Hey everyone!

Responses to Reviews:

Guest: Thank you so much! I know, Ravio's very sly, isn't he? Though, it does make for a great plot! ;)

James Birdsong: Thank you friend! It's been long!

For this one-shot, I guess all I can say is that I was inspired but I somehow forgot how to write. I'm sorry if I disappoint.

Let me know what you think. Also, any one-shot suggestions would be great! Thank you :)

impulsive marriage aside

"I understand your indifference to my offer, but this is hardly a time to behave in such a way," she scolds, keeping her hands firmly pressed against her desk. The sheets are no longer spread wildly across the room, the rift in the wall long gone, and every shattered piece of her priceless porcelain has been swept away. But now her study is just as hectic as she's used to, as her most trusted vassal and loyal friend stands at the other side of the desk, waving his arms frantically in his disposition – with no exception to Sheerow of course.

For a brief moment, he presses his hands against his chest and breathes deeply to regain composure. This, she finds, is the best time to break through to him. "And what is it, pray tell, that's so terrible about being betrothed to me?"

His wide, olive eyes reach her, focused now, and he shakes his head. "It - It's not being married to you that's the problem, Your Highness, I just…" He pauses for a moment, gaze lost once more, and asks, "Have you even thought this through? I mean, isn't this a little-?"

"Sudden," she finishes. She knows he's going to say it because she's been feeling the same way. But after six years of mending a kingdom as best as she can, it's time for her to take the ultimate responsibility of being a monarch; as part of the Lorulean tradition, she must wed before her coronation.

It's ridiculous, truly, to be forced into such a trivial ceremony when her kingdom is finally shaping up to be the land everyone has long awaited; finally her people are looking well-fed, the chasms are slowly closing in, and the crime rate's gone down significantly. Of course, the people are still living in poor conditions and there's still a lot of structural damage to be taken care of, not to mention the horrible trade position they're in, but at least they're getting somewhere.

Maybe Lorule isn't as magnificent as it could be or as other kingdoms are, but there's so much hope in the people's eyes after so long that all that extra time and focus is worth it. For the first time in her life, she can see the tears in the seams of her broken kingdom mending; perhaps it can be whole once more.

But even during the decades of decline, her ancestors followed the same tradition in order to keep the royal bloodline alive and thriving – in all the places the kingdom wasn't. Even she, though she'd hate to admit it, must take that responsibility upon herself.

"I too feel that way," she admits. Her staff clicks against the stone floor as she circles the desk to approach him. She thinks that maybe he'll feel more comfortable if they aren't speaking like it's a meeting, but rather a friend-to-friend conversation – impulsive marriage aside. "But this is something I must do and I only have a few months left before my coronation. The council decided that an event such as this would do well for the kingdom; it would inspire the people and bring together the kingdoms we've long distanced from. I hardly think that we have the time or rupees to spend like this but they've simply argued that if my ancestors could have managed to wed, then there is no reason I can present to stop the tradition. I am at a standstill and I need your support."

His eyes dart side to side and he steps back a bit; Sheerow dashes behind him. He's looking for a place to escape, she knows, because she's seen him do it before.

"I don't…you…! You should marry a prince! It'd be a great help to Lorule, what with the whole Rupee deficiency problem we've got going on, yeah?"

It's her turn to shake her head. "Lorule has hardly been able to support it's own weight, much less maintain strong ties with foreign lands. All the kingdoms know of us are from legends, and even that carries our shame and misfortune. It's already asking much of the monarchs to trust in our kingdom enough to reconnect with and visit. I am afraid it's just unrealistic at this time."

She feels her confidence falter for a moment as the reality of the situation falls over her; has she really been driven to such desperation again, to beg for a husband this way? "Is it truly asking so much of you to take my hand?"

His frantic gaze latches onto hers and this time it doesn't let go. She watches as the gears turn in his head while he processes what to say next; if it's taken so long, she's not sure if she wants to know his answer. "I would do anything for you, Your Highness, you know that…But this - I can't do it. I'm sorry."

