Chapter Text
Mount Lanayru rises above their campsite like some kind of obelisk, bathed in the soft pink of sunrise as Link sets about breaking down his tent. Around him, snow crunches beneath thick soled boots as the other four Champions attend to their own equipment. They’ll be moving again within the hour, fingers cold around brittle reins as they steadily ascend towards the Spring of Wisdom. With each step closer to the sacred mountain, Zelda has withdrawn further and further inside herself, thin arms curling tight around her midriff as if to hold herself together. Link feels his chest go tight with rage each time he sees the gesture, pictures his fist connecting solidly with King Rhoam’s jaw. He wants to hold her, to chase the shadows out of green eyes with his palms against her back.
Instead, he packs up her tent and brews tea so hot that it makes Zelda’s nose run when she dips her face into the steam. Generally, he rather likes traveling with their entire team, appreciates Urbosa’s dry wit, and Daruk’s smile over the campfire. Mipha’s laugh is bright and bell-like when they break bread together, and Revali… Well, Revali is an indispensable asset in terms of reconnaissance. Camaraderie comes at a steep price, though, and Link finds himself rather desperately wishing for the quiet intimacy of traveling alone with the Princess. He suspects Zelda to feel the same way, based off of the sad stare she sends his way across the campground, lips just barely downturned in the ghost of a frown. Gloved fingers itch to help smooth the knit of her brow away, twitching against the side seam of thickly insulated trousers. The sun climbs higher into the sky, trading soft pink hues for the glitter of direct light against snow crystals. Hyrule’s Crown Princess turns her face towards the summit and clenches her jaw, prophecy so heavy on her shoulders he cannot believe she hasn’t punched through the thick slab of snow they stand upon yet. Link squints against the change in light and hopes Zelda can feel the way he wants to touch her.
She draws up beside him under the pretense of requesting his help with her tack just as the group is about to head out. Link reaches around her deftly, careful to press as much of his arm as possible against her back as he tests the strength of his knots, and is rewarded with a quiet sigh. Zelda turns her face into his, lips parted and green eyes bright– though with unshed tears or in response to the cold, Link isn’t able to tell. If it were just the two of them, Link would dip his chin to kiss her, press his heat into her mouth with the flat of his tongue in an attempt to push away the weight of an entire kingdom. He halfway considers doing so anyways, knows that Revali is occupied with assessing the weather, hopes Daruk and Mipha have their backs turned in order to tend to their packs (Urbosa, Link knows, is privy to the… not entirely professional relationship he has with the Princess). His Princess licks her lips, blinks up at him demurely when one thin hand slyly rises to curl into the neckline of his doublet. Link wastes no time in dropping his hand from the saddle to cover hers. Safely out of sight, he runs his thumb over her knuckles once, twice, and again, before returning to the tack. When Zelda steps away he notes with satisfaction the way her shoulders rest a little lower than they had before. Better than nothing.
The Lanayru Range has spent the better part of the last ten days battered by a hot, wet stormfront, followed immediately by clear skies, a combination that has resulted in a thick slab of crust atop the snow. It’s strong enough that Mipha and Zelda do not punch through, but not enough so as to allow the horses ease of travel. Link watches the sky from his saddle with pursed lips, wonders at the speed of their pace and if he would be better off halving the distance he’d hoped to cover today. He’ll ask Urbosa her opinion next time they stop. Sunlight momentarily vanishes as Revali soars overhead, wings spread wide as he scouts for hazardous conditions and high altitude monsters alike. They’ve been lucky with the avalanche conditions so far, but Link is hesitant to believe their luck will hold out. As they’ve approached the southern face of the mountain there has been more and more fresh snow atop the slabs, each inch ratcheting his blood pressure a little higher up. If he closes his eyes it’s almost like he’s back in the mountains behind Hateno as a child, learning from his father how to create a pocket of air for himself should he be buried in an avalanche. There’s a nervous wicker followed by the sound of snow breaking to his right– Link whips his head around just in time to watch Zelda’s steed post hole through up to the flank.
“Princess!” He’s launching out of his saddle before he’s even fully aware of it, cracks spiderwebbing out across the crust where his knees impact. One foot does punch fully through when he heaves his weight up and onto them, tearing a snarl from his lips as he rushes to close the distance between him and the Princess, ears straining for the whump of shearing snow beneath them. The bright white horse pitches to the side as his weight sinks further down into the snow with a panicked shriek, sending Zelda tumbling out of the saddle and into Link’s arms with a gasp, cheeks pink and lips parted around a small:
“Oh!”
The rest of the Champions circle around them, dismounting in a hurry to help Zelda’s gelding as Link gently sets the blonde back onto her feet, palms greedily curled into the dip of her waist.
“Alright?” Green irises find his immediately, pupils blowing out as they share a wide-eyed stare. It would be foolish not to take advantage of the distraction at hand, so Link brushes the question against the shell of her ear, and Zelda trembles beneath his hands. Her eyelashes are coated in a fine layer of frost, so close to his face that Link can almost make out each individual crystal. The Hero of Hyrule has to force himself to swallow past the lump in his throat when he realizes just how much more green it makes her eyes.
