Her dress dragged behind her.
Usually, it annoyed her. Her ceremonial gown, even outfitted to be light and water-resistant in the springs, still weighed her down immensely. Even something "water-resistant" couldn't hope to be anything less than waterlogged with how many hours she had kept it in the waist-high springs. It would be unfitting of a royal of her stature, but the idea of shucking it off, and just praying in something lesser was sometimes tempting.
If it were even possible.
Zelda kept her eyes turned steadfastly forward. Risking looking at the object of her thoughts was bound to end up with her openly glaring at him. Even if it were only the other champions accompanying them. None of them would do something to openly mock her. They were good people. Gentle people, even if battle-hardened. They weren't cruel. But she hadn't heard the end of it, the last time the King had caught rumors of her attention.
After all, what sort of fated fusion pair despised each other?
She almost laughed. It clogged in her throat like a handful of thorns, sharp and thick.
What a hope for our future we are.
She continued to wade forward. The weight of her gown grew exponentially.
Still. A princess knew what was expected of her. All royals did–– and her, with her role, well, there was no possible escape from it––
Zelda turned her back to Hylia's image and stared down her nose at her knight, barely a step behind and just as miserably wet. She might have felt kinship if she could manage anything around the all-consuming annoyance.
How eager you are. You just love to show me up, don't you?
(Failure. Failure. Failure.)
It took every fiber of her being not to let her face twist in disdain, reaching out a hand for him. There were more important things than her bitterness. There always were. Success succeeded all. Success for her people, for the kingdom, for their future... for her father. Success he could finally look at and be proud of. Success he would finally decide was something "worth" her time, success he would finally just leave her alone with if she could just grab it––
"Well?" Zelda snapped. Link's ears flicked nervously. Ever the silent, ever the stoic. I am meant to be a relic of wisdom. You can never hope to fool me, with that clay mask of yours. The smallest hint of anxiety was still no victory. "Come here. How am I meant to fuse with you, if you are too afraid to face me?"
The words bit angrily at her. But it would take more than even a royal constitution to admit she was projecting.
Or to apologize for it.
Link's lips pressed into a thin line. Something in her boiled at the sight of it. Still, he readily placed his hand in hers.
Letting her lead. At least one thing could happen in a way that was–– that was something. Something she could control. Something she could do differently. Anything that separated her, in minuscule amounts, from the beautiful, gentle, wise princess of Hyrule. From the bloodline of the Goddess herself.
Something. It was something.
"Don't step on my feet," Zelda reminded again, and felt mixed between shame and something frustratingly unidentifiable that the words lacked the heat she meant for them to have. It was at least a consolidation, that the rest of the champions waited patiently (and out of hearing range) outside of the Spring of Power.
Not that that would make it any easier to do any sort of dance when waist-deep in water. If the waltz weren't a fixed part of her royal status, she might have entertained the idea that her father had her be taught it only to aid her in fusing here. A faster dance would have just been chaos.
Zelda pulled on Link's hand and cringed as his callouses rubbed uncomfortably across her palm.
She doubted he even noticed, but she made an effort to hide it anyway. There was nothing embarrassing about hard work.
There were plenty of things embarrassing (annoying. frustrating. pointless. aggravating.), however, in being forced to pull him closer. Her hand instinctively laid on Link's side, curling around his ribs. He stiffened immediately. "Oh," Zelda gasped, ripping her hand away. Link moved as if to grab her hand, eyes just barely widening, but instead stopped as she froze.
They just stood there, cold, wet, and staring at each other.
Link's face gave nothing away even as Zelda could feel her heart hammering. She barely even knew why she had reacted like that–– Link was not a child. He wasn't even a friend. Soldier or not, everyone knew how to dance. It was his own fault for flinching, his own fault for––
The knight took a step forward. His eyes intent on hers, he cautiously lifted his arms in an unsteady approximation of how she had.
Zelda took in a deep breath. It's not his fault. Not everything is his fault. Get a grip, you don't have time for this. Carefully she raised her arms again.
They paused just before touching him. "We are going to do a ballroom waltz," She explained slowly. "It's the dance taught to all of the royal bloodline. I am leading, so my hands will go here," gently, she settled her palm back on Link's back, curling her arm as far from him as she could, "...and here."
He said nothing as she took his hand again. At the very least, he managed to look offput despite his face. His free right arm dangled awkwardly over the arm around his side. Zelda looked between his expression and his arm. Would it... be rude of her, to laugh? The reputation of the silent knight couldn't possibly stand if it's bearer couldn't even...
Something unexpectedly light and bubbly rose in her stomach. It curled in her throat, behind her teeth, on the tip of her tongue, fluttering like butterflies.
It was so unlike the usual nausea and tension she had that she almost choked on it.
Link was still staring at her, waiting.
"Your–– your arm," Zelda finally managed. It came out slightly forced. If Link noticed at all, he didn't, as usual, deign to comment. He only raised said arm a tiny increment. "You're supposed to... put it. On my arm."
