He's already up when she awakens. For a moment, when the last remnants of sleep have not yet departed nor have the tendrils of wakefulness fully taken hold, she can't remember when or where she is. The sounds arrive first – the lapping of water against a shore, the chirping of crickets, a bird's warble – and then feel, in the form of the hard ground cutting through her bedroll and a soft blanket tucked against her chin.
She blinks her eyes against the against the brightness and awareness finally arrives. Today is tomorrow and tomorrow is whatever victory has brought them. That spurs her up and she's patting down dishevelled strands of hair when she sees him, kneeling down in the shore, vigorously scrubbing at something. He must have been swimming, because he's wearing nothing but a pair of blue shorts and his loose hair is raining droplets down his back. She blinks at that too.
"See, I told you it would wash off," he says by way of greeting, holding up a pristine, if sopping, tunic, entirely unfazed by his state of undress. Something new.
She smiles at his enthusiasm, utterly failing to steady her eyes on some point, any point, that is covered, until a mark below his shoulder catches her eye. Red and purple. Blistered. A malice burn. With it, a lot more detail on his body begins to take shape – the gash across his stomach, the many cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. And many, many faded marks, thin white lines drawing the roadmap of their longest night, a century ago.
The enthusiasm wavers under her scrutiny.
"You're staring."
Her gaze doesn't.
"You're being weird," he insists, "like Robbie. Don't be like Robbie," it comes out as more of a pout than an objection.
"You're hurt," she says and her fingers move to trace the edges of the burn, "I could find ingredients, make you an elixir," she offers and his eyes follow her hand.
"I already took some stuff," he shrugs.
"I can make something stronger," she insists and watches as his face begins to change into stone.
"If it gets really bad I can just -" he bites his lip, apparently taking measure of how she might react to his words, "I can use Mipha's – the Champions, they shared their abilities with me. Even Revali."
"I know, I felt it happening. I'm glad that at least a part of them will get to live on within you," she says, fingers still circling the wound, her mind trying to pinpoint how many of his scars she's caused, "I wish you'd use it."
Her eyes still trail the criss-cross of scars and injuries, when he shakes his head in refusal. She frowns. He's staring straight forward, fixed on some point miles beyond her shoulder. His back is straight, like a soldier's. And something he's not saying hides behind the stubbornness.
"Why not?" she asks gently, echoing the tone she used so long, when she attempted to understand his stillness. And much like then, she watches the battle to voice his emotion rage across his face.
"I want to feel them," this time he spits the words, like poison "like they're something that happened to me. I want to look at them and know how they got there. Really know, not just be told, like they're a life that somebody else got to live. I want to remember."
He looks at her, almost defiantly, and it guts her, deeper than any beast could. She had watched him take a thousand blows that night. Watched his life slowly seep out of him, with each cut he took in her name. And when his life had poured from him, she'd found something else to take. She had been too little and too late. And before her was the price of her victory: everyone's lives and his, twice over. She takes the hand that still circles the burn, afraid her touch might be more painful than the malice, cradles it against her chest. There is too much she must atone for. She hardly knows how to begin.
"I knew that the shrine of resurrection might rob you of your memories. And while I hoped that they might be recovered, I am sorry, deeply sorry, for the pain I have caused you."
And just like that the anger is gone from his face, replaced by a slight crease on his brow, "Pain?" he asks.
"Your wounds, your memories, all that I have taken from you." she starts, joining him in confusion, just as his expression shifts and he begins to leave it. He closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.
"Zelda..." he says, and the rest of her apology is cut short. She can count on one hand the number of times he's used her name and twice were on that night, "The Calamity gave me these. You brought me back, gave me a way to remember. You sealed the Calamity."
"If I had -"
"But you did!" he nearly shouts, "you awakened your power, you stopped the guardians and you did what you needed to do to make sure we'd both be here. You have nothing to blame yourself for."
His mouth clams shut, as if shocked at his own outburst, and he moves – one, two steps – just far enough to be out of her reach. She allows the rippling of water and birdsong to fill the space between them, at as mystified as ever by the inner turnings of her knight's mind.