“Yes, thank you.” Already pink cheeks flush even more violently when Link gives her waist a small squeeze– Zelda uses the toe of one boot to draw a heart in the snow between them. He grins, pulse thumping unsteadily in his throat as delicate hands come up to cradle his neck. Link reluctantly lets her go when Zelda steps out of his arms, drags his fingertips along her waist and only just barely avoids getting caught when Mipha turns towards them.
“Do you require any healing, Princess?” Blonde hair fans out with the motion as Zelda shakes her head, like liquid gold where it tumbles past her shoulders.
“No, thank you though.” The Zora Princess smiles sweetly, and Zelda returns the gesture, cheeks still violently pink. “Is my steed alright?” Link can’t help but smile at the clear concern written across her face, she really has worked hard to build a relationship with the snowy animal. He’s proud of her. Urbosa makes a noncommittal noise somewhere low in her throat, from where she inspects the animal’s shoulder, about as diplomatic a response as he’s ever heard out of her. Link purses his lips and finds he’d inclined to agree as he watches the steed heavily favor the front leg that hadn’t punched through, ears flattened back against his head.
“It might be best not to put additional weight on him right away, Princess.” The Gerudo leader glances his way with furrowed brows, assessing him almost as if he were an opponent across a battlefield.
“The Princess can ride with me.” He’s speaking before he’s even fully considered the logistics, heart in his throat. Urbosa cocks her head and blinks slowly, eyes still trained on him. Link imagines the sizzle of a shock arrow as it narrowly misses grazing his cheek. A glance Zelda’s way reveals impossibly pinker cheeks, and a shy smile hidden by her hair that’s only for him, prophecy weight gone from her shoulders if only just for a moment.
She smells like flowers and vanilla when he lifts her into the saddle, loose hair tickling his face as Link holds her by the narrow dip of her waist. Zelda swings one long leg over and shimmies forward until she’s pressed against the horn, hands so tight on the reins that Link suspects her knuckles have gone white beneath thick gloves. Her breath hitches when he slides into the saddle behind her, and Link doesn’t miss the way her weight shifts back to press her ass more firmly against his hips. They should share a saddle more often.
“Are you comfortable?” Low enough that only she can hear it, lost to the others beneath hooves on snow and Urbosa’s voice as she soothes Zelda’s mount where he’s tethered to her mare.
“Yes, quite, thank you.” His princess releases a trembling breath when his arms come to rest on either side of her waist in order to grip the reins. Link knows he doesn’t imagine the way her body relaxes, shoulder blades sharp against his chest when she allows herself to lean back. Can’t argue with the way his shoulders drop down from their spot by his ears at the contact, exactly what he’s wanted so desperately since they set off from the castle.
He’s sure the other Champions can see some level of what’s going on, should probably make a move to open up what distance he can between them before anybody starts to get any ideas. But Zelda looks so much happier now, with her hands on either side of Epona’s neck and his breath building frost atop her hair. Like this, she looks more like a girl and less like a conduit for divine power. Link decides to let them both have this small reprieve, savors the taste of it on his tongue. Even if it’s just for half of a day, he can’t pass up the opportunity to pretend they are just a boy and a girl, instead of myth made flesh and blood.
He reconsiders his decision almost as soon as they start moving. Epona’s gait sends Zelda’s ass moving rhythmically against him, prompts his own hips to roll with the motion in order to maintain balance. The resulting friction sends his heart beating wildly, and what blood his body can spare from its effort to keep his core temperature up rushing violently south. If Zelda notices the burgeoning erection pressed against her, she doesn’t make it clear to him, though the pink that grows on the tips of her ears makes Link suspect she does. At this rate, he is going to need a soak in the Spring of Wisdom.
They ride in relative silence for the first half of the day: leading their team single file, until the sun has hit its apex in the sky and Link twists in the saddle to retrieve trail rations from one of the bags strapped to Epona’s side. The motion requires him to cant his hips forward as a counterbalance, which in turn grinds the length of his now fully erect cock up and against Zelda’s ass. Link swallows dryly, recites the different subclasses of Lizalfos to himself in an attempt to keep his heart from fully beating out of his chest, and almost fails to bite down on a moan when his Princess whimpers.
“Link.” Barely a whisper, but delivered with the same force as a blow from a Lynel. Hylia’s Chosen Hero whines, and pulls himself back up to offer a neatly wrapped rice ball to the blonde in front of him.
“I’m so sorry, Princess.” A slow inhale, his ears ring with how good she smells. Link closes his eyes and tries not to imagine how easy it would be to slip himself between her legs, were the circumstance different. It doesn’t work. If she was in a dress, he bites his lower lip brutally. It would just be a matter of undoing his belt really, Zelda’s hair whips back against his face as the breeze changes directions. He should bring this up the next time they have a moment alone… All thought crashes to a halt when Zelda folds her hands over the horn of Epona’s saddle and uses the leverage to pick her hips up before pressing them back fully into his lap– even through the thick insulation of their pants, he can feel how her body gives way to him. Link is powerless to stop his right hand from dropping the reins in favor of curling desperately against her hipbone, middle and ring fingers gripping the crest of bone hard enough to bruise.
“Zelda.” His voice cracks at the end, unable to hold up to the cold and the plush feeling of her clothed cunt against his cock. The Princess of Hyrule giggles at the parallel, and takes a bite of her rice ball, still seated firmly in his lap. Link struggles to remember how to breathe.
