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This beautiful thank you sketch from @between-star has me like *tears*. I'm not over his expression!!
Link and Zelda from my most recent piece Finding and Keeping, a one-shot in which the Zelink babes are trying to work through their traumas together post-game. Thank you for such lovely art!!!
Finding and Keeping (2022)
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda Words: 5.8k Rating: K+/T
He feels his stomach plummet. He can’t bear to hear his name whispered in such a way–can’t stand to hear her beg for him in the same, brokenhearted voice that she appealed to her Goddess with a century ago.
She doesn’t have to. She’ll never have to.
“Would you stay with me? Please . I know you might not.…perhaps…I’m sorry. Please .” Voice crackling in supplication, she outstretches a trembling hand to beckon him closer. She can’t quite discern his expression, veiled beneath the penumbral blanket of night; but the shallow breath tightly wound behind her sternum expels with blistering relief when she feels his palm against hers, thumbing gently along her wrist as he murmurs to her in the dark:
“Always.”
The pale moon hangs limpid in the sky by the time they reach Hateno, a blunted cream bellying against a gradience of sable. Far below, the familiar hum of crickets threads through the whistle of copper chimes, like a delicate lullaby to welcome the weary heroes with muted acclaim. The grass has never whispered as loudly as it does now as a sweet evening wind comes to kiss the sloping hill of the village. The faintest traces of candlelight flicker beyond curtained windows to hint at the lives beyond them, innocently ignorant souls that may never truly hear of the travails that have preserved such quaint existences until they’ve alchemized into nothing more than folk tales.
The muscles in Link’s thighs throb as the last granule of strength begins to fade. The promising glow of the village is so inviting that he’d be content to tumble from his mare and give into unburdened sleep atop verdant sheets, but he steadies at the exhalation that catches against his chest, the weight of it heavy and pocketed in sleep. Link tightens his arms around the resting Zelda, her beauty still discernible even through the mud caked across her cheeks and in the fragility of weakened bones, golden hair not as luminescent as it must have been a century ago. Even so, she is undoubtedly cut from divine stone.
“Princess.” He murmurs the title against the top of her head, relief flooding him as the shape of his house sprouts into view like an apparition. She gives only a sleepy murmur in response, still tucked away in slumber. He whispers against her again, head dipping down so that his breath dancing against her ear causes fine blonde hairs to prick up along her arm, and Zelda wakes with a small start.
“We’re home.”
Gathering her bearings, the faintest hint of a smile trickles onto her lips before she inhales deeply, the earthy tones of grass and sun-kissed skin filling her nostrils. “Home.” She echoes softly, eyelids fluttering open to drink in the night sky. A thread of words, indelicately constructed from the start, snares in her throat so that all praise for the star-garnished sky explodes inside of her as one all encompassing sensation.
Link snaps up her short burst of consciousness to relieve Epona of their shared weight. He pulls a carrot from his knapsack, halfway to pulverized in the course of their quest, but the mare accepts it with a most contented snort. Link pats her quickly on the snout, silent gratitude pouring from him in waves before he hurries along.
He arrives at her side just in time—Zelda’s legs deaden, heavy and slack as her body reacquaints itself to the somatic battle with gravity, and Link manages to catch her before her knees scrape against patches of mussed dirt. He gathers her in his arms, lifts her as he would a bride, silently burning as she buries her head into the crook of his neck and curls her fingers against the other side of it. She’s a bundle of emotions in the backwash of victory– sweltering relief and crippling guilt swathing every thought to leave her each word colored with fatigue.
“You’re okay,” he soothes. “You’re okay.”
The door yawns open to greet them with a creak. Link summons the last fractions of strength to carry her up to the loft, and as he sets her down gently atop his bed. He’s only half surprised to find that her breathing is already soft and steady, as gentle as the rippling pond out front. He perches himself against the edge of the mattress, leans in to brush a wisp of hair from her face and smiles.
There’s a wave of morbid curiosity that washes over him as he studies her, undoubtedly shoved to the forefront of his mind by reckless fatigue; he wonders if it might overtake the dreams that he expects to follow. Link only sniffles and gingerly rises from his seat.
Though heavy eyelids have already drooped to a close, it’s the soft creak of weathered wood beneath his boot that snaps them open again. Pithy and cracking, a sharp burst of panic detonating at the base of her spine to force Zelda upright in his bed.
