's chin, he tightened his arms around her.
"What… do you think about all this?" She asked, her voice very small. "Are you angry at me?"
"No," Link responded instantly. "Never. I love you. And I think you'll be a wonderful mother."
"Do you want this child?" She asked. Her voice was, if possible, even smaller. "I've been half-hopeful, half-afraid, that something would happen… that I might lose... I mean, I don't want it to… But if it did… Would it really be so bad? And then I feel even worse for thinking that way." She sobbed once, hiccuped, and seemed to hold her breath, waiting. "Link?"
Link thought about what she was saying very, very hard. Then he tightened his arms around her.
"I will love you no matter what happens," he said honestly. "I will want you no matter what. And… Yes. I want this child. Our child."
That set her off on another round of blubbering into his shoulder. Trouble gave up at trying to pretend nonchalance and wandered over, whining.
"You're n-not mad at m-m-me? For getting pregnant, and for th-thinking those awf-f-ful things?"
"I'm not mad," Link confirmed, cradling her close as Trouble tried to jam his snout into Zelda's face.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
They sat together on the floor for a long time, Zelda crying, then calming, then crying, then calming, then laughing as Trouble tried to climb into her lap, which would inevitably give way to another burst of tears.
Finally, she settled.
"I'm sorry," she said wanly. "I feel so strange. I've heard pregnancy can do that."
"It's fine," Link told her. "You can cry on me all you want. You know that."
"Trouble doesn't," Zelda remarked wryly. The dog had sprawled in front of them, chin on his paws, looking up at them with baleful brown eyes. Zelda reached out a pale hand, her wedding ring glinting in the dim light, and rubbed the silly creature between its ears.
"We're going to be parents," she said, and now there was a note of awe in her voice. "We're going to have a baby."
"We're going to have a baby," Link agreed, and in his chest, his heart began to soar. A baby. Their baby. He smiled. "When will it be here?"
"Early spring," Zelda said. She shifted her hand to scratch the dog's chin. "Trouble, you're going to be a big brother."
Trouble, ever dignified, rolled onto his back, affecting a pose of utter submissive adoration. Zelda buried her hands in the fur of the dog's belly.
"You have to be a good big brother," she told the dog. "Kind and patient, even when the baby wakes up in the middle of the night and won't go back to sleep, or won't stop crying, or gets sick and needs to be held all the time. Can you do that for me?"
Link knew that Zelda wasn't really talking to the dog. So he braced his hands on her shoulders.
"Trouble's going to be a wonderful big brother," he assured her. "Loving and kind and caring and wonderful. We're going to have one lucky kid."
"I hope so," Zelda agreed softly. She leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She gave a great, weary sigh— the kind of sigh that told Link that she'd just shed some massive burden that had been weighing her down.
"Thank you, Link," she said softly. "I love you."
Link squeezed her tight, happy and terrified and overwhelmed with love and joy and wonder.
"I love you too," he said simply.
I've been wanting to write this one for a while, but it took me some time to figure out how I wanted to do it because having a baby is scary as fuck. Even if you super duper want one.
(Before any of you come at me with the flames and the hate for Zelda's insecurity and fears, realize that learning that you're pregnant is huge and scary, especially if you don't expect it, and even if you don't. So many other women I've spoken with (who are wonderful, devoted mothers) have told me that when they first found out they were pregnant, they were terrified, and felt all sorts of awful things, and then hated themselves for it. So it's normal.)
Anyway, that's today's story. I meant to publish it last night, buuuuuuut teething boy had other ideas. So it's up now.
I'm not sure when the next story will be out. I'm shooting for mid-week again, but moving logistics are swinging into full swing, I'm cutting quarantine short, and my husband and I are going to have to do a bunch of traveling between cities. So we'll see when I update next. I'm all out of ideas for shorties, so SEND ME YOUR SILLIEST PLOT BUNNIES and we'll see what kind of godawful nonsense I can spin up.
Friends, take care! Be cautious and courteous and kind. I'll see you again soon. Until then, stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.