POV Zelda

Beloved Link,

I heard your voice today. Not distant, like in dreams, nor faded by forgetfulness, like in my memories; but clear, vivid… calling me once more.

I miss you so much. The past ten years have swept over me mercilessly, dragging me further away from the moment we last saw each other. Yet, while my body remains here, a decade later, my soul seems frozen there, in that room where I received the news. I can still feel your arms around me, as if only hours had passed since I was held by you.

I cannot understand why I remain here, trapped in this existence, unable to share it with you. I don't want to exist here without you. They told me time would heal me; that the pain would subside, that I would learn to move on.

But I don't want to move on. I want to go back to that morning in bed and say yes to your invitation. I want to cancel every meeting I had that day and spend it with you. I want to stop you from training with Lance. I want to stop you from leaving.

I want you.

Today you called me to return. Return to where, if it was you who abandoned me — again? I am already exactly where I should be; I am where you should be. Aren't I?

I stare at the journal page, still holding the quill, slightly dazed by the anger that surged in the final sentences. My heart pounds in my throat, unsettled by the emotion burning its walls after a decade of apathy.

Confused, I don't bother finishing the entry. I don't even bother putting the journal away; I never do, anyway. I always leave it open on my vanity, foolishly hoping Link will emerge from wherever he is just to read it.

Mechanically, I pull my hair into a tight, firm bun. Then, I open the box where I keep the crowns stored.

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Link's death.

A royal "celebration"; an "official" appearance as queen. Such an occasion requires me to wear that accessory.

I glance at my crown beside Link's. They're similar; golden circles adorned with stones: one green, one blue, and one red. Simple enough, considering their weight and significance.

"You hated wearing it," I say to the air, my finger tracing the outline of the golden band.

I take mine from the box and place it on my head, as I've done so many times before, still gazing at the remaining crown. It stares back, as if mocking me, saying, "See? I no longer need to be worn."

I lift my gaze to the mirror, finding my weary reflection staring back with indifference, lifeless. And I realize that I hate wearing this damn crown too.

On impulse, I return it to the box and shove it into one of the vanity drawers just to get it out of sight. I decide not to wear it today, in honor of Link's memory.

A light knock on the door startles me.

"I'm coming," I call out, emotionless.

"It's me, Zelda. May I come in?" Impa's voice sounds from the other side.

My teeth clench, a bitter taste invading my mouth. I frown, unable to understand the origin of these reactions.

"Yes," I reply, still puzzled by the waves of anger hitting me, only to dissipate moments later.

Impa enters the room alone, closing the door behind her. Her youthful face irritates me. Nearly two decades ago, Impa, after reuniting with Deen — the "love of her life" — allowed Purah to rejuvenate her to her mid-twenties — at the time, just a few years younger than me.

But Sheikah age much more slowly than regular Hylians; and the older they are physically, the slower the aging. While I bear the marks of my nearly forty-five years, Impa barely looks older than thirty — despite being well over a hundred and sixty.

Why is she still here, and you're gone?

"How are you, dear?" she asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I can't meet her gaze as I answer.

"As well as expected," I murmur.

"The preparations are complete. The people are gathering in Castle Town, eager to see their queen, Zelda," Impa squeezes my shoulder, drawing my attention. I lift my gaze to meet hers in the mirror. "It's been years since your last public appearance," she raises her eyebrows.

I stare at her face in silence, unable to muster any reaction.

"Are you ready?"

I nod.

"And your crown?"

I shrug; Impa gives a small smile.

"Let me guess: he hated wearing his, so you won't wear yours?"

My shoulders stiffen, and I instinctively straighten my posture in defiance.

"You are the queen, Zelda; no one can force you to wear it. But the people lost only one of their leaders… not both. Don't forget that," her tone is firm, but she smiles warmly.

Impa steps away, heading for the door.

"Purah and I will be in the adjoining sitting room, should you want tea beforehand."

I need something stronger than tea, but I nod in agreement.

"Oh, and Deen sends his regards; he asked me to tell you it'll all be fine."

I sigh. Everything has already gone wrong.

Yet at the mention of Deen's name, my body is overtaken by a fierce curiosity I haven't felt in years. The next words escape my lips before I can stop them.

"How did you do it, Impa?" my voice is a whisper. Impa, already at the door, turns toward me. I know she's already understood my meaning; but I complete the question anyway: "How did you live with his disappearance? For over a century."

To my frustration, she merely shrugs.

"I have no idea, Zelda. Channeling my energy into helping you fight the Calamity served as a distraction for a time; but after Ganon's attack and the kingdom's fall, I spent a long time alone with my thoughts and regrets. Countless times I thought about giving up. The only thing that kept me going was knowing you and Link were still fighting. And, well, then Paya came along, of course."

Hearing his name steals my breath, my eyes stinging immediately.

"Have you spoken to Lance recently?" Impa asks, scrutinizing me.

