I'm not even going to pretend like I have an explanation for why this took so long. I have struggled with this chapter for almost two months now, for no conceivable reason other than the awkward phase in the plot that it is. I've written and rewritten, deleted and shifted and changed, and finally this morning I decided that enough was enough and wrote it all in one sitting.
I am satisfied. I hope you will be, too.
Thank you for all the love and support. It truly means the world!
Check out my tumblr, Alyssawritesalot, for more on this and other Zelda stuff!
Hope you enjoy the chapter!
~Alyssa
o(OXO)o
The sharp clang of steel against steel filled the courtyard, and the group observing the two players applauded politely at their show of skill.
They were taking their lunch outside in the gardens, and after a short conversation about his exploits during the Twilight War, one of the noblemen had challenged the Hero to a display. He had protested, but after much encouragement, had agreed to do a demonstration. After divesting himself of his jacket and accepting Zelda's handkerchief as a token of favor, he took his place across the gardens began to fight.
Zelda had seen that look of determination on his face many times—when she had sent him on his adventure, when she battled with him across Hyrule field, when he crossed swords with Ganondorf—but never mingled with the playful countenance that she only ever seen once as Sheik. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
Dorian was enthralled. Diaval was paying attention, for once. Even Helena, who harbored great distaste for anything violent, had to profess that there was beauty and fluidity in the way that the Hero maneuvered with his sword.
"He's very good," she whispered behind her fan, and Zelda felt an unusual swell of pride.
"He is," she agreed.
He was good and funny and smart. He was hers by promise, and would soon be hers by law.
Even so, she still couldn't decide if last night had been a mistake, because when she was Sheik, she wasn't herself.
They had stayed awake talking well into the morning about inconsequential things. He had been perfectly honorable, maintaining a fair distance and keeping his eyes were they belonged despite the suit that clung to her every curve. It seemed he had every intention of keeping his word to the Princess. He was just lonely, he said. He longed for someone to confide in.
And he had, without reservation. He told her what he loved best about his home in Ordon and what he hated most about Castletown. He spoke of the children that he had watched grow up and the animals he tended. He shared little anecdotes about country life. By the time he stopped, the moon was halfway through its decent, and he looked to her expectantly.
But she found she had nothing to share. What could she tell him, after all, of her childhood in the city he so despised?
He tried to pry, but she was resolute. She didn't want to talk about where she was from, and she said as much once, twice, three times, her voice raising louder every time. Thoroughly rebuffed, he'd suggested they call it a night. She made her escape into the cold night, knowing for sure that she could not return if she didn't want this repeated.
But now…now, she wasn't certain. She had seen a different side of him, been given more than just a taste of the person that she knew he was, and now, unfortunately, she found herself addicted.
The Hero swung high, and when he was met again with resistance, grinned. "You're not half-bad, Harkner."
"I should think not," the young man replied, his smile equally as bright, "But if a hero such as you can be bested by the likes of me, perhaps Hero is a bit of a misnomer."
Their blades clashed again, and the Hero threw his back his and laughed.
The fight continued in this manner for some time, joking and hurtling insults in between truly spectacular feats of skill. When one man seemed to be gaining the upper hand, they were thwarted at the last minute.
Finally, after maneuvering through a complicated parry, the Hero dropped to the ground, kicked to the side, and swept the legs out from under his opponent. A moment later he stood erect, the tip of his blade pressed against the heaving chest of poor Harkner.
"Defeated," he proclaimed, smugness radiating from the tips of his toes to every hair on his head. The group gathered erupted in applause.
Harkner dropped his rapier and held his hands up with a laugh. "Surrendered," he replied, and the Hero offered him a hand up. Harkner clasped him on the shoulder.
"If I had thought for a moment you would be stupid enough to risk a maneuver such as that, I would have rethought my defense," he chuckled, shaking out his long, black hair from the ponytail it was confined in. "It seems as though I have overestimated you."
The Hero only laughed. "Calculated risk leads to greater reward. I didn't earn the title Hero for nothing, it seems."
"Point conceded. I shall not engage you in a battle of wits, or swords for that matter, anytime soon."
The men rejoined the party, Harkner going to sit with his wife and the Hero coming to stand before Zelda. Sweat plastered his hair to his face, but his eyes were exhilarated, his skin glowing. She had never seen him this genuinely happy in her presence.
