Chapter 1: The Blade of Evil's Bane
Summary:
On Zelda's first trip with her father (a simple shipment for their ranch, meat and foods gathered through the season), something odd occurs. She hears music, a sweet and familiar melody that urges her toward fates unknown.
Notes:
Tday's song of the day is Red Wine Supernova by Chappel Roan, because it's the most notable of the music i played while rewriting this🥰
REVISED CHAPTER ONE we all chant in unison
keep in mind that as i rewrite there may be details repreated or that contradict one another in the next chapters until i get to them, so if this is ur first time reading, this is ur warningIf ur back from before YAY, but also I changed the chapter count because originally this story included pre-botw AND botw, but I've decided to split it into two stories :). I didn't cut anything tho so we're all FINE
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s something peaceful in the forests of Hyrule.
The seasons never truly change the closer to the country’s center one gets, (instead Hyrule has more climate shifts in its regions) a fact Zelda mourns as she watches the leaves of the trees above her swaying gently in the faint late-day breeze.
Their ranch is in such a non-descript part of the kingdom that even color-changing leaves seem like a faint and unreachable fantasy found only in the depths of old texts and damsel-in-distress stories.
“Zelda!” Her father’s voice cuts through her thoughts like a whip-crack and Zelda startles and tears her eyes away from the trees and to the man seated beside her.
As she gazes at the large man, Zelda sees his eyes turn to view her with a slight glare in their green depths so like her own (but unlike hers, there’s never a glint of curiosity. Never a touch of sentiment beyond a stern and focused fire).
Though his eyes hold some anger, his grip on the reigns is loose and steady, their modest horses keeping on track and calm. It tells her he isn’t nearly as angry as he wants to seem (a trick that works on the ranch hands more than it ever has on her).
Zelda takes a moment to consider why he could be calling upon her. It could be that she was simply far too interested in the bland woods around them and the leaves below them that crunch satisfyingly beneath the wheels of their little cart. Or it could be that he was speaking to her; the more likely of the two.
She finds herself staring blankly at her father’s profile as she attempts to excavate whatever statement he’d made to her from her subconscious.
In the end, she finds nothing noteworthy and simply ends up staring at her father long enough for the man to pull his eyes away from her in order to roll them, clearly frustrated.
His head moves with his eyes and Zelda finds herself with a brief mouthful of white beard, but she doesn’t say as much.
“I had thought it best not to travel so late,” Zelda’s father says after Zelda has extricated the hair from her mouth with a faint grimace. “We are near enough to the Sacred Forest that nothing should happen upon us should we make camp.”
The look her father has on his face tells Zelda that he’s not truly asking for a true opinion, rather a confirmation of his own thoughts. It would annoy her if the logic wasn’t sound.
Taking a small glance at the sky, Zelda does note that the sun is nearing the horizon, the skies taking on a slight orange shade as night draws near. It would be pointless to continue any further given how far they still have to go and would have nowhere to stop in Hyrule Field.
Zelda won’t mention this to her father, though, because the man simply loves to rant about how the kingdom had changed since the queen wed a farmer. He speaks about the downfall of Hyrule Field as though the field was its own kingdom once, and not simply a field which only held one ranch in centuries (through no fault of anyone’s truly, though the queen had outlawed the idea of building any ranches other than Lon Lon after the king’s death).
Her father stares at her expectantly, though Zelda finds she isn’t particularly paying attention anymore.
The forests around them had grown more dense the further they’d traveled. While they had come from the northeast, it’s unlikely they could be going directly through the Great Forest, and- even so- monsters do prey in those woods regardless of how sacred they are.
She must admit, though, the cover of the trees on the outskirts here provide cover from such beasts, and they don’t truly have anything interesting to potential thieves.
She will not admit that the thought of monsters attacking their cart in the night makes her chest constrict and her hands begin to quiver. Because it doesn’t.
Regardless, they both have very little experience fending off monsters and what experience they do have comes from her father scaring off the occasional stray Bokoblin with a pack of ranch hands at his back.
After all this, another thought occurs to her.
“I had thought Russa said this meat needed to be delivered in three days’ time?”
“She did.”
Russa, a Sheikah woman from Kakariko who made the trip to their ranch every few weeks, had assisted in this season’s butcherings (though the seasons don’t truly change in climate, they do change in date, and the kingdom demands its meat), as such it was their responsibilities as ranchers to ensure that they woman made a cut of their payment- which would require they make the shipment before the meat goes bad and they actually get a payment.
Thankfully, Russa had granted them a few boxes with strange, Sheikah etchings engraved into the wood. Zelda had been up for hours the night before their journey to see what they did. To both her excitement and disappointment, the boxes merely provided a cooling effect on their interiors.
Russa had said that effect would only last most efficiently for two days, and they both know better than to doubt her knowledge on the matter (Zelda shudders just thinking about the last time they’d made a delivery late. Lia had just about pulled the deed to the house right away from them, even if it wasn’t in her power to do so)
Her father sighs, glancing upwards, and continues; “But if we are quick tomorrow, then that should be no issue.”
He turns to her very pointedly, his bushy eyebrows knit down into a very serious expression. “That means no fooling around.”
“So we’re stopping then?” If so, it is a full confirmation of Zelda’s initial thought on the man making this now-unnecessary statement,
He hums before nodding once, sure and firm. “Yes.”
Zelda goes silent, though she feels her eyes droop into an expression that surely shows her annoyance most pointedly. She forces herself to turn away from her father and look to the paved roads in front of them, if only to avoid the man seeing her glaring gaze.
He had to have done it on purpose, she thinks. It must be a way of trying to get her to think like him, though it never works as it only makes her more annoyed with the way he thinks.
It has truly only grown more poignant what he is doing in recent years.
Zelda can hardly remember a time when her father had truly cared for the opinions of others (it was surely more than ten years ago, before her mother died, when he last did. Unfortunately, Zelda is not one of those rare individuals who can remember her years as a five-year-old with vividity).
They are both ranchers, yet clearly Zelda’s father sees no reason to take any heed of her words.
This may be the first delivery she’s ever been directly involved with, but that shouldn’t make her thoughts or advice any less important, should it?
Zelda finds doubt creeping into her mind at the thought, her hands coming up to wring themselves together.
Stopping is certainly the best path, but was her worry about the meat truly so foolish a thought?
Zelda exhales sharply through her nose, searching for something to distract herself with. She ignores the strange glance her father sends her when he hears the breath.
Eyes darting around, they finally land on something her mind latches on to; the way the cart’s wheels turn over the dirt.
The dirt beneath them is hard, a result of the cold day (she’s surprised her father didn’t mention that in his statements-) No, Zelda! Stop that! She just barely stops herself from smacking herself in the head. The wheels turn, barely dipping into the dirt even though the cart is surely heavier than any weight Zelda can even conceivably think of.
They had packed a lot of meat.
Zelda’s eyes find her father again. He stares out at the road disinterestedly, his own eyes searching beside them for a place to stop.
“We have a lot of boxes, Father,” she starts tentatively, watching for a reaction. When she only gets a slight raise of the man’s brow, she continues; “If something approaches, we have no chance of defending them all.”
“Nothing will attack, Zelda.” He repeats, his voice a low and even tone. Carefully so. “I’ve told you; we’re too close to the Forest.”
“But-”
“No. You are only doing this to be difficult, aren’t you?”
Zelda pauses, her mouth open in a half-attempt at a comeback. Is she? She truly hadn’t noticed.
Her father’s expression finally cracks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hidden well beneath his beard. If Zelda weren’t so accustomed to his expressions, she wouldn’t have noticed it in the slightest.
“Why don’t you climb into the back and check what we have for camping supplies while I find a place to stop?”
Zelda blinks, then says; “Okay.”
sighing (and preparing her knees however briefly), Zelda clambers into the back of their little ramshackle cart, careful not to step on the molded, flaking boards near her feet.
It takes a few moments of shuffling around to locate their bags (they’d thrown them in so hastily, as though there was no time to spare for even placing them down gently, though there seems to be an abundance of time now. Zelda rolls her eyes.). They are pushed tightly into a corner, one of the Sheikah boxes having slid back at some point during the day. Though Zelda is thankful they have had roofs over their heads these last nights with no need for the camping supplies, she mourns the leather journal she’d packed, as it is surely squished beyond recognition beneath the weight of the meat’s box.
After gently sliding the box back towards the edge of the cart, she pulls the bag from the corner, peering inside; they’d only packed their warm tent, the material covered with wolf fur. Awfully convenient considering the weather, though if it decided to suddenly rain they would be without shelter.
She looks up. The sky is clear and bright despite the late time. There’s no sign of clouds. They’re in luck then.
“Are you about done back there?” Her father’s voice calls and Zelda resists rolling her eyes once more (she is far too comfortable being out of sight of the man. One of these days she’s going to forget to compose herself). “I could have set up an entire campsite for an army in the time you’re taking.”
Now Zelda does roll her eyes. “We only have the fur tent.”
“That’s fine. It won’t rain.”
The sky is still clear. “I know that.”
He snaps back without a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t get snippy.”
“I-” Zelda sighs, taking a moment to search for her journal within the bag. Her hand finds the soft leather before her eyes do, brushing over its surface searchingly. She closes her eyes, sending a brief prayer to whatever goddess may be listening; the book was so expensive, it would be such a shame for it to be damaged. “Sorry, Father.”
Zelda takes another breath and pull the journal from the bag with one swift movement, a movement which catches her father’s eye. He sends a look her way that she hardly notices as she examines the leather-bound book in her grasp.
She was right; it is a bit bent near the page’s ends, but the book as a whole is still in pristine condition if a bit…well-loved.
Her father sighs heavily as she finally climbs back into the seat beside him. She folds the fur tent and holds it in her lap, the journal on top of it so she might admire it.
After a few moments of heavy silence, her father pulls on the reigns, bringing the cart to a slow stop in a small alcove in the woods.
“We’ll camp here then.” He announces. He hobbles off the cart with a loud groan, ignoring Zelda’s concern as he leans down to rub at his ankles for a minute. When this continues, Zelda jumps down quickly (her own ankle twists awkwardly but she hardly allows herself to think of the near-injury) and offers a hand to him in assistance.
He’s bent so low in the pain (or perhaps tiredness) that he has to look up at her for a moment, bracing himself against the side of the cart. She hopes this might finally be the moment he accepts her help, but he simply waves it off and gestures to the cart.
His breathing is wheezy, Zelda notices, I couldn’t hear that before. It sends an irrational sort of fear through her, her mind going- of course- to the last wheezy breaths she had heard, a soft, melodic voice telling her; ‘Never forget I love you.’
“I’ll get us set up, Father.” He just waves her off again, his breaths heavy as if carrying an immense weight.
Setting up a campsite is a tedious and unlikable experience, Zelda finds.
It’s not that she dislikes manual labor (she’d be a poor rancher if that were the case, and she does consider herself fairly strong for a woman of her stature) but that she dislikes how utterly perfect it all has to be.
The one tent they’d packed took almost a full hour to set up, the sun having almost fully set by the time the thing is up without risk of falling to a brief gust of wind. It was mostly because each time Zelda so much as picked up a piece of the tent’s rods or a corner of its fur and fabric, her father snipped something at her about how she was ‘doing it wrong’.
As though he’s suddenly such a camping expert (he does camp fairly frequently, Zelda concedes, but that doesn’t make him the camping authority).
After that immense chore was finished and her father began putting a fire together, waving her off with a sharp ‘find something to do’, Zelda marched off to their cart to move the horses.
Freya and Malik- a ruddy young mare and a black stallion that really ought to be retired from trips such as these- huff at her approach, stamping their hooves into the grass a bit irritably.
They’ve never liked her. Zelda doesn’t truly mind Malik’s opinion on the matter (he’s her father’s horse and is older than she is for Hylia’s sake), but she finds herself offended each time Freya reacts to her presence.
She remembers her mother telling her that Freya would be hers one day, the mare born only a few years after Zelda. As a little girl, that had thrilled her, the thought of having a connection with an animal like a girl from a story or like one of the heroes.
Then she’d grown- and for whatever reason- no horse had ever cared much for her presence, least of all Freya.
So Zelda slows her approach a bit, giving the horses a wide berth as the goes into the back of the cart to fetch an apple from their bags.
She thinks better of this and grabs two apples.
She circles back around, ignoring the repeated huffs from the horses before offering them an apple in each of her hands, waiting impatiently for them to slowly sniff it out before taking the fruits into their mouths.
As they are distracted, Zelda hastily unties them from the cart and moves to tie them around the nearest tree.
When this occurs with no difficulty, she steels herself for her next task; hooves. She won’t remove the horseshoes, as she worries for their hooves on the unfamiliar ground, though she knows they’ll need to check for any stray rocks from the gravelly road before they set out again.
Perhaps she can get her father to do it, Zelda thinks. Getting kicked to death less than a day out from Castle Town sounds like a most unpleasant and disappointing way to die.
She gazes at the nearest horse- Freya- with a scrutinizing look. A look which the mare somehow manages to return. They stare each other down for a mere moment before Zelda huffs and rolls her eyes, moving back to the cart to fetch food for the night.
Father can check them in the morning.
She thanks any and all goddesses that may be watching that their food for eating is kept in a bag rather than one of those Sheikah boxes (they’d needed two ranch hands to carry each one).
Bag in hand, Zelda whirls around and locks on to the sight of the newly-lit fire. She wonders how big he’d made it, as smoke curls up from it in small billows into the sky, forming large and utterly noticeable ribbons of grey that streak across the darkening sky.
Hopefully they don’t set the Sacred Forest on fire. That would be unfortunate.
As she takes her first step towards their camp, her father’s voice cuts through the eternal sound of cicadas and rustling leaves to shout; “Zelda! The fire’s ready, where are you?”
Once again, Zelda finds herself resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Coming, father.”
She hastens her steps to emerge into the alcove behind him. She announces herself by stepping on a large stick. Her father turns to her expectantly, his hands reaching up to tie his long, white hair back.
“I’m right here, father.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Once he finished wrangling his hair, he turns back to the fire, setting a few sticks in a formation above it that Zelda knows can hold the weight of the pan which sits in the bag still in her grasp.
The wind is blowing the heat in her direction. She thinks she’ll struggle to sleep tonight with all this warmth.
Her father sighs heavily before reaching a hand out behind himself and towards her. She makes a valiant attempt to get the pan from the bag as she stands, but finds herself unable to balance it all, so she makes to sit beside him on the log he’s made his home.
His hand is still held out, though he doesn’t seem impatient, rather unsurprised.
Once she manages to pull the pan out, she carefully rests it in his hand. He places it on the wooden pyre above the fire before turning back to her.
“What’s for dinner, daughter?”
A slow smile stretches its way across her face. She knows, of course, that he’d wanted something with meat. Protein is necessary for every meal she can hear his voice rasping in her head.
However, instead of meat, she produces a small variety of fruit from the bag; A pair of apples, bananas, and voltfruit (Russa had brought that for her from the Gerudo Desert on her last visit to the ranch. She’d said she wanted to be there when Zelda finally discovered new fruit).
Her father rolls his eyes. “Nothing wrong with simmered fruit, I suppose.” Then he laughs, the boisterous noise making Zelda’s eyes widen. “Goddess knows how much you like it.”
She laughs with him.
Zelda watches his actions intently as he cuts the fruit up with a stray knife he keeps on his person (he cuts them in his hands. It’s like he wants to be cut!) before tossing them into the pan.
Zelda’s never been a gifted cook, to put it into polite terms. She knows her mother tried to teach her before she got sick, but Zelda had been so young there truly was no real purpose to it all. She thinks she mourns that more than she mourns the woman herself sometimes. Missing the one thing she could’ve had left of her within herself.
Once all the fruit is cut, Zelda’s father grabs his waterskin from its spot on the ground beside his feet and adds a bit of it to the pan (how he knows how much to add, Zelda can’t even fathom).
As they watch the water begin to bubble and the fruit turn a bit brown, a sudden high-pitched noise begins ringing out around them.
Zelda winces, but continues watching her father. He seems to think nothing of the sound, even as it continues, so she forces herself to focus and ignore it.
It’s fairly obvious, though strange, what must be happening. Her father has tinnitus, courtesy of some loud equipment given to them by the Sheikah in Kakariko. It would be unfortunate if she had truly gotten it as well, but she supposes it’s not uncommon for people such as her.
Nothing too loud or sudden had occurred recently though, so Zelda wonders why the ringing was suddenly starting now.
In the past- probably around when he’d first gotten it- Zelda’s father had told her the ringing could be very easy to ignore. He told her that sometimes it was constant and sometimes it came in and out, but altogether it was something that could fade into the background for him, becoming more of a natural annoyance than any true issue.
Zelda makes an attempt to focus once more, but that ringing doesn’t fade into the background as her father had described. It doesn’t even seem natural, though Zelda has no reason for thinking so.
Her father begins speaking when the ringing grows more powerful. It’s as if it were aware that he was speaking, and was almost attempting to speak over him, overpowering whatever words he was attempting to tell her. It grew even louder, not only covering the sounds spilling from the man’s lips, but also any semblance of thought Zelda could’ve put together in the midst of the sound.
When her father’s lips cease moving and the ringing calms, Zelda expects her head to hurt something terrible. She braces herself for the slow build of a migraine, having grow ever used to the sensation in her time on the ranch (she’s never been particularly good with loud sound, having to rest frequently while she helped).
The pain never comes.
Instead, what comes is a sense of warmth that envelopes her being. It doesn’t come from the fire, it doesn’t feel as though it could burn and scathe her. It feels simply comfortable, like a heavy blanket in a cold night.
Her father still does not seem bothered, focusing entirely on stirring the fruits in the pan before them. She can just make out the way the voltfruit sizzles beyond the faint ringing that continues urgingly in the back of her mind.
“Father?” She asks quietly. She can’t hear her own voice now. That sizzling fades back beneath the ringing and Zelda finds her eyes darting around in alarm, fear gripping her momentarily as all other sound fades.
What’s happening to her? Is she going deaf? Why now?
She forces herself to continue, her throat constricting as she squeezes what she hopes are the words; “Can you hear that?” out.
He squints at her, his face taking on an expression of pure confusion. His lips form words but no sound comes out. Or rather, Zelda can’t hear the words, but it looks like he simply said; “What?”
He truly is clueless.
Goddess, what the hell is going on?
She can’t force herself to speak anymore, each strained word making her heart constrict in discomfort even as that warmth attempts to soothe her. What is that?
The warmth swirls around her as she grows more panicked, and- if it were visible- she can imagine it wrapping itself around her like a scarf around her entire body, loosely covering her whole being until all she can feel is heat.
Her eyes dart up to the woods in front of them.
She doesn’t know what drew her gaze there. The sound is coming from inside her head she’s certain, so there’s nothing to search for, no being just beyond her line of sight playing some sort of horrible instrument into her ears.
The panic and fear leaves her suddenly, and Zelda straightens. She feels something touch her should roughly (her father’s hand, perhaps, grasping at his daughter as she seemingly loses her very mind right before him), but she ignores it, standing to gaze deeper into the trees.
That fear is replaced with something, she realizes. She can’t quite place this new feeling, however. It’s unlike anything she’s felt before, though perhaps it equates more closely to a sense of… belonging.
Belonging?
She looks around. They are still in the middle of the forest, there is nothing here to tell her she is in a dream. Movement stirs from behind her as her father rises from his seat as well, though she pays him no mind still, instead stepping forward toward where her eyes rest.
The ringing changes then, it lightens, though it’s no less powerful. It’s almost as if Zelda can… Understand it now. Her brain supplies her with meanings to the ringing.
Music.
Her father is calling after her, she notices distantly. Vaguely, she notices her feet are also moving away from their fire, toward the woods in front of her, toward music.
That song, she thinks, listening to the playful melody echo around her. It’s so familiar.
It feels like home.
As she walks forward, sticks and pebbles crunching and grinding beneath her feet, the ringing grows more insistent.
Then it changes it’s tone. The sound shifts gradually, growing more eerie. Almost sinister.
But it isn’t the voice (voice?) that’s sinister, it’s the things it’s saying to her.
There are whispers in her head now, with no discernable words. The only thing Zelda knows, though, is that they are the urgent words of someone who needs help.
Someone who is calling for her within their beautiful song.
She continues to walk
And then she is enveloped in smoke all so suddenly. Everything around her is covered in it, providing her with only the sight of grey as far as her eyes can see.
The smoke feels watery on her skin, covering her with a thin sheen of liquid, but it doesn’t interfere with her breathing in any way. She continues walking on, realizing belatedly and almost dully that she’s walking through fog- not smoke.
Cold fear grips her once more as she’s made more aware of her surroundings. The ringing fades back until it almost disappears. It makes one last sound in her mind- something like an apology- before disappearing entirely.
Whatever feelings she’d had before are gone now and Zelda feels herself once more. It’s not a nice feeling, she finds.
Zelda gasps and whips back around in the direction she’d come in.
She can’t see her father.
She can’t see anything.
Her chest feels like it collapses in on itself, her breathing becomes labored as she gasps. Her eyes are wide and something in the back of her mind supplies her with a word; panic.
Where is she?
Her thoughts race faster than she’d ever though possible as her mind asks her body questions she has no answer to.
Where is her father?
What’s going on?
What is this?
A strangled sob fights its way out of her throat and Zelda finds that her eyes are stinging sharply with unshed tears. She brings the palms of her hands up to rub at her eyes, gasping in harsh breaths that are wet with fog and cool with the air of the forest around her.
She is still in the forest.
As she realizes this, a voice echoes in her mind.
It is alright, it says.
Zelda finds herself listening most attentively, clinging to the soft and emotionless voice with everything in her.
Breathe. The next word comes.
Zelda’s breath begins to slow, though she hiccups roughly with more sobs. Her chest aches.
Breathe, Zelda.
There is no one here to harm you.
You are safe here.
You will not be lost.
The phrases continue in an endless string of reassurances until Zelda has calmed down enough to fully take in her surroundings.
Look.
She’s still in the woods. They look the same as they had without the fog. She remembers reading once about other realms (though it had been quite some time, she vaguely recalls a Zonai legend. Or was it Sheikah? The two peoples had never interacted, at least not pleasantly, but their techniques were fairly similar in the eyes of researchers). She clings to the thought, desperate and reaching.
It does pique her interest, and Zelda feels her heart slow considerably before she takes a step forward towards a small set of what appears to be stone ruins.
Zelda can hardly hear the crunch beneath her feet, though she knows there are hundreds of leaves on the ground beneath her. It’s another curious difference from the real world. Perhaps this realm is in a perpetual autumnal state?
Now that the thought occurs to her, she notices a chill in the air. Her surrounds her, though not uncomfortably so.
When Zelda reaches a set of ruins- a small walkway worn from the ages (what ages, she has no idea of, though she finds herself familiar with the area in a way she knows she shouldn’t be)- she notices a torch standing just outside the other end of the hall. It’s light flickers comfortingly, the crackling of the fire reminding her sharply of where she’d come from.
Father, she thinks. I have to get back to him. He’ll be so worried. He’ll be so angry.
The path is clear, The voice rings out in her mind again.
The path is clear to follow.
You need only listen to the song of your predecessors, Zelda.
Zelda feels herself drawn forward, toward the torch. She jogs towards it and reaches out to feel its warmth upon her hand, piercing through the cold of the fog.
She looks out ahead of her, into the vastness of the forest. It’s horribly foggy, even out there. She wouldn’t be able to see.
Zelda debates for a moment before reaching underneath the torch’s stand to twist the little fastener holding it in place. She manages with little difficulty and pulls the torch free, stepping out of the ruins completely.
For another moment, she simply stands in place, watching the fog swirl around her as it avoids the light of her torch. Its embers fly out into it, causing little vortexes of fog to float around them as if to make the way clear.
Zelda raises an eyebrow at this- fog doesn’t typically react like this to fire, at least not small ones like embers. Curious, she steps forward and reaches out her other hand in an attempt to touch the embers as they remain floating in the air.
As she moves, her ears twitch as she catches onto some sound in the distance.
The embers twirl towards the source of the music.
The song she’d heard before, it’s playing again, though now it is less playful and more mournful. It’s filled with sadness and distress, fear and acceptance all at once.
The instrument is familiar to her as well, though truly it’s as though the song is played through multiple at once even as the song clearly only has one source.
An ocarina, she thinks. Or perhaps a harp or a flute?
Testing, Zelda turns with the torch, facing the ruins.
Sure enough, the music fades out and the embers fall to the ground in silence instead of floating around in the air.
‘The path is clear’. This must be the path.
Following the embers of the torch and that sad song is as easy as it would sound, and Zelda finds herself running into no issues (as long as one doesn’t consider tripping over tree roots to be an issue. Those things are everywhere). The trees, however, do cause some of her fear to return.
The trees are dark and decaying, the bark almost black. Their actual trunks are almost entirely carved out. And they look like faces. Like twisted, cruel faces with sharp teeth ready to tear into anything or anyone they deem worthy of being eaten alive.
Zelda’s glad she has a torch. Light is good, she supposes. And I don’t think I would taste particularly appetizing. The humor of the thought helps, along with her literal consideration of whether or not she would taste good, as Zelda never had- and hopefully never would- considered eating human flesh.
The torch crackles more loudly suddenly and that music comes begins to slow in a sort of ritardando, drawing Zelda’s complete attention to it.
The torches glow dims and the embers begin to fade. Zelda briefly panics, feeling her pockets with her free hand to find anything that could relight the fire before she feels a different warmth on her.
Along with this warmth, the foggy wetness that had been clinging to her skin begins to fade, evaporating into the air as though the sun itself had sucked it from her being and into the clouds.
Zelda looks up again, finding that the torch has gone out completely, but she is not left in the darkness of the woods. Instead, she stands in a new forest, one brightly lit by large lamp-like structures that hang from the trees above and emit an incredible green light which shines down softly and warmly upon her.
The forest is so thick here, she can’t see the stars through the leaves, no matter how hard she looks. The green is completely impenetrable.
Zelda drops the torch and jogs forward into a large, empty log where the music seems to be coming from if the echo in it tells her anything. The green light grows brighter and Zelda feels her heart speed up again. Not in fear, but excitement.
The Lost Woods, she thinks. How could I not have known? It should’ve been so obvious.
Which, of course, makes this the Korok forest. The home of the Master Sword.
Zelda speeds up, almost running by the time she gets through the log and breaches through a small section of bushes. Upon reaching the other side, she freezes.
Before her lies a large opening in the woods, almost in a perfect circle. The lamps’ glow shines brightly into the area, flickering in satisfying patterns across the grass. Zelda’s eyes widen as she takes it in. It’s no longer humid in these woods, but a perfect temperature for the trees. It’s warm, and comfortable. It feels innately safe. It also smells wonderful. Zelda had never particularly cared for smells unless they were a specific property of something, but the smell of this forest- a forest blessed by the gods- is wonderful. Though she can’t quite describe why it differs to other forests.
Her eyes are suddenly drawn forward again when that ringing plays in her ears. There are no words this time. Just noise. A melody. One familiar to Zelda so deeply in her soul that she feels as if she’s being welcomed home by the loving arms of a dear friend.
There, in the center of the woods- framed by low-hanging branches and glowing blue Silent Princess flowers- is a stone pedestal holding a vibrant blue sword with an intricately designed hilt.
The Master Sword.
The Sword that Seals the Darkness.
The Blade of Evil’s Bane.
Zelda feels as though her heart will beat right out of her chest and she’ll die right then and there. Part of her almost wants to- to rest with in this spectacular moment for the rest of eternity.
She doesn’t even notice she’s moving until her right hand brushes against the hilt of the legendary blade and she jolts away.
“Ah.” Zelda jolts again, startled by the deep, rumbling voice that exclaims to her. She looks up with wide eyes as the enormous tree before her moves. It shifts, as if shaking itself awake, before its now-open eyes rest upon Zelda.
The Great Deku Tree, the title comes from the back of her mind.
“So thou art the chosen.” The tree phrases this as a question, though it’s clear to Zelda that he does not need her to answer him.
The tree seems to consider her for a moment, though Zelda cannot tell how she knows this with how his wooden eyes do not truly move. “I am almost… surprised.”
It takes her a moment, because of course it does. Zelda simply gapes at the legendary tree before her, her mouth agape and her hands hovering in the air where they’d tried to touch the Sacred Blade. She shakes her head.
“Why? Great Deku Tree.” She adds the title hastily, chiding herself internally.
“To put it simply, young hero, a Hylian girl hast never approached this pedestal to claim the title of hero.”
Hero. It’s both a reverent thought within Zelda’s mind and a word spoken to her somehow. Her hands begin to shake and she clenches them at her sides.
“I am a hero?” She’s almost embarrassed just asking. The Great Deku Tree had just said it; no Hylian girl has ever been the hero.
The tree chuckles at her, the sound rumbling through the ground so much that Zelda can feel the vibrations go through her whole body.
“I would presume so, for you stand before me now. No others outside of the royal family have made the journey through the Lost Woods.”
Zelda finds herself laughing a bit- almost bitterly- and shakes her head. “I heard a song… is that?” She leaves the question hanging in the air, unsure how to finish it. She’s unsure, truly, how to handle any of this.
She is so out of her depth.
“The song of the forest,” The Great Deku Tree supplies. “Played by familiar souls and heard by the hero.”
Zelda swallows down a rush a bile and shakes her head. “I am not… a hero, Great Deku Tree. I’m just a farmer…”
“Perhaps thou art not yet a hero, but this sword does not speak to just anyone.”
“So it was the sword that led me here as well?” The voice that had shown her the way, the melody that still rings through her head, belongs to the Master Sword? “The voice?”
“It was. Her words are quite eloquent, are they not?” The Great Tree seems to chuckle, the sound thunderous and grand. “Things are quite different than they have ever been, young hero. Never have I seen a Zelda come to me to bear the Sword that Seals the Darkness.”
“Never?” The wording is odd, Zelda finds. ‘A Zelda’, what does that mean? Perhaps he simply means ‘a woman’.
It’s still strange, though. The stories of legendary heroes go on for millennia and there had never once been a female hero? Although the princesses of light were heroes in their own right, Zelda supposes.
“Not once. Do not take this to heart, however, young hero. What you now say you lack in skill can be made up for in granted time.”
A bitter huff tears its way out of Zelda, and she hardly has time to regret it. “It may take a bit more than that.”
“You must start here.” The tree pauses meaningfully, his branches shaking a bit. “Grasp the sword. If you can pull it from its home in the stone, then we shall know for certain your destiny.”
Zelda looks down again, her eyes meeting the hilt of the Master Sword. It’s much larger than she’d ever imagined it. In its place in the ground, it almost reaches up to her chest.
It’s almost intimidating, even as its song flows gently and comfortingly through Zelda’s mind. This blade has been held by dozens of heroes, as far as Zelda knows. It’s seen journeys through time, it’s seen the Twilight Realm.
And Zelda was to be its next master?
How could she ever hope to live up to that?
“Do not fret so much, young hero. All must start somewhere.”
It makes Zelda think for a moment. Is this how the other heroes- her predecessors- had felt upon seeing the Master Sword? Had they been farmers? Workers? Men with families? Had they had doubts and fears? Had they had as little experience as Zelda when the blade and its goddess chose them?
The thought does little to comfort Zelda now, though. Her mind is already racing with the things she’ll have to do if she pulls this blade. Her life will be uprooted. The lives of every being in the world may come to depend on her.
That meant she couldn’t leave it. She couldn’t turn around and run back to her father and hope he didn’t get too mad about her disappearing for no apparent reason.
This was something she had to do now.
Zelda nods, mostly to herself, and reaches out.
Ever so slowly, her fingers wrap around the Master Sword’s hilt, one by one. The material is hard, but has some give to it.
For a while, she just stands like that, with her hand wrapped around the sword’s hilt so tightly her knuckles went completely white. It almost starts to hurt, how hard she’s holding onto it. She can almost feel the pattern of it ingrain into the skin of her palm before she finally brings her other hand to grip the sword just as tight.
With both hands firmly around the hilt, Zelda begins to pull. She groans with the effort and- for just a second- nothing happens. Then, with a small scraping sound, the sword begins to move. It slides out of the stone slowly. So slowly.
And then- with no fanfare, no celebration, or music, or anything- it’s out.
It’s free.
The Master Sword fits perfectly in Zelda’s hands, held up by her and her alone.
She hears a gasping that she belatedly realizes is coming from her.
She turns the sword in her hands until it rests horizontally across both her palms, the hilt in her left, the blade in her right.
The metal of the blade is so clear, so blue. It almost glows as Zelda holds on to it, lighting up before dimming again but it must be coming from the lamplight around them, because the sword can’t be glowing not for Zelda-
“So she has chosen.”
Zelda tears her eyes away from the sword to look back up at the Deku Tree.
“Your predecessors have never taken on this role, young Zelda, but for the Goddess to have made it so must be important.” The tree’s voice rumbles, sounding almost disconnected from the physical being itself. “It will not be easy, and it never has been, but the sword and the Goddess have chosen you. This must be for good reason. And the timing could be no better. The world is becoming shrouded in darkness, young Zelda. A darkness you must dispel.”
It’s such a large task. A weight upon her shoulders that she finds affects her immediately. The Great Deku Tree simply continues, though; “Do not fear your fate; accept it with a loving heart and a determined mind. I have not a doubt in my mind that you shall prevail in the end.”
Zelda’s mind, for once, is almost completely blank as the Deku Tree finishes speaking. And with these words, the forest fades around Zelda and a small chittering rings out before she finds herself standing back at the entrance to the Lost Woods.
She still grips the Master Sword.
“Zelda!” The deep, accented voice of her father calls out. “Zelda, my daughter, where have you gone?”
He sounds so distressed, but Zelda can’t bring herself to call back to him.
It doesn’t matter in the end, though, because Zelda hears his footsteps. They grow louder- not at all careful as he seems to jog as fast as he can through the forest- before she sees her father cut through the trees just in front of her.
He looks around wildly, calling for her again. His head shoots around in all different directions before finally stopping as he spots her. His eyes meet hers and he sprints toward her, panting.
“Where in the hell have you been? Do you know how long it’s been, Zelda? It’s been hours. I’ve been looking for you ever since you wandered off without a word-”
As he continues to scold her, Zelda simply stares into his eyes and holds up the Master Sword a little higher.
Her father stops as his eyes meet the blade.
He stares. His eyes flit across the whole sword before coming back up to meet Zelda’s.
They widen with realization and- Zelda realizes this with a rush of guilt and worry- fear.
Notes:
me, googling pictures of rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule to see his eye color:
also me, still not knowing his eye color:idk why i called that sheikah lady Lia originally so i actually gave her a sheikah name now😭
LON LON MENTIONED 💯
I say sheikah all the time because idk if it would be sheikan? sheikahn? who knows? certainly not me
I think i could've left the deku tree speaking normally as a thing because he's not the ORIGINAL deku tree but i wanted him to speak all fancy and old timey so here we are
Next chapter; Zelda and Rhoam discuss Zelda literally holding the fate of the world on her shoulders now.
I adore comments and interaction, so don't feel too weirded out by the idea of letting me know what you think!
Chapter 2: The Fate of the Kingdom
Summary:
Zelda has no idea what to do now, even as she grasps the Master Sword. It's clear her father is in much the same boat, though he seems to handle it differently than she does.
Notes:
Chapter 2 notes: 'wth happened girlypop you disappear for two hours and now ur a legend?'
Tday's (definitely not the same day as chap 1) song of the day is BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish!!!! too bad link and zelda havent met yet😭😭😭
REVISED CHAPTER TWO BABY YIPPEE
a reminder to keep in mind that as i rewrite there may be details repreated or that contradict one another in the next chapters until i get to them, so if this is ur first time reading, this is ur warning
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It only takes a moment for the fear and confusion to completely vanish from her father’s face, replaced with tightly-pressed lips and the furrowed brows that scream only ‘focus’ to Zelda.
He reaches for her- hand stuttering for a moment when he comes just a bit too close to brushing against the material of the Master Sword- his hand landing on the upper part of her right arm. His grasp tightens almost painfully and Zelda has less than a second to consider telling him to back off before he’s dragging her away from the treeline she’d come from and back towards the dying embers that used to be their campfire (it couldn’t have been that long, could it have? It’s still night time, if a little darker than when Zelda had left).
He’s completely silent all the while (it’s almost like the forest is too, waiting for something to happen, for one of them to say or do anything).
Upon reaching the sad pile of firewood, the man roughly sits Zelda down on the log they’d sat on before, the simmered fruit forgotten and spilled regretably over the ground of the alcove around their feet.
For a moment, that’s all that happens. Zelda still holds the Master Sword in her hands. It lies across her lap almost casually, if a thing of such power could be casual. It could almost be any other weapon- or even a stick- if Zelda wanted to force herself to believe such.
But if she were holding a simple stick or poorly-made farm sword like the one her father and his ranch hands have then the man wouldn’t be gazing at her with such an expression.
If a lack of expression can be an expression. His eyes are dull, almost glazed over, and Zelda’s not even sure if he’s looking at her or at the sword.
It’s still so quiet and she’s sure her sense of time is somehow warped as her father stares, as her mind comes up with endless doubts and scenarios of what could happen.
She imagines her father finally opening his mouth to scream at her, she imagines cowering back (pitiful), and simply taking any insults he’d hurl at her.
A nuisance, he’d call her.
A disgrace.
An idiot.
A foolish, naive girl who couldn’t possibly expect to be able to accomplish what the sword wants. How could she be so selfish? How could she take such a sacred weapon from the hands of a future person capable of wielding it?
How could she condemn the world so?
Her father finally moves and Zelda just barely manages not to cower. He doesn’t approach her, however, instead kneeling down to sit on the ground across from the fire from her.
It’s last embers shine in his face, making it appear as though his green eyes (so like the forest around them) are alight themselves, glowing with rage.
It would be fitting if they did, Zelda thinks. He’s probably so angry with me.
As she thinks, the sword- the Master Sword- Feels shockingly heavy in her lap. It’s as though the weapon could push through her knees and through the very core of the earth with its weight, tearing through everything in its path to do so.
She wants it off of her but finds she cannot move a muscle to remove it.
The way her father’s flame-filled eyes bore into her makes Zelda squirm. She doesn’t appreciate the silence, regardless of how long or not long it’s been since he’d found her (since she’d emerged from the Lost Woods). It allows her far too much time to think. Too much time for her mind to run away from her and carry her to places she’d never wish to go.
She would have to wage battles with this unfamiliar blade in her lap. Where it had felt so…right in the Korok Forest, the sword is now heavy and cold. No song, no words. Everything she’d been given in the woods has abandoned her. Is she meant to do all this alone?
She sniffles, and her father ignores the sound, still staring blankly at her.
She’ll be taken away, won’t she? She’ll be taken away to learn to use the blade, to learn to fight in wars, to learn the goddess’ will for her (to learn the way her life’s already been planned out for her).
All because she’d decided to follow a ringing in her head that told her to wander into a mysterious set of woods. Because she’d listened to that playful song as it turned mourning and chased it to its source (she never found the source, truly, though. Familiar souls, the Great Deku Tree had said. Whose souls? Why were they there? Why were they so sad?).
And still that ringing had yet to return.
She wishes the voice would come out now. Perhaps it could tell her what her father is thinking. She worries for him almost more than she does for herself. He can’t handle the ranch alone, not even with the numerous ranch hands. He needs her.
At the very least, Zelda thinks the sword could attempt to provide comfort like it had in the lost woods instead of abandoning her now that it has what it wanted.
But of course, it did not. That comfort and warmth had left- possibly never to return- leaving Zelda with only the chill of the night air attacking her skin.
Is she the problem, perhaps? Could a sword be disappointed? Could it hear her thoughts? Was it offended by her?
Zelda breathes deeply before taking the sword in her hands again. She’s surprised she didn’t have to brace herself for its weight, but it comes easily, lifting into her arms. Gently, she sets it down on the forest floor by her feet. Hidden partially in the tall grass, it at least looks somewhat unassuming.
Without the weight on her knees, Zelda finds it much easier to ignore the sword and focus on her father in front of her. His gaze still hasn’t moved even throughout her own movement.
The silence stretches on, hanging thick in the air like the fog that had clung to her skin only minutes ago (minutes? Hours?). There is no pause or respite while Zelda looks toward her father, her eyes on his eyebrows to avoid his blank stare.
“How-” He finally speaks, his voice croaking with an unfamiliar twinge of emotion. Zelda starts a bit at it, much to her displeasure. Her heart does a sort of flip at the sudden-spoken words. After another pause, their eyes meet and Zelda’s father continues. “How…did this happen?”
His eyes are still on her, only now they are not blank. Now, they glisten in the firelight under his furrowed eyebrows. They reflect her own image back at her, she’s sure, though she’s careful not to look hard enough to see it. She can only imagine how she must look; disheveled and stressed. Scared and pitiful, like a sick wild animal.
Zelda’s hands shake, so she wraps her arms around herself tightly and looks at the ground.
She doesn’t know what to say. What does one say in this sort of situation? I was called upon by the goddesses?
She should start from the beginning. Tell it how it is.
It’s just another fact, Zelda. She thinks. Just another story.
“There was…a ringing? Of some kind?” It’s phrased like a question, but Zelda makes it a point to finally meet her father’s gaze as she speaks. He can’t accuse her of lying if she makes total eye contact with him, she’s learned.
Seeing her father before her instead of a tree or ancient sword also provides its comfort to her, the familiar feeling the man instills her with giving her just enough confidence to allow her voice to come out relatively undisturbed.
“That was what you heard? When you asked me if I could hear something?”
Zelda nods.
“And this…ringing,” he pauses and sits up straighter. With that posture, this almost feels like an interrogation. “It told you to leave camp?”
There’s a bit of doubt in his voice, incredulity. Zelda wants to scoff at his disbelief, but she supposes she wouldn’t completely believe if herself if she hadn’t lived it.
“It didn’t say so much in words, but it sort of felt like that’s what it wanted.” Zelda tears her arms away from herself to rest them on her knees, if only to look more confident. “It was as if the ringing came to me as white noise, but morphed into words once it was in my head. I knew it wanted something, needed something.”
He levels her with an unreadable look. “And what did it need?”
It takes another moment for Zelda to respond. It hadn’t needed her, had it? It had seemed more like she needed it. But she knew what it wanted, whether for itself or for her. “Help.”
There’s another pregnant pause as Zelda’s father takes this in.
“It led me through the Lost Woods, and I found the sword in the Korok Forest.”
Another pause. “I see.”