In the end, they do make it to the site Link had originally planned on, dismounting right as dusk begins to bleed across the mountainside. Zelda slips off of Epona’s back with a flutter of dark lashes and the pull of her lips into an earnest smile. Link, for his part, follows more slowly– painfully aware of the way his erection strains against the front of his pants. Thank Hylia for long tunics. Camp is erected quickly, a semicircle of tents set up against an outcropping of rock and ice that blocks the wind nicely.
As soon as the fire is strong enough Link sets immediately about dinner, pulling together a rich stew (he’s sure to load it up with spicy peppers and hearty truffle). Zelda exits her tent wrapped in a thick, fur lined cloak that her father had given her specifically for this trip. It had hung like a specter in her bedroom the night before they embarked, observing dispassionately as Link had laid her down atop the rich red fabric of her duvet and done his best to kiss her worries away. Tonight, Zelda perches beside him at the fire, shoulders only just barely brushing, and sinks as deep into the hood as she physically can. In the time it has taken the sun to set, Hyrule’s coffin has been strapped securely across Zelda’s back once more.
“What do you think the others will do tomorrow while we’re gone?” Her voice is impossibly small. Link considers, holding out the ladle for her to steal a taste.
“As I understand it, Urbosa will lead them back down to the East Gate where they’ll wait for us with our horses.” Zelda wraps delicate fingers around the handle of his ladle to hold it steady as she steals another lick. Link watches her intently, imagines her perfect, pink tongue laving attention across his–
“What if I have to pray all night?” Her hand retreats back into the warmth of her cloak, and Zelda blinks up at him earnestly. Link only feels like a little bit of an asshole.
“Then I’m sure they’ll set up camp, and have breakfast waiting for us when we join them.” The princess nods, brow knit so deeply it pinches her whole forehead together. Link distracts by procuring a loaf of bread from his pouch and tearing off a piece for Zelda to dip into the pot.
After they eat, the other Champions disperse into their tents one by one. Link has the first watch tonight, makes himself comfortable beside their fire with the Master Sword across his lap and Zelda still sitting beside him. Mipha is the last to go, murmuring a soft goodnight before ducking past the flap of her tent. In his head Link counts down from one hundred, listens intently for the sounds of even breathing before leaning over and ghosting a kiss along the high plane of Zelda’s cheekbone.
She wastes no time in slipping beneath his arm, displacing the Master Sword as she curls up against his chest. Zelda dips her fingers beneath the neckline of his tunic, peppers his jaw with kisses, and fails to fully hide the way she trembles from him.
“Thank you for letting me ride with you today.” The smile on her voice pulls one of his own across chapped lips in return.
“Anything for you.” He hopes she knows he means it.
They sit like that until the moon has fully cleared the peak above them, nearly full and so strong that even without the fire Link would be able to see well out into the valley beneath them. Zelda has her nose tucked into his neck, long legs bent at the knee to best drape over his lap. She’s uncharacteristically quiet, apparently happy just to be held. If it weren’t for the steady flutter of her lashes against what little skin he has bared, Link would fully assume her to be asleep. Absently he rubs his thumb along her lowest rib, allows his cheek to rest a little more heavily atop the crown of her head. A shooting star lances through the sky to their right, prompting Zelda to perk up.
“We can’t go get it,” he smiles into her hair. The Princess huffs out something between a sigh and a laugh in response. Link leans forward to settle another log atop the coal bed, uses the opportunity as an excuse to ghost a kiss against his Princess’s temple. Hungry flames are quick to lick their way up dry wood, sending papery birch bark popping. Link savors the simple pleasure of a strong fire and the woman he loves in his arms, can almost forget the task at hand come morning.
Almost.
He carries Zelda to her tent a quarter of an hour later, sleepy protests lost entirely to the thick fabric of his doublet where she hides her face from the cold. Link drops to his knees outside the entrance to her tent, imagines carrying her across the threshold briefly, throat closing up at the thought. Cool lips press against his jaw, softer than velvet when Zelda speaks.
“Goodnight, Link.” Rito made gloves whisper in the way cold fabric does when Link brings one hand up to gently grasp her jaw.
“Sleep well, Zelda.” As close to I love you as they can say, surrounded as they are by their colleagues. She melts into the kiss, clinging to his shoulders when Link pulls away. The fire seems that much less warm when Hyrule’s hero returns to it alone.
Morning dawns bright and cold, clear skies providing no level of insulation. Link breaks his tent down before making tea, each inhale burning when he stands with both hands on his hips to watch the sun rise slowly. It’s much warmer down below, he notes– plainly given away by the way Ebon mountain twists and warps, topography skewed by the inversion at work. The sound of a roiling boil pulls Link away from his study of the mountain and towards the fire.
By the time Zelda ducks out from beneath the flap of her tent, green eyes downcast, Link already has a mug of tea ready and waiting for her. The Princess smiles up at him gratefully, casts a surreptitious glance around the camp to be sure no one else has yet woken up, and surges forward to press her lips against his in thanks. Link returns the kiss enthusiastically, pulls away just in time to reluctantly put some distance between them as Revali undoes the latch at his tent’s entrance.
