(Stares down lawyer) "Do we have to do this?" Lawyer: *insert legal nonsense* ME: "Alright fine." *clears throat* "Disclaimer: I do not own the legend of Zelda. All rights belong to Nintendo. I only own my OCs and the plot." "Happy now?"
Lawyer: *nods*
Two Kinds of Lovers
"Alright, Zelda dear. Can you step on the stool please?"
Zelda complies to Arlette's instructions without incident, not wanting this to take longer than needed. A draft sends a shiver through her, and it takes a great deal of will not to shake. The sooner the fitting is finished, the sooner she can get out of her birthday suit.
She carries out Arlette's orders post-haste, raising and lowering her arms when needed and standing as straight as can be. Arlette meanwhile writes down each measurement on a piece of sheepskin parchment.
"That's the last one," she says to herself as her quill scratches the final stroke on the sheepskin. "You can get dressed now, dear."
Humming, the older woman leaves Zelda's room. The princess sighs in relief. Her dress is hanging off her bed, and as she moves to grab it, the mirror catches her eye. A simple full-length mirror that Arlette had brought up for the fitting. In the mirror is a woman. A young woman, who is both familiar and a stranger. She recognizes her eyes and hair, but the body is unknown. Her hands run down herself, grabbing and molding the layer of fat that has developed on her. She digs, folds, gropes, molds and plays with herself, giggling like a toddler.
Focusing back on the image in the mirror, she tries to imagine what she'll look like with the finished dress, a wedding dress.
She had accepted Merari's proposal. Even now she isn't certain what had compelled her to say yes. Merari is decent, and a friend as well—which is already more than a princess could hope for from a husband—and there was that one time they kissed. And yet she's hesitant. Like something is off. Try as she might, she cannot visualise herself in a wedding dress, standing outside the chapel and saying her vowels to Merari.
Then it dawns on her. Reaching down and turning over the delicate silver engagement ring, she realises she's taking a step back. That by marrying Merari—a nobleman in his own right—she'll be returning to the life she left behind. Her body starts to shake, so she plants her hands on either side of the mirror to steady herself. Sweat forms on her skin, and she has shortness of breath as all her old fears of social expectations rush back to haunt her. She doesn't want it, no. Now she sees that the life of a nobleman's wife is an uptight, restricting responsibility. She'll have no freewill, and certain expectations will be demanded from her. Yet, she had willingly gone back because it is familiar. It had been easy. Her eyes moisten with the realisation that she's the one to blame for her relapse. It's her own fault. Collapsing on the floor, she lets the tears fall.
Now she knows it's not familiarity she wants. It's love. The same kind of love that is shared between Lysander and Arlette. True, genuine love. Reflecting on her relationship with Merari, there had been a lot of romantic moments between them.
But do we love each other? she asks herself.
Alas, it is too late. She's already given her consent. There's no going back now.
Solemnly rising, Zelda walks back to her discarded clothes and begins slowly dressing, her mind not fully in the moment. The sound of squeaking hinges alerts her. Turning around she finds Link in the doorway staring at her appreciatively.
"Link. Can I help you with anything?"
A deep chuckle resonates from him. "No, thank you. Mom had told me she was done with your measurements, so I came to see how you are doing."
Zelda forces a smile. "Well, that was very considerate of you. But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine."
His eyes narrow as they take her in. They examine her face closely, and she knows he can see her red, puffy eyes and the tear stains on her face. "Are you?" he asks.
She lowers her gaze under his own, and her voice is barely above a whisper. "No."
She then walks over to her bed sitting on the edge. Without looking at him, she pats the space beside her. The mattress shifts under his added weight. Still she doesn't look up from the floor.
A strong arm wraps around her, and a comforting yet rough hand grasps her shoulder. She leans into her companion, shifting and adjusting herself until she's comfortable against him.
They sit like that for a while. Finally he speaks. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She considers it, but says no.
"Just hold me," she requests desperately.
So, they sit together on the bed, leaning into each other. A soothing, relaxing sensation falls upon her as he slides his hand up and down her arm, humming deeply in his chest. They stay like this for some time, but as her consciousness is about to drift away, Link's motions slow down. Soon they stop altogether, and he grows tense against her, like a tightened bowstring.