The silence goes on again. It’s irritating. Cold and uncomfortable. The only sound Zelda can hear is the anxious stamping of her feet in the grass below her, which she quickly silences.
She stares into the crackling embers of their campfire and reaches behind her for more wood to distract herself. Then she remembers that more wood won’t really help at this point.
Moving on autopilot, Zelda kneels by the fire (carefully avoiding kneeling on top of the sword, its blade glinting at her in the reflection of the almost-dead fire) and tries to get it back up.
Her father watches her with a keen eye but she attempts to ignore it.
The logs feel rough in her palms, however calloused they may be.
The embers still feel so hot, even in the heat of the night.
There’s still no sound coming from the forest around them. It’s curious how everything seemed to stop once Zelda reemerged from the Lost Woods.
“I still don’t understand why you decided to wander off on your own.”
Zelda finishes starting up their fire before looking up to her father again. The words were half-hearted and weak, and his expression is sad. Zelda’s heart thumps loudly in her chest at the sight of him. It’s familiar, the look in his eyes. He used to look at her mother with that expression when she was too weak to get out of bed for something to eat or to fetch another blanket (he would bring every spare blanket they had and the three of them would spend the night in her mother’s sickroom, uncaring of whatever risk there may have been in it. They’d ignore the ranch work.).
“I couldn’t very well have avoided it. I would’ve put the whole world in danger.” It’s meant to be a joke, but even Zelda feels herself wincing at it.
“This is no joking matter, Zelda.” Her father scolds loudly, his face morphing back into a familiar expression of disappointment. “That sword…The whole kingdom will depend on you now, do you understand that? You hold the fate of the world in your two arms.”
Zelda flinches back at his tone, at his words.
“We’ll have to report this, Zelda. To the castle.”
It’s a thought she’s already had, but the words being spoken aloud make them suddenly so real, and it’s ridiculous for Zelda to feel this way when she knows the stories, when she’s known since she grabbed that sword what would happen. “I know…”
“They will probably take you away to train you. You may never come home again.” He needs to stop saying it. Please, she thinks.
“…I know.”
“Your life…” He breathes in shakily. “Will be very difficult.”
“I know, father.” A thought occurs to her. It’s a selfish, almost cruel thought, but alights her with hope regardless. “But… maybe we could wait?”
Her father furrows his brows further at her, the creases of his forehead deeper than she’s ever seen them. “Wait?”
“There are no signs of the Calamity…They don’t need me yet.” And it’s the truth. The Calamity was more of a legend than anything else, and- even then- people disagree on whether it truly ever happened. It’s not like the other stories; Everyone knows of how the Hero of Time prevented Hyrule’s destruction, everyone knows the Chosen Hero founded the kingdom. This Legendary Hero of the Calamity could be nothing more than another story, another fairytale.
Her father seems to think on that for a moment, and Zelda feels a small bundle of hope emerge within her from somewhere deep, deep in her chest. Even if- realistically- she knows something must happen, the sword resting by her knees is evidence enough, but perhaps it would not happen for a long time.
Her father sighs. “No,” he says, that single word crushing any hope Zelda had in her chest, replacing it with a familiar feeling of tightness in her heart. “You would have no chance of fighting Calamity Ganon without training. You need to go as soon as possible.”
“But it could be years, father!”
“Or it could be days.”
“It could be a decade! We have no way of knowing-”
“Zelda!” He shouts. Zelda looks back down at the ground, her body going tense and backing away from where she had almost been standing up. Her father softens. “We cannot wait. No matter how much we wish we could. The world will not wait for its hero.”
He stands then, groaning with the effort and Zelda offers her arm. He waves her away. He always waves her away, just like that.
“We should get some sleep,” he says softly. “And in the morning we’ll finish the journey to Castle Town.”
“Sleep?” Now? How could Zelda possibly sleep now?
“Yes, daughter. Sleep.” He rubs his forehead, face read and eyes glassy. “To think on it.”
Zelda knows there is no use in arguing, so she simply follows her father toward their tent and says; “Goodnight, father.”
He nods to her without looking her way before vanishing inside without another word.
Alone by their campfire, Zelda sits again. The sounds of the forest seem to start up again suddenly, as if triggered by a button or lever. Sunset Fireflies float by in the distance, undisturbed by the revelation they witnessed.
Zelda’s eyes feel wide open, so much so that she has no doubt she will not sleep tonight. Instead of trying, she looks down at her feet; where the Master Sword lay untouched.
For a moment, she stares at the beautiful blade. Then, she picks it up.
Where are you, she thinks. Why won’t you speak to me?
Will you be there to help me?
Will you teach me how to use you? How to fight?
Where did you go?
Nothing.
Not a sound launches itself through Zelda’s mind. The sword will not respond.
She sighs, taking off her mother’s shawl. She wraps it around the legendary sword before setting the bundle back down on the forest floor.
The fire crackles, embers flying almost too closed to the cloth.
Zelda stands silently, and goes inside the tent, closing the thick flap behind her.
Notes:
Next Chapter: Rhoam and Zelda are nice to each other for breakfast before setting out to change their lives forever
i was gonna say that it seemed like my original chapter 2 conpletely skipped over rhoams reaction but then i saw that there were like 99999999 words on it soooo...i added 9999999 moreI can tell i got tired when i originally wrote this as rhoam just randomly got up to go to sleep in the middle of their conversation with even less speaking than there is now😭
I adore comments and interaction, so don't feel too weirded out by the idea of letting me know what you think!
Chapter 3: The Inevitable
Summary:
After a sleepless night, Zelda finds herself up far too early. With so much time to think, it's only natural that her father would want to discuss their situation upon rising himself.
Notes:
Chapter Three Notes: 'Zelda is shit at ookin and Rhoam makes fun of her silly ass'
Tday's song of the day is the Video Games cover by Trixie Mattel 😼 and thats definitely NOT because i forgot to pick one so i picked the first song i shuffled to.
REVISED CHAPTER THREE LESSGOO WE'RE REALLY CRANKIN IT
this chapter is very weird and filler-y and i dont really like it (honestly i just think this a very strange place and execution for this sort of chapter but it kinda messes with the whole structure if i change it completely so) but i also do really like it at the same time sooo
a reminder to keep in mind that as i rewrite there may be details repeated or that contradict one another in the next chapters until i get to them, so if this is ur first time reading, this is ur warning
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
She’d thought back on it.
As she rested (a relative term. For Zelda, ‘resting’ in this scenario was simply lying on a thin blanket on the forest floor with her eyes wide open and her mind running rampant within her skull. Close enough to resting, if someone were to ask her), Zelda had come to the conclusion that maybe the forest floor outside was not the best location for a sacred blade.
That being said, she’d torn herself off the ground early in the morning (or perhaps still late in the night, she finds the moon is harder to track in the dark sky than the sun in a bright one) in order to retrieve the sword from the now-dead-again campfire.
She huffs as she gathers the bundle of sword in her arms, kicking through the remains of the fire. Its heat hadn’t truly done much. The chill of the night was much too stifling to leave the tent’s flap untied and Zelda’s father had gotten up with a huff soon after her entrance to fasten it shut against the night air.
By the time she’d risen, the air within the tent was still not comfortable. Though the fur didn’t allow her and her father’s body heat to exit the small space, there was still a chill. One that was impenetrable and rough.
She’s almost offended by the fire’s incapability.
Looking around, Zelda notes a lack of wood to build a new fire for breakfast. Of course, the fire that had taken so much effort to keep lit the previous night would be such a waste in the end. That is truly just their luck.
She also doesn’t particularly want to spend the next however many hours beside her father, his back tense as he faces away from her. Though she knows the reason, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Resigning herself to a morning (night?) of chores, Zelda carries the offending weapon to the cart, the crunching of leaves being the only thing leading her in the proper direction until her eyes adjust to the darkness.
Of course, Freya huffs upon seeing her approach (Malik seems to be asleep, thank the goddess. Zelda can’t handle any more of their judgement). Zelda pointedly ignores her, making a show of giving her a wide berth and marching around the cart before them.
She almost throws the sword into the back with no care at all before she catches herself. She quite literally catches herself, her arms coming back down and her fingers tightening around the blade so it doesn’t fall.
Maybe she shouldn’t throw a sacred weapon. No matter how offending it may be.
So Zelda carefully places the Master Sword’s bundle into the back of the cart, nestling it comfortably behind some of their other boxes so as to hide it from plain view. Hopefully- on the off chance that someone approached them- no one would question the rachet bundle of old cloth buried in the back of the equally-rachet cart.
Satisfied with her work, Zelda wipes her hands and pricks up her ears. Her father snores softly in the distance, a confirmation of his unconscious state. Zelda sighs in relief (her father hates when she disturbs his rest) and walks off, preparing herself to find sticks in a dark forest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finding wood was easier a task than she’d made it out to be in her own head. Of course, Zelda knew the process. She knew exactly the kind of wood she was looking for, the size, the type, the texture that would be best to burn. She thinks she did a very good job, given the darkness.
And it’s still dark (a testament to the early/late time, or Zelda’s ability to collect firewood, she doesn’t know. She’d like to believe it’s the latter, but a part of her knows better than to truly think so), and it’s still cold.
Zelda looks to the sky. She could start a fire whenever, though she isn’t sure if she should truly bother. She gathered enough wood for several fires, so that isn’t an issue, but she wonders if the effort would be worth it for a fire that only she would need.
Or she could wait for her father to rise.
Zelda can’t quite see the moon beyond the trees’ tops. She hopes that means it’s nearly morning.
She’ll wait on the fire.
Setting the large pile of wood in her arms on the alcove floor near the log, Zelda settles herself. For a moment, she just sits there, wringing her hands and listening to her own breaths, counting them along with her heartbeats.
In.
Out.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
In.
Out.
It’s so boring.
Zelda sighs, ignoring her heartbeats.
The sound of cicadas is constant. They had been silent along with everything else when she’d first emerged from the Lost Woods. Had they been listening? Watching?
Were they watching now?
Why would cicadas be watching her?
Goddess, Zelda. Stop being odd.
She wrings her fingers some more.
It really is cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time Zelda hears a loud sigh come from inside the tent, the sun is completely risen, shining through the trees with rays of light that would be beautiful if it weren’t for the temperature.
Now, it is entirely too hot.
It is extremely annoying.
Zelda had gotten up from her log yet again in the early morning to fetch her shawl from around the Master Sword (she needed it more than it did) to wrap it around herself. The scratchy fabric provided a comfort to her skin and mind that nearly made up for the night’s events.
It smelled like the ranch, too.
Taking her father’s sigh as a cue, Zelda begins piecing together a campfire and fetches another pot from their bag. She hadn’t bothered to clean the other one, with its fruity stench and syrupy coating. She had no idea where a water source near here would be anyway.
He emerges with a large rustling noise only as she lights the fire.
He steps out clumsily before stretching out his legs and back with rumbling groans and slight wheezes.
Zelda raises her eyes to meet his, green meeting blood-shot green.
He must have slept terribly.
“Good morning, father.” Her own voice comes out clear, though her eyes have grown heavy in her many hours of consciousness.
He hums, followed by a groan as something cracks. “Good morning, Zelda.”
It’s a formal greeting. Though he is physically very comfortable (or at least attempting to be so), Zelda knows her father’s tones better than anything, and the way his words are carefully even-toned tell her everything she needs to know.
He’s speaking to her as though she’s nothing more than a new ranch hand; someone he doesn’t know or care to know beyond in passing.
She takes a moment to look him over. Though he seems to have slept horribly (along with the red eyes, his lids are droopy, and his posture terribly slouched), the fatigue is wiped from him.
He stares at her. His green eyes seem to examine her, darting across her face nerve-wrackingly and Zelda shifts under his gaze before turning her attention back to the fire crackling in front of her feet.
Her father sighs. “How long have you been awake?” He asks her, voice low. “You did not make breakfast?”
He doesn’t seem truly concerned about the breakfast, Zelda thinks. His tone says otherwise. It still irks her- in a way- that that’s one of the first things he says to her upon waking. No ‘How are you?’, no ‘Aren’t you hot with that shawl?’, not even a ‘Where the hell is the sacred sword you claimed from the forest?’.
Regardless, Zelda answers accordingly; “You know I would burn these forests to the ground if I tried, father.”
He nods seriously. “Yes, you would.” He trudges forward then, heavy and slow footsteps carrying him to the log Zelda sits on. His breathing is so heavy by the time he reaches her that Zelda imagines she can hear it ratting through his lungs and throat.
It makes her heart constrict painfully. Only for a moment.
With a groan, her father seats himself beside her loudly.
She watches as he gains his breath back, then he says; “Go fetch some eggs from the cart, would you? Perhaps it’s time you learn to cook without threatening lives.”
He chuckles at his own remark, turning to the fire and poking it with a stick he finds on the ground.
“Yes, father.”
Zelda practically jogs her way to the cart, stopping only briefly to toss Freya and Malik some apples from the back (from a distance, of course. No need to get her hand snapped at by a horse’s strong jaw).
Eggs. They’re not a part of the shipment they’re making today, so Zelda had been apprehensive about bringing them. The mess would have been too much to handle should they have cracked along the journey; a very likely outcome.
Unfortunately for Zelda, no one really wanted to hear her arguments in the anti-egg department.
Fortunately for her now- as she searches through the Sheikah box dedicated to their personal belongings- all the eggs seem to be in perfectly decent condition. The only thing she notices is the stray crack or two running along a few of the eggs, but no yolk or runniness seeps through them.
Zelda carefully picks up six eggs, cradling them in her hands as she makes her way back to her father and the fire.
When she arrives, she finds the old man already has the spare pot she’d set out atop a stick spit-like structure over the fire much like the one he’d built before.
(As she settles beside him, she notes how he built it for the journey back; four sticks on parallel sides holding up a series of sticks across them. A very rudimentary design, but it seems to work. Zelda is filled with excitement for a moment, thinking of ways she could attempt to better it the next time. Then she remembers. There won’t be a next time. She won’t be joining her father on his journey back home. A pang of bitter sadness rushes through her.)
Her father takes the eggs from her graciously, sending her the first true smile she’s seen from him since before the Lost Woods Incident.
Making sure she’s watching, he carefully cracks each egg and pours them into the pan. He makes a bit of a show of it, slowly showing her each egg shell as he finishes.
She glares at the last shell as he throws it down by their feet.
“I know how to crack eggs, father.”
He huffs, “You know a lot of things from reading, sure, but have you ever done it?”
“I’ve cracked an egg before!”
“Really?” His tone turns challenging, though light. “Because I recall breakfast being brought up to you every morning.”
Zelda’s mouth pinches shut, her eyes narrowing. It’s bait, of course, but she’s never been good at avoiding such things.
“You don’t need to make eggs to break them.”
Zelda’s father guffaws once, eyes glittering in the light of the fire and the sun. He picks up a wooden spatula from his bag, breaking up the eggs just enough to separate the yolks before thrusting it into her empty hands.
“Show me how it’s done,” He demands.
Zelda rolls her eyes, but dutifully her now-spatula-filled hand moves to the pot and breaks the eggs up further. Once she’s satisfied with the quality of her scrambling job, She sets the spatula aside and holds out an expectant hand to her father, who promptly sets a small baggie of rock salt in her palm.
His eyes follow her every movement carefully, but the rest of his body makes no movement.
Zelda opens the baggie and peers inside. There is a lot of salt in here. As in, it almost spills out onto the forest floor when she opens it, there’s so much.
How much goes in?
Zelda glances helplessly between the bubbling eggs (bubbling? Are eggs supposed to form bubbles in them? It would make sense due to the heat, but eggs she’s been served have never had bubbles in them…Oh goddess, she needs to separate them again! How did it go so fast?) and her father’s clearly-amused face.
Quickly, Zelda tosses the bag lightly, hoping that a decent amount of salt finds it way into the pot. And it does. Almost half the contents of the little fabric baggie spills out onto the ground, but some of it lands inside the pot, which Zelda quickly begins stirring again.
Her father’s eyes are wide with disbelief.
“What?” Zelda snaps.
“You really have never cooked before…” It’s as though he’s realizing it for the first time, and Zelda wonders if he truly is. It wouldn’t be surprising, he’s rarely around her outside of outdoor work.
“I have!” Zelda yelps perhaps a bit loudly if her father’s reaction is any indication. “Just… a long time ago.”
The statement sobers her father slightly, probably telling him all he needs to know about when she’d last cooked. Regardless, he says nothing more, choosing instead to stare at her some more with a strange look in his eyes.
Zelda stares back questioningly, the embarrassment leaving her to be replaced with confusion.
After a few moments, her father blinks, turning back to the pot. “Watch the eggs.” He says.
Zelda makes a questioning sound before turning back to the pot, only to find the edges of their egg (as the eggs have by now cooked into one piece) turning a charred black. She exclaims an embarrassing noise and stirs the eggs quickly, effectively breaking them up again.
“You can’t look away from your cooking, Zelda. I understand you get easily distracted, but this is a skill you may just end up needing.”
(Why would she need to cook fighting a great evil? The thought sends shivers up her spine. Shivers her father seems to notice easily)
You’re the one distracting me on purpose, she wants to say. Instead, she says; “I know, father.” She very pointedly glares at her eggs, not looking up even as she speaks. “I just think there are more interesting things than cooking.”
“Perhaps you would enjoy it more if you actually put some time into it, and less time into reading.” His hands clasp together, almost wringing themselves as he also looks at anything but her. “Practical experience is much more necessary in this life.”
‘This life’. Zelda glares harder. “Whichever goddess invented cooking just doesn’t care for me, I think.”
“I don’t think the gods are all that interested in cooking, either.”
“A good reason for me not to be, then.”
Her father sighs heavily, but the sound is more fond than frustrated, which causes Zelda to finally tear her eyes away from her eggs and meet her father’s.
He’s staring right at her. His eyes aren’t blank like they were last night, no, now they hold only love. It’s warm and near unfamiliar. She hasn’t seen a look like this since her mother…
But along with that love seems to be something else, something which can only be a hint of sadness.
Zelda feels a jolt of anxiety go through her and her mind forcefully brings up the image of the Master Sword in her lap, their campfire reflecting orange along its long, blue blade. The beauty of it, even as she knew it had destroyed her life with its tempting words and mellow tones.
Her hands suddenly feel empty, and she wants nothing more than to grasp that strong hilt again and allow its intertwined pattern to meld itself into her palms.
She shakes her head.
“Zelda, daughter…” Her father starts, as if summoned by Zelda’s thoughts. His tone is dark and serious, like it had been last night.
She doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. She already knows what’s going to happen, she needs no more reminding.
“I think I should apologize for my behavior last night.”
Zelda ignores him and takes the pot off the fire, deeming the eggs good enough to be eaten. Plus, she doesn’t think she can focus on cooking and her father’s words. She sets the pot in between them on the ground, nearly burning her covered left foot.
“I believe we were both tired from our journey, and you frightened me greatly when you disappeared into the…Lost Woods.” His words sound tight and rehearsed, coming out strained but confident. Though there is no emotion behind them truly, even as his eyes display another story.
“I understand, father.” Zelda makes an attempt to start eating then, but throughout the moments it takes her to pick up a serving of food, her father doesn’t stop looking at her. He stares at her in a way that makes Zelda feel as though he sees through her.
“And your attitude about it doesn’t help.”
She slams her hand down, food forgotten as her chest constricts with anger. “My attitude?”
“You don’t seem to know what to think.” Her father huffs. After a moment, he shuffles closer to Zelda. “This will be a difficult endeavor, and it would bring me great comfort to know you are sure of yourself.”
“Well I’m not!” The admission comes out suddenly, shattering the peaceful image of the forest around her as birds fly above as though startled by her outburst. Her father, however, does not seem startled nor does he seem surprised.
“You’re not sure of yourself?”
Zelda swallows. “I’m not sure about…” She considers. What isn’t she sure of? Is it her own capabilities, her incapability, rather, to protect her land from a coming threat. Is it her father’s opinion of her? She lands on the answer rather quickly. “That. That sword, that fate. It cannot be mine.”
Because it’s the truth. It can’t be. There has to have been some kind of mistake. It is possible for a sacred weapon to malfunction? Zelda would think so, given the age of the Master Sword. Can it not be that it was simply wrong?
Her father’s look doesn’t change, but his eyebrows furrow slightly. “But you were certain enough to pull it in the first place.”
Zelda huffs in frustration, her hands clasping together before she slams them into her lap. She wracks her mind for the proper words to explain herself. “There was a magic in it, father.” She lands on. “The voice of the Master Sword, the way it guided me. I didn’t feel myself at all. I don’t know if I was confident, because I don’t know why I went at all!”
“But still you went,” he counters. “And the sword is still in our possession as far as I know.”
“It is.”
“Then what makes you keep it? What makes you accept your fate now when you were so unsure?” The way he puts it is almost demanding.
He doesn’t believe me.
“The way the Deku Tree put it, father…” Zelda thinks back to the words the Deku Tree had spoken.
‘I have not a doubt in my mind that you shall prevail in the end.’ That’s what he’d said.
“He was so sure in me. I thought I could be, too.”
“The Great Deku Tree spoke to you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he…Explain anything?”
Zelda shakes her head. It was partly the truth, as the Deku Tree hadn’t really told Zelda much. At least not of things she understood.
A loving heart and a determined mind.
Already she is forgetting her goal. Already she has let the Great Deku Tree down.
How is she meant to do this?
Her father closes his eyes and sighs. “I suppose that means it’s true then. You are to be the hero.”
There’s something about the words being spoken aloud that make Zelda startle. Her heart constricts in her chest and the air is taken right out of her lungs. Her eyes sting suddenly.
It’s a sudden fear, overwhelming in its power and stifling in its strength.
A hero…
The air is too thick, she can’t catch her breath.
“I thought we already knew that…” The words come out choked and pathetic, and her father must hear it because his eyes widen slightly at her.
Zelda tries to take a breath but chokes on it, and it hurts. Why can’t she breathe? Why is it so hot?
She gasps and her father rests a hand on her knee, gripping it tightly.
She zeroes in on the feeling.
It’s grounding in a way; the feeling of his hand. He squeezes in intervals she can’t manage to count in her state, but they help.
“I suppose I thought there could still be a way to change this.” He says.
Zelda sniffles and shakes her head wildly, looking up at the large man.
He makes a strange sound in the back of his throat and an odd expression comes on his face. He seems conflicted. His eyes dash around for a moment.
Her father takes his hand off her knee and- after only a moment of separation- wraps his arms around her.
Zelda sobs before she can stop herself. Tears pour down her face and onto her father’s shirt where she rests her head.
“Father-” She chokes, gripping his shirt so tight in her fingers that she thinks it could tear. She grasps her father tight to her, as though letting go would send her careening down a dark chasm. A chasm filled with only death and devastation. But he can protect her from that, can’t he? “I’m afraid.”
His arms tighten around her, enveloping her in warmth. He says nothing, he just lets Zelda cry in his arms, providing nothing more than his presence.
She’s not ready, she realizes. She doesn’t want to leave him; she doesn’t want to live in the castle.
She doesn’t want to be trained to fight in a war.
She doesn’t care about the war.
She wants to go home.
She wants to be a farmer, like she was always meant to be.
She wants her father.
It feels ridiculous. She’s still in his arms, he’s right there. But still, it’s as if she can already feel herself being torn away from him. She already misses everything she was supposed to have. Everything she could’ve had.
Zelda’s sobs finally calm, quieting as she loses her energy, but she doesn’t release her father’s shirt. She doesn’t even loosen her grip.
She feels his big hand come to rest on the back of her head, his other arm still wrapped around her small frame.
“I know.” He rocks her as he used to do when she was small, in the way he used to before her mother died. “I am too.”
He tries pulling away from her and- for just a foolish moment- she hangs on to him, pulling him back. She decides better of it, though, and forces herself away from him.
She looks up and meets his eyes, which are shining with unshed tears back at her. She can almost see her reflection in them. Her pathetic, weak reflection.
“But you are my daughter.” He says, moving his hands to grip her shoulders. “You are strong. I know you are.”
“But-”
“You were not ready for this, and that is…alright.” There’s an uncomfortable hesitation to his words, but Zelda chooses to ignore it, grasping onto what consolation he tries to give her from their now-vast differences in life. “In truth…I don’t think anyone could be ready for it.”
He looks away from her, and his face changes. His expression turns stony. Back to what she’s used to. “But you will be. And the Calamity will not stand a chance.”
He doesn’t speak again for a few moments. Zelda thinks he’s waiting on her to say something, but all she can manage are small little sniffs and gasps.
“I believe in you.”
He truly does believe in her.
Her father…believes she can fight.
“I-” She tries to speak, but the words get caught in her throat, the sound thick with tears and mucus. Instead, she just nods.
Her father smiles at her, tight-lipped but honest.
“Farming will certainly be difficult, now.” He rubs his long, white beard thoughtfully. “Your father’s getting a bit old, Zelda.”
Zelda laughs, and the air shifts. “Just a bit.”
He hums, looking into the fire in front of them. It crackles now and then, sending waves of embers towards them that Zelda now realizes she can feel charring her legs each time. It’s not an uncomfortable heat, though, she finds. It distracts from the heat of the day.
“Our eggs are cold.” Her father says suddenly, picking up their pot and making a show of examining the whole thing. “Though perhaps we’re better off.”
Zelda can’t help herself. She smacks him in the side with the arm closest to him, exclaiming in offense.
“Father?”
He hums, turning the pot over to allow the half-charred and over-seasoned eggs to spill out onto the forest floor.
“Do you think…Do you think this truly means the Calamity is coming?” Could it be more than a legend? She wants to ask.
“…I don’t know.”
“Father?”
He hums again.
“Could you make us something else for breakfast?”
“Of course.”
Notes:
Next Chapter: Rhoam and Zelda arrive in Castle Town and Zelda manages to get right where she needs to be without even trying.
Regardless of the quality of this chapter (I struggled kinda hard with it), I hope y'all are enjoying this so far!!! :)
Me, actively adding multiple scenes to this chapter: This is too SHORT 😡
rhoam originally said "watch you eggs?" in this chapter??? idk what that means but i can only assume ive fixed it correctly
i MIGHTVE made zelda a little too dumb when it comes to cooking but oh well she cant be a genius in everything
As always, I adore comments and interaction, so don't feel too weirded out by the idea of letting me know what you think!
Chapter 4: The Bakery Next Door
Summary:
With time to spare, Roderick takes Zelda to a bakery near his shop in Castle Town. The owner is sweet, and the fruitcake is delicious, but Zelda finds herself much more interested by the two strangers that wander in with confidence and familiarity.
Notes:
Tday's song of the day is You're Gonna Go Far byt Noah Kahan🥹🥹🥹
REVISED CHAPTER FOUR this is where the fun begins😼
I've also come to the conclusion that MOST of these chapters arent too bad, and dont need to be rewritten SO im gonna only rewrite up to like next chapter or so then just do some basic editing before moving on to the new stuff😼
a reminder to keep in mind that as i rewrite there may be details repeated or that contradict one another in the next chapters until i get to them, so if this is ur first time reading, this is ur warning
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They’d packed up their camp soon after breakfast (not eggs. Zelda’s father- in an effort to make up for their previous night, most likely- had had her bring him some fruit to remake the simmered fruit. She’d looked around when he’d said that, noting that some animal must have come by and eaten the spilled meal in what little time she wasn’t outside. Good for them), towing it all back to the cart.
Zelda had given voice to her concerns regarding the horses’ hooves, but her father had simply shrugged and said; “They can manage until we reach Castle Town.”
Freya and Malik- as though they could understand the words (perhaps they could. Zelda wouldn’t doubt that the horses would listen in on every little thing they said, the little judges)- huffed at them as they tied them back to the cart, leveling them with a blank horse-stare that somehow seemed to convey displeasure.
Zelda did feel a twinge of guilt when they’d left sight of the forest and the roads had taken on a fairly rough and rocky texture.
Regardless, since then, the roads have gotten smoother, and the air has gotten cooler the further West they’ve traveled (Zelda assumes it’s the cool breeze blowing in from the regions of Hebra rather than any particular climate in Central Hyrule). The air is crisp compared to the humidity of the woods around the Korok Forest.
It’s nice. The gradual shift had relaxed Zelda’s body in a way that she hadn’t felt for days.
The biggest issue had been glaring and shining a vibrant blue in the back of their cart; the Master Sword. It wasn’t something that her father wanted just thrown about, apparently, as before they’d left their campsite, he had thrust his large cloak at her, ordering her to wear in and keep the Master Sword hidden on her back under its hood. It had been too hot there, but the old man hadn’t cared. He only cared that Zelda keep that sword safe and tucked away.
She’d offered to keep her mother’s shawl wrapped around it but- much like she’d observed that night- the sword’s hilt was still far too recognizable.
Zelda has gotten used to its weight upon her back in the most literal sense. She can no longer feel its heavy metal pulling her back straight, nor does she notice the sharp pain run down her spine as the blade occasionally shifts at an odd angle.
The feeling the sword wrought within her- however- has yet to calm. Though its voice no longer reaches out to her, no longer soothes or advises her, there is a certain emotion that comes from simply having the blade strapped against her like this. It is indescribable at best and intrusive at worst.
There’s a connection, Zelda knows. She’s read before about the supposed link between the Master Sword and its wielder. How the sword seemed to fit perfectly with the fighter, morphing into them as though it had always been there. She finds the sensation unpleasant, however. It’s almost a nudge at the back of her mind, telling her things and making her feel in ways she knows she doesn’t truly feel.
Zelda shakes her head vigorously, urging the feeling to fade, though it doesn’t truly (She supposes she will just have to get used to it, as she has gotten used to the weight on her back).
Desperate for a distraction and unwilling to turn to her father for further conversation (he has been much softer-spoken with her since their last discussion, though there is always that pain in his eyes, a feeling of pity and sadness and almost anger that Zelda can’t help but see so vividly in him when she speaks.), Zelda turns to the road in front of them.
It is truly a good thing they’d stopped for the night as the fields here have several campsites set up, with guards and knights surrounding them going through all kinds of things they must have found in the night.
From this distance, Zelda can hardly tell just what they’re looking at, but the fields give her enough information to guess at the night’s events.
Some of the grass is deeply charred and a few crop fields are razed completely. It is a shocking sight.
They’d followed the road coming from behind Hyrule Castle, the great palace looming over them, but providing cover for the fields for just long enough for the sight to send a shock through Zelda’s system when they round a final corner and see the fields.
They follow along the Eastern wall of Castle Town, watching. Zelda can smell the harsh scent of recent fires and see what little of those fields had been salvaged.
There must have been so many monsters. More than she’s ever heard about. And- if not monsters- than some other horrid type of attack to be able to do so much damage in a night (though she has no way of knowing it all happened the night before, something in Zelda tells her it did. It sends a wave of fright down her spine which is quickly hushed by that intrusive feeling the sword upon her back sends).
(Perhaps that’s why it chose her when it did? Not because she was needed, but because someone was.)
The thought is almost comforting. It should be terribly embarrassing. Humiliating, even. To be chosen at random simply because of the times. And it is, as Zelda feels a burning within her chest that she recognizes deeply as a sensation of rejection and doubt, though she finds her relief overpowers it.
This means she isn’t a hero. Not truly.
These thoughts occupy Zelda until she spies an old man sitting at one of the knights’ campsites. He’s hunched over with his head in his hands, appearing fragile and pitiful. A knight approaches him with a blanket but the man doesn’t appear to notice anything around him. He just sits there, his shoulders shaking so hard his whole body quivers with the movement. Zelda can’t tell if he’s crying or shaking in fear or anger.
Their cart approaches the campsite slowly, Zelda watching all the while.
Finally, the knight puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, and the man looks up. His face is a deep red, sun-kissed but also covered with a painful mixture of emotion that makes Zelda’s heart clench within her breast. He accepts the blanket with a nod and goes right back to hunching over. As the blanket slides off his shaking shoulders, the knight sits beside him and holds it in place.
Zelda watches on as the man leans into the knight, probably subconsciously. The knight does not pull away as Zelda expects him to, however, simply rubbing the man’s shoulder comfortingly in an act of kindness that she is sure the man will not forget anytime soon.
She looks over at her father, unwillingly picturing him in the man’s place. She pictures him alone at their farm, working tirelessly to keep the place he paid for. She pictures Bokoblins overpowering him (If there were so many in Central Hyrule, it is only a matter of time before they approach Kakariko and their ranch), razing their fields, taking their horses, destroying everything they’d ever had.
“I suppose it was for the best we stopped then.”
Zelda startles, blinking rapidly as the horrendous images fade from her mind.
Her father looks out the corner of his eye at her and then back to the road. Even in that brief glimpse, Zelda can see the way he pities her, the pain he feels.
“…Yes.” She answers simply.
Her father sighs heavily.
“Excuse me!” Heavy footsteps approach them, accented by the sound of clanking steel on steel. Zelda’s father pulls on the reins roughly, a look of surprise painting his face as he does so. The abrupt stop sends both of their bodies careening forward slightly and Freya and Malik rear up off the ground a bit.
The two look back to see a Hyrulean knight running towards them from down the road, the blue on his uniform shining in the sun and his armor tarnished.
The knight comes around the side of the cart and stands beside Zelda on the ground. He pats the side of the wooden vehicle and leans against it, huffing. “Thank you.”
Zelda’s father leans over, practically leaning on top of her and Zelda’s nose is filled with his unbathed scent. She scrunches her nose and looks away to avoid inhaling it. “Is there a problem, Sir?”
There is a curiosity in his voice to match that of Zelda’s thoughts.
The knight shakes his head, “Not unless you make one.” He takes a moment to catch his breath, seemingly not used to the heavy uniform he wears. Examining him, Zelda notes that he is a bit heavier-set, and seems uncomfortable. He continues on after a moment. “I’m just checking up on you, making sure you weren’t bothered in the night.”
Zelda’s father shakes his head. “We camped up north,” he says simply and concisely. “We did not notice anything amiss until we entered Hyrule Field.”
The knight seems terribly confused, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slightly agape. His voice comes out pitched questioningly; “There were no monsters up north?”
“We were just outside Korok Forest,” Zelda interjects, pushing insistently on her father’s shoulder. Finally, he moves over and Zelda can breathe easy again.
“Korok Forest, eh?” The knight hums. All traces of confusion leave his face only to be replaced with squinting eyes and a pinched expression. “I didn’t think there were farms up that far.”
“We had to go through Akkala. The paths were best for the cart there.” Zelda’s father laughs. “This old thing’s overdue to get replaced, don’t you agree, sir?”
With a look at their rachet cart, the knight says; “With respect, yes I do.”
He stops huffing and stands straight up. His armor clanks against the side of the cart and he moves to adjust it before seeming to decide better of it, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly off his sides. “Can I get your names? Just for safety?”
Her father nods. “Of course. Rhoam and Zelda Bosphoramus.”
“Bosphoramus?” The knight whistles lowly. “That’s an ancient name.” His eyes are comically wide as he tilts his head curiously.
“Yes.” Her father smiles tightly, most likely used to this line of questioning. “My grandfather is the one who dropped the title of ‘Duke’.”
“Willem Bosphoramus?”
“The very same.”
Zelda almost laughs at the tone of annoyance in his voice. Her father has always been clear on his opinion of her great-grandfather. He believed the man gave up a life of ease with no consideration for anyone beyond himself and his own displeasure at court life.
Zelda adores the story, though; a young duke- hardly more than 17 years old, barely even a duke at all- abdicating his title to seek a life of simplicity and hard work in the mountains. It’s believed that he left for her great-grandmother (also named Zelda, ironically enough), who adored the idea of running a ranch.
The knight plows on. “That’s really something. I’ve heard conflicting things about your grandfather then.” He shakes his head. “Sounds just like nobility, though, if you ask me.”
Zelda feels her ears perk up. The man’s voice holds a definite level of bitterness in it, and his openness on the topic is intriguing.
“What makes you say that…Sir?” Her father adds the title after a very pointed pause.
The knight doesn’t seem to notice it, because he just rolls his eyes. “A lot of reasons. I’m sure you’ll find out in town.”
Suddenly, the knight looks behind himself. Zelda follows his gaze to see another knight- one clearly much older- standing with his arms crossed (or as close as they can get in such heavy armor), waiting impatiently. “Speaking of which, I’ll let you get on your way. Sir, miss. Just keep following the road.”
And as if he didn’t already know, Zelda’s father nods. “Thank you.”
The wood of their cart creaks loudly as they start moving again, the horses blowing and shaking their heads at the sudden strike of the reins.
“Zelda.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Do you know what needs to be done in town?”
Zelda runs through the lists in her head. Each deliver and address she had run through numerous times before leaving the ranch comes across her mind quickly and with the ease of a topic she knows much about. A rush of pride comes through her. “Yes, father.”
“Good.”
They keep moving with no further discussion (And Zelda feels only a slight disappointment at this), only stopping again once they reach the fortified stone walls of Castle Town. The torches around the sides of the entrance have little to no effect in the light of the afternoon sun, and the shadows cast by the solid walls seem impenetrable thanks to it.
The walls are otherwise plain, not that Zelda would’ve expected different seeing as they are there for primarily defensive purposes and she knows from the city’s history that it is very effective for that purpose.
(And- she supposes- from the sight of Hyrule Field)
A guard up above spots them and Zelda’s father lifts a hand to wave at him for entry. The guard gives him a heavy nod and heads inside the small tower next to him. A moment later, the gate to the city opens.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda has not a moment more to look around before her father is already urging Freya and Malik forward, sending the cart forward in its rickety way.
Her father hardly even allows the gates to open all the way before moving and Zelda eyes him, her ears twitching despite herself before forcing herself to look forward once more.
Once she has, however, it isn’t too terribly difficult to keep them that way (she thinks she would genuinely have trouble tearing her eyes away from the sight she sees now rather than the sight of her father’s dull gaze).
What immediately meets Zelda’s eyes (and what truly shocks her to her core despite the fact that she already has knowledge of this) is the sheer amount of people in the plaza- because that is what greets them upon entry.
What she can see is a grand plaza in the form of a circle, the stone on the ground twirling in towards a lavish fountain in an intricate, path-like design. The fountain itself is nearly as tall as the guesthouses on their ranch, much to Zelda’s excitement, and the top piece depicts the crest of Hyrule complete with the triforce and wing-like structure.
There are children playing in it that she can make out through the dense crowds that part only enough for their cart to inch by. The water cascades down into their waiting, grabby hands, and Zelda thinks she imagines more than actually hears their laughter.
What strikes her is the plaza’s beauty. The way the stones swirl almost reminds Zelda of the roads in old picture books, like it was intended for someone to walk the rounded path into the center of town, where a grand portal or ceremony would await its hero.
(The thought of a hero here brings no dread to Zelda, instead filling her with a girlish glee)
On the outskirts of the plaza lay numerous stands representing shops that must not lie near the middle. They all appear fairly similar- as do the brick and wood buildings behind them- but they are very ornately decorated with carved wood that shines in the sunlight.
Zelda’s eyes land unwillingly on a few dessert stands, her stomach rumbling slightly.
The shops there also form a circle in the same distance as the stone plaza, and Zelda watches the hoards of people that rush to a fro, into and out of the buildings.
It’s so loud. Though the sound feels like more of a pleasant buzz than the overstimulating nightmare Zelda had always pictured when people would tell her of Castle Town, she still finds her head whipping around to catch every movement and noise that comes. The clanking of armor bothers her most, though no one else is bothered by it.
The cart turns quite suddenly, and Zelda jolts as she loses sight of the plaza before they come to a stop completely in a darker (and significantly emptier) alley.
She looks to her father just as he clambers off of his seat, groaning with the effort, and Zelda makes to follow him before he lifts a hand to stop her.
“I need to speak with Verily,” He says, gesturing to a wall which Zelda presumes to be the backside of the blacksmith’s shop based on the name of the woman.
(She’s questioned sometimes- within her own mind, of course- her father’s attachment to Verily the Blacksmith. He very rarely has work done on tools that he cannot perform himself, and he has no use for weapons or armor.)
He points to his other side then, to a small back door. “I need you to go in there and gather the rest of our order. Can you do that?”
The way he asks is almost condescending, and it almost manages to rip Zelda’s excitement right out of her like a dangerous object being torn from the hands of a greedy child.
She pinches her lips together and barely resists the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. “Of course, Father.”
“Good girl.” And- with that- he walks off toward the plaza. His steps are slow and heavy as Zelda watches on.
She sighs.
Zelda adjusts her cloak briefly, pulling the oversized hood up away from her eyes where it had fallen. She allows her hand to travel behind her head and grip the hilt of the Master Sword, which thankfully still lies undisturbed strapped to her back.
She realizes belatedly that she had not been thinking of it for a while, its presence forgotten though it is attached to her. Feeling its hilt and being reminded of it is almost a comfort.
Zelda shakes the thought away stubbornly, fixing her hood again and making her way to the back of the cart.
She makes quick work of gathering up the remaining Sheikah boxes- pausing only briefly outside of the door to consider what she’s supposed to do with them- before swinging the door open carefully and carrying them right inside the shop’s doorway.
The inside of the shop isn’t much brighter than the alleyway outside had been, and the smell of wood shavings hits Zelda’s senses in a wave, like oncoming wind.
Once she closes the door and allows her eyes to adjust to the dark light, it becomes very clear why because the room is very clearly a workshop. Each wall has a long table backed against it, the wood of them dark and rotting as opposed to the ornate carvings of animals strewn about the shelves and floors. Zelda almost trips over one of a fawn, grimacing as she readjusts it.
Suddenly, from the next room in- behind a shabby wooden door that emanated far more light than this room has- a jolly, masculine voice comes;
“Hello!”
Zelda jumps at the voice, almost knocking the wooden fawn right back over.
A moment later, the door in front of Zelda swings open and a very tall, slender man enters. He has a bright smile plastered to his face that reaches up to his eyes and wrinkles his face in an easy expression.
His voice is equally as kind when he asks; “That a delivery for me, dear?”
Zelda stares for a moment, her heart pounding, before she promptly remembers how to speak. “Yes,” She clears her throat awkwardly when the word comes out wobbly. “My father Rhoam sent me?”
“Ah, yes! Of course!” The man claps his hands together and practically jogs over to Zelda, taking the box she’d been holding in her hands. “I’ve been waiting for you. Follow me!”
Zelda stares after the man as he leaps back into the main room of the shop. For a moment, she just stands there. Almost reluctantly, she scoops up a few of the smaller boxes at her feet and follows after him.