Heat swells in her gut and she can feel foul words clawing at her throat, begging to escape. She wants to demand an answer; she wants to cry. What's so horrible about this offer? Are they no longer as close as she thought? Is he still upset over her unrighteous and immoral actions in Hyrule? Has she truly lost his trust?

"Don't-" he interrupts her thoughts as if he understands where they're leading her. "Please don't think this is some kind of weird, perverse vengeance or something like that, princess. You should trust by now -"

"I do trust you," she interrupts. Even she catches on that she's made a habit of it, which is just ghastly of her, but she's possibly feeling as troubled as he is. "That's precisely why I ask of this from you, Ravio; there's no man in Lorule I could trust enough with my kingdom, and my hand."

His upper lip twitches as she speaks, but once she finishes, he presses the hand that rests against his robe to his forehead, beneath his messy purple hair and above his frantic green eyes. She realizes then just how flushed he's become.

Her heart sinks. "I know that this is a lot to take in and I truly am sorry to thrust this upon you so suddenly." She licks her lips, instinctively tightening her grip on her staff. "You've already done so much for both myself and the kingdom that I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't truly have need of it. It's just that…I'm so afraid. The kingdom is still indifferent about the monarchy and thieves are only just mending their ways. I'm not sure I can find another that I could trust, or that could trust me enough to wed. I apologize, Ravio but I…I need you." His eyes are wide and his heart pounds as she finishes her plea.

"Please say that you are with me on this."

"Ouch!"

The needle flies out of his hand and his finger presses against his lips, sucking the blood from his miniscule wound. It truly does hurt – he's not acomplete wimp, so Sheerow perches down onto his shoulder when he hears his cry and curls against his scarf with sympathy. While leaning against him, the ivory bird examines his master's work, which lays sprawled onto his bed; a violet pattern against a soft purple backdrop is in the making. Half of a tapestry is half done.

Another Lorulean tradition is to have both fiancés sew half a tapestry and stitch it together on the night of their marriage to consummate their unity. Most commoners don't tell the other what to depict in their piece until they can see for themselves, and if their halves match, then their minds and hearts are in sync and they're destined to be with one another. Royals however cannot jeopardize this, so they discuss their piece in privacy weeks prior to the event.

In honor of the renewal of the sacred gift, the soon to be weds decide to embed the Triforce into their tapestry, alongside the wings of the Lorulean crest. It's going to be beautiful, he knows, and even his half is looking decent - or at least that's what he tells himself. If one would squint and tilt his head, they can just about make out the wings.

"Tell me again how I got caught up in this mess."

The bird peeps consolingly, sensing his master's troubled heart through a wavelength. "You'd think she'd want a guy that could at least sew, yeah? I mean me, of all people, she chooses me!"

He sends the next thread through the tapestry a little harsher than necessary and Sheerow shrills in warning, as if saying slow down, idiot; she doesn't need a punctured king! "Maybe all that stress really is getting to her. She could use a good sleep - then when she wakes up, she'll finally realize how crazy this is." Poking himself once more, he throws up his hands, groans in frustration, and jumps off the bed. He rests his fist on his chin, completely ignorant of the pulsing on the pad of his index finger as he paces the room. Sheerow, meanwhile, hops to rest on the foot of his bed, his tiny head following his master's tread.

"I mean, she's the princess, right?" The bird chirps in confirmation, but Ravio's so lost in thought that he doesn't catch it. "She's so graceful and strong and…and royal! And goddesses know how beautiful she is…how devoted and kind…!" he murmurs to himself, feeling his face heat up against his hand. "I mean…she's a good person, right? She deserves a good king to rule by her, not some stupid, lazy, cowardly…" As he drones on, throwing each insult that comes to mind, Sheerow swoops in and perches on his shoulder once more, pecking him out of his daze.

