Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Word count: 801
Princess Zelda is crowned Queen in the middle of a war.
And he floated in the air like he was a bird
And ended at the ground like a floppy package
He agonized in the middle of the public sidewalk
He died in the wrong lane screwing up traffic
x
Yet another pin pricked her skin. Like all the previous times, she expressed no reaction to the stinging pain and simply continued to stare at one particular spot on the opposite wall while tailors and seamstresses moved frantically around her to finish her coronation dress.
The princess had long fantasized about that dress as a kid. A tiny version of her had more than once drawn what she had wished it to look like, incomprehensible strokes of crayon bringing her dream to life on sheets of paper.
Her Father had passed away the night before, victim of a sudden attack on the castle, thus her coronation was hastily arranged, her dress born of leftover fabrics added to another gown she already owned to make it fitting for the occasion. The blue of its satin matched the hue of her eyes just right as they continued their vigilant watch over the opposite wall—the dedicated concentration with which she did so almost succeeded in blocking out the screams outside.
"Love, they're calling for you." Her eyes took their time before moving away from the wall. They slowly drifted to the source of the voice that had spoken to her to see her husband standing at the door. He smiled like he wanted to cry. "Time to become queen, my princess."
The tailors and seamstresses all moved away from her as if she were on fire and it hurt to touch her. But he took her arm and led her to the throne room.
Her Father had been crowned at the Temple of Time, as had his Mother, as had her Father and his Father before that. She would be crowned at the throne room inside the castle for it was much too dangerous to go outside.
The ceremony began just as she started becoming aware of her surroundings. Her husband was not by her side anymore, but sitting on the front row of benches that had been brought from the basement for honored guests to sit on.
No guests sat on the benches, for the ones who were still alive found it much too risky to travel their roads. No green tunic could be found in the audience, for heroes never did live long. Instead of the lack of a crowd, the soon-to-be-queen turned her vigilant eyes to one particular spot on the floor—the dedicated concentration with which she did so fully succeeding in drowning out speeches and ceremonial words.
The sage placed the crown upon her head as the dying Sun shed its blood across the tiles through the stained glass. The circlet of gold weighed nothing, she mused quietly. Zelda was accustomed to weight; a heart was not a light organ.
As a child, Princess Zelda had been surrounded by tutors at all times, knowledge about their kingdom's proud history being constantly thrust upon her in hopes of making her capable. A tiny version of her had been marveled by all she was taught and often wondered what it would feel like to matter enough to get a whole page of a book written about oneself.
Surely being the living monarch during a war would assure Zelda her ticket to academic immortality.
"You know," his wife spoke quietly just as he had been sure she was about to fall asleep. Those two words were the first he had heard from her since her speech at the funeral last night. "When I was little, I'd always wanted to know what it would be like to live through historical events. I would read about figures such as the First Hero, Hyrule's founders, the Wind Sorcerer Vaati, and try to understand what made someone so special as to make it into one of my books."
Her words ceased. Her eyes emptily stared at nothing, but Zelda did not fight him when he moved closer in their bed to hold her and patiently wait for her conclusion. Finally, she sighed.
"It's a shame, really. I've never kept a diary. Historians will have so little to work with."
"Did you discover what makes a historical figure special?" he asked softly. She pursed her lips, pressing her cheek to the crook of his neck, and nodded.
"I was wrong. History happens around you and it just becomes life. Something you learn to live around, no different to a sore throat or a sprained ankle. Will it make me any more important than anyone else when my name is carved in history as the ruler of a land of ruin and death?" Zelda laughed mirthlessly.
He felt a knot tighten in his chest and held her tighter.
"We are not historical figures,” she murmured, a tone of finality to it. “Others will read about it in books. We're simply the ones unfortunate enough to witness it unravel."
