Chapter 2

The thought of her had tormented him. Link suffered a cold, lonely night, racked by guilt and nightmares he could not remember when morning came. With the waking sun came a salving warmth; its young light bleeding through the narrow, cloth-covered windows of his sleeping quarters. He was still defiantly afraid, though, and irresolute, even after Zelda had nearly given herself up to him. When he left the Ton Pu Inn and went to wash his face in the stream, he saw someone he did not recognize in the clear reflection of the water. He backed away, distraught.

For a long time, he lingered there and walked along the water, dwelling further near the pond. There was something revitalizing about the calm, undisturbed tranquillity of it all in the early morning. He saw a thin sheet of mist rising upwards from it; a golden sparkling arrow of sunlight lashing the nearly still water, glittering as if it lived and breathed with him. Heard restless crickets chirping in the distance; observed countless dragonflies dotting the many reeds which jutted out like a hundred viridescent needles.

With an unbidden sigh, Link fell backwards onto the freshly damp grass near the edge of the water. He leaned back, arms stretching out to brace himself, angling his face upwards to drink in the raw, brisk air at sunrise. The morning birds serenaded each other. And amidst the singing, a roar came from far off in the distance. There, he saw an immeasurably long streak the colour of a cerulean sea, twisting and turning along the multi-coloured skies. It was Naydra, the everlasting dragon of these lands, slithering through the air and making her way across the firmament. He had felt a chill crawl up him then—tracing agonizingly along his spine—suddenly realizing why the temperature was falling like so. Tiny particles of ice descended gently from above; he caught one on the tip of his finger, watched it melt away slowly. It occurred to him then, seeing the many pale sparkles fall from the heavens to the lands below, that winter would soon be upon them; and these beautiful green hills and pastures—of which he loved so dearly—laced with snow until the first thaws of next year.

It reminded him of his current state of mind. He felt trapped, snowbound even, by the titles defining his very existence for nigh a century. In his heart, he felt he was powerless to alter things. There was an inability to control his own fate, he knew. He tried hard to master it, desired only to be the author of his own story . . . but it was not to be.

Before this, Link had gone about his life aimlessly, reluctantly accepting his life's restrictions. Others decided how he would dress, what he would do, and what he would be called. He thought himself stuck, surrounded by walls much too high to scale, by seas far too long and dangerous to crossover. But finally, it was here, in the reflection of the water, where he saw what he had ultimately become. And in the liquescent mirror was not a proud Knight of the Royal Guard, nor the Hero of Hyrule. Link could not quite discern the visage staring back up at him, with his weathered face, dishevelled hair, and tired, colourless eyes. He seemed lifeless, and devoid of happiness even. Was this what he had become? When had it happened? He did not know, and this bothered him more than all else. So he stayed there, alone and deeply pensive, and all the while, almost unconsciously, his mind kept returning to her. The sun rose higher in the sky. To the south Hateno came to life, the fieldhands beginning their morning routines; the many animals let out of their pens to walk freely and graze. Link did not know why, but it was after he heard the ringing of cowbells he found himself on his feet.

He walked along the flowing stream, embracing the sprightly morning. It suddenly appeared to him his dismal spirit had been partially remedied by the waking village. And once he found himself in the heart of it once again, he saw someone wave to him from a distance.

"Good morrow!" the man greeted jovially.

Link smiled a little in return, gestured a greeting of his own with a listless right hand. The fellow was dressed in olive-green overalls, was quite wide, and thickly bearded with chestnut brown hair. It was Seldon, he realized. And once Link came closer, he saw the burly man smile.

"I had not noticed," he began, scratching his hairy chin, "you returned to us already. You must have travelled far. Tell me Master Link, what brings you back to Hateno so late in the year?"

Link looked plainly at the huge man. His blue eyes, averting slightly, searched the muddy soil beneath him for an answer. "I came to see a friend," he said carefully.

