The only fun part of this was the smut and the ending.

Oh yeah, there's smut ahead haha.

One year later

Below, the courtyard was filled with people. Party lights lit up the pillars, hanging from the banners strung between them, illuminating the gathering spilling outside.

Hazen watched them, peering through the clear glass of the window. He sat on the cushioned bench built into the bay window, legs pulled up so he could rest his elbows on his knees. His hair fell into his eyes, and he shook his head to shift the short pieces.

Saval had finally convinced him to cut it. The ponytail was gone, and now his hair ended at the base of his neck; to his chagrin, Saval had insisted--with his mother's support--that it be parted to the side, and they'd been impossible to dissuade. So now it hung in short locks in front of his eyes, making it damn near impossible to swing a sword accurately, or walk down the halls in peace. He could still hear the tittering and unsubtle whispers following him.

And that was a whole other problem.

He sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the wall behind him. It was indeed a problem, and one whose solution was tonight--a ball in his honor. A ball to try and convince him that one of the court ladies might be worth his time.

Hazen opened his eyes, glaring at the ceiling. He hated Lord Jalhalla's phrasing. It wasn't that they weren't worth his time. They were all worth his time. He just . . . didn't like any of them. Not like her.

A sigh escaped him again. He was doing that a lot lately. It was a source of great contention for Lord Jalhalla, and apparently the other nobles as well; otherwise, Hazen suspected they wouldn't have gone to the trouble of pressuring his parents into this farce.

The ball wasn't Zelda and Link's idea. They'd never have done something so obviously shallow. The other members of the court unfortunately weren't as considerate, and had annoyed Zelda into approving the ball as a chance to allow Hazen a taste of "the court life he'd once so enjoyed".

The implication that Hazen had made his rounds of the court ladies was bad enough--but the blatant, open invitation to do so now had Hazen nearly leaping across the table, a hand on his sword. Link had pulled him off and away and Zelda had told Jalhalla to do something inappropriate with his accusations.

Hazen and Jalhalla were not on speaking terms at the moment.

He had no doubt the fat, arrogant noble was parading his poor daughter around the party, proclaiming Hazen's nobility and grace "utterly failing of a crown prince and certainly unfit for my daughter, mind you"--loudly and often, increasing with the goblets of wine consumed.

He'd heard it before, anyway. Jalhalla's complaints were nothing Hazen was unfamiliar with, after suffering through Lord Odolwa, Lord Gohdan, and the young Lord Ralph, who was even younger than Hazen was himself, at seventeen. Ralph had proclaimed his sister, the Lady Nastia, a child of sixteen, far too out of reach for the likes of the prince. Hazen had readily agreed--not that it had gotten him anywhere.

Hazen couldn't figure out why Ralph disliked him so much, but found thoughts of the Labrynnian noble fading as the realization sank in once more, slowly, as it always did.

He was nineteen now. A year had passed since she'd left.

She would have found Ralph ridiculous, he just knew it. What would she have thought of the situation he was in now, he wondered?

"Now that's ridiculous," Hazen muttered, adjusting his seat. It didn't matter what she thought.

He forced himself back to his earlier thoughts. The court, as conniving as it ever was, had made its position clear: he had moped around long enough. They wanted Hazen married, and they were determined to have it happen within the year, hence the endless hounding and pestering to "get a move on", or so he'd overheard Oldolwa griping to his butler. They'd begun pushing their daughters at him, and though he hated the idea of marrying a girl who probably didn't even like him, at the very least, and was being pressured by her father into the mess at the most--though he didn't want to bother with any of it at all--he'd given them some effort. He'd tried.

He felt bad for Jalhalla's daughter, he really did. Lady Marina was a year younger than himself, pretty and slender despite her father's . . . portly figure. But her hair was too blonde, her eyes too green, her face too soft. She preferred spring colors--the light greens and whites and pinks and yellows that spoke of grass and sunlight, open meadows and glittering lakes under the summer sky.

