Chapter 7

Zelda, if asked in the midst of that feverish, suddenly very passionate night, or even after, when she had awoken and was afforded time to mull over things, would not have been able to delineate why she and Link—ignoring their better senses and judgement—stripped each other of their garments, and coupled, quite furiously she might add, until both of them had finished rapturously, ultimately begetting the forfeiture of her noble virtue forever.

In truth, her maidenhead had been lost upon the saddle of a mare long ago, but such realizations did little to settle her uneasy mind. It might have been something about the way Link had left her bedchambers in the early morning; of his unspoken misgivings for their deed . . . their union of body and spirit, uttering only his cold farewells as if she had mattered little to him. Or something only to be read, perhaps, there on his forlorn expression, as if he were an open book in her study.

She had awoken from her dreamless sleep by muffled, indistinct sounds. There, underneath a spill of pale light and sitting upon the edges of her bed, was the beautiful, honourable man she loved more than her kingdom, dressed up in his work attire and well-armed. He had been facing away from her, with his interesting visage hidden, and the venerable Master Sword seen across his back again, yet still, he appeared weighed down by something, shoulders hunched and leaning over like he was. And then he had turned his head slightly, observing her out the corner of dark, uneasy eyes. "I must go now," Link had muttered, standing as he did so. Weighty footsteps took him across the bedroom and away from her.

Today was to be a time of prayer, she knew, when everyone would go to the temple of the Goddess and light the many wax candles in her holy name. Part of her lacked the heart to partake in such formalities right now. And when she saw him later in the morning, after she had bathed, washed away the remnant traces of their love-making, and dressed herself austerely, he had offered only a small glance in her direction in exchange for her own supplicating stare. Afterwards, his unreadable gaze returned to that of the small, burning wax candle in front of him. The smell of incense suffused the room. Then, following a devout gesture, he sooner took his leave, without ever speaking to her.

She began following him.

Link, she surmised, would go to inspect the trainees of the guard today. To impress upon them his own idealistic image of knighthood and probity. Such was not but one of his many duties, and rather than keeping a squire of his own to bear his sword and armour, he preferred a different sort of mentorship; to teach many of those around him through his own exemplary behaviour.

Her musings made her pause, then. And now, a grave realization dawned on her, forcing her to body to shudder uncontrollably for a second. She had to lean on the pew next to her, as a headache washed over her, brutally so, causing the room to lurch around her. Gathering her thoughts and her composure, she noticed several of the many worshippers about the temple eyeing her with some level of concern.

She had forgone her crown today. Above her brow sat a plain circlet wrought in silver, covered and made to be just visible only on her forehead between thick, golden bangs. Still did not do well to conceal her identity. Underneath the worried gaze of others like this, Zelda was made silent. She gestured politely, vainly attempting to assuage them, and then turned, impulsively so, down the aisle toward the exit. Her ankle-high boots clicked loudly upon hard stone, a very heavy stride taking her through a series of candlelit, narrow corridors and empty rooms. Her dispirited thoughts accompanied her, although they were not as welcomed as her fond, tender memories of the past. She ruminated over her many decisions, more particularly of the intimacy she had shared with Link. Zelda tilted her head upwards, then, stepping into a large room to see banners of crimson high up on the walls, dangling to present the royal crest majestically. Such a view brought her forthwith to an understanding, to see the resulting finality of the singular most poignant moment of her lifetime.

There was a growing fear, a sinking feeling there deep in the pit of her stomach. Here in this white, cold morning of winter, it was her heart which stole her mind wholly thence and away from all other matters. It was in this realization of sorts, unsubtly so, where there arose an untold degree of awareness, she—by no means intentionally—had pilfered every bit of that honour and chivalrous dignity from her knight's being.

Link was a shining example to all the peoples of Hyrule. And now, with the many ranks of soldiers, knights, and even her own personal guard, growing further every day, he was more than that. He was—as the Hero of Hyrule—their inspiration to train; to live and breathe the arduous, demanding way of life which encompassed their long-lasting service to her kingdom. And Zelda realized, walking toward the gatehouse, hearing murmuring voices and laughter from guardsmen behind her, her ill-minded actions could have done irreparable harm to his honourable character. Link, after all, was first and foremost her knight. She loved him, yes, she now understood such things clearly. Yet his role in the kingdom had not changed. Rather, they were not betrothed, nor even had a formal courting process between them commenced. She had not thought of such things, made busy by her many duties and the restoration of her very kingdom. But they had laid with each other, scandalously so, underneath the sight and gracious protection of the Goddess! How could she have become so artless in her dealings? So impure, even? Indeed, her father had not raised her up to bed another man unwed and unbound. And with her kingdom in shambles, held together by merely her good name, titles, and nought else, her peoples had believed wholly in her right to rule. Few still drew breath, of those who had pledged their swords to her father, King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule. Still, they were undeterred, swearing fealty to her graciously—giving out oaths to obey her every command—simply because they presumed her to be, upmost and above all else, virtuous, and responsible.

