The story so far (at a reviewer's request!): After escaping a death sentence, self-imposed exile, and an attack by besiegers, Link shares an emotional reunion with Zelda. Later that night, Zelda stands on the roof while the besiegers feast. She thinks (or angsts) about Link and her husband, the siege, pregnancy, and everything in between. To add to her troubles, her doctor gives her some bad news about a festering wound. The chapter ends with a prophetic dream sequence, which every fic featuring Zelda needs. Three days later story-wise, we have...this! Enjoy!

By the way...thanks, reviewers, for inflating my ego by increasing my review count!

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For three days, Link had wondered if the king's bastard would view him with awe or contempt now that he'd proven himself a friend of the queen. He would receive nothing but contempt, he knew the moment he saw the man guarding the door to the council room.

"Her Grace commanded me to allow no interruptions. The councilors require silence." Hard and unyielding as glass, the bastard's green eyes crawled over him.

Link gave the older man a sideways look. What is he looking for? Some flaw to exploit? He would be disappointed; all the weakness had melted from Link during this siege, or so he hoped. "Surely your sweet mother wouldn't mind an interruption from me...and her councilors won't even know I'm there. That, or they'll pretend not to. M'lords high never pay attention to common folk."

"Should I take the word of a traitor?"

"Maybe you should take the word of the queen. I've been summoned." He handed the parchment to the bastard. Link had no more letters than he'd ever had, so when the maid brought the note to him that morning it had to be read to him. A high post in the garrison awaits me, with all the honors I'm due. The taste of remembered shame was so thick in his mouth now that he was like to choke on it. His last correspondence from Zelda had been torn to pieces by the guard at the gate, and the memory of it still galled him.

The bastard's face was still but Link could see the displeasure in his eyes, the desire to shame him. He was on the point of drawing the sword at his waist when the bastard looked up from Zelda's letter, thrust the parchment back at Link, and moved aside. "You may enter. But don't think this means I feel any more kindly towards you, turncloak."

Link allowed himself a moment to taste the triumph. This man is mine, he told himself. "I'm under no such delusion, bastard...but you do have beautiful eyes." He patted the man amiably on the shoulder and opened the door. The king's councilors regarded him silently as he entered.

The council room must have been beautiful once. Dusty tapestries covered the walls, thick carpets were on the floor in place of rushes, and eight lordlings as starved as any garrison man sat at a great wooden table. Every window in the room had been flung open but the air was still thick with the scent of rot, a sickly sweet odor.

Zelda stood before one of those windows in a pale blue samite gown that brought out the color of her eyes and exposed the tops of her heavy sagging breasts. Her hair was an artful tumble arranged so that most of her pockmarked face was hidden, and her ruby crown still burned. One of her hands was held carelessly out of the window, fingers half-curled as though endeavoring to catch the breeze. For a moment the queen looked so atypically vulnerable that Link couldn't take his eyes off of her. "I hear men laughing..." she said wistfully.

The lordling with the black butterfly on his blue surcoat stirred. "Laughing at us, most like," he said in a high thin voice. "We've been besieged for a year, Your Grace. To no result, to be sure, but it's mad folly still. The kingdom bleeds, and we bleed with it. Last night we found a few of our men baking their commander in one of the ovens. He was withholding their rations, they said. Your royal husband sentenced the men to death for that, but..."

"I was aware," Zelda said calmly, and as quick as that she was queen again. She withdrew her hand, whirled around...and her eyes found Link. There were no tears in them now; there were precious few people Zelda shared her weaknesses with, he knew. "Link. You are come at last. Be seated."

Link sat in a seat at the end of the immense table and did not speak. The conversation picked up again with scarcely a pause. "This is folly," said another one with a sliver of moon on his breast. "Hiding behind Your Grace's skirts avails us nothing, begging your royal pardon. I still say we should meet Pollard in open battle, and throw all our strength against his. He is grown lax after so much time, and it might be that we have a chance."

"Might be," Zelda mocked. "Such uncertain words. A thousand starved garrison men against ten thousand horse and thirty thousand foot? Against all the strength of the south? These odds seem poor to me."

Poor to me as well, Link thought. What acclaim has this man won in battle, to be so bold?