“Link?”
“Yes, Princess?” There’s so much distance between them.
“Where are you going?”
In the tempered stillness, her voice rings far more tremulent than he anticipates, tethers a flutter to itself and tints with trepidation. Though their history is still fairly obscured to him, Link can’t recall a moment that she’s ever sounded as small as she does now.
“I thought I might…go downstairs.”
“...w-why?”
“Because you need your rest, Princess.”
Zelda drinks in the room, moonlight bathing her face as thoughts narrow into focus behind widened eyes. Link stops cold at the sight of renewed panic settling in more fully, can practically hear an unspoken distress signal thrumming through his bones. Feels a rumbling in his brain as though at any moment her voice might crack through him like a lightning bolt. But her question resonates in the air, not in his head. “Where will you sleep?”
“I’ll set something up downstairs. Or outside, even– if that might make you more comf-”
“ No –” she gasps. “Please, Link….”
He feels his stomach plummet. He can’t bear to hear his name whispered in such a way–can’t stand to hear her beg for him in the same, brokenhearted voice that she appealed to her Goddess with a century ago.
She doesn’t have to. She’ll never have to.
“Would you stay with me? Please . I know you might not.…perhaps…I’m sorry. Please .” Voice crackling in supplication, she outstretches a trembling hand to beckon him closer. She can’t quite discern his expression, veiled beneath the penumbral blanket of night; but the shallow breath tightly wound behind her sternum expels with blistering relief when she feels his palm against hers, thumbing gently along her wrist as he murmurs to her in the dark:
“Always.”
He kicks off his boots and settles next to her atop the duvet, opens his arms to welcome her back into his grasp. He doesn’t hesitate to tighten his hold on her, his low utterances of I’ve got you and you’re safe now dampening the faint whimpers that vibrate against the column of her throat. He feels her trembling ease, and in no time at all, they join the rest of the village in deep, dreamless sleep.
~~~~~~
Link’s knocked awake by a crest of panic, by the chillingly familiar warmth of a Guardian’s catastrophic assault posing as sweet Hateno sun trickling through the window—even so, his sharp movement doesn’t carry the strength to jostle the placid expression from Zelda’s sleeping face. He can’t bring himself to move, only clutches at the delicate hand atop his chest until the moment that she releases him, without intent, and rolls over to burrow her face into the crevice where his bed meets the wall.
He lingers in a bed a moment longer, rolls over to study the back of her head and angles his face into the pillow to luxuriate in the way his sheets now smell of her. Her distinct scent, one that causes him to reminisce of days he hardly remembers, settles neatly upon him, puncturing the echoes of dirt and sun and sweat. Plucks him from anxiety and provides him a soft place to land on the sheets beside her.
He wonders if the Link of days past would find himself as rattled as the current one does.
*
"Do not forget yourself, Link. There is still much to be done. Whether she attempts to restore the monarchy or not, she still has a duty to Hyrule.”
“She can hardly walk. What she needs right now is some rest. At least give her a few weeks to reacquaint herself with a…a, a body.”
*
Link drapes a blanket across her slumbering form and starts his day, emulating the domesticity that's on full display across the surrounding slope of village; his own attempt is marred with vacuity. A hollowness he can’t accurately describe. Link's mind races as he splashes cool water across his face. His palms come to rest on the rim of the basin, brows knit in thought; surely there’s another Shrine to excavate. Another Divine Beast to free. Someone somewhere in Hyrule that needs somoething from him. The simple act of preparing breakfast is wreathed with uncertainty–should it always feel as simple as this? Even still, he presses on: slips around the back of the house to feed Epona. Washes a few pieces of laundry. Packs away the weapons that he’s come to regard as dear friends until he might call upon them once more.
It’s a rather quiet day.
When Zelda does finally wake, tenderness pricking at her tired limbs, it’s only for a fraction of an hour around dinnertime, and Link takes care to ensure that he’s the first thing she sees when she comes to. She takes a bite of the mushroom skewer he’s saved from his quiet lunch hour– gasps aloud at how the flavor bursts to life on her tongue– and it isn’t long before her heavy bones are seeking refuge once more.