She was a good fit for someone like Faroe. His little brother was becoming not so little anymore. He'd turned thirteen in the last year, and was starting to hit his growth spurt. Dinsel wasn't far behind, either, and the new age had brought with it all the stark awkwardness of adolescence.

The Lord of the Mountain, Lord Satori, had a daughter--Lady Sage--who might have been a consideration. Willowy and quiet, she had the dark hair and pale skin and icy blue eyes of her father, and the grace and composure of her mother, the late Lady Satori. But Hazen knew that Saval's brother, Zhen, was madly in love with her, and she returned the sentiment.

Her eyes weren't the right shade of blue, anyway.

Below, in the courtyard, the fiery Lady Riju had made her entrance. A woman of twenty, an elusive Gerudo nomad, she had the sharp eyes and sharper wit he'd grown used to. All flirt and brown skin and red hair like flames, the gold coins sewn into her decorated outfit tinkled with the slightest movement. She'd worn a traditional Gerudo gown, rich in red color and gold adornments, which meant the top was simply a wrap around her chest and a skirt below her belly button, slit up the side.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd worn something similar. She'd been the object of many courtiers' attentions during the evening, including Hazen himself. She'd seen straight through his first few attempts at conversation, however, and had merely winked knowingly. Later, he'd caught her staring across the courtyard at a nobleman's daughter from the Kakariko region. Lady Eldine had been dazzling the court all night in her equally-as-dazzling black gown, sparkling like the diamonds her region was so well known for, when she'd caught Riju's wink and smirked.

So that was another strike.

Every other woman was either not available or not an option. Dinsel had warned him away from Lady Arina with threats and coercion, despite the age gap that Hazen would rather die over than try to bridge, and, well, it had become obvious by now that there was no one to catch his eye.

Which made tonight exceptionally painful.

Zelda had seemed weirdly anticipatory towards the party, despite swearing up and down that she'd strip Jalhalla of his lordship after it just hours earlier, which made Hazen immediately suspicious. Something was planned for tonight, and now that it had started, he was growing more and more anxious to find out what it was.

Which was how he'd ended up in the empty ballroom three floors up from the actual party, waiting like a vulture to see what happened.

So far, nothing. Not yet.

"Hazen?"

A knock at the door preceded his mother. She poked her head in, finding him immediately at the window. She strode across the floor towards him, pulling the white silk wrap tighter around herself. Her gown was nicer than usual, a flowy confection of white silk and pearls. It came up to a halter, and looked like it was hand-painted with faint, colored flowers, strands of pearls sewn in artfully. Hazen squinted at it, then at his mother, who met his look with a narrowed gaze and smile of her own. She sat beside him, her curled hair falling from its loose knot to graze her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, you give me a look like that and then tell me there's nothing bothering you?"

Hazen shifted in his seat. Well, she wanted answers. "Why did you agree to this?"

She was silent for a long time. Hazen pulled at the sash over his tunic, and felt her sigh. Her hand came to his back, rubbing over his shoulders. "I know how you feel, darling," she said quietly. Hazen swallowed. "But I truly think this will help you feel better. Try to come down, all right? We'll be waiting for you."

He managed a nod, and she withdrew, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He heard the click of her shoes as she left, and the soft sound of the door closing behind her. Hazen sighed loudly, sliding down the couch, his hands covering his face. You have to move on. She is not coming back.

He knew that. He did. And he'd tried to hang onto it, tried to remember her words from the night in Termina, but . . . as the months passed and the court began whispering, and everyone gave him that look, it became harder and harder not to wish it was different.

How am I supposed to do it, anyway? He thought, angrily. Just forget about her, as if it's as easy as breathing? If anything, breathing had gotten harder since she left.

He felt a sigh crawl up his chest and took a deep breath instead, letting it out slowly. I don't want to live with regret.

What was the use? Whether he regretted it or not, she still wasn't there. She'd still left. She was at home, and he was with his family, utterly alone, but what was the use in wishing otherwise?

There isn't one, he told himself firmly. So suck it up already. It's been a year.

