The blue glare of the slate illuminates her face. It stings her eyes, in the darkened hues of the stable.

It mocks her.

His question mocks her too, rattling around in an overcrowded head.

What do you want?

For seventeen years all she was allowed to want for was the destruction of a Beast and fora century she was in stasis, her whole world nothing but the burning of malice and the ebb and flow of its onslaught, as she tried desperately to contain it. Months that blurred into years and blurred into decades, unchangeable and indistinguishable. And now it's barely a day since her release and she's supposed to decide?

She forgot how fast time moves outside that cocoon.

Link stares, waiting, his expression the perfect image of patience. If only the white of his knuckles didn't betray him. Why, she wonders, is he letting her do this. Why does he so stubbornly insist on leaving his fate in the hands of a Princess who never fully came to terms with her own. She must let him go. For his sake, she must.

Her eyes find his, briefly. The words die on her lips. Goddess, but she is weak. Soon, she tells her herself. Not yet, but soon.

Noise intrudes, piercing. Clinks and chatter and steps fighting for the attention of an already dispersed mind. Her heart, pulled to her throat, is beating to the tempo of a song she doesn't recognize. It's too much. It's all too much.

Zelda exits. She doesn't leave, not really, but within a breath she hovers above the stable, soaking in the silence of the night. Away from the noise and the mocking light and piercing blue eyes that see her all too well. Her kingdom lies below and around her, illuminated under the comforting silver of a crescent moon.

Dozens of blue dots blink at her. Shrines. Towers. An old siren's song, calling, and the urge to go is as fresh as new. She tampers it down.

Quit playing at being at being a scholar!

There are bigger decisions to be made here than satisfying her curiosity.

What do you want?

The laugh that escapes her tastes acid. She wants to wind back the last century, like the turning of a clock. To learn sooner what was staring her in the face, but she only understood too late. She wants the comfort of Urbosa's voice, and Daruk's boisterous laughter. The indignant flap of Revali's wings and Mipha's timid care. She wants her father back. For all the lives that were lost to be returned, and all that was torn down to stand proud and unbroken.

But the flow of time is always cruel and beyond the reach of her power, even at its peak…

A trail of smoke catches her eye and pulls her to nearby Hateno, It's grown much larger than she remembers. Purah is there, he told her. Surely, she could be of some assistance in the lab. The irony does not escape her. Hyrule's last Princess, taking refuge in the last Hylian settlement. In the meagre salvaging of her failure.

She's inevitably drawn to the wreck she still calls home. She haunts it, but refuses to linger. From there to the ruins of Castletown. Deya village. Gatepost. Mabe. Scorchings that never healed. Charred poles and scattered bricks. The occasional half wall, still standing. The remnants of the Hyrule she knew. The Hyrule she lost.

She can't run, she realizes when she hovers over the debris of Hylia Bridge. She doesn't want to run. She ran then, as her kingdom fell, powerless to protect it. Dragged him along with her, until he too was too broken to stand. And as for power, she's exhausted it, holding the threadbare remains of her kingdom, waiting for her Hero to be put back together. She wants to weep, but fears her tears are much like her power – exhausted by one hundred years of use.

Past and present overlap in her mind – the bustling, vibrant towns of her memory overlaying the dilapidated remains. And she can't help but see it too. Everything that remains. Because Hateno has grown. Because the Domain and Gerudo Town and Rito Village and Goron City and Lurelin still stand. The stables and the travellers, persisting, despite destruction. The strength of her people fuels her and ignites her hope. For what could be, once more. With effort and resources and guidance. Together, they might even make it greater than it was, in time.

She had always tried – hoped – to contribute in ways that extended beyond her sealing power. That has not changed. She is not so foolish as to still believe that catastrophe could have somehow been avoided without it. But if yesterday had ended that chapter, then now, more than ever, she must decide who she can be outside of it.

Heir to a throne of nothing they called her back then. And she had wilted, at once lost yet bound to a path she knew in her heart would lead nowhere. And so had he, chained to expectations as unforgiving of him as they were of her, when his victory was so entirely reliant on her own success.

No more.

She cannot allow it to happen once more. She loves Hyrule too much to walk away, owes it nothing less than her all. She will devote her days to rebuilding a kingdom that, crown or not, will always be hers to watch over and nurture. But she refuses to ever again let either of them be bound to a course not of their choosing.

The stable returns to focus with its welcoming cacophony and soft golden light. The harsh blue glare of the slate has not moved. Nor has that other blue, that gentle gaze that has accompanied her through so much. She can't help but smile, grateful he's still here. Immediately, he returns it, despite confusion that creeps into his eyes.

What do you want? It slots into place, like an ancient core breathing life onto a Guardian. Such a simple answer. Her heart is too full. She cares too much to bare it entirely.

"I will not run," she says, and her voice is steadier than she expected it to be, "but neither will I lead by obligation."

His head turns to the side, inquisitive. "You are going for the crown."

"I am, in time. But Link, we are falling into old habits," his head turns further and his brow knits. Urgency is still there, but his attention is all hers.

"Our path was never of our choosing. It always led to the Calamity. I admit, I hardly know how to be without it," she says.

"Me either," he looks down when he says it, almost as if ashamed.

