zelda pov, captured memory #3
"how do i get inside? i need to activate it somehow..."
a whinny broke her concentration. she turned, startled out of her reverie.
her expression hardened when she saw her knight approach on horseback. of course it was him. who else would it be? had she really expected anything different?
she couldn't catch a damn break with him around— he always stayed three paces away yet it still felt like he was breathing down her neck, the weight of his eyes a mountain on her shoulders.
was it really so much to ask to be given space? to be allowed to investigate the shrines in peace? she wanted to feel useful, even if it was only in her own mind.
she clutched the sheikah slate in her hands, her fingers tight around the object, and then stowed it safely away.
"i thought i made it clear that i am not in need of an escort," she snapped, stalking forward to meet her knight halfway as he leapt from his saddle. she glared at him, clad in his champion blue— blue like his eyes, blue like the sky. she hated that color.
he did not respond, and she grit her teeth. she hated his silence. "it seems i'm the only one with a mind of my own."
why did she say that? he was only doing what he was told. could he really disobey the king? it wasn't fair to call him mindless.
"i, the person in question, am fine, regardless of the king's orders."
it was a bad cover. she was still being mean. why was she being so mean? her tongue felt like poison, her lips like ice, and every word that escaped her mouth burned her on its way out.
and he just... watched her. why didn't he say anything? why didn't he frown? she was being awful to him.
she doubled down. "return to the castle." it was an order, but not one she expected him to follow. she knew better. "and tell that to my father, please."
she pushed past him, her jaw set and her head held high.
she made it one step,
two steps,
three steps— there it was. the telltale crunch of grass beneath his leather boots, the clank of that damn sword on his back.
the sound shot through her skull like an arrow. that sword was a constant reminder of her failures, of how precious little time she had left— and this boy its chosen wielder. hylia's chosen. she felt the rage, the hurt, the exhaustion, and the envy rear up in her chest, her throat, her head, and she lashed out at him, swinging around like a viper prepared to strike.
"and stop following me!"
she didn't want to yell at him. she just wanted to explore the ruins. she just wanted to help prepare for the calamity in any way she could, to distract herself from her abject failure to unlock her goddess-given magic.
but she was never allowed to help— all she did was hurt.