His hands fell down to the floor, fingertips brushing the stone. He stared up at the ceiling blankly.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Lady Marina's quiet affection for him was real. She enjoyed their horse rides, and her soft voice sometimes rose into a lively tone when she was excited, or found something funny. And when they sat in the fields on a blanket and she caught him staring out towards Waker Sea, as if he could see that house in Termina, she laid her hand atop his and said nothing. She knew how he felt, after all.

It had been a huge stir in court. Around two years ago, Lady Marina had lost her betrothed in a fatal boating accident. She'd been unable to appear in court for weeks after.

Everyone had known how much she'd loved him. The fact that now she was willing to marry a man she knew didn't love her spoke to her strength, and Hazen's guilt.

Her lover had died. And yet here she was, patient and caring with him. Trying.

He knew she was at this party. He'd seen her with her ladies in Alana's suites, being fitted when he picked up something for his mother. She'd seen him and curtsied, her cheeks coloring slightly. And he knew that if he went downstairs now, she would be there, waiting for him.

His throat bobbed. He could grow to love her, probably. And if he couldn't, then he'd force himself to. She deserved at least that much from him. And he could give her a son, a daughter, a good life. He could be a husband to her.

Her face flashed in his mind, and he closed his eyes, fighting back the ache in his throat.

"She's not coming back," he whispered to the empty room. It didn't respond.

Below, the party awaited.

Hazen swallowed again, forcing himself to sit up. He stood from the couch, straightening the white sash across his tunic, and ran his hands through his hair a few times. The short pieces fell into his eyes, and he shook his head to shift them. "Let's get this over with," he muttered.

He'd barely taken two steps when a voice rang out, and he froze in place.

"There's a party in your honor and here you are, moping. I really thought better of you."

No. He was hallucinating.

"You never seemed like the pouty type, either. Maybe I misjudged you."

His chest hitched. He turned to the door as the air in front of it shimmered, and a woman walked towards him, her shoes clicking on the stone floor, her dress swirling around her with every step--every step that brought her closer--

--to him.

Hazen sucked in a deep breath, unable to take his eyes away. Her steps slowed, the smile she wore beginning to fade. "I finished what I needed to do," she said, and now her voice had a note of uncertainty. "And, so I thought, maybe I could come here."

Come here. Come here.

She stopped just in front of him, looking up at him with bright eyes. They were narrow and sharp and blue, like he'd remembered, just like he'd seen in his dreams. "So here," Irene whispered, her voice weakened, as if his proximity had stolen her strength. Her hands came up to his chest slowly, unsure, and his breath caught.

He couldn't speak. He wanted to, there was so much to say, to ask, but the words stuck in his throat, and he could only stare, a hoarse, baffled laugh escaping him. Irene returned it, her lips twitching as if she was barely holding her own words back. She closed her eyes as Hazen's fingers drifted over her face, slowly, a barely-there touch--as if he were committing the feel of her to memory. He should have done it before.

She must have seen the questions in his eyes, because she spoke, her voice for him only. "I helped my hero finish his quest, like I was supposed to," she said quietly, her hands slipping up to cup his face. "When it was over, I . . . went back home, and tried to forget what happened. The house was gone, everything . . ."

She trailed off, taking a steadying breath. "I stayed with Link for a while, but left after a few months. There was something in me, pulling me," she said, meeting Hazen's eyes. "After wandering for a while, I realized what it was. I followed the pull all the way into the mountains, and found them. The witches."

Hazen started. Irene let out a soft laugh through her nose, her lips twitching upwards. "I know. I was so surprised, but it felt like home, you know?"

When he nodded, his smile mirroring hers, Irene flushed slightly. "I stayed with them. They taught me what they knew, and all the old spells and even some new ones, spells only they could cast. They taught me how to read the stars and how to make something from nothing--how to convert the energy of the world into my power--it was amazing," she whispered, and only when Hazen's finger brushed her cheek did she realize she was crying.