"The consequences of failing were so steep that we never got to determine how to walk it. But now, it's over. And I think -" she hesitates, trying to figure out her next words, "I think I can give Hyrule more than this," she says, holding her right hand against her chest, "but I need time, to get reacquainted with my Kingdom. There's so much I don't know..." she says with a sad smile, "My efforts must be in rebuilding what was lost, regardless of a crown. But I cannot do that by going against myself."

"What do you propose?" he asks, curiosity peaked. Her finger presses down on the slate, pining down the stable they are in. She pushes it towards him.

"That we stick to the plan. I will neither hide nor advertise who I am. I must take the time I need to figure out how I want to go about it, regardless of other's expectations. Perhaps I am being foolish, in thinking I can strike that balance but, don't we owe it ourselves, after all this time? To make our own path, for once?"

Her breath catches. His eyes roam over her face, searching, before turning to the stable, seeming to take in the people, the sounds, as he works her proposal in his mind. His fingers tap the edge of the table. Slowly, the lines on his brow begin to smooth.

"You've always been the bright one. Even when you aren't glowing," he says at last, entirely unaware of how his smile lights up the dim room. The slate gets pushed back across the table. "It's yours. I was just borrowing it for a bit. You'll need it to take back your Kingdom."

"And you?" she asks, forcing her voice not to falter.

"I want to help rebuild. And you'll need someone to keep you out of trouble," he says and it sounds almost like a question.

"But what of your plans?" she insists, more meekly than she would have liked. He shrugs, stares at the table.

"Rebuilding was always a part of it. There's some things I want to do too. Some people I want to see," he waves his hand, "but they're not on a schedule."

Somewhere across the room, a glass shatters. The sound is met by laughter and groans alike. Kass plays on and Zelda realizes how much fuller the room has become. By the entrance, some of the travellers have taken to dancing. Link is staring too, his face somewhere between amused and intrigued.

"It's not usually this rowdy," he explains when he turns to look at her, "It's like they can feel it too, that the Calamity is gone. Like they're celebrating even if they don't know what."

"So should we," he says, in that final tone of his. "I'll get us dinner."

She watches him wander off as she holds her smile in place and chokes down the thoughts that never made it past her tongue. She's selfish. She's always been. She could have pushed, for all the wants he thinks are clearer now and that she knows might make her heart break. To hear him voice them and assure him that he deserves no less.

But, she craves it too. If only for a night, to celebrate what was gained among all the grief and loss. To savour, just for a little longer, that peace she has only found in his presence. After everything, they are still here, still standing, and the Beast is gone. She can allow herself this, she tells herself, unsure, trying to quieten the voice that tells her that joy would be a betrayal of all that were lost.

He returns, balancing plates and cups and his smile is so earnest she finds the strength to push down the last of her doubt. He sets down his haul and pushes the least colourful of the bowls towards her. Curry rice and beer for him, rice balls and water for her.

"You had two meals in the last century and the last was some twelve hours ago," he tells her when he catches the look on her face and mistakes it for disappointment.

"Although, now I'm wondering of sort of drunk you'd make, if I let you have this" he says, waving his drink and taking a bite out of dinner. He seems to consider it for a moment, until his smile marks his approval. It spreads into a grin when he tells her, "I'm betting cranky."

"You don't remember?" she asks with the feigned innocence of someone who knows the answer all too well. The corner of her mouth rises as his eyebrows come together.

"What do you mean?" he asks, once he's swallowed his food.

"Kara Kara. Urbosa's birthday," she provides, "but perhaps you'd like me to tell you what sort of drunk you are instead?" The fork hangs limp in his hand and his smile is wiped clean as hers spreads.

"Never happened," is his conclusion after a beat. "Wouldn't get drunk on duty, or in public, and especially not in the place where the Yiga tried to kill you," the fork finds his way to his mouth. "Nice try, though," he says through the chewing.

"Not deliberately," she allows, taking a bite of her own food and making sure she's taking her time to chew. "Tell me, have you heard of a drink called the noble pursuit?"

"Yeah…" he says and his confidence wavers.

"They were serving it that night. It seems you thought it was hydromelon juice."

"It tastes fruity!"

"It tasted fruity six times, Link, and you still didn't catch on. Thankfully, Mipha did, when you started telling her how pretty her trident sparkled," she says and he sinks into his chair with a groan, "turns out, you're a very friendly kind of drunk."

"Am not," he sulks.

"You told Revali he wasn't actually so bad and then tried to hug it out," she states, flat. He only blinks. "You were lucky he was in a far worse state than you."

"How worse?" he asks, almost hopeful.

"You managed to dodge when he took a swing. He fell flat on his face," she tells him and can't help but smile wider when he tries not too look too proud. It's short lived.

"And you just let me? There could have been Yiga, or -" something bruised stains his tone, making her feel a little guilty.

"A third of the Gerudo soldiers were there, along with five Champions," she tries to appease, "and I was with Urbosa. I didn't realize anything was amiss until – well…"

"What else did I do?" he asks, barely winning the battle against another escaping groan.

"You tried to teach Daruk how to dance. It seems the secret is in the hips, which you amply demonstrated. To much acclaim," she adds quickly, when his face turns a deeper shade of red and the groan finds its way to victory.

