Link gasped awake, catching himself from falling to the stone floor from his slumped position on the wall. He had fallen asleep? On arguably the most important watch in the kingdom? Link regained his composure and looked up and down the hall for witnesses to his folly. The royal wing was still and silent, but in his panning something caught his eye. A thick piece of fabric in between Zelda's bedroom door and doorway. Dread began to pool in Link's stomach. He kneeled down and pulled the fabric free, and, as he suspected, the heavy door latched closed loudly. A sound that would've woken him up from his foolish sleep. He knocked a frantic rhythm– for the small chance he was overreacting– but didn't wait long before he burst through the door and searched the princess' quarters.
He patted down the lumpy comforter, flung open the door to the balcony, climbed up to her high study. She wasn't here, but there were no signs of struggle or breaking in. She must've left on her own, but that did little to comfort him. Clues, clues, she had to have left a clue. He snapped his head to her bedside table, where sat, neatly folded, her nightgown. Link darted to her closet. What was missing? What had she dressed for if she wasn't in her nightclothes? Riding gear, still here. Field gear, still here. Desert top and sirwal, still here. Ceremonial robes– …missing. A memory shot through his frenzied thoughts– a detail from a conversation with Lady Urbosa, while the princess lay sleeping on her lap. That's it! He ran down a dozen floors, passed patrolling guards without a word, rounded the corner, and stopped dead in his tracks.
A beam of moonlight from a high, barred window bathed the still princess. Zelda prayed through chattering teeth, hip-deep in the waters of the castle's subterranean sanctum. Link couldn't even sigh in relief for finding her, he could feel her desperation from the doorway; he needed to make her safe and warm before she caught her death or lost a limb, but he knew she would not leave without a fight. Link sloshed carefully to her, every step the icy water seeped deeper into his skin he grew more afraid for her. How long has she been here? In the scramble to find her, Link had not checked a timepiece, did not know how long he'd abandoned his post outside her room to the realm of sleep. Hylia curse his negligence! He reached her, and spoke to her back. He buried the anxiety of the last minute– none of it came through in his calm words.
"Come back to your bed, princess. You'll freeze."
She halted the stanza of her prayer, but said softly in that same cadence:
"Would I be any more useless then, I wonder?"
"Highness…" he admonished, and grasped her shoulder, then her icy clasped hands, slowly turning her away from the goddess statue. "I will take you from this place, drag you if I must, and your devotion will not be in question. Hylia can blame me."
"It doesn't matter who's to blame!" the princess suddenly cried, throwing off his gentle hands with a splash and shattering the sanctum's peaceful facade. "If my power does not wake, there will be nothing and no one left! Do you understand, swordsman!"
"Yes, your highn–"
"Then how dare you disrupt my prayers! If Hylia requires my sleep, my breath, my very lifeblood to save this kingdom, then she will have it. And who are you to stop me?" Her final words were biting, and they provoked a true response out of the silent knight, like few others had ever managed.
"I am your protector, Zelda, and your only partner in this burden. So share it with me, I beg you," he entreated her, still softly but with an edge she'd never heard before. He was coming to the end of his rope with her. Good. She'd reached the end of hers before they'd even met. Her voice darkened even more.
"Do not speak to me of burdens, knight. You know nothing of them. And do not say a word of the sword on your back, for you bear it like it's nothing! You– so gracious, so strong, so favored by the gods. You cannot understand my years of uninterrupted failure. How could you?" She slowed and panted, her jaw spasmed with cold, her energy waned. He only stared at her. There was frost on her eyelashes; she was ethereal, even as she railed at him. She thought so highly of him, but hated him for it. With a locked jaw but compassionate eyes, he pulled the Master Sword from its sheath, holding it flat in his hands between them.
"It does talk to me," said Link, then clarified: "You asked me once before if it did. Do you know what it tells me?"
Zelda narrowed her eyes, suspicious but tiring. "Encouragements?" she bitterly offered.
"No," he shook his head. "Probabilities, statistics. How everything I do raises or lowers the odds of my failing you when the time comes. When we face Calamity."
Zelda was properly taken aback, fascinated and chagrined all at once. Her lips parted, and she gazed at the sword with a new perspective. She raised her numb hands in between his, holding the blade with him. "I'm sorry it ties you to me," she whispered.