She took another deep breath as Hazen led her to a door. He pulled her into the hallway and through another door. It looked like a guest room, and as he came to a stop in the center of the carpet, he didn't let go of her hand. "They taught me how to watch the timeline as they did--as they have been, all this time," Irene said, meeting Hazen's gaze. He hadn't spoken, and though his eyes still had some of that star-struck look in them, she clearly had his full attention, and she could feel the gnawing worry begin to eat at her again.

Stuttering slightly, she spoke again. "Th-they helped me look through my own timeline, to make sure it wouldn't be disrupted. It took a long time--months, to make sure I wouldn't damage anything when I left--but when we were done, I . . . I couldn't wait any longer."

She almost wished he knew what she would say, so that she wouldn't have to say it aloud. But he didn't speak, didn't give any indication that he knew beyond the slight widening of his eyes, so Irene swallowed and said, "Since I knew leaving wouldn't hurt anything, I decided to come to you."

Stark silence fell. Irene felt the creeping embarrassment settle over her, felt it in every single one of her arteries, but she couldn't move. How arrogant it must have sounded--to leave, disappear from his life and then just walk right back in one day, expecting a warm welcome? He'd be insane to take her back, whether he'd said the same thing she had that night or not. Even if he loved her, there was no--

"You're staying?"

Irene jumped, her face flushing. She struggled to stay upright instead of sinking into herself. Her voice failed her right then, reducing her words to a mere whisper.

"If you want me to."

The intensity of his gaze was too much. Irene lowered her eyes, her words now flowing out too fast for her to stop. "I--I mean, I know it's a lot to ask, and it's out of nowhere, so if you--"

The sound of Hazen's laugh stopped her short, and she looked up to see only the glint of his blue eyes and crook of his smile before his mouth was on hers, as warm and soft as she'd always remembered it to be. She melted in his arms, sighing as her eyes fluttered closed. Hazen pulled her tight against him, and though she could feel his body trembling--with emotion, with laughter, with desire, she couldn't tell--his lips were gentle and slow, moving on hers with a lazy insistence--as if they had plenty of time.

Irene felt a laugh bubbling up from deep within her, and soon she couldn't stop it. She had to stop kissing him because she was smiling too much, and then he was laughing too. He lifted her up and spun her around, and her laugh echoed around the empty room. She hadn't felt so light in months--

Hazen set her down but didn't let her go far. Irene looped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead against his. "Nice dress," he murmured. Irene smiled.

"It was custom," she breathed, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He hummed against her neck, running his nose along her skin. "I noticed you were in heels."

Her smile was softer now. "I practiced."

Hazen stiffened. Then he sighed, suddenly ragged, and lifted her up. Irene yelped, surprised, as he set her down against the bed, and her heart kicked wildly into gear. It slammed against her chest as he kissed her, no longer slow but wanting and hungry, and she teased him, sliding out of his grip and onto the bed. He followed her, his eyes dark and unfocused, which made it easy to turn him onto his back and climb on top. She lifted her dress, swearing when she couldn't see through the layers. "I'll never get used to these," she muttered.

Hazen grinned at her, and something in the crook of his mouth sent shivers down her spine. "There's an easy solution for that, miss," he breathed, reaching underneath to assist. She leaned down to kiss him.

"As long as there's someone here to help me." His buckle was undone, his trousers pulled down--

"That won't be a problem," Hazen's words ended in a groan, his head falling back. Irene settled atop him, and his hands fisted the sheets.

"Move, please."

Irene snickered, shifting, and Hazen groaned again, his hips lifting with the movement. She began to move above him, biting her lip lightly at the feel of him. His hands came up to her chest, moving over the dress. "Why isn't this off?"

Irene bit down on the moan crawling up her throat. "We have to look presentable for--for the party."

Hazen growled, his hands tightened on her hips and pulled her flush with him, and the moan she was suppressing slipped out. Hazen's voice rumbled in her ear. "No sharing. You're mine."

She shivered, her breathing coming harder. There was a new angle in their position, and as they moved, his hard lower stomach was rubbing right there, and she could feel his teeth and tongue on her neck, her ear.

"Oh gods."