"I'm getting the feeling it wasn't really the shrine that made me forget all that," he whines and she lets her smirk confirms his suspicion.

He shakes his head, still stunned by his own antics and she returns to her food. Kass' tune is a little nostalgic – the influence of his teacher weaved into the cadence of an old tune – but Link was right. The mood of the stable is nothing if not celebratory. She just makes out Shibo and Dalton rushing through the crowd, before their flushed faces are by the table and they tug on Link's arm.

"It's the horse song! We got to dance to the horse song," they plead. He shoots her a look, as pleading as the children's. She nods her assent, curious, and then sits there, mouth half open, as Link discards the sword and turns his back to the children, offering it for them to climb.

For several minutes, he spins and twirls the twins to rhythm of the melody, tosses them high up in the air, and pretends to try to escape as they clamber over him and tug on his ponytail to direct him. When the song is over, his cheeks are flushed, although he's barely broken a sweat, and his laughter mingles with the children's giggles.

"Well, someone did it!" a slurred shout interrupts, "You saw it as well as I did, that weird twilight yesterday, and now that gunk around the Castle is all gone!"

"Right," another man scoffs, "it was the hero reborn. You're drunk, buddy."

"He's got a point," a woman's voice rises above the music, "It's said one always arrives in Hyrule's time of need."

Other voices join them too, then. Her eyes meet Link's, briefly, to find him standing as frozen as she feels, as the discussion flares and all the evident signs of their battle are brought to light and picked apart.

"The earthquake. That mist that roared... the blood soaked sky. They say it's how it looked back then, too, when the Calamity arrived" says an older man, and his voice quivers. The fear, said out-loud seems to spread like fire, hushed murmurs and invocations to the Goddess whispered across the tables.

"It was the Princess," a familiar voice, not known for rising, cuts through the crowd and seems to still it. Zelda's eyes widen. He's refusing to look at her.

"The Calamity was never fully gone," his voice travels, steady, holds her and the stable in a spell. A few heads nod. "It was only trapped. She's been battling it, protecting us, all these years. And yesterday, she finally won," he finishes, eyes ahead, facing the crowd.

Blood rushes in her ears as people take in his words. What is he doing, she wonders, unable to stare anywhere else but him. Too terrified of will be said next.

"You really think that, Link?" a boy halts the silence, timid.

"I'm sure of it," he says, refusing to shy under the weight of the stable's stare.

"They said she found her light," someone adds, emboldened by his certainty, "when everything was almost lost, she found it and kept the Calamity at bay."

Soon, other voices join in. Tentative at first. They share rumours, old scary stories to frighten children away from the ghoulish castle. Tales and accounts of a voice carried through the night, of soft weeping hiding in the wind, of gentle whispers across lakes. Legends old and new alike, of a Princess that failed to rest in peace.

And then the lull lifts and it's like a spark. Zelda's head snaps back and forth as voices rise, trying and failing to keep track of conversations. The crowd's buzz grows into a rumble, but the ringing in her ears makes it heard to follow. The stories and tales spread, matched and compared to the different retellings, one after the other, until repetition breeds certainty and Link's suggestion becomes fact.

Her eyes find his, looking now, caught halfway between a smile and concern at the expression on her face and he begins his way to her.

"To the Princess!" A man shouts, and Zelda nearly jumps, startled. And then there's nothing but awe as glasses raise throughout the stable.

"To the Princess!" he answers with the crowd, his own glass raised high above his head. His eyes fall on her, beaming, and all she can do is stare, dazed, as the knot on her throat swells and any word becomes impossible.

She's been toasted to before, of course. But she doesn't think a single one was meant. Half hearted wishes, feigned praise from a court full of nothing but scorn for her failure.

And so she stares at the slate. At her little pin, marking this stable, that earlier she wasn't even sure she should remain in. At the glasses and the faces, still taken by animated conspiracy. At her knight, most of all, who against all possible odds still stands by her side, still cares enough as to gift her this moment. The heir to a throne of nothing feels, for the first time, the love of her people. And it means everything to her.

Something wet falls on her hand. She doesn't try to stop it.

"Still think your kingdom doesn't want you back?" he asks when he sits, his smile brighter than any light she could ever make.She grasps his hand, bereft of words. Bereft of anything that will make sense of she just witnessed.

"Link, I – I don't know what to say," she whispers at last.

"Tell me how you'll win it back," he says in return, and his hand closes around hers.

"Impa first," she begins, her eyes closed, as she fights her thoughts back in order through he avalanche of emotion, "I would like to visit the regions. To introduce myself, only. Our alliance, even back then, was fragile. I do not believe it would be wise to stake a claim outside of Central Hyrule. And even that must come in time."

"The Zora must be next," she continues, a little more certain, "Not as a Princess but as Mipha's friend. I owe them that much. Followed by the Gerudo – you know the legends, regarding Ganon taking the form of one of their own. I would not want them to believe there might be any animosity. And then the Rito and the Gorons."

"However," she says, biting her lip, "I would like to hear your counsel as well." He blinks, clearly surprised by the entreaty. "You always had a good mind for strategy and a good heart for people. And the truth is...well, you currently know Hyrule better than I do. Maybe you always have, in a way. Your advice would be invaluable," she explains, cheeks red.