"I don't want to talk about that night," he says eventually, "We won. Can't we just celebrate?"
"You have always been quick to forgive," she tells him, eager to pacify whatever has set his mind ill at ease, not willing to concede regarding her own actions.
"And you collect blame like it's Korok seeds," he answers, but there's affection below the censure. "Here," he says as he lifts up the bangs that cover his forehead, his foul mood beginning to retreat, "one more for your collection."
"No..?" she says, recognizing the mark above his left eyebrow, "from the Ridge?"
He nods, mischief all over his face and she replies in kind, "I'm not claiming that one. I told you I could get to those rushrooms perfectly well by myself. You insisted on following."
"You kept slipping on the way up. No way you'd make it down."
"I would have, quite well, thank you."
"Yeah, as well as a hydromelon down a cliff. Splat!"
"Instead, you went splat."
"You wouldn't stop squirming. Besides, proved you wrong, didn't I? After that, you stopped telling Impa my skull was as thick as a Goron's."
"She wasn't supposed to tell you that," she tries to stifle a giggle behind her hand and fails completely, but is rewarded by his smile. Apparently satisfied, he returns to the fastidious routine she interrupted, and she allows herself to watch him as he carefully drapes and smooths his wet clothes over two poles in the encampment they repurposed and ties his hair. He's rummaging through the saddle bags when something seems to occur to him.
"Want?" he asks, showing her a piece of soap on his flat palm, "I can go get breakfast in the meantime."
She hesitates, caught between surprise and modesty at this Link who so freely walks around unclothed and offers to share his soap. Close as they were before, there were unspoken lines they always abided by. No matter how dusty or muddy their travels became, they just...wouldn't.
He seems to catch on to her demurral, "It's not like we can go back to the castle," he explains, "Impa's at least a day away and that malice stuff stinks. Not that you have any on you," he's quick to add.
"I might as well," she says, making up her mind, "it has been one hundred years."
He scratches the back of his head, seemingly relieved she did not take offence at his offer, "I'll be over there," he points at some trees in the distance, "just shout when you're done. Or if you need anything."
She nods and is busy untying her sandals when his footsteps suddenly stop and she turns to see him staring at her with the strangest look.
"We could burn that," he says, gesturing vaguely in her direction.
"My dress?" she asks,"Why?"
"You were never happy in it," he says and with shrug, he turns away and she's left alone with her thoughts.
The water is pleasantly warm and she watches her dress balloon as she steps into it. She smooths it, until it's sufficiently soaked and the weight brings it down, clinging to her legs. The action is reflexive, done without thought, a muscle memory she might never unlearn. She's lost count of how many times she's entered into a pool of water in this dress.
Only there is no obligation this time. Nothing left to pray for. Victory or loss – she's had both, in the end. Carefully, she pulls the dress over her head and lays it on a nearby rock. Link is wrong, she thinks. She's been happy in this dress, if only for a moment – but a moment worth a lifetime. Calamity Ganon is defeated. He remembers. Why, then, have tears began to line her eyes?
This won't do, her mind tells her. Victory and loss, whispers her heart. It hardly knows on which to settle. She sighs, holds her breath and submerges. Underwater, the world is still, unfocused, muffled. And her mind, by itself for the first time in a century, agrees to quiet. Her lungs, however, care not for the needs of mind or heart, and when the burning becomes too much to withstand, she emerges, gasping, before falling backwards and letting herself float.
Close enough, she decides as she closes her eyes. The world is nothing under the murmur of water. She is weightless, surrounded by softly lapping waves and leaves. Her mind, however, was never made for stillness. It's quite unconscious on her part but soon she is expanding, seeking. She is the water, gently kissing the shore. A grain of dirt, a lost seed, taken high on a bird's beak.