His breathing grew heavier, his hands tightening on her hips. Irene flicked a finger, and gold cuffs around his wrists. Another flick and they grew chains, and pulled his hands from her hips, pinning them above his head. "Kinky," he breathed, grinning.

She couldn't respond. She could feel the wave inside begin to increase, more and more until she was gasping against his bare shoulder--when had she torn his shirt off?-- her nails digging into his skin, and as that wave broke she bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sound of her climax in the golden skin.

He followed soon after, breath ragged, his body arching off the bed once, twice, a third time, and his heart slammed against his chest, mirroring her own. His body shook, struggling to hold on, and Irene purred into his ear, "Go on."

Hazen groaned. His head fell back, his eyes screwed shut and teeth grinding as he came.

Irene lifted her head drowsily, smiling a bit as Hazen's fingers traced circles on her back. The dress she wore had small sleeves that crossed just below her shoulders, leaving them and part of her back open. "What did you say?"

"I'm a bastard," Hazen said softly, staring up at the ceiling. His tunic and shirt were undone, and his bare chest rose up and down slowly.

Irene lifted her head, propping her arm on the pillow to hold her head up. "Why?"

Her voice was hoarse, but he heard her clearly. He smiled a bit, more of a twitch of his lips than anything, and looked down. "There . . . there's a woman. Her name is Lady Marina."

Irene didn't say anything, even as her heart began to cave, but Hazen wasn't finished speaking, so she just swallowed and waited.

Hazen took a deep breath. "The court has been pressuring me to get married. For a long time, I just . . . couldn't. Didn't want to. But Lady Marina is patient, and she knows what it's like." He glanced at Irene. "She lost her betrothed in a boating accident."

"Oh," was all she could say.

"I was actually trying to convince myself to . . . to marry her," he said quietly, almost in a whisper. "I thought, since I couldn't have you, I should try to love another woman who cares for me. And then you walked in," he added with a laugh.

Irene simply nodded. Hazen looked at her, his brows twitching. "Irene?"

She took a breath. She understood--truly, she did. And it was what she'd wanted for him, what she'd prayed he'd find when she was gone. A woman to love him. To care for him and take the place that Irene might have had--the place she'd wanted. She blinked, her throat bobbing, and smiled up at him. "I'm happy for you," she said, willing him to see it in her eyes. And he did.

A shaky sigh escaped him. He wrapped her up, pulling her flush against him. His fingers threaded through her hair, and he sighed into her neck. "Only because you weren't here," he whispered. "It's you--it always will be. I just--"

"It's okay. I promise, it's okay."

He let out a sharp breath, and she thought he might have begun crying, if he didn't lift his head to her shoulder, letting it rest there. "We have another problem," he said to her collarbone.

"Hm?"

"I have to tell her you're here."

Irene pulled away slightly. "Do you want me to stay back?"

Hazen shook his head, letting her go. He buttoned up his shirt and tunic, pulling the white sash back on, and ran his hands through his hair. "No. She deserves to know why. And I want you next to me."

Always was the word he didn't add, but he didn't need to. Hazen gave her a smile, extending his hand, and Irene accepted both, offering her own in return. He pulled her from the bed and to the door, brushing the loose curls of her hair from her cheek.

"I didn't get to look before, but where did you get this dress from?" he asked, his gaze trailing over the skirts.

"It was one of the gowns Alana made for me when I was here," Irene answered. It was one of her favorite designs, if she was honest, one she'd been looking forward to wearing. The cap sleeves slid down her shoulders, and the simple, heart-shaped neckline went down into a skirt that hugged her hips just a bit before flaring out. It was ivory, with a layer of tulle over the silk underskirt. The clusters of sequins covered the bodice and continued down the length of the gown, and when Hazen looked closer, he saw the clusters had tiny, thin strands of pearls hanging down, and that there were thousands of sequins sewn into the fabric. With her hair gently curled and her witch crown in place and her eyes sparkling, he felt a pulse of emotion run through him.

It was beautiful. It was her.

"It suits you," he said, and something in his quiet words must have hinted at his thoughts, because Irene met his gaze and her lips twitched.