(She wonders what time of day it is to have this man in such a good mood. She had- unfortunately- neglected checking the sun periodically upon reaching Hyrule Field.)
She enters the small shop to see the man already unpacking the things from inside his box onto the counter in front of the door. Zelda sets her box beside his and dutifully follows his lead as she inspects the peculiar room.
The floor is carpeted with a funny, red rectangular pattern that seems to curve out instead of how the main area of the town turns inwards. It clashes harshly against the warm yellowish wood of the walls and the shelves that line each wall door-to-door.
The shelves, however, hold a large variety of items ranging from wooden carvings like what she’d seen in the workshop to various vegetables and tools. None of it seems organized in a particular manner, but it is extremely colorful.
So much so it almost hurts her eyes to look at, as though she were looking directly into the sun (but much darker and less dangerous to look into. So not terribly like the sun at all…).
The man spares a short moment to look at Zelda. “You can pile the rest of those crates over here by me, dear, and I’ll take care of them!” He has a rough accent that rolls off his tongue in such a way that Zelda’s never heard before in such a voice.
It doesn’t seem like the accent of a city man. Perhaps it comes from the more Western regions of Hyrule?
Zelda nods, “Thank you.”
The man waves her off with a broad smile still plastered on his face. “I think I should be thanking you for bringing this stuff!”
Zelda only nods again, a smile she hopes doesn’t seem forced finding its way onto her face.
Together, the two make quick work of unpacking each of the crates Zelda and her father had delivered. As they work, the man- who introduces himself as Roderick- regales Zelda of tales of his shop.
Apparently the man did come from the west, having worked in Rito Village for a time as a seller of foreign goods before his sons were born. He moved to Castle Town with his wife twenty years ago and built this business from the ground-up.
When Zelda asks about the type of business- unsure regarding the variety in the room- Roderick smiles and says that he sells ‘only what others don’t buy’.
The statement gives Zelda pause and she hesitates before jumping right back into helping the man, pushing her thoughts on that to the back burner.
By the time they are done, the shelves are satisfyingly full of almost everything the shop had needed. The shopkeeper brushes off his hands in a wide gesture before waving Zelda to follow him back to the main counter.
Standing opposite the man over the shelf, Zelda rests her hands on the counter and takes down her hood, laying it carefully so that it still rests covering the hilt of the Master Sword.
“You know,” The man says, flinging his hand out to Zelda so suddenly she almost jumps. “I know your dad pretty well.”
Zelda takes the offered hand, shaking it once firmly. “I’ve heard him speak about you, I believe.”
“Really?” Somehow, Roderick’s smile gets wider and Zelda’s almost worried it’ll fall right off his face. “Oh, that’s nice to hear. An old man doesn’t like being forgotten.” He laughs at his own remark.
“Certainly not!” Zelda laughs along obligingly.
“So what brought you along this time?” Roderick eyes her, searching her face for something. “I’ve heard things about you before, but having you here in the flesh is something else! Here for the festival?” The word causes an immediate reaction within Zelda, but she tries not to let it show.
(She finds her excitement can sometimes be…stifling)
“There’s a festival?” Zelda allows her curiosity to edge into her tone, unwilling to hold it back for much longer. “I’m only here to learn what my father does so I can take over when he gets too old.”
Roderick guffaws, “Don’t tell him that, eh?”
“I wasn’t planning to. You said something about a festival?” This time, her excitement must have been embarrassingly clear, because Roderick only smiles wider at her. Abandoning the pretense, Zelda leaps right in. “What for? Is it an anniversary of something? I’m not sure I’ve heard of anything around this time of year, and I’m sure I would’ve.”
Roderick shakes his head, smile smaller though no less strong. “The festival’s for the Prince’s birthday.” He answers simply, and Zelda feels her ears twitch and her eyes squint against her will. How had she not heard of something so important? “
It’s truly a wonderful time for Castle Town,” he continues, undeterred by her confusion. “All the decorations, all the people. Even the queen makes an appearance, though the prince usually doesn’t.”
Zelda’s head tilts a bit. “The prince doesn’t appear to his own birthday celebrations?”
Roderick shrugs, “Eh, I’m sure he finds himself busier with more official celebrations.” He puffs up his chest playfully as he speaks. “Princely duties, I’m sure. But it does make you wonder what the point is, doesn’t it?”
Zelda hums, drumming her fingers against the counter. It’s not unheard of for a royal to be unwilling to engage with the public. It’s simply unsatisfying.
Every legend Zelda enjoys comes with a royal beloved by the people, though it seems the real Hyrule- or perhaps simply the modern Hyrule- does not exist as such.
And that’s not even to mention how rude that is, but it isn’t really Zelda’s place to say so.
“I heard,” she says, attempting to slightly shift the conversation. She’d been curious about this ever since that knight outside had said what he did. “that the prince isn’t very worthy.”
Roderick’s smile fades, and Zelda immediately feels sort of bad. Guilt rises in her chest.
Then he just stares at her for a few moments, as if gauging her intentions with the statement. His eyes bore into her in a way that almost rivals her father’s own scathing looks before he seems to decide on something.
Just before Zelda can take her statement back with a few hastily-planned apologies, Roderick sighs wearily, “Some would say so, I suppose. I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?” She finds herself asking despite not truly being too curious about it.
Zelda’s father had always spent time speaking about his beliefs on the monarchy (he wholeheartedly supports the queen, but had his doubts about the other nobility she allowed to assist her in diplomatic matters. Primarily representatives from the other Hyrulean races.), and he believes that no one can truly toe the line with their beliefs.
As if reading her mind, Roderick says; “Well, dear, sometimes things aren’t simple. For example, I believe in giving everyone a chance,” he give her a meaningful look at this before his eyes sweep over his own shop and Zelda knows immediately what he’s referring to. “and that’s something not a lot of people allow the prince.”
“So he doesn’t get much respect, I take it?”
“Not an ounce.” He shakes his head. “Not an ounce.”
Despite herself, Zelda finds herself lacking empathy for the situation. A prince who will not interact with his people on a day celebrating him lacks respect. It’s leaves little to be wondered about.
A few dreary moments pass. The tangible, uplifting mood that had struck Zelda upon her entry to this building has faded significantly into something awkward and cold. It’s more familiar, in a way.
Almost comfortable.
But clearly Roderick doesn’t see it that way. “How’s the farm, dear?” With no segue, he changes the subject. His smile returns to his face, but it’s clearly strained and his eyes almost beg her to accept his attempt.
The smile is so painfully wide is makes him look as though he’s wearing a mask over his true face.
(How poetic, Zelda)
Zelda takes pity, feeling guilty for souring his mood. “The same as always, I believe. Not too much to report.”
“Russa taking it easy?” His eyes light up more genuinely as he seems to think about the Sheikah woman.
Zelda scoffs, “Never.”
With that, Roderick laughs again. “No, no. She wouldn’t know ‘easy’ if it shot her with her own bow!”
Zelda lets out a harsh snort, caught off guard by the statement.
She slaps a hand over her mouth in embarrassment but her glee must still show through her eyes.
Zelda startles as the doorknob of the back door rattles loudly as someone clearly tries to get in through the workshop.
It rattles again and Zelda looks around in alarm, searching for something to fight off the would-be robbers, but she finds that Roderick gives the door a mischievous look, no worry evident in him at all.
It rattles one more time, the entire doorframe shaking with the effort of whatever was pushing on it.
“Dad?” Another rattle and the doorknob wiggles visibly (and audibly), as a soft voice cuts through. “Why’s the door locked?”
Zelda’s heart feels as though it stops upon the words, the quivering in her body ceasing the moment the situation becomes clear.
Roderick must see this, as he pats her gently on the shoulder before looking back to the door.
A deeper voice comes through, cutting off the softer voice of the first boy. “Let us in!” He bangs his fist against the door so hard it shakes again. Zelda imagines the whole building would shake if he struck any harder, given how old it appeared.
This voice lacks the intimidation he must be going for, being entirely full of bravado instead. Or perhaps, that is what he was going for. Regardless, Zelda finds herself much less fearful and a lot more unimpressed and borderline amused.
Roderick laughs, rushing to the door. “Alright, Groose, calm yourself!” The door opens to reveal a tall, muscular man standing in front of a slightly shorter, disheveled boy. His fist is still raised as if to bang against the door. He glares half-heartedly at Roderick before his eyes sweep over the man’s shoulder and land on Zelda. His face lights up.
Pushing past Roderick unceremoniously, the man- Groose- comes to stand directly in front of Zelda. She has to crane her neck up uncomfortably to make eye contact with him at this distance.
Upon closer inspection, Groose doesn’t seem much older than Zelda, though he holds himself as though he is. His red eyes gleam with joy and his sweeps a hand through his equally red hair, which is styled in a very tall and frankly ridiculous pompadour.
“Well, hi there.” He says, voice lowered but still holding a tone of bravado and egotism that Zelda can almost smell through the scent of his acrid sweat.
Zelda turns her nose up at him and blinks, unimpressed. “Hello.”
Groose’s mouth opens to send a toothy smile her way (looking nothing like his father’s own joyful expression), but she can hardly make it out over the wall of muscle that is his chest puffing out almost directly into her line of sight. She takes a few steps back.
“Miss Zelda could use your guys’ help packing up her order, Groose.” Roderick announces, undisturbed from his position behind the counter.
Zelda turns to look at him, but he only winks at her, gesturing to a small notepad in front of him.
The floor creaks under Groose’s heavy footsteps as he sighs heavily before he turns around toward the door, then back to Zelda.
“That your cart out there?” He raises an eyebrow at her.
“Yes.”
They stare at each other for a few moments, Groose picking back up that ridiculous smile. When Zelda doesn’t seem to respond the way he wants her to, his shoulders visibly drop (he almost pouts. Pouts!) and he turns to his father. “Where’s the order?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Watching these boys load Zelda’s cart with whatever goddess-forsaken items her father ordered that must be in all those crates is like watching a building slowly set itself on fire, Zelda thinks.
The smaller boy (she’d learned that his name is Fledge and he’s Roderick’s younger son. She wonders where such a name came from, but finds that it fits the timid boy before her) seems to have a difficult time carrying the crates.
They’ve been arguing about it. Or- more accurately- Groose has been berating Fledge for his lack of physical strength and Fledge had been taking it with a down-turned look. Zelda sent glares towards Groose each time, resulting in the tall boy having at least enough decency to look a bit sheepish before he inevitably did it again.
Now, Zelda watches from her place by the back entrance as Fledge struggles admirably with a large crate.
She can almost take so much of it, though, and finds herself shaking her head and marching forward to assist the poor boy.
As she approaches, Fledge looks up from the crate- having been bent over it and lifting with enough might to throw out his back- and frowns, sweat dripping down from his brow.
“Oh, uh-” He stutters for a moment, alternating awkwardly between continuing to try to lift the crate and standing straight to meet her eyes. He bends up and down a few times before stopping looking at her, mouth pinched and eyes almost glistening with embarrassment.
“Do you- Did you need something?” He continues. “M-miss Zelda?”
(There’s a moment of annoyance within Zelda. It’s a heat in her chest that makes her clench her teeth and flex her hands. Then she takes in Fledge’s expression and the annoyance is replaced with burning guilt.)
She smiles, hoping it doesn’t appear too forced. “Do you need help?” She gestures to the box.
Fledge’s eyes follow her arm slowly all the way down until they reach the crate, still sitting exactly where it had been when he’d started. They then slowly make their way back up to her face.
His face goes red. “No- I mean, yes, but not-”
Suddenly he exclaims and lurches forward towards Zelda. She yelps, stepping back and allowing him to fall forward to the ground.
With his body out of the way, Zelda sees the reason: Groose stands there before her, hands still outstretched from where he’d surely pushed the other boy down, looking entirely too proud of himself.
“Don’t worry about it, Zelda.” He says, sweeping a hand through his hair and gazing down at her with a strange squinted look (She assumes he’s attempting to send her a flirtatious look, but given the nature of it, she refuses to see it as such). “Just let Groose handle this one.”
With that, he pick up the crate on the floor, throwing it effortlessly over his shoulder and sauntering off to the cart. Zelda watches him put it down a little too hard, shaking the whole vehicle. She grimaces as he grabs the cart as though to stop it’s shaking, but it only results in more creaking.
She huffs, turning back to the ground at the sound of faint sniffling.
Fledge sits before her with his legs criss-crossed, staring into the bricks of the road.
Zelda watches him stare blankly for only a moment more (Groose seems to be singing his own praises somewhere in the background of her attention, gathering more boxes to pack up) before thrusting a hand out to the boy.
He doesn’t notice it, seeming entirely too focused on the ground. Zelda clears her throat, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Fledge looks up quickly and blinks owlishly at her, cheeks rosy from exertion. After another moment of terribly awkward staring, he reaches up and takes her hand with his own sweaty one and pulls himself to his feet.
“Thanks, Zelda.” He says, wiping his hands on his pants at the look on her face. He coughs and lowers his voice, “I’m not very strong.”
Zelda only stares, slowly wiping off her own hand (she doesn’t mind sweat, really. It’s an entirely natural thing and something she has felt and seen a lot of at the ranch, but Fledge’s sweat is hot and moist in a way that sends ripples of disgust through her).
“I noticed,” she responds.
Fledge’s perpetual frown deepens.
Zelda watches him for a moment before her eyes turn back to Groose. He seems to be showing off about something, though she isn’t sure what. He postures around Roderick- who keeps his gaze carefully forward with only a hint of amusement in his dark eyes- grunting rhythmically as he flexes. Then, when he catches her eye (and unfortunate mistake), his eyes light up and he makes quick work of stacking several crates and lifting them all at once.
Fledge fidgets beside her.
Zelda sighs.
Fledge coughs again.
Now Zelda does roll her eyes.
She turns to Fledge, who startles a bit under her sudden attention.
“Are you friends?” She asks, tilting her head toward Groose.
Fledge looks between them, taking in Groose like he doesn’t actually know him at all. Then, he shrugs.
“No?” He says.
Zelda squints. “You sound unsure.”
“I am unsure?”
“Are you?” Fledge’s voice is so quiet and shaky that Zelda isn’t even entirely convinced he’s actually talking at all. She wouldn’t be surprised if her mind was making up for the awkward spaces in the conversation.
He is speaking, though. “Yes!” He finally says something with conviction.
Zelda, meanwhile, is only filled with confusion. She catches Roderick’s eye for a second, but the man only winks at her.
“Why were you together if you aren’t friends?”
Fledge blinks at her once more. “He likes my dad.” He shrugs.
Zelda examines him for a moment, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to give her any further explanation at the moment, so she only exhales through her nose sharply and turns on her heel to make her way to the cart.
As she passes Groose, he holds up a finger at her in a gesture that says ‘One minute’.
Zelda climbs into her designated seat in the cart as Groose finishes loading the back, feeling each time he slams a heavy box down none-too-gently as the wood creaks beneath her. Freya and Malik seem just as annoyed by the boy, possibly the only thing she and the horses have ever agreed about.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of sitting on the uncomfortable wood and staring at the nondescript stone walls of the alley attempting to ignore all conversation that happens around her, a hand thumps against the side of the cart.
Zelda looks down to see Fledge.
“We’re all done, Miss Zelda.” His voice is hesitant and Zelda her appreciation at him.
“Thank you.” She says, sending a small smile his way (she doesn’t mean to seem rude. It’s just…difficult not to when Groose keeps staring holes into her side).
“Of course.” Zelda makes a move for the reins but he stops her. “You should take you cart over there,” he tips his head towards a gate on the other end of the alley, one that must lead back outside of town if only slightly. “That way the guards will watch it while you stay in town.”
Zelda looks around.
Her father was supposed to be done soon, and he wanted to start doing…whatever needed to be done immediately after their errands. Still though, she sees no sign of the large man appearing, and hears no sign either.
“Alright…” She shuffles her feet a bit. “Thank you.”
The guards are kind to her as she approaches, directing her safely towards a large stable-like area with many other horses and carts. One takes her name down and hops onto her seat after she climbs down, taking the cart away.
It only takes Zelda a few moments of watching the cart leave her behind to realize that she has no idea what to do now. She’s never been in a city before, let alone one as large as Castle Town. Getting lost is the last thing she needs, especially with such…cargo on her person.
Although…she is known for letting her curiosity get the better of her.
She looks down a few streets, seeing bustling crowds almost every-which way before sighing sadly (a hand finding the covered-up hilt of the Master Sword) and ultimately deciding to head back to Roderick’s shop. The back door is still open when she approaches, so she lets herself in.
Groose and Fledge are nowhere to be seen, and there’s no trace of them either. Roderick whirls around upon her entrance, furrowing his eyebrows at her in confusion. He wears a pair of spectacles now, hunched over a journal of sorts on the counter (a shop log, most likely).
“Uh…” Zelda starts elegantly. “Would you have any suggestions for things to do while I wait for my father?”
Roderick’s eyes light up immediately.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roderick leads Zelda carefully through the alleys behind his shop, winding through more little nooks that Zelda never would have dreamed of seeing on her own. All the while, a large smile is painted on his face and his eyes are bright with excitement.
Zelda tries to ask where they’re going, but the man only shushes her and grips her shoulders to pull her along.
When they finally stop, Roderick has taken her to a small corner practically hidden away from the main square (Zelda can still hear the people rushing around and the water from the fountain pouring heavily, but she finds there is no view of it from their location).
Roderick takes Zelda a few steps further and her eyes finally land on the building he must have been taking her to.
Its entrance is small, a shabby wooden door with scratches running up and down its surface and a doorknob with flaking white paint on it. The windows beside the door are terribly cracked, so much so that Zelda can’t see anything beyond the white that fills in between each shattered piece. Oddly enough, they don’t seem at risk of falling onto the ground regardless of how broken they are. There must be something holding it together on the other side, Zelda presumes, or else the window is surprisingly strong.
A small, pointed cough from beside her pulls Zelda’s attention back to Roderick. He smiles down at her before pointing to a sign above the door. In small words, hand-painted in a fading shade of pink, the sign reads: ‘Mal’s Sweets’.
Zelda’s eyes widen with shock and she turns back to Roderick, whose smile somehow widens.
“Your dad’s mentioned your love of sweets before.” He says by way of explanation. Zelda’s heart squeezes a bit in her chest. She hadn’t though her father had truly noticed that about her, although her obsession with fruit cake is probably harder to disguise than she thinks.
“Actually, he’s mentioned it every time I see him.” He puts on a deep voice and goes: “My daughter loves cake more than life itself, I think.”
Roderick chuckles to himself and Zelda feels her face go a bit hot.
“…I suppose I do…”
He laughs again and nods to the shop. “Well, go on then. I promise you it’s not as sketchy as it looks.”
Zelda’s eyes move back to Mal’s Sweets, taking in the cracked walls and rotting door frame.
“I don’t think it looks sketchy,” she says. At Roderick’s look, she continues: “It sort of reminds me of Kakariko. A building does not need to be anything fantastic to be functional.”
Roderick only nods before gesturing her to the door again. “I need to get back to the shop.” He states. “I’ll let your dad know where you went.”
And with that, he turns back and disappears down the winding alleys just as quickly as he’d brought her there.
Zelda swallows and steels herself for meeting another new person.
Hopefully this ‘Mal’ is as sweet as Roderick.
The knob of the door hangs down at an odd angle, and when Zelda takes it in her hand, she can feel old paint flaking onto her palm, leaving an off-white residue on her hand when she enters the shop.
Zelda hears a quiet, gentle humming and looks forward.
The very first thing that meets Zelda’s eyes is the back of a woman’s head from the other side of a glass case of sorts. She wipes her hand off quickly and clears her throat just as the little bell above the door rings with her arrival (a small, tinging noise that barely fills the small room).
The woman whirls around, a large wooden bowl in her arms. Her bright red hair whips into her face and she makes a strangled noise in surprise once she spots Zelda.
Her hands seem to slip and she and almost drops the bowl and its contents onto the floor (Zelda jolts a bit as though to help her) before righting herself once more.
“Oh, hello.” The woman says kindly, carefully setting the bowl down onto a countertop behind her. She stares at it for a moment with a faint glare in her eyes. Once it seems to stop offending her, she greets Zelda: “How are you today?”
Zelda takes in the slight lilt of an accent in the woman’s voice and gazes into her tired eyes. Zelda smiles warmly. “I’m good. How are you?”
The woman (Mal, Zelda suspects) laughs, a melodic sound that echoes slightly in the empty bakery. “I’m exhausted, if you can believe it. Not too bad, though.”
The condition the shop seems to be in is misleading, as- while the windows are practically shattered (and looking now, Zelda sees that they are, in fact, covered with wooden boards) and the floorboards creak scarily- there’s no trace of dust, and the large case in front of Zelda is almost empty of baked goods. Crumbs and the remains of frostings and glazings serve as evidence enough that deserts sat there at one point.
“Do you get a lot of business here?” Zelda asks, turning back to Mal. “Meaning no offense, this seems like an odd part of town.”
“Actually, I do!” Mal answers. She picks up a towel from the counter beside her and wipes her hands off before resting it against her sweaty forehead. “There haven’t been any places I could move to yet, but someday…Anyway, I should be grateful for the business I do get.”
“How is it that you seem so successful?” Zelda eyes the windows doubtfully for a moment. “I would think this would be the type of place people don’t enjoy going to.”
“I don’t think many people do like coming here!” Mal answers with a smile. “But they come for the deserts, not for the ambiance.”
She leans over the counter then, lowering her voice almost conspiratorially. “They do love following royal trends, too.”
At that, Zelda’s interest is piqued. She feels her eyes widen and her mind races at the implications of that.
Mal’s smile only widens, her eyes crinkling with joy. “Yeah,” she says. “His Highness is the real reason for my discovery, as it were.”
“His Highness?”
Mal nods. “I’m assuming you want to hear that story.”
“Oh, uh, please.” The words come out rushed, but Zelda can’t bring herself to care too much. Even as the tips of her ears heat up with the rush of blood.
Mal’s eyes twinkle enough to pierce through her obvious exhaustion. “Why don’t you pick something to eat, and I’ll tell you?”
Zelda knows a scheme when she sees one, but she did come in here for dessert, so she isn’t about to deny the woman.
She quickly gestures to one of the only remaining desserts in the case (and it’s certainly not because she’d been eyeing it since she entered): Fruitcake. The entire cake remains, actually, not just a slice of it.
Zelda feels an indignant sort of offense at this.
It takes Mal only a few seconds to make her way to the case and deliver a slice to Zelda. She doesn’t prompt for payment, but Zelda rustles through her bag and hands the woman a blue rupee.
Sitting down at one of the small tables, Mal waits for Zelda to join her before she says; “Alright, so when was it?” Her fingers tap rhythmically against the wood as she hums in thought.
“Oh!” She slams her hand down at her own realization and Zelda jumps. Mal gives her a small apologetic look before continuing on. “A few years ago is when I started this bakery. I bought the place with the rupees out of my own pocket, which is why the place is so…well, you have eyes. I was struggling for a while, but a few weeks in- around this time of year, actually. That’s a very important detail- a little boy wandered in. You can guess who that was.”
Zelda leans forward and whispers: “The prince?”
Mal nods. “I think he was turning…twelve that year? Anyway, he bought out practically everything I had and ate it all right here at this table.” She shakes her head with a big smile that feels almost infectious, as Zelda finds a smile fighting its way onto her own face. “I was actually kind of impressed at how much such a small boy could eat, but I wasn’t about to say anything. A few knights wandered in in a rush a while later. Apparently the prince had wandered off. They left and a few days later a noble came in- all prim and proper and disgusted- and offered me a place in the castle kitchens.”
“What? And you said no?” Shock and indignation drip off the words, and Zelda can’t bring herself to even attempt to understand what brought Mal to deny such an offer.
“I did. I wanted to do this solo, because I’d never had that opportunity growing up.” Mal sighs wearily. “Well, His Highness must have really enjoyed what he had, because I’ve been hired almost every holiday since to make baked goods for the castle. Catering, of a sort. So, with that on top of usual business- and word spreading, of course- I’ve been kept busy.”
“Should you not at least raise your prices?” Zelda protests. “Then you could afford a better place.”
Mal shakes her head. “It isn’t about affording it, honey. There are no open buildings in town, and I won’t buy someone out.”
The small bell above the door jingles again (which only confirms that it’s barely audible at all, but- since Zelda hears it- she supposes it must be sufficient) and- while Zelda ignores it, keen on hearing more from the baker- Mal gazes at whoever entered with a strange look in her eyes.
Zelda looks over her shoulder- sparing a mere moment to shovel fruitcake into her mouth- and sees two people.
The first one to enter is short, probably just a bit shorter than Zelda, and their face is entirely covered with a hooded cloak. Their body type doesn’t say anything either, so Zelda can’t tell if this stranger is male or female. Or perhaps neither. They enter the bakery confidently, and only stop moving once they’ve reached the counter.
They eye Mal for a moment, face turned just enough to disguise themselves from Zelda.
The second person is much taller. Comically taller, almost. She’s a young Sheikah woman who wears her white hair long and flowing down her back, with a small bun on the back of her head. She wears traditional Sheikah clothing (though her clothes have more red accents and additional ribbons than most Zelda has seen), and she seems much more unsure of her presence in the shop.
It’s such an odd duo that Zelda can’t really bring herself to tear her eyes away from them, curiosity turning from Mal to the newcomers.
The duo are clearly arguing about something. Or rather, the Sheikah woman is arguing and the smaller individual is simply listening to her speak viciously, her hands gesticulating wildly.
Mal stands and makes her way over to the strangers.
Zelda sees the outline of a bright smile on her face as she passes by.
“Can I help you today, honey?” She speaks so gently and warmly, making it terribly obvious to Zelda how cordial she was being with her.
It makes a strange feeling course through her.
The smaller person looks up at Mal and- while Zelda can’t make out facial features, she can see some of his (because with how sharp his features seem, she reaches a conclusion. At least for now) chin and above- smiles. They nod once, firmly.
Mal escorts him behind the counter with a gentle hand on his shoulder, probably showing him what she was working on when Zelda entered.
They both seem to be pointedly ignoring the Sheikah woman’s hushed protests.
Zelda finishes her fruitcake (which is unbelievably good. Perfectly rich and sweet, with the perfect amount of spices that only hit Zelda after she swallows) and watches on in curiosity and with a distant sense of amusement, though she suspects the situation is more serious than it looks thanks to the Sheikah’s attitude.
Mal speaks quietly from behind the counter, and however much Zelda strains to attempt to hear her, she cannot make out many words.
She keeps watching the pair behind the counter anyway, noting how the stranger fiddles with his cloak, though they don’t move to take the hood down. It’s curious- considering Mal clearly knows them very well- that they won’t reveal their face. Perhaps it’s Zelda’s presence?
She hopes she doesn’t appear threatening or odd at all, though the former seems ridiculous even to herself and the latter is simply how she thinks she always appears.
Mal says something again and the figure laughs, the sound a breathy sort of huff. Zelda is almost full-body turned around watching the two interact.
Suddenly a hand grips her shoulder tightly and a feminine voice says: “Excuse me.”
Zelda is forcibly pulled from her seat to stand before the Sheikah woman. She swallows and tries to pull free, to no avail. The woman is much stronger than she appears with how slim she is.
The woman stares down at Zelda with a slight glare. She’s intimidating, but somehow not frightening.
“See something interesting?” Zelda blinks at her, unsure of what to say. Sarcasm drips off the woman’s words, oozes off her expression as she stares Zelda down expectantly.
“I-I don’t know-”
“You should mind your own business.” The woman interrupts Zelda with a harsh tone and tears her hand away from Zelda as if she was burned. The same fist clenches at her side, but her facial expression doesn’t change beyond the vague glare.
“I’m-”
“Lady Impa!” Mal admonishes. “Don’t be rude to my customers!”
Lady Impa does appear a bit sheepish at the confrontation, but she pushes it back in favor of her glare once again when she catches Zelda staring. “She was watching us.”
Mal shakes her head admonishingly, the stranger beside her tilting his head in what must be curiosity. Zelda notes that he’s turned towards her. “She’s paying, so she can do whatever she wants for all I care. Watching isn’t illegal now, is it?”
Impa’s coughs and Zelda’s eyes turn back to her. Her glare lessens, but she keeps eye contact. Uncomfortable, piercing eye contact. Zelda shuffles from foot to foot.
“…No.”
Quiet footsteps come closer to Zelda and she looks up to see the smaller of the strangers approaching Lady Impa from behind. He tap her on the back.
“What is it?” Impa whispers, stepping in front of him protectively and glaring at Zelda over her shoulder one last time.
The other person pushes Impa aside (she attempts to fight them on this, but they’re insistent) and takes down their hood.
“Your Highness!”
The stranger- the prince- steps closer to Zelda, eyeing something over her shoulder. Zelda’s breath leaves her lungs at the accidental reveal, and she finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from the boy in front of her.
She was right before, he is slightly shorter than her. His eyes are startlingly blue, Zelda thinks, like sapphires or the pedals of a lively Silent Princess flower; beautiful and piercing-
His blond hair is pulled back and adorned with small gems and metal pieces, but he wears no crown. Zelda supposes it would be fairly suspicious for a random ‘nobody’ to wear a crown around town.
His already light skin pales significantly as he watches…whatever it is he’s watching.
He looks up at Lady Impa before pointing behind Zelda.
No, not behind her.
At her back.
Zelda throws her hands behind her head, grasping the hood of her cloak.
It’s fallen.
The hilt of the Master Sword is exposed to the air, to the eyes of these strangers.
Oh, Goddess.
No.
Impa’s eyes widen as Zelda steps back fearfully.
“The Master Sword,” she says, her voice holding a tone of reverence which only makes Zelda’s breaths pick up and her feet stumble.
The prince makes to catch her as she trips over her cloak, but Lady Impa pulls him back.
It’s then that the door swings open with a loud creak.
Heavy footsteps wander in before stopping suddenly.
“Zelda. What are you doing?” Her father demands, his voice rough with anger and fear.
Taking in the scene before him- all four pairs of eyes on him- his face falls dramatically.
Notes:
I think I accidentally wrote Akkila instead of Akkala in later chaps....thats from Starfield😭😭😭
so another way i wanted to keep zelda as close to her canon self as possible is making her family come from a long line of nobles (so for context all the events of the previous games still occur as they did in the timeline) but she is not royal. And link's dad was just like a farmer or knight or something who married the queen😭
Groose was originally named Garret???? Not me having 2 characters named Garret... if i were the hotd writers/grrm id just leave it and expect u to be able to tell the difference (in all honesty the 2nd one def came from the fnaf movie but idk bout the 1st one)
but also: the GROOSE is LOOSE BABYYYYY
When Zelda says Mal's Sweets reminds her od Kakariko, it's not because Kakariko is shabby and gross. It's more just in vibe and ideology.
GUYS PLEASE IDK HOW THIS CHAPTER GOT SO LONG I FEEL LIKE THERES SOMETHING WRONG IT STARTED AT LIKE 4K
Chapter 5: Appointed Knight
Summary:
Zeldas life starts (or ends????? very eerie)
Notes:
Chapter Notes; Rhoam is a pissy pissy boiii. why? cause hes a bich
so... we are officially 5% done...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The few moments after Impa had spotted the sacred blade upon Zelda’s back were quick and frantic.
Zelda’s father had rushed toward her, pushing Impa aside and almost plowing directly into the prince. He gave no apology, he didn’t even look at them. He only looked at Zelda with this gaze that asked; ‘What did you do?”.
But Zelda didn’t do anything. She didn’t do anything wrong. It had been an accident. Might she add that it was because of the looseness of his cloak that that ever happened.
She hadn’t said that of course. Because she’s pitiful. Instead, she had shaken her head relentlessly and backed away. She had backed herself into the wall of the small shop by the time Impa had stepped outside.
She remembers seeing the prince take a step forward, to comfort or humiliate her she didn’t know. Mal, who took his upper arm in an iron grip quickly stopped him and Zelda did not envy feeling the strength of that grip if the look in the red-head’s eyes was anything to go off of.
Impa rushed back in with a group of knights at her back, who roughly took hold of the prince and ushered him out of the bakery. Then, she gently put her hand against Zelda’s father’s shoulder.
“All is well.” She’d said, and the man’s eyes shuttered, a fire burning anew within them. His head whipped around to face the Sheikah woman, but he must have realized something then, because instead of barking some insult at her (as Zelda knew he wanted to), he simply lowered his glare to the floor.
Impa had gestured for the pair to follow her out and- while her father had left immediately- Zelda hesitated.
She stood stock-still against the bakery wall, staring at the open doorway that led to her future (to her death).
Warm hands took hold of her own, and she shook her head vigorously, attempting to pull away. But Mal didn’t let her.
Zelda had looked up- finally- to meet the woman’s eyes.
They were filled with fear.
“May the Goddess have mercy on your soul,” she’d said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda isn’t allowed any time to take in the sights of the town now. She’s given no time for a breath, or a break of any kind. Sweat forms on her forehead uncomfortably as they move across the entire town.
Impa leads them and Zelda’s father hasn’t been able to keep up at all. He’s faring even worse than she is.
It had only taken Impa ten stops before she demanded Zelda follow and her father catch up when he can.
His wheezing is only getting worse. That’s a thought she is quick to push to the back of her mind while moving. So she focuses on the burning in her legs as they struggle to match the pace of the much taller woman in front of her. She focuses on the way her sweat causes her clothing to cling to her skin.
He’ll be fine without her.
They don’t stop and Impa doesn’t say a word to Zelda as they move. The wind through the city streets, carefully navigating the crowds but not so carefully that Zelda avoids bumping into a few innocent bystanders who stare at her owlishly and expectantly. She hardly has time to throw an apology over her shoulder before Impa’s hand wraps around her arms and pulls her forward once more.
They don’t stop until the bustling noises of the town have faded into the background, until the music being played at some tavern has all but silenced.
Until they stand on the stone path before the entrance to Hyrule Castle.
Zelda momentarily rests with her hands on her knees before straightening (a bit too quickly, if her momentarily darkened vision is anything to go by) and gazing in awe at the structure.
While she supposes there’s nothing too special about it, Hyrule Castle is a fairy tale palace brought to life before her very eyes. Numerous stone towers reach longingly into the clear blue skies, not swaying an inch in their masterful architecture. She’d read somewhere that the higher towers seem to sway from a certain angle, but the castle before her is anything but flimsy.
It’s both regal and elegant and large and defensible. The perfect capital.
And people live there.
“Alright,” Impa says, snapping a few times in front of Zelda’s face. Her fingers almost flick against Zelda’s nose in the movements. “Here’s what’s going to happen; You are going to wait here while I announce to Her Majesty everything that’s happened. When you’re summoned, you will line up with the royal guard and they will escort you inside.” She gives Zelda a very meaningful look and raises an eyebrow. “You will answer everything the queen asks you and you will do it gladly. There will be no snide remarks or troublesome behavior. Is that understood?”
The Sheikah was speaking so quickly that Zelda really isn’t quite sure she understands, but her voice held such urgency and authority that Zelda knows better than to ask her to repeat anything.
“Good. I’m sure the prince is already inside. Wait here.”
With that, Impa turns on her heel and marches into the sanctum, pushing open the large, ornate doors with little to no difficulty.
For a moment, Zelda stands still. It’s as if she’s afraid that even stepping forward will shatter the fragile ornaments outlining the entrance to the sanctum.
Two knights stand outside the doors, paying her no mind. Their attention is focused straight ahead of them, their eyes glazed in what Zelda can only believe is boredom.
Looks like they won’t be bored for long.
Deciding that this will most likely take a bit (the queen can’t be expecting something like this to happen. No one does. Not in their lifetime), Zelda relegates herself to leaning against one of the flagposts leading up the path. It’s large enough that she could sit on top of the bottom part of it, but- seeing the growing frown on one of the guards faces- Zelda decides against doing that.
The Master Sword clacks against the stone, stopping Zelda from leaning comfortably. She shifts for a while. Nothing works.
Irritated, Zelda tears the scabbard off her back and wraps the blade hastily in her cloak. The large material wraps around so many times that the sword is hardly recognizable as behing a weapon at all, let alone a sacred one.
Satisfied, Zelda leans comfortably, holding the sword tight to her chest.
The sound of wheezing causes her to shoot right back up, however.
Her father clambers up the slope to Zelda, taking long, lumbering steps. He huffs each time his feet connect with the ground, sweating heavily.
“Father…”
He looks up at her. Then, he just looks back down to his feet and continues moving. It takes several painful moments of silence interrupted only the sound of his harsh breaths before he reaches her, leaning his entire weight on the stone of the flagpost.
“Father?” Zelda says again. She steps so that she’s standing opposite him. “Are you well?”
He glares at her.
Zelda winces and his glare lessens, though his face still holds a fierce kind of anger.
He sighs, “Why would you tell them?”
Zelda blinks in confusion, “Tell them what?”
“About the sword, Zelda!” His voice is raised now, almost a shout. Zelda sees the guards turn to them and her father makes a visible effort to calm himself. “The sacred blade.”
“I-” He thinks she’d sought them out? That she’d told them the truth on her own? After everything they’d discussed, it had been his idea to keep it hidden, to wait. And he thought she was going against his wishes. “I didn’t, father.”
“You didn’t? Then how did this happen?”
“My…My hood fell down. They saw the hilt.”
“The prince saw it.” It’s both an accusation and a statement. He’s telling Zelda that it’s over, there’s no going back. But he’s also ridiculing her. It sends a white-hot rage through her. So sudden her heart thuds painfully in her chest.
“Well, it’s not as if I knew who he was!”
“How could you not have known?!”
“He had his cloak up. It was clearly on purpose, father! He was hiding!” Perhaps he’d sensed it. The legends say the Calamity was fought by the hero and a royal. Perhaps the prince is that royal, and he’d sensed the Master Sword’s presence, and he’d sought her out. “Why don’t you blame him? For all we know, he followed the sword just like I did! He ruined this, not me!”
“Hush, daughter!” Her father hisses, leaping toward her. “Do not speak so loudly.” He sends a pointed look in the direction of the two guards, who- according to Zelda- showed no interest or offense at the topic.
“So you can continue to blame me?” She asks, albeit more quietly.
“I don’t blame you.”
“Then why are you so angry?!”
“I-” He cuts himself off before he can shout at her again.
Anger still flows through Zelda like rivers of lava. Like an ancient Death Mountain running through her veins.
“I am not angry. I am worried.”
The words are strained, but at them Zelda feels a bit of that anger begin to ebb away. As they stand in silence, the rage chips away like bits of stone around Zelda’s heart.
“I don’t blame you.” Her father says. He looks off toward the castle doors with a distant expression, unreadable to Zelda. “I blame your love of fruitcake.”
And, with that, all the rage is gone, replaced by a sort of dullness. Zelda laughs and it comes out all strained and wrong.
“You always did say it was bad for me.”
The broad wooden doors swing open then, crashing open all-too suddenly for how tall and heavy they look. Impa steps out first, flanked by six guards dressed in regal green and red uniforms. The Royal Guard, Zelda realizes.
Impa doesn’t spare the old man a glance before meeting Zelda’s eyes with a serious gaze.
“The queen is ready for you,” she announces. “This has been a long time coming, and she looks forward to meeting you, my lady.”
Impa whirls back around before Zelda can even consider correcting her on the title. She raises a hand and the Royal Guard members step forward, surrounding Zelda with three men on each side. Zelda stands firmly in the middle of the group, while her father is ordered to walk in behind.
She spares one last glance back to the man, but he is not looking at her.
Impa marches forward and- directed by the Royal Guard surrounding her in formation- Zelda follows.
The first thing she notices as they cross the threshold into the sanctum, feet thundering with the sound of metal crashing into the ground, is how cold it is. The shift is almost enough to stop her in her tracks as the air changes completely.
But as the air changes, so too does the mood. Upon entering the grand room, it’s as if everyone is altered. Impa stands straighter, the guards are tenser. The room is chilly in more ways than just physical and Zelda can almost feel it.
But it is beautiful. Shrouded in natural light, The Hyrule Castle sanctum practically glows. There are two floors, all carpeted in a rich, clean red and accented by shining silvers. Zelda lets her gaze follow the material up the curved stairs and to the throne.
The queen sits tall and proud, appearing bored, but authoritative. Her light brown hair cascades down from each shoulder, curling inwards until it comes to a stop just above her waist. She wears an elegant dress, the color of the forest floor after a thunderstorm. The deep green compliments the light tone of her skin, the color just lighter than that of her son’s.
Speaking of whom, the prince stands rigidly beside his mother. He has no throne to speak of but without his cloak, his clothing is revealed to Zelda’s eyes.
He wears a long green tunic- the same color as the queen’s gown- that splits down the middle into a section of silver covered slightly by brown strings tied tightly around his figure. The cloth around his shoulders is tight, but loosens as the material moves down his arms. Zelda can begrudgingly admit that it’s a very flattering outfit.
The queen says something sharply to him and rises, and the Royal Guards around Zelda scatter, taking their respective places around the sanctum before dropping to their knees in a deep bow. Impa moves to stand beside her and nudges her harshly before dropping into her own bow. Zelda follows quickly, if clumsily.
A third person steps forward from the upper floor, his appearance neat, but not as spectacular as that of the royals.
“Her majesty, Queen Ryla.”
With the announcement, everyone rises to their feet.
Zelda cranes her neck to watch as the queen steps forward more, her expression unreadable from the distance. It frightens Zelda more than anything that has occurred in these past days, for she has no idea what the woman may say.
“I am told,” the matriarch starts, her voice rich and deep. “That you are the wielder of the ancient blade; The Blade of Evil’s Bane. Is this true?”
Zelda opens her mouth to speak but finds that no words will come out. Her throat is dry and her hands shake around the covered sword.
Impa turns to her and gives her a harsh glare, but Zelda still cannot bring herself to say anything.
The prince makes to step forward as well, but he is stopped by Queen Ryla raising her hand.
Impa breathes through her nose once, a sharp and almost shrill sound. She invades Zelda’s space suddenly and wraps her hands around the cloth in her hands, tearing the sacred sword from her grasp. Turning back to the queen, Impa unravels the cloak and allows the Master Sword to fall unceremoniously to the floor.
It’s as if Zelda can feel herself colliding with the hard surface as the blade clatters against the ground.
“It is true, my queen.” Impa announces politely with a small nod.
Zelda stares at the Master Sword as it lays on the ground. Though its fall had startled her, she can feel nothing more for it. She does not move to pick it up, leaving it in its ultimately disrespectable position.
