Happy Birthday, Zelda!
Link dug his knife into the bowl, scooped out a wad of frosting, and flopped it on top of the cake. He smoothed the frosting across the sponge. This was the best part of decorating the cake: spreading the white icing with a swirl of the wrist. Light pressure, just enough to drag an even layer to the edge. A little flick, leaving a sugary curl at the rim, like a flyaway hair. He smiled. Icing a cake felt like painting. But this was a painting he could eat. His smile vanished. There might be some left he could eat, after the hordes of guests descended on his creation. Anxiety twinged in his chest, imagining the close space inside the Hateno inn, packed with people. Noise. Laughter. Eyes. Questions.
How are you doing these days, Hero?
He dropped the knife in the empty bowl. The inside of his house smelled divine. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a mountain of dishes waited for him in the washtub. He licked icing from his finger. The sugar to butter balance was just right: not too sweet. He would fight for his piece of cake. He'd make sure to be the one to cut it. Slip a slice in his pouch for later. Zelda would never know.
Picking up a frosting bag, he began piping peaks around the rim of the cake. He'd managed to stack the sponges straight this time, even with the fresh strawberries in the middle. Working slowly, methodically, so every dollop was uniform, he piped until he closed the circle, then stepped back. He released a tiny sigh of relief. They were all the same height.
Setting aside the piping bag, he drew over a bowl of fruit. Heart-shaped strawberries, all the same size. Plump blueberries and winterberries, glistening from their bath. Crystalized orange peels—thankfully, that experiment turned out. Arranging the fruit was the tricky part. There was no pattern to follow, like piping the edge. The recipe just said, "arrange."
Zelda won't care, he told himself. But his gut twinged. I care.
Making the cake was all they'd asked him to do. He'd offered to escort the guests from Kakariko. And to visit the candlemaker in Laurelin Village. Which he'd done anyways, because birthday cake candles had fallen out of fashion in the past hundred years, and only one candlemaker in Hyrule was willing to custom-dip tiny candles. The box sat on his counter, tied with red ribbon, so he wouldn't forget.
I guess I'll just fill the top with fruit. He placed strawberries loosely around the top of the cake, like they'd happened to fall in just the right place. He scattered blueberries and winterberries around them, and balanced the candied orange peels on top. Then he stepped back.
Perfect.
Maybe he should add a few more orange peels.
Link shook his head. Don't touch it.
He wiped his hands on a wet rag, and carried the icing bowl to the washbasin. As he set it among the pans, he glanced back. Then ran to the cake and placed two more blueberries in a gap and wiped a smear of icing from the rim of the plate. Now it was perfect.
It's just a party. No one is going to care. They'll be looking at her, not the cake.
A soft smile spread across his face. Zelda deserved this—she deserved his best. She'd sacrificed so much—she needed to celebrate. They had hosted a celebration, several months ago, after the defeat of Calamity Ganon. But today was for her, not Hyrule. And the best part—she still didn't know.
Link cleared a space and placed his travel basket on the counter. He wished he could place the cake in his magic pouch, but when he sent items to his storage room, he never knew what state they'd come back to him in. It usually didn't matter. What was a bruise on an apple? He really needed to visit the Lost Woods and organize that room again. Later.
Delicately, he lifted the cake and set it in the basket. As he withdrew his hands, his wrist smeared the edge of a dollop. He cringed. He should have assembled it at the inn. But he added his box of candles, set the lid on the basket, and untied his apron, then climbed the stairs to his loft to change. The dishes could wait. Zelda would be too busy to visit him today.
Tightening his belt across his blue tunic, he descended the stairs and retrieved his basket. It was heavy, weighed down by expectations. He nudged open the door with his foot, slipped outside, and kicked it softly shut behind him. His empty back felt vulnerable. Like an open target. But he didn't want to show weapons at a birthday party. They were trying to forget the war. He stalled at the bridge before he crossed, and peered over the edge. The gorge looked empty. But a Yiga assassin could be clinging to the underside of the slats, invisible.
They lost their leader. Their numbers are diminishing. Zelda had saved Hyrule—the royal family was in favor with the people. That meant less recruits for the Yiga Clan. Or, it meant the recruits who remained were more vengeful than ever.
Link exhaled and stepped onto the bridge. And nothing happened. See? Have you ever been ambushed in Hateno?
There was a first for everything.
The late afternoon sun cooked the top of his head. As he headed down to the village, he stopped and added an ice chu jelly to the basket, to keep the frosting cool. The attendant outside the general shop waved to him, and he nodded back. The streets were busier today, and he kept to the edge of the road, avoiding an ox cart as it plodded by, heading for the inn with kegs of wine. He passed by the dye shop, and Saygee stuck his head out the window and shouted at his wife to bring in the party bunting. As Saygee pulled his head back through, he saw Link, and flinched.