He has Zelda’s tent broken down, and what equipment they won’t need on their ascent strapped securely to Epona by the time the rest of the Champions have woken up. Urbosa pulls him aside by the elbow while everyone eats, sharp eyes bright beneath watery alpine sun.
“You two will be alright?” Link heaves a sigh into the air between them, watches it frost and fall. Urbosa studies him intently, gaze hawklike and arms crossed firmly. She must be satisfied with what she sees, because the warrior does not force him to speak. Instead, her painted chin dips, and the next words from her mouth come gently. “Take care of yourself too, Hero. There’s only so much you can do to help the Princess if you are not well.” He doesn’t know what to say to that, and so just nods as he adjusts the straps of his pack where they dig into his shoulders. Urbosa gives him a nod and turns on her heel to leave.
All four Champions gather around Zelda to hug her before they depart. Link watches from a few paces away, anxious to get on the trail. Daruk saunters up to join him as Revali unfolds his wings from around the Princess, sinks up to his knees in the snowpack.
“Are you excited, little guy?” Link shrugs noncommittally, eyes still trained on Zelda where she now murmurs softly with Mipha.
“I’m not sure excited is quite the right word.” Daruk values honesty in much the same way Link does. Perhaps that’s why they get on so well.
“Fair enough!” Cold stone sends him flying when the Goron Champion claps his shoulder. “At least you and the tiny Princess will get some time alone together on the hike up. That has to be something to look forward to!” From his spot on the ground, Link glares up at his friend reproachfully, and hopes he can pass the flush riding high on his cheeks off as windburn. Doubtful at best. Daruk waggles his eyebrows suggestively and offers a hand that Link takes gratefully. Well, at least Revali and Mipha aren’t onto them yet. Zelda joins them shortly after, pack slung over one slender shoulder and eyes damp following her farewell to Urbosa.
“Shall we, Hero?” Link reaches out to lift the heavy pack up and off of her shoulder, finds himself rewarded with a blinding smile as Zelda slips into the straps. When they step away from the campsite, it’s with their friends waving behind them, and the glitter of direct sun on sharp crystal snow ahead of them. Zelda doesn’t speak until they’ve put the campsite far enough behind that it’s no longer visible. “I can’t let them down.” The sun vanishes momentarily behind a cornice, casting the pair into shadow cold enough that Link’s nose begins to run.
“You won’t.” She couldn’t possibly. He tastes ozone on his tongue, feels sinuses burn with thin air. When Zelda meets his gaze, he can tell she’s not quite so sure. Link reaches for her hand and she gives it willingly. He only wishes he could feel her skin against his. They stop for lunch atop Mount Lanayru’s saddle just before noon, lean back against their packs with shoulders brushing to eat leftover stew and bread. His princess seems to come a little more alive with food and a view of the optical illusion he’d spent the morning studying.
“I’ve read about it before, but never actually seen it!” The tips of her ears have gone pink, and Link finds himself struggling to focus past that fact. He wants to lay his mouth against them. It strikes him all at once that they’re properly alone, and so he does: mouths his way up the long line of her ear to properly kiss the tip. Zelda’s voice trails off into a delighted gasp, and were it not for the heavy pack strapped to her, Link is sure she would have scrambled into his lap by now.
“Sir Knight!” He grins wolfishly at her, savors the flush that crawls down her throat in response.
“Begging your pardon, Princess.” Zelda bites her lower lip, teeth nearly as white as the snow against pink skin. “I didn’t mean to offend.” The blonde fights her way onto her knees in response, wobbling only slightly under the weight of her pack and the fresh snow beneath them before kissing him soundly. Link rather thinks it’s more effective than any spicy elixir he could have prepared, shivering at the fire that crawls up his spine when gloved hands curl into Zelda’s waist.
“I suppose I’ll forgive you.” Her grin is almost too bright to look at. Link dusts a kiss across her brow in order to give his eyes a break, snow glare and Zelda’s smile are blinding individually– he doesn’t want to know what they could do to his retinas when combined.
The sun has only just begun to flag from its apex when they arrive at the sacred spring. Zelda swallows thickly, green eyes cast up towards towering ice formations, and bites her lip one last time before shrugging her pack off. This routine is also well rehearsed: Zelda unpacks a thin blanket to stand upon, along with her prayer gown and ceremonial jewelry. Link scouts the location, careful to ensure no monsters are lurking just out of sight before starting a roaring fire. There are new additions to the dance that hadn’t been present at their first pilgrimage. Gone are Zelda’s reproachful glances his way, discarded along with tightly pursed lips and the acid on her tongue. Similarly abandoned is the shame that had burned so hotly against the back of Link’s neck at the Spring of Courage, ears trained too intently on the unmistakable sounds of the Princess disrobing.
New steps fit in tidily: Link’s hands steady and warm against Zelda’s back as he fastens the lacing of her gown, the bite of polished gold against his throat when the Princess slides a hand into his hair before kissing him. Open mouthed kisses showered across bare shoulders, peppered in between thick whispers of I love you and you’re more than just the goddess incarnate and there is nothing wrong with you. Their mother goddess watches silently from granite eyes, and Link can’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe this was always supposed to be a part of the ritual. He smooths one hand down her back, relishes how much of her skin he can feel through the thin leather of his gloves, having discarded bulky mittens in order to strike his flint.