They left, walking the halls of the palace. The sounds of the party grew steadily louder until they reached the turn in the hall. At the bottom of the huge spiral stairs, they exited a pair of glass doors into an overhang. Climbing roses and plants grew over the stone, and the pathway led into the familiar, wide courtyard between the Gatehouses. The court was everywhere, gowns and jewels sparkling in the dozens of torches flickering in the failing light. Hazen led Irene through the throng, pointing out the lords and ladies of the court and who had started what rivalry, and her muffled laughter sent warmth earring through him, Hazen was keeping an eye out for a blonde haired green eyed lady. As Lord Satori shifted in his discussion with Lord Koholint, she appeared, and he felt his heart start to sink.

A hand tightened on his arm. Hazen glanced at Irene; she nodded bracingly, and he took a deep breath.

The walk over to Lady Marina was painful. He knew he was stiff, and he knew she had noticed Irene on his arm. He stopped in front of her, acknowledging Satori and Koholint's bows with his own, and met her gaze. "Lady Marina. May I introduce Lady Irene."

He turned to Irene, but saw that she had already taken Marina's hand. "It's so good to see you again," she was saying, and the emotion in her voice was real.

"I wish I could say the same," Marina joked, winking, and they both laughed.

Flabbergasted, Hazen looked between them. Marina took pity on him and explained, with a twinkle in her eye, "We met when Henya dragged this poor girl to Alana's suite, all in a huff." She laughed. "I helped distract Henya, and during Lady Irene's stay here at the palace, we ran into each other often."

"We used to have tea in the afternoons, after training," Irene added.

Hazen was blown away. "So . . . so you--''

Lady Marina smiled softly, taking both their hands. "I knew who you were in love with," she said, green eyes knowing. "And I knew I could not fill those shoes, especially not after meeting her."

She glanced at Irene, whose lips twitched up sadly. "I cannot deny that I care for you, Hazen," Marina continued. "But it does not compare to how happy I am that Lady Irene has returned to you. I wish you both all the blessings in the world."

Irene swallowed. "Thank you," she whispered, enveloping Marina in a hug. When they withdrew, Hazen let out a breath and took Irene's place.

"I would have done everything I could for you," he said, stepping back. He lifted her hand to his lips, and heard her quiet response.

"I know."

When he rose, Lady Marina gave them both a smile, curtsied, and returned to the conversation with her grandfather, Lord Koholint. Irene turned to Hazen as they walked away."I had no idea that was who you were going to marry," she said, sliding a look at him. Hazen felt his cheeks burn.

"I--I wasn't--"

"No, it's fine, you don't have to pretend," Irene went on, sighing dramatically. "I'll just stay here by your side, ringless."

She began to walk away, but Hazen caught her hand, pulling her back to him. Her dress sparkled in the torchlight as he lifted her chin, seeing her laughter in her eyes.

"You want a ring?" he breathed, feeling something shift in his chest, setting his heart beating harder.

Irene noticed the change. Her smile became softer, and she cupped his face gently. "I love you," she said, as if in answer, and then kissed him.

And as her mouth moved slowly against his, as the party went on around them and he fell into her harder than ever before, Hazen realized that was exactly what it was.

It was an answer.

So he kissed her back, ignoring everything else but the feel of her mouth on his, and gave her his own answer.

And uh, here we are. I think this is much cuter than the whole wedding thing that I had planned but, like, if y'all want that I could write it in as like an epilogue!

But anyway here's the end of From Your Time. There is one more part to this three part series, called From Your Peace and it's basically an epilogue that explores a couple things mentioned in this story. I personally am a huge fan of linking separate stories together so if you are too perhaps keep an eye out ;) (I would put that one eye emoji there but hates emojis, so *shrug*

Also I changed the rating here bc there is actual legit smut haha. It's not super explicit but like, I mean you got this far so y'all know.

Anyway, I am in desperate need of some sleep so I'll see y'all later! Also I'm super sorry this is mad late lmfao don't hate me!

Okay bye!