“I see,” the queen’s voice shifts suddenly, all ice gone from her tone. She leans over her railing to gaze more closely at Zelda’s person. While Zelda still cannot make out her face, she can feel her scrutinizing looks as she eyes her. “I had hoped to have a more private meeting then, my lady. I apologize, but- since I do not know you- I was advised not to take such actions just yet.”
The room goes silent again and Zelda realizes belatedly that the queen wants a response.
She swallows and says, “Of course, your majesty.” Her voice comes out all croaky and odd, though, and Zelda has to resist the urge to reach up and pull at her hair. Stupid.
“If I may ask,” The royal continues, unperturbed by Zelda. “How did you come into possession of The Sword that Seals the Darkness?”
Zelda looks behind her and- for once- her father is watching her with undivided attention. His expression is dull, but somehow Zelda can feel some sort of encouragement in it.
“I-” She coughs. “I heard… music while we were camping by the Lost Woods. My father couldn’t hear it, so I followed it to its source.”
“Music, my lady?”
“Yes. I couldn’t repeat the melody, but it felt…familiar? Eventually, I began hearing spoken words.”
“And what were these words?”
Zelda hears the doubt that laces the queen’s words but chooses to ignore it. “It was just…encouragement, I suppose. It helped lead me through the Lost Woods and into the Korok Forest, where the Great Deku Tree greeted me.”
“I see. And what, pray tell, were you doing so close to the Lost Woods in the first place?”
“We- we were making deliveries from our farm to places around the country. We had just come from Akkila.”
“And the sword allowed you to wield it?” The queens gaze clearly turns down, towards where the Master Sword still rests on the ground. “Without that cloth around it?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
The queen hums. “Then pick it up, will you?”
Zelda stares at the sword. She doesn’t want to pick it up. She wants more than anything to leave it there. To announce that she was lying and storm out of the castle and never return.
But what would happen if she did?
What would happen to her? To her father? To the world?
Zelda takes a few tentative steps forward, as if the sword is a wild animal that could attack her at any moment (That’s almost funny to Zelda, as she truly does feel like the thing could do that). She kneels on the ground and wraps her hands around the blade before rising, holding it up for the court to see.
Now, she can see the queen’s face clearly, though she almost has to look straight up in order to do so.
“I applaud you, my lady!” The queen’s voice is filled with mirth, a smile etched onto her wrinkled face. “There has never been any record of a female hero, though I suppose now is the time, hm?” Her voice is still light and happy, but Zelda can make out the way the prince’s shoulders tense at the words.
She just can’t bring herself to care much.
“While I appreciate you, this will be a terrible burden.” The monarch continues. “Defeating the coming calamity alone will not be easy by any means, but if the Master Sword has chosen you then I have complete faith that you will complete every trial put before you.”
As the queen continues speaking, Zelda’s eyes are continually drawn to the prince. He tenses further with each word spoken, staring off into a distant window on the opposite side of the sanctum.
There’s a ringing in her ears.
“Now then.” The queen claps her hands together and the ringing intensifies for only a moment, like a flinch. “Effective immediately, you, my lady, will be the appointed knight to my son, Prince Link.”
The ringing grows louder.
“Your Majesty!” Impa says incredulously. “She has no training!”
“She will get training! Besides, she is the Goddess’ chosen! There is no one better to look after him.”
The ringing is so loud and it only continues. Zelda rubs her hands over her eyes and ears, willing it to stop.
It doesn’t stop.
It changes.
Anger.
Rage.
Fear.
It rushes through Zelda’s very bones with such intensity that she almost drops the Master Sword again. She almost wants to. The emotions attempt to pull her to her knees, attacking her senses with too much, too much-
The fear fades into the background eventually, giving way to the purest anger. That rage takes on the forefront of Zelda’s mind as the court argues around her.
The ringing in her ears is so intense she can hear nothing beyond it, but Impa eventually comes to stand before her, her lips moving.
Zelda tries to contain it- really she does- but she only glares at the taller woman, barely containing a snarl at her close proximity.
What is happening to her? What is that Goddess-forsaken sword doing to her?
She moves to take a step back but is stopped abruptly by a growing pain in her cheek, sharp and clear.
And just like that the ringing stops. The court goes silent as Zelda’s mind clears and she looks up to the queen and prince. They look practically identical, with their backs rigid and tense and their mouths agape.
Impa’s hand slowly comes back down to rest at her side, her palm red as the accents on her clothing.
Zelda stares up at Impa, her eyes wide. Impa’s eyes are wide as well, filled with some unreadable emotion- not quite guilt, but something close.
“Ahem,” The queen clears her throat, gathering everyone’s attention very suddenly back towards her. She appears at a loss for words, gazing around the room with wide eyes. “Lady Impa, if you would…Take a step back.”
Zelda watches the woman in front of her as her eyes dart across Zelda’s face- as if searching for something that only she could have seen. Her reddened hand shakes slightly, the movements so small- controlled- that Zelda wouldn’t have seen it had the two not been so close together. The hand shakes before clenching into a tight fist, knuckles going white at the pressure. Zelda wonders if her palms will bleed-
The Sheikah woman whirls around- her long hair sends a rush of air into Zelda’s face- and steps away. She takes her former position beside Zelda’s father, who watches her with a glare.
Queen Ryla clears her throat again. “My Lady,” she says, now directed at Zelda once more. “Do you accept this position?”
The words are steely and the queen stands up even straighter upon asking. Her eyes meet Zelda’s and- even from their distance- the dark brown of them seems almost black, burning with a hidden fire.
Zelda looks around the court, seeing other nobles standing in a similar position, though none meet her eyes.
The Royal Guards do look to her, however, their expressions filled with expectancy, with knowing.
This isn’t a question, Zelda realizes as she finally looks back up to the royals, seeing the prince slumped, looking at the floor beneath his feet.
It’s a demand.
One that the court clearly disagrees with, judging by their varying expressions, the best of which is apprehensive.
The matriarch stands still, not pushing Zelda further. Her hands come to clasp together in front of her body, slender arms moving from their place on the railings.
Zelda looks to her father- and Impa by extension. His face is carefully blank, closed off to the world for all they know. But Zelda knows better. She sees the way his eyes switch between her and the queen, the way his pupils dilate in a way that isn’t from the natural lighting of the room.
She turns back, hands tightening around the Master Sword like a lifeline- as though it will help her-
“…Of course, Your Majesty,” she says, bowing her head down submissively.
Take my life, she thinks. End it.
The queen smiles, toothy and predatory. She claps, glee emanating from every muscle in her body.
“Good. Then I suppose this hearing is adjourned. Captain?”
She gazes towards someone behind Zelda, who steps forward upon being called.
“I’ll handle everything, my queen.” The man says, voice monotone as he speaks. His back is to Zelda now, the Royal Guards uniform making him identical to everyone out. He could have walked in with her, for all she knows.
“Good.” The queen waves her hands vaguely. “Dismissed.”
The captain grabs Zelda by the arm, pulling her gently toward her father, who has not moved from his little corner of the sanctum. He does not look at her as they approach. Instead, he watches the queen and the prince as they whisper between themselves before promptly vanishing.
“Sir,” the captain says politely, his voice now taking on a more neutral tone. Zelda’s father finally looks up at them, but she finds herself looking away, unable to bear the brunt of his emotion.
“Your daughter is in good hands, sir.”
Zelda’s father does not say anything, not even when they are brought to their shared room within the castle.
Notes:
that master sword huh?
next chapter: rhoam finally leaves and we dont have to deal with his bipolar ass anymore
Chapter 6: As Told by Legend
Summary:
Rhoam finally leaves and we don't have to deal with his bipolar ass anymore (Zelda's a lil sad about it tho)
Notes:
Music actually really helps me write, I've discovered.
On to the fun stuff now?The end of the chap is a lil rough I think but it's not too bad lmao
Chapter 6 notes: Rhoam's a lil baby bitch and can't express his emotion because he's a REAL man
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Zelda’s eyes peel slowly open, greeted by a warm morning light seeping in through elegant curtains. She blinks slowly to correct her blurry vision, noting how unusually heavy her eyelids feel (early mornings aren’t rare for Zelda and her father, of course, which is precisely the reason she is so aware of her fatigue).
As her vision clears and Zelda’s breathing noticeably shifts from the heavy, even breaths of sleep, she looks around in confusion. Her surroundings are unfamiliar, indoors but so very different from her humble room in her home (without the humidity of plants lining her shelves either).
The confusion only lasts a moment, an almost blessed moment before her eyes land on the Sacred Blade laid carelessly across the floor, as if she’d dropped it there.
She probably had. Zelda has no memory of falling asleep in this position- on a plush sofa, with her feet on the ground and her back against the armrest.
Pushing herself up confirms that she’d slept in that position all night, as her muscles scream out at her at the movement.
Wincing at the tension in her body, Zelda pulls herself stiffly to her feet, groaning embarrassingly.
Someone clears their throat, the deep gravely sound making Zelda jump and whirl around.
Her father stands with his back to her, occupying himself with making the large bed in the middle of the room (How could any one person sleep on such a large surface? In that line of thought, why would anyone need so much space in their sleeping quarters? The room is probably three times the size of Zelda’s room at home, not to mention the additions of soft rugs and a large, tough-looking desk).
Zelda wipes her hands across her face, willing the tiredness to go away. It doesn’t work, so she just takes a few tentative steps forward, watching her father as he tucks in the red and white duvet.
“Father?” She says quietly, her voice coming out all croaky and odd. She clears her throat. “Are you well?”
He doesn’t respond, moving his hands to fluff the large pillows on the bed.
“Are we meant to be somewhere?” Perhaps someone had come knocking, inviting them to breakfast? Or more hearings with the queen (a dreadful though, according to Zelda, but she supposes she’d better get used to the idea).
Her father responds with a slight shake of his head, the movements causing the hair-tie he puts in at night to loosen. He still doesn’t speak to her, though.
“You didn’t move me last night? My back aches terribly.” She laughs weakly. “Not to mention my clothes. Right?”
For a few moments, the chirping of what had to be dozens of birds is the only noise that penetrates the silence of their chambers. The occasional crash or cough from outside also helps to fill the void.
Finally, Zelda’s father finishes with the bed. He stares at it still for a while, his hands lifted as if unsure what to do, before he sighs and stands straighter.
Without facing her, he says; “I am leaving today.”
Zelda’s heart thuds painfully in her chest. “So soon?”
“I’ve already taken a day more than usual.”
“You…You’re going to leave me here?” She hates the way her voice comes out, all quiet and sad but without a hint of the sleep that plagued it before to hide that.
He turns around to face her. His eyes are red-rimmed with dark bags under them. Zelda’s heart clenches at the sight, fear and sadness entering her from all sides. He shouldn’t be sad or worried. He shouldn’t be sad or worried, because he should stay here with her. He should help her.
He’s fully dressed, she realizes as she stares.
“I cannot afford to stay here, Zelda.”
“But…We don’t have to pay anything…?”
“It does not matter.”
Zelda finds her hands clenching into fists. “Doesn’t it?”
“Don’t get snippy with me, Daughter.”
“You’re abandoning me.”
“I am not.”
“Really? So you’re staying?” Her voice is steadily raising as she speaks, hands gesticulating wildly. She knows he’ll never cave to her, always concerned with his own wishes. His own life.
He sighs heavily, as though inconvenienced. “You would do better without me here,” He admits quietly. His usual rich and rumbling tone holds none of the power that it typically does, fading into the background of the noise of the castle.
“That’s not true.”
“You would do better without distractions.”
“That’s not true!”
“Zelda!” He shouts, his voice cutting through her own words. Zelda steps back, and he takes a few deep breaths, seemingly grounding himself. “There is nothing I can do here.”
Zelda’s eyes sting and her bottom lip quivers. She pinches her eyes shut. She will not cry, she will not cry. “You can’t leave me.” Despite her attempts, her voice comes out all wobbly and fragile.
Her father’s eyes soften. He takes a moment to peer out the window, Zelda looks as well. The view is of the castle’s courtyard, overlooking a large garden full of overgrown flowers and vines. Zelda wonders how they can be so overgrown, when there should be people caring for them.
“I am not leaving you,” Her father says, still gazing at the gardens. “I just cannot stay here. The captain will help you.”
“The captain?” Zelda’s tears finally fall, streaking down her face in hot rivulets. “I don’t want the captain. I want-” She is interrupted by her own sob. It’s loud and ugly, forcing itself out of her throat to be heard.
Her father looks at her now, but does not move to embrace her as he had at the campfire. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder. “You will do great.”
Zelda shakes her head, unable to see him through the fog of her tears. “I don’t want to…”
“You have to.” He pauses as someone knocks on the door loudly, announcing the presence of a guard. “I have a feeling we do not have much of a choice…”
“Sir! My Lady!” A male’s muffled voice comes through the closed door as he continues to knock.
Zelda sniffles, “When are you going?”
One more knock comes, harsher than all the rest, and Zelda jumps.
“Now,” Her father says.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The halls of Hyrule Castle are ornately decorated, its walls lined with displays and tapestries of all kinds. Most notable to Zelda, however, are the collections of various knick-knacks that seem to be randomly strewn about within one of the display cases across from their room.
The guard outside had continued knocking persistently until they’d opened the door for him. He had- at least- had the audacity to appear a bit guilty for his interruption before telling them to wait for the captain in the hall.
Zelda’s father has taken a position leaned against their closed door, not sharing anymore words with her about any of it, so Zelda had taken it upon herself to distract herself.
The displays really did work wonders.
This particular display is filled with gems and instruments. The plaques tell Zelda that they are replicas of several relics from past eras of Hyrule. Three harps of various colorings- two of them are clearly much older, and not as carefully made as the gold as rubbed off in several places to reveal a sick green color-, a flute that doesn’t appear particularly interesting, and several rubies.
Zelda- of course- knows all the legends of the heroes of the past, and she runs through them each in her head as her eyes land on the relics. A part of her wonders what happened to the real things. Perhaps time took its toll on them, as it did all things, and they simply don’t exist anymore. A shame, but not unlikely.
She turns to see her father hasn’t moved an inch, still leaning heavily against the door with his head tilted back.
She does not particularly want to be led out by the captain.
“Father?” She asks, “Perhaps we could go on out own? Without the captain?”
His head tilts down and he looks at her once before leaning back again. “We would just get lost. This castle is quite large, Zelda.”
As if on cue, the sound of rattling metal and thundering footsteps echoes down the empty halls towards them. The sound of several sets of footsteps, not just that of the captain.
Feelings of dread fill Zelda, seeping in to her very bones as the footsteps get closer. She shuffles closer to her father, who- if he notices- does not acknowledge her.
A small group of soldiers approaches them then, guards wearing the usual heavy armor uniforms as opposed to the Royal Guard uniforms, signifying their status. The man in front, however, must be the captain, as he is the only one wearing the colors of the Royal Guard.
He stops before her, his men a few paces back. “My Lady,” He says kindly, inclining his head to her. Zelda notices the color of his skin is quite dark, with splotches of something darker- a unique skin type she’s never seen before. “Sir,” he continues, giving her father the same treatment. “I’ve been told you plan to leave the city today?”
Zelda’s head whips around to face her father. He had told them he was leaving? Before her? When had that happened?
“Yes, Sir. I have deliveries to make, unfortunately.”
The captain nods, “I understand. Business is harsh, and it cannot wait. May I ask if you plan on visiting? It would make it much easier to give you the proper clearance if I know your plans.”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“I see. Well, follow me then. Your cart was moved to the castle stables last night after you both arrived.”
The captain takes off and they wind through the halls at a quick pace, the thundering of armor behind them. The guards don’t stay more than a few paces behind the trio, cautious. It makes Zelda uneasy. Her legs already tire as they navigate the castle, and she feels as though they are all watching her, judging her.
Servants whirl past them gracefully with their arms full of a variety of things, ranging from piles of clothing that don’t appear very dirty- especially as compared to Zelda’s own disheveled appearance-, to various plates and instruments that they must be hauling somewhere.
They even pass a few Sheikah workers hushedly discussing whatever amazing discoveries they’d made. Zelda longs to speak with them the most, to see what they truly did in the castle ever since digging up the Divine Beasts and Guardians from the Depths of the Earth. She wonders if they truly discover as much as they are said to.
The captain finally begins slowing, coming to a stop in front of a large metal door- different from the carved wooden doors in the rest of the castle. This one must lead outside.
To her father’s cart. Where he will leave her.
“Apologies for the pace, My Lady. My Lord.” The captain’s eyes sweep over Zelda before landing on her father. His eyes widen minutely before he quickly schools his expression into something more neutral.
Zelda looks as well— towards the now-familiar sound of wheezing— to see her father bent over at the knees, breathing loudly.
“Father?” She moves to put a hand on his shoulder. One that he quickly pushes away before righting himself.
“A long walk.” He rasps.
“The castle is quite large.” the captain says, his voice tinted with a hint of concern that makes Zelda appreciate him a bit. “Again, I apologize for the pace, but the queen wants to begin very soon.”
Zelda tears her eyes away from her father’s gasping form and gives the captain a confused look, her eyes scrunching. “What is ‘very soon’?”
“She wants to speak as soon as we are done here. Your training is to begin in an hour or so, and then you’ll need someone to run through the ceremony requirements with you.”
“What- Ceremony?”
“Of course-”
“It is tradition to perform a ceremony when knights are appointed to the royal family. Especially when it involves a hero and a Princess of Light.” Her father interrupts before pausing. “Or, I suppose, just a hero.”
It would be just Zelda’s luck that she ends up needing to do something so meaningful by herself, with no Princess of Light to speak of. At least if there had been one, then they could have understood one another in their situations. Instead, she’ll have to perform a royal ceremony with someone…random.
“But I’ve never done anything like that!”
“That is why someone will be briefing you on all the expectations. You have several weeks to study, nonetheless.”
The captain’s words are slightly comforting this time.
Studying, she can do.
Zelda nods.
The captain nods back before turning on his heel stiffly and pushing open the large metal doors before them. Sunlight pours in all too suddenly, causing Zelda to squint against its harsh rays. It’s so much brighter than it had been through the window in their room and Zelda was utterly unprepared for it.
“Watch your head!” A high-pitched voice cuts through the light suddenly and something large blocks the sun from Zelda’s eyes. She watches for a split second as whatever it is comes closer to her before the captain throws an arm over her shoulder and pulls her to the floor.
Zelda grunts when she hits the floor hard, the captain apologizing quietly to her before pulling her back to her feet. They look behind them to see a group of Sheikah- led by a young woman with a bright streak of red in her hair- hurriedly marching down the halls.
“Lady Purah!” The captain chastises after them.
The young woman turns and keeps walking, running backwards now. She lifts a hand- in apology or greeting Zelda can’t exactly tell- before promptly turning back around and catching up with her group.
“Those scientists…” The captain shakes his head. “I apologize for them, they are…eccentric.”
As they walk out into the sun, gravel clattering beneath their feet and the feet of the heavily armored guards behind them, Zelda asks; “What were they doing?”
“I couldn’t say. The Sheikah research team rarely have anything to do with the Royal Guard.”
“You don’t interact at all?”
“Only in court. Or when Lady Impa calls upon them.”
“Lady Impa is not a member of her people’s team?”
“The Sheikah take on many roles in the castle. Lady Impa is Prince Link’s caretaker.”
“Why would-”
Zelda is hastily interrupted by her father. “It matters not, Zelda. You will get used to the roles in the castle.”
Zelda feels a sting in her heart at the nonchalance with which he says this, but the captain just nods. “Yes, you will.” He says.
They round a corner and Zelda’s senses are suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of dung, the smell pungent and almost acidic in a way that only horses’ can be.
They’ve reached the stables.
For a moment, Zelda doesn’t see their cart (she relishes in the thought that her father will have to stay for a bit longer, if even only a few minutes.), but her attention is quickly drawn to a tall figure with pure white hair and neat Sheikah clothing- Impa. Beside her stands the prince, his cloak discarded in favor of what appears to be some very regal green riding gear.
And in front of them is Zelda’s father’s cart. The prince has his back to them, completely turned around as he runs his hands through the manes of the two horses at the front. Freya and Malik- Zelda’s horses- seem to adore the attention, and the prince. When his attention turns from one horse to another, the neglected one bumps his shoulder with its snout, snorting at him.
An unpleasant emotion burns through Zelda at the sight.
“My Lord, My Lady,” the captain announces as the get closer. Impa must hear him- even from this distance- because she turns and stares directly into Zelda’s eyes (or so Zelda assumes. She can’t exactly see where the older woman’s eyes land). “Your cart.”
When they’re finally close enough to the cart, the prince turns around. There is a hint of mirth in his eyes that is quickly dimmed and replaced by a blank stare as his eyes land on Zelda and her father.
Zelda stops in her tracks, not wanting to get any closer to the cause of all this.
Her father pushes past her without a glance, moving to stand before Impa and the prince. Impa clasps her hands behind her back and steps forward, appearing stiff and uncomfortable.
The young woman clears her throat, “His highness wishes to express his regrets to you both.” She says, glancing to the captain.
The man takes this as his cue and waves his hand, gathering his men and stepping off to the side- out of sight of the group by the cart. Zelda feels an immense weight lift off her shoulders, finally feeling as though dozens of eyes aren’t on her.
Prince Link stands behind Impa, posture prim and proper and pretentious. His gaze moves between Zelda and her father as though he truly is the one speaking, and this isn’t some meaningless speech prepared by Impa herself.
“He…regrets having revealed your true nature so hastily, My Lady.” Impa’s voice is dull. She doesn’t mean a word of what she says, Zelda can tell. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice comes; He would not have done it in the first place if he would have regretted it, would he have?
“We all wish you could stay longer, My Lord.” The Sheikah woman looks back at the prince and they share an imperceptible look. “However, even without you here, you can rest assured that your daughter will be well looked after no matter what happens. Her path is paved with danger and sorrow, but with the proper care she will flourish and prevail.”
If the prince truly thinks all these things, why won’t he say them himself? Zelda wonders, finding her gaze shifting into a hateful glare. It’s truly the least he could do.
It takes a moment longer of Impa droning on in a speech that- now that she truly listens to it- Zelda is sure truly comes from Queen Ryla, but the prince eventually notices her glare. His eyes widen in confusion before falling back into that empty expression he’d held before.
He swallows and tugs on Impa’s sleeve not unlike a shy child would with his mother. Impa looks between the two for a moment before gripping the prince harshly by the wrist and announcing; “We will leave you to say your goodbyes.” They quickly march off in the direction of the captain, who stands watching them from several meters away.
Zelda watches for a moment longer as Impa speaks hushedly to the man and the prince stands aside with his head tilted slightly downward.
The sound of the cart creaking heavily brings her attention back to the matter at hand.
Her father hauls himself roughly onto the seat of the cart, sitting with a loud and relieved sigh. The cart bounces once under his sudden weight, creaking all the while.
He looks down at her. “…You will do well, Daughter.” He says, voice quiet with the words that only she should hear.
A voice in the back of her mind tells her to yell at him, to shout and cry until he agrees to stay with her. But Zelda does not do any of these things. Instead, she nods.
“Goodbye, Father.”
For a moment longer, the two stare at one another. No words are spoken, no expressions are shifted in silent conversation. They just stare at one another as though imprinting the appearance of the other in their minds so they may never forget it. As though they ever could.
Before long, Zelda’s father brings the reins down and the horses haul the cart- and him- away. Zelda watches on as they trot out of sight through the stable gates. The image of her father and their cart against the grass of the fields takes up her vision for only a moment before the gates are closed, and Zelda is left to her fate.
Notes:
Next Chapter is Prince Link's time to shine! :D
Chapter 7: The Prince and the Shadow
Summary:
Prince Link’s time to shine!!! and impa gets a moment too lmao
Notes:
Impa really just snuck in here tbh
chapter notes : bitch u better make this good or i stg
EDIT: I rewrote the last scene of this chap because I was way too lazy when I published it lmao
Also I am veryyyy busy for a while now so updates may be a little more few and far between for a hot minute. I am still here tho!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thus the words are spoken. The prayers of the ancient priestesses of the Golden Goddesses must pierce through a chamber of pure silence, making way for the light of the future. The Princess of Light and her knight stand pure and proud before their servants, promising- with arms wide and eyes only for the sky- a prosperous future.
If someone were to ask Link (not that they ever would as it was, of course. His duty to perform for others above all else) his opinion on this writing, he would simply roll his eyes thinking of how boring it is.
On and on it drones about the single prayer that should be spoken at the knighting ceremony. Of course, whether it should truly apply to this specific situation isn’t a concern Link allows himself to have (he’s spent too much of his life worrying over his own station, his own existence as a prince instead of a princess). Regardless, it’s incredibly tedious.
Link flips the page, sighing at the sight of a full page as opposed to a page half-full of diagrams and images of what these authors must’ve assumed the ancient knighting ceremony looked like.
Only a few dozen more to go, he thinks, letting his head thud against his desk a few times. Perhaps if he is physically unable to read this, he won’t have to. He’s sure someone else would enjoy this, someone like Purah perhaps (although Purah is much more interested in the physical aspect of things, Link knows. It’s about all they truly have in common).
It would help if he could distract himself, or take breaks even. Not an option, though, as his mother does not allow menial decorations and has practically locked him in his rooms unless he gets a chaperone to go along with him somewhere.
Link closes the book.
Maybe he could get Impa to take him somewhere? It always worked before…
Before his outing unveiled the holder of the Master Sword, that is…
The fear that had filled Lady Zelda’s eyes just upon her realization that he could see the blade…
Of course he would end up doing that to one of the first people outside of the castle he’d ever spoken to…
Oh, well. He supposes. There’ll be plenty of time to apologize later.
Suddenly- as if she’d heard his thoughts, which Link isn’t entirely convinced she can’t- Impa rushes into the room, loudly swinging the wooden door open to announce her presence.
She spares him a small nod and an equally imperceptible smile before rushing around his room in a flurry. She flings clothing onto his bed, pulls his rug back to the center of the room(so he’d tripped over it a few times, so what?), and fidgets around with his pillows and covers before turning to him with a certain look in her eye that he recognizes instantly.
Expectation.
‘What?’ He signs, allowing his confusion to show on his face and body. It has been a very long time since Link has bothered to hide his emotions in front of Impa, as she’d always been able to guess them, anyway. Or, not so much guess as just know.
Impa rolls her eyes, throwing her large hat down on his bed. “You know what, Your Highness.”
He looks around. Other than the clothing that is now strewn about on his bed, nothing seems out of the ordinary. And he doesn’t remember making any promises for the day other than reading.
He shakes his head.
“Your Ceremonial Garb, Link!” Link startles slightly at the use of his given name, and even more so at the hand that collides lightly with the back of his head.
“Ow…”
“That didn’t hurt. Where’s your garb?”
Link thinks. He’d probably read something about Ceremonial Garb, not that he’d really remember it given that it was probably vaguely mentioned several dozen boring pages ago.
‘I don’t have any?’
Impa’s eyes widen comedically, in a way that she would only allow Link to see. Her hands raise and she groans, “You don’t have any? Lady Zelda’s already been fitted for hers, Your Highness!”
‘Ok?’
“‘Ok’? This isn’t ‘Ok’, Your Highness. It needs to be done!”
‘My mother probably already has a time scheduled for me, Impa.’
Impa’s head lolls, and she stares at Link, “I’m your caretaker, Link. I make your appointments.”
Link blinks, staring blankly at the older woman.
Impa stares back, her arms crossed, and her head tilted forward.
“Oh.”
“‘Oh’ is right! Please tell me you’re at least reading the assigned studies…”
Link huffs and holds up the offending book, tossing it to Impa after he’s sure she’s seen it. Not that she wouldn’t have caught it equally quickly with no warning.
She looks at the front cover before flipping to the page Link was on, wincing at the dog-eared corner.
“That’s good,” She says, her voice finally calming into it’s normal— and non-squeaky— tone. “You need to get it done, though.”
Link groans.
“What are you complaining about now?”
“It’s boring.”
“Yeah, politics are boring. You’re going to have to get used to it.”
The words sting a bit and Link looks away from his attendant. He only knows she’s gotten closer when she sighs, her footsteps having made no sound against the cold stone floor.
“It’s not all bad, Your Highness. I’ll be there every step of the way.”
Link looks back up, his eyes meeting those of his most trusted friend, and his heart is filled with a rare warmth. A pleasant feeling that no other person can bring him. Except Purah and Robbie on occasion.
“I know,” He says.
Impa looks at him for a moment longer, analyzing. Link knows better than to squirm under her scrutinizing gaze, so he just waits it out. After a few moments, she nods, satisfied. She pushes the terrible book into Link’s empty hands, stating; “Now finish this.”
He lightly shoves it back at her, shaking his head.
“Yes,” she says, pushing it back at him again.
Well, unfortunately for her, Link has nothing better to be doing, so he sets the book down at his feet this time and kicks it at her.
The leather of the book skids across the hard floors roughly before clashing with Impa’s thin boots. For a moment, she just stares down at it curiously as if it were some kind of unknown creature. Then, she raises her eyes to meet Link’s, her expression thoroughly unimpressed..
“Seriously?”
He nods, pushing down a smile.
“And what else would you be doing, then? Because you need to be ready for the ceremony, Your Highness. Your mother will have both our heads if you’re not prepared!”
Link finds a small glare fighting its way onto his face. As if he doesn’t already know that. His mother hasn’t spoken to him about anything else since Zelda had first arrived in the castle (not that she often spoke to him anyway). He knows better than anyone the expectations of the queen.
But Impa’s just trying to help, he knows, so he quickly schools his expression at her raised eyebrow.
Impa sighs, the sound heavy for her, but a sound of victory for Link.
“Fine.” She says. “I’ll take you out. But!” She quickly raises a hand to stop him when he practically leaps out of his seat towards the door. “You still need to practice.”
He tilts his head. His mother had made it very clear that he is not allowed to take books or any material objects belonging to the castle outside.
“We’ll just practice your movements outside.”
His shoulders slump. The movements. Right.
“There’s only a week left, Your Highness. I know it seems like a long time now, but it really isn’t.”
Link stops at his door, throwing his white cloak on over his clothing (He resists the urge to cover up with it. There’s nothing wrong with the green of his family, but he misses wearing other colors. When his father was still alive, Link had clothing in shades of pinks and blues, but not anymore.).
“So,” Impa continues, coming up close to him. She rests a hand of his shoulder to turn him around and fixes the position of his cloak. “Where would you like to go?”
He cracks his door open, eyeing the lone Sheikah that has taken up position outside instead of the typical royal guard.
Turning back to Impa, he smiles, and signs one word; ‘Den.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The grounds of Hyrule Castle have always been dull to Impa. Actually, it had probably been fairly exciting when she’d first arrived. The change from the grueling isolation of Kakariko Village to the bustling and crowded halls of the castle had been quite incredible for a younger Impa and Purah.
Purah had- at the time- not shown her excitement to the extent that Impa had (of course, the roles had somewhat switched over time. Impa’s no longer Purah’s excitable younger sister, no longer the incapable of the family).
Impa truly sees little point in her sister’s current conquests. The technology of their ancestors may never truly be understood, especially if they had buried them as they had on purpose. On the other hand, politics work. Violence works. That’s something Impa knows.
Perhaps her role as his caretaker was a bit hesitantly taken at first (she is only a few years his senior and they hardly had any true adult around to watch over them), but Impa had quickly learned how this all works; The queen makes a demand of the prince, and Impa ensures that he carries her word out in full. She hadn’t done too well at this for the first few months, but each time she failed, the queen only dealt out punishments to Link.
Impa had trained herself- over time- to put his wellbeing over her own.
Oftentimes this means going against what the prince wants for the purposes of keeping him out of the scrutiny of his mother’s fierce gaze.
So, Impa has her duties and everything in the castle is all the duller for it. Except for one thing; Link.
It’s almost as though he has a knack for running into the wrong things. Saying the wrong words, taking the wrong steps. Whether intentional or not, the prince never lives up to the high expectations of his mother. He never seems to care much, though, when she isn’t around. The queen instills fear in all in the castle, this Impa knows, but one cannot fear what is not present. At least not to the same degree. Link strives on this concept.
And perhaps Impa does as well, for there is never a dull day with the boy around.
Nor a dull place.
‘The Den’ as Link had penned it, is a small room hidden away in a secret alcove of the castle. How the prince ever stumbled across the entrance, Impa doesn’t know- her own people had never been made aware of this room’s existence (though it wouldn’t be too important to them, as it served as little more than a garden). The room must have been a blank space in the original castle, an empty area in the middle of where important rooms were built, as it is merely a small area of grass lit up by the sun’s rays in the daylight.
It is beautiful, though. And what Impa had always questioned is the existence of Silent Princess flowers within it. Link told her they weren’t there before, but- sometime before he had brought her to this haven of his- they had sprouted.
Impa asked only once why Link never told his mother of this place. He had given her a somewhat sad look (back before his expression hardly ever presented true emotion) before looking away.
‘No queen here.’ He had signed, tucking himself away into a corner to watch the flowers. ‘No king. No prince.’
Impa understood it all well enough to never ask again.
As Link rushes into the Den and tucks himself into that same corner that he always does, Impa just watches. She wonders if his father had shown him this place, before he was killed.
Impa sits cross-legged across from the prince, aware of how his eyes follow her, though they dart away to watch the plants when her own eyes rise to meet them.
“Are you ready then?” She asks.
Link tilts his head, turning his gaze back to her.
She does her best to level him with a slight glare, though she regrettably always has trouble keeping that up with him when his blue eyes are filled with such mirth that he so rarely gets to feel.
“Ready to practice for the knighting.”
He nods.
“And are you certain that you will not speak the words? Given how long the alternative took to find, it will not be easy to learn. And your mother would certainly prefer it.”
Link’s eyes shift until they have taken on that familiar mask of blankness. A form of protection, Impa knows. For him, it works just as well as Impa’s tribe’s innate talent for stealth, and the magic they use for it.
It had taken days to convince Queen Ryla to shift to the use of movements rather than words. She does not allow Link to use Hylian Sign in her presence (Impa had had no choice but to teach him, for he would not speak a word to her for years. If she taught him the Sheikah languages as well, then that’s no one else’s business), let alone for a centuries-old ceremony of such great importance.
Link’s eyes meet Impa’s and he nods just once before looking away from her. His hand reaches out to caress the petals of a Silent Princess close to him, the blue of the flower seeming more vibrant when his fingers come into contact with it.
For a moment, Impa is content just to watch him. The blank look fades gradually as the prince watches the flowers, eventually morphing into a small smile and bright eyes.
Impa steels herself for the battle to come. “Now,” she says. “Let’s practice, shall we?”
Link’s gaze darts over to her and rests there for a moment. Blue eyes meet red for several moments before the prince turns away again without a word.
“Come on, Your Highness. That was your promise.”
He glares half-heartedly at the word but pushes himself to his feet nonetheless.
Impa leads the movements, repeating herself several times as Link watches on with rapt attention. The motions are grand, full, and proud. Impa would equate the way it flows to that of a minuet or waltz, each movement gracefully connecting to the next as she raises her arms to the sky before gesturing towards her own heart and then Link’s in an imitation of how he will gesture to Zelda as the hero.
It’s confident. That’s the only part she worries about.
She’s proven correct when- moments later- Link tries to mimic her version of the ceremonial movements. His arms go to all the right places but the motions are small and timid. There’s no hint of confidence in them. It’s as though he is trying to hide everything he’s doing on purpose.
“Stop.” Impa stops him from repeating the movements by grabbing one of his wrists. He pulls back from her but she does not release him. “You need to be more confident.”
He pulls back once more but stops when her grip does not lessen.
He rolls his eyes and Impa scowls, tightening her grip. “This is serious, Your Highness! It needs to be done!” She growls the words and Link flinches back, his eyes wide with confusion.
“If you don’t learn this,” Impa continues, making sure to loosen her grip on his wrist (she ignores the pang of guilt that rushes through her upon the look on Link’s face). “Do you know what your mother will do?”
He stops squirming, finally standing still. He shakes his head.
“Exactly. So you need to get this right. You get one shot.”
After a moment, the prince nods, his gaze lowered to the ground- to the flowers being crushed beneath Impa’s feet. She follows his gaze, quickly releasing him and jumping back.
A Silent Princess lays squished against the ground, its once vibrant blue dulled to an almost pale gray.
Impa sighs (Purah would be so upset). “Try again.”
The next few hours are a dull repetition of the same movements. Impa watches silently as Link recites them, gesturing for him to do it again every time he finishes.
He does get more confident, though. By the end, his face is flushed red with humiliation but the movements are confident and that’s all that really matters.
Impa looks up to gauge the sun’s position. It’s difficult to tell from the area they’re in, hard to see over the tall walls of the castle, but she can tell where it is. The shadows whisper everything she needs to know to her.
She lifts up a hand, halting the prince from repeating the ritual.
He tilts his head at her as he kneels down to collect his discarded cloak.
“Breakfast,” she says.
She turns around, marching out to ignore that sad look she knows he has.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Lady Zelda!” The queen exclaims, standing from her seat and watching the door. Link turns to follow her eyes, watching as the blond girl enters the room. She looks out of place, even in her new gear (in- of course- the green of the royal family). Her body is stiff and her eyes dart around, taking in every detail of the grand chamber. Her arms are crossed over her chest protectively.
She reminds him of the wild rabbits he used to find in the courtyards. Jittery and frightened, eyes wide and searching for an escape that isn’t there. It’s sad. Hardly a week has passed, and already Zelda feels stuck. Imprisoned.
“Lady Zelda,” his mother says again, more insistently. “Please. Take a seat.”
Zelda jumps and her eyes are wide as she eyes the queen. Her posture straightens visibly and dramatically, making her appear several inches taller. She steps forward slowly- as if testing something- before practically darting over to the table and taking her seat.
His mother pays this no mind, however, simply sitting down herself and sending the girl a bright smile. It’s full of teeth, but the mirth in it truly reaches her eyes. The piercing blue of them- much brighter than Link’s own eyes. Where Impa says his resemble a clear sky, the queen’s resemble ice, cutting and cold.
Link can hardly remember the last time she’d smiled at him, let alone so brightly. So full of life and excitement.
He points his gaze toward the door, where Impa waits for him. She appears to be watching the exchange closely, ready for any shift, any accident. Their eyes meet for a mere second before Impa’s gaze moves on.
His mother’s voice pulls him back to the table. “My dear,” she says. For a moment, Link believes she’s speaking to him, but a glance her direction tells him otherwise. She has eyes only for Zelda. Or- more appropriately- for the sword that now rests over the back of her seat precariously. Its scabbard is tied to the chair loosely, and the sword wiggles with each tense shift of Zelda’s body. “Tell me about yourself.”
Zelda’s eyes widen and she looks between the two royals. Link feels a pang of- empathy? Pity?- something at her surprised look.
Her mouth opens and closes. She flounders for words like a fish out of water. A fitting analogy. “Me, Your Majesty?”
She stutters severely, but it doesn’t bother the queen. She just keeps smiling that predatory smile in Zelda’s direction. “Yes, Dear. What were you doing before you happened upon the Korok Forest?” There’s something sharp in her tone. Something Link can’t quite decipher.
Her smile is wide but her eyes are sharp. Calculating. Searching. Hunting.
“Well,” Zelda says, clearing her throat roughly and cringing at the wet sound of it. The queen cringes as well but simply smiles more softly. “My father and myself were making a delivery through Akkala. When we finished with that, we had a delivery in Castle Town, so we took the path around the forest for shelter in the night.”
“What sort of…Deliveries?”
Zelda’s expression is lost at the queen’s tone. She looks to Link- for reasons he doesn’t understand. Her eyes dart around his face for a moment before her lips tighten and she turns back to his mother.
“Well…Milk, eggs, that sort of thing. That’s what we trade in at our farm, see.”
“So you are a farmer like your father?”
“Yes, Your Majesty…I am not yet old enough to leave the farm on my own.” It does not escape Link’s notice that Zelda’s tone turns more light, her words more proper.
“How old are you? You appear close in age to my son.”
Zelda nods vigorously. “I believe I am only a few months older, Your Majesty. I am sixteen.”
“Almost of age then?”
“Yes.”
That sharp smile returns to the queen’s face, so wide her eyes squint and crinkle. “Perfect. Why did you never make these deliveries with your father before, if I may ask?”
Zelda’s expression falls- something Link wasn’t sure it could do considering how upset she seemed to naturally look. “I spent most of my time reading. I am not in a village school, so I learn on my own.”
“A researcher? Perhaps we’ll find the time to get you a Sheikah tutor then. For…proper schooling.” His mother’s voice is carefully diplomatic, but the years have taught Link to see behind the carefully constructed interest painted upon the woman’s face. She’s bored. “When they aren’t busy with ancient research, of course.”
Zelda’s voice comes again, brighter than it had been before but suddenly Link can’t focus on it. He knows she’s asking about the guardians, though he can’t figure out why. His eyes seem drawn almost subconsciously to the Master Sword in his boredom.
His mother’s voice almost pulls him from the blade when she seems to move on quickly from the subject, but his eyes do not leave the weapon.
It’s beautiful, he thinks. Intricately detailed, even beneath the dull scrapes that have gathered on it through its millennia of existence. The hilt shines in the reflection of the morning light, glowing into Link’s gaze.
A faint chime sounds. It’s like the sound of the castle bells, but softer. More intimate.
Someone calls his name. Not his title. It makes Link turn in his seat, expecting to see Impa behind him. She is not there. No, she is still stood at the door as she has been this whole breakfast.
He’s too distracted, he thinks. Maybe he needs more sleep.
Because he’s always thinking of the things he needs to do. He’s aware of them consciously, even as Impa truly does approach him to gather him for whatever duty he has now. There can be no distractions for him.
Chosen one.
…No distractions.
Notes:
next chap Zelda is officially knightedddd
Chapter 8: Instrument of the Goddess
Summary:
Zelda officially becomes Link's knight!!!
Notes:
Sorry this chap took so long lmao like kinda hit me like a freight train.
Between several deaths in the family and classes and my work, I didn't have time to write for like a solid three weeks
BUT I grinded this chapter out and I think it's pretty good ngl
It's also relatively lengthy sooo ;)Chapter 8 notes: 'Impa rolls up with her gang (gangsta)'
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The ringing of steel on steel fills Zelda’s ears relentlessly, the clanging of blades echoing distantly from the enclosed training yard. It fills her mind satisfyingly, and that feeling only intensifies with each successful strike she makes with her own blade.