She saw him in her mind, then. Pictured him beautifully there, bare-chested, standing tall and strong amidst the flowing grass and wildflowers in the fields of memory. He was a beacon for all things just, and upright in Hyrule. And Link . . . being both good and true, had tried to resist such temptations and desires, until just last night, when he could no longer.

After nearly losing him for a second time, she had made a promise to herself. Swore before the benevolent Goddess, even, to stay her advances; to restrain herself, until he finally reciprocated her feelings without shame. Feelings he held for her, she knew, without a modicum of doubt. She realized only now, after they had traversed—together as one—across a point of no return, such an oath was both imprudent and thoughtless. Indeed, as the Princess of Hyrule, she was assuredly remiss in her train of thought. Perhaps, she wondered diffidently, matters of the heart had always compelled her to forgo logic and sound reasoning.

After a moment, she rejected that thought: she was growing too emotional and distracted. There were other matters requiring her attention, today.

Up ahead, she could see several guardsmen talking amongst themselves. One in particular, garbed in plate mail and looking sidelong at her suspiciously, turned further to face her.

"Is that . . . ?" he uttered, seemingly puzzled by her unexpected presence.

She recognized him to be Sir Toren, a splendid individual she had knighted last month.

"It is," said Princess Zelda of Hyrule nervously. "I am going for a stroll down toward the guardhouse."

"Your Highness!" Sir Toren said quickly, bowing his head with his hand resting over his heart. It was a kind gesture. She saw him grimace behind his tawny-brown moustache, green eyes widening. "But where is the Princess's escort?" he then asked.

"That is who I am going to see," Zelda answered warmly. Her tone was even. She had strained herself slightly to present herself like so. Standing tall, with her hands wound tightly in front of her, she continued, saying, "Sir Link has gone to inspect the armaments."

Sir Toren, placing his helm squarely on his head, said, "Please, allow me to accompany you."

His voice was deep, and reassuring. She need not his assistance, though. "Your kind gesture will not go forgotten," she replied. "However, you should not trouble yourself, sir. At the moment, your services are not required."

"It is no trouble, your highness," he said, gesturing for the guard to open the gates. "It was already my intention to visit the training grounds this morning. And there are several things of varying importance I must discuss with Sir Link."

Zelda, yielding to him, nodded. "If you insist," she said quietly. "Your company is most appreciated. My heart is very much calmed by the presence of your sword, sir."

"Let us go, then," Sir Toren said afterwards, turning on his heel. "Make way!" he boomed to the guard. "Make way for the Princess!"

They went through the gate then, shadows at their back and a bright, white expanse in front of them. Zelda shrank backwards, feeling the cold, biting wind. She had worn her milk-coloured fur cloak, and she gathered it up around her neck and ears to stifle the chilly air. Their travels took them past the reconstructed bridge, stretching magnificently across the air, as it had once long ago. They need not visit the stable for their mounts, as the trek to their destination would not take long. The barracks and encampments were there just around the mountainside, nearer to the Akkala Span. These days, attacks were scarce, but it was situated accordingly to repel them, in case any band of monsters practised foolhardy bravado over good judgement.

It was silent as they walked, side by side, save for the distant howling of a wintry gale drifting up from below, melancholic and melodious. Their pathway was laced with snow. Zelda brought her hands up to her neck, struggling to channel some heat into them. She had forgone her travelling gloves, and for it her fingers were made numb by the frigid winter morning. But Sir Toren's stride had matched her own, keeping pace next to her. After several minutes of steady walking, they could see up ahead their ultimate destination. And in front of the brick-and-mortar guardhouse, there were three-dozen men gathered in a school circle around someone whom she could not quite see.

Princess Zelda stopped abruptly at a crossing of lanes and looked at Sir Toren. He turned to her, looking with carefully crafted interest. She stared past him, toward the crowd, and then returned her gaze to the knight.

"Sir Toren," said Zelda calmly. "I would ask you to keep my identity a secret. I do not wish to cause a disturbance here, and while their attention should be on Sir Link."