Glancing up at him, he appears off to her. He is looking dead ahead focusing on nothing. He is pale yet flushed, his pupils have dilated, and a layer of sweat has formed on his forehead.
She delicately wipes the sweat off with her sleeve, the fabric becoming soaked through. Her hand finds his and squeezes it gently, reassuringly.
"Link, are you well?"
"No," he croaks out. "I haven't been well for a few days."
"What!" she shouts, almost jumping off her bed. "Why haven't you said anything?"
Before he can respond, she shushes him and places a hand on his forehead.
"You are feverish," she states. "Come. You are going to bed."
He protests, but she ignores him and forces him to go to his room. There she helps him out of his clothes and lays him under the blankets before going to fetch him a bowl of stew.
When she returns, he is already fast asleep. Smiling, she places the stew on his nightstand. Then she plants a small kiss on his cheek before leaving to find Arlette.
A few days pass, and although Link seems better, he still isn't fully himself. Zelda catches him staring off into the distance or mumbling to himself. When he goes about his daily tasks, there's no vigor. He's just doing the motions. There's something distracting him, but what? When Zelda talks to him, he clearly isn't fully there. He constantly asks her to repeat herself, and is either looking anywhere except her, or is intensively staring at only her.
That isn't the worst of it. He has become more aggressive, quicker to anger. On occasion, he lashes out at random people—mostly men—and all the criminals he drags in have been beaten senseless. She worries for him.
Every night and day, she kneels before the goddess idol he made for her and offers prayers for him, sometimes even falling asleep where she kneels. Not just her, but the whole family worries for Link.
These are the thoughts whirling in Zelda's mind as she scrubs the kitchen floor. All day she's been doing house chores, not needing to go to the guild today. Finally finishing, she drops the brush unceremoniously in the bucket of dirty water, giving no mind to the water that splashes out onto her already damp skirt. She rubs her aching hands, taking time to examine them with care. She sighs deeply upon seeing the callouses that have formed on her once smooth hands. She can already hear the scolding that administrators and magistrates would have given her. Closing her eyes, she imagines the whole nobility suffering heart attacks upon seeing her work worn hands, and she laughs bitterly.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing," she tells Link as he enters from the living room. "Just my imagination getting the better of me."
"I see," he replies knowingly. "Well, if you're done with your imagination, how about we resume your self defence training."
Zelda's eyes light up, and the biggest smile forms on her face.
"Really! We haven't done that in a while."
Link awkwardly shifts his weight. "Yeah, sorry about that. So, are you ready?"
"Of course!"
She runs out the door, leaving Link behind.
She makes it to their special training place, and he arrives a moment later with the practice swords in hand. He tosses a sword her way, which she catches with ease. They assume their stances. A smile is the only warning they exchange before engaging.
He knocks her back every single time. She'll give him her best only to be sent reeling back from his heavy blows. She curses under breath. Each exchange sends strong vibrations up her arms. A few more exchanges and they will give out completely.
Meanwhile, Link is sweating profusely, and his breathing is beginning to sound laboured. Seeing him struggle has her gleefully grinning with pride. But she wants to beat him. Just once, she wants to win.
They get into a sword lock, and she seizes her opportunity. Quickly pivoting to the side, she lowers her blade making Link—who had been putting his weight forward—stumble. She readjusts her grip, and slams the pummel of her sword into his gut. He doubles over, and it looks like victory is hers. In her assumed triumph, she lowers her guard, and Link strikes back.
He grabs her wrists and twists her dominant hand, making her drop the sword. From there, the fight degrades into a wrestling match. Though Zelda has gotten stronger over the months, she is no match for Link in terms of pure brute strength and is pinned down in seconds.
Her victory stolen from her, she stares at Link whose eyes are crinkled up in a playful smile. She smiles back and tries getting up, but finds herself still pinned down underneath his solid mass. His body is pressing into hers, and their faces are centimeters apart.
"Link," she whispers in a daze. Even though it's the middle of winter, it feels like late spring.
Link stares back at her. He says nothing, simply looking at her. He reaches and caresses her face tenderly with his calloused hands. They lock eyes, and she sees in his—in his fire-blue eyes that so oft remind her of a sleeping beast—a look that she has seen hundreds of times in the eyes of men both young and old directed at her, back when she had lived at the castle.