*
“Of course. Let her rest.” Afternoon light slants across Impa’s weathered face as her wrinkled brow creases further with sympathy. “It’s unfortunate you weren't permitted that luxury.”
“Then you know why I'm being so insistent about this.” He understands her fervency all the same.
*
“Here: I’m sure this will be much more comfortable to sleep in.”
Link hands her a square of neatly folded fabric, a chemise borrowed from Kakariko, pulled from Paya’s wardrobe less than three days prior and packed away for the Princess by her own hands. When the length of donned warm gray falls to her knees, she slips into his bed with the hush of a dormant forest, like a copse forced breathless as the day whispers its farewell into the lush thicket of evergreen curls. Their eyes meet, her viridescent set holding an unspoken request within them; he joins her in resolute silence.
Just when Link thinks she’s finally succumbed to sleep, he hears her dissolve into tears.
*
Impa is veil of gray hair and rumpled skin. She is a set of tired, red eyes, swimming with reluctance. A heart that’s long ached for brighter days before her own star eventually fades. A heavy exhale against the teacup suspended between fragile, senescent hands. Link thinks her wrist might fracture as she waves him off in such a way.
“Do what you must, Link. Bring her back.”
She points a crooked finger at him.
"And tend to yourself, too."
*
“I’m here…don’t worry. I’m here.”
He chants it into the night, repeats it again and again and doesn’t stop until long after she can no longer hear him.
~~~~~~
The next few days are blanketed in a haze of blanched light. They fall into a rhythm of push and pull, an oscillation of flare and repose as hours languish pass to feel like more weeks. Link cleaves to wordless optimism, a hope that reignites when Zelda gathers enough strength to manage a few additional bites of food and extra steps around the house. She seems to be leaning nocturnal, freshening up only once the sun has finally dipped beyond the hills. Link helps with the maintenance, drags a brush through reticent tangles of gold while she watches her toes wiggle at the edge of the bed. He hears her emit a few soft, staccato hums as she tests tired vocal cords, but eventually, the hum melts into a stifled yawn. It's a meek sound, tenuous, and yet capable of ringing through the violent echoes of memories long lodged into his psyche.
Hateno seems to glisten beneath the bright light of the gibbous moon. Link trains his eyes through his window in wistful admiration.
“Mushroom skewers.” Zelda eventually whispers into him as he’s teetering the edge of sleep. He vacillates for a moment, not entirely uncertain that the sound of her voice isn't chimerical.
“...hmm?” Exhales the inquiry into the golden crown of hair just softly enough in case she’s already slipped away.
“Rito Village.”
He drones a low tone in stumped contemplation.
“Remember?”
Besides sounding rather delightful, no, not really--so Zelda conjures the memory up for him. Link struggles to extrapolate the full story as it tumbles from sleepy lips: something about how Revali places a bet on Link’s culinary skills and something else about how he owes many rupees in the aftermath. Fuming that he'd inadvertently walked into a trap. A jab from Urbosa, a joke from Daruk. Mipha’s call for a truce. Zelda giggling all the while, nervously admitting that she’s, in fact, become quite taken with her knight's cooking. (She’s become quite taken with other things about him as well, though she'll omit that part just as she'd done a century ago.)
Warmth dawns in Link's chest, creeps up from his belly and wraps around his neck to blister a burning choke into his throat as he fights back an emotion he can't quite determine. “Thank you for telling me that,” He smiles as he presses her hand to his chest. “Maybe we can try a little walk tomorrow?"
She nods and murmurs something about how nice that sounds, but there’s a visible struggle in her expression. A grapple with consciousness to stay in the moment with him.
“Go on. I’m here.”
In the dark, he hears the wind brush up against a distant chime. His mind wanders to Impa. Settles on Zelda, in his arms. Bring her back. He’ll do it as often as he needs to, he realizes. When he considers how the fates have guided him to this particular moment, he knows he wouldn’t choose to do anything differently. He’d sacrifice himself for her in the Blatchery Plain, again and again, as many times as she may need him to. He isn’t exactly sure how to tell her that. He wonders if she already knows it.
Hollowed eyes flutter shut, but she yields to sleep with a tiny smile on her face.
