i kept my mind on you.
The body knows of several kinds of betrayals. They're self-taught and inopportune, because there's no other way of payback worse than that.
Link grabs her hands by the wrist and looks at the bruising they've gotten over the past century, the pads of her fingers rough and unlike the first time he touched them. Or so he guesses he must've done in the past.
The nightgown doesn't cover them as well as her daylight clothes do, and the moonlight leaking from a crack in the curtains only serves to turn the bruises uglier. She doesn't withdraw; rather, lays still on her bed and lets him inspect all he wants.
He murmurs tomorrow's activities, wary of not overwhelming her, and shifts on the bed's edge. If he were to be found here, goddesses know what he'd be seen as. An animal, maybe, and there's a ringing in him that tells him he probably was something alike in his past life.
But, tonight, all there will happen is quiet chatter. And for the first time, mostly on his part. She only hums her responses, fainter than his own voice. He understands why she's tired; merely two days ago evil was put to rest, but yesterday she hadn't seemed this drained.
Link is convinced it's the adrenaline's aftermath, and he brings the back of her hand to his lips. He doesn't do anything else but leave it there, to rest atop his skin. It's almost a way to prevent himself from speaking further on tomorrow's schedule, seeing she already fell asleep.
He doesn't know her body is recoiling, a little withered and, mostly, just tired. He doesn't know this wouldn't be the first instance he would witness this and not be able to tell.
Zelda always joked of how he slept so, so much. Sometimes, it had even irritated her. Today, the following morning, even trying to sit weighs her down. Her handmaid retracts from touch when Zelda flinches at the attempt of standing up, and it only prompted the royal medic to prescript two days worth of rest and thorough hydration. Maybe because she looks so much like a flower in need of water.
Then again, they need sun too. And, despite the unsettling sense of fatigue she felt, basking in the sun was, in her mind, the key to revitalization. So, she calls for Link to her chambers and asks of him to sympathize with her and take her for fresh air.
"I can stand up by my own now,"
He's less than convinced, and she notices that.
"The more rest you get–"
"—will only make me feel more tired." Zelda finishes, grabbing the temporary cane at her bedside and heading towards him. She doesn't walk like she's stepping on shards of glass; it's mostly for her to lean on something if she were to feel dizzy.
He should've known better than to grab her by the arm and support her way to the garden. Zelda lies her body in the grass near a silent princess, and rips some weeds off the soil. He wants to ask her more of her condition, but before he can sit down beside her, she's already asleep.
Link's never seen her this tired, nor so good at falling asleep that quick.
It's the hundred years. He slept through them, he thinks, while she rested not a single night. This is to be expected.
Except, his affinity to identifying problems doesn't agree with the hypothesis the way he'd like it to, and rather, leaves him restless as he picks her up from the ground.
She's unable to leave bed the following week.
Walking drains her in seconds, but there's so much she would dismiss to get the chance to ride her horse again. Zelda tells him this as he plays the part of her maid and brushes her hair. He's not exactly mindful of her chatter, although he does acknowledge it's rather livelier than other days. Link unties a knot and ponders if that state of hers should be this prolonged.
"…After all, it'd do me good to pay a visit to the shrine and pray for my wellbeing."
"I'll… consider it."
Her head snaps considerably fast, and she takes hold of his wrists as firm as her body lets her. His eyes narrow, only for a moment's blink, and the comb hits the floor. If one thing's intact, it's her stubbornness.
"You ought to take me there."
He mimics the slow way she spoke, "Let me see what I can do."
The hands on his wrist soften, and she uses the most strength she can muster to set his arms atop her shoulders, sliding her own around his torso. Link complies to her hug quietly, and only talks when she's finished shifting. "It'll take some convincing, but I'll make it happen. Just give me some time."
Humming in agreement, Zelda sighs. It's a deep, long sigh, the kind you hear from someone moments before they fall asleep. His intuition proves him right, and he sets her back down the mattress. Moving the stool he sat on next to the bed, he places the comb on her night table.
Link doesn't know what'd be worse; failing her expectative or risking an accident.
Certainly, it would've taken him less than two months to figure a way of getting her out, but she seemed so desperate for rest (even if she denied it) that he couldn't bring himself to rush things. Two days worth of traveling is, in his mind, putting too much to risk as far as he's concerned.