A chill sweeps through Zelda, fright freezing her. She sees above her, not a friend, but a predator. A beast. Her mind is racing like a gale. Her instincts scream at her to struggle, to escape, to run for help. Then something wet lands on her cheek.
Then another drop lands on her face, and another. That's when she notices. Link is still there. Still caressing her face, still laying on top of her, still having that look in his eyes. Yet, tears are slowly rolling down his cheek. Those blue eyes no longer resemble a beast, but now hold a great sorrow, as if she is looking in the eyes of a kicked puppy. There is no beast, no predator, just a friend in pain.
She reaches up and wipes away his tears, even as more fall onto her. She leans into him, moving in to kiss his tears, but he pulls back and falls off her. Before she can do anymore, he scrambles to his feet and flees into the treeline.
Zelda sits up. Numbly, she crawls to her fallen practice sword. Clutching it tightly, she cradles it in her arms with her knees pulled up to her chest. The other one lies at her feet.
It has been nearly a week, and Zelda has been cautious when around Link. The two hardly speak to each other, and the family watched with forlorn eyes.
Today, she has just finished work, but instead of walking home like she always does, or going to the market to do the errands charged to her, she is allowing herself to wander. Her feet lead her down what roads and paths they dare tread as her mind went on its own journey. She thinks of Merari, and whether or not she really wants to marry him. She thinks of Link and that day she saw him cry. At the time she had been confused, but Zelda now takes the time to think about it, and is struck by what—in her mind—is a rather wild assumption.
Does Link love me? She asks herself. Could Link love me? he at least seems to desire me, I think. But do I want him that way? Do I love him that way?
Looking down at her hand, she watches as the engagement ring she was given shines softly in the fading sunlight. Running her fingers along the delicate, entwined bands of silver, she thinks, If Link had proposed to me instead of Merari, would I have said yes?
Kneading her forehead, Zelda groans loudly, kicking up snow with a growl. After a few deep breaths, she examines her surroundings, a shiver runs down her spine when she sees the slanted roofs, crooked walls, filth laden paths and stray dogs of the suburbs. Never has she come her before, always being warned away. Picking up her skirts, she turns tail and runs in the opposite direction. But in her panic, she abandons her sense of direction and is soon lost in the alleys. Not knowing where to go, she takes a random turn and finds a despicable sight that she never should see.
Leaning against the wall of a condemned building is a woman. Her garb is red, as red as blood. Red kirtle, red tunic, red surcoat, red cloak, and a red veil to hide her face so that all Zelda can see of her is her voluminous blond hair. This woman wears the red garb of a prostitute. From her hidden lips come the lewdest sounds to ever reach Zelda's virgin ears. Hanging on the woman's girdle is a purse heavy with coin; the money of unfaithful men. But the most horrendous thing is down below. Between her legs and parted skirts is a man. A wealthy man as one can tell from his lavish dress. His hair is tussled and sleek with sweat, and his clothes dishevelled, but Zelda recognizes him instantly having seen him many times before. The unfaithful lover, the prey of the woman in red, is non other than her own fiancé Merari.
She had run. Run and run until she could no longer. Then she had walked blindly. After who knows how much time, Zelda is finally home. But she is numb and wooden. Nothing is said and she goes to bed without supper. Her clothes fall like lead off her body, and her covers are almost suffocating. Her door creaks open, but she ignores it. Even as a familiar weight sits on her bed, she doesn't pay attention to him, not until he pulls her into his lap and starts humming to her.
"Are you alright, Zelda?"
"No," she whimpers.
He doesn't push the topic, much to her appreciation, and he continues humming. They pull into a hug, and Zelda almost smiles. Gazing beyond his shoulder at the grains of wood in the wall, a calm sensation fills her, and she sighs tiredly.
"Merari's cheating on me," she tells Link.
His humming stops, and he goes stiff like a log.
"What should I do?" She pulls back and searches his eyes for a solution, clutching him tightly, begging with her tears.
"I... I don't know," he apologizes. "I'm only a huntsman, not a lawyer. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry Zelda."
"But you're a deputy!" she cries out. "Surely there must be something you can do."
"I'm sorry Zelda," he apologizes again. "But without any evidence, there's nothing I can do."
Zelda says nothing, just tightens her hold on him. When her tears are spent, she closes her eyes, her body spent beyond exhaustion. She doesn't even register her body hitting the bed.