Tentatively, the princess asks her knight whether he remembers her, and when he beams and nods, her heart sinks.
This isn't her Link. It can't be.
Lost in a daze, she allows him to lead her away from the ruined castle, her home and her prison. If Link is annoyed by her stumbling pace as she recalls the feeling of movement, of life beyond the stasis she and Ganon had been locked in for a century, he gives no indication. Not due to his regular stoicism though, no.
This Link smiles, he laughs, he calls her by name and tugs her along by the hand; not a princess and a royal knight but a civilian boy and his friend. He pulls out the Sheikah Slate, handling it with casual confidence, and enters an input that sends the pair soaring across Hyrule in the blink of an eye.
The scholar in her wants to demand that he show her everything he has learned about the Slate, ideally presenting her with a detailed report on all of its abilities, but now is not the time. If he really remembered me, wouldn't he have expected me to ask? ButLink does not pause, does not give that patient but warm look he gets when she spends hours telling him about her research. Instead, he continues to lead her through the village he had brought her to, across a swaying rope bridge to a modest little cottage on the outskirts.
Zelda had never before entered such a residence, let alone spent a night in one, but the thought of being anywhere but trapped in the Castle is exhilarating. Link waves cheerily at the old man draped across his front lawn, who greets him back with a lazy raised hand. Zelda stares at him in awe, a citizen entirely at ease in her kingdom, completely unaffected by the Calamity that had consumed her for so long.
When he pushes open the door, she gasps in shock. "That - that's Mipha's spear! And Urbosa's shield, and..." Her eyes fill with tears, blurring the familiar sights before her. How often had she admired that shield, the way that the searing desert sun made the gemstones glitter, how radiant the chief had looked with the elegant, curved blade in her hand. Zelda had known Princess Mipha to be a gentle, soft-spoken healer, yet she was as fierce and deadly with her spear as any hardened warrior. She draws closer to them, to the treasures displayed on the otherwise plain wooden walls. There is a hairline crack in the heavy stone of Daruk's crusher, and she can easily imagine his hearty laughter if he were to notice the damage, brushing off her concerns that it might break in battle. Revali's bow is entirely pristine beside it, and she turns to Link. "Have you ever used this?"
He gives a snort of laughter and speaks out loud, the sounds utterly foreign to her ears. "Nope. The Rito elder gave it to me, no way Revali would want me touching it." He shakes his head, easily sloughing off the bitter rivalry that had once troubled him so.
Link allows her to reminisce a few minutes more, before continuing his tour of the house. It does not take long, as there is only one large room and a little loft overlooking it. The entire building is smaller than her own childhood bedroom, but there's a rural charm to it all the same. The floors are clear of rubble and the air is fresh, and a sweetness wafts through the windows from the apple trees outside. There is no sign of monsters, not a trace of Malice dripping from the walls. No death, no despair, no girl had been trapped here screaming for years and years with nobody to hear.
"It's just lovely, Link," Zelda tells him, and he lets out a breath in relief. There is only one problem... "Where shall I be sleeping?" She cannot possibly have missed a second bed, but looks around anyway as though expecting a guest suite to appear.
"Ah. Ummm..." Link scratches his head, glancing sheepishly at her. "Well, you're a guest and all, so you can have my bed." It's a magnanimous gesture, and he certainly seems pleased with himself for offering it, but the princess hesitates to accept.
"Where will you sleep, then?"
He shrugs, grinning. "I've got a couple spare blankets, I can throw 'em on the floor." She raises a brow. "It's warm and dry in here, I'll be plenty comfortable." The other brow rises, and Link finally frowns, the sight not altogether displeasing to the not-so-tiny, selfish part of her that wants to throw her pain at him.
"What do you want, then?" he asks, and Zelda looks around the room as she considers the question.
