Prompt No.22
Word count: ~1000
Universe: Breath of the Wild
Pairings: Zelink
Rating: K
Themes: Concussions, hallucinations

Hallucination

"You can't stop now. You have to keep moving."

"I know."

"I know you're tired. But you have to get up."

"I just need to rest."

"Link," she breathed, pulling his face into her hands and making him look her in the eyes. They were green like the Faron Sea and twice as deep. "You're going to freeze out here. You need to find some shelter. Get a fire going."

He knew she was right. Of course she was right. Hebra was inhospitable at the best of times; the place he had chosen to collapse, and in the middle of a snowstorm no less, was not the most ideal location. He sighed, picking himself woozily off the ground, and saw blood in the snow.

"Just a little farther. There's a cave west of here, remember?"

"I remember," he sighed, dragging his feet through the snowdrift again.

She took his hand. "That's good. It's not much farther now."

That was the problem. He knew exactly how far it was. And it was far.

By the time he reached the cavern he was a trembling mess. Rito gear equipped or not, a blizzard in Hebra was still going to chill you to the bone. His fingers were swollen and numb. He couldn't feel his toes in his boots. His face was burning. He slumped near the entrance, panting, and closed his eyes.

"A fire, Link," she reminded him, jostling his shoulder to rouse him. "We need to get a fire going."

He tipped his head back against the stone and opened his eyes to stare at her. Her brow was pinched in that way it did, all scowling and disapproving to mask the worry beneath. Her lips were rosy from the cold. He wanted to tell her he didn't need a fire. She was warmth enough.

"All right," he whispered, hoarse, and dragged himself off the wall.

He had a bundle of firewood, a tinderbox, and flint in his pack. Setting it up was easy enough, but striking the flint was a clumsy endeavor. After several ineffectual attempts he finally managed to catch a spark. He pressed close to the floor to blow on the flame, and couldn't help thinking how nice it was to be so horizontal.

He sat up when it was healthy, basking in his handiwork for a moment. Then, exhausted, satisfied, he went to close his eyes again.

"You can't sleep yet."

He puffed a frustrated sigh, glaring at her. "Why not?"

She gestured, wincing. "Your head."

He touched that irritating wet place, where his hair was matted and it throbbed. His lips twisted, and then he decided, folding his arm behind his head, "I'll risk it."

"Please, Link."

He sighed again, the sound less frustration and more defeat. He hated how powerless he was when she used that voice—the one where the disapproval ebbed and the care shone through, where her confidence all but wilted and she sounded so helpless. He pulled himself back to the fire again and frowned at her.

"I can't stay up all night," he murmured. "I can't."

She touched his face lightly, mustering a half-smile. "I'll help you."

And there it was, that extra push, that gentle touch that seemed to override everything else, and he leaned into it, out of arguments.

"Fine," he muttered, turning his mouth into her palm and inhaling the taste. She let him, which was nice, tangling her fingers hesitantly in his disheveled hair. But when he finally met her eyes again her expression said he had overindulged. He completely ignored it. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Maybe what on earth possessed you to traverse Hebra, ill-equipped, in the middle of a snowstorm."

He rolled his eyes. "This is hardly ill-equipped."

"You brought exactly one bundle of firewood and exactly no change of clothes, and I counted a grand total of six arrows in your quiver."

"And normally that would be fine," he shrugged, and daydreamed what it might be like to run his fingers through that golden hair, slipping over her shoulders and down her back like strands of fine silk. "The blizzard changed things."

She arched a cynical eyebrow. "You've been tracking this storm on the horizon for two days."

"Must have slipped my mind."

She scoffed. "Or maybe you've lost your mind."

He pursed his lips, turning obliquely towards the fire.

"Or maybe I knew something bad might happen," he suggested quietly. "Maybe I just wanted to see you."

She sighed. "You could have asked."

He shook his head. "Not the same."

She stared into the fire with him. Her expression was bland, but he knew she was thinking something. She was always thinking something.

Finally, she said, "You should bandage that wound."

He grunted a pithy acknowledgement, and she helped him clean the blood. She helped him get through the night. She helped coax a smile out of him as he explained his plans for the next few days. She helped, she helped, she helped.

By dawn the storm had cleared. From his cave he could make out the silhouette of Hyrule Castle to the southeast, enshrouded by the lambent, whorling smog of Ganon. He could feel his head clearing, too, as though the cool wind that had taken the stormclouds away was pulling the haze from his mind as well. She smiled at him.

"The next time you want to see me, please don't go trying to give yourself a concussion," she said, drifting closer. He tilted his head back as she loomed, his face in her hands and her breath fanning over his lips. "You know where I am. Just come find me."

He closed his eyes, reverent, waiting for the soft press of her lips, the gentle taste of apple blossoms and sunlight. The sun broke over the horizon and struck the pristine snow, and a red sparrow sang its lilting morning call.

He opened his eyes when it didn't come. She was already gone.