An old man with an octorok for his sigil leaned back in his chair, chewing on the nub of a writing quill. "I agree, Your Grace," he said. "But I also must agree that this siege is folly. We were soundly beaten in the field, and there's little hope of victory for us now. As you say, our garrison is starved and unruly, and Lord Emery is well supplied with siege machinery, men-at-arms, and food. Food most of all. A wiser woman would bend the knee, it seems to me. There's no shame in it; rulers have done so in the past, and will do so long after we are dust. If they storm the castle and you are taken, it will go hard for yo-"

Zelda turned on the old fool in blue-eyed rage. "I do not mean to be taken." The last word rang in Link's ears, unspoken and deadly. Alive. They all heard it, it seemed to Link, but none so keenly as him. For seven years, Zelda had survived despite - or, perhaps, because of - Ganondorf's dread magic power; Link knew such a woman would break before she bent.

"Leave us, councilors," she was saying. "I would speak with Link privily now. Tell the bastard that no one should enter. Tell him I command it."

"As you say, Your Grace," said one with scythe and sword crossed on his surcoat. Silently, with not so much as one glance at Link, the lords filed out.

"Your lords love me not," he said lightly once they were alone. "Am I too common for them?"

"They do not know you as I do. My lords..." The queen stopped and considered, bitterness passing over her face like a dark cloud. "My lords come in two varieties. Green boys and sweet fools. The fools are more common, as you've no doubt seen. But no matter the variety, they all dream of winning immortal acclaim in some song by eating shoe leather and wedding me once my royal husband starves to death. I'd dismiss them all, but I dare not displease Berent." She had been pacing, restless, but for a heartbeat she paused and looked at him. The longing on her face was so clear that Link felt his pulse quicken. "How sorely I've missed you and your counsel. You haven't changed at all."

Would that I could say the same. "Does Berent Pollard dress you like that?" he asked her, so softly. "Is it his pleasure to drape you in samite and silk like a princess in a song,that you might behis own sweet daughter?"

"His daughter?" She stiffened, her mouth tightening, and just like that the longing was gone. "You do my husband an injustice, Link. Berent's given me a goodly supply of wool gowns over the years, and not nearly enough jewels. The princesses in songs are always well supplied with jewels, as a rule. He hasn't serenaded me with the high harp either; nor has he slain any dragons in my defense. Wholly unsatisfactory as a husband. Evil, even - yes, you've helped me see that now."

Link remembered what she'd said, about not daring to displease her husband. "Is it a new husband you fancy, then?" he asked in a deadly quiet voice. Steel whispered against leather as he stood and drew his sword. "I can make one for you, I swear it."

Her eyes found him again. They were full of poison, full of contempt. "Put your sword away! Do you mean to slip into my husband's bedchamber this very moment and slit his throat with that? Have the years taught you nothing? It was naught but a jape, Link...a bad jape, I see now."

Angry and ashamed, Link sheathed his sword. Never had he been the subject of such derision - not from Zelda, not her. She's as prickly about her marriage as the bastard is about her, it would seem. The why of it was still a mystery to him, but he thought he was starting to glimpse the truth. "Your Grace..."

The queen sighed and closed her eyes. "No more of this Your Grace, Link," she said, sounding weary. "Have you learned courtesy for my sake? It shall not serve, no more than it ever has. We are more to each other than that...or am I wrong?"

Zelda. Her name was there, just there, just beyond his reach. He hadn't let that name pass his lips since the sweet summer day she'd told him she was to wed one of her cousins, and he didn't know if he could speak it again. But they were all alone and some of the coldness between them was melting, so Link took the chance. "Zelda, then," he said, laughing. How right her name sounded on his tongue. "Now are you pleased?"

For a moment Zelda's pale eyes flickered with amusement, but the moment quickly passed. She dropped her gaze and resumed her pacing. "I'm sufficiently pleased," she allowed. "I suppose I should be glad you've learned some courtesies, though. You fled for Calatia in the dark of night like a common thief without even asking my leave. Did some statesman across the water teach you to speak gently, is that the way of it?"

So that's the game she wants to play, is it? Link couldn't deny the change in subject left him ill at ease. So much had been lost between them in the past ten years; what good would come of telling her what he'd found? He told the tale anyway, just to lose himself in something. "The men across the water didn't teach me courtesy; I learned other things, though. The world only begins where Hyrule ends, Zelda. What wonders I saw! Men who lorded over fire and water, a moon pearl and a serpent's foot, temples to both old gods and new-"

"So you sold your sword to merchant princes in need of protection." Her voice was laden with disapproval, all traces of kindliness gone. "You might as well say it plainly. I have heard it said that men who sell their swords are without honor..."

"You seem to know better than anyone else that the gods gave me courage. That's not exactly the same thing as honor. Besides, the things I did across the water were no worse than what I did in another life. For you."