There isn't much to see. Her eyes land on the only other piece of furniture on the landing, a little desk and simple wooden chair. So many nights had she fallen asleep in her own study, stubbornly rubbing the tiredness from her eyes as she pored over ancient Sheikah tablets until the next thing she knew she was in her bed, squinting through the first rays of dawn. How she had hated to sleep, in those days only weeks ago, only a century ago. The princess was often plagued by nightmares that the desperate king swore were prophetic, his eyes gleaming with hope that the powers of the Goddess were awaking in her at last. If this was all that the sacred power had to offer, Zelda surely did not want it, and her sleep grew ever more fitful until eventually even Father relented. He had special incense made for her, crafted from cool safflina gathered from the western mountains.
Many a night had she watched Link light it for her, his piercing eyes following the smoke sluggishly winding upwards. She knew it must have been him who carried her to bed, perhaps when he heard no sound coming from her study for too long as he stood guard without. Does he remember that?
Through the corner of her eye, Zelda glances at her knight. Sometimes, when I was feeling scared or alone, I'd want to ask Link to stay with me. He'd bring me to my room and put me to bed and take care of me, but wasn't allowed to stay. But who would stop us now? The old castle staff are dead, the guards and the maids and the lords and the visiting performers and merchants, and most of all her father. Who would see them together? Who would spread rumors, and to whom? Dutiful as ever, the old ache rises in her heart at the thought of all of those deaths, dulled with time and beating a familiar pattern that she had long grown weary of. The princess had shed all of her tears decades ago, and could not muster more if she tried.
For so long, Zelda had borne Hyrule's grief, had obediently carried the weight of the dead that she had failed to protect. If Link can be allowed to forget but still be a hero, why can't she? Did she not fulfill her duty to her kingdom today?
She extends a hand to Link. "You fought bravely today. You should get some rest as well, there is room for both of us in the bed." He smiles and takes her hand. I cannot bear to be alone anymore.
It is not long before they are both changed into a long night shirt (the princess would never have dreamt of borrowing clothing from anyone, let alone a man, but was eager to rid herself of the ceremonial Goddess gown that she so loathed), the fire is put out, and the pair curl up together. The bed is not as large as it had looked while empty, and Zelda finds herself pressed close to her knight. If he is uncomfortable with their proximity, he says nothing, and she finds that she enjoys the contact. While his fingers are calloused by a lifetime of wielding a blade, the skin on his body is smooth and soft, if scarred. His muscles are lean, though she knows the strength that runs through them. She lays her head on Link's chest, and the rise and fall of his breathing, the sound of his heartbeat, the evidence of the life that had once been taken from him is both thrilling and soothing.
His arms wrap around her, protective as ever, and the princess closes her eyes.
When Zelda dreams that night, it is of Link, as usual, but not visions of his adventure. Instead, she sees his little house in Hateno, the one they sleep in now.
She hears the high-pitched laugh of a child, the thudding of little feet pounding down the stairs. "Don't run in the house," she calls, not looking up from her work. She stands in a tiny kitchen with a knife in her hand and a cutting board before her, warm and snug with a fire crackling somewhere beside her and sunlight pouring in from the windows. In the way of dream logic, she knows that she is preparing a meal, although the woman who had once been the princess of Hyrule knows nothing of what the task entails.
"Daddy runs in the house," a voice says, and Zelda glances up to see the pouting face of a little boy, perhaps three or four years old. His golden hair is a scraggly mess, and he has his mother's piercing green eyes. A man laughs behind her, a familiar and welcome sound, and Link puts his hand on their son's head.
"And she scolds me for it too," he says, his voice coming to him easily, comfortable in the company of his little family. The pair of them are dressed like any other citizen of Hateno, and Zelda doesn't have to look down to know that she is as well. She is no princess, Link is no knight, and their son is no prince. He is nothing, which leaves him free to be anything. Her heart rises at the thought, of the peace and freedom they enjoy.
Link had said something else, but Zelda didn't hear it, lost in thought. Looking at her boys, her greatest treasures, she laughs instead, scooping her son up and kissing his chubby cheeks. She holds him out to her husband, who asks no questions but kisses him in turn. The child squirms in her grasp. "Daddy, your face is scratchy," he complains.