Not the Master Sword, of course. When she’d brought the sacred blade to her first training session (several days ago now. Zelda can say what she wishes about the runnings of the castle, but they certainly don’t waste any time. Her father had only left the day before she’d been pulled for training.) the captain had been wide-eyed and shocked. He’d been quick to produce a different sword for her, one that was plainly designed and significantly more dull.
Whatever her misgivings with the blade, she almost wishes for the Master Sword now. Its weight felt perfect in her hands, light enough to hold for long periods of time, but still heavy enough to not forget about.
The practice blade is much too heavy. Zelda’s sure her hearing has been impacted by the sheer amount of times she’s already dropped the thing onto the hard ground beneath them. Not to mention the number of times she’s slammed its sharp edge harshly down when the captain moved his own too quickly.
They started with basics; how to hold a sword. Zelda had assumed she already knew this- after all, how hard could it be? She soon found out how wrong she was.
Your stance is weak, the captain told her. Stagger your legs more. This will give you more stability in your movements…Not that far!
Don’t grip your sword so roughly. Swing it at the wrong angle and that hold could break your wrist cleanly. Don’t be dainty, though. You aren’t holding a pencil.
After she’d finally gotten the sword comfortably in her hand, they’d moved on to basic attacks.
Your attacks are far too rough. You’ll extend your energy too quickly.
Use your height to your advantage. Aim for what you can reach. Imagine that if you cannot hit it, then neither can your weapon.
And after that…Well, Zelda isn’t sure what comes next. She has yet to push past the most basic of attacks. It’s frustrating. Beyond frustrating. Days have passed, and she’s practiced and practiced, even without a sword in her hand. Even so, she cannot manage her attacks in a way that satisfies the captain.
“You’re too desperate, Zelda.” He says, lowering his own blade after she drops hers again. It clatters to a halt, and he picks it up. He tosses the weapon in his hand for a moment (Zelda ignores the pang of jealousy that fills her unpleasantly at the sight). “Save your strength. Not every attack needs to be your strongest.”
The captain steps towards her, holding out the practice sword’s hilt. She tears it from him, realizing her mistake as he whips his armored hand from the blade of it quickly as it runs across the length of his palm.
“Won’t I win quicker that way?”
“Against an untrained opponent, perhaps. Most enemies will be too quick for that. They’ll see your attacks coming a mile away and they’ll wait you out. Being out of energy on the battlefield is a situation you don’t want to find yourself in.”
Zelda nods, lifting the blade up for another grueling round of sharp pains driving up her arm as her sword clashes clumsily against a more experienced hand.
The captain sighs. He steps around Zelda to set his sword to rest beside the other practice blades before turning back to her. “Just run some forms for now.” He says.
Zelda nods confidently even as her heart pounds painfully in her chest. She breathes in once. She lifts the blade even higher. She breathes out.
Her first swing comes clumsily yet again as she tries to rein in her strength- or, perhaps, her weakness. It proves too difficult to make the heavy blade fall gracefully and controlled. For the first few seconds as Zelda brings it down, she almost believes she’s got it this time, finally- but as the blade keeps moving, it picks up speed and Zelda finds herself pulling up on it roughly to avoid slamming the dull tip into the ground.
“Again,” The captain demands.
This time is easier, now that she’s remembered the true weight of the sword. She goes more slowly, which allows her to plan exactly the amount of strength she should use at any given moment. A rush of pride passes through her as the blade stops exactly where she wants it, its movement consistent.
“Good. Now do it again. Faster.”
Each swing of the sword gets easier and more manageable. Its weight is still uncomfortable, weighing down Zelda’s hand considerably more than she feels it should, but it becomes easier to handle.
Swing after swing, Zelda finds the weapon and its movements becoming more natural. She no longer fumbles in the last seconds, instead moving her body with the blade as it swings through the air with a sharp fwip.
Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.
Fwip.
Zelda feels her arms growing heavier as she continues. Each ‘Again’ from the captain making anger fill her head.
Fwip.
…Fwip.
Zelda lifts the blade into the air, raising it over her head. She brings it straight down.
…Clang!
It strikes against the hard ground loudly; the angle tearing the weapon out of Zelda’s fragile hold. The sword clatters against the ground before stopping abruptly, staring up at Zelda with no reflection in its dulled and ugly steel.
For a moment, Zelda stays where she is, panting. She stares at the blade with a harsh glare as if it had leaped out of her grip of its own volition.
She doesn’t understand.
Suddenly, the sword is pulled from her gaze as the captain picks it up. Zelda watches as he sets the thing next to his own practice blade before straightening up.
“That’s good,” he says. “Now you understand why you shouldn’t overextend yourself.”
“But-” It’s not good. Zelda gestures to the ground where her blade had struck. It’s marked now, the gray marred by the white streak where it had cut.
He shakes his head. “That’s alright. You learned. That’s what’s important.”
“But I’m learning too slowly, aren’t I?” Zelda plops down, leaning down a castle wall. She’s still panting- and sweating. She takes her gauntlets off, throwing them down to the ground beside her.
What’s so difficult about this? She’s always been a strong girl, so why can’t she hold a sword, of all things?
She has so much to do. She’s becoming the prince’s personal knight today. Today, and she can hardly swing a sword without killing herself.
Her father would be so disappointed.
“Perhaps,” the captain says. Zelda looks up at him. He has his helmet off now, revealing a kind expression full of nothing but sympathy. Zelda doesn’t understand it.
He leans down to sit beside her, groaning with the effort. “But you’ll get there. Hylia chose you for a reason.” He looks up at the clouds above them. “That, I truly believe. I’ve seen knights struggle before, Zelda, and they almost always learn. These things can come slowly, especially if the decision to be here was made…hastily.”
Decision. As if that’s what it was.
“Has anyone ever struggled this much?”
The captain doesn’t answer, although that alone proves to be answer enough.
So disappointing.
“Once you’re ready,” the man starts again, ignoring the way Zelda fidgets under his newfound scrutiny. “I’d like to organize a more proper knighting for you. A legendary hero deserves better than a private ceremony.”
Hero. The word almost physically aches.
“Oh, no. I don’t need anything like that.”
“Well…That’s too bad.”
Before Zelda can retort that there is no time for a ceremony when she has so much to learn in so little time, the sound of several sets of light footsteps rounds the corner into the training yard’s smaller sector.
She looks up. Leading the group is Impa, her hair tied up into a tight braid where it would usually hang down loosely. She wears a tight outfit. It’s black with gray and brown accents and the familiar Sheikah symbol marked across its chest. She also wears a scarf that hangs like a cape down her back.
To put it simply, she looks important.
That must be for the ceremony, Zelda thinks as she sees the Sheikah servants trailing behind Impa in similar- if not less detailed- garb.
Zelda tries to ignore how the sight makes her freeze. Makes her want to run away and never return. But the captain’s hand on her shoulder ensures that she keeps her place, in a position akin to cowering before the Sheikah. A moment passes as the group comes closer before the man tightens his grip, urging Zelda to her feet.
Impa comes to a stop before them. Her hand flies up to her braid before quickly coming back down to her side.
“My lady,” she says softly, her voice a bit hoarse. “It’s time to prepare for your ceremony.”
“Already…”
“Yes.” Without any further words, Impa turns to the captain. Zelda wants to shake her suddenly. To tell her that she’s important too. Of course, she doesn’t. “How is her training, Captain?”
The captain hesitates, turning to Zelda and seeming to examine something.
“Captain?” Impa urges impatiently. “Her Majesty wishes to know.”
He sighs. “Slow.”
“Slow?”
“We’ve only just finished with basics.”
Impa hums, though her tone is carefully blank. The sound betrays none of the woman’s true thoughts.
In Zelda’s experience, this is never a good sign. A blank tone conveys that there is something that someone wants to hide. If this news were good news to Impa, she would have no trouble expressing it. The Sheikah woman very much seems to be the sort to do things this way. And Zelda would know.
“She can hold a sword,” the captain continues. His eyes do not meet the red of Impa’s, staring off somewhere beside her. “Progress is being made.”
Impa sighs- there’s that disappointment- and pinches the bridge of her nose. For a moment, she closes her eyes and breathes. When she opens them, she stares at Zelda.
“Be sure you are honest to the queen about all this.” Her tone makes Zelda’s eyes widen. It’s dull and empty. Quiet and intimidating, hiding any sort of malice or threat behind an informative facade. It’s eerily similar to the way Lia used to stare at her father when there was a payment due in for the farm. Or a mistake made.
“Of course.” Her own voice comes out hardly louder than a whisper.
Impa nods, satisfied with this response- and reaction. “Good. Come along, then. I will walk you to your rooms, where Icho and Kia will assist you with your ceremonial garb.” She nods to the two Sheikah women following her, who nod at Zelda as their names are stated.
“I don’t believe I need assistance with my clothes?” The last thing Zelda wants is more eyes on her. Staring and examining. Watching her every waking movement and just hoping to catch her slipping up, making a mistake. Especially with her clothes off.
Impa’s eyes narrow. “Then they will wait outside your rooms. It is the duty of the Sheikah to lead all parties to the chapel today.”
Zelda almost argues more, but the steely look in Impa’s gaze tells her that she won’t budge. Regardless, this seems a fair compromise. She nods.
“Come then.”
Once again, the pace is quick as Impa, Icho, and Kia lead Zelda through the regal halls of Hyrule Castle. She hasn’t gotten a single chance since that first day with her father. She’d love a chance to study those instruments again at the very least, but life in the castle is much busier than she ever imagined. Where she had always pictured the aristocracy of Hyrule living in the castle alone- being pampered by happy and overly friendly servants-, it is nothing like that. All people- nobles and workers alike- wind through the confusing hallways nonstop, carrying all manners of paperwork, clothing, and weaponry. There is not a single moment where nothing is happening. No moments of quiet or rest.
Part of her enjoys it. The sound of work reminds her of the farm, of her home. Another part of her- a much larger part- hates it with a passion that burns through her entire being until she can almost feel it on a physical level. While she had always preferred to stay in and read at home, seeing the workers milling about made her sorely miss her responsibilities. When she trains, the sound of carts and horses makes her heart ache for her own mare. Epona is her most trusted friend, even when she would hardly let Zelda near her, let alone on her back. That seems especially sad when Zelda sees how people interact here. Epona’s been with Zelda since she was four years old, though (the name had been an obvious choice. Her mother loved reading her stories of the legendary heroes. If only she could see Zelda now. Would she be proud, she wonders).
Fresh air hits Zelda’s face suddenly as the group passes onto a small walkway on the outside of the castle. They seem to be overlooking a distant part of the castle grounds. There’s a large light that shines, almost impossible to see in the daylight. It shines blue, the brightness of it fading in and out as the source moves around, scurrying from one end of its enclosure to another.
There are also several people surrounding it, Zelda notices. Several Sheikah.
They must be guardians!
She can’t contain her newfound excitement at the sight. It fades soon, however, as the Sheikah usher her quickly back inside the castle.
She doesn’t know much about guardians, only what has been revealed to the general public; They are ancient technology created by the Sheikah ten thousand years ago to assist the legendary hero and his princess. Ancient weapons dug up to fight an unknown war.
She must see them closer, Zelda decides.
“Lady Zelda!” Suddenly Impa stops moving. Zelda almost slams into her back.
Once she finally lands confidently on her feet, she tries to ignore the way her face heats under Impa’s scrutiny. “Yes?”
“I’ve been speaking to you.”
Zelda blinks. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh…I’m-er- I apologize, Lady Impa.” She shakes her head, gesturing for the Sheikah women to continue but being careful to keep her attention on Impa. The woman does not seem to be in a good mood.
One of the others huffs- which one, Zelda can’t tell- and they begin walking again, the pace just a tad slower than previously.
“I apologize, Lady Impa.” Zelda says again, moving up to walk side-by-side with her. “I was just thinking.”
“About the ceremony, I hope.”
“I-…No.”
Impa hums, making her displeasure clear this time. “Run me through your duties then.”
“Right here?”
“Just explain them as we walk.”
It’s simple, Zelda thinks. Her duties during the ceremony had been the first thing she properly learned at the castle. Turns out studying is much easier for her than sword fighting.
Zelda finds herself getting a bit distracted as she explains everything to Impa. She drones on about every specific moment where she’s expected to move. It’s easy enough. Most of the ceremony will be performed by Prince Link and the queen.
Once she finishes speaking, Zelda realizes that they’ve been standing still for a few moments. A quick look at her surroundings tells her that they’ve reached her room. Odd, she thinks. They didn’t pass any of the usual rooms that Zelda does.
“Why did we take that path?” She asks Impa curiously. “Wouldn’t it have been faster the other way?”
“Yes,” Impa answers. She pushes the door to Zelda’s room open quickly. “However, it’s imperative that you and the prince not see one another today until the ceremony. Tradition.”
Almost like a wedding, Zelda thinks bitterly.
It is similar, though. Two people put together in a chapel and the binding of their souls for the rest of their lives.
Zelda hates it.
“This is where I leave you,” Impa states, tapping her foot impatiently. “Remember, Icho and Kia will wait for you here to lead you through Castletown. You are not to go alone.”
“…Of course.”
Impa nods and- with a quick glance towards the other women- spins on her heel before promptly disappearing down the hall.
“Be quick, My Lady.” Icho- or Kia- says as she gestures into Zelda’s room. Zelda looks in to find her ceremonial garb already laid out on her bed. Someone had been in her room, of course. What’s another violation of her privacy? “We don’t have a lot of time.”
One of the women closes the door behind her as she enters her room, the door latching shut quietly. So quietly Zelda turns around to make sure it had actually shut at all.
The garb is easy enough to get into. The tailors- Mei and Jude- had been friendly enough, if a bit irritable. It had taken them less than twenty minutes to find the perfect fitting for her, and then they had been quick to push her out of their shop. A few days later, Zelda had been summoned back to collect her garb. It’s a simple piece; Loose white pants with a loose green tunic that mimics that of the typical hero’s garb. On Zelda, the top resembles more of a dress than a simple tunic with how low it hits, but she presumes that that’s on purpose. A sign of purity for the Goddess’ chosen.
A knock on the door urges Zelda to move quicker, and she pulls the ornamental headpiece over her hair. She knows she’ll have the jewels of it tangled within the next hour.
Another knock comes, forcing Zelda to push back her instinct (her instinct is to knock back twice as loudly. See how much they like it). Instead, she glances at herself in the long mirror.
She fits in now, she thinks. The outfit, though plain, is carefully crafted and regal. For once, Zelda doesn’t look at the gold of the mirror and wonder how she ended up here. Instead, she allows herself a moment to feel good. To feel confident.
Smoothing out the fabric of her trousers,- feeling the soft material beneath her fingers, untorn and unblemished- Zelda makes her way back to the door. She opens it to find Icho- or Kia- with her hand raised to knock again. The woman meets her stare. Her face slowly turns multiple shades of red, almost matching her eyes. Zelda feels a small ping of satisfaction.
“I’m ready now,” she says, a small smirk forcing its way onto her face.
Icho-Kia coughs, nodding. She looks behind her at the two new figures that have appeared in the hall.
Zelda looks as well. The first newcomer is the Sheikah woman she had met briefly when her father left. The scientist, Lady Purah. Her hair is cut short- just as Zelda had seen it before- and contains a strip of red in the front, creating a great contrast to the rest of her pure white hair. Having her hair so short must help with her work, Zelda thinks, as none of the other Sheikah women she’s seen have had hair anywhere higher than their collarbones.
Beside Purah stands a Sheikah man, one Zelda’s never seen- at least up close (it could be that he was part of the team with Lady Purah before, but Zelda hadn’t seen anyone else’s faces. Or heard their names).
Icho-Kia (The other one. Zelda’s going to call her Kia-Icho) gestures to them and bows slightly.
“Lady Zelda,” She says, her long braid whipping past Zelda’s face as she turns to face her. “These are Lady Purah,” Purah does an odd movement with her hand at the introduction, lifting her fingers in a ‘v’ around her eye and exclaiming ‘Check It!’. “And Lord Robbie.” Robbie is much more sedate during his own introduction, giving Zelda a nod and a meaningful look (not that Zelda knows what meaning it could be).
Zelda feels four sets of eyes upon her then as the Sheikah await her response.
“It’s…A pleasure to meet you? My Lord, My Lady?”
“Sure is!” Purah proclaims. She dives forward and shoves her arm through Zelda’s, linking them together. Icho and Kia make matching noises of distress as she is pulled away, but they do not move to disrupt the researcher. Robbie simply huffs and falls into step on Zelda’s other side.
The pace now is somehow quicker than what Impa had taken before. The halls almost blur in the speed of their motions. Zelda internally sighs her frustration.
“So, Lady Zelda.” Robbie starts. His voice is a low and smooth bass, conspiratorial in a way that puts Zelda on edge, but not unpleasantly. “It has come to our attention that you have quite an interest in our research.” His tone is grand, though quiet enough to not be heard echoing throughout the halls. It reminds Zelda of the confident announcements of orchestra conductors or playwrights (from the one orchestra she’d ever seen perform. Lia had taken her when she was very young). Or perhaps it is more akin to that of a town crier.
“It…has?”
“An interest like yours? Of course it has! No Hylians care about our research!” For some reason, Robbie sounds proud of the statement, though it makes Zelda wince.
“How do you know?”
“That no one cares, or that you’re interested?”
“That I’m interested.”
Robbie opens his mouth to answer her query, but before he can Purah pulls tight on Zelda’s arm, forcing their bodies closer together. The clashing of their legs makes walking a lot more difficult, but Purah doesn’t seem to mind.
“My dear little sister told us!” She announces.
This makes Zelda’s brain go blank. “Your sister?”
“Impa!”
…This gives Zelda pause. Impa doesn’t seem the sibling type, if she could say so. Not to mention the way she had spoken about ancient research, as if it were some colossal waste of time, something her people should not be involved with now or ever. Her voice had even held a hint of anger while she spoke of it.
“You’re surprised,” Robbie says, his face holding a small smirk. “Everyone always is.”
“Well, it’s just- You have such…differing opinions.”
Purah barks out a laugh, bumping her hip into Zelda’s. “That’s putting it lightly, Zeldy! My little sister thinks I’m wasting my time and my talents, of which I have many. But- as the eldest- I know better. Guardians will be the reason we win against the Calamity.”
Zelda’s heart swells as the air around her gets colder, having decided to apparently forget about Impa for the time being. “The guardians? They work?” She finds her steps speeding up and her voice raising in pitch as her excitement grows. She knows she should rein it in, but there’s something making her not want to. “Truly?”
“Of course! No thanks to Robbie!”
“What?! But I’m the one who-”
“I’m sure we can arrange for you to come see them sometime!” Purah pushes past Robbie’s protests, even as they continue quietly.
Zelda stops in her tracks.
She could see the guardians?
She could do something just because she’s interested in it and not because someone else decided she has to do it?
She feels a rush of appreciation for Impa suddenly.
Her heart thuds against her ribcage painfully and a wide smile pushes its way across her face, so wide she finds her eyes squinting as she gazes up at Purah.
“Truly?” She asks, and- instead of her voice being annoyingly high-pitched with excitement- her voice is soft and whispery, like she’s passing along a well-kept secret.
“Of course!” Purah untangles their arms and points somewhere behind Zelda. Following her finger with her eyes, Zelda spies Impa standing outside the chapel. They’re there already? “After the ceremony, of course. Imps looks impatient.” Purah giggles and pushes past Zelda, Robbie following suit. “Good luck, hero!”
…Hero.
The word is a curse. It makes all excitement leave her body, shoot out from her like a wave pulling from the shore, melting away to leave behind its aftermath. Anxiety. Fear.
Impa sees her, her red eyes piercing into her. Zelda stands stock-still and meets Impa’s gaze. The older woman’s eyes seem to soften slightly before she gestures Zelda forward with her free arm (her other arm holding a long piece of cloth).
“Good.” Impa says as Zelda approaches, her eyes sweeping up and down her body before landing back on her face. “And you’re here right on time. Could’ve been a bit sooner, but I’ll take what I can get.” Kia and Icho shrink back at the half-hearted glare Impa sends their way.
The cloth must be the Master Sword, Zelda thinks. The stories had stated that a Sheikah attendant would present the sword in cloth since no one other than the hero could withstand direct contact with it.
The ringing that suddenly shoots through her brain certainly attests to that being the sacred blade. Zelda hates the way it stings her mind. She finds herself glaring at the sword, but the malice isn’t there. She doesn’t particularly mind the sword here.
Impa brings the cloth-wrapped Master Sword in front of her before nodding to a man by the chapel doors. He nods back and pushes the grand door open with the help of another man.
Impa marches into the doorway. Zelda bites her lip before following, jogging to catch up.
The chapel is so dimly lit that Zelda can hardly see anything beyond the light that floods in from the doorway. The end of it reaches a large etching of the Triforce on the floor. It glows gold in the natural light.
When the doors are closed behind them, Zelda’s vision goes dark. No one makes a sound. Not a breath, not a step. For a moment, everyone leaves the building in darkness, standing still in view of only the goddesses, before a light at the front alter brings attention to Queen Ryla and Prince Link. They stand on either side of the alter, the prince with his back to Zelda and the door. The queen holds a small candle in her hands, cradling it. She holds it up for the crowded chapel, proving its existence to the crowds.
The silence grows stiffer as the queen holds the candle. After a few moments, the flame flickering in its place with no breeze to move it, she hands the candle off to a young Sheikah girl beside her. The girl begins making her way around the building, lighting up the numerous sconces and candles around the place.
Queen Ryla steps back from the alter, making her way over to another Sheikah- a male. He holds something in his hands that’s covered in a cloth. The queen nods briefly to him before tearing the cloth off with a flourish, revealing the lyre beneath; the instrument of the Goddess.
She grasps the golden instrument in her hands gently, pulling it out of the Sheikah’s grip. She takes a moment to face her audience and pluck once on each of the strings. It’s perfectly tuned, the notes bouncing off the walls lightly and jovially.
The matriarch lifts it into the air the same way she did with the candle before stepping back to her original position across from the prince.
She sets the lyre down on the alter, staring into her son’s eyes (or where Zelda assumes his eyes are. His head is downcast as if in prayer).
A moment later and Prince Link lifts his head, bowing lowly to his mother. She gives him a tight-lipped smile before stepping back and away from the alter. The prince runs his fingers along the edges of the lyre reverently, caressing each etched image on its surface before scooping it up into his arms.
He turns to face the doors, the lyre settled in his right arm. It’s then that Zelda sees his own ceremonial garb. Where Zelda had thought her tunic was long on her, the prince’s top reaches down almost to his knees, the pure white color of it only split by the brown belt around his middle. For a moment, she thinks he lacks pants at all, but the prince moves his legs at just the right angle to reveal white pants similar to Zelda’s own flowing down over his feet, covering them entirely.
Prince Link’s eyes dart around the room, over each person’s face. His gaze is reminiscent of that of a wild, cornered animal. Pupils blown, mind racing as it works to put the body in fight or flight. For a moment, Zelda feels for the prince. He doesn’t seem to be any more secure in this than she does. But then she catches a glimpse of the covered Master Sword in Impa’s arms and she’s reminded of Prince Link’s willingness to reveal her. The way he’d pointed towards the Sacred Blade on her back without a second thought to her own wellbeing.
So when his eyes cross over to meet hers, Zelda meets them with a fierce glare, channeling all her frustration from the last week into it. He winces back- gripping the lyre tighter in his arms- and turns his gaze downwards.
As he stares at the ground, his other hand reaches up to pluck at the strings of the lyre. He plucks hesitantly, the sharp sound reverberating through the chapel unpleasantly. The sound is almost sour, ringing almost identically to how the sword in Impa’s hands does.
Zelda resists the urge to cover her ears as the prince plucks at another string, the ringing of the Master Sword shifting tones to match his pitch. She can’t, however, resist the urge to cringe at the sounds clashing and mixing in her mind.
Prince Link takes a deep breath, his chest heaving, before beginning a song.
It’s a lovely tune, Zelda thinks. Its major melody fills the chamber entirely, shifting the simple chapel to that of a grand hall, an empty and ornately designed space. It fills Zelda with a feeling of lightness, of purity and happiness.
It’s familiar, Zelda thinks. She feels as though the melodic line is intricately etched onto her very soul, though she can’t begin to remember the lyrics of the tune. There’s something else, though. Zelda doesn’t think she’s ever heard the song before. She can’t predict how the notes shift and move, can’t remember the strings that are going to be plucked before the price plucks them. But she knows the song. It rings in her head as its played, like a song that Zelda would hear often.
en daʃeʋu nobe̞ ʃʊndu
The ringing of the Master Sword has stopped, the sound of a perfectly in tune voice replacing its harsh tones. Feminine, but cold and utterly emotionless. It sings along with each line that Prince Link plucks out on his lute, perfectly accompanied by his playing.
tje̞ ʃʊtu ke̞wɛnu sale̞
Zelda suspects the language to be some form of Ancient Hylian, for its form is similar to how the old languages would be described in books and research materials. She finds the modern equivalents of each word entering her mind of the voice sings, painting a picture of an old legend carried down through the many centuries.
en daʃeʋu nobe̞ dʊʃu
She looks to the queen, but finds that her lips are tightly shut, her mouth in a thin line. There’s no choir. No one seems at all bothered by the voice. Could it be? She wonders.
tje̞ ʃʊtu nobe̞ dezu dotʃe̞
Prince Link plucks out the final line of the melody, the beautiful voice creating a distinct harmony with it as the sound fades out. Zelda looks to the hidden sword in Impa’s arms. There’s a high-pitched chime as her eyes meet with the covered hilt.
The Master Sword.
Zelda stares at the blade, her attention uninterrupted for several moments until Impa thrusts an arm out at her, lightly striking her side. She motions with her head towards the alter, where the royals stand straight and ready, the lyre abandoned on the alter.
Impa takes the first step and Zelda quickly falls into time with her as they walk down the aisle of the chapel. Around them, Sheikah servants light various additional sconces around the room, illuminating their path with warm, bright light.
Once they reach the aisle, Zelda meets the prince’s eyes for a moment before quickly facing down and kneeling before him.
She hears rustling above her head as Impa hands off the concealed Master Sword to the prince. She knows what happens now, even as she faces the dirty carpeted floor of the chapel and is unable to watch it. She knows Prince Link brandishes the covered blade above the flames of the candles, making his intentions with it clear to all those in attendance of the ceremony. Then she hears him turn around to face the statue of the Goddess at the front of the building.
As he signs with his hands and the sword, Zelda recites the prayer in her mind.
Great Goddess, guiding light and protector of our people, grant us your blessing and mercy as I act during this ceremony.
Prince Link unveils the Master Sword, allowing its cover to fall to the ground by Zelda’s knees and lifting the sacred blade for the chapel to see. He holds it skyward, she knows, towards the heaven and the goddesses themselves, making a physical request with the very item Hylia blessed them with. If ‘blessed’ is the proper word, Zelda thinks bitterly.
The prince turns around making another grand motion with his arms- Allow the light of our Gods and our blessings to illuminate your path as you embark, O youthful hero- before holding the sacred blade horizontally in his hands, cradling it as if it were some fragile heirloom and not a deadly weapon.
Hero.
He holds the sword out to Zelda, an offering.
As she moves her right hand to grip the hilt, Link’s hand leaves it to perform more signs.
Allow your placement to bring you together, Young Divinity. Allow your blade to cut through the darkness and protect the blood of the Goddess Hylia.
Zelda lowers her head in a bow- deeper than the kneel she had already been in, because that simply wasn’t enough- before rising, the Master Sword back in her own hands once more. She was right, Zelda thinks bitterly, it is a much more comfortable weight than the training swords.
Moving to the alter, Zelda holds the tip of the Master Sword’s vibrant blade over the fire of a candle. She holds it there for a moment in a mocking mimic of the forging of a blade before bringing it down to extinguish the flame. Several times she does this, before all candles on the alter are extinguished and she is forced to kneel before Prince Link once more, holding the ‘forged’ weapon to him. She stares into his eyes this time, no longer required to gaze at the floor. He shuddered under her scrutiny before tearing his own eyes away.
Remembering his place, the prince finally reaches out and grips the blade of the Master Sword hard enough to draw blood. Zelda feels a faint burning on her hand, the source of which she does not know, and Prince Link loosens his grip.
Impa steps behind him, wrapping her arms around his torse to clasp golden bracelets onto his wrists. Zelda doesn’t miss how she rubs along his arms soothingly upon pulling away.
The queen steps forward then, brandishing a bright purple ribbon. Her piercing gaze bears into Zelda’s skull, ignoring her son entirely. Her blue eyes remind Zelda of the fierce blue she’s seen in images of ice thickly covering a frozen lake in Hebra.
“Lady Zelda,” The matriarch begins, her tone dull and expectant. “Do you- as the hero of this land and her peoples- swear to defend the blood of the Goddess and her lands until the evil is extinguished or your life is taken?”
The way she speaks sends shivers down Zelda’s spine.
Even so, she nods. (She wonders why the role of the hero was not given any speaking roles. She’s certain no one truly understands the old signs and gestures the prince is using)
Queen Ryla nods back to Zelda, bringing the ribbon up to wrap around her blade. The ribbon is tied around Prince Link’s hand, effectively attaching it to the Master Sword’s sharp end. After this is done, the queen gestures the the Sheikah at the doors and they are opened, allowing the light of mid afternoon to flood into the chapel as their audience leaves, unaffected by everything they had witnessed.
As their hands are connected, Zelda stares at the prince until- finally- he stares back.
Why? She thinks, pushing all of the venomous thoughts she could into her stare, into the hand clenching tightly around the Master Sword’s hilt. Why? She thinks again, repeating the question as though expecting the prince to answer her.
Prince Link flinches away, gazing at the floor until Impa unties his hand.
Zelda watches him storm out with the Sheikah woman hot on his heels.
The Master Sword burns in her hand.
Notes:
Next Chapter the queen decides to send her own kid on a mission because why not and Zelda meets a guardian!
Also to clear things up because i think it might be a lil confusing: Zelda was knighted prior to this chaoter very hastily and privately. The ceremony in this chaoter is just her assigment as Link’s knight. So when the captain says she deserves more than a private ceremony he's talking about her actual knighting :)
Chapter 9: Sage Wisdom
Summary:
Zelda and LInk get to see Guardians!!! :D
It definitely doesn't go wrong at all!!! :D
Notes:
Chapter notes; IDK it'll work in the moment IDK how to outline
Please bear with the first half of this chapter lmao i tried ongPotential TW of child abuse for this chapter. if this causes issues, it starts on the line: "so- against his better judgement, perhaps- Link raises his hands"
and ends on: "He nods"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His mother has done a total one-eighty, it seems. Where she had initially brushed off any and all interest in the Sheikah’s Guardian research, she now smiled at Zelda’s questioning about it. Her grin stretches slowly across her face, pulling down at the corners of her eyes as she flashes sharp teeth at the young Hylian across the table.
“I don’t suppose you know of the Divine Beasts, my dear?” She asks, her voice betraying…Excitement, if Link isn’t mistaken.
He furrows his eyebrows at her in confusion and lifts his hands to sign; ‘The Divine Beasts-’
His mother sends him a harsh glare, brown eyes stabbing into his skull with a fire that is unfortunately common for the woman. He suddenly recalls the first time that glare had been directed at him. Link’s mother has always been a strong leader, someone who would take no nonsense. She was more willing to listen to members of the courts or nobility before his father was killed.
The king had been gutted; they said. Torn to shreds by a lone lizalfos wandering Hyrule Field where it wasn’t supposed to. Link can only imagine the sort of pain that must have caused, how horrible his father’s death must have been.
Sometimes he thinks it still hurt his mother more than it did his father.
He had been young, for it was before he’d learned how to read- he doesn’t know the exact age he was, but he tends to view things in a before and after. Before and after words.
His father used to tell him stories of his time before marrying the queen and becoming a royal. Stories of a ranch filled with animals and crops and life. A life that was somehow simpler than Link’s would ever be and also infinitely more difficult.
Link had asked his mother to tell him a story of the ranch.
He hadn’t understood her anger at the time, he hadn’t understood why she’d inhaled so sharply before turning that painful glare upon his young face. Now, though, he knows.
She was haunted. Haunted by the memory of the only person she’d truly loved. The only person she would ever love.
Link slams his hands down on his lap, hiding them from his mother’s line of sight beneath the table.
Her glare lifts, and she promptly turns back to Zelda, the girl staring wide-eyed at the duo in front of her.
How pathetic they must seem.
His mother gives Zelda an encouraging smile, though it’s shaky.
“I-er- well I don’t really know anything, Your Majesty. Just that the Divine Beasts were used in the battle against Calamity Ganon ten thousand years ago. Alongside the Guardians.” She tacks on that last bit hastily, eyes darting away from the queen.
The older woman nods, her smile finally returning in full force. There’s no hint of the anger that had shaken her composure in her frame. “That they were.” She gestures her hand over to a small serving boy who had been standing awkwardly at the back of the room, scrunched against the wall. His name is Messa if Link remembers correctly.
Messa rushes toward the queen at her beckoning, bowing before her seat and thrusting out an item in his open hands.
She takes the object without a word, turning back to Zelda and holding it up for her to examine.
It’s Sheikah, that much Link knows. It holds the same etched pattern and orange and blue features that the Guardians do, only forming what appears to be words on its surface instead of vague imageries. It’s relatively small, fitting perfectly in the surface Link’s mother creates for it in her hands.
Zelda, seeming to forget herself, reaches out to touch the item. Link winces in his seat, exhaling just a bit too loudly. Zelda must hear him, because she quickly snatches her hand back and brings her wide-eyed stare back to the queen.
Link’s mother simply smiles more, holding her hands out further towards Zelda. She’s urging her, he realizes. She wants Zelda to take the mysterious object, but why?
Zelda clearly shares none of these apprehensive thoughts with him, for she eagerly reaches back out and practically tears the small object from his mother’s grasp. She holds it up to the ceiling, allowing the sunlight passing through the domed opening to shine on the technology. For a moment, she stays like that, turning the object around in her hands to read the etching on its frame.
She presses her hand on the middle part, but nothing happens. “It looks like some sort of button,” she announces as she taps the middle once more. “But I can’t make out the words.”
The queen waves her off quickly. “I expect it’s some form of Ancient Sheikah language. Long lost to the times. But that’s not what I’m interested in. Supposedly, this artifact connects a user to a Divine Beast, allowing them him to take control of the machines and everything connected to them.”
Zelda’s eyebrows furrow, her nose scrunching up in her confusion. “How do you know?” She asks, never taking her eyes off of the artifact in her hands. She does bring it down from the ceiling, though, holding it out above the tabletop.
Link’s mother gives her a proud look. “Our prophet told me.”
Zelda sets the artifact down immediately. Her eyebrows raise back up and her expression sours instantly as she turns back to the queen. Disappointment fills her gaze as her shoulders droop.
Prophet?
“Prophet?” Zelda voices Link’s thoughts, but she clearly isn’t asking for the same reasons. She’s skeptical.
Not a believer in natural magic then, Link thinks. Impa will want to change that.
Even so, the question is valid. The queen does not have access to a prophet, at least not a trustworthy one. The only ‘prophets’ that approached the royals when the queen announced a search were quacks and frauds, people claiming to know things that they had no way of proving.
A Yiga had shown up in disguise once and even attempted to poison them, citing ‘imminent demise’ as their future.
That was the very reason they gave up on the search. At least Link thought it was.
So- against his better judgment, perhaps- Link raises his hands.
‘But-’
The queen slams her hand against the table; the surface shaking with the sudden pressure. The bowl of fruits in the middle of the grand table scatters onto its side, sending its contents spilling out as it rolls across the long surface before crashing to the floor.
Link and Zelda jump, the former cowering in his seat as his mother turns her eyes on him. Her hand is shaking and red when she lifts it from the table, quivering in pain.
“Link,” She growls, her teeth clenched and her eyes hard. She breathes in deeply, the sound shaky and weak. Her face flushes a deep red as rage encompasses her expression. “What have I told you?”
Zelda’s staring at him, her mouth agape. Impa’s staring at him from somewhere behind him. Everyone in the room has stopped what they’re doing to stare at him. He feels their eyes tearing into him from all sides, shredding layers off of him and they need to stop-
There’s a faint ringing in his ears. Zelda flinches.
Link opens his mouth to form shaky sentences, to give any sort of explanation or apology but the words won’t come out and the ringing is getting louder-
Zelda covers her ears.
“If you wish to be heard,” Link’s mother snarls. “You will speak.”
Link closes his mouth, pushing down the whimper that fights its way up his throat.
He nods.
For a painful moment, his mother stares at him. The fiery glare on her face doesn’t let up one bit, still burning with a pure passion that even Link has rarely seen out of the woman. He sits up, internally begging for the shaking in his body to cease, but it only intensifies with his back stretched out. He allows himself to fall back in his seat, taking pathetic, heavy breaths.
The queen finally turns away from him, clasping her hands in front of her on the tabletop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as a servant behind her scrambles to collect the lost fruit and take the bowl away.
“Our prophet-” She speaks forcibly. “Has told us exactly what we must do next if we wish to win the coming battle.”
Link’s heart thuds in his chest, and his body is hot- too hot. He squirms in his stiff clothing, being sure to turn his head toward his mother, making a show of listening to her words even as his mind fills with sensations. With ringing and heat and scratching and ringing-
Unconsciously, his eyes move as the ringing seems to shift slightly. It wiggles in his very mind as if trying to exit it. The tone shifts to something softer- closer to a chime- as it moves away from him, giving Link a beautiful kind of peace without the overwhelming sound echoing within him.
The ringing fades and Link’s eyes land on Zelda. He sees her shoulders lower and her face relax as though she had the same exact thoughts.
Another chime comes from Zelda and she looks behind herself, drawing Link’s own attention to the Master Sword. The Sacred Blade draped over the back of the girl’s chair, its scabbard tied tightly to the seat. It shines suddenly with the reflection of sunlight, the hilt twinkling at him.
The sounds stop entirely as Link stares at the blade. Was that the source of that horrible ringing? Was it… reacting?
Link realizes belatedly that he’s been staring in Zelda’s direction for far too long as the girl clears her throat quietly. His eyes tear away from the sword and meet hers, which are leveled at him with a lazy glare.
(Behind the glare, however, is concern. It sends a harsh sting of guilt shooting through him.)
“The Divine Beasts require pilots,” the queen continues, unbothered or uninterested in the interaction before her. “One from each of their respective regions. A Zora, a Goron, a Rito, and…a Gerudo. I’ve had my doubts about this, mind you, but the prophet assures me that Hylian pilots simply won’t work.
“I had thought to send some patrols to each corner of Hyrule to speak with potential pilots, but I was told something rather unexpected.” She takes a sip out of her ornate glass, hands no longer shaking, face no longer flushed. It is as if nothing happened. “I was told that it must be you who recruits the pilots.”
Link looks to Zelda at this, but she turns to him instead, her blonde hair whipping around her face as she moves. He squints at her in confusion before turning to his mother, a question in his mind but not on his lips.
The queen is looking to him.
“You know,” She starts, eyes boring into Link but seeming to see through him. She gazes both at him and at nothing at all. “All about the Divine Beasts, I trust? This was part of your reading.”
There’s an accusation in her dull tone that Link picks up on quite quickly, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he simply nods.
“Then I’m sure you can tell Lady Zelda all about them?”
His heart thuds once, threatening to put him back into the pathetic state he’d been in before but he wills himself to relax. Looking toward Zelda, Link fumbles. He raises his hands before slamming them back down with a wide-eyed look to the queen, who appears pleased. He opens his mouth to speak.
One Divine Beast was dug up in each region. This is why they can only be piloted by other races.
Speak, he urges himself. Just speak the words, it’s not that difficult.
Thunder, Fire, Wind, Water. Just speak!
But no matter how hard he tries. No matter how hard he pushes and how fiercely he wants to…He can’t speak the words. They won’t come out.
Link closes his mouth and turns his head downward in defeat. In surrender.
His mother must take pity on him, because she says; “The Divine Beast Vah Rudania- named for the Goron warrior Darunia- is located in the Eldin region. It harnesses the power of fire- very befitting for its home, isn’t it? We believe it best that Vah Rudania be controlled by a Goron by the name of Daruk. He is their Chief, and their strongest warrior. The Goron people are fiercely loyal, so I don’t suspect it will be difficult to get his support.
“Vah Ruta- the namesake of Princess Ruto of the Zora- was dug up underneath a large lake in the region of Lanayru. Other than being in the shape of a large and unfamiliar animal, Vah Ruta holds power over water. Captain Halke believes the Zora Princess, Mipha may be a good contender for control of the Beast.”
The sound of Mipha’s name brings Link’s attention back to his mother. The image of smooth red scales appears in his mind, reflecting the colors of a rainbow off wet surfaces.
Mipha is very kind. Link likes her.
He doesn’t want her involved in any of this.
But his mother continues on as if she hadn’t just proposed recruiting his only childhood friend for a war. “I’m not entirely sure who it may be named for, but Vah Medoh is the Divine Beast of the Hebra Region.”
“Medli.” Zelda says, not glancing at the queen. She doesn’t seem to realize she said anything at all, though, because she keeps staring off into the distance, her mind clearly churning in thought.
“Pardon?” The queen demands. Her voice is still soft, but she speaks with a hard tone.
She doesn’t appreciate being interrupted.
Link grimaces when Zelda’s wide eyes meet his. She blinks owlishly a few times before sheepishly bowing her head to the matriarch, who stares at her with a carefully blank face, her brown eyes shining from under her half-lidded eyes.
“Medli…Is the name of the Rito Vah Medoh is named for… I believe.”
The queen hums, her eyes never leaving Zelda. She seems to consider something for a moment. “I’ve never heard of her.” She claims, her voice monotone and flat.
“She was…an ancient sage…in the times of the Great Sea.”
Link’s mother rests her chin in her hand, staring at Zelda. “Fitting.” Zelda squirms until the queen finally lets up, leaning back up in her chair. “Regardless…Vah Medoh has the power of the wind and air. Any Rito will do.”
The way she waves off this Divine Beast irks Link, somehow. She clearly sees no value in this machine (though Link doesn’t understand Sheikah technology nor have any interest in it, it seems…wrong to brush off the abilities of one of four things that could ensure their victory against the Calamity).
“Lastly…and perhaps most…importantly,” Link’s mother’s voice suddenly takes on an unknown sort of emotion. Link cannot decipher it, but her tone is darker while her eyes and ears are downturned. She breathes in deeply through her nose. “Is Vah Naboris.”