"Hey! What was that for?"

The irritated bird ruffles his feathers and Ravio instantly understands what he means.

"…Thanks buddy. But…you agree, don't you? I just don't understand why she would choose me, out of everyone she could've chosen…"

He stops his pace in front of the painting of Lorule castle that he's managed to hang back on his wall again and stares at it for a long moment. His new home…how could this be happening so fast? It feels like just yesterday he was packing his bags, headed to the unknown…

His fist pounds beside the picture so that it shutters a bit against the peach walls, and leans his head against fist. "I couldn't save her, Sheerow. How can I be her king?"

On the day of her wedding, Hilda gazes upon her reflection in a body length mirror. Her maids circle her and touch up on any last minute adjustments, but she doesn't move even when they prick her with pins and needles. Her ivory dress hugs her chest; her lace sleeves start off her shoulder until they tighten around her wrists. From her waist down, the skirt fans out so that it trails behind her in a wave of white fabric, her back is marked with floral lace, and finally, an ornate ruby diadem rests over her head.

She's beautiful, the ladies praise, cooing and fawning over her in her wedding gown. Some of them don't even like her, she knows; they enjoy the gossip they can claim to possess – though she'd never reveal any information to any of them - but they have no faith in her abilities. Sure, the Triforce has returned, but it's up to her to rebuild the kingdom and she was nothing but a stoic, stubborn monarch. Worse of all, she's the most foolish ruler they've ever had, even considering the ancestors whom destroyed the relic in the first place.

The maids attach a long, lace veil to the back of her diadem, squealing in excitement, and she hugs the fabric tightly against her as if it can shield her from their irritating habits.

But she doesn't need to think of her maids, at least not for today. She wonders what Ravio would think of her, in this dress and with this veil. How terrifying it seems to be wedded to him. It feels like it was just yesterday when he would sing to her in the empty castle walls, easing her worries and lifting her spirits when she had such little faith in the world. Oh how she cared for that silly rabbit of hers. If only she can be sure that this decision won't tear a rift in her friendship; she's already driven enough fissures in her lifetime.

He was so upset at her proposition that it still causes her pain when she recalls the memory; that's no way to start a marriage, she thinks. In the stories she once read as a child, she learned that love is the only kind, bright thing her kingdom can always hold onto, even when the world is driven to it's knees. And marriage, the sacred ceremony of uniting a couple, can only be the most divine moment in a couple's life.

But for Ravio and her, it's a marriage for convenience, though she'd never admit her heart longs for something more. She knows this is false hope, wishful thinking, but the aching feeling lingers even after she tries to push it away. He's her closest friend, the one she admires and trusts more than anyone else, and he's only ever looked out for her in return. Perhaps she is foolish, but goddesses help her, she's loved him for so long.

After the maids relinquish their hold on her, Hilda lifts her skirts into her hands and steps from her pedestal, allowing herself one last look at her reflection. Before she follows her maids out, her gaze shifts to the tapestry on her nightstand, where one half awaits to finally be whole.

He tugs at his bowtie uncomfortably at the end of the altar, feeling the judging glares of the royals and the curious gazes of the people biting at him. "Gee," he murmurs to Sheerow, who sits patiently on his shoulder, "it's quite the turn-out. Who knew there were this many people around?"

Sheerow simply whirrs in response, given the instruction to sit quietly if he wished to participate. Ravio wouldn't mind his verbal support, though.

The ceremony takes place at the chapel within the castle, a large room of worship often used by the Royal Family for events such as these. The silver marble is waxed to shine and a golden light pours in from the stained glass windows.

He knows that Hilda had always wanted a scenic wedding, where the birds sang brightly and the sun shone on their backs, but Lorule is hardly such a sight just yet. An indoor wedding doesn't quite match up to her wishes, but it should suffice. He isn't even sure she cares at this point anyways, since it's only a marriage of convenience; she just wants to get it over with.

