A/N: Believe it or not, the more people read this chapter, the faster BOTW 2 will come out. I don't make the rules - odd how it works out this way! Anyone else so so excited for E3 tomorrow? So glad to get out another chapter before any big announcements(?)
And about this story, thank you so much for following the story LINDINI200, PrinRue, Sapphire316! I'm so happy to have you with us! MelodicConvergence and LINDINI200, be proud because your reviews made a smiling idiot out of me, and I hope you take that to the bank because sincerely it means a lot. Please enjoy this next chapter!
Updated: 03-03-22
Chapter Three
It was pouring - yet, Missus Lawdon still helped Zelda out of her tunic and dress. Zelda thought to cover herself, but she was so tired. And the Missus looked too wise to care. She rubbed a bar of soap on a sponge ardently. And when Zelda's arms proved too weak to move, the woman then scrubbed her down as confidently as a mother would clean her own child.
Kindness, thought Zelda, was aggressive as the Wild in the New World. Grass grows over rubble; trees spring from graves; and love and people harden themselves to survive. How quickly did the stablekeeper grab their reins that moment in the forest? He pulled them right into his own home even though they were bleeding and crying. They forced Zelda down into a chair and gave her tea, and even dumped a shot of her best alcohol into her cup. Of course, that was not cheap.
And on her way out to the wash bucket, Zelda swore she had heard the large man by the game table bet twenty rupees on Link pulling through. Oh, she wanted to stop and shake that man's hand; he shielded her brittle hopes. How empathetically they had stared when they had crashed their evening - as if they had known what it was like to be Link, dragged through a dormitory, sacked and bleeding. Did men drink in the same bars their friends died in? Holding herself, Zelda felt responsible.
Counting her minutes away from Link, Zelda pushed her pace and grabbed the towel that Leekah held out for her. Together, they clumsily made their way back to the inn. Zelda leaned in; Leekah held an umbrella over her, though its holes provided passage for the pounding rainwater. Soap-suds slithered down her long hair as they sloshed through the mud. Her sandals slimy and slippery, Zelda kept tripping.
Thankfully, Zelda did not need to walk through the stable's entrance in only a towel. Though she still held it with white-knuckled fists when Leekah led her through a private entrance to the front desk and sealed off the archway to the dormitory with the surrounding curtains. As the drapes unfurled, the woman welcomed Zelda inside, where it was lonesome, dark, and warm. Still, she could hear the pattering of rain on the awning outside the open service window. Beneath it was the front desk.
When Leekah lit a lantern, Zelda saw the row of knickknacks lining the far edge of the desk. There were letters from friends under paperweights, whittled horses and children, empty beer bottles, and a pen stand among dabs of spilled ink. Charmed, Zelda thought of her own study and how it was filled with her own things. Those things said so much about her life. Wasn't it filled with books? Widgets? Horse knickknacks like these? She could not remember, though Leekah's office space made it feel so much closer.
Zelda wiped her eyes, not realizing that tears had spilled over. Uncomposed, she then felt the curtains - they were lavender and so soft.
"I draw them when I need some privacy." Said the woman, swinging Zelda's wet clothes over a wooden beam above them. "Makes me feel like royalty with all the curtains."
All Zelda could do was stare at the kind woman, yet no words came to mind. She had nothing to ask; all her "thank you's" has been exhausted, yet she would have to say it again. Already could feel it coming on. But, Leekah, upon seeing her, held out one finger.
"Now, I must warn you." She began, dropping to the bottom cabinet of the desk and opening it. Clothes laid mashed-up and sprawled on the two shelves. She continued, pulling out a long pink tunic, "We don't see a lot of blondes in these parts. Regardless, you might get some trouble from some of the men, but just give them the finger, and they'll bug off! Goddess knows they're used to getting kicked around by beautiful women. Just look at me!"
Snickering to herself, the woman slapped the crinkled tunic on the desk, followed by some black pants, a brown vest, and a fringed shawl - as well as some underthings.
Zelda did not know whether to join in and laugh or hold her silence - worries plagued her. After all, Link's life was on the cutting board. Where was death? Would it gobble him up as it gobbled all her friends? Cruel fate - make Zelda wait for one hundred years then snatch him up again? Questions bombarded her - though the kindness of the woman sweetened the sorrow. But, when the woman presented her with the clothes, she found herself stammering. Unrepairable feelings of debt and guilt sank her.
She watched her feet. And robotically, she went on, "I-I don't know how I can repay you or your husband."
"Baby-sitting!" The woman exclaimed, "But, we'll talk about that later, though."
Missus Lawdon then pulled out a stump and let Zelda sit. She then provided the underthings for her to step into. Next came the pink, soft tunic - probably the nicest thing the woman owned. And before she could say something about it, the woman pulled out the black trousers for Zelda to step into. Pulling them up, she found a red patch sewn into the knee.