"I didn't know he was in Hyrule," I reply, indifferent.

Lance had been away for months, on some mission with Kass. Or Paya and Tauro. Or one of his army comrades. He's always away; I gave up pretending to care about his whereabouts long ago. We see each other two or three times a year, during the rare weeks he's at the castle.

"He arrived a few days ago. He wouldn't miss his father's memorial."

"How is he?" I ask, moved only by obligation.

"As well as expected," Impa throws my own words back at me, raising her eyebrows. "Anyway," she opens the door and adds, without looking back: "Don't forget the eulogy."

. . .

The royal guards scattered along the castle corridors keep their eyes low as I pass by them. The sheet of paper, hastily torn from my journal, threatens to tear further from being folded and unfolded countless times in the past few minutes.

"Zelda, dear… how are you?" I turn at the sound of Paya's voice behind me.

Why does everyone ask how I am? Isn't it obvious?

And by Hylia, Paya looks like she's about to burst; her massive pregnant belly causes her posture to tilt slightly forward.

How long has it been since I last saw her?

She looks at me with concern and approaches to embrace me. Well, as much as she can manage, given her condition.

"Healthy," I shrug, stepping back. "Impa mentioned you were pregnant… again."

"Yes," she offers a tired, sheepish smile. "This third one was a surprise. And so soon… Berri just turned one. Tauro, though, he's over the moon, so I suppose…"

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" A child's voice erupts suddenly, growing louder as a tiny figure with white hair and sun-kissed skin sprints into the room, colliding against Paya's legs.

"Grandpa Deen stole my nose, GRANDPA DEEN STOLE MY NOSE. Daddy says it's a lie, but I DON'T BELIEVE HIM. Grandpa knows real magic. HELP ME FIND MY NOSE!"

The room spins, my breath leaving me as a memory punches through, unbidden and brutal. I lean against the wall, struggling to stay upright.

"Mommy, Mommy!" Lance tugs at the hem of my skirt, impatient. "You promised to take me to Auntie Purah's lab."

"Zelda?" Tauro's voice echoes distantly, muffled by the image of Lance at four or five years old, on a perfectly ordinary day.

"Of course, my love," I crouch to pick him up, kissing his flushed cheeks as he giggles happily. "Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

My eyes sting, tears streaming down my face, and I feel incapable of distinguishing reality from the memory.

"Can Daddy come too? He can protect us. There are scary machines there," Lance whispers conspiratorially.

"I thought you weren't afraid of anything!" I feign shock, widening my eyes.

"We're still working on that," Link steps into the room, laughing as he scoops Lance from my arms. He leans toward me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips before offering his free hand for us to walk side by side.

A loud, jarring sound cuts through the memory, piercing my ears. My throat burns; it takes me several seconds to realize I'm screaming.

My breathing is heavy, uneven, and black spots dance before my eyes.

"She's going to faint, Tauro," Paya says, panicked.

"Can you hold Berri?" he replies, equally alarmed.

"No need. I'll help." Deen appears, placing an arm around my back to steady me. "Come on, Zelda. Impa and Purah are waiting for you."

I allow myself to be guided, still unsure of where I am. I'm seated on a comfortable sofa; someone places a cup of tea on the table beside me.

"What's this?" Purah's voice comes from a distance.

"Looks like some torn journal page. She was holding it when she collapsed."

Several moments of silence pass before she responds.

"It's from her diary; she's probably planning to read it during the eulogy. Why tear it out instead of just taking a picture with the Purah Pad?" she grumbles.

Slowly, the world regains shape around me. I'm in one of the castle's sitting rooms. Not just any of them, I realize; my favorite. The same room where my mother used to read to me as a child. The same where Urbosa would spend afternoons during her visits to the castle.

The same where we shared stories the night of my wedding to Link, when everyone learned I was pregnant with Lance.

I bury my face in my hands, sobs wracking my shoulders, the horrible sound of grief echoing through the space. Someone sits beside me; familiar arms wrap around me, offering comfort.

How many times have I wept in Impa's embrace?

I bury my face in her shoulder, allowing her to console me once more. Her hand gently strokes my hair, soothing me silently.

Long minutes pass, but eventually, my cries subside; for a few moments, only uneven breaths remain. Until all sounds fade, and I sit there, motionless.

They must have thought I'd fallen asleep, as, after a long pause, the others in the room begin speaking in hushed tones.

"It's been a while since the last time," Purah whispers.

I feel Impa nodding faintly.

"I'm not sure it's much better than the apathy of recent years," Purah continues. "This feels like a step backward."

"Worse than repressing it all, it can't be," Tauro reasons.

"Ten years…" Paya sounds hesitant. "I don't understand much about… loss and such. But… it seems like too long."

"Everyone copes as best they can, dear," Impa's voice is placating.

"Will she be able to make a public appearance today?" Deen's voice is thick with worry.