Zelda laughs again, the sound rising to her lips freely and often. "He's right. You look like a molting deer," she teases, and Link raises a brow, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
"You didn't seem to mind last night," he murmurs suggestively. She smiles, but hastily puts their son down and returns to her work to avoid looking at Link. Zelda had indeed noticed Link's facial hair, sparse as it was, as they had made love the previous night, his cheeks scratching at her sensitive inner thighs. The added sensation was exciting, had made her squeeze her legs together around him, urging him ever closer. Later, when he was in her and she felt blissfully whole, she prayed for another child, that they might add to their joy with complete confidence of the babe's safety.
She had cried out her husband's name, pledged her love and devotion to him, pleaded with him to never leave her side.
"My Link… don't leave me again, Link… Don't make me wait for you… alone in the dark… Link…"
A rough hand shakes her awake, and Princess Zelda jerks up with a gasp.
Blackness surrounds them, and for a terrible moment Zelda thinks she is back in Hyrule Castle, that the fight against Ganon and her afternoon with her knight had only been her imagination. It had been so real, tears rise to her eyes at the thought of losing it, but the body next to her shifts and drags her back to Hateno. The little house, the one with her husband and son.
Link's voice reaches her in the darkness. "Zelda? You were talking in your sleep. You were calling my name."
"A dream," she gasps. "It was... only a dream." It had been such a happy dream, such a happy home, filled with the love and warmth the princess had not known since she was a girl. Since before Mother died, before the Calamity was prophesized. Father used to smile then, I was free and we were all safe. The image of the sunny kitchen is nearly faded in her mind's eye, and she has no desire to imagine the castle in its stead. She squeezes her eyes shut, focusing instead on the hand that begins to rub circles on her lower back.
Link holds her tightly, and she's certain he doesn't remember the subtleties of a royal courtship, for he would never have dared show his hand so openly even in private. Still, after having been so maddeningly alone for so long, his presence is a comfort, the physical contact grounding. Link's arms are strong and toned, his embrace firm and protective, but the fingers that reach up to stroke her hair are gentle.
They lay together in silence, and the princess finally begins to relax into his touch. Her sense of time has long been obliterated, and it's impossible to know how long it had been before he speaks.
"Zelda?" Her name sounds foreign in his voice.
"Yes?"
He hesitates, struggling to find the words, and this, at least, feels like her old Link.
"You were precious to me. I'm certain of that. But... did I love you?" The look he gives her is unlike any she's ever seen in him: vulnerable, uncertain. Zelda realizes that it must have pained him to admit that he doesn't know something that should be so inherent to his very being.
It reminds her of herself, so long ago. Struggling to find her power, to define herself between the failed princess and failed priestess she was and the independent young woman she was desperate to become. How Link had been at her side for every moment of it, how she had hated him, how she had envied him, how she had loved him. Whether she had believed it or not, he had never judged her, nor faltered in his duty and support of her. All of it felt like another lifetime ago, and was it not? Near everyone who remembered it was now dead.
Including Link.
He died that day. He died for you, and you think you have the right to curse him for forgetting? Does it matter if he used to love you? Does he love you now? Do you want your old life back?
The last question, at least, is easy. The old kingdom was gone, Calamity Ganon had succeeded in that. Yet... life had gone on. The Hylians had dispersed, formed new communities, forged a new life. She thinks of the old man in front of Link's house, carefree and cheery. Isn't that what this was all for? They're alive, so did Ganon really win after all? Does the past still matter to them?
All her life, all Zelda had ever wanted was to be free of the burden forced upon her. At last, her duty was now complete, and there remained nothing of the royal life that she was born into and expected to continue.
"Yes, I believe that you did. But you're not the same you now... and I'm not the same me I was." She smiles, and it doesn't feel forced. "We could learn to love each other again. It can be whatever we want it to be."
Link smiles back. It rises to his lips as easily as all the other ones had, and while the old Link she had loved never smiled, perhaps she could get used to the new one who does. Perhaps she could get used to the new Hyrule that is no longer a kingdom, the new Hylians who would greet her as a friend and neighbor, but never as their princess.
"I'd like that."