When Link awakes the next morning, the crown of his head blotted with perspiration from a nightmare he's barely managed to contain, he's surpised to find that the usual kink isn't sawing away at the back of his neck. Zelda must feel him stir, because she rouses from sleep soon after he does. She peeks up at him, a hint of color flooding back into her face to eclipse the familiar tension etched into it. Words tangle in his throat, like their waking limbs beneath his sheets. Without a sound, she reaches up to brush a lock of damp hair from his eyes, her own shining beneath the sun's golden skirts filtering through the window.
She’s beginning to resemble the girl from his memories a little more closely.
~~~~~~~
"Have I ever had a Noble Pursuit?"
They're perched atop his bed on a subsequent evening, their sides pressed up against the open window to gaze out at the sea of stars overhead. Beyond Hateno roofs, the sky is exceptionally clear, an indigo expanse of night mottled with argentine freckles--the same stretch of sky that the desert dwellers of Gerudo must surely be acquainted with. The same one he sees when he glances out through the intricately designed gates of Vah Naboris and wonders if he'll ever get to feel desert air across his skin again.
Zelda's face tints the color of Goron ruby.
"What?"
She clears her throat. "One sip."
"Why does it sound as though you're about to tell me I embarassed myself when I had it?" "Oh, you weren't the one making a fool of yourself. That would fall on me." Zelda's sentences are much less aperiodic than they have been, not nearly as truncated and with more vocabulary interpolated throughout. There's a raggedness to her speech still, an impaired lung capacity that will need to be developed again.
Link angles his head to study her. "Really, now?"
"Yes, really." There's a playful mockery in her voice that he hasn't anticipated. She rests her chin onto the sill and gnaws at her lip, as pink as the plum blossoms of Kakariko in the spring. "I drank too much of it...you had to carry me. Dressed in vai attire and everything. Urbosa's doing, of course. "
"Oh, did I? That was quite kind of me." Link leans forward, mischievous energy rattling through his veins as he raises a sandy brow at her. He tries not to dwell too heavily on the fact that recalling Urbosa might conjure some devastating feelings. Tries instead to focus on the length of golden eyelashes only to find that they bring about some rather devastating feelings of their own. Zelda notices nothing as she fixates upon the brightest luminary above.
"I hardly remember that evening." Her glance fastens tightly to the star. "But I offered you a sip...you accepted. With reluctance, of course. Perhaps it was to placate me...who can say. But you didn't like it very much. Tried so hard to keep a straight face. The Gerudo found it rather cute."
Link's lips twitch into a small grimace. "Cute, huh?"
"Oh, come now-- not as condescending as all that." She drags her glance away with reluctance and rubs at her brow. "You were... helpful. And understanding. Patient. I didn't even have a moment to thank you...asleep by the time we reached my quarters...and then it was morning." Her expression morphs into something utterly dismayed when she hears the small snort that escapes her. He pretends not to notice, only smiles warmly out into the night. Zelda presses on with haste. "So, yes, you've had a Noble Pursuit. I don't think you'll want another."
"How about this--if we ever end up in Gerudo Town again, I'll order one. Just want to be sure, you know." He doesn't manage to bite back the grin that lumbers its way onto his face.
Zelda wrinkles her nose and yawns. ""You may regret it."
"I won't let you get carried away this time."
"The carrying part I don't mind so much." She's positively darling as she casts her blush-riddled glance away. "The inebriety...that's a different story altogether."
Link's shoulders lift as they ride the exhale of his small laugh.
"Duly noted."
~~~~~~
When Zelda finds herself regaining some semblance of control over her limbs, she accompanies Link into the village. He assumes her appearance will trigger some sort of explosion of gossip, a quittance from the mundanities that Hateno hasn’t seen since the afternoon that the young, unknown traveler purchased the dilapidated home on the Eastern edge of town; he’s correct in his assumption. He tries to evade curious glances as they merge onto the trafficked road that brims with bodies beneath soft, morning sun. If Zelda notices the hungry eyes fixed upon her, she shows no indication of it. Link slows his usual pace, dawdles slightly at her side--she reaches for her crutch, once, twice, when capricious children brush past them with callow shrieks. Tense fingers coil around his tunic, and Link wonders if it’s all been too soon.
“What would you like for dinner?” Link asks as he veers her off the main road, holds her in place by the shoulders so that she's tended to by nothing but kind eyes and stable arms.
She smiles weakly. “Perhaps something small.”
