Prompt No.20
Word count: ~1110
Universe: Twilight Princess
Pairings: Zelink/Midlink (It's complicated guys ok?)
Rating: K
Themes: Addiction, withdrawal symptoms
Trembling
The Hero of Twilight was fiddling with something in his pocket at dinner. The other guests hadn't noticed, of course; he was terribly quiet—something of an enigma, really—and though his responses were always polite his conversation prowess could be classified as awkward at best. So they usually paid him little mind and ended up overlooking all the things he didn't say, silently shouting over the cacophony of the dining room so loudly that it made Zelda fidget.
When he excused himself an hour later, more pale than she had seen him in recent memory and his skin alight with a sheen in the candlelight, he didn't make eye contact, and she knew it was bad. She followed not long after, graciously inviting the guests to stay and enjoy while she retired early.
She went to their usual place and the door was locked. She remedied that with a gentle flick of her wrist, ignoring his not-so-subtle request to be left alone, and checked to make sure the hallway was empty before she slipped inside.
His hands were braced on the mantle, his eyes staring, unfocus and unseeing, into the fire. He was trembling all over and panting, his breaths loud and short, like a dog.
"Is there no lock in Hyrule that can keep you out?" he growled, breathless, and she sank demurely into one of the armchairs.
Just the one on your heart, she wanted to say. But she refrained. It didn't seem fair to kick him while he was down.
"Do you want a glass of water?"
"As if that will help," he scoffed, and she sighed.
"A chew toy, then?"
He bothered to send her an icy glare. "Funny."
It really wasn't. It was horrible watching him go through this time and again. And it was horrible being his punching bag while he did. But love made you put up with strange things. He trembled again, his eyes rolling back and his throat quivering like he might be sick, and he loosed a gravelly, halting breath when it passed.
"I'm so tired of this," he muttered bitterly, shuddering.
She resisted the urge to go to him, touch his face and his eyes and promise it would pass, knowing he would object. It had happened too fast, once, and she had gotten hurt, and he hadn't let her close until after he gave in since. But these were the moments she lived for: when he was too exhausted to put on his usual front and let his guard down, gradually letting her in. But even then, there was little she could do to ease his suffering. She could destroy the artifact, of course, but that wouldn't help with the symptoms. Addiction was a horrible thing to overcome.
If only Midna were here. He would've listened to her.
A tremor coursed through his whole body and he sank to his knees, bracing one hand on the floor and the other on the hearthstones. His tongue was lolling over his teeth. It wouldn't be long now.
"How long has it been?"
His panting was more resonant, coming from deeper in his throat, like a growl. Base instincts, punching their way to the surface. He choked out, "Three weeks."
She smiled gently. It was the longest he had ever gone. "That's good."
He pinched his eyes shut, holding his breath again. "Gods. It feels like I'm—burning—"
She gripped the arms of her chair and waited, watching his hands impatiently. Waiting for the inevitable fumble of desperate hands and fabric, the gasping breaths. But he was resilient, and so, so stubborn. He was trembling so hard he couldn't speak anymore.
Sometimes she wanted to make the call for him. Either pull it from his pocket and crush it into dust, or thrust it into his side and steal away those few precious seconds he prolonged his suffering. But he was convinced it was necessary, that it made him stronger. He may have been right, if the last three weeks were any indication.
Finally, trembling all over, dripping sweat, reduced to all-fours and grunting like an animal, he reached into his pocket with a shaking hand and produced the Shadow Crystal, bound in fabric. It tinkled like glass against the hearthstones as he clumsily unraveled it, skittering across the floor as he lurched after it with unsteady hands; and then he got ahold of it and pressed it into his chest, drawing full, gasping breaths as the dark magic flooded his body.
The transformation was quick, deforming his body in a matter of seconds. It wasn't so much the visual that bothered her, the unnatural elongation of his face and body and the way his skin darkened and grew fur in the blink of an eye. It was the chilling series of cracks and pops as his bones realigned themselves, the gentle spurt of blood on the floor as his incisors shunted down. The haunted look in his eyes, later, when he would tell her quietly that yes, of course it hurt.
He collapsed on the floor with a whine, spent, and she finally pried herself off the armchair, gathering his massive head into her lap and threading her fingers in his fur. She knew, in some ways, he would rather she not be there. She knew he was ashamed of his weakness. She knew there was someone else he would rather have with him now.
She knew that, for all intents and purposes, that woman was dead. She knew that, someday, he would be ready to move on. And until then, she would be there for him. Maybe, when he would think back on the ones who had been there for him in his most desperate hours, who knew his darkest secrets, who were closest to him when he felt alone in the world, he wouldn't only think of Midna.
Maybe, one day, he would think of her.
"Have I ever told you," she said softly, smiling at him as she felt around his ears, "that you have very soft fur?"
He exhaled a puff of warm air into her skirt, the closest he would come to a bitter laugh in his wolf form. But then he nuzzled closer, reaching up to press his wet nose into her throat, and gave her the tiniest lick with the soft tip of his tongue.
She smiled as he laid his head back in her lap, and leaned down to whisper coyly, "I shall never wash my neck there again."
He sank further into her lap, puffing another wolf-laugh, and she stifled a sigh.
At least the trembling had stopped.