Zelda melts into his arms and gratefully accepts his body heat. Birch bark smoke curls around their faces, set into motion by unsettled summit air. Link’s heart beats somewhere in the vicinity of his throat at the way it mingles with the warm vanilla and flowers smell that’s so undeniably Zelda. The sky begins to darken into a cornflower blue that would cost no less than an arm and leg at the Kochi Dye Shop, throwing cream colored snow into stark relief. His Princess turned Priestess steps out of Link’s arms just as the first few hints of lavender begin to bleed up from the horizon, he aches with the distance immediately.
“I suppose,” Zelda’s voice is impossibly soft, thin in a way he’s come to know means she’s close to tears, “it’s time for me to begin.”
The Crown Princess of Hyrule inhales slowly through her nose when her feet first touch sacred water. Bare fingers twitch almost imperceptibly against his palm before pulling away, and Link watches with his heart in his mouth as Zelda smoothly steps down into the spring. Her chin stays high as she moves forward, hissing through her teeth at the cold once she’s submerged to the waist. The gossamer thin top layers of her gown float up to the surface of the spring, stained purple as the sky continues to change color above them, sacred water goes glasslike. Link curls stiff fingers around the Master Sword’s hilt, and reluctantly turns his face towards the sea.
It’s going to be a long evening.
Zelda rises from the Spring of Wisdom as the moon takes her place directly above them. Full moon light reflects off of the water’s surface to dance across bare skin when his Princess turns to face him, shivering. It’s bright enough tonight that Link can see the blue cast to her lips before he’s even begun to close the distance between them, swears under his breath as the depth of the color makes itself clear.
“Hey,” he’s reaching for her before he’s even stopped moving, heedless of how his boots send holy water sloshing over the side of the spring in his haste to pull Zelda into his arms. The Princess stumbles, brow knitting in confusion even as he catches her, one knee planted in shallow water. “Zel,” a hazy blink, and he’s swearing again. “Hey, Zel.” No answer, even when he lifts her against his chest: white dress and style of hold a vicious mockery of the way he wants her.
“M’alright,” she whispers when they’re halfway to the fire, nose like ice where it presses against his cheek. Link listens to her slur and feels his stomach drop down to the frosted snow beneath them. He’s so fucking stupid. He should have known she wouldn’t tell him when her elixir had worn off, should have anticipated her stubborn streak and preemptively made her pause in prayer. Fuck.
Link cradles her against his chest as he digs through her pack with one hand, counts the seconds between each shiver that racks her body and snarls in frustration when he realizes the beats between them are decreasing. Her new cloak hits the blanket she’d spread out atop the snow earlier with a muffled thud, followed by Link’s leather gloves as he pulls them off with his teeth.
“Zelda.” She’s sluggish in his arms, legs unsteady when he desperately prompts her to rise, quick to pull her into his cloak. “We need to get you out of your wet dress, okay?” The Princess leans heavily against his chest, manages a weak nod and whimpers when he begins to rub his palms up and down her arms briskly. “I’m going to unlace your bodice,” he increases the speed with which he rubs her arms, feels his heart lurch at the curl of her fingers into his doublet, searching for body heat, “is that alright?” Zelda nods, a little more strongly this time, and Link sets to work. It’s slow going, with his view obscured by the heavy fabric of his winter cloak and the distracting feeling of Zelda’s fingers as they slip into his armpits.
After a few, fumbling minutes, he reaches the bottom of the lacing, gently tugs until the prayer gown hangs loose about her ribs. His Princess curls her fingers into his uppermost ribs more firmly, and makes a happy noise high in her throat when he ghosts a hand up the length of her spine.
“Are you comfortable stepping out of it for me?” Another nod, and he helps pull the soaked fabric away from her. Zelda burrows against him as soon as white fabric hits the blanket, and Link wastes no time in curling one arm around her waist to help hold her steady when he bends to retrieve her cloak.
“I can’t give you an elixir,” his voice as he explains his logic, settling down as close to the fire as he safely can, “because it will raise your core body temperature too quickly.” Zelda’s cloak drapes over their front now, and he arranges the Princess until her back is to his chest, frozen hands resting lightly on his bent legs. “Once you’ve got some feeling back into your hands and feet we can start layering you up, but I can’t rush it.” Zelda doesn’t say anything, just tips her head back until she can tuck her nose against his throat. “I’m sorry, Princess.” A shake of her head, and cold fingers against his wrist when Zelda tugs his right hand down to splay atop her navel.
“Please don’t apologize.” Her voice shakes, Link’s throat knots up. “It’s not your fault.” He disagrees.
Growing up in Hateno meant many winters spent up in the mountains or deep in the foothill forests hunting. Link is no stranger to hypothermia, has watched it indifferently creep up on people he loves, been one of the first few to stumble upon a poor soul lost to it, and even danced with the beast himself (thirteen and stupid in the spring, too excited by mid March sun to consider the weather before leaping into Lake Jarrah). It’s this familiarity that has his heart beating so wildly, the same familiarity that keeps him from shock when Zelda starts to struggle, brows pinched in frustration when he slides one arm around her stomach to hold her in place.