He looked at her for a moment, eyes searching. Zelda nearly snorted when he oh-so-delicately placed his entire arm overtop hers. Maybe she didn't hide it well enough–– his eyes jerked back up to hers.
"No," Zelda said. Her voice shook a little with laughter. Now that it was there, the force of it was nearly hysterical–– she couldn't seem to shake it off. There was just something undeniably funny about it all. Maybe she was stressed and exhausted, and scared, and frustrated. Maybe Link was just a big weird retriever in a Hylian body. But watching her most powerful knight look anything but the perfect and graceful soldier her father claimed him to be was–– "No, just your hand. Yes, there, below my shoulder."
The weight of a hand, even light and rough as his, was familiar. The rise of their joined arms was familiar. The stance of her feet, the tilt of her torso... Without even breathing, Zelda's body settled into it. Easy movements. Childhood lessons ingrained the moment she could walk.
This was something she knew like the back of her hand.
Zelda took a deep breath, steadying herself, and pressed forward into the first, simple step of a waltz––
––and nearly sent the both of them toppling headfirst into the spring as Link froze and failed to move with her.
All mirth quickly faded. The frustration was just as familiar as the steps itself if only strange for not being for herself; "Did no one teach you to dance?" Zelda snapped. "We can't keep doing this. You need to trust my movements. I am leading, so just follow my guidance. This is supposed to be easy."
I even chose an easy one for you, a voice in her head said, unexpectedly hurt.
It was stupid to feel betrayed over something so small. Something so out of his control.
(But she did.)
"Again," Zelda ordered, regal and commanding, and just as immediately hated herself for it. The fragile peace lingering in the clearing snapped like spider webs under a careless touch. Link's entire being snapped into focus. This was not a friend. Not a person. This was a knight under her command, standing at attention.
She was too frustrated to care. If anything, it was easier. Easier to think of the knight as a thing rather than a person–– rather than someone who had thoughts, and feelings, thoughts and feelings so very likely to be about her and what a childish failure she was acting like––
"Again. Did you not hear me?" Zelda snapped. Link's hand in hers was solid as stone. Steady. Strong. Yet, at that moment, it felt delicate as glass.
That was fine. This wasn't the first time. The thought of repeating the same mistakes, over and over, just made her angrier.
(Desperately so. The only option for her was to have results.)
The hand on her arm tightened near painfully. Zelda ignored it and swung them both into a curving arc, kicking them both into gear and forcing Link to awkwardly stumble through the water with her. The previous trip to the Spring of Courage had left him with no skills to speak of. They probably looked like one big joke, more wading than waltzing in uncontrolled circles.
It didn't matter. None of that did. All of her concentration fixated on the dance. On the steps. One, two, three, four. Lead to the left, pull your partner around with you. One, two, three, four––
Link floundered visibly when her hand left his back. Zelda tugged at their joined hands until he stumbled into a messy spin, feet tripping over the weight of the water, over himself, over the soggy hem of her dress––
Zelda snapped out of her concentration, yelping, as Link fell against her and into her.
It's working! It's––
Wrong. Horribly wrong. Pain raced up her––his–– their body, aching and sharp and dragging all at once. All of their glowing edges, their shifting curves––
HATE. HATE THIS. HATE HIM. HATE MYSELF.
It was not Zelda. They were not Link. They were–– they were wrong. They were in pain. They––
I AM SUCH A FAILURE.
Agony cracked through their skull like a physical blow. Like lighting directly to their nerves, hot and cold and horrible, how could anything feel so disgusting and putrid––
Something shattered, and Zelda fell to her hands and knees in the Spring of Power, puking her guts out.
The splashing and voices around her sounded out of focus and muffled. She could barely think over the noise in her head. Zelda panted roughly, staring down at her broken reflection. Her stomach still turned painfully.
What was...
A warm hand brushed against her back, her shoulders, pulling her hair back. Long nails scratched gently against her cold, wet skin, and Zelda shivered weakly, goosebumps rising all over her. "Easy now," Urbosa's calm, soothing tone filtered back in through the fuzz. "We need to get you out of the water. Can you move yet?"
Zelda coughed a little. "I, I don't know," She managed, and immediately cringed. Her mouth tasted disgusting. She felt disgusting. "What–– what happened?It worked, it was working, and then––"
Urbosa smoothed her free hand down Zelda's shoulder. "It's okay. We will talk about it after we leave," She said. "Come on, that's it." They both stood up. Even leaning heavily on Urbosa, Zelda struggled to crane her head enough to catch sight of the–– of Link. She felt bile almost rise in her throat again when she finally caught sight of his familiar sandy-haired head, ducked low enough for his forehead to touch the water. There was no missing the way he was trembling. Mipha whispered at him gently, kneeling at his side. Her tiny hands glowed with familiar light.
Zelda couldn't hear what the Zora princess was saying, but she could definitely hear Daruk's frantic calls of his name.
I did that? I–– I did that to him?
"Let's go," Urbosa coaxed, and Zelda turned away from her knight and left the Spring of Power.
Another failure.