Howdy, fam. Announcement: I am completely, entirely, 100% out of gas. I've got nothing left in me, and don't know what else to write. So Saturday's chapter— the oxen chapter, I swear— will be our very last.

In the meantime, my dearest friend and probable soulmate CrazygurlMadness very generously donated a oneshot for me to keep in my back pocket until I needed it. And, well, I need it, because I just can't write anymore.

So, for tonight, enjoy this, our second-to-last chapter, and a delightful guest post from our very own CM. Loveys, I present to you the loftwing drabble you didn't know you needed but definitely do.

Here we go!

Sometimes the world was not content to go about its usual business. Sometimes it brewed something big, and mortals had no choice but to deal with it.

Link stepped into the aerie, frowning, and felt it.

The birds were antsy. There was a storm coming, and in the open bays of the aerie, the wind coming from the sea was blowing into the high vaults of the nesting alcoves and ruffling feathers. The air smelled of rain, though the afternoon had been dry and warm.

He inhaled the smell of the sea, that mix of salt and algae the locals of Lurelin called barachois, a specific scent of clean rot, drying driftwood and dead shellfish he could scarcely smell at all anymore.

The vaulted mechanical bays opened into nothing, the cliff face falling away into the sea, and Link approached the edge to look at the sky.

Overhead, the azure expanse was pale, streaked only with thin cirrus clouds.

But on the horizon… He set his jaw. The horizon was dark; the setting sun could hardly pierce the dark purple cumulonimbus clouds that gathered low against the surface of the water and rose like stacked towers far above the reach of even the most intrepid birds. The water itself was choppy below, white foam cresting like scratches across the broken sea. He could see no lightning glowing within the massive cloud structure, but he could smell it nonetheless.

Groose approached, having followed him down into the aerie proper, and he clucked his tongue at the sky. "Nasty weather tonight."

"I figured," Link replied, noncommittally. The storm had been gathering for two days at least. The summer heat had begun to raise clouds off the sea three days ago, and he and Crimson had soared on rising air currents, playing in the updrafts like youngsters, along with many of the aerie hands on their respective birds. Link had sensed the storm coming then, though the dome of the world seemed to be nothing but endless clear sky.

You didn't spend this much time on Lurelin's seacliffs without getting some sense of the weather, after all. One needn't be a genius to recognize the pattern wrought by prolonged heat, steady winds and an endless supply of water.

"I hate when the rain comes from the sea," Groose said. "Always nastier than continental storms. Won't be getting a wink tonight." The birds behind them squawked. "We should close the shutters before it gets ugly."

Link made a noise. "Some are still out there." Zelda among them; she'd taken off that morning in a hurry, like she did when she was trying to escape her chores, and Link had promised to say nothing. "After sunfall. Gotta get a headcount first." Anyway, many of the birds were still out, chowing on surface fish or crustaceans trapped in tidal pools at the base of the cliffs. When light fell and the rain began to patter, they'd return to the safety of heights and family.

Groose hummed in agreement, then lumbered off. He was nervous, fiddling with his belt buckle idly. The oiled leather of his work clothes needed cleaning, but Link knew Groose wouldn't count on the storm. He was superstitious about that sort of thing.

After all, loftwings did not, as a rule, ever fly into storms. It behooved a rider to respect that simple wisdom.

Crimson cooed, the sound like a low purr in its gizzard, and Link blindly reached out to rub his partner's beak.

"Bad skies tonight," Link said, though he'd never been fully certain whether Crimson understood him or not. Most riders and aerie ranchers seemed to think loftwings didn't understand speech, but there was keen intelligence in Crimson's eyes, and Link could never be sure. "Won't be saddling you, bud." Crimson crooned in annoyance, and Link stifled a grin, glancing at him. "Big baby."

That was the other thing. Crimson seemed to be the only loftwing in existence to seek storms out. Where his fellow hatchmates had cowered and squawked in discomfort, Crimson would hop excitedly, angling his neck and puffing his feathers like a beau at a ball. He was, as many claimed, a right terror.

"It's not safe," Link said, when Crimson straightened to his full height ―easily twice Link's standing height, a terrifying sight for beginners― and shivered his feathers into standing and falling, a display of bravery and daring that would have cowed uncertain predators. "Stop trying to convince me."