“I’m too hot.” Trembling palms flatten back against his abdomen as she tries to push off of him, “Link I’m too hot.” Even as she says it her teeth chatter, skin still cold to the touch where Link’s palm flattens against her side.
“I’m sorry Zel, I can’t let you go.” He murmurs it against her ear, follows up with a kiss. Zelda makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan in the back of her throat. He slides his other arm around her stomach, pulls her back into his chest as tight as he can, and wishes not for the first time that he hadn’t broken his Flameblade last week. The woman in his arms stills slowly, slides her fingers beneath the cuff of his doublet to trace nonsense patterns against the inside of his wrist. Link adds another log to the fire.
“How do you feel?” He asks a half hour later, nose in her hair. Zelda burrows back more firmly against him, and Link has to remind himself to breathe. Hyrule’s hero forces blue eyes onto the fire to keep himself from monitoring her breath via the peaks of her nipples where they rise beneath the cloak. He’s spent the better part of the last six months dreaming of all the different ways he might get to run his hands over the planes of Zelda’s naked body for the first time, but this one certainly hadn’t been on the list.
“I feel…” Small toes wriggle where she’s shoved them beneath his legs, Link can’t help the smile that twitches across his lips at the motion. “Cold.”
“That’s good, actually.” Zelda nods, and presses a kiss into his shoulder. They’ve likely made it through the worst of it if she’s no longer paradoxically undressing. He allows himself a moment to savor the smell of her hair, loosens his arms around her middle until Zelda makes a discontented noise into the thick fabric of his doublet. Huffing out a laugh (and grateful she can’t see the color riding high on his cheeks) Link tightens his hold on her again. They fall asleep like that, curled together in front of the carefully tended fire, cocooned in cloaks and sharing body heat beneath a sky full of stars.
Upon drifting back into consciousness, the first thing Zelda’s aware of is the stiffness of her limbs, almost as if she’d tried to lift a Guardian on her own. The second thing she notes are bare hands against her skin: one, calloused and hotter than any brand, pressed flat against her stomach, and another, curled around her ribs just beneath one breast. And the third, as she opens her eyes, is the breath luffing softly against her left ear. A happily roaring fire greets her, bright and warm beneath the light of the setting moon.
Hopelessness clawing through her gut as she stood in the frigid water and felt nothing, stiff and painful as they are, she can still move all of her fingers and toes. The last few traces of spice on her tongue fading along with the feeling in her limbs, Zelda cannot bring herself to ask for help, she worries her lip at how stiff nipples stand out beneath the white fabric of her cloak. Link pulling her from the spring, panic written across his handsome face, Zelda inhales shakily, heat blooming between her hipbones at the smell of Link’s skin and the way his hands flex against her skin. Quiet concern in his voice as he asks for permission to disrobe her, pointed ears burn. A perfunctory glance around their makeshift campsite reveals her prayer gown hung to dry off of a halberd by the fire, Zelda swallows thickly (this is not how she’d imagined first waking up naked and in his arms). She tries to stretch her back, anxious to relieve some of the stiffness so deeply set into her muscles and Link makes a low sound in his throat, uses the palm on her stomach to press her back against his front. The motion drags his hand ever so slightly lower, and Zelda feels her throat run drier than the Gerudo Desert at high noon. As if that wasn’t enough to send the muscles of her abdomen fluttering needily, the fourth thing Zelda becomes suddenly very aware of is the long, hot length of an erection pressed against her back. Hylia help me, she thinks, shivering with the force of the thrill that races up her spine. Biting her lip in an attempt to stay silent, Zelda crosses her legs at the ankle and squeezes, painfully aware of the way her uppermost thighs glide smoothly; lubricated by the evidence of her arousal. It doesn’t quite work, and Link’s hand shifts lower still against her abdomen. He noses at her hair, stubble rough against her temple, and Zelda can’t quite close her mouth around the small, needy sound that spills from her lips.
She feels it when he wakes, can track the tension that snaps into the muscles she reclines against with startling clarity. Link inhales slowly, nose in her hair, holds the breath until Zelda curves both hands over his where they hold her. He kisses her head.
“Zel,” his voice is rough with sleep and something else she can’t quite place, “how’re you feeling?” Zelda’s heart lodges itself at the back of her throat, forces her to struggle around her next breath.
“Much better.” Link tightens his arms around her in a hug, and Zelda feels her cunt clench around nothing when the very tip of Link’s pinky skims the first few soft hairs of her sex. They both freeze. Zelda’s sure that if it wasn’t for the thunderous roar of her own heart in her ears, she’d be able to hear his just as loudly. The erection against her back jumps, and Link makes a sound in the back of his throat like he’s been stabbed. Inhaling shakily, Zelda rolls her hips up into the touch and drops her head back onto his shoulder when the movement draws his fingertips down even lower. Link groans, and the hand beneath her breast tightens into a fist against her skin. She repeats the movement, lips slowly drawing up into a smile.
“Zelda…” There’s a warning in his tone that she gleefully ignores, wriggling until she can press her ass against the tent in his pants. Link hisses through his teeth, and she wants that noise against her throat. Zelda rolls her hips back, chasing the sound greedily, only to gasp when calloused fingers slip down to hover just barely above her clit.