Something about it made her happy, but such a bouncy delight was then crushed beneath the weight of the impending situation.
"Hey, you alright?" The mother neared.
Zelda pressed those soft sleeves to her eyes.
"I know. It's shabby."
"N-No, it's wonderful." Zelda choked.
"Hey, sweetheart? Don't cry."
But Zelda kept crying. Yet, the sudden squeeze of the warmth of the woman's arms soothed her. Soon she found herself up onto her feet - the Missus escorting her back to the bench where her friend lay helplessly.
Link spent the rest of the night in and out of consciousness.
His eyes were heavy, but he fought to keep them open. And peering up, he'd catch those timeless green eyes, zapping him senseless as he fought the lull of alcohol. Above him hovered the Princess of Hyrule - strikingly familiar but blotted out by amnesia's curse. But, pressed in was an imprint on the surface of his feelings like lightning above a cloudy sky, a flashy painting beneath dismal gray strokes, or the sunrise behind thick curtains illuminating the space beyond.
Though woozy, he caught quick glances of her, skirting the curve of her mouth, the knitting of her brows before settling on those red cheeks as she wiped away hot tears. A white, fringed shawl hid the blonde straggles of her damp hair - did she go out in the rain? He wanted to ask, but the alcohol held him under. Though he swore he had been talking to her, asking her questions like, 'Are you alright? Did you get something to eat or drink?' But, even he knew his mouth was not moving, and no one around him made any suggestion to such babbling. Yet, the alcohol made him want to tell her everything - how Impa, the sheikah, and everyone else was waiting to welcome her; the Sheikah would receive her message and come running; that it was not all just ruins and bones. He wanted to tell her all about Kakariko, Hateno, and Lurelin - and how a town called Tarrey was underway. But, it was just his thoughts inebriated thoughts rambling on and on, once again never making it past his lips.
Searing pain in his side had him passing out again - his last sight being the innkeeper's hand, wrapping gauze around his torso while his wife supported Link's weight.
Had the horrible gash closed up?
Will there be any more suffering?
Will he always be in a state of disrepair?
But after all, Link, the amnestic, didn't know much about himself.
So when the scene went black, his thoughts retreated inward, frantically examining himself as he lay unconscious on the shoddy, stable bench.
Who was Link? What would someone say if he were to die that night? A year and a half had him gathering that he was about eighteen years of age - of course, if one would discount the time he spent in the chamber. Whether eighteen, nineteen, or nineteen-and-a-half, he had lived his short life beneath the oppressive weight of destiny. And so on, the mold to his character was giant, and nothing made him feel smaller than a landscape of blasted buildings, graves, and burned-out craters. And even though he had a few acquaintances - some even predating his Great Sleep!-he could never bring himself to talk about his feelings. Said acquaintances - most of them at least - resided in the Zora Kingdom. Yet, all of them either detested him or assumed him royalty due to the unrequited love of their Princess, whom he had let die one-hundred years prior. When he had finally visited after all this time, they had tried to push engagement armor and royal chambers onto him, and he had to decline. Sleeping in trees made him feel less guilty.
On another note, Link could climb cliffs efficiently, had a general distrust for strangers, and if someone threw something at him, he could catch it without thinking. Most drastically, he was good - no, fantastic! - with a sword and bow and battled as if a line of ancestors were fighting with him. The soulful feeling solidified his confidence. And if he let himself dream, he'd imagine the hands of his father cupping his on the mantle of the sword. Maybe his grandfather was holding him by the shoulders, and every other Hero of Time was guarding him though bound to the Great Curtain of Hylia. His heart quaked at the thought. And in those moments, feeling so watched and loved, he wondered what would happen if he suddenly turned the corner. Would he see his father? Was the ghost of his family just peeking from behind the tree? He felt them there. But, perhaps it was imaginary. But thinking of them got him through night after night of monster raids and crawling through mud.
Link had a stomach like no one else and, although shy, he could boldly eat for a family of three if he was not so worried about imposing. And so on, he hated rivers - crossing them in particular - and avoided quiet valleys. Never was he with someone for more than a day, though he'd thaw from his own reticence when someone pushed their way through a humble chat. No matter how pleasant the feeling, his loneliness was king. And while traveling alone, he got used to ten miles a day when traversing the map - and then burying his horses when monsters raged. He'd kick himself at every funeral and pray that the Voice in his head would not see his tears. Yes, the fight to get to Her was horrid and brutal, but the tall mustard flowers always hid him away from the enemies. The tree limbs offered coverage in the thick canopies. Never was he attacked in his sleep, nor did he go hungry. Nature, the very hand of the Goddess herself, was always releasing rabbits for him to hunt, spurting up mushrooms and blossoming flowers for him to collect and sketch by a campfire. And day after day, he'd gaze upon hill after hill laced with wildflowers. Bluebells in the fields, lupin in the mountains, and buttercups on the road; the seasonal flowers were signs to keep going.
