The burgeoning year descends upon Hyrule like a swarm of starlings upon a blossoming bough, and as soon as the first of its days have come to pass, the castle is thrust into a flurry of operations, each cog of the machine working in harried overtime. Couriers deliver letters from all over the kingdom, inquiries arriving upon parchment long crumpled by steadfast Goron grips while Gerudo messages smell faintly of jasmine when they finally find their way into Zelda's hands; but it is the fine Zoran ink that ultimately betrays the collective—gives way to the fear that rumbles across Hyrule. There is a single stroke in Princess Mipha's message—an unintentional serif at the end of the word urgent that drives a spade through Zelda's heart when she first sees it.
But soon, the tide will change: the Spring of Power beckons, and it's there that all of the fears spelled out so cleanly before her will be assuaged. They have to be.
Little by little, winter withers, its sparkling coat reduced to nothing but mucky snow as spring makes itself known from beneath the faded frost. Hints of green sprout out through the remnants, scraggly branches donning their blooming fingers and the air warming until the chilled mornings are nothing but memories. Promise swells in tandem with the birdsong that wakes across the field, and as soon as the castle receives word from Akkala regarding improved weather conditions in the east, the long awaited expedition is scheduled for the third day that follows.
On the morning of their departure, the castle is in flux, servants quickly coming and going, the clergymen and the pious scrambling to bestow their blessings upon the Princess and her knight before they take their leave.
Link can't help feeling as though the bustle is a little more urgent this time around, silently noted while he watches kinetic energy abound; there's an incongruence he's never seen before, everyone a little less assured, operating more on hope and conjectures rather than strategy.
But Princess Zelda holds tighter than most, her resolve steadfast. And he knows he can trust in that.
She was wounded, understandably, when word arrived from Tabantha just before the winter solstice: " After a supplemental inspection ," the letter read, " the Rito Council has determined that Vah Medoh possesses no additional amenities thought to be overlooked by the initial survey. All further defensive maneuvers will be carried out under the assumption that the other three Beasts operate within the same parameters."
Well, fuck , Link had thought when the Princess first read the message to him aloud in a thin voice, praying that he hadn't been witnessing the death of her remaining optimism.
"I suppose that's all there is to it on that front," Zelda declared, fingers trembling as she folded the letter up and slid it back into the envelope, nail scraping nervously against the broken seal. She met his eye, her bottom lip plumped out in a way he knew to mean she was hiding emotion.
"It's not the end." Resilience snarled within him, hidden by his bowed head. It hadn't been enough to shake her—not then. She hadn't withered, only swallowed her disappointment down and turned her eyes to the next assignment and focused every thought on that endeavor.
And he wonders now, as he watches her father bestow her with a heavy handed look and an even heavier hand upon her shoulder, if something in the wind should change this time. It has to—it has to. He hears the celestial whispers, and he can't imagine he's any more qualified to know what they sound like than she. What good would they be to only reach his ears?
He can't tell her such a thing, of course—he adds it to the list of things he keeps from her, shelved neatly beside those dreams of months past that have haunted him from afar, knowing and taunting. That spectral version of her hasn't appeared since those warm nights spent down south, and though Link would never verbalize the thought, he knows deep down that he sort of misses them. He tries to not recreate them on his own when he's alone in his quarters—tells himself he won't think of her as he falls asleep, that he won't lay her bare body across his mind and hope she somehow neatly stays there once sleep comes to claim him. He can't, and he shouldn't , because what would the Goddess say if she could peek into his mind and find such sacrilege?
In the sweeping expanse of the throne room, Link watches as Zelda tips her head up to meet her father's eye, her brow fixed into a gentle scowl and her jaw hardened, and he finds that this look—like dark, unflinching coal wrapped in a verdant shroud—is every bit as appealing as the sweet dewy-eyed looks she sends him over hot cocoa.
Something in him twists, hard. Here he kneels, in the shade of the parting conversation between father and daughter, drawing assumptions he has no business drawing—no, those dewy-eyed looks are most certainly not meant for him. Can't possibly be for him.
Zelda's mouth tastes of soot.
The King is speaking and speaking, proffering advice that sounds far less profound than they should—he's regurgitating the wishes he'd granted her before the Faron expedition, as if he can't be bothered to find something new to bid her. A deluge of relief crashes against her when he finally pulls his hand from her shoulder and turns away, still burning where his fingers have impressed against vigilant blue. At the sight of her father's back, a daunting sight she's grown so accustomed to in recent years, Zelda turns on her heel and departs, Link's boots softly scuffling as he rises to attention and falls into step behind her: she will stand tall, if only for him.
The descent to the stables is marred with an uncomfortable silence. Thoughts dance silently across the space between them, and though Zelda cannot determine just exactly what her knight thinks, she has an inkling—and she lets the deliberation distract her, thoughts of his downcast eyes behind her cutting across residuals of her embarrassment. It won't be long before she's astride her stallion, abandoning the bitter taste in her mouth in the grayscale of the castle, swapping it out for the sharp sting of forest air—chasing the sun with her knight at her side.