“Named for Nabooru?” Link wonders why his mother continues her speech when Zelda seems to know more of the Divine Beasts than even she does. She must spend much time reading, he thinks. It’s almost humorous. He wishes to do anything but read, and Zelda seems to want to only read.
“Yes. Named for Nabooru. To an extent, it can control electricity.”
Zelda and Link remain quiet, waiting for the queen to continue on with her spiel. She does not.
“Your…Your Majesty?”
“Yes?”
“Is…Do you have someone in mind for Vah Naboris…Your Majesty?”
“Yes.” Another deep breath and then all the emotion drains from her face. The queen rises from her seat carefully, leveling Zelda with a dull and empty gaze, devoid of everything she had displayed up until this point. The difference is shocking in a way unlike anything Link’s seen before. He gets a sense of whiplash from the change. “The Gerudo Chief Urbosa.”
Link’s eyes light up and a smile wrestles its way onto his face. Urbosa, he thinks. It has been so long since Urbosa has visited the castle, and Link longs with everything in its heart to see the strong woman again. Maybe something good could come of this mission…
He’s quick to extinguish the mirth on his face when his mother turns her eyes towards him. She seems to know what he was thinking, though. Her eyes turn a bit sad for a moment before hardening just as quickly. Link almost believes he had never seen the change at all.
“With the Divine Beasts piloted and on our side,” The queen turns her body away from the table, gesturing towards Impa at the doorway. “Our future will be much more clear and the prophet will be able to tell us more.”
She looks over her shoulder. “Do you agree to embark on this journey, Link?”
Link nods vigorously, (Impa mutters a quick ‘he says yes, Your Majesty’ to his mother) excitement filling him at the prospect of leaving the castle. Seeing Hyrule from the outside. Seeing Urbosa and Mipha. It all sounds too good to be true.
“And you, Lady Zelda?”
Zelda starts, rising from her seat quickly. “I’m going, Your Majesty?”
The queen huffs. “Do you agree to?”
“I-” Zelda looks unsure, wringing her hands together. She looks around hastily before her eyes land on Link and harden. “I wonder, Your Majesty, if that’s a good idea.”
“How so?”
“Well…I simply am not far in my training. I…worry for the prince’s safety.”
She doesn’t, does she? Link can see it in her eyes, in the way she glares at even his title. She…hates him? She has been hostile towards him all this time, but Link had simply assumed she was in a difficult position and needed time. He never thought…that he was the issue.
But of course he is.
“The prince will be perfectly safe, Lady Zelda. I would be foolish to send him alone with you at this level.”
“Then should I not stay here to continue training while he’s gone. I’m sure he is a very…capable negotiator.” In the light of everything Zelda has learned about Link during this meeting, the words sting.
“No. This will be good for you. You need to learn about all of Hyrule’s peoples so you know what you’re fighting for. I find it’s much easier to risk one’s life when you know that much.”
Zelda sighs. “Yes, Your Majesty…”
Impa comes up to touch Link’s shoulder and he jumps. He, of course, had not heard her approaching him. Her red eyes gaze into his with a question hidden in their depths. Link smiles at her and nods. She returns the gesture, squeezing his shoulder once before turning back to the queen.
“Should they leave in the morning then?” She asks.
“Yes, yes. And Impa? You are in charge of deciding who shall embark with them. Pick well. Her voice softens. “Ensure he will be safe.”
“Of course, Queen Ryla.”
~*~
As Impa had spoken to the queen in hushed tones following their appointment, the prince had approached Zelda’s side.
Zelda had unconsciously tensed when his hand brushed against her arm to get her attention. She’d taken a step back away from him as he moved his mouth to speak to her.
After a few moments of awkward silence accompanied by the occasional frustrated groan from the prince, Zelda had rolled her eyes and told him she knew sign (after a careful glance to ensure that the queen wasn’t watching or listening to them. Zelda hadn’t been sure what to do as the queen berated her son, and she did not wish to go through that again. Or, she supposed, put him through that).
The way his eyes had lit up was unlike anything Zelda had seen. The happiness that radiated off of him as he practically buzzed with elation had taken Zelda aback as the prince lifted his hands to sign to her.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
Any sort of sympathy that had filled Zelda’s mind faded immediately upon the realization that the prince was being serious. He really had no idea what he’d done to her. To her entire life.
She’d kept her glare focused on him until Impa finished with the queen and stood between them with an odd look in her eyes.
“Let’s take a break, shall we?” She’d said.
Prince Link had been apprehensive about Impa’s suggestion, though Zelda was elated.
Impa offered to take them to see the Guardians. She’d cited stress weighing down on both of their respective trainings as the reason but- if Zelda was being honest- she didn’t particularly care what the true reasons may have been, as long as she could see them.
She’d been afraid for moment that the prince would say no, that he need to train. Instead, he had paused before nodding once to the Sheikah woman.
Before Zelda had a chance to say another word, Impa had grabbed both Hylians by the arms and tugged them along behind her. The path she’d decided to take had led them out some back door in the grand dining room that Zelda hadn’t known existed at all.
Now, as they walk along the outskirts of the castle towards wherever the Guardian research is held (Zelda truly has no idea. Beyond that slight glimpse she’d caught of one of the mechanical beings just days ago, Zelda has never seen a guardian or its parts around the grounds). Nonetheless, the grounds are just interesting enough to keep Zelda’s mind racing in excitement on their journey.
The grounds seem to bustle with extra energy today, according to Zelda. She supposes it could be her own rose-tinted glasses at the moment making it seem that way, but there truly do seem to be more people running around across the paved paths leading in and out of numerous castle doors. The rushing of the waterfalls surrounding the structure does a fine job of covering the sounds of stomping footsteps and shouting, though Zelda almost wishes she could hear over it.
Thinking over it, Zelda looks towards Impa. The woman stares straight ahead, her swift footsteps going unheard even as she practically draws them all into a sprint.
She looks more relaxed, Zelda notes. Her hair is down and loose (not like the tight braid that had seemed to pull on her scalp painfully), and her shoulders are much less tense. As Zelda examines her, though, Impa looks back and meets her gaze knowingly.
Zelda clears her throat and feels her cheeks heat up. “I- er- just wanted to thank you, Lady Impa.” She says.
Prince Link’s attention is drawn in by her words as he looks between the two women.
Impa raises an eyebrow at her. “For?”
“For telling your sister about my interest in her work.”
Impa’s steps falter before she quickly proceeds with the same pace. The prince falls into step beside her, gesturing for Zelda to do the same.
“I didn’t,” the Sheikah woman says, her red eyes not deterred from the path as the smaller girl comes up beside her. Though her words paint one picture, her wide eyes portray another. Zelda smiles.
A cough comes from Impa’s other side and the two turn to face the prince as he raises his hands to say; ‘Impa just doesn’t like to seem like she cares.’ He has a smile on his face as well.
(For a moment, Zelda is drawn in by it. He has a nice smile, she thinks. She quickly shakes the thought from her head.)
Impa inhales sharply through her nose. “That is not it at all! I simply-”
‘Wanted to make Z-E-L-D-A feel welcome.’ He spells out Zelda’s name with his fingers before pointing to her as if to make it clear who he is speaking of.
“I never told my sister anything!”
“She told me you did.” Upon Zelda’s words, Impa turns to her with wide eyes. There’s a hint of betrayal in them that sends a strange warmth shooting through Zelda’s stomach. “And I’m grateful.”
“I didn’t- Ow!” Impa yanks her arm away from the prince, shooting him a surprised glare. “Your Highness!”
‘Don’t lie.’
“…Fine. I told Purah because I figured you would be more willing to continue your training if we gave you some kind of reward.”
The smile falls from Zelda’s face. A reward. Like she’s a dog being trained to sit on command.
“This is a reward for Link as well.” Impa pauses. “For his highness…Excuse me.”
“For what?” The words come out too sharply. It’s a realization that hits Zelda upon Impa’s sudden glare falling on her in accusation.
Even more sudden is the way the prince’s hands flash up as he steps in front of Impa and towards Zelda. His gaze is half-lidded and unimpressed as he signs wildly; ‘I spend most hours of the day studying to take over for the queen regent. This is a break for me just as much as it is for you, the only difference is that you might enjoy the research.’
Just as quickly, the prince darts back to Impa’s side, stepping carefully in time with the Sheikah so Zelda can hardly see him at all anymore.
The action sends hot rage through Zelda’s veins. How dare he? How dare he speak to her of enjoying this? How dare he speak to her like that at all after what he did to her?
Zelda knows it would do her no good to speak harshly to the crown prince of Hyrule. She knows she has no option but to stand and take his harsh words, even as her mind flashes with the image of her fist colliding with his face. Even as her mind imagines the way his skin would mold beneath her fist.
A sharp ringing stabs Zelda’s mind and the image falls from her imagination, forgotten. She yelps in pain and grips her head, coming to a stop. Just as quickly as it had come, the ringing stops.
Impa and Prince Link looks at her with wide, worried eyes.
“My Lady?” Impa speaks first.
Zelda breathes in shakily, glancing to the prince. He seems genuinely worried. It doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t he make sense?
“…I’m alright. Just…A sudden migraine…”
Impa squints at her. “Do you need to retire to your rooms?”
“No!” At her sudden outburst, the prince jumps, though he quickly collects himself and looks straight ahead as Zelda moves them forward. “Sorry…I just get them sometimes, it’s not a big deal.”
Impa’s studious look has not left Zelda’s eyes, however. “‘Sometimes’? How often is ‘Sometimes’?”
Zelda blinks, thinking back to every time that horrible ringing had sounded in her mind. Every time it had attacked her in her own brain and sent her into a painful spiral.
“A few times a week?”
Impa’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to continue speaking. Before she gets the chance, though, Prince Link pokes her arm and gestures out. They stand a little ways away from a large building built off to the side of the castle, just by the towering stone walls.
“Oh, we are here. My apologies, I got a bit…” The tall woman looks at Zelda, her eyes boring into her head. “Lost in my mind.”
The prince gives her an easy smile before stepping forward. He knocks against the shabby wooden door of the building, the action rattling the entire doorframe before the door swings open and large eyes stare at the boy.
The prince leans back, smile still plastered on his face. He waves to the goggled figure before him. ‘We’re here to see the Guardians.’ He signs.
The figure stays still and Zelda almost expects Impa to march forward and tear the prince away from them before a large, toothy smile stretches across their face. Their hand lifts to tear the goggles off their face, revealing Robbie (Zelda supposes she should have known, given the way his long hair sticks out unnaturally in the same way it had when she’d met the Sheikah man).
“Well, well, well!” He exclaims, grabbing the prince’s arm and turning to face the other two. “I wasn’t aware we were having guests today! I didn’t even put on the tea, Your Highness.”
Prince Link chuckles, though Zelda can’t imagine why.
Impa steps forward cordially, her hands clasped behind her back. Her gaze betrays no emotion as she meets Robbie’s eyes. “I arranged it with my sister.”
Robbie blinks owlishly. He simply stares at Impa blankly before sighing dramatically. He gestures Zelda forward before turning back into the building and pulling the prince inside with him.
Zelda hears him mumble; “Communication is part of research, I say, but NO. Why would we communicate with Robbie even though he does everything?”
Zelda covers up a laugh and the prince turns to her knowingly.
“Now!” Robbie announces, fixing his goggles on to the top of his head. He marches on, leading the duo (Impa had seemingly disappeared following Zelda and the prince’s entrance) through mazes of tables and desks stacked with screws and papers and springs. Zelda reaches out to feel one but her hand is promptly smacked away by a small Sheikah behind the table. She glares at her as they pass. “If you’ll follow me through the ‘archives’ here, I’ll take you to our latest Guardian.”
A pile of metal clatters loudly to the ground beside them and Zelda jumps. The prince looks around sheepishly as Robbie gazes at him with his lips pressed together tightly.
‘Sorry,’ He signs shyly.
Robbie stares for another moment before spinning on his heel and continuing through the mess. “If you’ll avoid our carefully organized stacks the rest of the way, that’ll be much appreciated.”
‘Carefully organized’ becomes even more chaotic and haphazardly the further into the room they go, but Robbie and the researchers don’t seem to mind it. Looking at it all, Zelda supposes, actually brings a sort of comfort to the area. A familiarity that comes with the clutter of one’s bedroom or family home. It’s much less cold and empty feeling than the castle itself.
Stepping over one last collection of parts, Robbie swings open a back door that Zelda hadn’t even seen (the only light in the room comes from lights produced from strange devices in the researchers hands and the dimly glowing light of the technology pieces). She squints against the harsh sunlight that comes pouring into the room. Someone behind them groans loudly at the door and Robbie hastily pulls them outside.
The yard is covered in a variety of objects. From barrels with their lids thrown about randomly, to articles of shredded and scorched clothing, the yard is positively covered in things. The smell of burning enters Zelda’s nose and she grimaces. On a similar note, none of the grass is green. It’s all painted black with scorch marks or dried yellow with the heat.
One singular Guardian sits on the other end of the yard, its long, spindly metallic legs curled around its cylindrical body protectively. It’s lights are off, Zelda notices, not shining that blue and orange that the one she had seen from across the castle had. She also notes the claws at the ends of each leg. They dig into the mechanical body lightly, not piercing through, but holding tight enough to remain in place. Perhaps there are grooves, Zelda thinks, that keep them in place when the Guardian isn’t in use.
It seems the most obvious answer but- as they approach the Guardian- Zelda sees that her guess was correct. Not only do the claws fit into grooves in the body, but the legs seem to as well. Small metal ravines form homes for the machine’s legs.
A loud banging comes from behind the Guardian suddenly before Robbie responds with a bang of is own against the front of it.
A high-pitched voice shrieks; “Who in Hylia’s name just did that?!” Two hands come on top of the Guardian’s form before Purah pulls herself to stand on top of it. large goggles sit on her face, accentuating and enlarging her eyes. “Oh.” She continues with a glare. “It’s Robbie. Of course it is.”
“Yes!” Robbie shouts back too loudly. “It’s Robbie with the guests you never told him about.”
“The guests he doesn’t need to know about.”
“Guests to his lab.”
“Guests to my lab.”
Robbie gives Purah an unimpressed glare before huffing petulantly. “Our lab.” He concedes.
Purah considers this for a moment before a smirk comes across her face. “This means you’ll start paying the queen our fees?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Robbie splutters. He puts his hands on his hips before gesturing towards Zelda and the prince. “But let’s not argue, partner. His highness and his knight are here.”
“Well, of course they are. I invited them.” She jumps down from the Guardian, landing on her soles in a way that seems painful to Zelda (landing like that had sent shooting pains up her legs when she’d done it once at the farm…The farm). “So, Zeldy, Linky, are you ready to learn about Guardians?”
The prince looks around with an unreadable expression, but Zelda- in favor of ignoring him- nods. “More than ready, Purah!”
“Good!” Purah claps, turning to face the Guardian she had been tinkering with. “I call this one Kana. She’s a little special.” She taps against the machine’s side, the sound echoing through the yard. “I see you’ve already noticed the grooves. That’s how we make sure they remain stationary while we work.”
As Zelda examines ‘Kana’, she notices that nothing seems wrong with it (her?). It’s surface is shiny and solid, especially considering the millennia it’s existed. “What’s wrong with it?” She asks.
“Her. And she just doesn’t respond to commands the same way the others do. She always glitches and sputters a bit before doing anything, and she can’t shoot lasers at all- the main reason we even have Guardians.”
“If she doesn’t shoot lasers, wouldn’t the issue lie there?” Zelda points to the Guardian’s ‘eye’, which radiates a dim blue light every now and then.
“Trust me, Zeldy, I’ve looked. There’s nothing different about her up there. Down here, however-” Purah gets to her knees before the Guardian, shoving her hand underneath it. “At its core- it feels cracked. I was replacing it when you came in.”
She stands up again, helping Zelda do the same. “It’s not my favorite job, though, and now that my partner is here, he can do it!” Purah stares at where Prince Link and Robbie stand chatting away with a proud smirk on her face. The two don’t notice her staring, however, and the smirk quickly falls away. “Hey!”
Their eyes immediately come to Purah, who quickly replaces the smile. “I need my assistant to replace this Guardian’s core so I can keep talking to the lady here.”
Robbie groans before throwing his goggles back on and settling beneath the Guardian. The prince takes a step closer upon being left behind, his face still carefully blank as Robbie works.
It’s almost annoying, Zelda thinks. But she won’t allow him to ruin this for her.
“Now,” Purah’s softly-drawn words pull Zelda’s attention back. “When Robbie replaces the core, Kana will probably turn on immediately. Don’t make any sudden moves until her eye has settled, alright?” The word are whispered and Zelda hardly hears them.
“Why?”
“Well, if our programming is off even a little bit, she may go a little haywire upon waking up.”
As if on cue, Robbie seems to finish installing the new core. He tosses the old one out (it lands at Zelda’s feet in three separate pieces, all glowing a faint orange) and slides back out to stand up.
The Guardian’s eye flickers to life and- for a moment- nothing happens. It simply stays still, legs in place, and eye unmoving. In almost a split second- however- a loud music begins playing from it and its head swivels.
“Oh no.” Someone says.
The head finally stops turning, focusing somewhere past Zelda. Purah follows its gaze with wide eyes.
“Zelda!” She shouts, pointing.
Zelda follows her finger to see the target of the Guardian’s attentions; Prince Link. He doesn’t move an inch, simply staring at the Guardian with fearful eyes. His hands clench in his cloak.
The Master Sword rings painfully in Zelda’s ears.
Without a second thought, Zelda dives forward (it’s almost scary how quickly she moves. It was as if instinct had taken over. Some kind of muscle memory that she could never have developed). her hands grasp around blindly until picking up the first thing they come to rest on- a pot lid. She dives in front of the prince, swinging the lid out in front of her hopelessly as the Guardian fires upon him.
It’s as though the world is still for a moment. Nothing changes. No one moves, no sound is made, Zelda feels nothing in her body except the rushing of adrenaline through her very veins. Then the world starts again.
Zelda lands on top of the prince with a yelp, the pot lid shattering in her grasp. It flies into so many pieces that splinters dig into her skin and nothing remains grasped in her hands.
White-hot pain shoots through her arm suddenly and Zelda whimpers, grasping at the arm. She feels raw skin against her hand and reluctantly gazes down to see a large burn stretching out across her forearm. As her sweaty fingers pull away, the burn stings, causing another yelp to tear its way out of Zelda’s throat.
Arms grab her from behind, but she can’t open her eyes to see who it is. The pain is all-encompassing.
As tears prick at her eyes and sound erupts from all over, Zelda finds the world falling into darkness.
Notes:
Next Chapter Zelda 'recovers' in the castle infirmary.
Link is scolded (read: abused)If u skipped the TW scene, the queen berated link for his use of sign language.
I'd also like to add some context regarding when the characters talk about Hyrule's history. In the timeline, I consider Hyrule Warriors to be canon as a sort of 'hinge-point' for the three timelines caused by Ocarina of Time (idk if this originated with Game Theory or where it came from, but I like it). That said, Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom are in the 'conjoined' timeline, so it's sort of like the events of all timelines have occurred in this Hyrule's history in one way or another.
This doesn't explain some of the major inconsistencies introduced in totk but I'm gonna do my best to minorly tweak things to make it all fit.
Although, there WILL be some things I take major liberties with in the lore for reasons I cannot disclose rn (totk planning is coming along nicely, is all I will say)
Chapter 10: The Good: The Loyal
Summary:
Zelda 'recovers' in the castle infirmary.
Link is scolded (read: abused)
Notes:
So...You'll notice that the chapter count has changed to something much less satisfying...Yeah. I added some stuff to make characters a bit more well-rounded, and some of my chapters run a bit long in ways that don't really make sense so that count will probs go up.
Anyway...Chapter 10 notes: 'Listen this might be controversial but I think it's just not cool to be forced to have children y'know?'
Potential TW for emotional/verbal abuse starting at '"I'm not sure I understand.'"
TW for implied sexual harassment starting at 'The fear that had coursed through his body in that moment' and going until 'The fear the Guardian had caused was different'Yeee...This chap gets a lil rough and i don't even know where it all came from...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The muffled sound of voices floats through the air around Zelda’s head, leaving her feeling even more foggy with each word that she doesn’t manage to comprehend.
The world is dark, even as she pries her eyes open slowly. The surroundings are murky and brown, with nothing sticking out in the sea of blended color.
“…el-”
Her arm hurts, a dull, burning pain throbbing through the entire length of her arm up to her shoulder only to fade out upon reaching her chest. Zelda gasps, her left (and uninjured) hand coming up to grasp at her arm. The pain only intensifies as her hand wraps around her bandaged arm before a hand slaps hers away.
“Zelda!”
As her vision clears, Zelda becomes aware of the women in front of her. The fog clears in her mind to reveal Impa leaning over her, her white hair creating a ticklish canopy around Zelda’s head.
She swats at the offending hairs with her good hand.
“What?” She says groggily, her voice coming out in a thick croak. She feels as though something is stuck in her throat, and each word she speaks has to be forced around it in order to be audible. She coughs.
Impa rolls her eyes (Zelda’s never been more elated to be able to see someone rolling their eyes at her) before leaning back. “Making sure you’re alive,” she says. “His Highness was concerned after that blast you took.” Zelda tries to follow Impa’s figure as she settles into a chair beside her, but her eyes can’t reach far enough. When she tries to sit up further, a second set of hands grips her shoulders to push her back down.
“Don’t move just yet, My Lady.” A heavily accented voice speaks softly by her ear, the words firm. “I want to check you over first.”
Zelda blinks heavily and follows the source of the voice to see a nurse with black hair leaning over her opposite Impa.
“What ‘appened?” Zelda slurs. Her throat feels significantly clearer, but her mind is still foggy. It takes far too much effort to force the words out in an understandable way.
The nurse just shakes her head, moving her hands along Zelda’s face and forehead. “You acted like a fool,” she states. She leans down to pick something up and Zelda registers a wet feeling on her head as she returns. “Jumped in front of a Guardian laser with nothing but a potlid.”
Zelda closes her eyes against the soothing cold on her head. It eases the pain that had started to bloom in her head as well.
“It was incredibly brave, I’ll admit.” Impa speaks from Zelda’s other side and Zelda winces. “You probably saved the prince’s life.”
Zelda opens her eyes suddenly as images begin to fill her mind and paint themselves against the backs of her eyelids.
The erratic swiveling of the Guardian’s head.
The intrusive music emitting from its body.
The ringing coming from the Master Sword to pierce into Zelda’s mind in a painful sort of alarm.
The fear stretching across Prince Link’s face as he realized what was about to happen.
The pain.
Zelda groans, sitting up abruptly to hold her head in her hands. It is as though it’s all happening for the first time, her brain filling in the gaps that the overwhelming pain has created for her.
A hand grips her shoulder tightly and Zelda’s head shoots up to meet Impa’s fierce stare.
“It was brave,” she repeats. Her red eyes bore into Zelda’s head with an intensity she has not yet seen from the Sheikah woman. Her expression holds a seriousness that forces Zelda to keep her eyes on the older woman. It also holds a hint of gratitude. “But it was incredibly stupid. Reckless.”
The nurse pushes a bottle into Zelda’s hand with an insistent ‘Here’ and Zelda tears her eyes away from Impa at last. The red elixir in her hand shines in the sunlight (what time is it?), glittering against the glass of its bottle.
“How long was I…Out?” This time, her voice comes out clear.
The nurse takes the hand that holds the health elixir and assists Zelda in drinking it. She gulps the bitter liquid down quickly as the other woman keeps the bottle held above her lips.
Impa watches and sighs. “A few hours. It’s mid-afternoon. His Highness is still speaking with the queen about all this, so I’ve been relegated to watch over you.”
Zelda feels the burn in her arm chill slightly, the pain already dissipating as they speak.
“I should never have allowed you to see the Guardians,” Impa growls suddenly. She stands from her chair with a force that almost sends the wooden seat tumbling over. “Her Majesty is not happy about all this, and I don’t blame her.”
A clarity has entered Zelda’s mind, allowing her to understand the exact weight of the words Impa speaks to her. She sits up, the nurse allowing it with a heavy sigh before she storms off to some other corner of the room. “Is that not a key example as to why this research needs to be conducted?”
“You’re not understanding. That infernal research almost killed the crown prince, and then it almost killed the hero. What do you think would have happened to all of us had you or Prince Link died today?”
“I-”
“We would have been doomed. Doomed to be slaughtered by the Calamity with no line of defense to protect us.” She looks down at her, her red eyes shining with a determined fire that sends shivers up Zelda’s spine. “Do you understand?”
Zelda meets her stare with a glare, though it feels weak in her still-hazy mindset (and, perhaps, because of the fear Impa’s stare strikes in her). “It was just an accident.”
“You’re trying to tell me it’s no one’s fault. Maybe that’s worse,” Impa retorts. “Maybe it would be worse for the Hero or the Divine Prince to be killed in an accident with no one to blame and no one to punish and no way to reverse it. An accident that could have been avoided just as easily.”
“Didn’t the queen say it herself? Guardians are the key?”
“Perhaps. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
Zelda’s tempted to just leave it there and not bring anything more up to the angry woman, but there’s one more thing that’s been tugging at the back of her mind incessantly.
“The Guardian.” She says, sparing a glance to her bandaged arm. It feels entirely better now, the pain that had been coursing through it all but gone. She picks at the edge of the bandage. “What happened to it?”
“The angle you hit it at sent its laser right back at it. It was destroyed.” Impa sighs, seeing the disappointment color Zelda’s expression. “It would’ve been destroyed anyway.”
The Guardian, Zelda thinks. Destroyed. She shouldn’t be surprised, really. This is just another thing the prince had to ruin for her.
Zelda glares at the older woman as disappointment shifts to anger. She tears the bandage off her arm to reveal the almost smooth surface of her arm, little to no burn visible. “That’s not true! If the prince would have listened to Purah and stayed still-”
“You would do well to watch your next words carefully.” Impa’s tone is cold, all sympathy she had previously held on her face gone. “It would not do to speak blasphemously.”
“Blasphemy? The prince is a male, he’s not-”
“He is expected to gather the power of the Goddess as all heirs to the throne are. Speaking against him is speaking against Hylia.” Impa’s voice is filled with venom, her eyes narrowed into slits as she glares holes into Zelda’s skull.
Zelda glares back. “Perhaps Hylia is the one against him. He has no powers, does he?”
It’s a low blow, Zelda knows, and guilt fills her chest as Impa’s glare lightens to something filled with shock.
Her shock shifts quickly, however. As though the shock were never there, Impa’s rage-filled glare returns. “You should rest.” She says. “I will see you before your journey.”
With that, she storms out of the infirmary, allowing the small wooden doors to slam behind her with a force that cracks the walls around it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m not sure I understand,” The queen’s voice is dangerously low, her tone painting a frighteningly dull picture of grays and blacks. Her back is to Link, her hands clasped together tightly behind herself, gripping the ornate bow tied around her back tightly between them. “Why you so carelessly decided to shirk your duties as prince to this kingdom in favor of partaking in activities that are far below your stature.”
Link wrings his hands, his head swiveling to the guards at the doors to the sanctum. They watch him with eerily cautious eyes, expressions hidden beneath the smooth mask of indifference. But Link knows what they think. It’s clear in the way their heads move between the two monarchs, the way they follow along in the one-sided conversation. They- of course- agree with their queen. Were it up to them, Link is sure they would go so far as to hold him down and force him into his studies with no end.
It’s infuriating how ridiculously loyal they are. Of course, Link understands loyalty. It’s truly one of the greatest things that can be granted to people like him. But that’s just it. These men are not loyal to him, they are loyal to her. Loyal to a fault, Link would say.
Never do they express any thoughts of their own, the only words being spoken in Link’s presence being those that were spoken by his mother first.
Or- in the rare instance where they speak without his mother’s prior knowledge- words of disrespect. Cruel words thrown at Link as weapons would be thrown at monsters, accusations and threats- both violent and otherwise.
It’s one of the many reasons Link has always preferred the company of Sheikah guards.
They are not loyal to any one person, but to the goddess Hylia herself. They speak their minds as they see fit, assisting Link as much as obeying his word.
Though he suspects they may be less welcoming towards him after this transgression.
The fear that had coursed through his body in that moment- as he saw that Guardians eye lock on his person and prepare to fire- had been different than any fear he’d felt previously (the image of the blast hitting has filled his mind numerous times these last hours. The image of the hot beam of light tearing through his chest, shattering his ribcage and leaving his insides to pour out of him in his last moments is not one that he thinks will be leaving anytime soon). The fear that his mother brought onto him was a sudden sort of panic, leaving him breathless and with a heart beating far too hard and fast inside his chest. The fear a guard brought onto him when speaking harsh words or touching him just a bit too much was slow and rough. The feeling was not overwhelming in the moment, but became moreso when- as hours ticked by- every sudden noise sounded just a little too close to a dagger being drawn and every movement caused phantom hands to run along his arms.
The fear the Guardian had caused was different. It was paralyzing, leaving Link’s mind blank, the only thing in it that progressively detailed vision of his own demise. It left his heart beating deafeningly loud, but not harshly enough to knock some sense into him.
When the machine fired, the fear was like a devastating sort of sadness. Like mourning.
And then Zelda had leapt in front of him.
Yet another image that would not leave his mind anytime soon. The sound of Zelda crying out in pain as the potlid shattered and splinters of wood dug into her burnt arm. The feeling of her body going stiff and heavy on top of him. The smell of burning flesh as her arm was torn apart.
And she’d done that for him.
He should never have allowed them to go see the Guardians. He’d felt apprehensive about it, but that poorly-hidden excitement on Zelda’s face had fought against his better instincts.
This is his fault. All of it. And everyone knows.
“Well?” His mother finally asks, turning around to face him. Her eyes are narrowed expectantly as she peers down her nose at her son.
Link says nothing, knowing better than to force words that will not come.
His mother tries to wait, smoothing out her elegant green gown while she does, but her impatience gets the better of her and she huffs. “And that Lady Impa allowed all this nonsense. Perhaps I should consider replacing her…”
It’s bait. Link knows it is, but he can’t help the burst of defensiveness that erupts from him at the jab at his friend. He scowls at his mother and shakes his head firmly.
“No?” Her tone darkens, but her eyes betray a sort of giddy excitement that forces Link to take a step back. A step away from her. She mirrors his scowl, marching down the steps of the sanctum to stand just before him.
He looks up at her with wide eyes, hoping none of the fear he feels suddenly shows on his face for her to see. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of scaring him, he knows, but he can hardly help it sometimes.
He’s spent so long training himself to be stoic and unreadable just like those guards he loathes so much for that very reason. Training himself to be untouchable. But in her presence, it’s as though all that work gets set back right to where he was at the start; A scared boy whose father was killed and who subsequently lost both of his parents.
“Can you give me a reason?” The queen snarls, towering over Link. “Can you give me a good reason not to ban Impa from this castle immediately for almost taking my son from me?” Her words get faster as she speaks, they get louder, and Link cowers back with each one that passes her red lips.
She pauses. Her eyes soften. She leans back and Link feels as though he can breathe again.
“I apologize,” She says. Where her voice had held only poison before, it now held…nothing. Her face has fallen from its malicious snarl to an unreadable slate, the blue of her icy eyes hardly noticeable with how dilated her pupils are. “You’re right. Impa is good.”
And- as if the world had tilted on its axis and turned her brain right around inside her skull- the queen claps her hands together and smiles. “And Lady Zelda is good as well! If she hadn’t before, this certainly more than proves her ability to watch over you.”
Link blinks at her.
“I…Truly am glad you’re alright, Link. Now I know you will be more than safe on your journey to Goron City tomorrow.” She nods to herself as though having some invisible conversation. “Yes, once your knight has recovered, you will return to your duties as you were meant to in the name of the Goddess. Now go. I’m sure you have better things to do than wait here.”
And- as if he isn’t even standing there- the queen marches past, out the doors of the sanctum. The guards follow her out, leaving Link to stand alone in the grand room.
Somehow- standing here now in the wake of his mothers blessing- Link’s never felt more alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her breaths come out harshly, almost like growls, as she tears through the halls of Hyrule Castle towards the Prince’s chambers.
How dare Zelda? How dare she disrespect her prince so relentlessly when he’s been nothing but kind to her? Impa doesn’t understand her.
Impa prides herself on her ability to read individuals- what they’re thinking, what they believe, even what they’ll do next. Lady Zelda, however, is an enigma to her. The Hylian seems to despise the prince one minute, and then the next she feels sympathy for him. She seems to believe one thing whens saying another.
It would be useful in any other situation, Impa thinks. The ability to hide one’s thoughts can mean life-or-death on the field of battle, but now? In the safety of the castle in preparations for that oncoming battle? It’s beyond frustrating.
Zelda is meant to become closer to Link than anyone, yet she refuses to allow herself to even show him decency.
Perhaps she herself doesn’t know what she’s doing? If it is that simple, Impa can help her along, help her become the selfless hero she’s meant to be (Impa’s never heard a story of the Hero of Time spreading doubt about his princess, so why can Zelda?).
Still, the frustration of it all is getting to Impa. She tries not to let it, but- over the course of the last almost-two-weeks that Zelda’s been in the castle, it’s been nothing but increasingly more insulting jabs and comments.
For right now, it’s too much.
So perhaps this is why she pushes the prince’s doors open just a bit too harshly.
The wooden door slams against the wall, sending a flower pot to the ground. It shatters loudly at Impa’s feet.
She only feels guilt as she meets Prince Link’s wide-eyed stare.
“…My apologies, Your Highness.” She bends down to scoop up the broken clay pieces in her hands, ignoring the way the sharp edges dig into her palms and fingers. “You’ll be glad to hear the Lady Zelda is as healthy as ever.”
Impa moves to pick up the last piece on the floor, but another hand reaches out to take it before she can. She looks up to see Link kneeling on the floor before her.
He sets the clay in her open palm softly. “Really?” He asks in that soft voice of his.
When Impa had first been appointed as Link’s attendant, she had questioned it. Surely it would be more appropriate for a male to see to the prince? But her mother had assured her that it had nothing to do with gender. All that mattered was that Link was the new Goddess incarnate (whether that is true or not remains to be seen. Her Majesty herself seems to both believe it and not believe it).
Needless to say, when they’d met and Link would not speak a word to Impa despite his being more than old enough (and certainly more than intelligent enough) to string together complex sentences, Impa had been concerned. She’d- unfortunately- brought her concerns to a rather loyal nurse in the castle. The woman (Mylena, Impa knows now. She’d been old back then. Firm, but kind. Impa misses her sometimes) had been quick to pull Impa aside and explain Link’s mental state to her.
The loss of his father had been too much for someone so young, she’d said. He simply feels too much to express. Voluntary Mutism, she’d called it.
Though Impa knows now that Link’s condition is anything but voluntary. The first time she’d heard his voice had been when she was sixteen and he was eleven. The queen had had Impa take him away during dinner when he tried to sign to her one too many times.
Impa had offered him a bag she’d kept on her person. Her mother would send something new in the bag from Kakariko each week to remind Impa and Purah of home when they were doing their duties for the crown. This week, it had been filled with carrots homegrown in their little village.
Little Link’s eyes had lit up like stars and he’d torn a few carrots out of the bag.
After he’d eaten, he poked Impa’s shoulder and whispered a soft, but sure ‘Thank you’.
As Impa looks at the prince now, his eyes full of hope, she decides she can’t bear to tell him the things Zelda said about him. She’s sure the young girl was simply overwhelmed, but her words had been unfair to a boy who already heard enough unfair speech about his person.
“Yes.”
Link nods seriously. ‘That’s good.’
“Yes, it is.” Impa stands without another word to dump the pieces of clay into a small bin in the corner of Link’s room.
When she turns back, he signs; ‘Is something wrong?’
“I’m worried.”
‘About?’
“You. You’re safety.”
Link sighs, his expression turning to something more bitter. ‘I think Z-E-L-D-A has proven that that’s something we don’t need to worry about.’
“Yes. She’s more than capable of protecting you. I can see that now.”
‘So what’s the problem?’
“I’m worried about when she isn’t here. When the Calamity comes, you’ll both have your duties. She won’t be able to protect you and fight Ganon at the same time. And if we don’t have the Goddess’ sealing powers-”
‘I can get them.’
“I have faith that you can, Link, but this isn’t just about you. Perhaps the Goddess truly won’t accept a male heir. It’s a possibility we have to keep in mind, and if it comes to it-”
Link shakes his head fervently.
“You will need to produce an heir.”
“No!”
Impa huffs. “Why not? If you aren’t granted Hylia’s power, then that’s out only chance.”
‘I will not bring a girl into this world for the sole purpose of sending her to her death.’
Impa inhales sharply. Death. So Link believes that- if he cannot harness the Goddess’ abilities- they will die.
She sighs. “Fine. Let’s not discuss this now. I have some reading for you.” She reaches into her bag, producing a large and boring book about ancient Zonai traditions. “Study up, Your Highness.”
Link takes the book with a frown before giving Impa a weak smile.
It’s a sad smile, she thinks. Nothing but crushed hopes and expectations.
Notes:
If for whatever reason you skipped the TW scenes, this is what happened; The queen scolded Link but remarked that she was glad to see him safe. AND Link thinks about how the fear the guardian had caused was different to what he's felt before, and he implies that guards around the castle have touched him in ways that are uncomfortable for him.
Next chapter: Discussionsss
Chapter 11: Finding Trouble
Summary:
Discussionssss
Notes:
Sorry for the wrong next chapter things I keep rearranging lmao
chapter notes: "Bruhhhh"Shorter chap as well because what happens next just did not fit with the same chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ever since that day in the infirmary, Zelda has been avoiding the prince as much as physically possible. The mere sight of the other Hylian caused an unpleasant sort of anger to rush through Zelda.
She hates seeing herself like this. Back home, she’d always been fairly accepting (though her father seems to have had more impact on her personality than she would like), but Hyrule Castle had been full of bad experiences.
It’s like her father, Zelda thinks sadly. Mood swings coming from seemingly nowhere. The juxtaposition between a mood willing her to skip around in happiness and feel for others and the mood that forces its way into her chest to fill her with hot rage willing her to lash out at everyone.
She’s been causing nothing but problems.
So she tries to avoid them.
Unfortunately for her, her duties don’t exactly allow for much distance between the two of them.
She understands why, of course. Beyond the necessity of her close quarters with the prince in order to keep him safe physically, Zelda knows she is meant to grow closer to him on an emotional level. The connection between the Hero and the Divine Royal is said to be beyond that of any ordinary link between people. With them being two pieces of a fate planned and tied together so tightly by the Goddess herself, it would only be natural for them to become so close.
But Zelda wants nothing less than that.
After everything the prince has done, all the issues he has caused her just by existing in her presence, he doesn’t deserve that closeness from Zelda.
Nevertheless, she can’t keep as much distance as she wants to.
As they stand before the queen- seated in her throne on the level above them in the sactum-, Zelda makes sure to keep three paces of distance between herself and the heir. He made a few attempts to stand beside her when they’d entered, but Zelda had been quick to separate herself.
She’s sure she appears to be the perfect subservient knight.
Queen Ryla taps her fingers against her throne, her sharp nails clacking against the metallic surface on the arms.
“As I’ve told my son,” she announces, her deep voice booming through the wide room. “I have no doubt in your abilities to protect your prince, Lady Zelda. I have more doubts about his ability to stay out of danger.”
Zelda watches with satisfaction as Prince Link hangs his head in shame.
“But Ladies Impa and Purah- as well as Lord Robbie- have assured me that everything will be fine on your journey.” The monarch stands, stepping forward to look directly down on the two below her. Zelda’s spine straightens unconsciously. “As long as you stay away from Sheikah technology.”
Prince Link says nothing, once again leaving the speaking to Zelda.
She wonders why he allows her to speak in his place. Surely her opinions do not represent his own? It’s curious, Zelda thinks. Prince Link is so adamant about keeping his words to himself that he would allow someone else to make every decision for him.
No matter her gripes, Zelda doesn’t wish to berate the prince for his disability. Still though, it’s quite telling for a monarch.
She knows she’s being immature. She knows she should fix it.
Zelda swallows, “That shouldn’t be a problem, Your Grace.” She grips her arm. The burn had faded almost entirely within the first day in the infirmary. But it scarred. A look at the prince’s unmarred body sends a wave of pride through her- how slow her training has been had been quite taxing on her. She’d begun to lose faith in herself once again- but it is accompanies by a distinctly unpleasant feeling that forces Zelda to tear her eyes away from the boy again. “There is no Sheikah technology just lying around.”
She hopes there isn’t. Her and her father’s journey to Castletown had not revealed any, but they had only traveled along one road. What if there were Guardians just out and about?
“Perhaps not,” The queen agrees, causing Zelda’s tense shoulders to fall in relief. “But I trust you’ll keep my son out of any…other trouble.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“One more thing.”
The prince nods, Zelda following suit.
“Due to this… incident with the Guardian, I’ve removed Purah and Robbie from this expedition. This changes your duties slightly. You will pay no mind to the Divine Beasts themselves, focus only on the pilots. If the ones I’ve suggested do not agree, I expect you to convince them. Do not return until you have a pilot. Am I understood?”
“But shouldn’t we-”
Queen Ryla holds up a hand, silencing Zelda immediately. The words die in her throat as she meets the older woman’s firm stare. “Lady Zelda, do not argue with me.
“Regardless,” She continues, her hand falling to rest at her side. “Our researchers are required here for now. At least until further work is done into the Guardians and nothing like this…accident can happen again.”
Zelda huffs.
She’d been so excited to see the Guardians, and Purah and Robbie had been to receptive to her interests. They were possibly the first ones.
Zelda will be lucky if she ever gets that chance again.
“Yes, Your Grace.” She says.
The prince turns to meet her eyes with his full of pity. Zelda glares back until he backs off, a mask of indifference wiping over his expression before turning back to his mother. Zelda follows his eyes to see the queen standing expectantly.
“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”
The woman hums, her back straightening. Even from here, Zelda can hear her jewelry chime as she shakes her head.
“I wish to tell you to…” The queen’s voice fades out, her words pausing as her eyes move over Zelda’s form to land on the prince’s. For a moment, she just stares at him with an unreadable, yet strange expression. Then she breathes in sharply. “Be firm. You are dismissed.”
Zelda and the prince bow (It doesn’t escape Zelda’s notice that she bowed first. Perhaps it’s the drilling the captain had been giving her on respect, perhaps it’s something else. Either way, it’s strange) before turning and leaving the sanctum without any further words.