Cawlin's loftwing, Marron, returned then, beating her wings nervously. She landed gracefully in the bay next to Link, followed by Stritch's loftwing, Verdat, who liked to play it aloof.

"See?" Link said, still rubbing Crimson's beak, "All your pals are being smart about it."

Crimson made a low quorking sound that told Link he was too good to have 'pals'.

"You're just being difficult," Link said, turning away from the wind and the sky. "Don't you dare fly off into danger."

Crimson nudged him playfully, but Link would not be deterred.

"Only a fool," he said, checking nesting alcoves one by one, "would go haring off into a storm like that one. That's no measly microburst. You might as well call it a huracan." In fact, they'd almost certainly have roof repairs to make in the morning. Link's room, which lay right under the angled roof of the main clifftop building, would need more buckets.

No matter. His comfort was less important than the birds'.

Spinel was covering her new clutch of eggs and she glared at him when he pulled her curtains aside to check on her. Viridian was preening his feathers, ignoring him with supreme indifference. Argent was resting, though she kept a wary eye on the high open bays and the blowing of the wind.

Dorey was making a mess of his nest, rearranging the straw piles in no semblance of order. Azure tried to nip at his hand, looking for a treat… or reassurance. Terreau was rubbing his neck against one of the nesting posts, scratching an itch, while Rosie's hatchlings circled Link's feet, nipping at his trousers.

He gently nudged them aside. "I know you're nervous," he chuckled, "but seriously, you are too small to be getting in peoples' legs like that."

He went deeper into the bay of nests, where the light of the gradually vanishing open sky didn't reach, and flicked the light switch.

Orange light flickered to life with a slow clicking sound; one of the bulbs on the ceiling had burnt out, but the others were warming up.

He finished his round of checks, relieved to see Groose's loftwing Sombre returning from the outside. As soon as he confirmed every bird was back, he could move on to the other bays.

Crimson's nest was relatively neat, he was glad to see, though Crimson tried to nip his fingers off for even daring to give the nest more attention than Crimson himself.

And then Link saw the empty nest next to Crimson's.

The little nameplate at the bottom was hardly visible, even in the orange light, but Link didn't need to see it.

"Damn it."

Violet wasn't there. If Violet wasn't back…

Zelda.

He strode out of the nesting bay and into the adjacent bays, where Groose and Cawlin were both making their own head counts. The breeding loftwing stocks were more important than their personal riding birds, but the two men didn't seem overly concerned at that moment. Birds were soaring nearby, enjoying the last warm updrafts ahead of the storm, only beating their wings when they slowed for approach.

Maybe Link was worried for nothing. "Hey," he said, while Crimson followed him, as dutifully and curiously as a hatchling, "have you seen Violet at all since this morning?"

Groose finished sweeping stray hay to the side, blinking up at him. He glanced at Cawlin.

The other rancher shrugged and said, "No. I assumed Miss Zelda took her out for a flight. Haven't they returned?"

Link shot Groose a nervous look, and the giant red-haired rancher returned a raised brow.

"She must be on her way back," Link said. He couldn't shake the worry from his voice completely, though.

"Must be," Groose said.

"Must be," Link echoed, again, nervously.

"Maybe she was trying to escape her suitors," Cawlin muttered derisively. At Groose and Link's frowns, he straightened. "What? You know how these families work. There were rich guys at the door just this morning, hoping to add the aerie to their assets through marriage."

Something tasted sour in Link's mouth. He knew, of course. You didn't work for Bosphoramus Aerie without knowing exactly how these things worked, how each stable traded wealth among their heirs in the same way they traded blood among their birds.

Link had pretended not to care. Even if it filled his gut with dread.

Zelda, for her part, had been flying out a lot more lately, and sometimes she asked him not to tell anyone, and he'd saddle Violet while pretending he didn't see her tears of frustration, and he pretended not to worry, and he pretended it didn't matter.

"Who?" Groose blurted, and Link snapped back to reality.

Cawlin grimaced, eyes bugging out in the universal expression of 'how should I know?', but Link saw Stritch approaching, clutching his broom handle nervously.