Seldon nodded his head slowly. "I thought so," he said then after a moment. "I believe your friend happens to be the good Lady Zelda, am I correct?" He nodded again. "Yes, I suspected as much. I saw her not too long ago; she was on her usual path up to the schoolhouse, just after sunrise. One day, I hope you tell me more about her. I have heard several stories and know little truth of the matter."

Link absorbed this for a second. "Was she alone?" he then asked.

"A most strange question," Seldon replied interestedly; "but now that you have mentioned it, Mister Symin was with her. Yes, most unusual. I see her take this pathway every morning up to the schoolhouse, and she is always alone."

For a brief moment Link mulled over this new information. It was not so unusual to him, being that Symin shared a great concern for the princess as well. However, this meant he was undoubtedly aware of his return to Hateno. And no doubt Zelda was in poor state after what occurred last night. Truthfully, he desired to speak to Symin alone, but now that was an impossibility.

"I am sure," Link said evenly, "there is nothing to be concerned about."

Seldon looked apologetic now. "If you say so," he replied. "Even still, would you indulge a small request of mine? When you head up to the schoolhouse, please, offer Lady Zelda my regards. She appeared quite upset this morning. In my shame, I could not bring myself to greet her as I always do."

Link swallowed hard, feeling the way he always felt when he hurt Zelda in some way, unintentionally or not. When he was younger, he never fell victim to such feelings. His barriers were far stronger then, and little did his emotions pass to become visible on his physical expression. A terrible admission of weakness, he thought, for someone who had practised so long to betray no thought, nor feeling to other curious minds.

His forthcoming frown was made visible as he said, "I will do that. Good day to you," and then turned on the heel of his boot toward the school. He felt a strong anger. "I have hurt her again," he muttered under his breath as he walked away.

It had been too quiet for anyone to hear.

And so, his muddled thoughts accompanied him up the path to where he would hopefully find Zelda. He needed to see her again, to try and set things right. If he could ever manage such a task.


Link, cultivating patience and discipline, wound up standing outside the schoolhouse while class was in session, as not to interrupt. He heard a voice coming from inside—one belonging to Symin—as he taught the children a brief class on the tribal people of the Zonai, and the early beginnings of the kingdom. After a while, the lecture stopped, and he could hear several chairs sliding along the floor. And then the giggling of children followed before he saw one running out of the school.

Azu was the first to notice him. "Professor Link!" he said, brimming with excitement. He collided into him with a great big hug, though, he just barely reached below Link's shoulders. "We have missed you so much! Karin, Aster, come look!"

Link smiled brightly, patting the young boy on the shoulder. "You have grown taller," he eked out through a nervous, yet gentle laughter.

And then from the schoolhouse he saw three more children appear. Even Sefaro was here. In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded, completely and utterly trapped by a circle of excited youngsters.

"Mister Link!" cried Karin, tears brimming her beady eyes.

Aster stayed quiet, hugging him tightly from behind. Sefaro gave him a slight nod, before returning his attention to the history book he was seemingly so interested in.

They had all grown so much, he realized. And it was in this utterly unforeseen moment it dawned on him, like the powerful strike of a lynel, just how long he had truly been away.

He shook his head, overwrought, profoundly unsettled. Beside him he saw Karin look up at him with some level of concern, and he drew her into their embrace, squeezing hard. It was in their arms he came to a realization, understood finally, just where he should have been these past months: here with these children, with the very future of Hyrule and its kingdom. He remembered now, recognized that he, in his endless selfishness, had not even thought of them after all this time.

Whatever Link was feeling or remembering now mattered little, however, considering his estranged relationship with Princess Zelda. He would much prefer to live modestly, settle down here and educate the future leaders of the realm, if not for what was demanded of him. Link tried, gliding through the cheerful morning filled with the children's laughter and birdsong, to imagine himself a future where he lived simply, quietly, and able to love. He thought it would never come to pass, no matter how hard he envisioned himself like so. Among other things, perhaps more so than all else, he could still hear her soft, broken-hearted whimpers in his mind. There was no wonder why he was always so sullen, so downtrodden and weak of smile. And somewhere in his heart and mind—poisoned by a new gloom unseen—Link knew that perhaps, he was ultimately destined to be unhappy; and he was neither the first, nor the last person of the world trapped in a life he was expected by others to live. It was then, looking all around at the children who embraced him, who loved him as their teacher, their mentor even, that Link felt something tug his heart as if it were a rope.

