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"We never work on archery," Zelda pointed out one day in the practice yard.
Link snorted. "You hit Ganondorf from fifty yards away on horseback. What's to work on?"
It had been ten months since that day, and four since they'd opened their hearts to each other. In the near-summer heat, she had forgone her crown, and he wore a loose Ordonian tunic that made no effort to conceal his scarred arms. The weather had drawn some of their friends out too—Auru and Telma traded information on a nearby bench; Ashei's attempt at teaching Ilia self-defense was devolving into giggles yet again.
"Always room for improvement," Zelda said.
Shrugging, Link plucked a bow from the rack and tossed it to her. She saw little action as queen and tended to favor magic in a fight, so she'd enlisted his help in keeping her other skills sharp.
He'd been reluctant to spar with her until they started to have fun. There was no danger here, no horror: just the simple satisfaction of their practice weapons smacking together, and that cool-eyed look of intense concentration on Link's face, and Zelda studying his every move like he was a puzzle to be solved. What she liked best was getting him to smile when she mastered something he'd taught her.
She had no delusions of beating him at swordplay, but this—the fletching soft between her fingers, the pull of the bowstring, the whole world narrowing down to the space between her and the target—Zelda had been born for this.
She could feel Link's eyes on her as she moved down the row of practice dummies and struck each one in the neck as easily as breathing. By the time she reached the end, the guards had paused their drills to cheer her on from across the courtyard.
"You just wanted an excuse to show off," Link accused, his eyebrows raised knowingly, his mouth sliding into a lopsided grin that crinkled the scar on his cheek. And he was right.
He understood her well enough to guess right.
For a brief moment, Zelda forgot the rest of the world. It felt less like falling and more like waking up on those bright spring mornings when dew sparkled the grass and birds greeted the dawn and everything felt reborn, even as the castle stepped into its old comforting routine.
That feeling terrified her down to the core.
Link had known so quickly, since that first warm day of the year when they'd gone out riding through Hyrule Field under the wonderfully clear sky. They had paused to let the horses drink, and at the glittering riverbank, the promise of spring made anything feel possible—even for Zelda and Link, with their scars and their broken hearts. She was standing just beside him, laughing at something he'd said, when Link caught her hands and looked into her eyes and told her quite simply: Zelda, I want you to know that I love you.
He hadn't expected her to say it back. He understood that she wasn't ready; he understood her fears and why she carried them. But now Zelda had that gift wrapped around her, like a warm cloak to keep her safe from any storm, and she had given him nothing in return.
The belltower announced the end of the castle's lunch break, and Zelda jumped at the sound, as though she hadn't been hearing it all her life. Link released a dejected sigh, trading glances with Ashei.
"We have to go," he told Zelda. "The merchant caravan we're escorting leaves in an hour."
"You'll return in a fortnight?" she replied, her voice sounding strange and remote to her own ears.
Link nodded. When they embraced, she found herself clinging hard to the leather strap that secured his scabbard to his back, and he pulled back with a frown. "Zelda? You okay?"
"Yes."
He furrowed his brow, a silent reminder that they'd once promised not to lie to one another.
"There is a knot I must untangle," Zelda admitted. "Let me do that, and I'll explain when you return."
"Okay," Link said reluctantly, kissing her forehead, then her lips, before he stepped away. "I'll see you later."
And those words, even though they used them all the time, snarled Zelda's thoughts even further. The last thing she needed was a reminder of Midna, who they'd both loved and lost. Even so, she repeated the phrase back, and when Link smiled, she returned that too—as always, she couldn't help herself.
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Two weeks passed unremarkably: meetings, paperwork, audiences with her people. Hyrule was roaring back from the Twilight with a resilience Zelda could only hope to match. She had never been prouder to be its queen.
Yet she could not settle. Auru watched her rifle aimlessly through the documents strewn across the table. They were working quietly in a solar that overlooked the gardens, doors and windows wide open to welcome the warmth.
"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked.
"No," Zelda replied belligerently.
He took a slow sip of tea, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a manner she did not appreciate. As her childhood tutor, Auru was the closest thing she had left to family, and she was trying not to hide things from him anymore—partly because he was a shrewd old thing who could read her better than most. Still, she stayed quiet, her quill carving aggravated sentences into the parchment.
"If you're worried about Link, he's a good man," Auru began cautiously. "In fact, I doubt there is any man more worthy of you, Lady Queen."
"Link is a good man," Zelda agreed softly. He knew who she was and stayed anyway. He showed her the things he hid from the rest of the world. Somehow—after a life of trusting no one—trusting him had become second nature. "The danger does not come from him."
"It comes from you?" Auru guessed. When she didn't answer, he laid his hand over hers. "Lady Queen, you will not repeat your parents' mistakes. Nor should you spend your life apologizing for them."
"Even so, people will use Link against me. He will never have the peace he deserves."
"Has he asked you for peace?" asked a voice in the doorway. Telma sauntered in, her hands planted on her hips. Zelda pulled her hand away and straightened.
"You could have waited in my office," Auru said irritably. "You know better than to eavesdrop."
"I'd be a poor information broker if I did," Telma chuckled. "Besides, I only heard that last part. Lady Queen, if you want my advice: love is full of risks. Link has already accepted that; it's obvious every time he looks at you with those dreamy puppydog eyes. Now you must make your own decision."
With that, she snagged a cookie off the tray and ate it with the sumptuous delight of someone who never doubted herself.
Zelda wished for half that confidence. But she already knew her decision.
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Later that night, she woke to a nudge at the protective spells that guarded her windows from intruders. Usually this meant a rat was trying to get in—once, an intrepid owl—but when Zelda dragged herself out of bed to check, her heart nearly stopped at the large silhouette against the starry sky.