The brown-haired knight nodded, saying, "As you wish, Princess."

Sounds of cheer pulled her away from him, then. She turned to face the boisterous crowd, growing more so by the second. She heard laughter now, and several rounds of applause. "Excuse me," she said, pushing past a few of the revellers. Once she made her way into the thick of them, she saw exactly what inspirited them so.

There, encircled by the crowd and with a waster in hand, was Link. The Master Sword was still across his back, never to be drawn for such activities. Upon his face, with his cheeks lightly flushed by the cool air, was a big, hearty smile. And in front of him: his foe.

"You have not a chance, Eryck!" cried someone from the crowd. "He struck down the Demon King in single combat!"

"Remember what you have learned!" exclaimed another.

Zelda, pushing further to the front of the crowd, looked on as the two combatants readied their weapons. Link, with a low guard as always, stood awaiting his challenger's first move. He was fair-haired and fairer-skinned. A young man, who stood with a high guard, and his waster looming eagerly over his far-more-experienced opponent, ready to strike. And then he did. His shoulders came down; and in one fluid motion, where he stepped forward and swung simultaneously, his blow fell. Link had prepared for it, however. He countered with a side-step—effortlessly so, she might add— riposting with his own thrust square into his chest. His, she saw, struck true, forcing the young warrior off his feet. He fell backwards onto his bottom, much to the amusement of his ever-watchful companions.

Link's smile flashed briefly again. She saw him step up, arm stretching outward with his hand to take. "A very powerful attack," he then said. "Come now. On your feet, Eyrck." His voice was gentle, and kind.

There was never any malice in his words, nor ill-intent. Zelda watched as the defeated student took his offered hand, and Link helped him up to stand again. White clumps of snow speckled his blonde hair. She watched him run his hands through it.

"And what have we all learned from this?" Link then asked, turning to face the group of students around him.

There was a brief silence. And then, a nervous voice: "That . . . that we should not always be the one to strike first?" It had come from a younger trainee.

Link, facing the source of the voice, said, "That is correct, Earl. It happened quickly, sure. But take notice: I was not the first one to engage. Sometimes, it is best to read your opponent's stance, their emotions, even. Use what you can against them . . . and let your blade act in self-defence."

As he was turning about, his steel-blue eyes suddenly, and unexpectedly so, fell to rest on her. Her breath hitched violently. He paused, becoming very still as his golden brow furrowed hard, his formerly loose expression sharpening harshly. After a moment, she watched him toss his wooden sword to someone amongst the crowd.

"For now, let us take a recess," said Link. "You may go over what we have learned so far amongst yourselves." As the group of trainees began to disperse, Link added, "And do not go sneaking about. Stay close by, or I will go and find you myself."

Earl, who was walking away, shouted, "Never would we, Sir Link! Your tutelage is greatly appreciated!"

"Indeed," Zelda heard Link mutter under his breath.

She could see another soft smile appear on his expression. It sooner faded before anyone else could take notice.

And then, he faced her, but not with a smile. Rather, a hardened visage. One with heavy eyes above a worried grimace. He bowed his head slightly; did not say anything. Afterwards he fixed Sir Toren, who had lingered behind, with a good stare.

It was unnaturally quiet, she felt. She sought to remedy that.

"They hold you in such high esteem," said Princess Zelda, cutting through their silence with a strenuous effort. She let a small smile through, asked, "Will you walk with me, Link?"

She had not seen him clearly all morning. Link was clad in his Royal Guard uniform. His hair was tied up with his blue hairband, his ears pierced by two matching earrings: a symbolic colour of the Royal Family. He was unnaturally attractive like that, so beautiful, even, he might as well be a living sculpture. Just looking at him like this stirred feelings within her, several of which she had struggled mightily to suppress. She then saw him breathe in deeply.

"I can," he said softly. Zelda could barely hear him. "There is a secluded trail along the cliffside to the northwest of here."

It seemed to Zelda, looking at him, then, he had struggled to meet her directly in the eyes. She knew him well enough to understand each singular detail of his features which accompanied his swelling emotions. There was little he could hide from her, and he knew this.

Zelda, feeling the presence of another from behind, turned her head. "Sir Toren," she greeted warmly. "Sir Link and I will be taking a walk near the cliffs for a bit of exploration." She smiled, looking now at Link. "We will not be long," she added reassuringly.