Feeling the presence of another approach from the side, he turned his head, saw Symin standing there, gawking at him as per usual.

"Link?" he exclaimed, loudly as always.

Azu turned to Symin then, saying, "We want Professor Link to teach us today!"

"Yes!" Karin agreed, beaming brightly. She gestured pleadingly. "Please, will you let him, Professor Symin?"

Symin scratched his chin, deep in thought. He then raised his hands in defence, saying, "Run along now, children. You know that class is in recess. Please, return to your seats after noon."

The children bemoaned this, but reluctantly took their leave, heading down the dirt pathway in a messy line. Link watched them go, and then turned to Symin, who by now was eyeing him carefully.

"Princess Zelda told me you had returned," he began, arguably before Link could; "but she believed you would not stay for long. Tell me, why is it you have come here again? She has made her wish to be left alone expressly known."

Link turned away then, looking over the cliff to view the distant vistas. West of them, he could see the verdant plains of Ovli, and further than that, the cliffs of Quince looming large above all else. He waited, taking in the view before saying, "I know I have become unfit to serve her. I have hurt her deeply, even. But I must speak with her again, do you understand?"

"That is ultimately your right," said Symin in a stern voice. "You and the Princess share a connection, a closeness no one else can comprehend. I cannot tell you whether to follow that bond—wherever it may lead—or to flee from it. That, Link, is a decision you must make for yourself."

Link felt suddenly cold, even with the warm sun beaming on his shoulders. "Then I have done the unthinkable," he followed gravely. "How can I ever fix things between us, without breaking my oath to the kingdom?"

He heard Symin sigh deeply behind him, then say, "I will not discuss this any further. On the second floor of the schoolhouse, you will find the Princess in my personal quarters. I will return at the top of the hour."

Link fell silent. Then, very softly, he said: "Thank you for everything you have done."

"I wish you the very best of luck," Symin then said. He tucked a tome he had been carrying between his armpit and walked away, down toward the village.

Link made no reply. He lowered his head, clenched his fists harshly, nearly drawing blood with his own nails. He could not become emotional like this, not again, not in front of her. He had to be strong for her, he decided. Such weakness beggared contempt, he felt. The sworn knight attendant of Princess Zelda was never so weak in mind and courage. Nor was the hero of these lands who vanquished the Demon King. He wiped the lingering sadness from his eyes, and then turned on a defiant heel toward and into the school. He passed the empty chairs, and the wooden dais where Symin taught. He passed drawings on the walls—hastily scrawled by children—painting an idealized picture of his smiling face and that of Zelda's. He took it all with him, held it close to his heart, as he counted the many steps he took up the staircase. And then . . . he saw her.

It was completely still within the building now. There were no children, no lectures happening; just her now, and him standing there, more silent than a graveyard in the evening.

Zelda must have heard him creeping up the stairs. They did creak, he realized, as she gazed at him from her sitting position at a desk. In her right hand was a lavender quill, and a piece of parchment rested in front of her. She was garbed in a light blue dress, her crownless, golden hair flowing downward to meet bare shoulders. A singular blue hairpin held back her bangs, above an unpowered face. Her soulful eyes, typically a bright colour reflecting those of emeralds, were muted, morose even. And beneath them he saw dark circles, as if she had hardly slept.

"I have not summoned you," Zelda said in her unusually brusque manner. "Why have you come into these personal quarters unannounced?"

"To beg for forgiveness, your highness," Link said firmly, falling to one knee. He averted his eyes from her, looked hard at the floor and continued, saying, "I am deeply ashamed of my impudence."