Lethal magic was crackling in her palms before she realized she didn't need it. He was lucky that she would always recognize him, no matter how dark the night, no matter what skin he wore.
Zelda waved away the spell and let the wolf into her bedroom. He dropped to the floor and loped towards her, a silent shadow of sharp lines and bristling fur—except for the luminous blue of his eyes. Meeting his intent gaze sent Zelda back to the day he and Midna had delivered hope to her cold twilit prison, the day she had first realized she wasn't alone.
"Oh, Link," she said, fighting a sudden tightness in her throat. "What happened? Are you all right?"
He lolled his tongue out in a doggish smile to show her that he was. Trying not to laugh, Zelda knelt to touch the thick fur between his ears. He huffed out a long breath, pushing his head into her hand.
"Should I change you back?" she asked.
Link closed his eyes and nodded.
Zelda reached out with the traces of Twili magic left behind from her joining with Midna. Though it had been arduous and painful the first time she'd returned Link to his true form, months of refining the power made the process far smoother this time. The wolf still trembled in her lap as she unhooked the shadow crystal's claws from him, but before long Link was holding her in his human arms.
"Hey, Zelda," he murmured, and if she had any lingering doubts, they dispersed at the sound of her name in his weary voice.
"Link," she replied. "Are you certain you're all right?"
"Better now. Thanks. Sorry I woke you."
"I'm glad you did. Someone might have seen you in the daylight, and then we'd have all sorts of problems."
Link chuckled in a quiet way that betrayed his exhaustion. Zelda pulled back to look him over. His boots were muddy, his hair a bird's nest; he smelled of wolf and rain and the road. But he was safe, and a rush of affection made her lean forward to press her lips to his.
"I missed you too," he teased.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, cheeks burning. "Did something go wrong with the caravan?"
"A kid ran off. The rain had washed away his tracks by the time we realized, so…I transformed to sniff him out. I think he had fun. He thought I was a dog."
"How did everyone else react?"
"Ashei kept them calm," Link replied, looking down at his scarred palms. Like most of what he'd done during the Twilight, he kept this secret close for a reason. "She wasn't that surprised. She remembered seeing a wolf at the bar once, and on Snowpeak, but she didn't know that it was…that I was…"
A beast. A monster. He didn't finish the sentence, but she could hear it anyway, because that was how Link had seen himself for a long time—and, on his bad days, still did.
"But Ashei stood by you," Zelda pointed out, taking his hand. "You saved the child, and he wasn't afraid. They both saw what matters."
Link squeezed her fingers, but he looked skeptical, and she thought suddenly of the gift he'd given her by the riverside, how she drew it out to light the way when things grew dark. She was carrying the weight of a thankless kingdom, but Link loved her. She was a fraud with a heart of ice, but Link loved her. Her family was long dead and Midna long gone, but Link loved her.
She wanted him to give him that too: a shield to guard him against the world, against himself.
For now, Zelda took in the small smile Link sent her way, despite his slumping shoulders, and she said, "You're tired."
"Yeah. I should go." He kissed her cheek and stood, stretching out his limbs shakily.
The word tumbled out of its own volition: "Don't."
Link looked at her hand, which had grabbed his before he could step away, then at her face. He waited with a soft look in his eyes, a look like the slow shifting of sunset into peaceful night.
"Don't go," Zelda said after several hammering beats of her heart. "You're tired. I missed you. I—I want you to stay."
She never told him what she wanted. Her desires had gone into the ground with her mother's coffin, and she'd surrendered everything else to Hyrule, and for a long time, no other life had been possible. Until Midna. Until Link.
He wrapped his hands around hers and drew her to her feet. "Then I'm staying," he promised.
After he changed into the clean clothes she lent him, they climbed into Zelda's bed together. She had never shared it with anyone, but with Link, nothing was ever as frightening as she expected it to be. He settled down as though he'd always been there, curled up in bleary happiness.
"That problem you had before I left," he murmured. "Did you untangle it?"
Watching Link's lashes flutter as he tried to stay awake, counting all the scars she could see, Zelda replied, "Yes. I believe so."
"Knew you would."
"Go to sleep, Link. I'll tell you about it in the morning."
He closed his eyes and slid away without argument. Zelda took a little longer, but she joined him when she was ready.
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In the clean light of morning, she took the chance to study his face again. His mouth was soft and boyish. His hair was an ungodly mess. He had a scar on his cheek, another on his temple, more of them spilling down his collarbones to disappear under the borrowed shirt.
Half of Hyrule spoke longingly of the Hero's proud blue eyes, of his peerless skill, of the legend surrounding him. But he was no legend; he was just Link, and sleep smoothed out his sharp edges until he looked even younger than his eighteen years.
When he woke up, the first thing he did was nestle closer to her. Quiet lay over them like unbroken snow.
"Link," Zelda said after a while, "I love you."
He blinked his blue wolf-eyes. The blush started in his cheeks and grew until he was red from hairline to neck. He answered in a hushed voice, "I love you too."
"I'm sorry it took me so long."
"Don't be. I knew, or—hoped. But thank you for saying it."
"You knew?" Zelda repeated. "How?"
"It's in your voice," Link said, kissing her lips. "And your hands." His lips brushed her knuckles. "And the way you look at me and see everything." He kissed the corner of each eye, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, until she started giggling.
"You must be seeing everything too, if I've been that obvious," Zelda said when she'd caught her breath. That would have mortified her once, but now it filled her with courage, even stronger than what she'd felt the first time their eyes met—because she knew him now, and she knew the battles that lay ahead, and she knew they were worth fighting.
"You're awful cute when you blush," Link informed her.
"You should see yourself!" Zelda countered, poking him in the cheek.
He laughed, and neither of them moved for a long time. The battles could wait.
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