He took her hand, and she wondered if he felt the newfound sparks, too.
"My dear," he murmured, bowing low and drawing his lips across her knuckles.
She suddenly felt quite warm. Her stomach knotted.
They could go on like this for the rest of their lives—openly affectionate in public and distant at best behind closed doors. If she stopped seeing him as Sheik now, left alone the only freedom she'd ever had in this world, that would be that.
But she would be removed from his private life altogether, and every touch they would ever share would be for show. Every smile would be pretend. Every laugh, forced.
But wasn't it another form of pretending, if she kept up this ruse of someone she was not? Wouldn't it be dangerous for her reputation if the Hero was ever caught spending time with another woman?
She wanted to care, but didn't. The urge to know him was so overwhelming that she could scarcely breathe. And like the weak-willed, pathetic soul that she was, she would go back to see him again tonight.
If he wanted to know about her, she'd make things up. Anything to have his company.
He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles, handing it back to her with a grin.
"Luck's favor seems to follow yours, your highness," he said. "Thank you."
"The pleasure was mine," she replied, "But I cannot take credit for your skill. You were incredible."
"Very entertaining," added Harkner's wife, a sweet thing of twenty who clung to her husband's arm like he was all that was good in the world. Their match had been one for love. "It's not often William meets his match."
Harkner rolled his eyes, but grinned. "We should train together. I should like to do that again."
The Hero bowed his head in agreement. "If you say."
He offered Zelda his arm, and she took it. They strode away from the group gathered, into the thicket of trees that grew along the south side of the castle.
He dropped his arm as soon as they were out of their line of sight, turning to face her with a grimace.
"Sorry if 'my dear' was too thick," he said, "I didn't mean to."
She shook her head. "No, it was fine. It was good. I'm sure they're all convinced of our happiness."
"Hopefully." He looked away, down the path that lead to the castle doors. "Do you think we could pretend to sneak off, and I could go back to my rooms to pen some letters? My family must be worried sick; they haven't heard from me in weeks."
She swallowed. "No, no, go ahead. I'm feeling quite tired myself."
He nodded once, turning away, but she stopped him with a touch on the arm. Even through her gloves and the thick shirt he wore, she could feel the heat sizzle between them.
It was only a pity that he didn't seem to feel the same.
"Truly, it was an excellent show."
She had to wonder if he understood that she did not speak of his swordsmanship.
o(OXO)o
The knock on his window that night seemed to startle him.
The Hero glanced up from the book he was reading with a start, nearly jumping from his seat when he was it was her. He crossed the room to let her in with ungodly haste.
She swallowed despite herself.
He wasn't wearing a shirt.
"I didn't think you were going to come back," he admitted and he gave her a hand down. She tried very hard not to be distracted by the lean muscles of his shoulders, but it was futile.
He was just as fit as she had imagined underneath his clothes.
"I didn't think I was coming back," she answered, jumping lithely to the floor. She removed her hand from his and balled it into a fist to stop herself from reaching out and stroking the planes of his chest.
He was an engaged man. Zelda's, not Sheik's, regardless of how he felt for the Princess at this particular moment. She couldn't touch, wouldn't touch.
But she could still look at him. His torso, his stomach, toned and strong and covered with scars…
He must have caught her gawking, because a moment later his ears went red. "I didn't realize I was going to have company. I'll get dressed—"
"No. It's fine," she cut him off, gesturing down to a particularly ugly looking gash decorating his side. Though it was the pale pink of a long-healed scar, the flesh was still puckered, bumpy like it had never quite come together the right way. It took her off guard. "I was just...I saw—What happened to you?"
The Hero raised a brow. "I had a nice day, thank you for asking."
It was her turn to flush. What a personal question to ask someone she barely knew! "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's not something you see every day. I know." He went to his wardrobe and extracted a shirt, pulling it over his head before continuing. "I wasn't always a great swordsman; I barely swung a stick around before I left my village. You learn the hard way."
"I can't imagine," she said. "How did you even get involved?"
"Some of the village children were kidnapped by Moblins. I was the healthiest boy in Ordon. It was go, or never see them again." He paused, considering. "I've found myself in that situation a lot—being the only one who can possibly do something without catastrophic consequences. Saving them was one of them. Going to fight a supreme evil before I even reached majority or seeing the end of the world as I knew it, that was another one."