The musicians begin playing a traditional ballad as a young girl bounces down the aisle, a daughter of one of the attendants in the castle. The couple doesn't have many close ties or family members to associate in the wedding, so the march is short and simple before the bride is cued.

Ravio can feel his skin crawling and stomach churning as he awaits her entrance, completely immersed with anxiety and anticipation. And then, as she steps through the mahogany doors, he realizes too quickly that no amount of preparation could prepare him for this.

His jaw drops in the most improper way but he doesn't even notice, nor care, because she's walking towards him with her eyes trained on him and goddesses she's so beautiful.

He doesn't recall a time he's seen her dressed in white or with her violet hair tied up off her neck or even holding a bouquet of flowers but he thinks it looks marvelous. Part of him wants to stop this so she can marry any of these worthy men with deep pockets. The other part wants to stop this so he can find a way to reverse time and be the man she deserves. If only there's a song he could sing or play; that would solve everything.

Hilda steps onto the altar with utmost grace, only removing her gaze from him to look upon the minister, who shares a bow with her. His eyes don't leave her. The bouquet falls into the hands of a maid and her hands reach out for his. Shakily, he gulps and presses his palms against hers, feeling her warmth travel up his neck to the tips of his pointy ears. He wonders if she can feel his limbs trembling, but then she knots her fingers into his and he realizes it doesn't matter.

The procession continues for a long while as the minister recites legend and virtue, until finally they're handed two finely crafted golden bands. Ravio stares nervously at the gleam of the ring her nimble fingers pick up while she balances his hand with the other. It slides onto his finger with ease. He mocks her actions with a shaky hand and looks up to see her crimson eyes are glazed over.

Is she really moved? Or is this just another ploy?

He can't help smiling back, a crooked, toothy grin, and feels tears well up in his own eyes.

At long last, the minister asks each partner if they would accept the other. Hilda takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes for a brief moment, but when she opens them again, a beautiful smile tugs at her purple lips. Oh goddesses, he thinks, how unfair.

"I do," she promises.

He can hear the minister ask if he will take her hand and Ravio realizes this is his last chance; he can escape to another world once more and save her from this crazy idea she had. But with her looking upon him, so alluring and intoxicating, he feels like he really doesn't have a chance after all.

With an embarrassingly shaky voice, he murmurs, "I do." His cheeks flush only further – how stupid he must sound! - before he clears his throat and tries again. "I do," he repeats more clearly, and Hilda's smile deepens. He can't help but grin sheepishly in return, lowering his head in embarrassment.

The minister smiles knowingly beside them as he watches this encounter and says, "By the power of the goddesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Ravio's eyes widen, his skin burns brightly, and he slowly looks up to her again. Hilda smiles welcomingly, seemingly comfortable with the situation, and tightens her grip on his hands to share that comfort with him. He holds his breath as he leans in quickly, meeting her lips so suddenly. It's her turn to look upon in surprise, but soon finds herself melting into him, his warmth and his softness overtaking all other senses. He exhales through his nose and she smiles against him. The princess doesn't let go of his hands even as he pulls back with the rosiest face she's ever seen on the nervous boy. His eyes slowly open, and she sighs against him when she spots the golden gleam in his olive irises.

The ball is a success. Commoners rejoice, finally allowing their worries dissipate as they converse with long lost friends, their laughter ringing in the ballroom as melodious as the ensemble of pianists and harpists. Even royals enjoy themselves as Hilda greets them with utmost grace and certainty, promising peace and advantageous trade. As the princess socializes with all the guests, Ravio stands at her side or waits patiently at his seat, but his eyes never leave her. And as he stares, he finds himself longing for a time he knows he shouldn't. He sorely misses his childhood with her, and how much easier it was when he knew he was of help to her troubled heart. Ravio knows it's wrong; Lorule is in better conditions and Hilda's so much happier, but he can't help it. He can't do anything for her now, and watching her from afar on their wedding day, he feels more separated from his bride than ever.