“Princess.” Ground out against the shell of her ear, more endearment than title. Zelda rolls her hips back feverishly in an attempt to force his fingers down to where she so desperately wants them. Link runs his nose down her cheek until his breath fans out hotly against her throat. “Please hold still.” Punctuated with a nip to her pulse point that has cold toes curling into the blanket beneath them. She doesn’t hold still. Instead Zelda arches her back and circles her hips, watches with parted lips as blue eyes track the motion of her nipples beneath the cloak.
Link swears softly, fisted hand relaxing just enough to curl around her ribcage in an attempt to hold her still. Zelda only adds more pressure, hands flat against his legs as she works herself back against him. Her hero exhales gustily, hands twitching against her, and Zelda can’t stop the high whimper that breaks past her teeth when the fingers that hover so close to where she wants them most twitch. A glance up rewards her with a vision of Link, blushing furiously and gnawing on his lower lip with one too-sharp incisor as he tries to still her motions.
It only makes her want to move more. So she does, savoring each flutter of strong quadriceps beneath her palms, every jump of his length against her ass between teasing circles. She’s found herself a good pace, one that draws broken whines out from his throat when she times it just right, occasionally rewards her with the tip of his middle finger against her sex. Link swears again, more loudly this time, and drops his mouth against her shoulder. There’s a moment of stillness where he drags his teeth up to the base of her throat, and then the fingers at her ribs are curling into her hip with enough force to bruise. Zelda whimpers, abdominal muscles fluttering as Link presses her back onto his cock with one hand against her cunt and gives one impossibly hard grind against her ass.
“I think you’re warm enough to get dressed now, Princess.” He murmurs, nose cold when he draws it up the long line of her ear. She’s left soaking wet and panting when he pulls back, both arms coming away from her to retrieve the prayer gown from it’s spot upon his halberd. The Hero of Hyrule casts a smirk her way over one broad shoulder, and Zelda is powerless to do anything other than grin back at him in return.
When Zelda abandons her bones in favor of finding home in the cloistered dark of Hyrule Castle’s Sanctum, she learns how to see through the eyes of the earth. Suddenly, her vision is no longer constrained to what’s immediately in front of her, bifocal and narrow. Instead, she observes her kingdom crumble to dust from the boughs of autumnal trees, finds feeling again as late spring sun bakes into the bare granite of Upland Zorana. She watches Link emerge from the Shrine of Resurrection and breathes for the first time in one hundred years, listens to her lungs fill in the form of violent gusts atop the Dueling Peaks. Storms tear across Hyrule’s higher altitudes for the better part of ten days.
As soon as he flares to life in her consciousness, Zelda’s entire world shifts on its axis. No longer does she find herself fully consumed with the beast before her, shifting and slick with bare tissue that crawls over ancient machinery. Instead she splits her focus, beats Calamity down until she can settle herself over him like the glaciers in Hebra, and turns her eyes to the man who surges towards her with all the force of a Faron typhoon. Teeth bared in a snarl, Link tears a branch from one of the old oaks above him, and Zelda feels it in her core. When he brings the Moblin in front of him to the ground, she finds herself in the blood that pools atop frozen soil.
She follows him up onto the Biron snow shelf, floats on sharp winter wind that cuts through even his Rito made gear, and whispers to him against the bare planes of his face. If she strains, Zelda can just barely remember the taste of his skin: sweat and salt and the rich flavor of birch bark smoke. Cravasses open up beneath the worn soles of his shoes, blue maws gaping, and Zelda finds herself in the ancient ice watching with wide eyes as Link ties cold rope off around his waist. Anxiety crawls up what might pass for her spine now, cold and sharp against exposed vertebrae made ridgeline.
When the blizzard moves in, it is with no warning save for the sudden stillness of alpine wind. Heavy air bleeds up out of the Sturnida basin, rapidly followed by a thick curtain of snow that drops to the crust at Link’s feet. Zelda counts each snowflake that accumulates on his shoulders, carefully monitors the windburn on his nose and cheeks as her Hero trudges forward, faithfully following the shrine sensor on his slate. Her hindbrain wails with the familiarity of this feeling, pushes against the cold that sets in around his core and whispers in the same voice that she’s come to associate with the Spring of Wisdom. Visibility drops along with the temperature until Link is barely moving, hyper aware of the very real risk posed by the crevasses. Zelda wants to scream, wishes it would translate to more than a gust of icy wind. Ganon laughs at her from below, cloying and deep. Link’s hands start to move sluggishly as he fingers the coil of rope slung over one shoulder, and Zelda whines in the form of an eddying breeze. When his eyes start to fall to half mast, she knows something is wrong. A quick check reveals Calamity still very much subjugated, and so the Princess feels no regret as she musters all of her energy in order to flatten barely there palms against Link’s back.
“Link,” he inhales sharply, head whipping to the side in an attempt to locate the source of her voice. “You need to paraglide off of the cliff ten paces to your west.” His lips have the beginnings of a blue cast upon them, and if Zelda had a throat she’s no doubt that there would be bile and panic rising within it.