Yet, two months of wait for any improvements on her condition offered close to nothing. If she was going to continue living just as she was, in Impa's words, she might as well be humored for a little deserved happiness. It's then when he realized all this time, he was doing it again; patronizing her.
The horse is saddled, mist thick enough to make her eyes hazy, and he's got his arms on her sides to prevent any accidents. All while her hands scratch the leather on the saddle's horn, he tells her about the itinerary; in a couple hours, the sun would set, and they'd arrive just on time to the river for her to witness it upon the crystalline water.
"You brought your Sheikah slate, didn't you? Sorry, what am I saying, of course you did—" She looks over her shoulder to the side of his hip, "—it'd be lovely if you lent it to me. I want to take pictures of the sky."
"Won't it be the same sunset you've seen already?" He intends no malice; her interest genuinely piqued his curiosity. She turns her head forward, lowers it a little.
"That's hardly the point. I don't know when will be the next time I'll witness it outdoors."
Realization hits him in waves of inexplicable guilt; why is it even guilt? He frees a hand from the horse's reins and fixes the heavy coat on her shoulders with little thinking. Maybe as an instinct of reassurance.
"Tomorrow. Then the day after. And the day after that. Your condition has improved," it's not as if he's lying, but it'd be better if he fully believed it himself. "I'm positive this is the most important step to your recovery, princess."
Zelda, she murmurs in reminder, and rests her back on his chest. Her neck pushes to fit the curve of his neck, common preparation for a sudden drop of energy. He'll give it to her—she surpassed the time he had expected for her to doze off. She could've not chosen a better moment to fall asleep; what he had said before left him restless with thought.
He almost doesn't notice the entry to the Riverside Stable from all the spacing out, and even the sudden shift of path doesn't faze her sleep.
"Hey… princess, we're here."
It's enough for him to whisper, though, for her eyes to bolt open. This proves their awfully close connection, whatever way one wanted to take that as. He feels like he's holding a doll when he sets her down on solid ground, and it's stressful how many times he's caught himself patronizing her in his own thoughts. She's no doll.
Just by looking at him setting the tent, she feels the urge to help. Ultimately, it leads to the same bitter conclusion. It's the first time being useful meant doing nothing, and, aware of this, she decides against her own hard head and saves the energy for a possibility of staying up until dark. It's not as if he expected or even needed any help either way.
Except, she underestimated her resolve for inactivity, and ends up holding a nail in place for him to hammer down and finish setting the tent. It's not much, but it's some sort of help.
It's when the sun starts to die down behind the mountains that she dips her feet on the lake's crystalline water, watching the fish disperse. Meanwhile, Link's newly lit bonfire starts to feed off the wood and grows livelier. Zelda looks at it for a moment, in spite of how a flame inspires more energy than her, and wonders what would happen if her feet dipped in the fire instead.
"It's not exactly cold out here," He begins, dusting off his hands and sitting on a rock near her. "But it'll be enough to keep you warm until night falls and the temperature drops."
"If I'm even awake to see night fall." The way Zelda acts in the mind of Link strikes some type of disdain to herself. It's nothing new, and he would've expected it to stop after the calamity was gone. "I really wanted to see the stars tonight."
"Well, you're not asleep yet," He murmurs in comfort, submerging his hand on the water to uselessly search for any rocks that catch his eye. "So you're good. Besides, I told you, I'm getting a different impression from you today. I think fresh air did you good."
"Do you think so?"
"I wouldn't lie to you."
It's quiet. The sun pours its last rays as her back curves, pulling her feet from the river and drawing her knees to her chest.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," She begins, suddenly a different kind of serious. An introspective to Zelda's melancholia. "I think I'm sick."
"If it was an illness, the medics would know by now. Whatever it is, something tells me it was only natural." The weird look she gives him prompts Link to chuckle, almost like a sigh. "I mean, you worked hard for a long time. Longer than long. Don't you think… it was bound to put some strain on you?"
"Then what does that mean for my future?" Her voice is borderline throaty, as if it closed against her favor. "I don't want to be tired for the next century—I won't even be alive to finish another hundred years! I… I'm only young for so long, I'll miss so much of my life if I never heal—"
"—hence why we're even here."