This bunny rabbit of a man couldn't socialize and host a ball as extravagant as this, catering to the wishes of the people and pleasing the royalty like she is. He hardly knows what a successful kingdom looks like, much less know how to rule one. How can Hilda so easily shift into her noble nature? Or better yet, why is he so incompetent? All these men, these potential suitors, and she chose the man who knows nothing and can accomplish nothing, for what reason?

He sighs into his wine glass and stares at her back, masked with lace. Goddesses, he thinks, this would be so much easier if he didn't care for her like he knew he does.

Much later, the couple excuse themselves from the ballroom to participate the last part of the ceremony in privacy. They don't speak as they walk through the empty halls and Ravio finds himself fidgeting with the jacket of his suit. This marriage will ruin everything, he thinks. Why do things always have to be so difficult for them?

As they reach the large room, the newly hired guards step aside, and his wife dismisses them for the night. He holds his breath.

The door creaks as it opens, revealing a large room lit warmly with candles and firelight. Some of the servants must have set up the room for them while they were away, he realizes.

There are tapestries on the walls with finer depictions of the Triforce, which look as though they've been refurbished after being abandoned for generations. There are paintings of Lorule as it once looked: a land prosperous and full of hope. Bookshelves line the walls, pots and vases are filled with freshly picked red flowers, and velvet seats are arranged in front of the fireplace with a cozy woolen rug underneath.

"It's uh…nice," he says from the doorway, scratching his neck nervously. Sheerow flutters off his shoulder to observe the room more thoroughly. "It's much bigger than I thought, actually."

It's true; as a child, he grew up in his small house in the middle of Lorule field. Sure, he's served Hilda for a long time, slipping in and out of the castle so often that he knows of the luxuries by heart. But like the rest of the commoners, he's never seen a room this big or furniture this nice. It's strange, but the poor boy in him feels giddy at this change.

"I agree, but I'm sure we can get used to this adjustment. By all means, Ravio, make yourself comfortable. This is your new home, after all."

With a boyish tendency, he follows behind the trail of her wedding dress, and realizes both halves of the tapestries have been delivered and rest on the canopy bed. Her side looks so neat with not a seam out of place. How fitting, he thinks.

Hilda approaches his side and smiles the slightest, reaching out to touch the fabric of his half. "You did well," she comments. He smiles sheepishly.

"Thanks, but yours looks much better. You sure make a better seamstress than me."

"Now don't say that," scolds she, with a note of humor in her voice. "As long as we know what it is…"

He scowls and she laughs the slightest, slapping his arm playfully. "I only jest, Ravio. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll get the sewing equipment. Why don't you take a seat by the fire?"

"Uh sure…don't you wanna get outta that dress, though? It looks awfully uncomfortable." When she looks at him curiously, he blushes fiercely and waves his hands frantically. "No, I don't – I just meant get changed! Really!"

She laughs as she opens the drawer one of the shelves. "That's quite alright, Ravio. I'd prefer to perform the ceremony first if that's alright with you."

He mumbles in reply, sighing inwardly; another thing she just wants to get over with. The princess comes over to the garnet sofa with a box of needles and thread, and sets it gently between them.

"Are you ready?" she asks. Ravio gulps and nods.

Two purple threads slip into two needles and the couple shares an affirmative nod before they dive into opposite halves and return to their personal side. Their needles perform a dance, bounding from side to side, crossing over one another, and intertwining the two fabrics into one. Like the Triforce, like Lorule, broken halves mend into a whole, and as each needle plummets through the tapestry, they are closer to their union as husband and wife.

There is a beauty in their concentration; the only sounds that can be heard are the crackling of the fire and his racing heartbeat. His bride is bathed in the orange glow of the firelight, and for a brief moment, his threading stops and he is immersed in the sight of her. Hilda seems so focused, so devoted, as her nimble fingers send the needle through another loop. Her eyebrows are knitted just the slightest, her tongue protruding from between her purple lips.