“I–” A shiver racks his lean frame, prompting Zelda to wrap one arm around his chest and walk them towards the drop. “It’s not time for a Blood Moon yet?” Even like this her heart stutters with affection for him, thick and hot like a knot in her throat. If she can just get him down to the bottom of Sturnida basin, there’s a good chance he can make it to the hot springs therein before his core temperature drops too dramatically. Her bones (wherever they are) ache with the memory of his bare hands moving hastily over frozen skin, how he’d looked at her like something worth saving even as failure dripped from her elbows. The goddesses, it seem, truly do have a sense of humor. Zelda presses an open mouthed kiss against the nape of his strong neck.
She lies in the most shallow part of the hidden springs and waits for him, calling Link closer with each luff of unsettled air. The hot springs smell vaguely of sulphur, whispers of their volcanic origin mixing with the sharp scent of fresh snow on the wind. Link stumbles into humid air and melting snow with arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, and lips that purse with each shallow exhale. Zelda burns to touch him, fingers begging to curl into the thick fabric of his Rito doublet and pay him back for the way he had coaxed her into the warmth of the living world one hundred years previously. Instead, she rises from the water along with the steam to lay what might count as her lips against the shell of his ear.
Link, he searches for her wildly, teeth chattering, you need to get in the water. She doesn’t think he’s so far gone that the springs will shock him, fights a shiver of her own when he pulls his doublet up and over his head, muscles rippling with the motion. Hopes she’s right as he struggles to step out of frosted trousers until he stands at the edge of the spring in only the same briefs he’d worn in the Shrine of Resurrection. It’s not lost on Zelda that this is a sort of resurrection in and of itself.
Link drops himself into the water with a low groan that all but sets Zelda on fire. Made bold by lack of form, the Princess folds her hands over his shoulders, explores ropes of muscle with each snowflake that melts in fine rivulets of water down to his pectorals. If she had a body, it would be burning for his. Her hero sighs and sinks deeper into the water, chapped lips pulled into the beginnings of a smile.
“Thank you.” His voice is like a balm against the trampled ends of her nerves– she wants to cry. “I dreamt about you last night.” If she had flesh and blood lungs, he would have just knocked the air out of them. “About the day before we arrived at the Spring of Wisdom.” He blushes, dunks his head under the water briefly, and reemerges with brighter eyes. “I love you.” Zelda can’t move, watches as the air around him falls just as still, hopes he knows what it means. “I haven’t forgotten, Zelda.”
She licks up his chest with each lap of the water, closes her lips around his pulse where it throbs just below one pierced ear and rolls her tongue against cold skin. Zelda cannot taste him, the realization like a knife in her ribs– an all too sharp reminder of the fact that she cannot physically do anything like this.
Her Hero inhales deep enough to send ripples dancing across the surface of the spring, and tilts his head back against the snow.
“I hope you heard that.” He sounds so lonely.
Time, she’s slowly come to realize, passes differently for her now. It’s impossible to tell whether they’ve spent five minutes or three hours basking in the rising steam, but when Link brings corded arms up to rest on either side of the shore, she knows they’ve left risk of death behind them. Zelda watches from the water as he drags one wet hand down the length of his face, sighing heavily into damp air. Unbidden, her mind provides a careful review of all the times he had heaved that same sigh against her bare skin. Will he remember the way she tastes? Blue eyes level her way, forever more perceptive than he was happy to let on. Zelda feels reality slow around her as Link pushes off of the wall behind him to wade into the deepest part of the spring.
“I’m coming for you.” His voice is rough at the edges, burnt by wind and negative temperatures alike. Zelda ghosts her fingers against his waist, watches waves delicately lap against scarred skin. He carries so much more scar tissue now than he did the last time she had tasted him beneath her tongue. Most prominently is the ugly sprawl of Guardian lasers across his chest, an unmistakable reminder of her century old failure. She maps the latticework of scars across his torso even as Malice licks up her legs, insistent and foul. Her glacier weight can only last so long.
Painfully aware of the way her time with him draws to a close, Zelda pushes herself forward, until she can flatten her hands against the soft skin of his stomach. Link’s nostrils flare, eyelids fluttering shut as he sinks deeper into hot water at the contact.
“Thank you.” Whispered against his mouth, and followed immediately by a kiss that lingers, her tongue hot against his lower lip. Calloused hands reflexively dart up to curl around where her waist would be, and as Zelda fades away she doesn’t miss the way he swears when they close around nothing.
Link wakes with a start, sitting up so fast his head almost spins even as thin blankets pool around his waist. Zelda’s hips rolling up against his hand, the way the hair at the apex of her thighs had welcomed his fingertips, parting so sweetly. Absently, his left hand wanders down to curl around the erection that strains violently against his briefs, heedless of cold Hebra air. Green eyes gone dark as he’d ground himself against her, every cell in his body begging him to tug his trousers down and take her right there.
“Fuck,” his voice cracks, met only by the laughter of the hot spring lapping against it’s shore. The Princess of Hyrule bending at the waist in front of him, cunt bare, a calculated display as she steps into her prayer gown. His hand starts to move, callouses too rough, strokes too efficient. Phantom lips against his throat last night, the smell of flowers and vanilla in his nose as his body comes back to life beneath hot water. Link comes with her name tumbling out past his lips and thick ropes of cum against his stomach.
The hot springs continue to laugh, indifferent to his plight when Link stands on shaky legs. He spends the rest of his time in Hebra half hard and wanting, green eyes peering back at him each time he blinks.