He can hear the rumblings of children being chastised for their mischief, tries his hardest to block out the the tiny oohs and whoas as the little ones realize that Mr. Link has brought a rather pretty girl to the market with him. He muscles a smile and shakes his head before ducking into the general store with Zelda at his heel.
Link has curated a simple task for her this morning: she is to retrieve Hylian rice and goat butter for the risotto he’s been craving since early morning. He watches her browse the store from the frame of the entrance, cocks his head in slight surprise to find her collecting milk and eggs and truffles of her own volition. He sees her eyes linger on their labels, realizes he'll need to find some books for her to read before they leave. He tenses slightly when her brow creases as she studies the rupees in her hand, perhaps contemplating matters of currency and inflation after a century away, but he softens when she slides it across the counter and claims her groceries with only a hint of a daze flashing across her eyes. She thanks the shopkeeper politely and scurries back to Link's side.
“Hungry?” he grins, reaching for her small bag that dangles from thin fingers.
“I thought I might like to try a bit of an omelet for breakfast tomorrow.” Her voice is as soft as cotton, malleable with sleepy satisfaction.
Pride clumps in Link's throat, and it's harder to swallow down than the blasphemously dubious meals he'd prepared in the hours after waking from the Shrine of Resurretion.
“Sounds really nice.”
The shorter shadows of noon tiptoe around cornerstones as their quiet figures slip from the bustling route in favor of his quiet abode. The path saturates with an arabesque of delectable aromas as the lunch hour draws near, and the clamarous voices of townspeople soon melt into the soft prattle of the whispering stream the sets the house apart from his neighbors. It's an idyllic spot; perhaps Zelda might appreciate a picnic, Link thinks to himself. A swath of canvas spread in the shade beside the pond in the rich of late afternoon, with the crags of the Dueling Peaks silhouetted against a mackerel sky. He prays that she's feeling open to it.
As they approach the property, an explostion of sound bursts from the sheltered patch beside his house.
“Liiiiink!”
The call is piercing, and it takes him a long, tense moment to realize that it’s an amicable holler and not one born of panic. He can barely make out the sight of a figure sprawled across his front lawn, arms waving frantically as it hastens to its feet with burgeoning enthusiam. Link waves his unoccupied arm in response as they take their first steps across the bridge.
Bolson dusts off the seat of his pants and folds his arms as he waits. He seems as comfortable as ever, loitering on Link's front lawn; he's become something of an amenity. Link supposes it's a small price to pay for the price reduction.
“Good to see you, Sir.” The younger of the two calls out as he outstreches an arm. Bolson’s face scrunches up with disdain at the title, though knowing eyes shift into focus as Zelda draws up behind them.
“As always, kid. And who is this, may I ask?”
It's far too warm to be shivering, but Link feels it sail up through his spine all the same. Link glances over to her, sends a small, silent prayer to the Goddess that she doesn't collapse beneath Bolson's inquisitive ogle.
“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Zelda.” She extends a hand to him gently, her regal upbringing bleeding through the hints of anxiety that tint her voice.
“Oh my…” Bolson's voice intones as he takes Zelda’s hand in his own and looks the new, pretty blonde up and down in assessment. “Charmed. You know, I’d heard you were back,” he murmurs, turning to Link. “Was wondering why we hadn’t seen you yet. "
“This is Bolson,” Link turns to Zelda, not particularly enjoying the insinuation weaved into the man's tone. “He sold me the house.”
“And helped with the installation,” Bolson elaborates, though his eyes never leave Zelda’s expression, his lips curved in thought. “Well kid, it seems you took my advice. A little surprised you beat me to it, though. I suppose you are quite the looker, though.”
Zelda narrowly notices the tips of her companion’s ears flush before he's fidgeting away.
“We’ll be inside if you need anything. Good to see you, Sir.” Link moves with such haste that Zelda can only blink in a haze of whiplash.
Bolson’s lips press together in an amused smirk. “Oh, don’t mind me, then. I’ll leave you two to it.” Link misses the furtive wink that he lobs; Zelda does not. Bolson raises both brows to her, eyes flitting to Link and back in wordless conversation. She reciprocates the smile, far less knowing than his, as she tries to stifle the rosy bloom that torrents her cheeks.