Zelda flinched as though he had hit her. "Don't you dare throw that in my face! What we did...what we both did...we did for the gods, not each other. But I suppose I deserved that..."

"No, you didn't," Link said, suddenly contrite. "And neither of us deserved what the gods gave us. I believe that more than I believe anything. I still dream of Ganondorf some nights."

"Me as well." Zelda turned sharply and went to the window, as if to hide some emotion she couldn't mask. "But it's better to have dreams of the man than to face the man himself, and all that happened many years ago. The foe we face now isn't half so evil, but he may kill us all the same."

Link was never sure what made him move: the way Zelda looked as she stood by that window, simple curiosity, or a desire to pursue the longing he'd seen in her eyes earlier. It didn't matter. One moment he was sitting and in the next he was standing, and coming to her. The smell of rot was stronger by that window, as if the balmy wind seeping into the room brought with it the stench of death. And perhaps it does.

The castle grounds below were all mud, a chaos of privy trenches, grand pavilions, and men-at-arms drilling. For a while the two of them watched the soldiers as they were put through their paces, letting the comfortable silence stretch. Finally Link found it in him to speak. "You don't think Pollard is evil, then?" It was an odd opinion for Zelda to have about an enemy; he knew her to be a woman of absolutes, or thought he had.

"Of course not. I danced with the man at my wedding feast, and talked to him when he came to pledge his fealty, and he's my husband's brother besides. He overreaches himself, however. Ganondorf was no different, which is why he ended the way he did. We ought to hope that Lord Emery ends the same."

Her husband again. Link wanted to ask her if the well-wishes he'd given her while kissing her fingers had come to pass, if she'd found happiness in her marriage, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Maybe not exactly the same," he said in a feeble attempt at gallows humor. "I grow weary of epic battles."

Zelda did not smile, only looked out on the besiegers once more. Link knew what she was seeing: the yellow warhorn flapping in the breeze, the oak tree flying high, the blue dragon and the three crowns, as many different banners as a man could count and more. All the strength of the south. "I find I have grown weary as well," she said faintly. "I suppose I shall nap a while; you should do the same."

"As you say, Zelda. Now, may I go? By your leave?"

The queen turned and looked at him. For the first time since he'd come to stand beside her at the window he realized how close they were - such a petty thing to concentrate on, yet important to him all the same. Her long maidenly hair, the stale sweat clinging to her like perfume, the sharpness in her eyes - no, that last part wasn't right... "You do not have my leave," Zelda said in a hard voice, breaking his illusion. "First I will know how you mean to champion my cause."

Link had almost forgotten she'd thought him a champion the night they met again - or perhaps he'd willed himself to forget. She does not know, he thought. She does not know she had me in her dungeon. And then: She must never know. "You'll know the moment I do," he told her. "First I must plan. Then comes the championing."

"Ah, of course." Zelda's voice was hard - but mingled with some softer emotion too. "I am but a woman, what would I know of such things? Go, Link, and see about planning your championing." She waved a hand at him, dismissive and curt. "Go."

Clearly, the conversation was over. Link nodded and turned to go. He should have kept going, but instead he turned around to face the queen one last time. "Zelda...how have you spent the past ten years?"

Zelda looked over at him, giving him a good look at her ugly face. A sudden sadness crept into her eyes, surprising and uncharacteristic. "That's a darker story than I care to tell today. Night is falling fast enough without me aiding it. Now, go. Before you make me wroth."

He went. The bastard was still guarding the door, looking bored and miserable, but he was dutiful enough to give Link a sneer as he emerged. "Leaving so soon, turncloak?"

"It seems so, bastard." Link studied the man for a moment before he started walking again. There's nothing in the bastard but spite and hate, he thought as he walked. Is that how it always is with him? Is that how I will end someday - just some bitter man scowling at imagined slights, for ever and ever?

But once he put the bastard behind him, he had to smile despite everything. Their talk had been tense, and he wasn't fool enough to believe their problems were behind them...but Zelda had helped him forget about how desperate their situation was, at least for a little while. It was as if they had been talking on some yesterday ten years past, when marriage was still a suspicious stranger to them. And the way she kept looking at me... That was an unworthy thought, but pleasing all the same.

And the way she kept looking at me... The longing, the contempt, the sadness. What an idiot he had been to ask how the last ten years had been for her, like just one of her sweet fools. She's besieged, poxy, and married to a cousin, I wonder how the last ten years have been for her.