Their packs are waiting for them upon the stable's cobbled floor, attendants waiting patiently beside the pitching doors with bowed heads. Polite greetings are exchanged, Zelda's voice fluttering slightly at the sight of her stallion being pulled from his stall—as bright as snow, like a star bursting through the indigo quilt of a night sky. He moves with a confidence she can only hope to emulate.
"Thank you, but I'm in no need of assistance," Zelda says when one of the attendants bends to retrieve her pack. "Please leave us." She raises it herself and begins to fasten it to the stallion, fingers moving mindlessly as her lungs fill with what feels like heavy air. It feels almost cold as it spins inside of her, staining her body with something that feels a bit like dread, her vision blotting in the dim light. She swallows, the focus tugged loose from her eyes—but the world snaps back to attention around her when she feels something at her fingers.
It's Link's own gloved hands, hints of exposed fingertips busy with the strap she can't seem to get a hold of.
"My apologies," he murmurs, eyes cast firmly upon where they work. Zelda doesn't move, only watches the way his lips barely touch when he speaks. "I can help. I don't mind." He smiles, so discreetly that it looks as though he's keeping a secret.
She burns at the sight.
"Thank you, Link."
And when he's finished, he pulls his hands away, and Zelda feels a most unbearable longing barreling into her chest and nearly knocking cold air grown warm from her; it reminds her of grief.
Relief comes in the form of Impa waiting outside the stables, the blood red of her eyes like sweet cherry when her mouth breaks into a smile and her knee bends in salutation. (Zelda hopes the bright sun doesn't highlight the way her ears must be tinted pink.) Impa inquires as to the itinerary, offers suggestions regarding the route and a slew of confident words—and when the slight lull of parting creeps up on them, Impa glances over at Link and asks: "May I have a moment alone with the Princess?"
He obliges with a nod, riding Epona just further south to grant them some privacy. Zelda watches him go with a chill scattering up her spine.
"Oh Gods, Impa, what have I done now?"
"You've done nothing wrong!" the advisor reasons. Her lips curl in slightly, eyes flitting back and forth across Zelda's as she finds her words. "I just wanted to say that I'm so very proud of you, Princess—I am honored to be at your service." She dips her head politely, silver hair glinting in the sun like an unsheathed blade. Her voice is kind, but sensible—a little rehearsed to Zelda's ear. "I also wanted you to know that I've placed something in your pack for you. Nothing precious…but perhaps, a little sensitive. Do not let Sir Link go through your bag."
Zelda huffs a bit of air. "That is terribly cryptic, Impa…now I must know!"
Impa only shakes her head and raises her palms. "Beside your sanitary napkins. Go through and check things when you set up your lodgings. And be sure to send a quick letter when you reach Woodland Stable."
Green eyes practically roll from their sockets, but Zelda's mouth soon twists into a smile. "Fine, be that way if you must—perhaps Sir Link and I shall place bets on what you've hidden away." But Zelda's stomach sinks like a boulder thrown into a lake when her eyes roll across the sudden, thin-lipped expression that Impa gives, a knot wedging in her throat as she swallows.
"I will kindly urge you to avoid doing such a thing." Impa silently decrees the conversation done when she holds out a hand to assist the Princess.
Said Princess mounts her stallion and hastens him into a trot to reach Link's side, and she turns away just in time to miss the the easy little smile that edges its way onto Impa's lips.
The next few hours are spent threading beneath the smearing canopies of Hyrule Forest Park's protected land. It stretches north, tilting east ever so slightly and curving as the Hylia River rumbles into earshot. Clear blue hides overhead, appearing only in snippets through patches of olive green, and the blips of blinding sunlight flashing through the punched out canopies strikes so repetitively that Zelda finds it even more irritating than the clammy air of Faron. They take a brief pause just as the sight of the road morphing into Helmhead Bridge springs up, Zelda tumbling into tall grass after she pulls a piece of smoked jerky from her pack.
"This will be a shorter day for us, I think," Zelda says, chewing quietly on her afternoon snack. "We'll reach the stable by nightfall, and we can get an early start tomorrow morning and reach Lanayru by the evening."
Link nods, amenable. And when he sits on the small slope beside her, unprompted, that thing creeps up in her chest again. They sit in the quiet, something that feels very much like a Hebran snowstorm howling up inside of her at the sight of him in her peripheral vision. Hyrule Castle bounds up in the distance, its spires puncturing the crisp azure of afternoon skies, visibility cleared at the edge of the thicket.
"Beautiful day," Zelda's tongue seems to sit lazy in her mouth.
"Really nice. Not too hot."
Zelda hates the way something blooms in her chest every time he speaks. He hardly says anything at all, might as well be reading a list of primary school words written beneath a child's hand, and she'd grow warm all the same. He feels so different beside her—the color more apparent in his face, his eyes far kinder than they were half a year ago, when they had felt like nothing but sharp stone when she looked upon them. She sees him in technicolor now.