Zelda was silent, gazing blankly at him. She then scooted her chair backwards, rising to look down upon him from her high position. Link fought to maintain his composure beneath her like this. "I have been most discourteous," he continued carefully; "and above all else, disobedient to your charge. I ask only for you to acknowledge this apology, and little else."

"You are most presumptuous," said Zelda bluntly. Link received the full weight of her ire then, under the scrutiny of her fierce, unblinking eyes. She bore the piece of parchment from the table and held it out. "I have written this . . . order, which I hold here, only as you would have it. In brief, it commands your immediate reassignment to the settlement of Lookout Landing, where you will aid in the efforts to cleanse the remnants of the Demon King's horde from Hyrule Castle. This, I have decreed, not from my own desires, but yours."

"I am yours to command, but . . ."

Link stumbled to formulate his thoughts into sentences, intimidated by her sheer, cold presence he had almost forgotten about entirely. How long had it been since she referred to him in such ways? So callously, even? But it was of his own doing, he determined.

"Is it not satisfactory?" Zelda asked, wresting him from his introspection. She placed the parchment back down on the table. "You are heedlessly disobedient I see. Perhaps I should write a new order, then? One befitting someone as unruly as yourself."

It was not a comforting gesture. She was wholly serious; he could see that plainly now. He had hurt her in such unimaginable ways; repelled her for so long until she had harboured something akin to hate for him. He had not ever considered she was capable of such feelings. But concerning such tenuous matters as love, he realized he had sparked a fervid flame from the most unstable emotions of her heart.

"You should not trouble yourself," Link said quickly.

"I should," Zelda replied in her heavy, unchanging voice; "and I would send you away to the furthest corners of this damnable land just to rid myself of you. If not only to heal my damaged soul. Maybe even, you crave to live a life of never-ending darkness in the Depths?"

"Zelda—"

"Do not refer to me by that name!" exclaimed Zelda, Princess of Hyrule. "You, so low-born, discourteous, and errant in function. You forget yourself!"

Link stood then, showing little trace of emotion. He stepped toward the fuming princess, who suddenly noticed how close in proximity they were to each other.

"I forbid you from coming any closer!" Zelda warned, waving the quill in her right hand at him. "I will call for Symin—for the Sheikah Shadow Guard. I will have you in chains if you touch me . . . in the dungeons!"

He would not stop. She swung the harmless quill at him; Link did not even need to pivot out of the way. Instead, he caught her balled right fist with his left easily, and his other found her forearm just below the elbow. She was bigger than him, but he was almost inhumanly strong. She tensed up to repel him, but it would never be enough. He walked her backwards, further, tried to find a wall or something. Anything, really, in order to restrain the distraught princess from signing his death writ.

"Unhand me, cur!" Zelda cursed, somewhat feebly.

And then they both fell backwards onto something soft.

Just then Link felt his pulse accelerate in an almost unmistakable way. Partly because of what she was saying to him, and also because of what had happened in the blink of an eye. He felt Zelda shift her weight beneath him, sighing quietly, and then Link became incredulously aware that her body was pressed firmly against his own, and one of her long, slender arms had somehow slipped around his neck. Now he was trapped, he suddenly realized.

"How did you know," she whispered, almost soundlessly into his ear, "I rather enjoy the feeling of you on top of me like this? Let us not make too much noise. I don't want the children to hear us." He swore he could feel the very tip of her tongue, just vaguely, run along the length of his ear.

It took him the longest moment to register that. His mind had slowed—dramatically so—to a crawl. Time transpired, though, not in a way things could be easily remembered. He tried to push up off the bed, but she had hooked her right leg around his left, pinning him to her. Zelda's intoxicating scent is all he smelled now, all he could perceive, as she smiled mischievously beneath him with vibrant, playful eyes of the most precious emerald.

"Perhaps," she said—rather, more precisely—moaned into his ear, "we can tear that order up, and toss it out the window? How wonderful would that be?"