"We already have a prepared statement in case she can't," Purah announces. "Impa has a backup eulogy ready. And Lance will speak regardless. But there's the matter of the people; it's been years since Zelda's last public appearance. While the Council has managed the kingdom's duties well enough, people are growing restless without a clear leader figure. Conspiracy theories are starting to circulate. Some even believe Zelda took her own life — or was assassinated — and we're just waiting for Lance to come of age to take the throne."

"This has also impacted our relations with other kingdoms and villages beyond Hyrule," Tauro points out. "Some of these rumors are spreading beyond our borders."

"Yes," Paya agrees. "We're fortunate to have good relations with our neighboring realms and villages. Otherwise, I wouldn't be surprised if we'd already faced some kind of attack. Even our 'friends' see us as weakened."

Shame burns through me, searing every cell in my body. I shift uncomfortably, and the room goes silent at once. I straighten, pretending to have just awakened. The atmosphere feels lighter as they believe I hadn't overheard their discussion.

Impa squeezes my hands, drawing my attention.

"Do you want to rest, Zelda? We can proceed with an alternative schedule for today's memorial."

I glance around; everyone watches me expectantly but looks away when my gaze meets theirs.

Paya is right: this has gone on long enough.

I take a deep breath, feeling cornered.

I lacked wisdom these past ten years, Link. But if it's possible, please grant me a bit of your courage today.

"I will attend," I declare firmly. The collective relief in the room is so palpable it's as if liters of oxygen had been injected into the space with my words.

"The people of Hyrule will be glad to see you, dear," Purah says, squeezing my shoulder.

I nod, already feeling exhausted.

. . .

The memorial will be "broadcast."

Purah's team has worked tirelessly over the past two decades. New technologies have emerged so frequently in this period that I've simply given up trying to keep up — especially after everything that happened.

Computers, cell phones, tablets, communication networks, social media.

There was a time when I would have delighted in so many inventions and innovations; today, I just feel… overwhelmed.

Purah insists on giving me each of the new devices she develops. The only reason my Purah Phone is even set up is because she personally sat next to me and walked me through every single step.

"I know you've ignored all the other gadgets," she sighed at the time. "But this one is non-negotiable, Zelda. It's a matter of security. We're just one message away. If you ever have any… thoughts of… well, you know. Please call us."

I agreed, indifferent.

I haven't even had the energy for thoughts in the past decade.

So the device stayed there, on my nightstand, untouched.

But something made me pick it up today when I returned to my room to gather myself before the appearance. It's in the pocket of my cape now, its subtle weight distracting me as I wait for the memorial to begin.

Hyrule's population has grown exponentially over the last twenty years. Only a small portion is present in the castle hall. Most are scattered across the city streets or gathered around the castle itself. Screens have been set up at strategic locations in these areas and in the plazas of the surrounding villages. And, of course, everyone can follow the broadcast on their mobile devices.

Surprised, I find myself wondering how all of this works.

I'm in a small room at the back of the hall, waiting for my turn to appear. Impa left here a few minutes ago to open the memorial and lead prayers to the Goddesses of Creation.

I pull out the phone and open the address Purah sent in a group chat. The broadcast will be accessible from there.

The bright little screen shows Impa conducting the ceremony. I almost fall to the floor, startled by the sound blasting from the tiny device. My fingers fumble desperately to figure out how to lower the volume.

The absurdity of the situation makes me let out a quiet chuckle, surprising even myself.

With the volume adjusted, I refocus on the unfolding event.

Impa concludes her speech and steps away from the raised platform.

My heart tightens, and my eyes well up again.

The camera focuses on a figure emerging from another adjacent door at the back of the hall, heading toward the spot where Impa stood moments ago.

Except for his short, fashionable haircut and my green eyes, Lance is the spitting image of his father. Clad in the royal guard uniform and bearing a somber, stoic expression, he looks years older than he actually is.

My throat closes, my hands grip the small device so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I can't put names to the emotions overwhelming me, let alone separate one from another.

My hands tremble, my eyes burn, my arms ache, and my stomach churns.

Unable to look away from the screen, I watch Lance ascend the steps with firm, deliberate strides. He positions himself behind the podium with precision, places his notes down, and takes a deep breath.

"I didn't have the chance to spend many years with my father," he begins, his deep voice leaving me stunned. When was the last time I heard him speak? "But the years I did have with him were the best of my life. I could spend hours listing all his countless virtues here. But many of you knew Link; I'd just be preaching to the choir," he chuckles. "So instead, I decided to share some of my best memories of him."

Lance pauses, staring silently at his notes.

And then he does something that completely undoes me.

In the exact same gesture Link would make when he was nervous and trying to gather his courage… Lance runs a hand through his hair, steadying himself before continuing.

My hands shake violently as I fumble with the device, trying to find the right app.

I type a short message into the group chat and hit send.

"I'm sorry."

I drop the phone in the room and dart out into the side hallway, running as far as I can from this damned situation — toward the only possible escape from the nightmare my life has become.