She watches the way he quietly chews at her side, his eyes squinting and his cheeks scrunched up slightly as he peers up at the clear sky overhead, and she lets herself pretend—pretend that she were on a different path, that she were a village girl on a simple excursion with an attractive boy from town. That their obligations consisted of study or learning their parents' humble trades. Of rising with the sun, afternoon naps, meals spent with family and friends—stolen moments in the groves with someone worth kissing, fingers sliding through golden air alongside a sweet summer wind.
"We shouldn't linger too long." A slow inhalation, air expelled across unsteady taps of tongue against teeth.
Link interprets it as a command rather than the disguise that it really is, because he's soon on his feet again, clearing his legs of stuck grass and helping his Princess to her feet; part of her might like for him to hear past those five simple words, but the moment has passed, and she's soon sliding across her stallion's saddle and cueing him forward with a quick squeeze of her calves.
The day sparkles before them as they make their way east, clouds rolling in overhead the tiers of Rauru Hillside, and as they move further and further, the soft rhythm of percussive hooves bounding across the path accompanying them all the while. It soon becomes rather apparent that Zelda's thighs have lost the conditioning gained on their last excursion, muscles howling as they find themselves just forty minutes shy of the Woodland Stable—but she breathes through it, refusing to let the ache tarnish the beauty of the day.
It isn't particularly busy when it sprouts up into view, engulfed in the light strain of a violin behind the structure and chatter about a particularly lovely grove just up the northern road. The tumult from the Military Training Camp spills over the ridge, and Zelda can only push their brassy sounds away—it will do her no good to dwell on such matters: their efforts shall not be in vain, and when she unlocks that elusive power at the Spring, she hopes that Father will grant them a pardon—provide them a break to be spent with their families knowing they can rest easy in their Princess' capable hands.
The stable manager is counting rupees when Zelda comes upon the counter and makes herself known, a sweet smile notched into her cheek and her eyes glinting brighter than the green between his hands.
"Princess!" He practically yelps, currency slipping from his grasp. He nearly shudders when they reach the floor, wincing as though their soft clink were a massive blade being dragged along stone. "I apologize—had I known you would be gracing us with your presence…I…" He bends at the waist in respect.
"That's hardly an issue." Zelda speaks kindly, head canted so her golden hair falls in a particular way—all the while acutely aware of the way Link watches her as she speaks. "A simple bed will do for my Knight and I, really."
The stable manager looks up and blinks, wide eyes flitting from the Princess to her attendant and back again. "Well…the honeymoon suite is available this evening, if that catches your fancy? I-it's quite sizable, fits two comfortably—and we've actually just recently renovated—!"
Zelda thinks there might be heat erupting from the top of her, something molten cascading its way down her body and through her veins, congregating in her fingertips and scorching her insides. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Steam must be swirling around her ears the way ash drags across Death Mountain after an eruption. Zelda's lips are stitched together so tightly that her jaw pinches, and whatever Link's eyes declare are shrouded somewhere beneath a mop of wheat, his head tilted down.
"My apologies , Princess!" the stable manager wails, bowing again so deeply that his forehead practically kisses the wooden countertop. "Truly I did not mean to offend, I merely misinterpreted."
Zelda finds herself suddenly very aware of the way her golden locks hang heavy and soaked with sun, the roots itchy and eager for a set of freshly manicured nails to drag across them."No need to apologize, Sir, truly. I really should have specified more clearly." She laughs weakly, her face burnt.
The manager is kind as he tries to hurry along, his finger tracing along his open ledger to check for availability, pretending as though the mortified Princess of Hyrule is not standing before him. "Ah yes—there is one deluxe and one single available." He looks up and smiles warmly. "Right beside each other, which seems fitting for your protector." He takes a double take, his smile falling slightly when he registers the splash of purple that looms across Link's shoulder at all times, but Zelda can see the effects it has on the man—he wants to look, wants to truly see the weapon that will persevere when the fateful day comes. Perhaps he wants to see its owner pull it from its home, watch as adroit hands demonstrate the weapon's true strength—wants to see his destined Hero in all of his glory.
Or perhaps she is only projecting.
"That would be wonderful. Whatever the rate, we'll take it."
Link has their packs unfastened from the horses before the manager can sweep up the money Zelda sets across the counter, and he presses his forehead to Epona's and whispers a kind word to her before she's escorted off into one of the stalls, and they're soon led through the distant sounds of equine prattle and folk songs that fill the stable as they're brought up to their rooms. Zelda watches as Link's pack drops to the foot of his door with a gentle thud just as the stable manager is calling up about a light supper his wife will be preparing later that evening. If it is hunger panging deep in her belly, Zelda isn't sure she recognizes it.
"Could you set my bag down here?" She could simply take it from him, but she worries it might strike him as too defensive, too uptight—after all, hasn't she spent the last few months hammering at the walls between them, smashing partitions into parapets, parapets into nothing more than ash at her feet? She refuses to lose the momentum now.
"Sure thing."