"I saw Ghirahim Diamonds of the Necluda Wing Club," Stritch said. Stritch loved the world of loftwing racing; his memory for faces and names and statistics was unparalleled. "Misko Bards from the Kakariko Aerie and Revali Archer of the Rito Elites were there too. And there was another guy, a real big shot from Gerudo? Kohga something or other, probably the new owner of the Yiga Aerie." He shrugged. "At least, that's what Karane said. She's the one who had to serve them tea all morning. And there was Ganondorf Dragmire, of course. You know Bosphoramus has been after Dragmire's black-feather racers for years."

Something curdled in Link's stomach, something that wasn't entirely worry and wasn't entirely storm anticipation. "Did she pick any of them?" He braced, like when Crimson got annoyed with him and flung him into the sea.

"Assuming she has a say," Groose muttered. He was flush with anger, and Link suspected there was more than brotherly protectiveness in him then.

Link couldn't blame him. He couldn't picture Zelda married to a man twice her age, let alone a bloodthirsty rider like Dragmire. Everyone knew his reputation. And it didn't help that the mental image of Zelda in white made Link's stomach churn, and that the churning was almost definitely jealousy. "Are they still upstairs?" He asked, refocusing.

Stritch nodded. "I guess, since their birds are still in the guest bay." Link stifled an uncharacteristic surge of frustration.

"She knows better than to stay out that long," Cawlin said, nervously. They all glanced out at the approaching storm, feeling the wind whipping at their clothes. "She'll be back in time for supper."

She had to be. She knew better than to stay out in a storm. Link had made sure of it. She wouldn't be reckless― she couldn't be.

But an hour later, she still wasn't back.

Night had properly descended when the official word finally spread throughout the aerie: Zelda was definitely missing, and so was her loftwing.

By then, the wind had begun to howl, relentlessly banging against the windows and the buildings up top, assaulting the cliff face and rustling feathers down below.

And Link paced.

The guest bay had been shut; the hopeful suitors would have to wait until morning before they could depart. The breeding stocks were already locked up, too, and one mechanical shutter for the staff bay had been secured, though no one dared to close both massive shutters. What if she returned? Still, the open black maw of night and encroaching storm made the loftwings nervous.

So Link paced.

"Link."

Link would know the voice of his boss, Rhoam Bosphoramus, anywhere. The large man wore his daytime clothes, though evening had long-ago descended and he was entertaining rich guests. There was no cravat or fine jacket for him, though. He was troubled; the lines of worry around his eyes betrayed it.

The massive man paused in the still-open bay, eyeing the approaching storm warily. "Have you seen her?" He did not need to ask whom.

Link shook his head. "No, sir."

The man muttered something that could have been a curse, if the howling of the wind had allowed Link to hear it.

"If she's not back in an hour," he said, glancing at the agitated loftwings, "you'll have to close the shutter."

Link swallowed his helpless anger. "Should we shine the beacon, sir?"

The owner of the aerie nodded curtly. "We're lighting the tower now. But I fear she is wilfully refusing to return." He shook his head. "Foolish girl." There was no denying the worry in his voice.

Link couldn't say anything other than, "If she flies in that storm, she'll die."

Rhoam Bosphoramus had been like a father to him; certainly, he'd taken Link in as an aerie hand when both Link's parents had died, and given him a home and a purpose… But in that moment, he was not fatherly. He was a wounded lion, growling in pain, snarling in anger: "Which is why I can't send out a search party. The risk is too great."

Link averted his gaze, his stomach folding into knots. "Maybe she felt it was the only way to get out of a marriage contract."

The anger faded in the old man's face. Something like pain contorted his features. "There is no marriage contract." He shook his head. "I've tried telling the richest families in Hyrule that their pride would be wounded if they tried to court her. I've said― I've told them time after time that she could not be bargained away." His gaze turned to Link, speculatively, unreadably. "But no one believes me. They're clucking upstairs right now, shaking their heads at her foolishness. All these scions of renown and skill in flight, and not one would dare brave the storm for her. If the livelihood of this aerie and the surrounding town did not depend on trading with them, I'd cast them out right now."

Link felt a glow of warmth in his chest for the man. "Have you told Zelda about this?"

The man shook his head, pain obvious in his eyes. "I wanted to speak to her this morning, but she was already gone." Link felt a surge of guilt at his complicity. "She takes her foolishness from me."

A great horn bellowed overhead, interrupting the old man's sorrow, as the beacon of the lighthouse came to life. As Link and his employer watched, a stream of light originating overhead, at the clifftop, pierced the sky like a lance, sweeping over the low clouds. It vanished rapidly into the wall of clouds, which only served to highlight how grim and dark the storm was. Lightning responded, and a roll of thunder like a warning followed.