Curiosity follows shortly, at this Hyrule that she's finally free to know, without fear of discovery, without the threat of constant battle. She soars, higher than any bird, taking in sights that are so well trodden and so new. Something shimmers in the distance and catches her eye. Something old. Something very old and very dear. Her mind wanders where her heart points and in a moment she's over familiar roofs, on a threshold she crossed so many times before. Inside, the face of its dweller might as well be a stranger's. But the soul, Goddess, how familiar it is.
"I've missed you, old friend," she whispers, and the soul is instantly aglow with joy and affection.
"Ha!" Impa says and slaps her knee, "Then it is true! The Calamity has been defeated and you're free."
"I am. I will be seeing you soon."
"You'd better."
She returns to herself, lighter than she's been in years. There is much to rebuild, yes, but much also that remains. Roads and bridges that could be expanded and repaired. The Zora may be of assistance in that. The Domain's architecture differs perhaps, from the traditional Hylian style, but it is sturdy despite its intricate appearance. Woodwork as well does not appear to be a lost skill. Link himself mentioned participating in the construction of a new town – perhaps he could advise her in that regard. No more blood moons will allow the monster population to be greatly reduced, kept under tight control, which should encourage travellers and merchants.
It's when she's dreaming of vibrant new settlements that she realizes her mind is made up – she will not, she cannot, turn her back on Hyrule. She owes it that, whether it is still her kingdom or not. Even if it means – but her heart will not hear the words her mind conjured up and she goes under again, hoping the muffled world will silence the thought.
It fails.
...Even if it means losing Link.
She kneels on the bottom, breaking surface, and begins to soap her hair, hoping the mindless action will somehow soothe her. In something, at least, her mind and heart are in agreement – she does not wish to part from him. And yet, she owes him no less than she owes Hyrule. He sacrificed so much – his dreams, his hopes, his happiness, his life – in service of Hyrule and its royal family. Always striving to be better. Always tucking every fear, every doubt, away, so that those around him could take comfort in his strength.
And he changed her, even without meaning to. She is more compassionate, because he was kind enough to forgive. Braver, because he had the courage to share his fears. Resilient, because he never gave up. Accepting, because he never demanded she be what she could not. And she laughs, a small thing, that is a much pain as it is mirth. He was wrong there too – she has been "just her" – but only when they were alone.
And so, now, she must be selfless – because that's all he's ever been. In Kakariko, she tells herself as she washes away the suds. Once they've met with Impa, she will let him go. Their fate is done. She will sever the bonds that have tied him to her this long and ensure that he understands that whatever claim duty had on him is over. So that he might live, truly live, beholden to nothing but his own heart and happiness. Even if – especially if – it will take him where she isn't. No matter how much it hurts.
She hesitates, soap in hand, staring at stained cloth she can't bring herself to wash. It isn't just dirt what tinges it. It's dust from her home as it crumbled. Ash from the villages that burned away. It's mud that clings from a kingdom that fell. It's the blood of all she couldn't help – many, so many – and most of all his. His last breath is on that dress. She cannot simply wipe it all away, as if it never happened.
Her hand falls, defeated, and she smooths and folds the garment. They're still the same, after all these years – Link will keep his grief in his scars and she will keep hers in her dress.
Out of reasons to dawdle, she makes her way out of the water and makes quick work of dressing herself, feeling far too exposed now that she's on shore. It's odd to be back in her travel clothes, after so long, but well known feel of the fabric against her skin is comforting. Almost like regaining a piece of normalcy. She's still wringing out her hair when when he comes rushing.
"Thought I saw something blue move," he says, and then, in that tone that is far too casual, "You took forever. I was getting worried."
"I'm sorry," she tells him, "I got lost in my thoughts."
"Happy thoughts?" he asks, looking at her askance.
"I saw Impa," she deflects.
"Aw. And spoiled the surprise?"
"Only a little, she already knew something was up." she says.
He nods and hands her the mushrooms he spent his time collecting and she takes them to be rinsed, stealing no more than a couple of glances over her shoulder while he dresses. She will miss him, she thinks, and her heart tightens at the notion that this may be one of the last mornings she spends with him. But there is peace in knowing he will finally be able to find happiness. And perhaps it's because she's made a decision, arrived at a sketch of a plan of the future, but she finds herself content in the moment.