Link steps into her room and tries to not let his glance linger too long on her accommodations; it's a rather spacious room, with a four poster canopy, stretches of deep olive tumbling across fine mahogany. A delicate rose sits on a vase atop one of the nightstands, its blushing petals leaning nonchalantly across the rounded lip of the rim.
"Pretty." Zelda breathes into the hands folded at her stomach. There's something delicious about watching him pace through a room she does not recognize—a room meant to feel as though one were conceding to sleep in a spinny. And she wonders, suddenly—inappropriately—what would happen if she were to fall back onto her sheets, cry out about how surprisingly comfortable the mattress is—pat the duvet and insist he try it out beside her.
And then…and then…
"Do you….do you need anything else from me, Princess?" Ice blue pops out against the forest green, like they've found themselves caught up in Minshi Woods.
Zelda glances aimlessly around the room, only half-aware she's delaying the inevitable. "I…don't believe so. That's all for now, Link. Thank you." She watches him swallow, his sturdy look dipped in a kindness she's come to recognize. But she catches something else in it this time: something primal, something hungry.
Perhaps she's merely projecting onto him, too.
She watches him nod politely and move for the door, his name billowing up in her throat like a most dignified flag at the halyard, climbing higher and higher until she can't possibly keep it from sprouting at her lips.
"Link?"
Her knight turns, ever alert. "Yes, Princess?" And he looks at her in such a way she thinks she could crumble to pieces atop the deep currant rug beneath her feet.
"I…you…" Zelda hopes he can't hear the click of her molars grinding. She inhales to find her breath shaky, her body like a temple of straw. But ahead she presses: "You can call me Zelda, you know. I'd like that."
Link's lips part. "Sure thing—" She watches him vye for the first consonant, her breath held tightly as he pushes back against his instincts and training to simply acknowledge her as a woman—as the normal girl that she longs to be.
Please say it.
And though he tries— really , he does— he can only sigh and huff a small laugh. "I'll work on it, Princess. Promise."
And she knows, from the look in his eye, that he means it.
Zelda can feel the remnants of the day seeping across her scalp, golden head grown irritated beneath the besieging sun for so many hours. Dinner is to be served in an hour's time, and she takes to freshening up as thoroughly as possible provided the amenities of the accommodations. Though the facilities boast none of the ornamentation of those back home, there is something she really enjoys—the lack of giggling maids swooping in to check up on her; no lilting soprano voices asking if she's in need of any scrubs or rags or brushes before they try to find out if the Princess has discovered anything particularly scandalous about her knight attendant. (No, she most certainly does not miss that .)
Zelda retrieves a hairbrush and begins to run it through freshly clean hair, the whistle of bristles through dark gold monotonous, oddly comforting. There is peace here in this charming little place; old-fashioned and lighthearted, its amenable dark wood far more inviting than the hostile steel of castle stone. Even in her privacy she hears laughter and song—none of the silence that shrouds her as she walks through her home.
And Zelda knows silence well enough to greet it as an old friend—it's condescending from her father, vicious from the Goddess. Desperate from her knight.
She turns towards the blank wall.
Her stomach tumbles.
Zelda sets her brush down and steps forward, tentatively, inching closer towards the barrier that divides them. She wonders how close he might be now—wonders where his bed lies, if his head might be just inches from her fingers. Wonders if he'd be able to hear her if she exhaled loudly enough—if she were to whisper his name. Wonders if he might be thinking of her in her absence. Wonders if he might undoing his trousers, sliding them down the length of firm thighs and—
She retrieves her brush in haste and opens the larger pack that Link has set upon the ground, shoving it in as though swiping the blush from her face, and in her haste her fingers brush upon something unfamiliar: a small envelope sits tucked behind one of the coin purses refashioned for her sanitary napkins, and Zelda gives an audible ooh as she remembers that something has sat waiting to be discovered for hours now.
Zelda quickly tears at the letter and unfolds pale parchment, hastily scrawled sentences splashed against the paper as though its whole existence were a last minute decision. Her eyebrows knit above a bemused smile.
Dear Princess, I believe you, I do. But…in the event that your feelings on the matter change, I need you to proceed cautiously. Therefore, I am providing you with an elixir that will prevent any unwanted results, which you will find in the hidden compartment of this pack. No one, including myself, needs to know whether or not it is used during this excursion. Wishing you a safe and prosperous journey. -ImpaZelda has to reread it three times before she's crumpling the note and shoving it away, and she can only perch herself at the edge of the bed with her hands folded and her face on fire, embered jade sitting heavy on the slumped pack below.
When they rise the following morning, it's early enough to catch the local wood thrush's charming ditty from where it sits on a spindly branch, its bright white chest hardly distinguishable through thick morning fog. Something about this morning feels so familiar—reminds her of the earliest days of her studies, long hours strewn up at her mother's side in the courtyards, their treats and laughter far too bright against such a dreary sky before the tutors whisked her off for the first of her reading lessons; her tongue rings with the cherry and vanilla custard at the thought.