"Gods have mercy," Rhoam breathed.

Crimson had settled next to them; he wasn't asking for an adventure anymore. He could sense Link's worry and he simply let out a soft croon, now and then, though Link couldn't bring himself to find comfort in it.

"Violet is strong," he reasoned, when Crimson rubbed his beak against his leg. "And Zelda's a good rider." One of the best, actually. One of the only riders who could match him. "They'll be alright." They had to be.

There was no reply. Only a low rumble of distant thunder.

But Rhoam shut his eyes, and Link saw the grief come over him. "She cannot survive this. Who could?"

The man was experienced; he knew birds better than anyone. He understood the weather as surely as a sailor, as certainly as any mariner feels the rain in his bones. He had taught Link almost everything Link knew, and this storm would be historic.

But he was wrong.

"She will," Link said, firmly. His fingers dug into Crimson's feathers before he could consciously articulate what he was going to do. "I will find her."

The old man's eyes widened. "Link―"

But Link climbed on Crimson and whistled his command against the wind and they tumbled out into the storm before he could listen to reason.

He thought he heard Zelda's father call out after him, but refused to listen. If he returned alive, he'd force father and daughter to speak frankly, and then… and then maybe he could…

No. Now was not the time.

For a moment Crimson was in charge; his loftwing beat back fiercely against the wind that battered the cliffs, broad red wings deep grey in the stormy night. The bird made a cry that sounded like effort, and Link wrapped himself against his body on instinct, reducing their facing, blending into the feathers. He hadn't even saddled him; it was a dangerous choice. With only the collar to cling to, he would be particularly vulnerable.

But he had no choice. His chest felt empty and light as a hatchling's; his eyes were uncommonly focused. He wasn't himself then; he might be Zelda's only chance, and that meant he had no other purpose.

He whistled a low, even note, the command familiar as a childhood lullaby: 'Fly.' Then, two notes, rising and rising again: 'I guide.'

Crimson knew that melody well. He understood the symbiosis of flight with Link: he was the biped's wings, and the biped was his mind, much brighter and farseeing than any bird's. Trust, as implicit as air, as unfailing as an updraft, bound them both. So he beat his wings and let the infinitesimally subtle changes and blows of each gale against his feathers show him where the wind was violently trying to go.

Flying in a storm was like swimming in the tide; one had to find the current and trace it, use it rather than fight it. Link whistled again when he felt the warmth buffet his face: 'Keep.'

It was easier said than done; the storm's front winds raged around them, seemingly pulling them in two directions at once: up, uncontrollably higher, to the place where riders froze and choked, where birds could only fall; and down, dangerously low, where the sea churned and hungered, where there would be no escape.

But Crimson adored storms; he folded his wings to fight the updrafts, then spread them to slow their descents, and bobbing through the turmoil he approached the wall of clouds, making one last warning squawk: 'Back?'

'Onward,' Link whistled low, tangling his hands twice over in the collar reins.

Shutting his eyes against the violence of the wind, Link felt Crimson dive into the storm.

The rain was the first thing he felt, striking like bullets at a fairground shooting gallery, and Link counted himself lucky there was no hail.

'The place where we dove for fish,' Link whistled. It was a complex tune, built of various commands and references he'd worked hard to write in Crimson's memory, and it referred to a specific bluff of rock off the coast, about two miles out, where Zelda loved to sit and read. If she had any sense at all, she'd have sought shelter on firm ground, even if there was little to no shelter there. It was safer to wait on land, even if she ended up drenched and miserable, than to be flying in the worst storm of the season so far.

Crimson banked and Link felt the familiar swoop in the stomach that betrayed a rapid descent. Almost simultaneously, he smelled something pure in the air that made the hairs on his nape and arms rise.

Lightning was charging up, mere moments away.

'Fall!' He trilled, the urgency striking him and Crimson at the same time.

Crimson folded its wings before the whistle even evaporated, and as one they dove like a stone towards the sea.

The rain was pelting them, but Link could hardly feel it. His face was whipped by the wind; Crimson's feathers fluttered madly around him, and though he could feel the air leaving his lungs, he couldn't even hear himself screaming over the raging of the storm.