And so, he went on and on - through the graves of Hyrule, through the Divine Wilderness, and through the various crises of identity.
Who was he?
How did he end up here?
Why did he feel so comfortable in the air? How could he climb so well? Who taught him to cook? Read? Write? Draw? And why did he feel the pang of homesickness whenever he ate Hateno cheese? Yet, answers were so scarce that not even Impa could tell him about his birthday, parents, or hometown. But in his dreams, he'd see rolling fields, taste smokey kitchens, and hear a mother's voice singing as she layered a cake. And yes, buying a house in Hateno was a sudden purchase, but the deep, compelling desire to connect with the Forgotten Link churned out the impulse.
Although that Link still slept, the present Link was now waking up to the sound of trickling rain in a hot, stuffy room.
The stench was palpable - horse manure harassing his throat. Hot as fire, he stirred, thinking of the Princess once more. Sore and sick, he sat up and pushed away what felt like scratchy wool and linens. A bed encased him. An ensemble of bottled herbs and liquids peppered the end table beside him - its deep muster contending with the odor of horsehair and hay. Against the table, his sword leaned - placed there by someone watching over him. And peering down at himself, he saw that his side had been bandaged. Crimson residue pressed up from the inside of the wrap, though no blood seeped out.
"Link?" Someone breathed.
He heard ruffling in the bed next to him, then the sound of clumsy knees hitting the wood floor. Then, looking over, he stared into the face of the goddess made flesh before him - Princess Zelda! He scampered back in his sheet, suddenly feeling unprepared and un-composed. Though, she just smiled with bleary eyes - as if something about his face was too important to notice such indecency. He covered his bare chest with a sweaty sheet, though the stun would not let him look away.
Like a traveler caught off guard by a grandiose night, he drank her in on impulse. Bouncing between her eyes, he caught the emerald shimmer like a cold. Her face was like the round, pale moon, freezing him in a Hyrulean winter. Almost shaking, he followed the peppering of her freckles across her dainty nose and stopped at the pale pursing of her lips. Petrified, he flung his gaze down, suddenly self-conscious of how long he had been staring.
Before him was a girl.
A girl who nervously fumbled with the sheets at the end of his bed as if they were close.
Had they been friends?
Did he know how to talk to a friend?
"I-I'm so sorry," was all that came out.
Sudden sorrow flooded through him - after all, she had fought for a century, burst by burst of light. And now, there was nowhere for her to rest in safety. Was she alright? That bloody ride? The surgery? How long had he been out? That she was without supervision? Feverishly, he began glancing around the stable - taking in all the hay bales, stained wood, leaks in the ceiling, and the snoring beds all around him. They were still at the stable, but what time was it? What day? Had the Sheikah come? Had the people bothered the Princess? Stressed, he tried to get up and grab his sword, but she stopped him.
"Link, lay down!." She said all too fast, reaching for his cheek. His heart skidded, sweat beaded at his temples, but she retracted her hand with a stammering apology. "E-Excuse me," she choked, "I-I'm just…. so relieved to see you awake."
Locked in, he allowed himself one last shy glance. The Princess Zelda of Hyrule was still there, sighing with precarious relief. This was the Beholder of the Goddess's Blood, the Voice in his head, the Protector of the Kingdom of his father and his father's father - hitting him like a guardian. But, this time, no beast or bleeding gash stopped him from their ethereal meeting. He could finally say hello beneath this safe shelter. Yet, the majesty of the moment silenced him once again.
Should he be on his knees?
Should he take her hand as the knights do?
Should he make an effort to introduce himself?
Or would that make matters worse?
He looked between her eyes, knowing he needed at least five seconds to muster up the courage to say something. But, she interrupted.
"Just lay down and rest." It came out like a coo. She anchored herself before him, mere inches from his face, and spoke, "The stablekeeper - the man over there by the candlelight." Link followed her swift glance to the man sitting with his boots up on the table. He was whittling. "He's been keeping watch, looking this way at least every five minutes. His wife fills his cup with black tea. I think he plans to stay up all night." She paused, taking a deep breath, "They have offered us protection, so please rest."
But he couldn't just lay there. He struggled to get up, but she pushed him back down again.
"Listen," she whispered, "You may not know me, but I know you, Link. And you were the kind of person to feel guilty for being in bed. And I beg of you to not feel that way."
She knew that? Her expression petrified him - so sincere with dignity and concern.
He bit his lip, looking down, and studied once again her anxious fists at his sheets. They bunched the corners as she spoke, "Just lay there and listen, okay?"