The dawn brings about omelets and toast and bowls of mixed berries, another kindness by Shallon, the lady of the house who has taken kindly to the pair, and just when they think they've drained the last of her warmth, she has one more gift to offer: a small basket, easily transported, handed up to the Princess as she tosses a black-clad leg across her stallion. The package contains two loaves of bread and a few slabs of the woman's private stash of exported Hateno cheese and tumbles of grapes, and a couple slices of lemon-blueberry pound cake.
"This is so generous….we can't thank you enough," Zelda calls out from where she sits astride, her fingers curling around the woven handle. "We will be recalling your generosity through our travels and beyond, I'm sure."
Shallon beams up proudly without a hint of sleep to dull her eye, her nose ruddy in the early air of daybreak. "You are this kingdom's light. You both are. We'll never be able to repay you for your services." She tips her head and curtsies lightly, one hand clasped around the edges of the shawl that meet on her chest. "We know you will both prevail in the end."
Zelda's throat bobs with a swallow she nearly chokes on, eyes soon just as misty as the path that leads east. She can do very little but nod, grateful that their hospitable acquaintance can't see the way her chin creases below a flattened bottom lip. Link's hands find their way around the edge of the basket, patient and waiting for approval, and she can feel her fingers loosening at the hint of him; he's diligently fastened it to Epona's flank before Zelda can offer a few more words of gratitude, nodding with a stoic, verbal acknowledgement himself, and soon, the Woodland Stable is nothing more than a passing thought, left behind as the terrain smooths out into the sprawl of Trilby Plain.
Morning soon flushes fully, warm gold crackling through the thin layer of stratus clouds that idle above and tinting the light sage of the plains; and it's when that first kiss of sunlight slants across her cheek that she is reminded of where she is, of where she's headed—of who follows at her side in quiet contemplation.
She wonders what goes on in that head of his.
Zelda's mind wanders to the small vial that sits buried deep within the pack behind her, inky liquid waiting patiently for the time when it's called upon; heat pools in her cheeks at the thought. Impa is mistaken , she thinks. Nothing of the sort shall ever transpire between her and Sir Link, that much is certain.
But…she wonders…if he were to ever ask…
The Princess huffs atop her steed, a small sound that pulls a curious snort from him.
"Everything okay, Princess?"
"Yes. It's the pollen, I think."
He answers her with a silence that sits so thick with knowing, and still he keeps to the boundary she sets—and she's loath to admit that it frustrates her; because if he were to pry, she might stumble across answers to satiate her curiosity. (" Imagine us married? What a silly thought!") She can't bring herself to look at him, just in case she ends up finding sharp cornflower blue watching her, pink cheeks on full display if she turns to him now.
The ride is long, made all the longer by the bristling sunlight pressing up against their backs, mellowed out only slightly by the winding river at their side. She makes her first mistake of the voyage just as the noonday sun comes to hang in the middle of the sky, turning her eyes to find her knight retying his hair, a small blue band hung between his teeth as his gloved fingers comb through his hair, thighs clenching around his mare as he clings tightly to her; and Zelda can't keep her eyes from flitting downwards, to where Epona's gait thrusts his hips forward, again and again, the movement smooth and effortless—and the thoughts come like a flood bursting through a dam: and what if she could feel those movements against her, her back against a delicate sheets and her toes spading into duvets long tousled by their desperate limbs? What if, what if ?
Hylia's favored, she most certainly is not. In the midst of such turmoil, she knows it.
The soft blues and greens of eastern Lanayru soon give way to the red ochre of Eldin's mountains, spots of olive gently strewn across vermillion sandstone. The Ternio Trail begins to lead them upwards, and to spare the horses, they slow their pace, stealing moments to admire the sight of Cephla Lake as it unfurls beneath them while they enjoy the last few bites of pound cake. And though Death Mountain lingers beyond, clawing its way into the tranquil blue of northern skies, the Princess and her knight turn their attention further east, and soon, the craggy shapes of the region are bursting with the plumage of Akkala, its reds and oranges and greens far more warm and welcoming.
Link sees the way Zelda's eyes dart up towards the Citadel that towers atop its peak. The sounds of soldiers working and chatter and the sight of dormant Guardians lined up along the edges of the battlement tumble down the hillside, aggressive and unsettling.
"Almost there, Princess." Link says, straightening his back. "We're close."
She clears her throat, perhaps aware she's been caught. "Very well."
"Is there anything you'd like to eat for supper? What are the chances these owners will be as accommodating as the last?" He thinks, somewhere deep down inside, that there isn't any way for her to look upon the smile he gives her and not find the infatuation there—surely, it dangles at his lips, lingers between his eyes, curls against his cheeks. But he'll pretend, for her sake, that he knows nothing of the sort.
He doesn't think any challenge has ever been greater.
"I'll have to think about it." She loses her voice just as the distant call of folk music begins to seep south of Kanalet Ridge as though it were another type of birdsong. "Close indeed." A tiny smile quirks at the edge of her mouth when she meets his eye. Link dips his head at the new flutter in his throat.