Lightning exploded around them, so close the crack of thunder rocked the blood in his veins.

Brine splashed into Link's mouth, the violence of the spray and shriek of Crimson's efforts snapping him back to reality. Under him, his bird was flapping desperately to stay out of the churning sea. White crests flopped everywhere, so close Link thought he could reach out and touch them.

The lightning had missed them, but only because Crimson had fallen against the waves, so low some of the walls of black water rose higher than them.

'Rise,' Link trilled, and Crimson strained to obey.

As soon as they were stable again, Link scratched Crimson's drenched feathers, whistling an appreciative tune. 'Good work,' it meant, 'impressive bird', 'well done,' and, 'thank you,' all at once, and if Link's eyes were filled with water, he reasoned it was the rain, not fear.

The stone bluff was battered by the waves, Link saw as they approached. He blinked against a curtain of rain and tried, in vain, to spot the pale colour of Zelda's clothes or the purple of Violet's feathers against the bare rock. He made Crimson circle it once, and twice, and failed to see anything.

This was the closest spit of land. If she wasn't here, she might be… He whistled again, heart sinking. There was only one other place near enough that could have served as a refuge, and it was quite some distance away, so if she wasn't there… 'The place where we eat palmfruit,' he commanded.

Crimson swerved, following a draft of wind, and beat his wings fiercely. Whatever the case, Link decided, whether she was there or not, they'd have to land at their destination and let Crimson rest. He wasn't accustomed to winds like these; he hadn't had the opportunity to soar in flight, which would have allowed him to catch a breath.

Eventide Island was the last safe spit of land before the vast expanse of the Necludan Sea. If she wasn't there, then she had tumbled into the sea, and…

Link glanced at the black foamy expanse through the haze of the storm. If she had tumbled into the sea, then she was dead.

The island rose out of the darkness like a hill of black, the palm trees on its shores bent sideways under the force of the wind.

Crimson landed on the beach like a stone, shrieking, and it took him several paces before he could collect himself. Even twenty yards from the water, Link could feel the sea spraying at them both. The wind was whipping sand into his eyes, so he stumbled away from the beach and up into the relative shelter of the trees, blinking in the darkness.

The island seemed deserted, but…

'Follow,' Link whistled against the wind, squinting to check whether Crimson had heard him.

The loftwing followed, breathing heavily, as Link stumbled through high foliage and caught his feet against exposed roots. Gods, but he couldn't see a damn thing.

He was about to pause for breath when he heard a distant note, one he thought he imagined until Crimson straightened, tilting his head curiously.

The note sounded again, and Link realized it was a song.

Violet's song. Æ dar che vù no ben shùn zhu―

Hope surged inside him like the tide itself, filling his limbs with energy. Pushing himself over the rocks, he tripped up the incline of the island, catching himself every few steps to avoid falling into unseen pits or pools. The storm raged overhead; lightning struck every second, it seemed, illuminating his way only partially, while thunder seemed to throb into the very foundations of the earth.

"Come on," he panted, as Crimson hopped along carefully. "I can–"

He found the cave just as another explosion of lightning and thunder broke the sky above the island.

And inside, nursing a small, smoky fire, he saw Zelda, wet and curled over, alive and unharmed.

She was sitting against Violet, who was preening her feathers diligently, and she looked up at him with such honest surprise that Link wondered if she'd needed help at all. The song she had been singing died on her lips.

"Link?"

He stomped over to her, exhaustion flooding him, and wrapped his arms around her, so firmly she squeaked.

"You're alive," he mumbled, against her hair. It was snarled and unevenly dried, and her clothes were cold and humid, so he assumed she'd gotten a bit of a shower earlier, but her fire was beginning to dry her out.

Well, he wasn't helping her at all, soaked through as he was. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"You're alive," he said again, pulling away to check her face.

Crimson approached Violet with cautious pride, puffing up, though the female loftwing ignored him completely, a sign that did not deter Crimson in the least. He cooed, she preened, and Crimson strutted, and she scratched at herself, and they were back to their usual dance.

"You're here," Zelda said, while Link ran the pad of his fingers over her cheek, then down her shoulder and her arm. She sounded absolutely confused. "What– Link, how are you here?"

"I came to find you," he rasped.

"You what?"

"Don't sound so offended. You didn't come back," Link said, defensively. "What was I supposed to do?"