Helpless, he listened,
"I must be forward and thank you before my courage runs out … thank you for everything. You have done your duty, entrusted to you by the Divine. You carried a horrible burden. And thus, you made it. And so, you do not need to worry anymore. Do you understand?"
He found her eyes once more - words by the dozen flooded into his thoughts.
"I wish to shower you in ceremony and honor, and while our situation hinders me, the storm is helping." She gave a quick grin, though it did not reach her eyes.
So much he wanted to ask, 'but what about you?'
'Are you comfortable?'
'Do you feel safe? It's so hot in here.'
But such words froze him up inside.
"And so," she went on decidedly, "Please sleep for as long as you need to. I will be right here when you wake up if need be. But, all I ask is that you rest." She then hurried to her feet, "Oh, let me see if I can get you something!"
Urgency demanded of him, watching her stand. It was now or never.
"H-How are you?" He stuttered.
She stopped in her step and spun clumsily, "P-Pardon?"
"H-H-How are you, Princess?"
She looked between his eyes before letting out a sudden sob, "N-Not well, but… but, I," she froze, her mouth trying to smile, "I expected this."
Watching a tear fall, Link wished he had the energy to get up and get her some kind of handkerchief. He searched, but she had used her sleeve by the time he found something.
'And how are you?" She breathed, hunkering down once again.
Her gaze intimidated him, making him feel exposed. Honesty weight against him; he broke, "I-I think I could sleep for days."
He looked up to check himself, but all he found was a sincere smile - her eyes squinted, betraying the girl within the goddess.
"Please, Link," She breathed, "Sleep for as long as you need to."
He nodded, taking in her words too quickly.
A response evaded him, so the silence settled, letting in the sound of trickling rain. Distant thunder moaned.
Peering up, Link found the Princess had been listening too.
What else could he say to her? He searched his anxious thoughts.
But she spoke first. "I went out in the rain, Link."
He shuttered, hearing his name spoken so casually - as if he had been known his whole life by this ethereal stranger. He looked up in disbelief that she had said it, but those hot red tears caught him again.
"Goddesses! I've been crying all day, haven't I?" She let out a puny laugh while wiping her eyes, "But, I really got to go in the rain!"
Link nodded - the rain. Yes, he could talk about the rain.
"Y-You…" He started, not creatively, but the Princess drank it in "...went out in the rain."
Genuine elation lit up her weary face, "Y-Yes!" She mused, "I stood out there and just - " Her voice then fell short; she recreated her reaching out for the drops.
It tickled Link to his surprise. A shy smile escaped him. As did words, unplanned, "H-H-How did it feel?"
"It felt…" She breathed, eyes scanning for the lightning strikes, illuminating the canvas of the tent above them. "Thrilling, wonderful, and damp."
"D-Damp," Link repeated, trying to sound affirming.
It must have worked because she smiled, "And they let me borrow this tunic!"
"Oh," he started, the suddenness of the comment surprising him - what could he say to that?
"I cannot believe their kindness."
"I-It's really nice."
"It is?" She asked, cheeks red.
He could only nod - it looked really nice.
"It's soft too! And the wife is vivacious and sweet. She helped me clean up, and well - she kept trying to get me to drink, but I am sure I cannot handle that today, but I!" She then stopped herself short - to Link's sudden disappointment. She restrained her hands, pulling them from the air. She pressed her fingertips together, "I-I'm rambling."
"N-No, it's fine."
They both paused, staring at each other in amazement.
"I'm not good at - "
"I haven't had a conversation in a - "
Another pause.
Link buckled his lip. That delightful gaze was too much, so he shyly looked down and gestured for her to go on.
"O-Oh, it's just that I have not had the pleasure of a conversation in a century."
He nodded feverishly.
Princess Zelda cocked her head. "Am I... too much?"
"Oh - um, no!" He hesitated - it's just that he knew the feeling. "I felt that too... when I..."
"When you?"
"Woke up."
Her smile waned, "I want to know how you felt... what did you think? What did you hear?" Her gaze lingered on the sheets, finally returning with a decisive nod, but I should leave you to rest."
Link bit his lip - you know, talking to her wasn't actually so hard.
She continued on, "Again - and I will say it over and over - thank you for all you've done. Please rest however long you need to. And let me know if you need anything. Anything at all." And upon running out of words, she gave an awkward nod before turning back to her bed.
Suddenly, he felt shy again. But, courage went on, "...Y-You... um... don't go too far."
"I'll be right here" She peeped, suddenly tripping into her own bed. Link thought to jump out and help her, but she had clambered up onto the mattress by the time he threw off his covers. She resettled herself, sounding more queenly, "Well, right here."
The stablemaster must have seen her fall. He mouthed something to her while she settled back into her covers. The Princess answered with a shy wave.
The stablemaster then popped out of his seat and crossed the squeaky floorboards to check on them.