"As the Princess desires," Sir Toren said, with a gentle bow of the head. He turned his verdant eyes to Link, saying, "Afterwards, Sir Link, I would like to speak with you alone about some matters at hand. I have seen you busy with the cadets, so I will not take up too much of your time."

Link only nodded, signifying his understanding. He then turned to Zelda, tilting his head slightly. One of his golden eyebrows had raised questioningly.

"We will be going now," she said, leading the way.

The two of them went down the pathway. By the time they were out of sight from others, she had identified the brooding atmosphere shared between them. They walked like that, in a deep, introspective silence along the road, underneath the arch of snowfall. Zelda was glad of her fur cloak; it was growing even more cold now. Tonight, there would be a terrible freeze.

It was strange to be abroad like this, outside castle walls and with a large expanse of wilderness in front of them. She had not frequented past the citadel walls as of late. Little was she afforded the opportunity to do so. By the time they had reached the cliffs to look down into the gaping canyon to see the vast, glittering waters of Cephla Lake, their uneasy silence had rendered her perturbed. She saw skiffs floating lazily atop the water, the fisheries lining the edges of it. Glimpsed sparrows in the distance, and hawks further below that, swooping into the waters in search of their own nourishment. It was an odd, lonely feeling. To look out down below, to see the serenity painted upon the landscape of her kingdom. It was like pictures in a book, so far removed from her own present reality.

Zelda turned to the courageous, exquisitely beautiful knight who held her fullest love. "Won't you say something?" she asked beseechingly. "Link, whether you realize it or not . . . your silence is hurting me." She had not meant to be so forward with her thoughts. "Will you please," she went on, voice quivering, "look at me when I am speaking to you?"

He paused; his blue gaze turned to her, intently searching her own eyes. "Forgive me, Zelda . . ."

She thought she saw a flicker of understanding, and then contrition chasing it away, but she was fairly uncertain about either one. Impulsively, she reached out to him. She felt her bare fingers touch his gloved own, curling around them. He hesitated, and then reciprocated the gesture, feeling him squeeze her feebly. His brow, eyeing her naked hand, furrowed further.

"Where are your gloves?" he asked.

There was worry laced evidently in his tone. He took both of her hands in his own, then, and began rubbing them fervently to draw heat.

Zelda, watching with a frank curiosity, saw him cast another concerned glance at her. She said nothing at all; her composure seemed to fade rapidly as the warmth and feeling returned to her fingers. From there, a freezing gust of wind swelled up from the canyon below them, catching her hood to free her golden, shoulder-length hair. Now shivering, she stepped closer to Link. Further still, snaking her arms around his waist. In that moment, she had coveted his pleasant, inviting heat.

Link looked abashed, despite the rare, unanticipated realization they were evidently alone. "This is improper . . . Someone could see us," he said quietly. Instead, she nuzzled her face further into the comforts of his chest. "Please, Zelda," he whispered against her neck. It had tickled.

It was true, Zelda realized. Even alone in the wilds like they were, they still should not have embraced each other. Slowly, she untwined her arms from his own, stepping backwards one or two steps. Words did not come easily, then. And so, she asked him a question with her eyes. One could discern his answer there on his expression of shame, of self-doubt. Deeper in the pools of his glassy, blue eyes, she saw his clear reply.

She mouthed a few soundless words.

But his gaze did not linger on her own for long. He turned his head, staring into the pale distance. He looked from one side of the canyon to the other and then said, calmly in the stillness of the crisp, morning air, "I want, if you will allow it, to overlook what happened last night. I shall keep our love in the depths of my heart. But only there it will remain."

Zelda winced. "Do you truly mean it . . . ?" she asked slowly. Her heart started hammering in her chest. She felt immediately sick.

"It was wrong," he added; "and inappropriate. I should not have to tell you this."

Swallowing with some difficulty, Zelda turned away from him. "Even if it was wrong, that does not mean I did not wish for it to happen." She paused, thinking hard about what to say. "Suppose a fortnight passes, and my monthly blood does not come." She tried with some difficulty to manage her tone, and her control was slipping. "Link, what if . . . what if, in this very moment, I am carrying your child?" she added, desperately so. "Would you choose to simply 'overlook it', then?"

Link was silent, seemingly unsettled. Such feelings were understandable. Their predicament was complex. Their pathway forward: unbelievably precarious. In the background the song of birds singing—their distant calls to each other—permeated the hazy backdrop. The sun was muted, coldly-coloured, even, reflecting their present state of being. More so, it rose higher, travelling further up along the grey sky nearing its highest point. It would be noon soon, she realized, turning to look at Link who still faced away from her. He had not meant those words, she told herself. He could never speak so cruelly to her. Even so, she knew he kept his pride close to his heart, much like their love they had shared. But truly, could he have chosen such things over herself?