A child darted in front of Link, and he came to an abrupt stop, clutching his basket. Nebb dashed across the street, and as he vanished, Link sighed. He fixed his eyes on the inn. Just fifty yards, across a bridge, and past the stable. Then he could deliver the cake—early, as planned—and disappear somewhere quiet until the party. No people, no carts, no noise. Just the wind and the wild. Grass whispering, crickets chirping. The wash of waves up a beach. Alone.
"Mr. Link!"
Link stopped at the bridge and glanced around.
"Over here!"
The voice came from his left, from behind a stack of crates outside the closest home. A brown head peeked above the crates, and a tiny hand gestured Link over.
Link crossed the street, and as he approached the crates, Narah stepped out of hiding. She waved him down.
"Have you seen my brother?" she whispered.
"Why are we whispering?" he murmured back.
"Have you seen him?"
"He almost tripped me a minute ago."
"Where was he going?"
Link shifted his basket to one arm and pointed down the road, outside town.
Narah groaned and held her head in her hands.
"What's wrong?" As soon as he asked, a warning stirred in his gut. A voice, nudging him back toward the road, to stay on task.
"You know about…" Narah glanced both ways and lowered her voice further. "Zelda's party?"
Link nodded.
"We ran out of honey. For the apples. My mama said we'd have to do without. But my brother said Zelda needs honey for her birthday apples. So he ran to go find some."
"That's very kind of him," Link said.
"No." Narah shook her head again. "We're out of honey at home, so he's going to the forest. There's a beehive down the hill. But Mr. Link, Nebb is allergic to bees." She grabbed his sleeve. "Will you please go with me? He won't listen to me. We have to stop him."
Link frowned. He glanced toward the inn, then to his basket, then back to Narah. "I'll help you find him. But I need to deliver this, first."
"No!" She stamped her foot. "We have to go right now! He's really, really allergic to bees. If he even sees one, he'll get all swollen and puffy."
Link raised his eyebrow.
"If he gets stung," Narah said, "he might stop breathing."
"All right." He stood, and Narah's face lit up. He shifted his basket to his hip, but paused before touching it to his pouch. I'll just be careful.
He followed Narah back to the road. She broke into a run. "This way!"
Link picked up his pace, smoothing his gait and balancing the basket carefully in his arms. As he passed the general store, he glanced at the attendant, sweeping the front step. I could ask her to watch the cake. But his feet carried him past the store, and still clutching his basket, he followed Narah down the road, away from the town.
Why did he do these things to himself? There were other people in the village who could find Nebb. But there were worse things in the woods than bees. Bokoblins still appeared sometimes. He glanced at a flat rock on the side of the road, but he couldn't abandon the cake for the wild animals. Or curious travelers.
"Hurry!" Narah called out as the road entered the woods.
Link lifted the lid and peeked at his cake—it seemed unharmed. He broke into a light, smooth jog, extending the basket away from his body to avoid bumping it. Narah led him to a fork where the road split, running west and east. She slowed down and veered into the forest. A faint buzz hummed in the air, and peering through the trees, Link glimpsed a beehive hanging from a distant branch.
"Shhh!" A voice hissed on his left.
"There you are!" Narah dodged a bush and ran behind a large rock.
Nebb crouched in the grass behind the rock. As his sister reached him, he yanked her down. "I said be quiet!"
"I brought Link."
Nebb glanced up. Dirt smudged his cheek, and he clutched his hands under his armpits. A hole had been torn in his pants over his left knee.
Setting the basket in the grass, Link kneeled beside him. "Show me your hands."
Nebb shook his head. He sniffed.
"What happened?" Narah whispered.
The boy pointed toward the beehive. "I was going to knock it down." A pouch of rocks hung from his belt. "Then the monsters showed up."
Link stood. The children sat quietly as Link scanned the forest, listening. He sniffed the wind, smelling earthy forest, deer musk, and the unmistakable stench of bokoblin sweat. They were close. He knelt by Nebb again. "Did they see you?"
"They chased me. But I got away."
"Why are you still here?"
"I'm not scared of them." He clenched his jaw. A bird burst from the branches of a tree, and Nebb clutched his head, curling into himself.
Link took the boy's hands, turning them up to examine the grazed skin. He pulled a handkerchief from his pouch, wet it from a skin of water, and dabbed the blood and dirt from Nebb's palms. He stood. "Stay here. Guard my cake."