She looks up, to find him scratching the back of his head, while failing to hide cheeks that have gone redder than hers. He nods, regardless, and his face settles into a look of concentration, as he begins drawing figures in the condensation left by his glass.

"Your plan is good," he says at last, "I think you have the right of it, not making a claim immediately. Your return will need adjusting to. Starting with the Zora is smart too. They live forever, so they can vouch for your identity. And Sidon will adore you, I'm sure of that."

"But?" she asks. She hears him take a breath.

"The elder Zora. They loved her. And they will resent you. For living, when she does not. It will hurt," he says, a pained smile on his face that tells her how hard it must have been on him.

"King Dorephan…"

"Not him. I told him you're alive, when I first went to the Domain. But the others will need more time. You should come back to them again at the end, once they had time to process," he tells her. But his eyes are drawn back to the table, and finger busy with water drawings becomes more frantic.

"You haven't mentioned the Beasts," he says at last. She swallows.

"They belong to their people," a reasonable answer, she thinks. The look on his face, however, tells her that reason has done little to disguise the conflict within. How it hurts, to even think of gazing upon the once monuments to hope, and see only her friends' graves.

"Their people can neither control nor repair them," he begins slowly, not entirely comfortable with the thought. "They're leverage, should you need it. And further proof of your identity."

"They're empty now," he says, when he notices her shake because the presence of another beast has begun to claw at her mind. "Remember that. No Blights. No Champions. Just slate." She nods, pushing the presence back into the dark pits of her mind.

"You're finally here!" a pretty auburn haired woman interrupts, making Link start at the voice. But when he turns to look, he seems less flattered than she would suppose.

"What, you came to tell me I should be doing my job?" he asks, mouth twisting into a pout.

"Clearly, you'd done it, haven't you?" the woman says, crossing her arms "So I thought I'd save you a dance." She turns her head in a pout of her own, but that's quickly interrupted when she notices Zelda. "Oh – you must the Princess," she says, blinking, before an awkward curtsy. Zelda stares blankly, startled by the greeting.

"I don't mean to overstep," she tries to assuage the stupefied Princess. "He's not really my type, anyway. Although the stories are very romantic, of you both falling at first sight."

"What?" Zelda all but barks. Link looks about to burst.

"Come on, Aliza," he recovers, suppressed laughter still tingeing his voice, "let's get that dance off your bucket list. I'll even let you in on a secret," he says, as they walk off, the woman half hanging of his arm, "she didn't like me one bit at first sight."

"Oh," she says, sounding disappointed, "Was it because you're so scrawny?"

"...No."

Zelda shakes her head, too stunned by the exchange to even begin to make head or tails of it, and sips her water while watching the stilted dance, that neither of the participants seem to particularly be enjoying, progress. She isn't left alone with her thoughts for long, however.

"So, you guys really together?" A dark haired man has taken the chair that Link previously occupied, without so much as an 'excuse me'. "My friends are curious," he continues, oblivious to her lack of reply, "Well, they would be. If they were still my friends."

She debates, for a moment, how to politely tell the rude man to leave, but such a starter can't help but peak her curiosity. And while it may have killed the cat, Zelda has always favoured focusing on the later part of that particular saying. Her mind is made up.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Some monsters jumped us. I took off running, and didn't stop until I got somewhere safe. I thought my friends were right behind me, but when I turned around, they were nowhere to be found. Link brought them back," the man's face falls, "but we parted ways after."

"I'm sorry," she says, of the understandable outcome, puzzled as to why the man has decided to share his story.

"It was for the best," he waves it away, "I'm just glad he found them in time. Didn't figure he would be the type, though, to get attached. Big hero sort, that one. You have a look at him and you can just imagine him carrying the sword of legend on his back."

"Right…"

"I thought he had the right of it. Talk to everyone, travel with no one," he says, taking a swig of Link's beer, "Emotional liability! That's what you get when you make yourself vulnerable," he sets the glass down so hard it spills, and leans forward, eyes narrowed, "You get my meaning, lady?"

It hardly takes a genius to recognize the challenge. Zelda tilts her head, well and truly caught between offence and amusement at the man's gall. For a moment, she is half decided to inform the man that his nose might be put to much better use outside her business, but something in his face halts her tongue.

"You care about him," she realizes.

"I owe him," the man corrects, arms crossed.

"And you decided that chasing me away is the best way to repay him?"

"Just making sure you're on the level," he replies, flat and her temper flares, in a pique she hasn't felt in a century. Out of practice, she's already too deep before she can cool it down.

"I'm not," the words tumble out before she can stop them. "I owe him more than you can begin imagine. I have hurt him, repeatedly and deliberately, because he injured my sense of pride," she spits, making the man startle at the force behind her tone.

It sobers her. Her hands are shaking. Her hands are shaking and this reaction is ridiculous and entirely too personal to share with a stranger. Taking a deep breath, she tries to reel the petulant princess in.

"And yet, he forgave me. And made me want to become the person he sees in me," she says, spreading her hands. There's a pause, and the silence stretches, uncomfortable, before the man speaks.

