Final Part: Zelda

He is late. Of course he is late. He is Link and Link does not do punctual. He does reliable, trustworthy, honest, brave, talented, intelligent but not punctual. It is a good thing that the deadline I set him was two marks early so he will be here on time, by the Court's standards at least.

Has it really been six months since I last saw him? Of course, it was fall when he left, the trees had just begun to turn and now it is spring – the time of rebirth. In the courtyard where I await my handsome hero the trees are smothered in blossom and buds and the grass under my bare feet has that wonderful vibrant feel about it. The first flowers are pushing their way through the earth, greeting the sun in their gowns of yellow and violet. If we were lovers, this would be the most perfect, romantic setting for a reunion.

I turn the page of my book to make sure that those observing me keep in their belief that I am happily reading and I will my eyes to travel over the words but in truth, I cannot concentrate on so mundane a task. My heart is pounding and it all I can do to sit here, pretending not to care that he is coming here with his wife to preside over my wedding banquet and bequeath my hand to Lord Arlen.

If I am ever tempted to wonder why it had to come to this, all I have to do is look up at the castle walls and I have my answer. It is the wisest thing for me, for us. It is a shame that the satisfaction of knowing that one is doing the right thing cannot outweigh the disappointment of having to ignore what one truly desires. Knowing that there could be no alternative does not stop one wishing that somehow things could be different.

A servant approaches with the tiding that he has finally been sighted; she remarks that he is early and I cover my smile with a hand. It would not do for the staff to know that the queen resorted to playing a trick on her dearest friend. I feel my head inclining automatically and inwardly marvel at how easily this calm persona is maintained and how my body responds to even minor prompts without any conscious thought. Standing, I let the young servant straighten my skirts and take the book that I supposedly been reading and turn my ambling steps towards my throne room. It would be more appropriate to meet them there.

My six months of speculation come to an end when I see him enter the room and for once my composure deserts me. It would at a moment like this. He enters impetuously, like he always did, and looks if anything more beautiful than I remembered only this time trailing behind him is an awed-looking creature which I know to be his wife, Ilia. She is not how I imagined her – she is dainty for a farmer, and quite pretty (though I hate to say it) though I prefer long ears to round ears and her hair is short. Probably before his adventures they would have made a nice couple but now he is, Link is, different. Experience forced him to become a magnificent man, worthy of being so much more than a farmer and though he tries to hide it, as our eyes meet, I know he still thinks the same.

Our greeting is carefully orchestrated and perfectly played out; our voices hold enough affection to silence those who believe us to have fallen out, but not enough to stir the gossipmongers again. Our words are formal, as it should be, and introductions gracious. I realise my attention is too drawn to Link's blue eyes and turn away casually, only to realise that he had been watching me all the while too. What a damnable situation we find ourselves in. His poor wife…

I release a long sigh once the steward has led them from the throne room taking them to the guest quarters. Confident my emotionless mask is in place, I can finally allow myself to grieve for him, for us but instead all I can think of is how very lonely it is being on this throne. The musty scent of the velvet reminds me of my father and I am conscious of the weight in my stomach, the burden of loss. I miss him so much. Yet even as I think of my long-gone family, I know my mind is merely creating an illusion to mask the true issue: I miss Link. I miss our petty arguments; our camaraderie; our laughter; his moments of silence; his gentle laughter; the familiarity of him. When I sit at my desk drawing up plans for rebuilding work, I miss how he would lean over my shoulder, watching me write. I miss us.

It is early evening when he comes to visit me in my study. The meeting is open, of course, and though I am alone at present, there are always servants in and out of this room. His blue eyes seem to glow in the light of the fire as he stands there on the threshold, watching me. Though his attitude is poised and controlled, his eyes betray him. He closes the door behind him without taking his eyes from me and slowly crosses the room. It is only when he stands right before me, so close I can see my reflection in his eyes, that I feel my mask of perfection falter.

He averts his gaze and sighs. 'Do you remember that night?' He asks, his voice sounds as weary as it is soft. How could I forget something that is so irrevocably burned into my memory? I could never forget the way his expression softened as he gazed down at me, or the way my breath suddenly caught in my throat as I realised how close our faces were. I do not wish to lose the memory of how I felt when he kissed me for the first time and how we laughed when I almost fell off my study chair afterwards. I cannot forget how it feels to be in love. And so I tell him.

"Was it a mistake?" He asks.

"There was no other choice." I tell him, trying to convince myself as much as him. Our eyes meet again and so clearly can I see him that I swear I could read his thoughts if I wished. Only, that would be unnecessary. I know his thoughts for they so closely mirror my own. He breaks first and nods, telling me without words that he understands. We could never be, though the people, the counsel, our friends, and perhaps even the gods, wished us to be.

"What is he like?"

What would he like me to say, I wonder? Arlen is pleasant enough – intelligent and mature with more than sufficient wealth to drag Hyrule back from the brink of ruin. He knows exactly why I consented to marrying him and there are no secrets between us. I believe I will be comfortable with him and I do not find him repulsive. To me that seemed sufficient. It did not matter to me whom I married when I knew I could not have Link. "He is not you." I hear myself say and I see Link flinching.

To marry Link would have spelled disaster for Hyrule. My coffers were empty, the people destitute and demands were made from us at every corner. The castle walls were crumbling and the nation was broken.

He nods and turns away and I see my own pain reflected in those beautiful blue eyes of his. It is the same pain that haunted him for the many long months after he lost Midna, the very same pain that drew us both together and forced us to rely upon each other so deeply.

"I understand." I hear his whispered words to me as he turns towards the door, preparing to walk away from me for the second time in my life. I sigh and return my attention to my plans, our plans, for rebuilding Hyrule. Such ambition comes at a high price. We had been naive, thinking that love alone would be enough to right the wrongs of this world, that it would carry us away from such ordinary considerations as money. But it is not. My nation is broken and bankrupt and as its queen, I am forced to act selflessly. Yet as long as he remained unattached, my desire to have him and damn the consequences would remain. And so to save Hyrule, he left me and he married her.

He turns and catches my eye. He will survive this, he always does, he is so much stronger than he realises. In time he will forget this hurt; his wife will bear him children and he will be happy. The struggles we have faced will fade into the background of his mind and will be replaced with the more immediate concerns of life now. Midna and I will both be remembered as a youthful fancy of his, an impossible, improbable dream and when he thinks of me, he will laugh at his foolishness, for whoever heard of a peasant marring a queen?

Perhaps I shall feel that too one day and I too will laugh at my folly. I cannot say I feel much like merriment now.

"If only I were a rich man…" he whispers.

We both know that our unhappiness is not his fault, and I have never apportioned any blame on him for our situation. It is the fault of my forebears who misused their wealth. It is the fault of the privy council for failing to monitor it closely. It is the fault of Zant for destroying my nation. It is the fault of the queen for loving the hero too dearly but all that does not matter now. It is too late to apportion blame. We came together and now we must both move on along separate paths.

"…then ours would be another story."

Opinions/reviews would be appreciated as I'm not altogether convinced that this three-short-shot made any sense at all!