Link had gone completely limp in her arms by now. Nothing she said even registered for a second in his mind. He was much too focused on the alluring, low-cut aspect of her dress; how it had ridden up her midsection during their accidental tumble. Just the thought of it brought him to an almost painful erection, but seeing it? That was something else entirely. And then suddenly—if only something of the vastest importance imaginable could seize him away from those details—was the completely unforeseen fact that Zelda was now working her lips along his neck, further his ear and even the sharp line of his jaw. His hands, on their own accord, went immediately to the side of her face, and to one of her breasts. He had dreamt of this, and now he was living it, breathing it even. Somehow, someway, she had finally ensnared him.

"Oh, Link!" he heard her cry. "Please, you needn't be so gentle."

His fingers were busy working her pear-shaped breast through her dress.

And then, he watched Zelda twist her head to the side, and her lips met his own for the first time, a fierce collision of amorous feeling.

She pressed upwards, grinding herself into him, the hem of her dress now up over her hips. In a flash, a momentary loss of control, he yanked the corner of her dress downward her shoulder, freeing a breast. Their shared kiss deepened further. His calloused hand, on its own once again, found her soft, supple flesh then. He felt something harden sharply underneath his touch. Zelda's hands suddenly discovered their own purpose, as her fingers twisted themselves into his long, flowing mane of gold, tightening almost painfully. He grunted, loudly at that, and pushed against her. At this point, it would not be long before he completely lost control. But Zelda did not care. She made an unexpectedly lewd sound, used her legs to pull him back down into her. He was burning up now—she was too—as he felt beads of sweat slide down his face to drip onto hers. He stabilized his mind for a second, saw her beautiful face then, the apple-red flush of her pale cheeks; noticed her just-parted lips as she panted hoarsely, and the cherry-blossom pink colour of her rigid nipple.

"Take me now," she rasped out.

His mind worked over that lustful command. He repeated it a thousand times, and barely a second had passed. Then, he felt the throngs of an unpleasant realization wash over him. He had suddenly remembered himself, recalled his duty to the land, his bond to the peoples of Hyrule.

There was a brief silence. Then underneath them, Link could hear a door creaking open, and then shutting hard.

"It is Symin!" Link whispered.

A very compromised Zelda gasped, pushing him off her. She slipped out from underneath his body, then stood to fix her dress and her dishevelled hair. Link did the same, though, it was almost too difficult to focus on such small details with his strong arousal . . . his heart thundering within him like it was. He felt Zelda take his hand then, as she pulled him away from the bed.

"Stay here," she ordered quietly, pointing at the floor to denote the exact spot.

Link only nodded, fumbling to regain the last bit of composure left in his being. He watched as Zelda, amusingly so, struggled to find her writing quill. Finally, after a moment, she discovered it underneath the rug, having somehow found its way there during their struggle. From below, the two could hear the low sound of footsteps as someone crept up the staircase.

"Princess Zelda?" Symin called out from below.

"You may enter," she responded quickly, as not to draw suspicion.

The footsteps continued, and soon Symin appeared fully, giving a slight bow at the waist. "Good afternoon," he greeted warmly. "The children should be arriving momentarily. Forgive my intrusion, but I wished to remind the Princess, in case you two desired some more time to . . . discuss things." He cleared his throat then, awkwardly so.

"That will not be necessary, Symin," Zelda replied. "In fact, he was just about to take his leave. There are some errands he must go about to do. Isn't that right, Link?" She looked at him with her most serious face again. Even in such a tumultuous moment, it was almost hysterically funny how well she played it off.

Link lifted an eyebrow. "Right, I need make sure my horse is fed. I have left him at the old house, after all."

More than a little confused, Symin looked at the two with suspicion. Link knew it was not his place to pry, though. "I see, very well," the older Sheikah man said evenly. "I was going to ask if Link could teach this next class on Zonai technology, since he is the local expert on the matter. I will have to push this class until tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow is agreeable," Link said, if only to make him go away. In truth, he would love to show the children a thing or two about that. But this was entirely dependent on whether Zelda still had the mind to banish him.