Stepping around the boulder, he drew a royal broadsword from his pouch and strapped it over his back. He hooked a quiver to his belt and set an arrow to the string of his royal bow. I didn't want to kill anything today. But he ran lightly into the forest, following the scent. As he ran, his senses heightened. Color sharpened. He heard the rustle of snake sliding through the grass, a bird landing on a tree branch. He rolled his shoulders and loosely held the arrow in place. Please make this quick, he prayed.
A silver and a black bokoblin appeared through the trees. Link ducked behind a tree trunk, pressing his back to the bark. He swallowed, wetting his dry throat. His stomach churned. The monsters hadn't seen him yet—they sniffed the ground with their floppy pig snouts, searching for truffles.
I don't have to kill them. I have honey in my pouch—I should take the kids home.
But if he didn't kill the monsters today, he'd have to do it tomorrow.
Why wasn't the war over? Ganon was defeated. The monsters should have vanished. Hyrule should be at peace.
There is no peace. An ache twisted in his heart. Zelda had explained it. Ganon was only asleep—his power would never truly fade. It was the eternal cycle, the struggle between the demon, the princess, and the hero. Repeating itself, over and over, down the centuries, the millennia.
He exhaled slowly, silently, and pushed the shadow back into the vaults in his mind. His eyes narrowed and he curled his fingers around the bowstring. His goal for this fight would be three arrows. The kids might be watching. They shouldn't have to suffer the nightmares.
Link spun around the trunk, drawing his bowstring to his cheek. He focused on the flesh under the black bokoblin's neck, and released. The arrow zipped through the air and struck true. The black monster spun around from the force and tumbled downhill.
The silver bokoblin started. It jumped, then stared as the black bokoblin rolled to a stop in a bush. A warbling battle cry ripped from the silver monster's throat, and it brandished a broadsword over its head. Link drew a second arrow, released, and the shaft sank into the bokoblin's shoulder. The monster screamed, and Link frowned as he whipped a third arrow from his quiver. He had aimed for the eye—he needed to practice. As the monster rushed him, the third arrow pierced its neck. Another miss.
Link's jaw twitched. He drew his sword and swung the bow over his back, then sprinted downhill, dashing across the remaining yards. The monster lay on its side, coughing around the arrow shaft. Link slid to a stop over the body, chambered his sword, and thrust it through the bokoblin's ribs into its heart.
Three arrows.
He yanked his blade free. Breathing fast, he turned from the bodies. He felt his blood pumping hot in the tips of his ears. In the veins of his wrists. Alive.
The ground surged under his feet. Pressing a hand to his forehead, he stumbled into a tree and leaned against the bark. It was happening again.
He clutched the hilt of his sword, palm digging into the familiar leather wrapping, matching his callouses. His stomach heaved, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing bile. The wind was too loud. The grass rustling against his calves felt serrated, like blades scraping his boots. Now the forest was attacking him. Everything was watching him, hunting him.
Slow down.
He drew in a shaking breath, and slowly exhaled, counting to three. Then he drew in another one.
The war is over. It's over. I defeated Ganon. He didn't beat me. I beat him. And it's over.
But his legs felt so weak. He pushed off the tree, wiped down his blade, and sheathed it. Breathing evenly, with intention, he made his way back up the hill.
As he neared the rock, the kids jumped out and ran to him.
"That was so cool!" Nebb cried. "Three arrows! Bam! Bam! Bam! Stab!" He thrust a stick like a sword, and Link caught it.
"It is not cool." He twisted the stick out of Nebb's hand and tossed it aside. "Killing is a terrible thing. You shouldn't have seen that."
He marched to his basket, lifted the lid, and checked his cake. The frosting was safe, untouched. Quickly, he replaced the lid. He hadn't touched these monsters, but he felt their blood on his hands. As he held the basket, he felt as though their blood was leaking from his hands, soaking the fibers, dripping through to stain the cake.
He sat suddenly and crossed his legs. Propping his elbow on his knee, he held his forehead and closed his eyes.
"Are you hurt?" Narah said at his shoulder.
After a moment, he answered thickly. "I'm not hurt."
"Do you need Zelda?" Narah asked, and Nebb shoved her.
Actually, Link thought, it would be nice to talk to Zelda. Being around the princess was like standing in the sun. Her smile banished shadows. Her kind eyes, and that way she had of touching his shoulder, asking gently, "How was your day?"
Link took a long drink from a waterskin, then wiped his mouth and stood. He drew a pot of honey from his pouch and handed it to Nebb. "Use this. Let's go."
Carrying his basket, Link walked silently up the road. Narah followed him quietly. Nedd trotted up to his side, holding his honey pot.
"Are you sure you're okay?" the boy asked.
"Don't run after bees," Link said. "Especially if you're allergic."
"I'm not allergic. Who said that?"
Narah kicked him.