Link reclaims the mushrooms as soon as she's done. If possible, he's even more possessive of his food now than he was then. Not that he won't share – he'd give his last meal to someone in need, even if he was starving – but he'd demand to cook it first.
So he busies himself with that, stirring, tossing, smiling at the scent that rises with the steam. And she picks herbs, here and there around their camp, rediscovering the joy of an old interest.
"What are you making?" he asks when they're done eating and she's crushing herbs in some water.
"I…" she stalls, reconsidering the wisdom of her idea. "It's a paste," she says eventually, going to his side. "It won't heal injuries like an elixir, but it will dull the ache a little," she stretches out the bowl in her two hands, like the peace offering it is, hoping she's not getting it wrong once more. "If you want," she adds.
He stares at the bowl like he doesn't fully trust its contents and carefully dips a finger in before before bringing it to his nose. Not too bad, his face seems to say.
"Will it dull an itch?" he asks. She nods.
"Good, because this has been driving me nuts all morning," he says as he pulls on his collar to reach the burn inside.
She breathes a sigh of relief and chews on her lip. Her turn to come clean, now.
"I don't want to burn it," she says, "My dress. I don't want to wear it. But I don't want to burn it either. There's just -"
"Too many memories?" he finishes for her, voice full of understanding.
"Yes," she avoids eyes that have always seen through her far too easily.
"You don't have to. I just want you to be happy, that's all," he says, so earnestly her breath catches in her throat.
"With you here, I am," she hears the words tumble out before she can stop them and watches his eyes widen in surprise at a reply that is far too honest. She bites her lip, wishing to take it back. Connecting her happiness to his presence is entirely contrary to her goals, least he take it as an obligation to stay.
But it's too late – he's already climbing the horse, ready to leave. She watches him as she joins, looking for any hint she might have caused him distress, but there's none. If anything, he's smiling when he helps her up and when his arms go around her to take the reins, they're as close as the day before.
They make their way to Kakariko without rush – he doesn't want to burden their mount – and she takes in the changes to a landscape she once knew so well. It's changed, yes, but it has lost none of its beauty and today, under the morning's golden light, its colours seem more vivid to her than ever before.
To Link, all of this newness has become so familiar, he seems to have a tale for every corner they cross – of something he discovered when he first ventured out of the Plateau, of a battle, of someone he met, of new highs he climbed. He seems eager to tell them, in a way he never was before. She's all too happy to listen.
"So, your sealing power," he asks, a few hours into their journey "what does it do? Besides the obvious."
"It's hard to explain," she answers, "it's as if I am connected to all living things – from a single blade of grass to people. I can feel them, when I focus, see them. It's almost as if I can be where they are. And I can tap into this energy that courses through everything and give it shape – like I did when I made the bow of light – or I can…" she hesitates, not quite sure how phrase it a way that doesn't sound morbid.
"Obliterate them?" he says and she winces. Maybe it's because he's a man of few words, but he sure knows how to get to the point.
"Well, yes. Although I am not sure how long I'll be able to do either. My power has been waning for some time," she says. He squeezes her shoulder in an attempt at comfort.
"It's alright", she tells him and surprises herself by meaning it. She'll miss her power – parts of it at least – but there is no bitterness in her heart at the thought of losing it. It served its purpose. It kept kept the Beast at bay for 100 years and sealed it, as prophesied. Miss it as she might, its absence will hurt no one this time.
"Is that why you always seemed to find me? Because you could see me?"
"Yes," she pauses, wondering how much she should say, "maybe it's because of the way we're connected. You know, in sealing the Calamity. But your soul was always the brightest, the easiest to feel for."
"So that's why you said I was 'the light'," he says and she can hear the chuckle behind his words.
"That, and because you truly were the last flame of hope I had to hold on to," goodness, how overwrought that sounds outloud, "Besides, given our circumstances, a Princess is allowed a little poetic license," she corrects.