"It is settled then!" Symin said gaily. His eyes then went from Link, to Zelda, and then to the dishevelled bed in the corner of the room. "I do hope you enjoyed a healing rest, Princess Zelda. You seem to be in very good spirits now." Link's heart almost dropped into his stomach then. Symin bowed slightly, and then held up his hand to bid farewell, saying, "I must be off now to welcome the children."

"I will be down shortly," Zelda said evenly.

Link, watching the Sheikah man fade away down the stairs, turned back to his most problematic princess. She was leaning against her chair, legs together and tapping the right arm of it with the tip of her finger.

He then got down on one knee again. Except this time, he was trembling. "I cannot be entrusted with you anymore," Link said, his mind clamping shut in denial. "I have broken my oath, my most sacred vows I swore a century ago underneath the sword that seals the darkness—to your father—the King of Hyrule. I have defiled you, even. I cannot imagine what I would have done if Symin did not interrupt us. My behaviour is unforgivable."

The Princess of Hyrule was no longer sitting. She had stood, taking the parchment in her hand again. "What would you have me do with this, then?" she asked plainly. "If you cannot serve as a Knight of Hyrule any longer, then this order has little use, does it not?"

"It is as you say," he said, weakly so.

Zelda frowned. He could not see it, could not look her in the eye now. "The penalty for desertion, is death," she stated matter-of-factly. "You, above all others, should know this."

His mind returned to a hundred years ago. To those who abandoned the order then, during the Calamity, and even before. When King Rhoam of Hyrule had passed his judgement upon the traitors, Link had been the one to swing the sword. Hylian blood had once stained the Master Sword, he remembered, the memories of it all coming to him in his recent nightmares. They had been all but forgotten, excerpts of a life he had long since unremembered. And now, he recalled not only their many faces, but their names too.

"I understand this," he said, keeping his voice as even as possible, looking up to the princess who gazed emotionlessly back down at him.

And unexpectedly, Zelda let a smirk briefly grace one corner of her lips. "No," she started quietly, "I do believe I still have use of you after all . . . I will place a temporary hold on this order; for now, your station will be here, with me. You will be my escort in Hateno Village, and further along the realm of Necluda. I am planning an expedition, and you will accompany me. I have spoken thusly. Do you understand this command, Sir Link?"

There was another moment, etched in the rigid, stunned silence of his own mind, before he trusted himself to even try to speak.

Link lowered his head deeply. "I am at your disposal, your highness," he said, voice thick with emotion.

Straining hard to maintain eye contact with Zelda, he saw her piercing eyes work over him from head to boot. "You may take your leave now," she began prosaically, "if that is what you wish. Go about your tasks for the day, take care of your business, and arrive at my home no later than an hour before sundown."

Link bowed deeper, nearly touching the wood floor. "As you command."

"And . . . Sir Link," Zelda called out to him, as he was turning to go. "We will further discuss what transpired beneath this roof in the near future. And it must remain a secret to all. Do not speak of this."

Link faced her once more, bending at the waist to bow. "I never thought to," he said remorsefully, and then took his exit down and away from her.

Zelda said nothing further, and when he was finally out of earshot of her, it suddenly occurred to him what almost happened between them. It was difficult to fathom; Link could not believe he had let his guard down as to allow things to go that far. He felt light-headed, almost numb. He could use a good, stiff drink right now. And maybe the song of a troubadour to take his mind off things. It was altogether incredible. Somehow, someway, he had found his way back into the service of the princess. Perhaps, he realized, his oath was not so easily broken as he once thought.

There was only one reason why he had come to her today. He sought only to repair their fractured relationship, to mend things; try to reverse them to their original state. Like he thought before, he could not do that. Never again, he knew, would he be Zelda's knight attendant. Nor would she be his princess. Things between them were not so black and white anymore. He was certain of it now, walking along the muddy road—underneath a bright, rousing sun—that he was on a treacherous path he could never come back from.