And then there was the other matter, the one that didn't bear thinking about. She wants me to be her champion. Did that mean he must crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty? There was little hope for victory; he'd seen that clear enough, once the old lordling pointed it out. But Link knew that if Zelda stayed as stubborn as she was, he'd have to either find a way for the Crown to emerge victorious or die when Pollard's forces stormed the castle. There was no in-between, not with Zelda.

Old habits die hard, and it took Link a while to realize he was going down to the castle's great hall. His hunger was a fierce thing and he didn't turn back, though that would have been the wise thing to do. The madness was on him to swallow enough food to ease the aching in his middle, and enough water to wet his tongue.

But when he saw the garrison sitting at the trestle tables, he froze.

Link had never liked the great hall, but now it reeked of danger in a way it never had before. Dirty servants were bringing a few joints of meat, still dripping grease, to table; the ragged garrison men seemed enlivened by the smell of cooked food, but Link could only wonder where the meat had come from. At one of the tables, men were arguing loudly about the size of their ration while others, blank-eyed, worried at onions black with rot. Orren lay beside the great hall's hearth raving and shivering by turns, but no one seemed to care. Link had still been chipping away at his tunnel when the castle doctor sawed off most of the soldier's crushed left leg and tried to cure the infection left behind with maggots and bread mold. It hadn't worked. Like as not, Orren would be dead before morning. They'd lost a lot of men to infection during the past year.

The great hall could feast a thousand, but it was barely half full. The siege had culled the weak and the cruel and the stupid from the garrison's ranks, leaving them a bare five hundred; that lordling who'd spoke so boldly would have been shocked to see it, but Link wasn't. It was still possible for him to turn back, even then, but Link's legs seemed to move without his permission deeper into the hall. Past his hunger, he felt the stares.

"Link!" He turned at the sound of the voice. It was Shepp who'd spoken, one of the men who'd been arguing with a commander about his ration. He was superb with the bow and very comely, but Link had never liked him. The young man had to holler the rest to be heard over the men who argued still. "Come down from your tower on high to sup with us, when you could have your pick of the queen's table?"

I should leave. Now. Link was about to do just that when, quiet as shadows, two garrison men sidled up next to him and guided him bodily to a seat on the bench near Shepp. The men had been his brothers once but now their faces were hard, unreadable. That was when he felt the steel edge of a sword against the back of his neck, so he didn't try to move or even speak.

An arguing man spared as glance for Link and the two men "guarding" him. "Come to get your crumb, brother?"

"No." That was Shepp. "Most like he just finished having high tea with Her Grace the queen. Just think about what they ate; she was setting food aside for herself months before the siege started, you know. Honey cakes. Pumpkin soup. Some cucco..." He wiped his mouth.

"No, brother, they probably supped on sausages. Thick juicy sausages. She likes those sorts of things, you can tell that just by looking at her, and they stay fresh for a long time..."

One of the maids, prettier than the others, was slapping the hands that groped at her as she passed out small pieces of stale bread. When she hit his, Shepp stared down at the hand as if he'd forgotten what it was. "Insolent bitch!" he raged. Cries of assent rose with an alarming rapidity.

"That is enough," the commander - a man that Link did not know - said. "There is nothing that girl can do to increase the size of your rations. Nothing I can do about it, either. Now sit, eat, and keep the silence. That is an order!"

For a moment, Link dared to hope that the habit of obedience ran too deep for the garrison men to continue their folly. And for a moment, it seemed that this was the case. Shepp quieted and lowered his eyes while the maid remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere, and the other arguing men began to tear off chunks of charred meat to eat. Then two men started arguing over an unclaimed joint of meat, and they had their swords out so fast that Link doubted what was happening.

Their battle began. The two men thrust and parried, their swords meeting so quickly that Link soon lost count of the blows. Then one of them stumbled and the other plunged his sword deep in his guts, and twisted. Once the corpse had fallen the victor turned away and grabbed the nearest joint of meat he could find, devouring it with animalistic ferocity while the hungry men around him roared in outrage.

Feeling curiously apart, Link turned his eyes back to see how the commander was taking all of this; two men had him by the arms, and as he struggled to free himself, a third man crept up behind him and drew his sword. "You'll die for that," he told the feeding man. "The king will hang you in a crow cage from the ramparts, you-"

Link never saw who threw the dagger, but they must have had some practice with it; it buried itself in the commander's throat with startling accuracy. When Shepp pulled it loose blood sprayed from the wound in pulses, each one weaker than the last. The man who'd crept up behind the commander, brandishing his shortsword, set about decapitating him. Three vicious blows to the neck and the thing was done. "Bugger you and your orders," Shepp said then to the dead man's head, scowling.