She gaped, her mouth opening and closing several times like a beached fish. "What― What do you mean, what were you supposed to do? You wait the storm out, you lunatic!"

Crimson nudged Violet with his beak and she snapped at him, and he danced away, crooning amusedly.

"I couldn't do that– What if you were in trouble?"

"I'm not in trouble," she said, gesturing wildly to the cave, to the fire, to herself. "Do I look like I'm in trouble?!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Link shouted back.

"You taught me!" She exclaimed, eyes wide. "Literally, you taught me how to be safe in a storm. I did what you taught me: I found land, I found shelter, I built this goddess-damned fire, although you didn't mention how damned smoky wet wood was going to be, and I just did what you taught me!"

Crimson clucked. Violet cooed. Link felt warmth inside him that was not strictly from the fire.

Dangerous.

"Why were you out?" Link asked, pulling away because she was burning his hands. "I told you the storm was coming, didn't I?"

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't say it'd be here today. I was just going to wait out Papa's visitors. And then, well..." She gestured vaguely.

"Right, those," Link flatly said. "You know your father doesn't intend to force any of them on you, right? So you've frightened all of us for nothing."

Now it was her turn to be indignant, and her turn to ask, "Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"We really need to come up with some sort of long-distance communication method," Link said.

"Or I should just choose someone else and make it moot."

The heat in Link died instantly, replaced by a cold flood. "Oh. Yeah. I guess."

Crimson nudged Violet again, and Violet rubbed her beak against his nervously before turning away.

Zelda was quiet for a moment; the fire spat smoke. Then, slowly, she looked at Link with a strange mix of suspicion, curiosity and shyness. "You risked your life just now."

Link threw another wet stick on the fire and scowled. "I wouldn't have if I'd known you didn't need me."

"Did anyone else fly out? To search for me?" Thunder crashed outside.

Link shot her a smile that was half derision, half bemusement. "Do you know anyone else at your father's aerie with my level of stupidity and recklessness?"

"You're sitting with her," she murmured, and Link thought the cold in his veins was ebbing. "Anyway," she added, with deceptive lightness, "I wouldn't call that stupid. I'd call it brave."

"Funny how often those things overlap," Link muttered.

She considered this; the storm rumbled outside. A long moment later, after Link had begun to think they'd both lapse into comfortable silence, she said, "I didn't think anyone cared enough to find me in a storm like this."

"That's something else I'll need to teach you, then," Link grumbled. He watched as Crimson folded himself next to Violet, alert and curious. The purple loftwing, in turn, rubbed her head to the underside of Crimson's beak. Birds had it so easy…

"And none of my would-be suitors came looking for me," she said. Something in her tone had shifted.

He glanced at her. The fire sputtered. "Were you testing them? Because if so, I need to strongly advise against that in the future."

"But you came," Zelda continued, like he hadn't said a word.

Her gaze was bright green in the glow of the fire, and Link felt his heart thump.

"Well," he said, drawing the word out nervously, "of course."

She was studying him. It always made him nervous when she studied him. "You say 'of course' like it's a given. It's not. You're just going to confuse me, now."

"Confuse you," he repeated. "Confuse you how?"

She scooted over to him, and her fingers came out to touch his sleeve; he was so drenched with rainwater he was forming a puddle next to her fire. "You should take that off," she whispered.

"Now who's confusing whom?" He rasped.

She smiled at him, a light in her eyes that wasn't entirely fireglow, and Link thought for a moment she was mocking him.

It was unfair, he decided, looking down at her; she was near his elbow, close enough to touch, close enough that he could see the high colour on her cheekbones, the many shades of pink on her lips, the soft alabaster of her brow, the length of her lashes, each trait as familiar as his own, each more appealing to him than anyone else's. His benefactor boss' daughter. His longtime friend. Zelda.

It didn't even matter that her hair was a matted mess from the rain, or that she sometimes shivered from the cold. She was… She was. "You're teasing me," he breathed.

"Only if you say no," she said.

Her fingers reached for the hem of his soaked shirt. Maybe she was right, he madly considered. Maybe he would catch a cold if he didn't remove his clothes, and she was just being reasonable…

"But if I say yes?" He wanted to breathe, but he found his lungs were still, the breath caught inside them, like a single exhale might wake her back to sanity. The fluttering of her fingers made something hot lance through his body.