"Can you still talk in my head, though?"
"Yes, Link. I can still talk in your head," she answers silently and hides a smile of her own when she feels him nearly jumping.
"I liked that," he says, once he's settled, "hearing you. It could get lonely, out there, sometimes.And sometimes –" he pauses and she can feel him sucking up a breath before he continues "– Sometimes I was afraid that I was taking too long, that I'd get there and you'd be...you know. So it let me know you were alright."
"You didn't take too long," she assures him "It was a miracle that we had a second shot at stopping the Calamity. You were wise to prepare as well as you did, had we failed, Hyrule would have fallen completely," she says and feels him exhale at her words.
"How much of those preparations did you see, exactly?" he says and she relaxes too, at the playful tone of his question.
"Holding Ganon took so much of me," she explains, a little more seriously, "He was cunning and he felt your revival as well as I did. I had to be careful about reaching you, less he become aware of your whereabouts. So just enough to ensure that you were well and to guide you when necessary."
She shudders, at the remembrance of the Beast, of the endless game of hide and seek, the constant strain, just to keep it contained.
"I assure you, I saw nothing at all that would embarrass you, especially not how it is that you always you managed to sneak into Gerudo Town," she says, hoping not to dwell on her imprisonment.
"Urbosa taught me that!" he says with a groan "And Riju – she's the new Chief – doesn't mind anyway. You'll like her when you meet her."
She feels a pang of panic at the thought. Meeting the new Chief of the Gerudo brings with it the shadow of a responsibility she's not sure she's ready to take on so soon. And so she demurs.
"In time, I hope to. But I'd like to advice with Impa before I make any decisions," she tells him, and yet, Link's tales have placed a seed of curiosity in her.
"Maybe..." she tries casually, "maybe we could both see her. You know, put a face to the names you keep mentioning, only discreetly."
"You mean using your power?" he says, face glowing with a grin that leaves no doubt as to what he he thinks of the plan. She's nodding her assent before he's even finished.
"Can you really do that?"
"I don't know, I never tried. Let's find out," she says, caught up in his eagerness, and takes the reins from him to stop their mount. He jumps off the moment it slows.
"Ok, so what do I have to do?" he asks.
"Just stay there," she says, going to stand in front of him, "close your eyes, it helps," and he shuts them so tightly his nose scrunches. She can't stop herself from laughing.
"What?" he says, indignant, eyes still shut.
"Too much. Just, try to relax," she tells him, taking a deep breath herself, "do you remember when you told me how it feels when you fight – how everything goes still when you focus? Can you try that?"
He nods, and soon, she sees the lines on his face soften, his excited fidgeting quieting down until there's only the slow rise and fall of his chest, as he matches his breathing to hers.
"I'm going to reach for you now," she says, closing her eyes herself. She feels it immediately, that familiar, warm, soul-shape that is the essence of him. She allows herself to touch the edges, gingerly, unsure of how far she should extend into him, and something else flashes in her mind's eye.
A sacred grove, by a sacred tree and a pedestal that now lays empty. Almost like a puzzle falling into place, she realizes how much this place is his – older than history, yet blooming with new life, carved stone hiding unfathomable waters below, a green untamed wilderness holding the secrets of steel – and even as she thinks it, his edges soften, yielding to her presence, contouring her shape in his mind. And in a moment, she understands. She doesn't need to pull him with her, because he'll follow. He always has.
"Try to say something," she asks him and he gasps. For time, there is nothing but the rustling of leaves and the slow snoring of an ancient tree, but then -
"You're like the sun," she hears in a thought that clearly slipped away from him, "Why here?" he continues, too fast for her can dwell on the thought, too slow for her heart not to skip a beat.
"I see you have finally returned to us," says a booming voice above them, before she can answer.
"Great Deku Tree," she says, "you can see us?"
"Not at all, but your presence is unmistakeable," it answers, and all around them, little Koroks clatter as they come nearer. She feels, more than she sees – focused as she is on the Great Deku Tree – mischief building up in Link. And as suddenly as she feels it, he's moving, weaving in and out of bushes, as rattled Koroks come running out. "I found you!" he whispers as he passes them.