"Ow!"
"He doesn't know he's allergic," Narah said quickly. "But Mom said to keep him away from bees. Cuz he was stung a lot as a baby."
"I was not—"
"Stung all over his body! Fourteen stings!"
Link lifted his eyebrow, but said nothing.
The village gateway appeared above them, a darkening silhouette against the orange sunset. Torches flickered on the gateposts, like sentinels of safety. He'd never been attacked in Hateno Village. His shoulders relaxed in relief. He glanced up the road to his house and pictured his bed, dark, comfortable, safe. He wouldn't need to stay long at the party. Just enough to show his face, wish Zelda happy birthday, and grab a sample of each type of food. No need to stay for the cake. He could make another one—one he wouldn't need to share.
Torches lit the way through Hateno Village, flickering in the silent streets.
When they reached the stone bridge, Narah slid in front of Link and bowed. "Thank you for saving my brother."
"I could have taken them," Nebb muttered, but he bowed with her. "See you at the party!" He snatched his sister's hand and dragged her toward their home.
Link carried his basket across the bridge. The inn glowed in the twilight, lit from candles in every window. Outside the inn, every stall was filled with horses, tails swishing, munching hay. More horses stood tethered down the road. Everyone was here. Except Zelda, of course. She'd be coming a little bit later—she was down at the beach with Riju, swimming. It looked like he was the last one to arrive.
Rehearsing his apologies, he climbed the steps. He tried to be on time for these things. Shifting his basket to one arm, he laid his hand on the door latch, and froze. Why was it so quiet? If two dozen people were setting up a party, the inn should be bristling with subdued noise. With the weapons on his back, he carefully cracked open the door. Nothing exploded, so he pulled it open further.
"SURPRISE!"
Confetti popped into the air. Light flooded the inside of the inn, and a crowd of Hylians, Zora, Gerudo, and Rito waved miniature Hyrule flags. Streamers hung from the rafters.
In the center of the crowd, Zelda stepped forward, smiling ear to ear. "Happy Birthday, Link."
He blinked.
Zelda laughed. "Is this my cake?" She tried to take the basket from him, but he clutched it to his chest. "Sorry," she said, eyes twinkling. "Your cake. Of course."
"What—" Link's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. "What's this?"
"It's your birthday." Zelda laid her hand on his shoulder. "You didn't remember, so I remembered for you."
He swallowed and stared around the room, at dozens of grinning faces. Prince Sidon waved from the back of the crowd. Riju stood in front, arms crossed, a sly smile on her lips. He found Impa and Symin, Cado, and Paya, and several others from Kakariko. Teba, Tulin, and Saki had flown in from Rito Village, and Hudson and Rhondson from Tarrey Town. Nebb and Narah giggled in the corner, and waved.
"Everyone is here for me?" Link murmured.
Zelda squeezed his shoulder. Her eyes seemed to glow. "And that's not the best part. Would you please?" She lifted her hand, and the crowd stepped back.
Link's eyes widened.
A long table groaned under the weight of dozens of dishes. Food from all the regions of Hyrule: pies, curries, dumplings, crepes. Platters of fruit. Jellies. Crabs swam in buttery broth. An entire roasted boar glistened with fat.
Zelda lifted the cake basket from Link's weak hands. His stomach growled, and she laughed. "The hero's hungry! Come on." She led him to a chair at the head of the table.
Still in a daze, Link glanced at the crowd, then at the table. "Are you sure it's my birthday?"
"I'm sure." Zelda lifted the cake from the basket, and as she displayed it, a gasp rippled through the crowd. She set the cake among the dishes, fished out his candle box, and slid each one of the nineteen candles between the fruit and into the cake. Then she drew one more candle from her pocket, winked, and added it to the nineteen. "Twenty."
"A hundred and twenty!" Sidon called out. "And not a day younger!"
Link's face twitched with a smile.
"Sorry about the bees," Zelda said. "We had to distract you. You came too early. But now everything is ready. Have a seat."
Link rested his hand on the back of the chair. He squeezed the smooth wood, unsure what he was feeling, what he was supposed to be feeling.
Zelda lifted his bow from his shoulders, then held out her hand for his sword. Link unbuckled his hauberk, but as he set the sword in her hands, his fingers locked around the scabbard.
"You can let it go," Zelda murmured. "Just for tonight."
Link met her eyes. He remembered her fighting beside him against Ganon. He saw the glow of her light arrows, splitting the shadow. In this same room stood Sidon, Riju, Teba, Impa. Warriors, friends, knit together like a shield behind his back. Slowly, his fingers released the sword.
He pulled the chair out and sat. He glanced down at his place setting, then lifted his face. "I'm going to need a bigger plate."