Upon reaching the outside, the prince continues walking, his head still hung low. He doesn’t seem to even bother looking around himself, merely marching off in the direction of the entrance to the castle.
Be mature, Zelda thinks.
Zelda huffs, marching forward until she falls into step with him.
His steps falter before continuing again, his head finally rising up from the ground to actually look where he’s going (though Zelda know she would have felt a sort of amusement had he run into something).
“Did you move?” She asks, no demands.
He swallows, his shoulders tensing visibly. A few steps later and he signs a hasty; ‘What?’. Zelda hardly sees it before the prince takes off at a quick pace again.
Zelda clenches her fists at her sides and breathes in through her nose, willing the sudden anger to fade out.
Be better! She wants to be better!
“The Guardian. Did you move when Purah said not to.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Your Highness?” Zelda grits out through clenched teeth.
He still won’t answer, his gaze glued to the skyline ahead of them as they walk.
“Your Highness!” She just wants his attention. He had responded to her before, why won’t he answer her simple question? Guilt fills her chest to mingle with her anger in a dance of horrid emotion when the prince jumps and tenses further (Just like her father, Zelda must remind the prince of his mother. She finds she doesn’t like that much). She makes a conscious effort to soften her tone. “My apologies. Did you move?”
Prince Link stops walking suddenly. Zelda finds herself taking several steps before she notices and comes to a stop just ahead of him. The ground is sloped here, so she has to crane her neck up slightly to look at him. His eyes don’t meet hers, though, fixed instead on something in the distance.
He shakes his head.
“What? That doesn’t make sense. You had to have moved!”
His blank expression shifts slightly before settling again.
He shakes his head once more.
Zelda huffs, the guilt being overcome and trampled. “Why else would that Guardian have fired?” She demands.
The prince’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes do. Defiance fills them and he glares down at her.
He shakes his head one more time before marching past her, paying no mind to her hastily shouted concerns.
Notes:
ACTUALLY next chapter: the journey to Vah Rudania
Chapter 12: The Power of Fire
Summary:
Zelda and Link ACTUALLY travel to Goron City!!!
Notes:
This chaps a bit weird pacing-wise but I still like it a decent amount.
Also, Daruk is an odd character for me, so I apologize if he's a little ooc here :)Chap notes: She just frekin out yknow it happens sometimes
for a TW for this chapter, there are some depictions of violence beginning at the line "Footsteps slapping against the hard ground. Growling." and ending at "It’s a deep, gravely voice that shouts at the trio, urging them." It's not too detailed throughout the section, so it's very manageable, but it's better to be safe than sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The road to Death Mountain is tedious even with the accompanying sound of several knights chattering away behind Zelda and the prince.
Just two days earlier, Impa had gathered knights with Prince Link to accompany the two on their journey, claiming the strongest knights had to be chosen for a mission that so closely involves a royal.
She hadn’t said a word to Zelda for the full three hours it had taken for them to find men that fit Impa’s criteria. She hadn’t even been decent. The Sheikah woman had kept her back to Zelda as often as possible, blocking the sight of the Hylian girl with her large hat when she couldn’t turn fully away. The prince had seemed puzzled, though Zelda has no idea why. Faking it, she supposes. He- of course- is on Impa’s side of their little disagreement (especially considering the topic of said disagreement) and was simply pretending not to have a view.
That said, it’s really only mildly annoying.
And it’s mildly annoying how talkative the prince is being with her on the road. His hands have been moving near constantly since they’d woke that morning (Zelda learned that life on the road doesn’t compliment her. Her bed at home had not been particularly comfortable- especially as compared to the beds in the castle- but she’d never slept on the ground before. Hopefully once this war is over, she never will again).
Zelda is only half paying attention to the words of the heir, though he doesn’t seem to mind.
As his hands dart around, Zelda examines their surroundings. When she mentioned the road to Death Mountain, perhaps she shouldn’t have included where they are now. In fact, she would say they were already on Death Mountain.
They’d passed a stable surrounded by a small collection of homes just at the foot of the mountain where they’d spent the last night (possibly the reason for the prince’s sudden good mood. Zelda finds that she can hardly blame him. Those beds were far more comfortable than the hard earth they had slept on that first night). Upon waking in the morning, the stable master had been quick to offer them a filling breakfast before they could leave.
Honeyed crepes. Zelda licks her lips just thinking of them.
It has only been a few hours since then, but the hunger that had washed over Zelda had come suddenly, and- unlike the roads through Hyrule Field- there are no apple trees or farms settled along Death Mountains hot, crisp paths.
A finger taps against her shoulder and Zelda startles.
Prince Link holds up his hands placatingly, his face blank but his eyes curious.
‘What are you doing?’
Zelda huffs. “I’m just looking.”
‘At?’
“Everything.” She scoffs. Death Mountain isn’t particularly interesting, she thinks. It’s all dirt and rocks tinted with orange from the heat of the volcano. Still, it’s a far cry from the fields and castles that Zelda’s seen in her life. “I’ve never been this far out.”
The prince looks at her, tilting his head. He follows her gaze to the top of the mountain where smoke emits from the top of the volcano. Has it ever erupted, Zelda wonders.
‘Me either.’ The prince signs, tearing Zelda’s attention unfortunately back to him. He rests comfortably on his saddle, his horse seemingly much more calm than Zelda’s (her beast has hardly listened to a single command she gives. The embarrassment at having to have the prince and his knights order her horse for her makes her face heat up with more than the temperature of Death Mountain).
“You’ve never been up Death Mountain? Haven’t you met our pilot?”
The prince nods. ‘D-A-R-U-K’ he makes the signs for D-rock next. A sign name, Zelda realizes. ‘Daruk and all of the leaders around Hyrule visit the castle yearly.’
She hums. “I see.”
‘Do you know anything of the Gorons?’
Zelda narrows her eyes at the royal. Why is he suddenly so curious about her? Perhaps he has finally realized all he did to her and is seeking to make amends. She scoffs at the thought.
“Why?”
He falters. ‘You-’ He shakes his hand out. ‘You are interested in research…I assumed, I apologize.’
Zelda’s eyes widen, “No, I just didn’t know. Well, I suppose I have read about Vah Rudania before.”
The prince nods as he signs something unfamiliar to Zelda, followed by ‘-is more rare, so that is impressive.’
“I-I don’t know that sign.”
She expect him to laugh at her lack of knowledge, but he just sends her a small smile.
‘V-A-H R-U-D-A-N-I-A.’ He signs for her, spelling out the name.
“Oh.” Of course. It should’ve been obvious, shouldn’t it have? “Erm…Thank you.”
He nods. After a few moments a silence he makes a sort of ‘Go on’ gesture. Zelda stares for a minute before realizing what he’s asking from her.
“Oh. Well, I know it’s named for the Goron Boss Darunia, as the queen said. He was the Sage of Fire in the era of the Hero of Time. I know it was the last of the Divine Beasts dug up, which makes it much less known, as you said.” ‘Said’. Is that appropriate to say? As Zelda rambles on about the Divine Beast, she finds that her words eventually flow out beyond her control and doubt overtakes her.
She forces herself to stop, sending the prince an accusing look. “Was there some other reason you asked?”
He shakes his head.
Perhaps he wanted to embarrass her. As the crown prince, he would have all of this knowledge first-hand, so what other reason would he have to want to hear it from a peasant girl? He knows much more than she does, and he wants to flaunt that. He must.
Mustn’t he?
“You know, Your Highness,” Zelda hisses out the title, causing Prince Link’s head to whip back around to face her in his shock. “If you wanted to flaunt your royal knowledge on a lowly girl, there are other ways to do it!”
He looks at her incredulously, his mouth hanging open. ‘That’s not-’
“Sure it isn’t! Why else would you ask me such a question?”
‘Maybe I just wanted to speak with you!’
“Well, I don’t particularly want to speak with you! You do nothing but humiliate me.”
His expression hardens, a glare lighting up his eyes frighteningly quickly (He looks like his mother like that, Zelda thinks with satisfaction).
‘If you wanted to be nothing more than a weapon,’ he starts, his hands moving in short bursts like he’s trying to control them but they are not obeying his command. ‘You could have said so! But now, I suppose I know!’
With that, he spurs his horse on and leaves Zelda to watch after him with a glare of her own and a scowl painting her face.
“Real piece of work, huh?” A rough voice says beside her from the space the prince had previously filled. Zelda looks over to see a young knight- possibly a few years older than herself- with a scarred mouth riding along beside her; Sir Jiko.
She sighs heavily, “Yes.”
“What’d he say?”
“Needless insults.”
Jiko shakes his head. “I’m not surprised.” He states pleasantly, a smirk on his lips. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
“How long have you been here?” Zelda questions, her eyes still following the prince as his cloak billows behind him in the hot air. “Do you know why he won’t speak?”
“Oh, no one knows. I think it’s just secrets, though.” Jiko taps a finger against his head as if making some grand discovery. “He listens, you know? You wouldn’t notice him because of how quiet he is, but he uses what you say against you.”
It’s odd, Zelda thinks. As far as she knows, the prince is hardly ever allowed to leave his rooms, let alone mingle with knights and servants long enough to uncover secrets. It’s the logical part of her that supplies her mind with this explanation, the part that wants nothing more than for everything to make sense and fit together like nice pieces of a complex puzzle. A smaller part of her wants to believe this knight, though.
“Truly?” She whispers, watching the prince with careful eyes.
“No, just speculation.”
Zelda huffs, “Speculation means nothing. You need evidence.”
“What more evidence do I need? He’s sitting right there, listening.”
“Can he hear us?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Zelda’s hands subconsciously tighten on the reins and her mount huffs at her, whipping his head around.
Jiko follows the movement with his eyes, giving Zelda a small smirk as he reaches over to ease the reins out of her grasp. “Don’t go feeling guilty now, My Lady. He insulted you first.”
Zelda swallows as she watches the prince. He shows no signs of having heard their words. His posture is perfect and his head doesn’t even tilt in their direction. “Perhaps we shouldn’t trade insult for insult.”
“Perhaps,” Jiko’s smirk grows, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “But it is fun to get under his skin sometimes.” He whispers it into Zelda’s ear conspiratorially before spurring his horse on to fall in line with Prince Link.
Zelda watches as quiet words are exchanged between the two. She can’t hear them from here but she recognizes the look on Jiko’s face. It’s a look she’s eerily familiar with. A look filled with smug satisfaction and cruelty. She watches as he leans in closer- the prince leaning away uselessly- and whispers something. Prince Link tenses drastically.
An image enters her mind. A crate of feed dumped onto a pasture floor. The face of her father looming over her, red with anger as he shouts. Zelda feels her own shoulders tense up at the memory of those words he had spoken to her.
She can’t do one job right. Isn’t that right, Father?
As Zelda watches the knight continue to poke at Prince Link, she thinks of her father. Her duty.
She feels a wave of anger overcome her. Surprisingly, though, it is not directed at the prince, but at the knight.
She swallows, “Sir!” She shouts, bounding up to the Hylians in front of her. She hears light laughter tittering behind her, but she elects to ignore it. Zelda meets the prince’s eye momentarily before he looks away, his face blank (but still red with embarrassment and shoulders still tense). She faces Jiko, who gives her a prideful smile. “What are you doing?”
“Simply speaking with our future king,” He says, amusement coating his words.
“And saying what?”
“I think you know.”
“I think I don’t.”
Jiko laughs at her serious expression and sends her a quick salute. “My Lady,” He mocks before falling back behind them.
The sound of laughter causes a momentary uproar as the knight falls back in with the others and Zelda’s heart thumps painfully in her chest (it’s unlucky, she thinks. The people she’s supposed to fit in with are so far separated from her. Physically and- now- mentally).
She looks to the prince and clears her throat awkwardly. He still doesn’t look at her, but his head is hung low and his shoulders have lost their tension in favor of slouching.
“What- erm- what did he say?”
For a while, Zelda doesn’t think the prince is going to answer. He tears his eyes away from where they were glued to his horses head to look at the path below them. Then- just when Zelda opens her mouth to ask again- he signs; ‘Do you care?’
Zelda pauses before she can say yes. It’s an instinct to answer so quickly to such a question, really, but Zelda takes a moment to consider if it is the truth. Does she care? Yes, she finds the answer easily, sitting in her brain readily. Does she care for the right reasons, or just because she has some complex? Does she only care superficially? To prove herself? This answer isn’t so easy to find. Zelda digs through her mind insistently, but finds that the answer does not come to her.
“I-Yes, I do.” She answers, because it is the truth, even if she isn’t quite sure why.
The prince’s hands shake and he clenches them into fists. He shakes his head minutely, almost to himself.
“I do.” Zelda repeats. “What did he say to you?” Because she can only imagine the kinds of words that must have been muttered to him by the knight to cause such a reaction when she had so rarely seen the prince express any emotion away from his mother. What words could the man have said that needed to be whispered so closely that no one could hear, even Zelda who stood less than ten paces away.
‘It’s-’ He huffs. ‘Nothing.’
Zelda feels an unpleasant emotion pass through her but she pushes it down just as quickly. Be better. “If it’s something I can protect you from-”
‘It’s. Nothing.’
“I’m trying to do my job!”
The prince winces. ‘I understand. But this isn’t something you can fight.’
As if that doesn’t only create more problems in Zelda’s already troubled mind. Perhaps she should speak to Impa about it? If the woman will even look at her the next time they’re in the castle. She would know more, given how long she’s known the prince. And it would take a further load off Zelda’s shoulders (Something rises in her, similar to guilt).
“It’s time!” A voice shouts from behind. The clanging of armor fills Zelda’s ears as the knights reach into their bags. Zelda follows along, reaching into her own saddlebag and shuffling around for a fireproof elixir.
She swallows the hot-and-cold liquid in one, watching as the prince does the same.
As the groans responding to the elixir’s taste fills the air, Zelda’s ears pick up on something else.
Footsteps slapping against the hard ground. Growling.
Zelda whips her head towards the source, eyes dialing in on the knight at the very back of their group as a bokoblin knocks him off his horse. She gasps as the monster thrusts its spear into the man’s side. She can’t tear her eyes away as he screams, the ground steadily becoming painted in his blood.
“Monsters!”
Zelda’s horse responds to the shouts by bucking harshly. She pulls with all her strength on his reins but he keeps jumping until she is thrown off. The breath leaves her as her back collides with the stone path.
The man’s screams turn to wet gargles in her ears as she pushes herself onto her feet.
A hand comes to assist her and she pushes it off before looking up to meet the prince’s wide eyes (his own horse stands several yards away, stamping its feet into the ground at the noise).
“Your Highness!” He pulls her to her feet just as a bokoblin dives towards where she had been lying. Zelda pushes him behind her as the creature jumps back up with frightening speed. The Master Sword rings in her ears lightly and Zelda tears the blade from its sheath, holding it in front of the prince’s body.
The bokoblin makes a disgusting roaring sound before jumping at them. Zelda yelps and blindly swings the sword out in front of her, hitting the monster with the dull side and sending it sprawling to the ground, stunned but uninjured.
It leaps back to its feet, abandoning its weapon in favor of baring its teeth at the Hylians. This time, it sprints towards them and Zelda doesn’t have time to respond before an arrow pierces into its skull.
“Get out of the way!”
Zelda quickly sheathes the Master Sword before gripping the prince’s arms tightly and pulling him away towards a large boulder off the path. He’s stiff, but responds to her silent commands with shocking obedience.
Once he’s safely hidden behind the boulder, Zelda whips the Sacred Blade back out and takes off in the direction of the nearest knight- Jiko.
He thrusts his blade into a downed bokoblin before swinging in her direction, missing her skin by a hairs’ width.
“What the hell are you doing?” He demands, turning back away only to knock another bokoblin to the ground. “Where’s the prince?”
“Safe!” Zelda cries out as something sharp knicks her arm and look up to see a bokoblin standing atop a large boulder with a shabby bow in its claws. An arrow finds its home in the monster’s neck.
There’s so much blood. Luckily, it seems to mostly be the dark, viscous blood of the monsters, but there are some puddles that look too human.
Zelda stills as shouting surrounds her, her breath picking up.
Jiko pushes against her shoulder, shouting something that doesn’t register in her foggy hearing.
Another creature leaps at her in a red blur just to be knocked out of the air by her companion.
He’s still shouting at her.
She’s not supposed to be here.
The Master Sword clatters to the ground with a faraway sound.
She’s not supposed to be here.
She’s just a farmer. She’s not supposed to be here.
The ground shakes beneath her feet and Zelda falls to her knees. The muffles sounds of shouting and shrieking fills her ears, overwhelming her cloudy mind. She covers her ears with her hands.
Zelda.
She shakes her head.
Rise, Zelda.
“I can’t.” She gasps, tearing her hands from her ears to hold herself steady.
Have courage, Zelda.
The voice that whispers in Zelda’s ear is gentle and monotone. It overpowers every other sensation filling her mind with a sense of security. A sense of familiarity.
The Master Sword chimes beside her and Zelda reaches out blindly to grip its hilt.
Fight with strength, Hero.
Zelda feels the ground shake again and looks up, letting the hilt of the Master Sword dig into her hands roughly.
A moblin stands several paces away, its red hide littered with dark scrapes and oozing copious amounts of dark blood. As it turns its long, hideous face towards Zelda, it roars, the sound sending shockwaves through her and causing her to stumble back against the knight.
“Shit!”
The moblin hits the ground running, its rumbling steps keeping Zelda off balance as the tall beast bounds towards her.
In a desperate motion, she blindly swings the Master Sword in front of herself. She logically expects nothing to come of it, but her eyes widen as a sharp humming sensation shoots up her sword arm, urging her to do it again. She obeys the unspoken command, pushing that sensation forward and out of the tip of the blade. A flash of light emits from it, shooting outward towards the moblin.
It howls in pain, falling heavily down onto its knees and Zelda makes a sort of strangled cheer.
The monster’s chest slowly begins to bleed as the cut of the Master Sword’s beam opens up on its skin. It attempts to rise to its feet and Zelda tightens her grip on the sword, confidence filling her bones as she prepares to meet the creature head on.
But just as the moblin pushes itself higher on its knees, a sword pushes through from the back of its skull with a sickening squelch. Its snout hangs open as the blade is pulled roughly from its head.
The moblin collapses to the ground to reveal the cloaked figure standing behind it, broadsword soaked in monster blood; Prince Link. His eyes are wide as they stare down at the mess of blood and cuts coating his borrowed sword, but they shine with something unreadable beyond the glint of fear.
A bit of movement from behind the boy causes Zelda to tear her eyes away from the scene and her eyes widen.
A lizalfos scuttles rapidly from behind the prince before rising to its full height and brandishing a long spear.
Zelda’s heart fills with dread as the prince continues to stare at the blood before him. “Your Highness!”
Jiko beside her leaps forward to push Prince Link out of the way, quickly parrying the lizalfos’ attack with his own blade. He thrusts forward into the beast, making quick work of it, but he doesnt move to rejoin the fight or check on the prince. Instead, he stares out in front of him with tense shoulders falling.
Zelda leaps forward, a hand finding the prince’s own to pull him back to his feet and shove him behind herself. It’s then that she sees what the others are staring at so dreadfully.
Dozens of lizalfos— average and fire-breathing alike— race towards the exhausted Hylians in chaotic blocks. Zelda shakes her head. They’ll never be able to fight that many…
“Little Hylians!”
It’s a deep, gravely voice that shouts at the trio, urging them.
“Little Hylians!” It repeats, closer this time. Zelda swings around to reposition herself between the prince and the newcomer, thrusting her body protectively in front of the royal. The tip of her blade almost pokes right into the hard skin of an old Goron standing before them.
He steps back dramatically at the blade in his face, holding big (and empty) hands in front of himself.
“Whoa there!” He rumbles. “No need for that! I’m here to help!”
Zelda feels the prince pulling urgingly at her sleeve but chooses to ignore him in favor of staring down this Goron. She lowers her sword, though (the Gorons are good. They’re here to gain an alliance with them, not start a war).
The Goron follows the movement with his large eyes, his expression lighting up when he notices the prince.
“Little Prince!” He roars giddily, one hand coming up to stroke his long beard. “What are you doing out here on a battlefield? We need to get you somewhere safe!”
Without further ado, the Goron pushes right past Zelda and takes hold of the prince by the waist, throwing the small boy over one shoulder. He yelps, his eyes meeting Zelda’s from his new upside-down position.
Confusion fills Zelda as the Goron jogs off with her charge, but she pushes past it to follow along as the knight runs past her to catch up with the two.
(The squealing noise of dying lizalfos is music to her ears)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Goron City brings an odd sort of comfort to Zelda that she never would’ve expected from a place so hot (the journey up Death Mountain had been fairly hot as well. The surroundings crisp and dry with the air dripping from the volcano. Zelda isn’t accustomed to the heat, not at all. The farm is in a nice little alcove by Kakariko that maintains a reasonable temperature).
They run through the city entrance as quickly as they had run down the path from those lizalfos before stopping abruptly.
Zelda finds herself running straight into the Goron’s back.
She backs away quickly, embarrassment heating up her cheeks, but the Goron just laughs boisterously, the action causing his large body to jolt back and forth. He turns around to face Zelda before finally sitting the prince back down on his feet.
Before the Goron can do anything else, Zelda grasps Prince Link by the wrist and quickly pulls him to her side, another action that the Goron laughs at.
“Welcome to Goron City!” His loud voice rumbles across the clearing, echoing around in the loud valley. Zelda follows his arms as he gestures widely towards the city.
Metal sheets cover holes in the rocky hills surrounding the town to provide what appears to be doors for buildings. There are several levels to the city, as well, with blacksmiths and cooks working noisily outside their shops. The large inhabitants are intimidating, even from this distance.
Zelda swallows, looking back to their guide as he clears his throat.
“I’m the Chief.” He says, making Zelda’s eyes widen (how unlikely it would be that they would run into him before reaching his domain. This may be the first fortunate thing that’s happened to Zelda). “I’m gonna have to ask you lots of questions about what you’re all doin’ here, but it can wait ‘til you’re comfortable.”
He makes to lead them off somewhere, but Zelda asks first; “You’re Daruk?”
“That I am, Little Knight! The little prince here knows all about me if you don’t believe it!”
Zelda’s sharp gaze falls back to the prince, shooting an accusing glance at him. For a moment, she considers telling him off for not giving her some kind of signal. Considering the circumstances, though, Zelda realizes that that wouldn’t be fair. He was probably just as shocked as she was.
Closing her eyes, Zelda takes a deep breath and wills the irritation to fade out.
“We’re here to speak to you,” Jiko says, not bothering to cover his irritation the way Zelda does. He looks the Goron in the eyes (it’s not as intimidating as he clearly wants it to look since he has to bend his back and crane his neck up). “And we have places to be, so we’d like to make this quick.”
The prince sends the knight a glare that the man pointedly ignore, though the smirk that lights up his face tells Zelda that he had seen it.
“Of course! But you all must be hungry after that long journey. I’ve heard the climb up is taxing for Hylians.” Daruk leans in towards Zelda and the prince conspiratorially, pushes right past Jiko, ignoring his indignant groans. “I can have to finest rock roasts prepared quicker than you’ve probably ever had a meal made in your fancy castles!”
The prince smiles but the knight just pushes forward again. “No! We have to get moving!”
“No offense, but it doesn’t seem like your choice.” Daruk stands back straight and sends the knight a large smile.
Jiko growls before turning to Zelda and the prince. “Your highness,” he snarls. “I would highly recommend we keep moving instead of wasting time. We lost men on the journey, we need to make a report.”
It brings an unpleasant feeling into Zelda’s bones and she remembers the knight she had seen get knocked off his horse. The growling of the bokoblins as they tore into his prone form. The screaming as his insides were ripped out of his body and strewn about on the previously-peaceful trails.
Zelda shakes her head (the knight makes a good point but Daruk was right as well. They are tired. They are hungry. If they continue, Zelda knows they will only lose more).
Prince Link glares at the man before allowing the venom to drain from his face as he turns to face Daruk again. A small, sweet smile crosses his face as he looks up at the Goron and he nods.
“Your Highness-”
“Perfect! Only the best for friends!”
Daruk’s smile widens until it stretches across his entire face in a way that looks vaguely painful. He whirls around and swing his arm down roughly, smacking the knight on the back so hard that the man almost falls to the ground.
Zelda suppresses a laugh behind a cough and watches as the prince shares a look with the Goron leader.
Zelda decides she likes Goron City.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The chamber Daruk had led the group into is wider than it had looked from the outside. The dug-out cave had a small entrance— hardly big enough for a full-grown Goron to fit through— but the room expanded as they walked through until the ceilings were high enough to hold shabby metal faux chandeliers and wide enough to contain dozens of Gorons (possibly the entire Goron population).
Daruk leads them to a table at the back and gestures for them to sit. Zelda very pointedly sits between the prince and the knight.
The table is far too high for them, but Zelda leans forward until her hands can rest on the tabletop.
“So…”Daruk starts, his loud voice bouncing around against the cave walls. “Rough journey, huh? Those darn lizalfos show up along the trails every now and then. We usually have patrols go through to clear them out, but we were clearly a little late today, huh?” He laughs but the humor is lost on his Hylians guests and Zelda winces. He coughs. “Anything else happen on your way?”
For a moment, the guests simply look around at one another awkwardly. Eventually- having grown tired of the silence and the tension it brings with it- Zelda clears her throat and speaks up. “What are fireproof elixirs made of?”
It’s such a sudden change of subject that no one answers for a few painful seconds. They stare at Zelda questioningly, eyes wide in confusion.
Daruk guffaws once. “Lizards and monster parts.”
Jiko chokes on air, “You’re kidding?” Even the prince seems a bit perplexed by this.
But Zelda just smiles wide. “Fascinating. And you don’t taste it?”Of course, she knows the taste of lizard and monster is indistinguishable within elixirs, but the information is so unexpected that she finds herself asking anyway. “It must be the magic inherent in the monster’s blood. It mixes and coagulates with the properties of the lizard’s own blood to have an effect on humans!”
“Yes, I’m sure it does.” Jiko looks positively nauseous now, his face taking on a sort of green pallor.
Zelda’s smile grows further, pulling on the skin of her face. “That must be how all elixirs are made then!” She squeals, her eyes becoming alight with glee upon the knight gagging. After a moment, he excuses himself, his hand covering his mouth as he races out of the cave.
“Well, what was that about?” Daruk questions honestly.
Zelda leans back in her hard seat, pride taking its place within her as she watches the entrance the knight had escaped from (it reminds her distinctly of a certain situation with Lia and a newborn foal). The prince nudges her shoulder with his own and tilts his head in curiosity.
‘You already knew, didn’t you?’ He signs, his expression unimpressed but his eyes revealing a telling glint of amusement. A smile begins crawling onto his face and Zelda- for once- allows herself to indulge in the warmth of it, and in the light of his giddy blue eyes.
She stares at him. “Yes…I did.” Partially because she has no idea what his response to this will be, and partially because she almost wants to freeze this moment, prevent any sort of interference that may tear into her chest and twist all feelings of happiness out of her to be replaced with cold, bitter irritation.
Zelda truly doesn’t like feeling those things, though she can hardly stop it once it starts. She doesn’t want to remain bitter over everything she’s lost in the last few weeks, though her mind doesn’t always seem to agree when it forces images and thoughts onto her that she does not wish to have.
She wants- truly- to feel accepted. She wants moments like this.
Prince Link’s small smile widens until a toothy grin has replaced it.
He signs; ‘He deserved it.’
Zelda smiles back, equally as wide. “Yes, he did.”
It is then that a large hun of…something is thrust onto the table before Daruk. Its texture is bumpy and hard, giving way to a glowing, molten center. Zelda stares, her mouth agape as Daruk scoops up the thing in one large, rocky hand and gives it a sniff. She jumps when he whoops at the scent.
“This is perfect rock roast!” The Goron shouts excitedly. “Just the thing for our esteemed guests!”
He slams the rock roast onto the metal table in front of Zelda and Prince Link and the metal begins to glow faintly as the heat from the…food seeps into it.
“Well, dig in! Stuff’s delicious!”
Zelda turns to meet the prince’s eye. Surely they couldn’t eat this? And surely it fell under her duties to ensure the other Hylian is eating properly?
“Erm, Daruk.” She hesitantly raises a hand, though it’s wholly unnecessary with how large Daruk is. He can see her easily enough without it. “I don’t think-”
Before the rest of the sentence can leave her mouth (Respectfully, I don’t think Hylians can ingest something so hot. Is there anything else?), the prince puts a hesitant hand forward to grasp the rock roast. Zelda almost slaps the hand away- because what is he thinking, the idiot!- but the prince seems just fine holding the thing in his hands. It’s far too large for him to hold one-handed (which only worries Zelda more. The last thing they need is the prince burning both of his hands when they have no means of reaching an infirmary), so he balances it in both hands. It doesn’t seem to hurt him, however, as he simply sits and stares curiously as the insides shine brightly before dimming once more.
He blinks owlishly as he turns the thing around in his hands, examining all sides of it. He leans in to sniff it and his eyes are watery when he pulls back, but they are also wide with delight.
Oh no, Zelda thinks. Don’t tell me-
In one swift and jerky movement, the prince dives forward— teeth-first— and tears a large chunk out of the rock roast. Zelda’s jaw goes slack as she listens to the loud crunching that emits from the boy’s mouth as he chews, and she gasps when he goes back for another bite.
Unsophisticated. That’s the best word for it. What little Zelda has learned of proper manners in the setting of Hyrule Castle goes completely against the way the prince grips the rock roast in his bare hands and digs his teeth into it messily. Each bit he pulls away from leaves a residue of rocky crumbs around his mouth and chin, but he truly doesn’t seem to mind (Zelda thinks it is a bit gross, but for some reason, it brings only happiness to her).
The sound of quiet jeering draws Zelda’s attention away from the sight before her and towards a group of Hylian knights sitting at a metal table to the side of them. They watch the prince with faces full of unconcealed disgust.
One of them notices Zelda watching and raises a hand into the air to gesture her over with one finger.
Seeing that the prince is otherwise distracted, Zelda follows the gesture over.
“Yes?”
The knight scowls. “You should get your charge so we can keep moving. We have three more Divine Beasts to get to and not all the time in the world.”
“We also have families we’d like to get back to this year!” A second knight butts in, followed by a small mumble of agreement from a third.
“I understand, but surely a dinner cannot mean-”
“Dinner with the Goron’s is a long affair, My Lady.” The second knight announces with a sneer. His face twists up into an ugly sort of wrinkled expression as the sneer strengthens. “You wouldn’t know, of course, but we do. It’ll be better if we get back on the road.”
Zelda opens her mouth to answer but is quickly stopped by a younger voice; “Please?” The source of the voice turns out to be what appears to be a recruit. He doesn’t appear that much older than Zelda herself.
Perhaps he has parents to get back to in Castletown?
Suddenly, Zelda’s heart thumps in an attack against her ribcage as she realizes; this boy could have died today. All for the rest of them to eat a large celebratory meal afterward.
It’s all so insensitive. But Zelda had been so involved and so happy to feel something other than irritation and annoyance that she hadn’t noticed it.
Her father wouldn’t even be disappointed anymore. He just wouldn’t care any longer.
She swallows down the thick obstruction that had formed in her throat and nods to the knights with a thin smile. Then she turns around and marches back to the prince, who has- by now- finished his meal.
“-wish we’d made enough for all ‘o ya, but we only have so much!” Daruk’s loud voice echoes more clearly as she approaches the two at the head of the hall (or whatever this large cave-room can be called).
The prince waves him off before noticing Zelda’s approach and straightening in his seat. A moment later, he relaxes again, though Zelda notes how the carefree smile has yet to reappear from his discussion with the Goron.
“Your Highness,” She says politely. “Chief. Perhaps you could speak about what we came here for and then we could wrap up and leave? The other knights are getting antsy, and I’ll admit to being a little stir-crazy myself.” A white lie, but perhaps Prince Link will see more reason to listen if the reasoning comes to him more directly. In honesty, Zelda wants nothing less than to leave the safety of Goron City. There are no monsters within these walls and such interesting things that could be learned.
The prince narrows his eyes at her, signing a quick; ‘Why?’
“I’ve told you. I feel a bit stir-crazy.”
‘And what of the others?’ He looks thoroughly unconvinced, but- even as the irritation begins to blossom without regard in her chest- Zelda supposes she can just be glad that he isn’t questioning her own reason.
“They’d like to get this all done as quickly as possible so they can get home to their families.”
The prince’s eyes darken. ‘Not yet.’
“Your Highness-”
‘I’m in charge.’ He glares at her with a fury. Zelda feels a similar anger building within herself. ‘I don’t want to leave yet.’
“You know, Little Prince, if you have places to be I won’t take offense!” Daruk’s words serve only to upset the prince further, but the anger in his gaze shifts to sadness instead.
‘But-’
“What do you need to talk to me about?”
Prince Link swallows and stares up at Daruk. His lower lip quivers before his gaze hardens and his expression fades into indifference again. He turns robotically towards Zelda.
‘Will you leave?”
Zelda glares at him. “Fine.” She grits out.
In an effort to quell the growing anger-irritation-rage that fills her, Zelda stomps over to the entrance to the hall, ignoring the calls of her fellow knights (it still feels wrong to call them such. A knight is strong and fierce. A knight doesn’t freeze on the battlefield and need a pep talk). She watches as the prince eyes her before turning to Daruk and speaking to the large man. Speaking. His hands don’t move a fraction of an inch but his lips do, and Zelda feels a strange sort of bitterness overcome any other emotion she’d been feeling.
Of course, she thinks. She’d thought they were making progress today, especially after the battle. But of course, it truly meant nothing. He wouldn’t even speak to her.
Zelda watches as Daruk’s face lights up with glee and he slams his big hands loudly on the table.
He takes being part of a war much better than most, Zelda thinks.
She’s not the only one who’s noticed, clearly, as the other knights scattered around the room begin to rise from their seats as if on cue (she notices the first knight has yet to reemerge from wherever he’d gone).
They waste no time before one of them is marching up to the prince and gripping his arm tightly. He pulls the boy to his feet unceremoniously and begins marching him toward the door. Zelda simply steps to the side as they pass, possibly being the only one remaining in the hall to hear Daruk’s; “You’re welcome anytime, brothers!”
Notes:
next chap: The gang makes camp and Zelda remembers her childhood.
Chapter 13: A Knight's Tale
Summary:
Sir Jiko is cruel and Zelda reminisces
Notes:
Chap notes: he says something importatn to her arc or something idk ill come up with it
Light implications of sexual assault/threats of assault in the paragraph starting with 'Sir Jiko presses his body...'
This chap is almost purely angst. Poor Link will never catch a break as long as I'm writing this story :)
Also I like how I said chapters would be more few and far between and this is like my fourth update in a week lmaooo
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Your Highness, please.” A knight- Sir Sado, Zelda thinks- urges. He walks alongside the prince and his horse, looking up at the boy with pleading eyes and one hand on the reins of the white mare in an attempt to pull control away from the prince. “Please get in the cart. The queen would much prefer it in our report-”
The prince shakes his head firmly, not even looking at the knight. Until Sado sighs heavily and he gives him an apologetic squeeze on the hand on the reins.
The cart (currently being controlled by the young knight Zelda had spoken to in Goron City. She makes a mental note to ask his name when she gets a chance) had been a gift from the Gorons before they’d left Goron City. A hairless Goron by the name of Krogan had told them the cart was commissioned as a gift for the prince’s birthday (now long since passed, but the people of Death Mountain hadn’t had a chance to gift it yet).
It’s a well-made metal cart. The corners are much smoother in the way they are molded and welded together than anything Zelda had seen in Goron City. There, it had all been sharp corners and rough, raw materials. The cart, though, is utterly shiny and sleek. Zelda appreciates their knowledge of Hylians, but the rest of the group (perhaps with the exception of Prince Link, who had smiled widely upon catching sight of the cart) seem to only think of the cart as a burden weighing them down further on an already long trip.
With the prince and Sir Sado right behind the cart, Zelda and Sir Jiko take up the rear of their little entourage.
It’s an important detail as Jiko gives his own horse a sharp kick to catch up with the duo ahead. Zelda notes how the prince shrinks back as the knight approaches, making himself smaller in his place.
“Your Highness,” Jiko says, his voice dripping with sickly sweetness in such a way that can only be mocking, like the way a sour old maid speaks to a small, lost child. “It would do you well to sit in the cart.”
The prince shakes his head again, more insistently this time. He signs words with his hands that the knights clearly don’t understand, as they simply stare at his hands with expressions of irritation and confusion respectively.
Zelda clears her throat, rolling her eyes at the words. “He says he doesn’t want to.”
Jiko rolls his eyes dramatically enough for her to see from her place several paces behind them. “Well tell him that Sir Sado shouldn’t be stuck as the only one walking when he could get off his high horse- quite literally, I might add- and sit in the cart.”
Prince Link signs again.
“He says he can hear you.”
“If he can hear me, he can speak to me.” Jiko jumps off his horse and thrusts the reins into Sado’s hands. He kneels down to assist the smaller knight in mounting the horse before marching up to Prince Link’s horse and reaching up. “Now, come along, Your Highness.”
He blocks Zelda’s view of them and she cranes her neck to continue her watch on the prince (Goddess forbid she take her eyes off him for one moment. With Lady Impa’s current anger towards her, she may just lose her head for it). She doesn’t realize anything is amiss until the white mare begins huffing irritably, shaking her muzzle.
Just as Zelda spurs her own horse on to catch up, she sees Sir Jiko pull the prince right off the top of his horse as if he weighed nothing. The small teen falls to the ground with the force of it, but Jiko simply continues pulling him along, dragging his legs against the dirt path until the prince manages to pull himself to his feet (Zelda mourns as she catches sight of the stains now tarnishing his hand-made trousers).
“Sir Jiko!” Zelda leaps off her own horse roughly (the damn animal hates her, she swears. He practically kicks her off each time she so much as moves. Epona was nothing like this. Though, Zelda will admit it’s useful when she has to move quickly).
The other knight ignores her, continuing to drag the prince on. The boy turns to her with pleading eyes as he pulls against the knight’s strength.
Upon feeling this resistance, Jiko turns around and wraps his arms around the prince’s waist, trapping his arms to his sides. He carries him off, stumbling as the heir kicks into the air.
Zelda turns to Sir Sado, planning to ask for his assistance, but the man has his eyes carefully diverted to the trees around them, all but ignoring the conflict before him. She huffs in anger (how is it that she’s suddenly the only one who knows how to do this job? She should be being corrected by them, not the other way around!).
“Sir Jiko, that’s enough!”
He ignores her still, even as she marches after them.
When they reach the cart, Prince Link struggles hard enough that Jiko is unable to lift his flailing body high enough to be flung inside. After a few moments of relentless fumbling around, the knight growls before swinging the prince around and slamming him up against the side of the cart. The smaller Hylian hits the metal with a loud thunk that causes the young knight to stop the cart in its tracks.
The prince swings an arm at the knight that is swiftly caught by the wrist. He tries once more with his other arm, but this one is caught just as easily. Jiko holds his wrists in bruising grips, squeezing so hard that his arms shake with the pressure of it. He leans in with a growl and a sneer on his face, coming so close that his nose almost grazes the prince’s cheek. Prince Link whimpers, making Zelda’s heart squeeze in her chest.
Sir Jiko presses his body against the prince’s before snarling; “You’re not so high and mighty that you’d make your poor, humble servants walk on this whole journey, are you, Your Highness?” Sickeningly, his tone completely shifts then, his snarl shifting into a frightening smile and his eyes filling with a sort of predatory glint. “Or perhaps you have a reward for me if I do walk?” As he speaks, he slams the prince’s hands against the cart and the boy responds with a loud cry (the loudest sound Zelda’s ever heard from him, and it tears her heart in two).
Nothing could have prepared Zelda for the cold, inhuman feeling that grips her heart upon hearing that sound. Upon seeing the cause of it. As Jiko speaks in that low, threatening tone, Zelda feels the creeping of hands reaching up to her heart. She feels its nails dig into the organ and infect her with a slow but steady stream of pure and unadulterated rage.
She doesn’t even think about it. One moment, she’s watching with wide eyes as the knight jostles the prince around, demanding an answer from him. And the next? Zelda has the tip of the Master Sword digging into the man’s throat, the blade glowing lightly and chiming in regular intervals.
“Sir Jiko.” She says, hardly recognizing the cold voice that leaves her. A gasp sounds somewhere behind them, but Zelda ignores it, her eyes never leaving the eyes of the other knight. “I said ‘That’s enough’. Release him. Now.”
Jiko pauses. His grip on Prince Link’s wrists loosens, but he doesn’t release him. Then, he has the audacity to send Zelda a small smirk.
“Lady Zelda,” He says. “His highness just needs a bit of a push sometimes. You’ll learn that.”
The implications are not lost on Zelda, though, and she glares, willing the fires of her rage to emit from her eyes themselves to burn the man before her to a bitter crisp.
“Let. Him. Go.”
Another pause, this one so tense that Zelda imagines one of them could simply drop dead right here and no one would blink an eye.
Jiko huffs, “Fine.” Before making a show of releasing his grip on the prince’s arms and stepping back with his hands in the air. He backs away. “I’ll walk.”
Once he’s gone, Zelda turns her attention to Prince Link. His face is carefully blank, but she recognizes the fear in his eyes and the way his body quivers. He signs a shaky ‘thank you’ before climbing into the cart silently.
Zelda stands still for a moment, staring at the blade in her hands, at the drop of blood on its tip. She could’ve killed Sir Jiko. It terrifies her, not because she'd almost killed someone, but because she doesn't regret it. She huffs, sheathing the Master Sword before following the prince and climbing in to sit beside him (someone’s going to be mad she does this). “Your Highness, you don’t need to sit in here if you don’t want to…”
Prince Link shakes his head vigorously and Zelda follows his gaze. He stares at Jiko with unmasked terror as the knight mounts his grand white mare. Zelda glares at the other man, not missing the victorious smile that he tries to hide from her.
She leans back with a sigh before noticing how badly the prince still shakes (Lia had once given her a lesson on anxiety and panic attacks when she’d had one on one of her visits to the farm. The way the prince’s breathing goes shallow does not bode well).
“Are you alright?” She moves to put a hand on his shoulder but pulls back at his violent flinch.
His eyes dart across her face before he signs; ‘You don’t care.’
“What?”
‘You don’t care.’
Zelda scoffs, though she ensures the sound is soft enough to not startle the other teen. “Don’t tell me what I feel. I do care. Why do you think I don’t?”