~~~~~~
Link spends the rest of the afternoon dreaming of mushroom skewers in Rito Village, tries to focus past the suffocating recollection of malignant memories from atop Vah Medoh to feel the crisp alpine air whipping at his cheeks. Thinks of Revali and his bets and his apathy. Closes his eyes and tries to concoct the taste of a Noble Pursuit and conjures the bronze tones of Urbosa's voice in his ears. An incessant mind filters through thoughts while Zelda takes a pen to paper, practices her penmanship in a blank diary he’s purchased just for the occasion.
He finally admits it to her from his roost atop his bed, voice noticeably chipped at the edges as it floats across to her: he wants to remember it all.
"The good and the bad," he says.
The bad outweighs the good; he's leashed by the bad, the torturous memories that he's accumulated since thrumming back to life, practically soaked in ferality. Certainly, he's witnessed hints of the good, felt them strike on Irch Plain or in Zora's Domain---but when memories from a century prior percolate back into his mind, they're threaded with resentment. With apprehension and uncertainty. Has he ever truly known genuine happiness?
The silence that follows rings heavy, a quiet synthesis of emotions swimming in her plaintive expression.
“Perhaps I can help fill in the blanks,” Zelda finally whispers back, her eyes shining as though she's been wating for him to ask.
He'd like that very much.
She sets her pen down and settles comfortably atop his sheets. Link senses her body grow heavy with hesitation, hands twitching into fists upon knees draped in navy fabric.
"First question: rock roast--have I ever eaten it?” He half offers it in jest, but the way her face crinkles with unease renders him curious.
Zelda bites her lip. “I don’t know. I never actually wanted to find out. Try another.”
He laughs and knots his fingers through hers comfortingly. She doesn't hesitate any longer, folds her fingers around his the way she's quietly yearned for all evening.
~~~~~~
It’s a simple act, far simpler than any of the games played by Hateno children out in the sun-baked fields, but it becomes a nightly affair: Link finds something sitting heavy on his mind, whispers it out into the night, and then Zelda pulls undone memories from her oeuvre to string them up against instinct and suspicion before they fall alseep wrapped up in one another. It quietly becomes something sacred between them, tended to in lieu of evening prayer; Zelda decides soon after that she’s wasted far too many hours speaking to the Goddess and decrees with contemptuous resolve to never waste another moment doing so.
The days soon grow longer, the sun so eager to witness the bloom of their little life that its light delays departing until the moon chases it from the sky. Link savors the hours he spends with her. He loves to share the small moments moments, swears he can feel her tension fading away, melting from her like Hebran snow from frost rimed roofs. He's aware of the lengths of the journies ahead of them. He doesn't mind; he'll walk his path parallel to hers, extend a helping hand when she stumbles.
Link doesn’t know exactly when it happens, but hints of her natural resonance begin to seep back into her voice. The ghost of her past self lingers just beneath her skin, eager to take back its rightful place. He watches her analyze the ingredients for the evening's dish as though she were testing a sample in the Royal Ancient Lab; he nearly forgets that only relics loom in its stead. Though so much around her has crumbled, nothing about Zelda feels decrepit. She’s still brilliant. Curious. Painfully resilient, though in a way that might often feel more like a curse than a blessing. She is the flower that pushes up past charred dirt to bloom in a broken forest. The hint of sunlight piercing through blotted gray as a storm hushes. She doesn't realize it yet–may not be able to see it past the tired eyes that greet their shared sunrises –but she will. She will.
When the stormy afternoon thickens to dusk to leave the house enswathed in a swell of petrichor, Link finds himself tidying up the dining table, his fingers ringing with anticipation. He's slowly arriving to the conclusion--the same on that Impa and Bolson have long beaten him to-- that it isn't just her knowledge he's craving so avidly, but her skin beneath his. His reflection in verdant eyes. The mewl of her sighs that escape her when her arms tighten around her midsection.
So when he finds himself wrapped around her soon after, hundreds of questions pulsate behind tightened lips.
“What are you thinking about?” She whispers. She rests her chin upon the top of his head, Link’s ear pressed up against her chest to hear the waltz of her heartbeat.
He can't suppress the flutter in the pit of his stomach.
“About us. How much we’ve been through.” He raises his head to look up at her. “About how grateful I am for you.”
He feels her melt around him, as if she might dissipate into him entirely.
“Oh, Link...”