"And how do you do it? Be that person," he asks, in a voice that has become too small. His eyes won't meet hers and Zelda finds that the last of her temper has subsided.

"You make small choices, everyday," she tells him, "that's the thing about emotional vulnerability. It's easier when you're with someone who believes the best of you, even when you make mistakes."

"What if it's too late?"

Her eyes roam over the crowd, searching for the object of this odd conversation. It takes her a moment, but she finds him paired with a Gerudo, enthusiastically following the steps she's trying to teach him. Despite herself, she can't help but laugh at his attempts and despite the noise, his eyes are on hers as soon as he hears her voice. His eyebrow raises in a silent question when he sees her company, but she dismisses it with a shake of her head. He shrugs, and with a last impish look over his shoulder, gives his hips a little shimmy that makes her face flare in a way that has nothing to do with her temper.

"If your friends are anything like him, it won't be," she says to the sad man before her.

She's trying to replace the drink that the man so rudely drained when small voice interrupts.

"Excuse me, are you Zelda?"

She turns to find a young, dark haired woman, nervously clutching some parchment.

"I wanted to give him this, as a thank you," she says, nodding towards Link, "but he said I should show it to you.

It's a drawing of a silent princess. Her husband had set out to swear his love before one and the woman had refused to part from him. Link had saved them a time or two.

"I'm afraid my presence may have burden him, much as he denies it. We still haven't found it, but in many ways the journey has brought us closer together," the woman says and the words are like scorch marks on her heart.

"What does he say?"

"That I am the light of his life," the woman answers, with a dreamy smile. Somewhere across the room, Link is laughing as a Gerudo spins him.

"Then you should believe him," Zelda says, choosing to be hopeful. "I can tell you where to find them, if you'd like."

The woman gasps and Zelda keeps her promise and the parchment she held so gingerly is turned on its back, now the canvas for copious notes, scribbled between heartfelt thank yous. And then she's being dragged, into a merry sort of jig, because a celebration must be had and what better way to do it than a dance, the woman tells her.

She's hardly the last. New partners seem to arrive with each song's end, each with a story, most with a thanks, all with curiosity. She's become a point of interest just by virtue of being with him, the silent, quiet fellow that seems to take up any challenge, no matter how formidable or inane.

And to her they deliver their gratitude, and silly snippets of life, of how his has touch theirs, because they seem to know, in their own way, that Link would shy away from ever taking them. She receives them for him, then, because death has taken so much of their lives and here, these stories and these strangers, are the marks her knight living, of the man he chose to be, even among the cinders of his memories.

She's already lost all track of time when she drops into her chair, winded, with an ache in her feet that seems to burn its way to her calves. Link is not far behind, as he never is, sinking into his with a hearty "oomph". His face is flushed and his hair clings to his forehead in disarray, but there's a smile on his face – one so open and so entirely new that any ache is quickly forgotten.

They sit in a companionable silence, him finishing whatever leftovers of his dinner he didn't before, with as much delight as if it was still warm, her watching the people dance and talk and be merry. Snippets come and go, comments on the castle, old tales of knights and princesses and beasts, divine and otherwise, that the length of the evening does not seem to have exhausted.

Kass too has picked up on the mood. A pause, as a song ends, and a new one pridefully soars, like the gale it immortalizes. Link's fork is caught halfway to his mouth, before he puts it down and closes his eyes in recollection. For a moment, the sounds of the stable fade, and they're both caught in the tale of their fallen friend.

"He always had a soft spot for you, you know?" Link breaks the silence, "for how committed you were, to saving Hyrule."

"He called me talentless. To my face," she scoffs, but not without affection. Link all but snorts. "But I couldn't help but admire him for his gale. He built it out of nothing but his own skill and effort."

"Agreed," Link says, raising his mug. "Here's to Revali, then. Biggest plucker I've ever met, but I still couldn't have done it without him," he finishes, and takes a drink.

"Link!"

"What? He did pluck! And preened about it too," he shudders. She nearly spits hers out.

The song shifts, a gently flowing tune begins and Link's face shifts with it, so suddenly, so sorrowful, she needs not ask the subject of the song. She knows it long before Kass' voice confirms it. There's so much grief in those blue eyes of his, she hardly knows how to alleviate it.

"Something that took me a very long time to understand about Mipha," she tries, "is how strong she was, beneath her sweetness."

He nods, a jerky little move that's full of hurt. He knew it of course. Better than anyone else. Just as he knows that Mipha's mind was made up as soon as she heard his name as one of the Champions.

"Sidon thinks we would have been brothers in law," he chokes with pleading eyes. "I haven't had the heart to tell him differently. It means so much to him."

Much like he didn't have the heart to break Mipha's, back then, or to walk away from her now. And in that, she thinks, he's exactly alike and the exact opposite of Mipha. A heart that has always been too gentle, hiding under his unflappable demeanour.

The music shifts again, jolly and animated this time, and although his spirits hardly seem to rise, he stops and listens for a moment, head tilted, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"He wasn't dumb, you know?" he says, with the smallest of smiles, as the song begins to bring him a measure of comfort. "He just thought that people overcomplicated stuff and should learn to enjoy the simple things."