The road banks easy to the right, and soon, the familiar design springs into view, the flags brandishing the stretches of rope up from the canopy blowing in a gentle wind that's beginning to whip up. Blooms of orange explode around the entrance as though hailing them, bidding them welcome, and beneath the foliage, Link finds that it's much busier than the Woodland Stable had been; a troupe of musicians, a handful of travelers surrounding a lit cooking pot, two employees playing a game of fetch with a bright coated Hyilian retriever while another tends to a small group of corralled sheep.
He glances over at Zelda, wondering if he'll catch something like fear in her eye; all he can catch is the way she swallows, hard and labored, and he knows he's guessed correctly.
This time, he is the one taking initiative, handling matters of payment while Zelda steadies herself, bows her head politely in the lull that dampens the mild festivities. Murmurs of praise rumble up, a few of the patrons adorning her with cordial blessings. Though Link's eyes are firmly affixed to the stablemaster, he hears far more than he sees—the hesitancy in their voices, the hopes and fears dangling in the words left unspoken. As cordial as they are, they're worried. Zelda is worried, too. And Link himself is worried; worried that one of the twenty-somethings currently tucked in the back of the stable drowning in mead will dare to deliver something brash, something insulting—something that Link will have to reprimand through gritted teeth while his fingers curl around that familiar purple pommel.
"Where y'all headed?" the stablemaster inquires as he makes his calculations, eyes scanning through his paperwork.
"The Spring just north of here." Link's voice simmers low.
The man gives him a knowing look and asks in a voice equally as soft: "Mind me askin'—how's it all going?"
Link glances back at Zelda to find her gently bent at knees and scratching the retriever behind its ear while its paw thumps against the grass. "I'm optimistic."
"Share some of that with me, will ya?" The man smiles and picks up a pen, hands it over to Link and slides a form over in tandem. "Not that I don't think she's capable, o' course. But I could use a bit of good news one of these days."
Link swirls a signature and slides the form back across the dark wood of the counter. "You'll get it. I know it." And Link can see in the man's face—only a few words exchanged, and the Hero has given him something he's been desperate for. Hope flickers up in his face, made all the more real by the knight's cool facade.
I know it.
He does. He has to.
Zelda's lodgings look slightly different from those provided to her prior. The darker grain of her bed frame now a honey wood that sings with the hues of Akkala. A navy blue rug beneath it, a portrait of the Rist Peninsula hung just beside the window. The Princess moves right towards it and peeks through, head craning as she strives to watch the action outside.
Link only lingers in the doorway, fingers clutched around the handle to her knapsack as though he worried he might lose it. "Everything okay, Princess?" And then he is worried, because the girl in question doesn't answer immediately. But he waits, patient. Loyal to a fault. At her side, he will stay; and his patience is rewarded with a sweet tone.
"No, just…watching. That's all." She quickly glances back. "Come see. Look how sweet that dog is…"
Link obliges; he slots himself into the square frame, just close enough to follow the sight of the pup bounding about around one of the trees—close enough that his arm might brush up against hers if she moves too suddenly.
Zelda turns to find him closer than even he had imagined, and Link finds himself a little thrilled by the way the air catches in his throat. Green eyes brighter than he's realized find him, pupils dark—lips parted a little breathlessly, and he knows there are thoughts bounding around inside. But he clears his throat and backs away.
Zelda nods. She turns away from the window and draws closer into the room, places her hand against one of the bed posts and bites her lip—lets her glance fall upon the painting before she's swallowing again.
"I should let you rest," Link mumbles, eyes focused heavily on where her hand sits, soft cream against wood; unintentionally inviting.
She looks at him with something he cannot read. "Oh—yes, I suppose. I should nap before supper." She nods. "I hope you'll do the same. It's been quite a long day."
"Sure. Is there…is there anything else you need from me, Princess?"
Goddess, she could ask anything of him right now— anything , and he'd never object.
"I…no, that's all for now, Link. Thank you."
The sound of his name sprung free of its title stiill feels so novel to him, enough to make him feel like he's floating when he finally makes his way to his room. He finds himself flat on his bed, much smaller than the mattress she's lying on, but beneath streaming sunlight across his cheeks, the sound of his name ringing in his ears, Link has never felt so noble.
Suppertime in the South Akkala stable is far less humble than either of them has anticipated. It's raucous and bright, a bolt of marigold in the darkened thicket clumped around the crossroads. Zelda's hardly reached the bottom of the staircase before the lady of the house is pressing a flask into her palm with her teeth bared grimly like she's already a few drinks in:
"Have a swig my dear—what King Rhoam doesn't know won't hurt 'im!"
"Oh! I-i—" Uncertain eyes instinctively search for Link, just as they always do whenever the Princess finds herself in something that feels a little less than safe, and it's a bemused look that her eye finds—his lips molded down and his eyebrows raised just a hair: yes, any secret she might want to make will be safe with him. "I—oh, I couldn't…" she flusters with a polite shake of her head.
