Happy 35th anniversary to the LoZ & a 4 year anniversary to Breath of the Wild!
This idea came to mind when I was replaying the game and considered how many times I accidentally died by falling off a cliff or getting blown up by bombs, and how I just youtubed how to do shit when I got stuck. It made me think that Link definitely needs some help & maybe a guide. Then I started to consider who would be able to help him, then this story just kind of...unraveled.
Although this is an in-game fic, there is naturally a uniqueness by adding Zelda as an active character and travel guide for Link, (especially since she's going by an alias & pretending to be a stranger to him). The storyline will stay mostly the same, but I'm trying to avoid any repetitive writing. New AU content will be introduced, new advancements on their past, Zelda's side to the forgotten memories, exploring their mental health & relationship, and lots & lots of Zelink.
Angst / Smut / Romance / Comical / Slow Burn
After the prologue, it's all Zelda + Link POV from here on out. I hope you enjoy!
His breathing is soft and steady, like the soothing rhythm of waves.
In a dark unknown room, he is alone, lost and forgotten to this world, existing merely as remnants of a fable, now. He has no thoughts or worries, no fears or dreams, only the peaceful darkness that surrounds him. He feels nothing, he thinks of nothing —is completely motionless except for his slow breath and sated heartbeat. It's not terrifying or lonely to exist out of place and out of time because it's all he's ever known.
In this melodic submersion that is his sanctuary, a distant voice creeps through the silence and calls out to him.
...Link.
...Link.
He hears it in the faintest corners of his mind. The voice is muffled and choppy, like swimming under water, and the noises from above are distorted and eerily different. He never stirs from his slumber but the smallest part of his attention is now alert, just incase the voice calls back to him again —and it does. It whispers; closer and more distinct this time.
…Wake up Link.
Everything before had existed in a vacuum —absent of time. Now, he feels like the world around him is in motion, racing towards the present, trying to catch up with that pleading, feminine sound. He feels it nudging him from his enchanted slumber and his next inhale becomes heavier and more pronounced with the subtleness of new life entering his body.
The weight of consciousness becomes its heavy burden once again, something that hadn't plagued him for over a lifetime.
Then a new voice, his own voice, speaks out to him —a welcoming reality that had been dormant for so long. What's going on? The question enters his thoughts briefly, and the voice seems to answer in return.
…Open your eyes.
In this reawakening, the softest golden light appears. Ever so distant, yet so inviting. Should he head towards it or should he return to his deep, empty subconscious? He felt at ease there —his body and soul laid to rest where the burdens of life couldn't haunt him— but did he really want that? Should he dare let his curiosity take over just to see what lies beyond this shadowed void?
Without making his own decision on the matter, the light begins to grow until it becomes a blinding white nothingness all around him, and then the voice repeats the command.
Open your eyes…
The voice is gentler this time, the anxious undertone gone from its tone. It's no longer a plea but merely coaxing him out of his dream state.
As his mind journeys towards the blinding white light, his eyes begin to open. Were they shut this whole time? With his physical senses tingling, he becomes aware of the environment around him and it's…moving. The strange substance that surrounds his body begins to drain away, making it feel like he's suspended in a small, personal ocean and the waves have pushed his body onto shore.
Wake up Link.
His eyes flutter open.
Slowly, a blur of hazy blue hues begin to align with their proper shapes. When his eyes finally focus, he realizes he's gazing at a centerpiece above him. It's artistically designed and displays glowing blue dots connected with lines in a pattern that could possibly be constellations, and he finds it unidentifiable, unrecognizable, but enchanting either way.
As the last of the liquid substance drains away, his eyes begin to move slowly around the room. It's the first movements he's made in a century, but he doesn't know that yet. He notices the wash basin he's in, lined with textured swirls and a glowing blue essence that he doesn't quite understand. Is this some sort of technology?
Before he gives in to the curiosity within him, Link takes one more moment in the calm silence to inhale as long as he possibly can. His breath feels strange and new, like he's either been holding it for ages or maybe it's the first he's ever taken, he's not really sure, but then suddenly he remembers the voice he heard —now the first memory his mind has tucked away. Did he imagine it? No… that's not possible. He couldn't have imagined it because he had never heard that voice before.
So where was it coming from?
He rises and begins walking towards the only other structure in the room and takes the Sheikah slate from the pedestal as a door opens on the wall before him, beckoning him into the wild.
This is one of his favorite perches in all of Hyrule.
To the west the traveling bard can see the rust colored mesa mountains of Gerudo Desert, where mysteries seem to begin and never end. He gazes towards his homeland of the north and spots the snow covered peak of Hebra, protruding high above the mountain range. It's odd, unique crescent wound displayed like a proud scar for all of Hyrule to witness, although its origin story is now lost to memory —just like most things in this world. He can see the dark malevolent clouds forever lingering above Death Mountain as the lava flows dangerously down to where the contrasting humble Goron folks reside. This perch where the flighty musician stands displays one of the best views of the slumbering Hyrule Castle, forever a charred scab at the center of this world. A blackened heart barely breathing.
No, Hyrule is not without its scars and wounds, cuts and burns, it seems.
And of course, over his right shoulder, he can view the crumbled ruins of the Temple. It must have been a site to behold during its glory days, though now it is just another memory almost forgotten. Almost.