His arms hesitate for a moment, but bloom for her to embrace if she'd like to. Instantly, she moves closer and rests against him, arms laced around. The warmth from the bonfire falls short compared to his.
"…have you considered it might kill me?"
Link doesn't look scandalized, because it did cross his mind before. Instead, he caresses her back and instills a silence that gives her the time to reflect on her newly found resignation.
"Yes. But I disregarded it as quick as I could."
"Why? It's plausible."
"Because just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm calling for bad luck to come," At that, he holds her a little tighter and rests his lips atop her head. "To me it's not an option. Maybe it's childish to think like that, but that's the only outcome I just can't bring myself to second you on."
Sighing the knot of worry on her chest, she moves to stare at him face to face, bringing her hand to rest on his neck.
"Sorry, I think I soured the mood." Now, despite her voice signaling deeply rooted anguish, she makes up with a smile. It's not as bright as other ones, but it's the first time she's done an attempt to smile these past months. The tears threatening to spill are quickly wiped by him.
The minutes haven't stopped since the beginning of the conversation, and it's already dark, except for the slowly burning fire behind. He wants to give her more, but not everything. She doesn't need everything.
Just someone to keep her company through this.
It goes on like this: there are enough visible stars for him to make up constellations, pointing them out to her as he holds her the closest she's ever been to him. She wants to wait for so many more to appear. When she isn't responsive to the anecdotes he's telling, he notices she's already fallen asleep. Maybe the moon lulled her all this time.
The bonfire dies down as soon as he sets her inside the tent, but he's not ready to sleep yet. All her words rooted a restlessness, he takes the same place atop the rock as before and pulls his knees in, just as she did.
It's the next morning, and he's surprised she's up before him. Despite the initial desperation of the emptiness beside him, it's immediately tranquilizing to see her rustle for food on his bag. She even tried to put on the saddle on the horse herself, but it weighed her down instantly. It dawns upon him that nothing the medics advise sticks to her, and how she's still very much a wild animal. Tired, but wild-eyed.
The Riverside Stable is now just another place behind their backs, and every time she nibbles on a berry, she pops one inside his mouth out of consideration (and to quiet him down whenever he tells her to sleep so she arrives to the spring energized, but that's not as lovely).
Zelda does let him speak when it has to do with anecdotes that the landscape inspires, and for someone so usually quiet, he's a natural at storytelling. She could listen for hours and stop all the clocks if it came down to it, or hold the moon and sun inert on the sky so there's no telling when's a good time to return to the castle.
When he takes her down the horse and introduces her once again to the shrine, she nearly looks ready to weep. The spring holds the same air of comfort, but stepping on the holy ground resembles quicksand to her.
"Should I leave?" He offers when her troubled expression becomes too hard to miss, but she just shakes her head in no.
"Stay."
Her feet submerge in the water and she pretends to pray.
Taking shelter in kneeling as well, he digs his sword on the earth. Link eyes her for a moment through his lashes to confirm she's still awake and standing, then goes back to praying. His prays are slow and straightforward, while hers are inarticulate and stuttered. Zelda loses count of how many times she has started over and kneels down, water rising on her body.
A flash goes through her. More or less like a shiver that straightens her back and immediately pulls her up to stand, like pulling a puppet upwards from its strings. She hasn't breathed in so much air these past months the way she did right now, and the water wildly splashing unsettles his praying. Link looks up and Zelda is there, looking as happy as child, her eyes brimming with excitement. Zelda is there, rejuvenated.
Just as he's about to call out her name in matching thrill, she takes one step and collapses. It's not gradual like her usual withdrawals, and there was no sign on her expression to prepare him for it. He stumbles on his feet and feels his heart drop to his stomach.
The light trespassing the spring retracts as he pulls her from the water.
Hylia's deems herself done; she let Zelda dance on fire and dip her feet on water and see the stars, all while having someone accompany her through this. In other words, what Zelda asked for that last night.
Hylia gives her darlings everything. All the joys, all the agonies. Everything.
in my mind, there's no way zelda leaves the events in perfect condition, and i wanted to explore that further. thank you for reading