"I must thank you, for your guardianship of the Sword that Seals the Darkness," she tells the Tree, hiding a laugh at Link's antics.
"We all had our own role to play in ridding Hyrule of the Calamity. Mine was comparatively easy," it closes its eyes as it finishes and Zelda waits, watching as branches twitch, unsure wether it is done or merely resting.
"A long time ago, Princess, I declined to relay a message. I trust that it has not been forgotten in the intervening years?" it asks. Her eyes go to where Link still plays with Koroks and she lets the shouts of "Oh no, Mr Hero caught us!" drown out her own thumping heart.
"I...no, I have not forgotten," she admits. And maybe the Great Deku Tree feels how uncomfortable she is, because it looks at her full of kindness.
"Ah…" it says, "the Koroks quieten. It seems that your knight has rejoined us," it says, as Link approaches her, "I assure you, your dedication to ensuring our Hero's return was no less than his to your safety. You have both done exceptionally well," and with that, it truly goes back to sleep.
To her surprise, Link lingers by the tree, quietly, as if waiting for any more words, or mulling some of his own. The Koroks too seem to feel the shift in him, as the clatter subsides, and some retreat into the bushes. But it lasts only a minute or two and then he's by her side again.
"To Gerudo town?" he asks and they soar. Over the greens of Hyrule Field and the ruins of the Great Plateau they rush, lighter than the wind that carries them until the golden sands of the desert take over. There, under the glare of an unforgiving sun, Gerudo Town shines and bustles with life. They make their way between busy merchants and soldiers until they find the shade of the Gerudo throne.
The first thing that Zelda notices is how small its occupant is. Her dainty feet rest on a set of wooden steps. Her head is propped on her fist as she listens to one of her advisors. But below her child-like features, her face is set with attention and her eyes sharp with intelligence.
Urbosa must have looked so similar at her age, she thinks, and for a moment, it's not the girl that she sees on that throne, but the tall warrior of her memories, warm and imposing all at once. The ache of a loss that hasn't sufficiently dulled sets on her heart.
"I miss her," she whispers.
"So do I," he says, grief in his voice.
Wordlessly, she slips into the fountain behind the throne, drips along the stone like tears, lets the motion wash away the heartache. Stupid. How stupid she was to think that she would come here and leave her ghosts behind. How naive, to believe she would keep her regrets under wraps, keep them from dampening his excitement at showing her his new friend.
Perhaps, however, this is a lesson she needed. She too is a relic, she realizes, of a world that has long moved past her. And Link – the one of easy friendships and exciting tales and bathing in lakes – has been forged in this new world as well. Hylia, she prays, let her keep this lesson, to strengthen her resolve when it's time to let him go.
He hovers nearby, too afraid to intrude, yet too concerned to turn his back, she knows. Zelda recollects herself. If this is to be one of their last days together, then she owes it to them both to make it a joyful one. Let him part from her with the happy memory of a friend, not of the broken Princess.
"I was a little overwhelmed," she says by way of an apology, "Come," and with that she takes off, over the walls, past the startled sand-seals, deep into the heart of the desert. She stops, and she's a million grains of sand, scattered debris of a Hyrule so ancient even she cannot imagine it. He's alongside her, dispersing, landing in the spaces between her, mingled and yet discrete and all of him is wonder and a joy that wipes her heart clean of regrets, even if only for the moment.
"Wait…" she tells him and she can feel it start slowly. A whisper of breeze that picks up, little by little, builds into a wind until they're carried, piece by piece, each and every grain, caught in the coming sandstorm. They exist in the eye of the whirlwind, tossed relentless at its whim, in a dizzying dance until they lose all sense of up or down or sideways.
And through it all he laughs, filling her ears with the sounds of a delight so unfettered that she can't stop herself, won't stop herself, from joining him, until their spinning world is nothing but the gale and laughter.