Although the clerestory and western tower still remain, it displays a great wound along its side, enervated but not destroyed completely. He stares at the structure, grateful for his Rito wings which allow him to see such a legendary building hidden atop this vacant high ground. How long has this Temple held together? How many eras of time has it seen come and pass, and how many more will it bear witness to?
The Temple is like a song, he thinks. It changes and resurrects, is forgotten until it's discovered again. Its story is passed down as legend, speaking perhaps more tales than truths, adapting throughout time just to survive. Just like the way a song carries throughout a generation, it morphs and rearranges, becomes relevant to the present after an era of being lost. It will be revived, retold, will share its wisdom when it's found once again.
He carries these songs within him and perhaps he's the only one to do so now. When he had taken his apprenticeship, he knew one day the songs must be retold —either by him or his successor, whomever that will be. Perhaps one of his daughters will appreciate these songs like he does. He's always cherished the stories told from old, passed down through the line of poets and singers, dancers and performers.
Artists, he thinks. Artists pass down history more so than books in Hyrule. Books can be burned, destroyed, but songs of legend, they never seem to die. Not completely.
The bard comes here when he knows he won't be interrupted. Not by the rowdiness of stables or the crashing ocean waves, vagabonds or wanderers intrigued by his unique musical instrument and Rito voice. His race is known for being talented warriors, skilled in the combat of hunting and archery, albeit his path has always been different, but just as significant.
Nay, he seeks the Great Plateau because he knows no one will disturb him; not even the hooded stranger who is the only occupant atop this Plateau. He observes him sometimes, chopping wood by his cabin, wandering the Forest of Spirits or resting in his little alcove like he is now —always seeming to be in several places at once.
Perhaps he is a memory, just like one of my songs, he thinks.
Before he begins reciting his teacher's lessons, he likes to stand for a moment in silence; to mourn for the land and all its wounds, its misfortunes and destruction. It has seen its share of hardships come and go as it is will again and again —an endless cycle of destruction, peace, restoration, and war. He stands in silence to give admiration to where it need given, for this world, no matter how many scars it bares, is still beautiful, still strong, still breathing.
When he's ready, the bard takes a cycle of breath, ruffles his feathers, and rolls his broad shoulders. He flexes his feathered fingers against his instrument —the weight of it feeling light and airy much like the melodic notes it performs. He closes his eyes and hears the melodic music of nature around him, feels the wind through his feathers the way a song can breeze through a soul.
"What song shall I perform for you today, Hyrule?" He asks and it doesn't answer. "How 'bout an ancient song today, eh?"
The finches and squirrels scatter behind him.
He thinks it could have been a coincidence, but then again, Kass knows there is no such thing. He feels the vibration beneath his talons, hears the rumble of the cave behind him, creaking and moaning, whirling and swirling. The sounds of lost technology no longer dormant, and nature giving in to change.
Looking over his feathered shoulder, Kass opens his eyes and smiles towards the shrine. Ahh, a new ballad has begun.
He rises from the cliff and soars away in a flurry of colors before the Sleeping Knight ever knew he was there.
Hylia, you know we do not meddle in the affairs of man. This is asking too much.
The four stand between time and space, shrouded in the purple embers of twilight. Here, they each stand atop a pillar of cobblestone suspended in another realm where no soul but deities have ever stepped. This meeting has been taking place out of time because the four that stand here use it as a tool —chiseling and forging paths of story and legend, creating lines and webs that are infinite and benevolent.
But now, if Hylia did not seek aid of her creators, her own path may result in an ending at all timelines.
You created me. You created this world. It is your responsibility to see it endure, Hylia says.
No. We created you for that very purpose, o ne of the Three Sisters speak.
I cannot be in two places at once, trapped inside a mortal body. This is my only option. Hyrule's only option.
Why do you not go in her stead? Surely he will be better guided in your care. Forever curious, the Goddess haloed in blue ponders.
She cannot hold the sealing power alone. Ganon would be released to my world before the Hero's first breath.
You are one of divinity, Hylia. You cannot hold the Seal if you are not encased in mortality, states the Goddess haloed in red.
Discussion and asking questions are a good sign, Hylia notes. They are finally coming around.
You will recall, I have used that very same power at the beginning of this world against Demise himself. I was not mortal then. If you grant me your blessing, I promise all of Hyrule will be saved.
Silence falls. They're considering her request.
Hylia, are you willing to sacrifice yourself for this land that we have made? The green haloed Goddess asks.
Haven't I already proven that?
Yes, you have —but this. You have never asked of this before, the Goddess of power speaks.
You would break the cycle, you would make it linear. You would make it end, the Goddess of courage adds.
Even I do not know if you can be sewn back together, the Goddess of wisdom concludes.
Then let us try because I have weighed the options and I have no other.
Silence blankets over the four Goddesses until finally, she can feel her creators giving in.
The Princess will not be the same without you. Her soul will be incomplete. If you are sure this is what must be done, then my Sisters and I will fill her void of where you once were whole, Nayru states.
What about the Hero?
His spirit is unbreakable indeed, but he is not worthy of our aid, Farore speaks.
We can do nothing for him now. He is too weak to adorn even a breath of our might, Din adds.
It is understood, Hylia replies.
Then you have our blessing, but remember, this will change Hyrule's future. They speak in unison, in warning and in prayer.
Time is always rewritten for my world. Hylia bows to her creators and in an instant, they are gone.