"Ohhh yes, you can. I guarantee that the Princess of Hyrule's never had a proper drink in that fancy castle of yours. You, too, boy!" Color rushes to Link's cheeks as the woman smirks, a mischievous waggle of her brows across her forehead. "You might need a little liquid courage for your journey, no? We've been seein' some rather chilly nights as of late—much colder the further north you get, too."
Encouragement grumbles up from the onlookers stationed at their tables when Zelda tips her head to the side, her lips curled in. Reluctance clings to her as their amicable spurs slide across her ears.
"Oh… fine !"
Link's gaze feels as heavy as forged metal where it sits on the back of her head while she sips, his watch every bit as scorching as the spice of cinnamon whisky as it slips down the chute of her throat. Heat floods the upper parts of her when the warmth knots in the pit of her stomach, pushing her taller. Across the first floor of the stable, a roar of cheers floats across glasses raised high in tribute.
"Impressive," Link muses from behind.
The tips of her ears burn as she turns, temperature rising even higher when she comes across his lopsided smile.
"Your turn, Knight." She shoves the flask in his direction, swallowing.
There's a low rumble of interest from the surrounding guests. Link's eyes flit from Zelda's hand to her eyes; watchful eyes, shining brightly in the glow of the light, a small challenge wrapped in that veil of jade. "I shouldn't…" He raises his hands sheepishly, suppressing a smile.
Zelda's lips twist decently impish in nature. "That's a command , Sir Link." There is a palpable tension rising, fueled by the melody from beyond the canvas flaps of the stable.
Link pulls his top lip in and concedes. "As you wish, Princess." He swipes the flask from her grasp, replacing her lips with his own, ears ringing with the sound of new cheers as the drink lights his own limbs up. And all the while, when he tips his head back and accepts her challenge, his eyes never leave hers.
It can't be possible for her thermoregulatory functions to already be dulling, can it?
The lady of the house escorts them to their table, and they take turns this way, the flask passing between them and the container light before the meal is even served—veggie cream soup and stuffed bell peppers—and when the time finally comes that the flask sits empty upon their tabletop, it's promptly refilled by the mistress, humming innocently as she replenishes their fount while dark curls fall across her face.
Whatever interest the onlookers have for the esteemed visitors vanishes in the taste of sweet peppers, mildly spiced beef and rice and zucchini blending together, doubly flavorful under the whiskey's charm, and when the plates are mostly empty, their focuses are dragged towards other matters—card games and music and flirtatious exchanges beneath the tables and last minute requests before the kitchen closes up for the evening. In the midst of the din, the Princess and her Knight find themselves alone.
It's hard for Zelda to ignore the way Link settles into his chair a little bit more when he's finished his food, his knife set to the side like arms laid down. He looks so comfortable, that stoic noose around his neck loosened slightly by the drink. "That was fantastic."
Zelda dabs pale white at the corner of her lip before she's settling the napkin across her cleared plate. "Delicious indeed. Though, I can't say it compares to that one dish you provided for us in Hebra."
In recent months, Zelda's been led to believe she's developed the slightest bit of immunity towards Link's looks; she knows him quite well now, knows when she's touched a nerve, knows when something she's delivered stirs his soul. It's a flicker of something in his eye, as innocuous as a ripple across a pond's surface when a pebble is tossed in—but to her, the ripple is large , a tidal wave along the banks of him. Hidden, sequestered—so very, very noticeable in his look. But for all her certainty, the mere sight of him watching her sends her heart catapulting into her chest, folded over itself as it thrashes up against her sternum, lodges somewhere near her hypopharynx and threatens to choke her.
"You remember," he mumbles in a low voice, blinking, and Zelda finds herself reminded that trying to decipher these looks will always prove to be a difficult task.
"I do." Barely a smile, cast out across to him all the same. "And though he will vehemently deny it, I recall a certain Rito warrior feeling just as impressed as I was. Reluctant, but impressed."
Link snorts. "I'm sure you were reluctant, too." He says it without a hint of malice in his tone—but it licks a flame up her spine. The mischief, the caprice of it all…oh, how she likes it. She likes it.
"It's not a problem, of course," Link quickly says, mistaking her silence for something she knows quite well it isn't. "I just mean to say that…I know you didn't like me very much back then."
And perhaps it's the alcohol flaring up in her, but Zelda quickly turns away at the thought, shrouding the onset of tears the springs beneath her ducked head. Shame burns its way down her throat, every bit as sharp as the liquor.
"I'm so sorry, Princess, I didn't mean…."
And the sound of the guilt seeping through his voice is even more difficult to parse through, and it wounds her, makes her want to take him in her arms and press him so tightly to her chest in ways a woman with the blood of the Goddess pulsing through her veins ought not to. Zelda clears her throat and dares to look at him.
"Would you sit outside with me?" Said holy blood pounds in her ears when she asks it. She steadies her feet beneath her when his mouth splits into a relieved smile, and it's all she can do to keep from pooling right then and there and seeping into the floorboards.