He had never cast being the Hero in such a light. "You didn't want to do that?"
"No. Who would?" His smile turned grim. "I do a lot of things I don't want to for the sake of my country."
She heard the allusion, and tried to disguise her wince.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
He shifted, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn't mean to scare you off."
"I know. I'm sorry as well, for being so cold. I just…no one's asked me about my past before that way. I don't like to talk about it."
His expression changed to something pitiful. "But how can I know you?"
You can't, her heart cried out, you'll never know me, no matter how much we talk, because this isn't me! You hate who I am!
"Ask me about things that matter now," she said instead, because she would rather give up this persona forever than have him be alienated by it, too. "Not ancient history."
He smiled a little. "What's your favorite color?"
"Purple," she told him. "What's yours?"
"Green. When's your favorite time of day?"
She glanced out the window, watching the waning moon glimmer. "Right now, when I can come here. How do you take your tea?"
"Black, with three sugars," he said, and she snorted.
"Three?"
"I don't like bitter things!" he defended himself, looking affronted.
"You like me," she pointed out.
His grin was more genuine, now. "You're not bitter. You're just secretive. Like a chestnut, I'll peel you back until I find the sweet interior."
She wrinkled her nose. "Somehow I don't like that analogy."
"Sorry," he shrugged, wholly unapologetic. "What kind of flowers do you prefer?"
"Daffodils smell the nicest. Who's your best friend?"
He paused, his smile falling.
"Sorry, I—"
"No, it's fine." He looked away. "Her name was Midna."
The Twilight Princess. Zelda knew her, had befriended her. She'd watched as she'd broken the barrier between their two kingdoms for good.
She also knew that she had stood by the Hero on every part of his adventure. She'd been his companion. She could still remember the hurt in his eyes when Midna walked away from him for good.
"Was?"
He swallowed. "She's gone. After I saved—after it was over, I mean, she went back home, and she's never coming back. I'm never going to see her again." His voice cracked on the last word, and his gaze fell to the floor.
It was a kind of hurt that she couldn't possibly begin comprehend.
"Did you love her?"
"That's not something I'm willing to talk about," he said sharply, and she bit her lip, thoroughly rebuffed.
"You don't have to," she said carefully, "But sometimes…sometimes you need to, if you're ever going to find the absolution I think you need. There are different kinds of scars than the ones on the skin. They don't heal as easily."
"Absolution," he scoffed, turning away. "What do you know about that?"
She had been forced to come to terms with failing her country, the people that her family had been sworn to protect for centuries. She had been captured and imprisoned and possessed. She had said goodbye to the man that saved her country and wondered for years why he had left.
She was marrying someone who hated her.
"More than you think."
He turned around, icy eyes flashing to meet hers.
"Who are you?"
The sudden question took her off guard, but the way he looked at her was astonishing. His gaze was full of something so painfully unexplainable, so full of burning longing and unanswered questions. It struck her how much she hurt him last night when she left, and she was dumbfounded.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, trying to settle on her words.
"Your friend," she said finally, "Someone to talk to."
"Is that what we are?" he demanded, "Friends?"
She understood his reluctance; it wasn't the word she would have chosen, either. She was too distant to be his friend, and she always would be. Closeness to him was something that she craved, but there was no way to be close without revealing her secret.
She didn't want to leave, though.
She wanted to stay with him, and unlike when he was with Zelda, she knew that he wanted her to stay.
"Yes," she said firmly. "We're friends. Allies. Two people so incredibly out of their depth in a city set on eating them alive."
Just like the night before, she held out her hand. He crossed the room to take it, and they shook. His grip was strong and the heat she felt when she touched him earlier was back with a vengeance.
She felt herself blush, and thanked all three of the Goddesses that her mask covered her cheeks.
"That sounds about right to me," he smiled. "Just…please promise me that you won't go without saying goodbye."
Her grip tightened.
She couldn't have left now if she tried.
o(OXO)o
-wipes forehead- I'm so glad that's over.
Chapters SHOULD be coming MUCH MORE regularly after this. I have a lot of the next couple plotted out in my head, and a lot of scenes already done that were rejected for chapter four.
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See you guys next time!