"He thought the world of you. The Sword, being appointed as my knight...He wasn't so much impressed as it seemed perfectly obvious to him that, the way you are, you would be the one to get them. He could never understand why I wouldn't see it."

"Oh, he understood it exactly," Link says with a little laugh, "He even tried to explain it to me. I was just too dumb to get it."

She shakes her head. "You were never dumb either, Link. And I wasn't exactly forthcoming in my motives. Bitter and petty, certainly," she says, looking away. The memories of how she was back still not sufficiently dulled to feel anything less than vile. "But not forthcoming."

"When..." she tries, when he begins to shake his head, "how did you get it? You hardly seemed surprised when I attempted to explain."

"Urbosa," he tells her, and as if on cue, a new song begins, alluring but sharp, just as the Champion it honours. "She was determined to get it through my thick head."

Her heart constricts, despite the light tone of his words. Hers come out strangled.

"She did much of the same to me. My head was much thicker, it seems, Yet, despite my stubbornness, she always showed me patience and kindness. And I – I will never get to thank her."

"She knows," he says, "and she doesn't want you to blame yourself."

"About Riju," he starts, when she averts her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat, "she's become Chief too young, after her mum died. And she keeps comparing herself to Urbosa. Meeting you would do wonders for her."

Another lull, when the song comes to an end, and her eyes drift to Kass. She finds him standing still, the accordion hanging limp, lost in thoughts she can't begin to guess at. Slowly, without seeming to notice, fingers move over buttons. A handful of notes sound, soft, barely audible in the roar of the stable.

The effect on Link is immediate. When the first chords sound, he jerks, as if caught by an electric arrow. Hiis head snaps back to Kass, chair screeching as it's dragged under the force of his spin. Stunned, she can't make out if the alarm she thinks she sees on his face is truly there, or merely an illusion from the blur of the motion.

Regardless, the movement stirs Kass out of contemplation. Fingers halt, and he and her knight exchange glances. Kass answers first – head cocked to the side and an inquisitive stare from behind his feathers. Link glares, tense, but the Rito appears undaunted. His fingers return to the instrument, more intently this time, and she could swear he smiles, before giving Link an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Uncertain, Link hesitates, before finally accepting it. Strain doesn't fully leave his shoulders, but he returns to his position, the impassive look on his face only slightly shaken.

Zelda waits, bewildered, for the words to begin, wondering at the odd interaction, that a song could cause such a reaction in her knight. But the accordion plays on, and Kass' voice never joins it.

"Did we ever dance? Back then?" Link's voice cuts through her musings, a little coarse.

"Goodness, no," she says, "everyone would have stared."

He nods, one too many times for someone at ease. Abruptly, he pushes against the table, his chair drags back once more and then he's on his feet, hand extended towards her. Zelda can only blink at the sight. At the stiffness of his posture, the taunt spine and rigid arm, so much like the boy of old, who would offer a hand to help her up her horse, only to be ignored.

"We should. Just this song," he's forcing the words out too, some sort of explanation working its way in his throat. "We should," he finishes, and the look on his face tells her the reason has faded before reaching his tongue.

"Of course," she says, hoping to sound more reassuring than perplexed. They shuffle closer together when he pulls her nearer, hesitant. A hand hovers at her side, uncertain of where to rest, before settling on her waist, so light she can barely feel it. Hers on his shoulder, carefully placed before the trim where fabric meets skin. She's trying to remember the steps. He's not looking at her. She thinks. She's certainly not looking at him. His hand in hers is warm.

A pause follows, silent. He adjusts his feet and she checks her posture, feeling far too aware of her own limbs, and far too little of why they're doing this. And then the slightest nudge at her waist and a pull on her hand and he's leading her in a compass, that much like horse riding comes with an ease that catches her by surprise.

Kass' song flows around them, its melody a soft mixture of wistfulness and hope that softens her agitation.

"It has no words, the song," she says, hoping to fill the silence and sate her curiosity. The fingers around her hand squirm, ever so slightly. It's odd to be this close.

"Maybe," he begins, his voice low "Maybe it's not finished yet."

"What do you think it is about?" she asks. He looks at her then, sheepish.

"He made a song about each Champion. You can guess what it's about."

"He's made you a song," she laughs, Link's discomfort finally making sense. But he shakes his head.

"He made us a song" he says and the hand on her waist tightens, "It doesn't make sense, just one of us. It's like only half a story." Kass' earlier words encroach on her thoughts. The princess and the hero, hand in hand...

"How do you think it goes?" she whispers, when the hope softly seeping through the melody and a wish she can't quite bury mingle in time to drown out her thoughts and get the better of her. He looks so pale. Like the blood has drawn from his lips. Zelda forces her gaze not linger.

"They defeated the Beast and lived happily ever after, I suppose," he says simply. "But I think – I hope that's not the end, though. Just a beginning," he finishes, words pushing through, rushed, as if he might lose them again.

… Hylia help her, she prays. Hylia help her, because he has no idea what his words do to her. Because she's weak and never wants to let him go. Instead, she finds herself nodding, far too many times for someone whose heart is untouched.

The corner of his mouth twitches and Zelda finds herself spinning in place, with just enough force to almost make her lose her footing. He pulls her back and spins her again, two, three, four times, laughing more and more as she catches on and her twirls become faster. The stable reels around her, dizzying, as her own laughter matches his.

