From Where it Began
the first time he laid eyes on Her, it felt like he was looking directly into the sun.
the hero was no stranger to beautiful women, having frequented brothels many a time during his travels in other lands. but he had never seen a woman whose hair was so blonde it practically radiated light, or whose skin was free of any marks or flaws, or whose eyes reflected the depth of the sea. he fell to one knee, almost instinctively, as if he knew She was of importance, and bowed his head. the mysterious woman turned, tilting Her head to the side. the only sound between them was the roar of the spring's small waterfall. the only thought between them a mutual curious one.
"forgive Me," She began, and the hero faltered at the melody of Her voice. "I did not know people often visited this place."
"not many do," the hero replied. "i just happened to pass by."
the woman did not move, but a smile tugged on Her lips. "then forgive Me again. I am interrupting."
"no!" the hero lifted his head, momentarily shocked as the blonde was bare, and he had forgot about Her beauty. he let his other knee fall to the sand to steady his weight. "this spring is free for all to use."
the woman's smile did not quiver. She approached Her guest, long hair brushing against the gentle sway of the water. She lowered Herself into a crouch, keeping Her eyes level with his but also exploring him. he did not move, allowing Her gaze to pierce him, to see him for what he was—nothing more than a man, cast on a journey he did not wish to be on.
but then She touched him, just Her fingertips on his chest, and his hands remained clenched in his lap. his chin lifted almost methodically, giving this stranger more access, and She took this invitation, fingers dancing against his jugular first and then moving down to his collarbone. he swallowed hard, and watched Her eyes catch the movement in fascination. those eyes then trailed down his left arm to his hand, then to the other, back up and into his eyes. almost studying him.
Her hand cradled the end of his red scarf, the tassels filtering between Her fingers, and that is when he finally moved, reaching around his head to unravel it. he weaved it around Her neck, Her eyes following every movement. "is it warm?" he asked, and She snuggled into it.
"yes," She smiled wider, "incredibly."
when She looked back up, he lifted his left hand from his lap, holding it between them, fingers open. She stared at it curiously, before lifting Her right and pressing it against his. their fingers laced, something surged down his spine, and he stared at Her a moment. "your name?" he asked, and Her eyes seemed to glisten.
Zelda wakes up, blinking her sleep away. It is still night, and the moon bleeds into her bedchambers through the large windows. She stretches and slides her hand under one of her pillows to grab the old, tattered red scarf.
She presses her face into the worn fabric, still holding onto the scent of the hero of old somehow, and inhales.
And in a whisper, she replies, "Hylia," as a warm courses through her entire body, cradling her in a hug.
author's notes:
would yall consider this a meet-cute bc i do
i love my babies