A piece of her is flung, thrown on the wings of a passing bird, and there they settle, on feathers ruffled by wind, gliding along the landscape, quietude replacing the chaos. But he's eager, greedy, and on the first sight of the Floria River, he dives and they're current, and sediment and they flow, mindless of rocks or impediments.
She's a droplet of morning dew, deep in Pagos Woods, when she realizes he's not with her. For a moment she almost panics, terrified she'd lost him, that somehow, in her carelessness or inexperience, she's made him disintegrate.
But the part of her that spent so long watching over him, all across the land, takes over. She takes a breath and expands her mind and gone is the glorious detail of a single drop as the land rushes, below and around her, over the cliff sides and lakes, searching, feeling, for the familiarity of him.
It barely takes a moment. She finds him where they begun, on a grassy plain before the Duelling Peaks, still as a statue, transfixed by the sight of their own figures.
"Link?" she asks, puzzled at his sudden return.
"I can hear your heart," he answers, with a voice brimming with awe, She's instantly pulled down, at once within and outside herself, startled by the strangeness of listening to him with both ears and mind.
"The longer I was with you, the louder it became. And then it was all I could hear."
And then the strangeness passes, and only his answer – odder still – remains. How small her heart seems to her, compared to all the beauty of Hyrule.
She looks to him, searching for understanding and the effect is unsettling. His essence and body are not fully one – they remain connected, not fully returned to themselves – and yet she remains in control of body. She can hear, and see and feel… and feel ….
A hand that cups her own and a thumb, just inside her sleeve, pressed against her wrist.
In Hebra, she's a snow flake spiralling in the wind, rushing, falling down the side of the mountain, melting as it nears the ground.
Here, the thumb, feather light, moves across her skin.
"It's beating faster," he whispers. She stands frozen, perfectly still, as on the Great Plateau a breeze blows across green, tall grass and the blades part and shiver at its caress.
"Would you like to feel mine?" he asks.
"Yes," she answers. With his free hand he takes hers, pulling her so slightly closer, until her fingers rest on the side of his neck. There, under warm skin, she feels his life pulsing against her fingertips, in time with a steady drumming that fills her mind. She breathes in, and when she breathes out, she finds the drumming to be matching hers so closely she can no longer tell them apart.
In Akkala, she's a red leaf carried on a sunbeam, until it finds the deep blue of its namesake. For a moment, it floats gently against the surface, but it soon begins to sink, deeper and deeper, beneath the embrace of still, calm, waters.
The thumb on her wrist moves again, this time into her palm, as he finds the space between her fingers and laces his own with hers. She find his eyes – blue, so blue – locked on hers with a look she's never seen on him before, and the beauty of Hyrule fades around her. The hand holding her fingers against his neck travels gently along her arm, down her side, until it nestles on her hip. And if her hand closes around his, if her fingers find their path around his neck and burrow in his hair, if her lips begin to part as he slowly leans in, she never notices.
There's a wave on the Lurelin coast, locked into the pull of the tide, swelling, higher and higher, as it's inexorably drawn to shore. It rises with every moment it travels, until its foam reaches skyward and, unable to sustain itself, folds and shatters as it meets rock.
Zelda splinters with the wave, as droplets disintegrate and disperse across the air, pulling her mind in a thousand directions. Instinctively, she reaches for him, and they spiral, as her mind is wrenched into the here and now and she crashes into herself. They split apart, knocked breathless with the force of the descent.
"What was that?" he shouts, doubling over his stomach.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry," she wheezes, "I've never done this – I mean, carrying someone with me. I lost control."
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she repeats endlessly in her mind. What could she possibly be thinking. Did she just...was she going to….but he wouldn't. He doesn't. He doesn't, she repeats, and forces herself to breathe, to push out the tornado of fragmented thoughts in her mind and look at him.
He's unreadable. Of course. A stone mask, with a hint of disbelief. They stand straight, looking at each other, both at a loss. A stalemate.
The crunching of twigs, the clopping of hooves is entirely lost on them. Until -
"Hoy there fellows! Are you lost?"