And then she's back in his arms as they glide and his hand is at the small of her back and hers grazes the skin of his collarbone and she's forgotten why this song ever felt sad to begin with.

"You dance like a princess," he tells her, amused, and his cheek brushes hers.

"Did you expect me to dance like a Goron instead?" she laughs.

Only princesses don't dance like this at all, she thinks, when a low snort escapes him, and the motion of his chest against hers becomes awareness of how much like an embrace their dance has become.

She's not sure when they slowed, when the swirls became a sway, feet barely moving. But the distance they began with is all but gone, and the hand he held in his now lies tucked between them, pressed against his heart, fingers laced together.

"Is this ok?" she asks, when the beating of his heart against her hand leaves her fearful she's letting herself get carried away once more and he's holding her out of politeness. Her face burns against his.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles, and only brings both arms around her, buries one hand in her hair. Light-headed from his touch, lulled by the rich notes of the song, she lets her head fall, rest against his shoulder. He only hums again, content.

A night, she gave herself a night to feel this, she reminds herself when she closes her eyes. Much as she shouldn't. He cares about her, she knows. But they care differently and it will only hurt more in the morning.

And yet, the painful tug on her heart that she expected the thought to bring fails to arrive. Instead, lazy fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Tickles," he laughs softly, but makes no effort to pull away.

Comfortable. She's grown comfortable in this dance of theirs and so has he. She's keenly aware of their proximity, of the warmth that irradiates from him. Of how easy it would be, to turn her face slightly and brush her lips against his skin. The thought intrudes, but she swats it away, unwilling to spoil the moment.

She sighs – happy, for the first time in forever, finding peace in this moment, in his arms, swaying in place to song that is just theirs. Her breath falls on his neck and a million prickles erupt across his skin. Idly, she runs her fingers over the base of his neck, trying to soothe them, only to find him gasping when her touch has the opposite effect.

"Zelda…" her name fans across her cheek, her own skin flares up and she begins to realize the power a breath can have "Zelda, I -" a hand fists in her hair, his muscles taunt and then release, "I missed you."

He sounds weirdly defeated about it, but the song is already fading before she can dwell on it. It's a slow, reluctant parting as she steps away from him, and they stand, hardly knowing what to say. For lack of something better, she supposes, Link goes and grabs them drinks. She downs hers too fast.

And then there's a woman, staring at her intently.

"Are you really named Zelda?" the woman asks, when she stares back.

"Yes."

"Distant relation?"

"Tell her nothing!" Link interrupts, "She's a filthy rumour peddler," he says, but there's laugher that's barely hidden beneath the insult.

"Award winning, investigative journalist, thank you very much" says the woman, poking at his chest with her finger, "and I would actually like to know your thoughts on yesterday's events."

Noise intrudes and her head reels once more. Link is making some smart-mouthed reply, the woman is answering back in kind and she's dizzy and hot and wanting for silence to drown the conflict in her heart.

The cool wind hits her when she steps outside, washes away the music as she walks. She feels it dance in her hair, watches it ripple the grass and swell the water. A welcome reprieve against flushed cheeks – although if flushed by the drink or the dance, she cannot tell. Soon, it will turn biting, she knows.

The shrine scatters its lights against the pond, watery fireflies drawing her eyes to stone walls. The wind makes her hands numb. She tucks them under her arms.

What do you want?

She lied to him. About the things she wants. Left out the things she wasn't allowed, back then. The thoughts she didn't dwell on in her prison, because hope was too painful, because she mustn't expose them to the Beast…

The one she still can't. Even after all this years.

Well, then. One at a time.

She wants to know what lies inside this shrine, to begin with. All shrines. She wants to visit each and every one of them, study them, understand what makes them work, be it magical or mechanical. And she wants him by her side when she does. She wants to hear him laugh again like tonight and laugh along with him. To hear every single, absurd, tale strangers have to tell, of antics she only suspected he could pull.

She wishes him there with her when she hugs Impa and Purah and Robbie. When she travels to visit Sidon to tell him how awfully proud Mipha always was of him. To tell Teba that, for Saki's sake, he must temper his bravery with caution. To thank Yonobo for overcoming his fear. To become the guidance he believes she can be to Riju.

And she wants to tell him that when she walked across half a kingdom and stood alone to seal a nightmare at dawn, it was his strength that kept her standing. And that whenever she felt she might give up, whenever the Beast was stronger and she faltered, it was the thought of him that kept her fighting. The one hope she allowed herself.

She wants the lifetime that was stolen from her.

And she wants it with him.

She wants.

…But she can't.

Because she also wants to transverse Hyrule, own her own two feet if needed, and put whatever that damned monster pulled apart back together. She wants her kingdom whole, and safe, and thriving. She wants her home back. And her crown, past or future, will always be his chain. And their fate his shackles.

As if on cue, she feels it. That impression between her shoulder blades, left by a stare that was always so much louder than his footsteps, as if she drags him just by the force of being. Moon and tide. Ball and chain. Is there even a difference?