He summits her length to settle into more familiar territory. “All I wanted was to see you again. And when I did find you...what I felt... I get the feeling I was happy with you back then. Really happy.” A short sob prises her lips open as a hiccup. Link reaches out and brushes a sprung tear from her eye. He can't stop the words as they spill from lips wrestled with melancholy, as if the sands of time are wearing thin. "I don't need rewards...or, or acclaim. You were the prize, Zelda. Our home is the prize."
Our home. Zelda's small cry shatters against him, blonde eyebrows strewn together above crinkled eyes glossy with tears. They grow still beside one another and it's as though the edges of the world around them fray to leave them framed in a candlight soaked vignette. He feels her fingers thread through his.
“Did you love me?”
His lips hardly touch as he asks it, voice draping across her like soft silk kissing skin.
She’s crying more evenly now, nodding.
“I never stopped.”
He isn't sure how to describe the sensation that grapples at his limbs, winds them up so that his muscles ache in spite of the liberation that he floats upon. He poses a second question.
“Was I in love with you?”
“I never knew for sure. I hoped that you were.
He grins. “I've got a feeling that I was. Ah well, I guess it doesn't matter.” He takes a finger to her cheek and strokes it delicately. Runs his thumb beneath her chin to make sure she's still watching him when he offers his next thought: “Cause I know that I'm in love with you now.”
Zelda fractures into a peal of laughter through the steady tears that follow. Link presses kisses to the top of her head while he weaves the familiar pleas of it’s okay and I’m here with the new mantra of I love you as tumbles of buttercup hair shudder across his chest.
~~~~~~
And so it goes; more tales and stories and memories planted into his brain, new fragments of information trickling into his memory each night. Even in the moments when their little life swells into something far more exhilirating, when it takes them away from the quiet village into the vast terrain of Hyrule, it happens again and again–in the wet of Lanaryu, the heat of Gerudo, the chill of Hebra. They whisper to each other in the burning air of Death Mountain, elixirs working overtime to cool skyrocketing temperatures. But it's always the same. Ask and receive. Question and answer. Listen and learn.
Link sometimes wakes to find that a memory Zelda has proclaimed has resurfaced from the murky depths of his cognition, tugged out from narrations to settle neatly in his brain as though it had never departed at all. He's impressed at how skillfully she recalls century old memories, her voice inflecting in just the right ways to capture familiar speech patterns. He wonders which recollections she'd fastened herself to while clinging to sanity in the husk of the Hyrule Castle, but he'll never dare to inquire.
The path is as rugged as he expects. Each few steps forwards brings about a slight stumble back. Zelda's guilt often dawns with the morning to leave her grasping at her golden hair in agitation as tears stream down her cheeks while she begs Link for forgiveness. For taking so long. For leaving him alone. For her bitter affronts from a century prior--there's nothing to forgive. His own path is forged with nightmares and anxiety, of a driving desire to keep her safe even when there's no detectable threat. Together, they are finally allowed to mourn, and in between the mourning and the solicitude and the guilt, their whispers provide a sense of grounding-- and, eventually, midnight whispers lead to soft kisses shared in the bathing slant of moonlight.
There comes a day when the little game must draw to a close: Zelda has no more insight to offer him.
But when that ritual comes to an end, new ones sprout up in its stead; rituals that thread the mundane tasks with the grand. Ones that involve the soft cries of infants in the smallest hours of the morning. Weekly walks to the market with tiny hands clasped in their own. Bedtime tales to children of Divine Beasts and Chosen Champions, of Princesses and Chosen Heroes who bear striking resemblances to their parents. Knowledge of hunting and combat and geography and history carefully bestowed upon curious minds in small doses to preserve childhoods that their parents had once mourned for themselves.
Friendships sprout in the ashen paths that the Calamity leaves behind. Love shades deeper with each day that passes. Lives once filled with unending mourning turn to daily celebration.
But one small thing persists when all others have faded, when the children have grown and adventure has come to a close and and strength has withered: each and every night is spent in a loving tangle of limbs and hair, of sweet murmurs and tenderhearted glances. And when the morning finally comes that her radiant smile doesn’t bloom to greet him, he only holds her close and follows soon after, a hint of a tired smile lingering on his lips.
Grateful for the moments in between. Curious to know how he’ll find her the next time around.