His eyes close, his hands lower, and his head bows the slightest. She finally looks up. "Is something the matter, Ravio?" she asks, her voice at a whisper.

As his eyes open once again, his gaze locks onto the fire and he shakes his head. "No, nothing's wrong, princess."

She furrows her brow. "Don't lie to me, Ravio. And you no longer have to be so formal with me; I am your wife after all." He simply sighs. "What is it?"

He contemplates whether he should tell her; what's the point? It can't be undone now. But he can feel his guilt eating at him; how can she once again not realize her mistake? His eyes never leave the fire as he finally asks, "Why did you choose me?"

The bride looks taken back by his question. Has she not already explained this to him? She cocks her head, and he can't help but look back at her now. "I thought I told you Ravio, I trust you; your judgment and your morals. I know you have no intention of misusing the power and advantage that comes with being royal, and…I know that you care for Lorule deeply, and for me as well."

He wants to laugh at the irony; it's how much he cares for her that's making this so difficult. "But I'm not well-suited for this and you know that! I'm not loaded or brave or even honest like Link was. Don't you want someone like that? Someone that can help you…and Lorule?"

She sets her hands down with a huff. "How could you think such a thing?" He cringes at her tone but she continues. "I know that you're not perfect Ravio and neither am I, but that does not mean you're without strength. You are wise, even wiser than I am as you could see through Yuga's plot where I couldn't. You are also kind, compassionate, and faithful. And most importantly, Ravio, you're my best friend." His eyes light up a little at her last comment. "I wouldn't have any other man by my side for the rest of my life."

She seems to catch herself and blushes the slightest, lowering her head in embarrassment. His eyes widen and his lips part as if ready to respond, but unsure of how to. "You…you mean that?"

Hilda contemplates for a moment, inhales deeply, and looks directly at him once more. "Of course I do." She twiddles with the needle in her fingers for a moment as she wonders whether she should tell him of her feelings. If she has already risked their relationship by forcing him into this marriage, shouldn't he at least know of why – the true reason? It's risky and nerve-wracking to even think of, but they are married now and Hilda isn't sure how else she could screw up their relationship.

She sighs at long last and starts tentatively, "There is something you should know." Ravio looks at her patiently but it only makes things all the more harder. "I…I have not been completely honest. I did not just ask you for your hand for convenience…I've come to realize how much I truly care for you and trust you; you've always been by my side, and you've always been there for me even when I didn't deserve your kindness.

"But you're also bright, hopeful, and so full of life and…Ravio, I…I think I'm in love with you." Hilda waits engrossed by her anxiety as he stares: slack jawed and wide-eyed at her revelation. For only a moment longer, she entertains him, but eventually she presses, "Rav-"

He glomps on her. "Oh Hilda!" he cries into her veil, tears welling up in his eyes and fabric bunching up between them. "You don't understand what that means to me…! I…I love you so much, but I'm so afraid…so afraid you could find someone better. But…do you really?"

She winds her arms around his back and grabs onto his shoulders instinctively, hearing him mumble his words of affection and sincerity against her and yet she still can't believe it; he returns her affection? She pulls him off of her enough to look him in his eyes, those beautiful emerald irises, and she smiles warmly. "I do, really." His eyes clench shut, thanking the goddesses, and the tears slip out and down his cheeks.

Before he can open his eyes again, she leans in and kisses him softly, deeply, and he squeaks in surprise. Hilda was never one for skipping out on chances, after all.

Ravio feels himself warm up by a hundred degrees and loses his balance, so he grabs onto the sofa behind him. It takes a while before he responds, but when he does, she couldn't be any gladder. Their kisses are soft and cautious, and she even opts to kissing his cheeks down to his neck when he whines in approval.

"I think you were right," she says with a smirk; he stops, winded and flustered and covered in purple lipstick, to look at her curiously. "Perhaps this dress is too stuffy after all."