"I'm not."
She looked up at him once more with big, awed eyes. He smiled, small and sad. And vulnerable, for once. "Rather a shared burden with you than a life of ease without. What were you praying?"
It took Zelda a moment to understand, her presence of mind fading fast, and her focus caught by the knight's kind, blue eyes–and the alarming content of that first statement–but when his question settled in, she answered slowly, "Farore's Benediction. It's the only one I can remember when…it's the only one I can remember this late."
Link nodded, and transferred the weight of the sword to her. "I know it. I can take over for a while, and you can stand guard. Alright?" He cupped her tricep and stooped his neck for her full attention. Such a nonsensical reversal of their roles, but something about it sounded more refreshing than the deepest sleep or the warmest meal. Drearily and childlike, she nodded her assent, and sidestepped him to return to the rim of the pool. But she only made it two steps when her frozen and cramped muscles stopped responding to her, and she began to fall. His gaze hadn't left her, and he caught her in his arms before her torso even breached the waters. He clutched her as tightly as she clutched the Master sword, and carried her to the doorway, setting her down next to the stone arch. He took the big torches from their sconces in the hall and set them on either side of her legs. For her part, she tried to sit at the ready, sword held slightly aloft.
"It's heavy," she said.
"Yes, princess."
Link waded back to the altar, spread his hands in the supplicating gesture he'd seen when his father thanked the gods for a victory in battle, and recited Farore's Benediction aloud. But, within, Link prayed a personal plea to Hylia, to open her heart to Zelda's plight, and to keep them together for as long as possible, so he might always be there to protect her. Not three minutes and two recitations later, when Link's chattering teeth began to hinder his words, he glanced slyly behind him. Sure enough, Zelda was deeply asleep, the Master sword resting between her legs and her head and bare shoulder leaned against the side of the stone arch. Link's eyebrows pulled, ever worried for her. Was sleeping healthy after such a severe shock to her system as this freezing water? Water which he felt he couldn't stand for another second, let alone however long she'd endured it. She really was remarkable. When he looked at her, which he rarely, truly allowed himself, he saw a strong, capable, and –though he felt he tainted her even by thinking it– beautiful young woman, where she saw a pathetic girl. He trudged to her, replaced the torches, and bundled her up to his chest once more, careful to keep his movements slow, and not jostle her. Her body knew better than he did what it needed, and he would not keep rest from her. He clinically felt her feet and fingers, freezing but still pumping with her lifeblood. Hylia would not have it tonight. And not any night, my goddess. I deny you that, he promised.
He carried her to her bed, leaning over to smoothen the transition, and covered her in layer upon layer of bedding. The robes had dried rather quickly in the torches' light, her cold-to-the-touch skin being the only trace of the sanctum left. Link started a fire in the mantle, though the mild spring night normally wouldn't call for it, but kept pacing back to Zelda's side, adjusting her pillows, and even once opening her dresser to look for some thick socks for her. But he shook the silly notion from his head, and instead went to wake her lady in the servant's quarters, giving her an abbreviated, less-alarming version of the night's events. Once her mind caught up with her body, and her initial annoyance faded, the woman immediately led the way back to Zelda's room, to warm and watch over her poor princess. Link resumed his post outside, fighting conflicting, anxious thoughts and memories of the night. In the waters of the sanctum, he was able to bring the princess some sliver of comfort, and bring her to an understanding of their common yoke, but to see her so defeated, so exhausted, was agonizing. Did he now have to add the princess herself to the list of dangers to her life? Was the fate of the kingdom really so dire? Her pain was his, ever since he pulled the sword from the Great Tree's pedestal. And her pain was so great. And she… her icy lashes, and bright eyes, the color in her cheeks and nose and shoulders, the tips of her hair floating in a ring of light around her, and her pouting lips when her mind slowed enough to actually listen to him. She could've been a fairy, or a spirit, or a goddess. An unconscious smile pulled at his lips, but he pulled them back into line, and screwed his eyes shut, as if it would block the image of her. She is not your goddess, she is a troubled young woman who needs your help. Maybe, if the Calamity comes and goes, and we two remain in this world…maybe.
You are also not of noble blood, master.
Link sighed. Thank you, Fi.