She focuses on the rustling of gravel until it comes to a stop just behind her, and he enters her peripheral vision. Quietly, he watches the wind and the shrine with her, patiently waiting for her to resolve whatever brought her outside. She tries to think of how many times they've done this, but gets lost in the count.

"You left," he says after a while, burying his question under the statement.

"It was hot inside and I needed to catch my breath," an old excuse, ready to extend as needed. His head moves, the beginning of a nod he stops halfway through, reconsidering. Something's eating at him, and his head turns sideways to look at her. She pulls her arms tighter around herself, afraid his stare will see through her.

"When I wouldn't speak," he says in a low voice, as if he's a regular chatterbox these days, "I could still talk to you," his boot pokes at the gravel, "no matter how bad it sounded in my head, how bad it came out, you always just...understood."

"Our thoughts were not so different, I think," she says, unsure of where he's going. It earns her a full nod.

"Sometimes, though," he continues, "I had to let them sit for while, before I could say it. Even to you." He pauses, chews his lip, apparently ready to make his point, "I know you said – you said things are still raw – about the Beast. But when you're ready to talk about it, I want to be that person for you."

She turns to stare, caught off guard by the entreaty and is met with bright, expectant eyes. His cheeks are flushed, to match her own, and it occurs to her, not the for the first time that evening, that her knight might be a little drunk. The realization makes her smile. Good, she thinks. He deserves to celebrate after everything he's been through. To let his guard down a little after a lifetime of carrying the world on his shoulders.

But she still doesn't know how to answer him. Because it never crossed her mind he'd doubt he'd be the only one she'd ever be able to share it with. And because, she fears, he'll be long gone by the time she's ready. And so she settles for the one thing she can say.

"You have been that person for a very long time, Link," she says quietly. Bright eyes go soft and a tension she hadn't noticed in his posture dissolves and leaves him. He shifts on his feet.

"It's late," he says, "we should get some sleep."

Back to familiar grounds, it seems.

"Please, go ahead. I'll head in in a moment," she answers, as if recalling a line from a well read book. He shakes his head.

"I'll wait," he replies, just as he did every time before. I won't sleep until you do, he's telling her and she wonders when it turned into a comfort. She used to hate it. This feeling, that her mere existence was an imposition, when all she wanted was a moment to herself, free of eyes that judged her every step. And so she'd relent, only to resent him for it.

And then it shifted, like everything else about them. And it became an offer for companionship. A promise to keep her safe, when the nights were dark and restless.

"It's cold," he insists, "At least let me get your cloak".

"I don't have a cloak," she laughs, breaking script.

"I'll get you mine," he shrugs.

His cloak, his rest, his memories, his life… Is there anything of his he won't offer? At what point does she stop taking? She sighs, mind made up.

"Let's go inside," she says and begins to walk. Like second nature, he waits patiently for her to go ahead. She counts her steps. One...two...three. On four, he starts. A pattern she'd thought he'd lost. She stops.

"Some habits, I think, we would do well to break," she says as she turns to look behind. He frowns, lost to her meaning, and she gestures to the space beside her. She watches understanding arrive in the motion of his eyebrows, the slight widening in his pupils. His first step is hesitant, unsure, but the distance is short and the next step wider as he comes to stand at her side.

She nods, a slight smile on her face that he shyly returns as they make their way to the warmth of the stable, together. Inside, much of the revelry has died down. Kass dozes, perched in a corner, his instrument by his side. Shibo and Dalton too have taken to their beds, while Tasseren and Rensa chatter in hushed tones behind the counter.

Link points towards the beds that will be theirs for the night. She's making her way to hers, when he flops, arms wide, into his and sinks with a happy sigh.

"Missed a real bed?" she giggles. His response is a series of vigorous nods. She can't fault him, not really, she thinks as she pulls the covers over her and realizes how exceptionally comfortable she feels.

"Did I tell you Impa has a granddaughter?" he asks, when she turns on her side to face him.

"You haven't," she answers.

"Her name is Paya. Because of the birthmark on her butt," he grins.

"What?" is all she manages, still trying to parse his words.

"Impa told me. It's a secret," he adds, finger against his lips and a twinkle in his eye, "She's really shy," his brow creases and he looks at the ceiling, "I think she fancies me".

"Oh," she says, something cold in her stomach she tries to keep from showing on her face.

"Yeah. I don't, though," he rushes to say, the finger now carefully tracing patterns on his bedsheet, "but I thought you should know."

Funny that. How easy he puts out the cold.

"Thank you," she whispers.

He settles, and shifts to a different tale, something about arrows and cucoos, follows with a feud of carrots and pumpkins. She allows his voice lull her, recognizing what he's doing. Old habits from before, when he chased away the things that kept her up at night, during long travels. Silly bedtime stories, to distract from the whirlwind of her mind long enough for sleep to claim her.

And so, she falls into one of her own. She lets her breath even, her eyes close, giving to all of the world the appearance of sleep. Because the things that kept her up were never so different from his, after all. And she waits, until yawns cut through his sentences, and he begins to trail off. Until his breathing becomes heavy and she can hear the light snoring that marks the beginning of a deep slumber. Watching over him, as she's done for a lifetime. Hoping some habits won't change.

Then, and only then, does Zelda allow her herself to rest.