Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: A Burning Tightrope

Zelda sighed and placed a tentative knock against the coarse wooden door. She could hear no stirring inside, no one stumbling to the door, no one permitting her to enter.

"Link?" She opened the door with diffidence, but found nothing in the dark room but an empty bed. Taking only moments to wonder where he could be this late in the evening, she soon turned to leave. She saw a servant walking down the hall from her own room.

She addressed her, "Hanna?"

"Aye milady? How can I be of service?"

"Do you know where is Sir Link?"

"I believe he may yet be in the bath, milady, or dressing."

"Oh... Would you inform him that after he is done, I would like to speak with him?"

"Of course, milady."

A stout elderly woman peeped her head into the hallway from a door down the hall. "We are currently redressing his bandages, milady; do you still wish to see him?"

"Aye," she answered, somewhat hesitantly.

"Well, 'ere, come in," she offered, opening the door to expose two other woman, one wrapping Link's ankle and the other wrestling with the bandage around his waist. Link, himself, was lying on his bed with his face buried in his pillow. "'Ow's he comin' 'long now?" the older woman asked.

"Still not cooperatin', if that's what ye mean," answered the young lady at his ankle.

The woman standing next to her leaned in close to her ear. "He wouldn't eat this mornin', milady, and he'd let not one of us touch 'em. Practically 'ave to sit on 'em, we did," she whispered, harshly. Zelda rested against the doorframe, watching him writhe in pain and discomfort, all the while spewing shameless profanities from his lips as though trying to purge them of poison.

"Might I finish this?" Zelda asked, loud enough for Link to hear. He froze in place at the sound of her voice, aware of her presence.

"If ye think ye can 'andle 'em, milady, ye're right welcome to 'em," she gruffly replied, "We've got 'is legs done and started on 'is back and still yet to do 'is chest, that's if we could ever get 'em to move. Anthin' ye might be needin' is right there on that table."

"All of you may leave."

"Yes, milady," they answered simultaneously and exited.

She walked over to Link and placed a hand on his back, but he turned his head away from her, embarrassed by his own rudeness.

"How do you feel?" the princess asked sympathetically.

"Violated," he grumbled. She smiled despite his seriousness.

The princess removed her silken gloves. "Stop me if I hurt you."

She accepted his subtle groan as a positive response and proceeded to lift the loose strips of linen from his back. His bruises, now greenish yellow in color, remained even after several weeks. The shallow cuts and abrasions had mostly scabbed over, but the deeper lacerations, those that required suturing, were still wet with colorless fluid. Constant movement of his shoulders made it difficult for them to heal. She felt him shudder under her hands and breathe in sharply as she poured wine-based ointment over his skin. He relaxed as she delicately massaged the the base of his shoulder blades.

He lifted his head slightly so as not to speak into the sheets. "They said you wanted to speak with me."

"Aye, I did," her voice continued uneasily, "Next week is my birthday and I wanted to invite you to the ball. I know you might not feel well enough to dance, but... I—I would like to see you there."

He smiled, though she could not see his face. She paused, attempting to free him from the last bandage that had not yet been cut loose from his body. He sensed her struggling and shifted uncomfortably.

"There's a knife on my belt."

The princess found it and pulled it awkwardly from its sheath at his waist, and was surprised to find that what Link referred to as a knife, was in fact a 30 centimeter, double-edge dagger. She eyed it uneasily and silently prayed she would not kill him. She hesitantly slipped the blade under one layer of fabric and cut it cleanly in two smooth, upward and downward strokes.

"So will you attend?"

"Attend?" he asked groggily. It was hard to pay attention to Zelda's words as her hands soothed his wounded flesh.

"The ball next week, of course."

He took so long to respond that Zelda thought he fell asleep. "I will," he said at last.

"Good. Iain will enjoy your company." Link's smile turned sour at Iain's mention. "We should let your back breathe for now. You'll have fresh bandages in the morning." She put the old ones on the stand next to the dressing table. "I'm going to need you to lie on your back now."

Link was previously unaware of the princess's knowledge of medicine, but he was grateful for it. He preferred her over the other squabbling nurses. They hadn't been quite as gentle in touch or instruction. With minimal struggling he turned to lay on his back. He rested his hands on his upper body almost as if it shamed him. There was a ghastly penetration wound near his shoulder above his heart that had been cauterized and several other incisions across his torso that looked slightly infected. He knew she was staring at him, or rather at his exposed chest. He turned his face to the window.

Zelda was dumbfounded by how badly he had been cut up. She pitied the poor man, lying on a makeshift bed at the mercy of her hands, and with no other dignity than what was was afforded him by his trousers.

She tried to disguise her shock by mixing more ointment. "I see that your arm is better," she commented, approaching him with a dampened cloth.

He raised his arm and set it down again, proof that it was indeed fine without its sling. "It was only a sprain."

"These cuts are not as dry as the ones on your back, so this may sting a little... or a lot." She lightly pressed the cloth to the middle of his chest and then traced along a cut to just below his ribcage, surprised that he had remained so unflinching. She brought the cloth back up to his collarbone and gently moistened the wounds on his shoulder and against his neck.

"This must be painful," she whispered against his cheek.

"I've felt worse."

The princess thought it was a morbid shame that such an honorable man as Link should be subject to—Well, whoever or whatever had done this to him, she could hardly fathom such an atrocity. It silently angered her to think that the goddesses would allow such an attractive man to have his body so badly mangled. She rubbed more forcefully against his seared skin.

"Zelda...?" he whispered her name so softly and covered her hand with his, pressing it firmly against his chest, rendering it immovable.

Startled from her thoughts by his sudden action, she stopped and peered up at in him questioningly. She realized how very close her face was to his. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

He did not answer, but gently removed the cloth from her hands. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The way he looked at her so intensely made her nervous. "Your hands were softer," he said.

She felt his hand on her cheek and instinctively placed hers over it. She leaned in closer to him, the air between them reducing to mere millimeters and then to nothing at all. His lips were closed, soft and unsure. He pressed them against hers only lightly. She permitted his kiss, though she didn't know how to respond. After a moment she pulled away from him and stared into his puzzled eyes.

"I—I'm sorry," he stuttered. He cast his gaze towards the wall. "Forgive me. I suppose I could be hung for that."

Zelda touched her lips with her fingers and then curled her hand against her neck. The experience had not been unwelcome, but it was certainly novel. She had never been kissed before. It made her feel as though she were tottering on a tightrope—both dangerous and excited. "Link... Link, look at me." She lifted his chin with her finger and smiled. "I would rather have my flesh putrefy for a thousand years in the bowels hell than see you die by my hand."

"Then..." he looked up at her hopefully, "May I kiss you once more?"