There is something about the night that feels so wildly uncertain as the cool air bursts around them, the late hour lacking all of the wisdom that comes with morning. Zelda's steps are marred with strains of intoxication, but she slides into one of the open seats beside the campfire as Link takes the other.
"Was it too loud in there?" Link asks, voice set a little louder than necessary as his ears adjust to the quieter atmosphere.
Zelda shakes her head. "No, I just…I could use a moment out here. I want to feel the air better." She turns in her seat to watch the merriment continue on without them—couples dancing, musicians singing, drunken voices humorously out of tune as they join in. Link joins her in her observation.
"It wasn't you that I didn't like," Zelda whispers, eyes transfixed on the curved body of the violin. "But I'm sorry I never found the right way to…express those feelings. There must be no one more envious than I." She laughs gently, her tone a little sardonic. "I envied you…I envy my predecessors…and now I find myself here envying them ."
"Why is that?" Link asks softly.
"They have no say in the matter. They must make the most of the time they have left. Their duties are to themselves, their families. And I…"
The Hylian retriever hops at his master's foot, prancing about while he and another young woman share a dance. Somebody begins to clap along to the triple pattern that a violin carries.
"They're counting on me. I can't fail them."
Link feels something tighten in his shoulders. "You won't. You won't fail, Princess. We'll get through this."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"It will. In the end, at least, it will."
"How can you know?"
"Because I know." He crosses an arm across his chest to lay his palm atop his shoulder, fingers grazing the edge of the sword's hilt. "Because I know now that this wasn't just by chance. It took a while, but I understand now. And I couldn't see it before. Couldn't…hear it before." It's a loaded statement. One that he thinks might send tears streaming down her cheeks. He watches firelight flicker up in emerald eyes as she turns the words over in her mind.
"She favors you, I'm sure. And I think knowing that is how I can manage to keep some faith." And though it's almost certainly present as intoxication's welcome guest, she feels courage ring between her teeth when she meets his eye." She'll do what she needs to do to keep her beloved Hero from the grave. If not for me, then for you."
(Link, on the other hand, would much prefer someone else's favor in the deity's stead.)
"If it helps keep the hope alive in you, then I am happy to hear it."
And in his face, she can see that fount of hope, overflowing and fierce even in the pale blue of his glance. A placid veneer cloaking deep trenches that Zelda has yet to uncover—this is the look the Goddess must have rearranged the cosmos for, a look worth fighting for; a look that has hope flaring up in her. And suddenly, Zelda can see their paths entwining before her, parallel lines now perpendicular, collapsing upon one another, their hopes and needs and fears crashing against each other, and it sends a thought fluttering across her mind—has her wondering if the matter is symbiotic.
"And…how is it that you keep your hope alive?" Her voice is gentle when she asks it, a delicacy of a comfort. And though Link has seen so many of her looks—has heard nearly every color in the kaleidoscope of her voice—it is this look, this voice that makes him feel like he's being seen for the first time.
"I…"
How much can he say?
"I don't know." Link swallows, hard. "The Goddess. You." He flushes as pink as a Lurelin sky at sunset. "Us?"
"...us?"
He nods. "We've done it before. So…we can do it again. Right? I don't know, that's what I think of sometimes when I pray."
"I did not realize you were a pious man." Alcohol droops Zelda's eyelids down, and from where Link sits, he knows sleep must be near. He only shrugs and inches forward a bit, just in case fatigue decides to knock her from her seat entirely.
"Would you pray with me?" And when she turns to face him, they're in closer proximity than either has anticipated.
He only nods.
"Give me your hand, please."
Her hand is so warm in his, pulses flickering in tandem with the fire that churns before them.
"O Mother Goddess, thank you for all you have provided for us. We humbly ask that you continue to guide us in our journey. Merge our parallel paths so that we may reach our united goal together—"
Body and soul, together as one. A shared bliss.
"—I humbly ask for your light. Shed it upon your loving daughter—"
Keep me from failing.
"—and protect your blessed Hero on his journey alongside her."
May he be mine as well.
"May you be in our minds and in our hearts and in our mouths as we go."
His mind, his heart, his mouth, I want them to know them, I want to—
"In your blessed name we praise."
Zelda opens her eyes. "Anything more?" Her thumb nearly brushes across his, caught at the last moment before she gives herself away entirely.
It's Link's turn to close his eyes. "Please help the Princess to see herself as others see her—good, strong, and kind. And please nurture the wisdom, and the courage, and the power that she carries in her at all times. Help her see them as often as I do. And I ask you to grace me with everything I may need to assist her on this journey."
And when he opens his eyes again, he's greeted by the sight of the Princess, watching him, silent tears licked orange by firelight as they silently stream down her cheeks. He squeezes her hand, just tightly enough to remind her that he's still there—he's there.
"You need to rest, Princess. Water first, then sleep." His voice drips with all the balm of an evergreen, and Zelda can only hum into the consoling sound of him. "Ready?"
For him, she will be.