In the glow of winter, Zelda rubbed her aching fingers together. Yet even as the sun rose, she felt it had grown colder. And still, he did not reply.

She could not read his eyes, face still averted as it was. After a long-lasting moment, he finally spoke: "Is this what you have come out here to discuss? Let it alone already! You are my princess, and I am your knight. Do you not understand that? What more could I ever be to you, low-born and sworn to a lifetime of service as I am? Oh, Goddess, Zelda! Our love, insignificant in the face of destiny, cannot reshape the long-written rules of the world!"

Zelda fully understood his position. Perhaps, she thought, more clearly than anyone else. They were going in circles now. One passing minute, they had been consumed by their love, and the next, an equally encompassing guilt. She made promises, oaths to the Goddess, even, just to break them seconds later. What would result from this never-ending, pernicious cycle? She had not the slightest notion. And with the thought, she came from behind Link, grasping his hand.

She tugged him hard. "I am the Princess of Hyrule!" Zelda declared firmly. "As sovereign, I can shape the world as I wish, if I deem it fit for change. Or . . . have you forgotten?"

Link sighed heavily across from her. And then he said, in a voice she could not quite recognize, "You cannot alter fate, no matter how hard you try." She could see his shoulders arch forward, pressed by his own grief-stricken confession. He swallowed gratingly, and continued, saying, "Our love for each other pales in the face of ever-flowing time. As a student of history, you know this to be true. How many princesses have there been? And the heroes who followed them; to stave off the inevitable darkness? Did not but one of them live out their remaining days, happily-ever-after and together? No book in the grand library of Hyrule Castle, nor a mural etched upon the wall of a cave, has evinced this. Not a single one. It is but a dream, Zelda, do you see?"

Princess Zelda, feeling her fingers squeeze him instinctively, said, "But hopes and dreams can come true! Can you remember? Can you not still picture in your mind, those beautiful, summer nights we shared at Lover's Pond together? That was not a dream."

"But it was."

"No, you are wrong," she whispered, sorrowfully so. "A dream is not something to be felt. And I felt all of you, last night, when you took me to bed, and loved me as never before. And I can feel you right now, with the very tips of my fingers upon you. This is flesh, and blood. Something real, and tangible." Her quiet voice, rising with each utterance of a word, peaked loudly, and true: "This will never just be a dream, Link!"

And for the second time today, they departed from each other. Except this time, unexpectedly she felt, her knight had been the one to pull away.

"Go back to the citadel," he uttered.

He did not pull away. He had pushed her away.

An ache had been building in her all morning. And what hurt most of all, here, now, and with him sending her away, was how unrecognizable his voice had been. He was normally so gentle, kind-hearted, and full of spirit. But this person . . . this callous, insensitively spoken command, was not something she had ever encountered before. He was quite serious, and not to be trifled with. She realized now, remembering the feeling of her fingers around his listless own. She stepped backwards, as he continued to gaze out and away from her.

"Are you sending me away?" she asked.

Slowly, he nodded. The hurt was clear in both of them now; Zelda could see it in the way he stood and spoke, even as he tried measurably to control himself.

Her numb fingers clenched harshly, forming fists. "I will inform Sir Toren you are not to be bothered," said Zelda emotionlessly, as she turned about to walk in the other direction.

She could feel her stalwart barriers crumbling with every step. Aimless feet brought her back toward the proving grounds, and further to Sir Toren. When he saw her, he had said nothing. Her sullen expression, and the cold, unbidden tears which streaked the sides of her face had probably silenced him. They walked like this, together and underneath the rising winter ambience. Though, he would not walk beside her; rather, lingering further behind. That, she felt, was done out of respect for her most tenuous state. Perhaps, she wondered, he probably understood what had transpired between them. Even so, she had not the energy to ponder about such things. She thought then about the night before. It had seemed she had strayed accidently into a dream, there in his arms and with him filling her being with his unbridled love. Now, there was a time to think about his heartless words, as she walked over the bridge underneath banners of crimson billowing in the wind. There was a moment in time, which would never be forgotten, where she pondered a future without Link . . . without love, even. More tears fell, and when she entered through the bronze gates and into the halls of her ancestors, she gazed—bereft of cheer, of all feeling—past her many concerned guardsmen and knights, to see little but the darkness which that future held.