"Yes is a mixed blessing," she murmured. Her eyes darted between his, green and blue in the firelight. "Yes gets complicated fast."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes means talking to your father the moment we return." There were rules to things like these, after all―

"Yes also means you rescue me from awkward suitors, though."

"Is that a requirement?" He asked, lightly. She had inched closer. Her chin was resting on his arm and she was peering up at him attentively. Her gaze had darkened. Her fingers had found their way under his shirt to his skin and were cold, but somehow it burned anyway.

"I would greatly appreciate if you said yes," she said.

"This is not why I came here," he said. "I swear."

"Then why did you?" She asked, and her nose was very close to his now, dangerously close, so close he could feel her breathing, could almost see the pulse at her neck, could smell the damp perfume of her hair, could only sit still, desperately still, or else he'd do something stupid. Like kiss her.

"I was worried," he breathed.

"And?" She put her hands to his shoulders now, kneeling between his legs. How did she get there? What was she doing to him?

"And…" His voice failed when she reached up and brushed his messy hair aside a little. Oh, gods. "And I like you."

She gave him a shy smile that belied her daring, her intrepidity. "Like?"

"Zelda… Please."

"Take your shirt off," she laughed, and then she was kissing him, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but about an hour later he had a lot he would need to explain to her father.

"Oh, I'm going to be out of a job soon," he breathed, staring at the cave ceiling. Both Crimson and Violet were staring at them with mild disgust.

Zelda pushed to her elbow next to him and grinned down at his face, and Link discovered he was alright with the forthcoming annihilation of his aerie career. "I won't let Papa fire you, I promise."

"I'm never going to live this down," he said, reaching up to run his fingers through her dark gold hair.

"Please," she scoffed. "I seduced you. No one would ever believe this was your idea." Link wanted to get offended, but she kissed him again. "And when Papa hears you dashingly saved my life, he'll understand why I care for you so very much."

"I didn't save your life. You didn't need saving. We should fake our own deaths and live here forever," Link said, while she climbed onto him and rested her cheek against his chest. "It would be easier."

"Don't be ridiculous." Thunder rumbled outside, but he was warm and dry now, and she was soft, and nothing mattered.

"We could do it. We wouldn't even need clothes."

"Oh, that's not your brain speaking. Worry not, you'll come to your senses again soon."

"I sincerely doubt that―" He let out a low whine. "You shouldn't rub me there. Makes me stupid."

"And brave, too," she said; her voice was low, insinuating, and heat stirred inside him all over again.

"We shouldn't," he said, but he was rising and she leaned down to kiss his lower lip and that melted all his resolve. "Once was bad enough; if your father hears about this―"

"I won't tell if you don't," she breathed, and he made a noise in his throat that was not wholly dignified. "Besides, how else will we pass the time before the storm passes?"

"Words aren't working," he managed, because she was on top of him now. His hands reached up and touched her where they could reach, and it was extraordinary. "You're dangerous for me."

"Oh yes," she laughed airily. "Professional hazard."

Crimson made a noise of disgust, and Link turned his head to frown at his bird. "Don't look."

Thunder cracked outside and Zelda kissed him again, so he didn't hear Crimson snort or Violet croon in exasperation.

Yep. Sometimes the world just had something big in store, and there was nothing mere mortals could do but accept it.

Cheers again to CM for this lovely piece! So fun and unique and I just love it so much.

As promised last time, here are a few resources for those who want to consume content by Black creators, or support causes that benefit the BLM movement. (To all my readers who sent lovely, heartfelt responses to my letter: Thank you so much. I see you. I hear you. And I'm really, really glad you're here.)

Fun stuff:

Kittynaut has some amazing Black Sailor Moon pins and stickers for sale, with all proceeds going to BLM. For anyone like me who's a junkie for Sailor Moon, it's a great purchase.

Chocolate City Comics has some amazing art and comics by and for Black/POC audiences.

Itch dot io has an incredible bundle of games available, with profits going to fund racial justice and equality. As of yesterday, the bundle had already raised $3 million, and there's a ton of great games in there, so make sure you check it out.

Those are our resources for tonight. I'll be publishing a last round at the end of our final oneshot on Saturday. Thank you all so much for coming on this wild ride with me, and for your continued support and readership. It's so great to have fans like you!

And, of course, as always: Stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.