‘You hate me.’
Zelda inhales sharply.
“I don’t hate you.” And Zelda finds that this is true. She doesn’t hate him. She hates their situation. As much as she hates to admit it, at this time she feels like nothing more than a lost child. Confused and scared and separated from her home and everything she’d ever loved.
It’s just easier to blame something else, she realizes. Or someone else.
“I’m just- I don’t even know.” Zelda looks to the prince, seeing his eyes on her and only her. His attention undivided. It’s such a far cry from the attention Zelda is used to that it makes her pause and stutter pathetically. At the farm, Lia and Zelda’s father had never paid her much mind. She was always just the kid there, someone who couldn’t do much other than listen. That’s not to say they wouldn’t speak to her, but that’s just it; it was speaking. They would tell her things, speaking to her but not with her. At the castle, everyone’s attention is always on so many different things that they simply cannot afford to give their undivided attention to anything, let alone a new knight like Zelda.
But the prince watches her in such a way that distracts Zelda from the words she speaks. It makes her mind stutter and the gears turning in her brain grind to a halt.
(It reminds her of…her mother. Kind eyes keeping track of her in such a way that isn’t constricting, but rather meaningful and encouraging.)
(And he truly does have beautiful eyes.)
Zelda shakes those thoughts from her head. “Er- Sorry. I don’t know…”
The prince wraps his arms around himself tightly (Zelda recognizes it as a deeply protective move), quelling the shaking in his bones slightly.
“It’s-” Zelda’s voice shakes and she clears her throat. She knows the words she wants to push out. She knows she wants to speak them, needs to. But she urges herself to keep her voice steady. The last thing she needs is to upset the prince (and herself) further. Lowering her voice to a steady whisper, Zelda says; “It’s all so hard, isn’t it?”
Prince Link looks at her again for a moment before carefully nodding.
Her heart leaps up into her throat but she breathes in slowly and continues; “My father never really let me help around the farm, you know? I was in charge of the animals mostly, I only ever did anything physical when we ran out of time…Father isn’t a…kind man, but he’s steady and sure and comforting, I suppose. So when I heard that voice outside the Korok Forest, and he didn’t, I was afraid. He was never- never proud, so I figured; If I could do something meaningful, if I could help the source of that voice, perhaps he would appreciate that.” Her voice shakes again and her eyes sting.
Her hands quiver as a chill rushes through her body. Does the prince need to know all this? Does he deserve it? Are his own struggles enough to make Zelda share her life with him, her fate?
As her mind races, warm hands come to cover her own and the shaking ceases. Zelda raises her eyes to meet the prince’s.
There’s a question in his vibrant gaze and- thinking about it- Zelda nods.
“Needless to say, all I did was frighten him. I didn’t want to…Have you ever seen your parent frightened, Your Highness? It’s unlike any fear you can feel on your own…Because what does it take to frighten someone whose entire purpose in your life has been to be a strong, brave protector for you? But I frightened him. I frightened him, and that terrified me. We weren’t ready.” Zelda’s voice rises unsteadily and she forces herself to bring it back down so their driver does not hear her. “I wasn’t ready. We had so little time left together to prepare, to…live. And you took that from me.”
The prince grimaces but does not move his hands.
“So I suppose I did hate you. My life…is so different from how I imagined it. From how I wanted it.” A lone tear falls down her face, leaving only a hot, burning trail on her cold face. Zelda never particularly wanted to be a farmer, that she knows. She’s always dreamed of being a scholar or a researcher. But her life prepared her for the farm. Not for battle against an eons-old monster. “But I suppose I’ve realized that it truly isn’t your fault. It was just…easier to blame you… Sometimes my anger gets the better of me. That’s something else I got from my father, I think. It overcomes me so suddenly that I can hardly do anything about it…”
Carefully, Zelda withdraws her hands from the prince’s. His sad eyes follow the movement before landing on hers with sympathy (not pity, Zelda realizes. Never pity).
“But I don’t hate you,” she says, looking into his eyes. “Because I…know you.”
Prince Link’s eyes widen. They dart around her face, seeming to look for any sort of clue that she may be lying. that she may be twisting the truth. When he does not find anything, he looks away.
Zelda smiles. “And- you know- it is my job to protect you now.”
The words have their intended effect, as the prince’s shoulders shake with laughter for a few seconds.
He turns back to her once the small laughs have tapered off. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ He signs, the motions small. ‘You didn’t have to.’
“I think I wanted to.”
He mirrors her smile back at her, toothy and wide (Zelda notices how- though they are similar in appearance- his smile has no hints of the predatory victory that his mother’s does).
They lapse into a comfortable silence and Zelda allows herself to watch their surroundings as the cart moves. She ignores the sound as the knights behind them fall into hushed conversation again.
Now that her mind has already wandered back towards the farm, Zelda realizes just how much this area reminds her of it. However different they may be, the way the flat field gives way to trees on hilly grounds in the distance is utterly reminiscent of her home.
She frowns.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda jolts awake, her head whipping up from where it had been resting on her desk. Pain erupts in her skull and she groans, putting a hand to her temple.
What had woken her? It’s still dark out and- straining her ears a bit- Zelda doesn’t hear anything happening in the fields. She stands slowly, stretching out each of her legs before stomping over to her window and peering out.
She shakes her head. All the animals seem to be in their places. There’s no stray boko or early worker out there.
A wet cough sounds, echoing down the halls of the small home and into Zelda’s open door. Her ears twitch at the foul sound.
“Dad?” She calls. She waits a few moments before calling again and making her way out to the hallway. She holds her arms in front of her, the darkness too great to see through, but a faint light emitting from her dad’s cracked doorwar serves as guide enough on her miniature journey.
When she reaches the door, she peeks through the crack.
Her dad stands hunched over over his own desk, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden surface so tightly his knuckles go white. He coughs repeatedly, the sound progressively gaining volume and he slams a fist on the desk.
Zelda gasps, causing her dad’s ear to twitch. He whirls around, weilding an unlit candelabra at the door. Upon seeing her little face in the crack of the doorway, however, he sighs heavily and drops his makeshift weapon. The sigh only causes another fit, though, this one worse than the last. It comes straight from his chest as though he’s trying to knock something out of him.
Coughing knocks the sickness out, Zelda thinks.
Her dad wheezes, a pale hand grasping at his chest. “Zelda-” He breathes. “What are you doing awake?”
“I woke up.” She pushes his door open the rest of the way to stand proudly in his doorway. She tilts her head. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready. I have to make a shipment today.”
Zelda pouts. She hates shipments. They always make her dad leave for days and he leaves her with Lia, who constantly bombards Zelda with unsolicited advice and life lessons. Zelda hates those; she may be young but she’s not stupid!
“I hate shipments.”
Her dad chuckles, but the sound isn’t as bright as it usually is. Instead, it comes out breathy and wheezy. It offends Zelda’s ears. “Yes, I don’t love them either, Zelda.”
An idea strikes suddenly. The wires of Zelda’s brain connect suddenly and create the strike of genius that she speaks; “Then I’ll do it!”
Her dad just rolls his eyes, though, not understanding the thought behind the words. “No, Zelda. You are going back to bed.”
“I’m already up. I can do the shipment and Lia can stay here with you until you’re not sick anymore!”
He seems startled at those words, but he wipes the surprise off his face quickly to level her with a stare that is anything but impressed. He still doesn’t understand?
“No, Zelda.”
Zelda glares up at him. “Why?”
“Because it is my job, and you are twelve years old.”
“That’s old enough!”
“It’s not.”
Zelda crosses her arms and stomps in frustration. “You never let me help with anything! I can-”
“You are much too old for tantrums, Zelda.” He turns away from her, gathering his numerous business books in his arms. No! He can’t ignore her!
“I can do it!”
“No, Zelda. That is quite enough.” HIs voice is rising, but Zelda has to make him understand. Mama always said it’s not good to work when you’re unwell, and Dad is unwell!
“I’m not stupid!”
“Then don’t act like it!” He roars suddenly. Zelda jumps and his demeanor softens slightly, but he raises a finger to her face. “Do not argue with me, Zelda. I am an adult, I know better than you.” At Zelda’s rising glare, he sighs again and lowers himself to speak face-to-face with her. He groans as he kneels down. “Ask again when you’re old enough. Perhaps I’ll agree then.”
“But I’m old enough now!”
Her dad suddenly looks sad, and it’s so unpleasant that Zelda feels a tight feeling in her chest, squeezing her heart enough that she thinks she’s having palpitations. “You’re just like your mother,” he says. “Let yourself be a child, Zelda. That is what she always wanted for you. You can help on the farm someday.”
He stands again and slowly gathers his books. He walks towards the door before looking over his shoulder at Zelda.
“Don’t go growing up too fast.”
He leaves the door open when he finally leaves, abandoning Zelda with tears in her eyes and that painful tightness in her chest.
Notes:
THE RETURN OF THE KING and by that I mean THE RETURN OF EVERYONE'S LEAST FAVORITE FATHER
Also IDK how to write children lmao but I hope I did it okay
IDK if Zelda's progression with Link feels rushed or not but I can assure you that she's not complete done being needlessly angry with him.
Next chap; The gang arrives in Gerudo Town...
Chapter 14: Gerudo Valley
Summary:
The gang makes it to Gerudo Desert!!!
Notes:
Sooo. To that last commenter, you picked literally the most convenient time to comment lmao because here u go
GERUDO VALLEY IS A BANGER THIS IS YOUR DAILY REMINDER TO LISTEN TO GERUDO VALLEY AGAIN
Notes: Link does an oopsie on accident hence why its an oopsie and not a doopsie
Yet another chapter that was rearranged rip. But next chapter's just too much combined with this, I feel.
Not in love with this chapter, but it is what it is
A sort of TW; this chapter features depictions of heatstroke, therefore there IS a bit of vomiting in there after the line "she would need Chilly Elixirs, it’s the Gerudo Desert."
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The desert heat isn’t doing anyone any favors, least of all Zelda. The hot air clings to her from all sides, coating her skin in a sheen of sticky sweat. She’s already removed her cloak, and the Master Sword provides a comforting presence on her back, but it does little to quell the heat seeping into her skin.
Each step she takes on the sandy path is more difficult than the last, her feet dragging and creating deep trails behind her. She isn’t sure if she’s envious of the other knights or not. On one hand, their armor provides a steady system to walk in, but on the other hand, the heat would be unbearable.
She pants, too.
Zelda is painfully aware of how silent everyone else is compared to her. Her breaths wheeze and her chest squeezes with each beat of her overworking heart.
She stops in her path, desperate to catch her breath, just for a moment.
“Lady Zelda?”
Zelda looks up, attempting to blink away that dry, itchy feeling in her eyes. The one who spoke is Sir Garret- the young knight. He carries his helmet at his side, revealing wide brown eyes full of concern.
And his skin is notably clear, no sweat coating it or pouring down it in cool rivulets.
“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet and hesitant, but it draws the attention of the rest of the group. Sir Sado and Prince Link are the first to stop, turning their full attention to the pair behind them. Sir Jiko waits longer before his shoulders slump and he whirls around (They’d left the cart and horses at the nearest stable before entering the desert. Zelda knows- logically- that there was no way to bring it with them, but she wishes they did at the same time).
Zelda’s voice is whispery and unclear when it comes out; “How are you not sweating?”
“I’m…sorry?”
“You’re not sweating!”
“Sir Garret, Lady Zelda,” Jiko stomps up to the pair, stopping before them with his hands on his hips. “Is something the matter?”
Garret stutters when the prince pushes past him (gently, but insistently) and kneels beside Zelda. She looks him up and down. His dark cloak shrouds his body and falls gently into the sands beside his knees as he looks her over with careful eyes. His hair- held up loosely by pieces of silver and a pristine sapphire circlet- is neat and tidy, unbothered by the weather.
He doesn’t sweat either. Not one drop.
“You’re not-” Zelda coughs as she inhales the heat of the desert weather. It rushes down her throat, drying all sides of it that are supposed to be slick with mucus and saliva.
Prince Link holds her shoulders steady even as she coughs in his direction, his hands spreading unpleasant heat through her arms.
A heavy sigh sounds. A second set of hands grasp at Zelda, pushing the prince away harshly. Sir Jiko’s face appears in her vision. His eyes are knowledgeable and cautious as he looks her over.
He sighs yet again, looking somewhere behind him. “She didn’t take a Chilly Elixir.”
“Lady Zelda!” Garret chides. “Why wouldn’t you take your elixir?”
“I-I didn’t…bring any.”
Jiko stands, leaving Zelda to kneel in the sand alone. “Does anyone have any extra Chilly Elixirs?”
Negatives sound from the group of knights and Sir Jiko huffs. For a moment, no one does anything and Zelda is left to pant in the sand painfully. The only moments she feels she can breathe are the fleeting times when one of the men stands in front of her, casting their shadow on her burning body and blocking the rays of the sun from her face.
As Zelda’s body lurches and she retches onto the sand beside her, the prince reaches into his bag. He pulls a vibrant blue elixir from it before reaching his other hand up and removing the sapphire circlet from his head.
In one quick movement, he throws the elixir back, winces at its taste, and clasps the circlet around Zelda’s head.
Before she can protest (because that’s the prince’s circlet. If anything, he should give her the elixir), the cool feeling overcomes her. Like having a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over her head, Zelda’s body is instantly chilled, the cold emanating from the circlet to rush down her skin. It clears her throat and her lungs of the dry sandy coarseness and replaces it with the feeling of calm waters within her.
She gasps for breath; the air coming in cold and refreshing. She pays no mind to the men who watch her with relieved eyes as she falls back in the sand (the sand that feels cool and soft beneath her fingertips).
A hand- equally cold and soft- taps against her shoulder and she pries her eyes open to look the prince in the eyes (not that it would be difficult to. In fact, it would be more difficult to not gaze into his eyes with how he’s leaned overtop of her). His eyes rove over her with barely concealed concern before he signs; “Alright?”
Zelda nods because the temperature is alright now. However, as she pulls herself back to sit up again her stomach churns inside her, brewing and bubbling with unpleasant sickliness. The heat, she supposes, must have already gotten to her.
Now that it isn’t addling her brain in such a way that makes thinking near impossible, Zelda supposes it makes sense. The circlet- of course- is enchanted, and therefor cannot cure internal ailments. They were too late with this.
How she longs to punch herself for her lack of foresight. Of course she would need Chilly Elixirs, it’s the Gerudo Desert.
The bubbling in her stomach builds up until she is forced to throw herself to the side in order to avoid the prince when she throws up. Hot, acidic vomit crawls slowly up her throat as she heaves until it finally releases from her and spews out on the sand.
Someone gags, and Zelda grimaces and groans, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
Sir Jiko once again pushes the prince to the side, only this time he rests his hands on the sides of Zelda’s face, turning her head every-which way as he examines her.
“Do you feel faint?” He asks, turning her head so she looks to the sky. “Confused at all?”
Zelda slaps his hands away with a snarl. She would argue that she hadn’t felt faint until he had started whipping her head around like a child’s shaker.
“Oh, Goddess. She’s delirious, isn’t she?” Zelda can’t bring herself to focus on the high-pitched voice that interjects this time as the conflicting statements all pounce into her brain and scratch at her skull until she wants to tear her own head off.
But somewhere deep in her mind, Zelda recognizes the symptoms; Heatstroke.
“Hush, Garret, you’re not helping.”
“But she’s the only one who can get into Gerudo Town!”
Something must happen out of her line of sight and hearing, because a few moments later someone says; “Your Highness, are you sure?”
“What? What’s going on?” This is Jiko speaking, she notes. She feels as though the nasally, proud voice pierces into her skull more than even the heat.
“He thinks we should stop at Kara Kara Bazaar.” Sado.
“No! We can’t afford to stop! We still have so much to do!”
“His Highness thinks we should, and I think that means we have to. Lady Zelda’s in no condition to continue traveling, anyway. We would do best if we rest for the night.”
A pause, brief but great. “Fine. Garret, help her get there, would you?”
“Of course, Sir.”
Small hands push against Zelda’s back and a comforting voice hushes in her ear as she groan with the effort it takes to rise from her place in the sand. Really she was perfectly content there.
She’s careful to listen in on the last strains of conversation as she is pulled away.
“-the hell did you know what he was saying?”
“I don’t know…context clues?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda groans as she wakes, her eyelids protesting her attempts to lift them. A chill seeps into her bones as her foggy eyes open to see the sandstone walls surrounding her, and she feels the hard surface below her prone body (also sandstone?).
As she lifts herself to a seated position, she moves something off her body. Looking down and grasping at the cloth, she realizes it’s her cloak. It’s strewn over her figure in an imitation of a duvet, too thin to protect from the cold but soft against her dry, cracked fingers.
Curious, Zelda pushes the cloak off the rest of the way (before promptly regretting it and throwing it around her shoulders) and stands.
A thin window cut out of the wall across from her confirms Zelda’s suspicions; Nighttime. How late, she doesn’t yet know (though it had been obvious that it’s nighttime. The severe differences in the desert temperatures is infamous).
She sighs, wrapping her cloak around herself more securely, though it doesn’t help much.
“Oh, you’re up already?” Zelda startles at the voice, whipping around to see Sir Garret standing in the doorway with another cloak folded in his arms.
At her reaction, he also jumps. He drops the cloak as he holds his hands in the air placatingly before he promptly realizes what he did and scoops the fabric back up. He stands still for a moment, his expression conflicted as his arms seem to move between being in the air and holding the cloak.
“Er-” Garret coughs. He won’t meet Zelda’s eyes, though he holds out the cloak to her, stretching his arms out all the way in front of him. “Sorry. I got this for you.”
He’s acting…odd.
Zelda steps forward slowly like the knight is a feral animal and carefully lifts the cloak from his arms. “…Thank you.” She fumbles with the dark fabric for a moment before sighing. “I already have a cloak, though.”
His eyes widen and dart up to her face momentarily before falling away again. “Uh-yeah. I was going to- er- put it over you like a blanket? But you woke up, so…” His voice drags off awkwardly and he winces.
Zelda smiles. However odd it may be, Garret’s attitude is a breath of fresh air when compared to the rest of their company.
“Oh…Well, thank you.”
Garret returns her smile, finally looking up from the sand (his eyes still don’t meet hers, though, clearly staring at her eyebrows instead. Zelda wonders if she’s the problem or if he has troubles socially. She shakes the thought from her head. It’s not really the time to be psychoanalyzing her fellow knights).
“His Highness thought you would be out for a lot longer. You were in bad shape.”
Zelda feels her ears grow hot at the reminder. Oh, how she’d embarrassed herself in front of the prince. In front of the other knights.
“Oh…yes.”
“Yeah, well, looks like you’re all better! Never traveled the Gerudo Desert before, huh? I haven’t either, so it’s understandable.”
Zelda grimaces and her ears tilt back before she closes her eyes and forces herself to calm down. “I knew about the heat. I just…didn’t think about it. It was stupid.”
“I don’t think it was stupid!” Garret steps closer to Zelda before stopping abruptly and straightening. “I mean…people forget things.”
“I can’t really afford to ‘forget’ anymore.”
“Oh, is this about His Highness?!” His voice rises in excitement as though he’d uncovered some grand and thrilling secret. “You don’t need to worry about him, there’s plenty of knights here! We dedicate our lives to protecting Hyrule and her rulers, after all.”
A sort of bitter feeling rises in Zelda at that. Garret seems good, but the others? Zelda’s never met people like them before (not that she’d really ever met many people in her life). How could someone swear to give their lives for someone they so clearly disrespect? Having seen them in battle, Zelda knows of the knights’ abilities and willingness to protect Prince Link, but she’d also seen the rest of them.
It’s an unpleasant bitterness that she feels will never go away.
Garret must read it on her face because he stutters for a moment. “Well- er- now that you’re up, I guess that means you and His Highness can complete the journey to Gerudo Town tomorrow.”
And then- intermixing with that bitterness in a sort of cruel and painful dance that causes Zelda’s heart to lurch within her chest- guilt breaks through. Of course, with Zelda’s luck, she’d humiliated herself and held up a royal trip.
She sighs. “Why is the prince coming? Shouldn’t he stay here while I go?”
Garret shrugs. “Maybe, but he wants to go with you, I guess. It might be better this way, though. Lady Urbosa’s a lot nicer when His Highness is around, so maybe it’ll make things go a bit smoother?”
Zelda accepts this answer with a small nod. They lapse into silence- uncomfortable but not tense. Just when Zelda is about to dismiss the other knight (or perhaps join him and the other wherever they are at the bazaar), a small cough comes from the doorway.
Zelda looks up and Garret jumps. Prince Link stands in the doorway, eyes darting between the two with a curious glint shining through his indifferent mask.
Garret’s ears swivel a bit as his face reddens. He straightens his posture before bowing stiffly.
“Your Highness,” He forces out before spinning on his heel and marching out.
“He’s…quite different.”
The prince smiles softly, huffing out a subdued laugh. ‘He likes you,’ he signs. ‘He can just be a little shy at first.’
“That makes sense.”
The prince nods. He stands in the doorway wrapped in his cloak with a ruby circlet resting on his head, perfectly framed by his bangs. Zelda notices he’s taken the jewels and adornments out of his hair, allowing stray pieces to fall around his face.
Zelda huffs, sitting back in her bed. “I apologize, Your Highness.”
He tilts his head.
“For stopping our journey for the night. It’s a waste of time.”
He shakes his head with a disapproving look. ‘We would have stopped, anyway. I don’t want to overwork you.’
“But that’s just it. You aren’t worried about the other knights, just me. I should be able to handle the same things they can.”
‘This is your first journey.’
“It’s yours too, isn’t it?”
The prince winces. ‘Yes,’ He signs slowly. ‘But I’ve been trained my whole life for this. Diplomacy and things like this are…part of being king.’
“Your mother won’t be happy…My father wouldn’t be either…” Her voice trails off. It’s true, Zelda thinks. Her father would be beyond disappointed in her actions on this one trip. From her panic in battle to her incompetence in the desert, Zelda truly hasn’t done anything worthy of pride.
The prince snaps at her, drawing her attention quickly back from the dark recessions of her brain. He gives her an apologetic look after. ‘I don’t think that’s true. Nothing pleases my mother, but what could your father say? What does he know of this journey?’
Zelda scoffs. “Didn’t you hear anything I told you?”
‘I did. You said he wasn’t proud, but why would he be disappointed? An in-between is possible.’
“With all due respect, Your Highness, you don’t know my father, and how would indifference be any better than disappointment.”
‘Disappointment is worse.’
Zelda glares as that familiar irritation rises within her. She’s thought they’d been over this. In all honesty, she’d thought the prince would understand better than anyone. But no. It has to be a battle of comparison, and he- of course- wins.
“So you think you have it worse then?”
‘I didn’t say that. I just don’t think you’re being completely fair.’
Zelda rises and stomps over to the prince. Her guilt returns in full swing when he flinches slightly and steps away from her, but it is quickly quelled by the familiar (and frighteningly comfortable) anger.
“And what if I told you that you aren’t being fair to your mother?”
‘That’s-’ His hands twitch. ‘That’s different. You know my mother.’
“And you don’t know my father.”
‘You’re the hero.’ He glares back at her, but it’s half-hearted. He knows he’s wrong, Zelda realizes. He’s just not willing to admit it. It only makes her more angry. ‘Of course he’s proud. If he’s not, then how is that your fault?’
Zelda’s fists clench at her side.
‘I think you’re-’
“Your Highness,” Zelda interrupts through clenched teeth. The confident look on the prince’s face (that holds a certain fear underneath it that Zelda doesn’t care to see at the moment) infuriates her. She needs to remove herself from the situation before she says something she regrets, she knows. “I need to speak with the other knights.”
With that, she steps around the smaller Hylian and stomps down the unfamiliar stairs of the Kara Kara hotel.
Notes:
So we finally met a nice knight!!!
Link definitely means well, he just does NOT know how to hold discussions. Especially with someone in a sensitive position like Zelda's....
Next chap we finally meet Urbosaaa
Chapter 15: Little Farosh
Summary:
The gang finally reaches Gerudo Town and meets Urbosa!!!
Notes:
Notes; Urbosa greets them veery urbosaly
Updates will be a bit slower for a while as I'm splitting my attention a lot more but rest assured i am STILL working on this!!!
the beginning of this chaps a lil rough but I think it just got better lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time the prince comes bounding down the stairs to join the knights outside at the Bazaar, Zelda and the others have already repacked their bags for her trip to Gerudo Town.
Zelda’s stomach sinks slightly at the sight of the boy, but she pushes that feeling down in favor of standing to greet him. The other knights stay carefully behind, several paces away.
“Your Highness,” she greets cordially. Prince Link’s eyes dart around before landing on hers. His face is blank as he examines hers. He nods.
‘We should leave as soon as possible. The morning heat is much more bearable than it will be if we wait any longer. Anything heatproof won’t protect us from illness.’
It feels pointed, that he phrases the words in this way, but Zelda grabs hold of the irritation that threatens to rise and just nods instead.
“Whenever you’re ready, Your Highness.” In truth, Zelda is far too excited to allow her shattered feelings from the previous night to ruin her day. The Gerudo people and their culture have always been beyond fascinating to her (she wonders if Lady Urbosa will entertain questions from her. She’s sure someone will somewhere, even when a faint sort of guilt claws its way through her body at the prospect of bothering someone for something so…unimportant).
The prince’s eyes move over her shoulder, presumably looking at the other three knights sat at the small pond. He seems unsure for a moment before standing straighter and signing; ‘Would you tell them they can go back to the stable? I don’t want to force them to wait in this heat.’
Zelda’s eyes widen in surprise (she quickly schools her expression, however. She really shouldn’t be too surprised. One bad experience doesn’t make the prince a bad person…Maybe she’s the problem) before she quickly nods.
“When should they come back?” She asks.
The prince’s lips pinch together into a thin line. ‘They won’t.’
“I beg your pardon?”
‘We’ll meet them at the stable when we’re done.’
“Your Highness, I-I wouldn’t recommend that…” Zelda states, swallowing nervously at the determined expression that passes over Prince Link’s face.
‘Why not?’
“I just…think it would be best if we set a solid timeline and meet them back here. It would make our journey much faster.” Perhaps she’s thinking of everything the knights had already told her; about their families waiting in Castle Town, their lives and payment. Perhaps she’s thinking of something else entirely.
The prince doesn’t look convinced. ‘If they said something,’ he starts before stepping to the side so his hands are more thoroughly hidden behind Zelda’s figure. ‘it’s a lie.’
“It’s a lie that they want to get back to their families?”
He falters; ‘No. It just doesn’t matter as much as they want you to think it does. Political journeys like this can take months, so this one is far shorter than the ones they are used to. They just-’
He stops, his hands hovering uselessly in the air as he seems to conjure the proper words in his head.
‘There are other things they’d rather be doing…’
Zelda is a little confused, but she suspects the meaning of these words is not entirely lost on her. It makes the guilt return violently.
So Zelda just nods before promptly dismissing the knights, the prince close by and standing half behind her.
She doesn’t miss the looks of relief on Garret’s and Sado’s faces, nor does she even pretend to miss the fiery glare Jiko sends (Though- curiously- this glare is directed at her. It shifts to something unreadable when Sir Jiko looks to the prince. Zelda doesn’t even notice she’s moving until Jiko’s eyes are back on her and Prince Link is hidden completely behind her form).
They leave without much fuss, their armor clanking loudly as they practically jump up and jog out. In a rush to get out of the heat, Zelda supposes, though that pace won’t last them. She doesn’t say as much.
Once they’re gone, the prince shoots Zelda a faint, self-conscious smile. When she doesn’t respond verbally, the smile falls and he whirls around towards the hotel.
“Your Highness!” Zelda calls after him. Had he not wanted to get going right away? What the hell is he doing? He turns back at her shout. “I thought you wanted to leave as soon as possible?”
He nods hard enough that she can see it even at this distance before stepping closer to her. He looks around carefully, eyeing the Gerudo guards who have their backs turned to the oasis.
‘I need to get changed.’ He signs with small movements so subtle Zelda can hardly make them out.
Without another word, Prince Link spins back around and practically leaps into the building.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda passes the time as the prince changes by interacting with the Gerudo guards. They humor her gladly, telling her fascinating stories of sandstorms and their chief.
The Lady Urbosa seems to be very well-loved in Gerudo Desert. It’s almost a shock to Zelda’s entire system how highly these women speak of their leader, with praise falling from their lips unprompted and almost endlessly. Every story they tell comes with its own lesson on the chief, and each guard comes with her own experience of the lady’s firm, but kind tendencies.
But the conversation only lasts so long before the ladies have to return to their duties, sending Zelda away to converse with another. And there’s only so many guards in the Bazaar to speak with.
Zelda would speak to the merchants, sprawled out on their blankets on the sandy desert floor with wares from the region laid before them, but she worries about being overly solicited. Merchants can be a bit…insistent as far as she knows (her father always complained about it when he returned from deliveries. His first day back was not spent making up for the lost time with Zelda, but for relentless complaints and dismissals).
So she moves to sit by the pond, watching her pale reflection in the clear surface of it. She looks different; she thinks. Not like how she’d appeared on the day of the ceremony- like she belonged, like she knew exactly where she was meant to be and what she was meant to be doing- but instead like that first day in Castletown, where she’d been disheveled and frightened like a wild hare. The reflection in the waters seems different from what Zelda sees in that fancy mirror.
Her hair is longer than she remembers too. A bit raggedy. Perhaps she should cut it? It wouldn’t do to get her hair caught in a fight (the thought sends a shiver down her spine).
Zelda splashes her hand into the water, watching her reflection shatter in ripples across its surface.
There’s still no sign of the prince. He’s taking quite a long time getting ‘changed’. For a moment, Zelda wonders if he would have left her here, if he set off for Gerudo Town without her. They’d seemed to be getting better, but perhaps last night had hurt him as much as it had her.
She shakes the thought away. It wouldn’t be possible. The Gerudo wouldn’t even let him enter the town, especially not without a female companion.
Zelda huffs and stands. She should check on him, right?
She stomps hurriedly towards the building, eyes downcast. When she enters the doorway, she doesn’t notice a person in front of her until she’s collided with them. They almost fall, stumbling back before Zelda’s hands dart out to keep them upright and her eyes fall upon a young girl around her age.
The girl is very pretty with her face mostly covered by a pale blue veil that matches her high-cut top and a sort of purple sirwal. She has soft pale skin that blends perfectly with the light color of her traditional Gerudo clothing (Zelda wonders briefly where she got the clothes before realizing that it is fairly obvious).
“Oh, I am so sorry!” Zelda exclaims, quickly taking her hands off the girl. “Excuse me, Miss, I need to-” She gestures awkwardly behind the girl before stepping around her.
An arm clasps around her upper arm. Zelda whirls around to see the girl’s shoulders bouncing with silent laughter, her eyes crinkled with glee.
“Miss?”
The girl removes her hand before signing; “Hi, Z-E-L-D-A.’
Zelda’s mind goes blank as her jaw drops open. Her eyes widen as she stares at the girl- not really a girl?- before her. She quickly looks around the room, seeing no sign of the prince, before turning back. By now, the girl’s- boy’s?- laughter has faded enough that her eyes are fully open and visible. As Zelda’s own green eyes lock onto the gorgeous blue of the girls’, she splutters.
“Your Highness?!”
He shushes her, his eyes going wide.
‘Be careful.’
“What-What are you-What is-”
He shushes her again and Zelda’s mind runs wild. Where in the hell had he gotten those clothes? She knows he’s never traveled here before, but Castletown doesn’t have any place that sells traditional Gerudo clothing as far as Zelda knows either. They must have been a gift. From Lady Urbosa perhaps? Had she visited the castle like Daruk said he had?
‘This is how I am getting into Gerudo Town.’
“I-I thought that’s why I am going with you?” What other reason did Prince Link feel it necessary to drag her along when the rest of the knights have been given the opportunity to cool off in more…reasonable temperatures for their Hylian bodies.
‘Do you think they know I have this?’
“I…no, I suppose not.”
‘Exactly.’ He smiles at her. ‘Plus your company is much more enjoyable than theirs.’
With that, Prince Link- fully disguised in Gerudo garb- marches off, a slight sway to his hips.
Zelda shakes her head, pulling her gaze away, and follows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Traveling the desert is much easier (and much more favorable, at least for Zelda) with the sapphire circlet the prince had lent her. Where she had at first been consciously aware of the adornment resting against her forehead, Zelda now hardly notices it at all. The only thing she does notice about it is the flashes of pure cold that run down her body and through her veins.
It’s quite nice, she thinks. Zelda’s never enjoyed being cold before (not like her father, who can hardly stand to use covers even in the dead of winter), but the kind of coolness that washes over her being- fighting with the heat of the desert in a fierce dual- brings her a sort of comfort.
The prince looks to be faring just as well, if not better. His outfit is very… breathable, though it doesn’t appear to have any sort of enchantment, at least not one powerful enough for her to feel from her position next to him.
He seems…different. Zelda notes the slight spring in his step and the way his eyes are crinkled slightly with a perpetual smile. He seems much more…at ease, she thinks.
The walls of Gerudo Town are visible from here, ahead of them by several yards.
Perhaps it’s the best time, Zelda thinks. The longer the silence stretches on between them, the more irritated she grows. And she doesn’t want to ruin his sudden good mood. Really, she doesn’t.
“Your Highness,” she says. Be mature.
Prince Link turns to her, eyes gleaming with subdued mirth, and the Master Sword chimes brightly against her back.
It distracts her for a moment, jingling continuously in her mind. It seems to draw the prince’s attention as well, because his eyes move from her face to gaze behind her curiously before landing on her again.
“I wanted-” Zelda stops moving, motioning for the prince to do the same. He raises an eyebrow but obeys easily. “I wanted to speak to you about last night.”
And with those words- as if a flip or a lever had been switched somewhere in the heir’s head- the prince’s eyes stop gleaming. His skin doesn’t wrinkle and crinkle around the corners of them with a smile hidden beneath his veil. For a moment, Zelda feels guilt. Then she remembers what this is about. This is about what he did.
“You-” She starts, clearing her throat when the word comes out all rough and coarse like the sandy path beneath their feet. “Your words last night hurt me.”
He sighs quietly, the air pushing against the thin fabric around his face. ‘I know.’ He signs. ‘I’m sorry.’
“I figured you would be.”
He blinks at her. ‘…So?’
“I don’t want to be angry at you anymore.” She doesn’t want Impa or Purah or Robbie to hate her for being angry with him. She doesn’t want to hate him. “I don’t like it.”
A pause. ‘Neither do I.’
“Alright.” A thought occurs to Zelda then. It’s unpleasant in how it fills her mind. Unpleasant in how it garners a burning attention from the Master Sword, causing it to ring angrily at her. She flinches. “Do I frighten you when I’m angry?”
‘No…not you.’ The prince’s head tilts to the side, his eyes falling to the ground. ‘I don’t know what it is…’
A few silent moments pass before Zelda prompts; “Your Highness?”
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand you.’
Without another word, he spins around and continues walking towards Gerudo Town.
What the hell was that?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Gerudo guards let them into the town without a second glance, thoroughly fooled by the Link’s disguise. He briefly wonders how many men had ever managed to successfully sneak in before knocking himself out of his stupor and continuing further.
The marketplace is beautiful. Sandstone walls are adorned with flags and banners of varying materials, looking soft in the soft wind the sweeps them around. Their colors match that of a painted sunset, all oranges and reds and pinks. The sun shines through them to present a vibrant kaleidoscope of colors against the sandy ground.
The shops are mostly outdoors as well, he notes with a hint of curiosity. Canopies made of wood sit below the town’s aqueducts, most likely collecting the coolness that seeps off the water.
But none of that is what Link’s truly interested. Not now at least.
Urbosa’s home lies mere feet ahead, and Link can’t help but pick up the pace a little in his excitement. He ignores how Zelda falls behind a bit.
The guards allow the two Hylians to pass with only sidelong glances, not bothering to examine them much. Not that they would need to. Link’s seen Urbosa fight during festivals in Castletown and knows that protection is the last thing she needs.
He enters the throne room (He’s not sure if that’s the proper word for it, but the red carpets and grand throne are fairly reminiscent of the sanctum at home. This room is much more intimate, though. More personal) and promptly kneels before the Gerudo chief seated on the throne.
Zelda follows suit hastily, almost falling over completely in her rush to catch up. He spares a second to feel guilty for it before the sound of heels stepping towards them echoes around the room.
“Two little Hylians all the way out here.” Urbosa says grandly, her low voice booming and demanding the attention of all people inside. Link hears a smile in it as she hums. “Stand up.”
Link and Zelda do as they’re told and Link smiles widely behind his veil at the woman before them.
Urbosa smirks at him, taking a few more steps forward. Her Gerudo skirt sweeps around her calfs, the layers rustling as she moves. Her muscular body stands much taller than the Hylians, intimidating if it weren’t for the hint of happiness in the woman’s eyes.
Link cranes his neck to meet her eyes. ‘I am here to ask some assistance of you, My Lady.’
He can feel Zelda’s curious gaze burning into the side of his head, but ignores it.
Urbosa’s smirk turns into a true smile as her gaze softens. “Little Farosh,” She says warmly, reaching a hand out. He takes it without hesitation, reveling in the warmth of her skin as she holds his hand gently. She turns to Zelda, her hand still in Link’s grasp. “And you are our young hero.”
Zelda winces slightly (Urbosa raises an eyebrow but knows better than to speak on it. Link appreciates that). She recovers quickly, lowering her head to the chief respectfully.
“Yes, My Lady.”
“Well? What’s your name?”
“I-” She glances at Link. “Zelda, My Lady.”
“Zelda.” Urbosa tries. She hums. “Fitting.”
Link nudges Zelda, signing; ‘Ask.’ with a reassuring look.
She appears slightly panicked, which Urbosa smiles at, but she pulls herself together to say; “I presume you know why we’re here then, Lady Urbosa?”
“Of course.”
“And you’re willing?”
“Well, of course. Why would I say no to a chance to squash Ganon like the bug he is?”
Zelda seems taken aback by the comment (Link had expected something a little more violent if he’s being honest).
“Oh!” Zelda exclaims. “That was-” she lowers her voice, leaning in to Link. “That was much easier than I expected.”
Urbosa laughs heartily, making Zelda jump violently.
If Link laughs at her too, she doesn’t have to know that. She can’t see his expression behind the veil, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After accepting the offer Zelda had hastily given her, Urbosa quicky dismissed the girl, having seen her eyeing the door (or- more accurately- eyeing the town outside the door).
Zelda sent a hesitant glance towards Link, but must have deemed him to be in good hands with the half-dozen Gerudo warriors in the building.
She broke out into an excited smile before darting outside.
Link stares at the doorway she’d disappeared from, no sign of her still evident. She must have been watching the town a lot more closely than he was to have such a specific goal in her mind.
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, emanating warmth.
“Would you like to change, Little Farosh?” She asks, eyes running down his body with a glint of something unreadable. “I am certain I can make an exception for the crown prince of Hyrule, after all.”
Humor laces her tone, but something in her gaze tells him she’s being far more serious than she lets on. It’s unusual, Link thinks. Urbosa would typically be the last person to hide her true feelings behind a fuzzy facade.
‘Are you sure?’ He asks. He self-consciously scans the room, staring at the women surrounding the walls. They can certainly hear them. The room isn’t large enough for a conversation to go unheard, especially with Urbosa’s booming voice. Still though, they don’t react in any notable way. ‘I don’t want to bother anyone.’
“You won’t,” Urbosa says. Then she raises an eyebrow. “Unless you choose to.”
Link shakes his head fervently, to which Urbosa chuckles.
“This is all very good timing,” she continues. “I put in a commission for some clothes for you, Little Farosh. Voe clothes made of the finest Gerudo silks. They’re upstairs.”
She gestures out behind him towards a sandstone staircase in the corner of the room. A Gerudo guard stands watching them from the top.
Shock fills Link at the offer. Surely that must have been most expensive? Why would Urbosa do that for him, when she had been the one to gift him the vai clothing in the first place?
Maybe it was a test.
Link’s thoughts must show on his face, because Urbosa grins suddenly, sharp teeth gleaming in an unthreatening manner.
She pushes him lightly, “Go, Your Highness.”
Her expression is serious, so Link doesn’t bother to argue any, simply turning slowly and making his way to the staircase. As he steps up, the Gerudo guard steps aside, bowing her head once.
It makes Link nervous, passing all these women. He’s beyond comfortable in his vai clothing, he has no doubt there, but there’s this underlying paranoia that comes with it. He feels eyes upon his back, his sides. Whether they’re truly there- staring burning holes into his sides and face- he isn’t sure, but the feeling is. And he isn’t sure wearing voe clothing will help any. In fact, it may only hurt, being the only male in a town of women, judged and examined in his every step.
He shakes his head. He’s taking the clothes anyway, Urbosa had them made specially for him. But should he wear them? Would that be disrespectful? Or would it be more disrespectful to continue wearing his disguise even after Urbosa has told him to change?
Link suddenly wishes he’d actually read that book on Gerudo history instead of skimming through it. Perhaps then he’d know.
He enters Urbosa’s bedroom, averting his eyes from the neat bed in the center to look around for the clothing.
He finds them practically immediately, his eyes drawn to them as they contrast against the brownish sandstone walls.
His eyes widen as a fuzzy feeling covers his chest, filling him slowly like water pouring into a basin. He steps toward the outfit, mouth agape as he takes in the craftsmanship, the design, the colors.
The colors, which are not dark greens framed with brown and black, but rather pinks framed with whites and golds. On the mannequin, everything flows smoothly like Urbosa’s skirts, thin layers creating a sort of ombre design in its colors.
Link runs his hands along the outfit, feeling the smooth, cool silks. It’s unlike anything made for him at the castle (everything there is stiff and coarse and proper). This outfit is soft and radiates an energy of fun. The colors make him think of the banners that had hung outside, because they reflect a rainbow surface on the ground similarly.
There’s not a single doubt left running through his mind. He hardly even bothers to scan for people watching before quickly tearing his disguise off and throwing the outfit before him on.
He’s not sure he’s gotten everything on properly with all the layers and intricate straps, but he manages.
He steps to the side to examine the outfit in the mirror.
The top cuts off a little above his waistline, the bottommost layer skintight and hugging his figure. It’s still modest, however, because there are several layers above this that flow more and more the longer it gets. The back flows down in a mimicry of a suit tail. A golden strap around his middle holds it all together and blends well with the pink-orange colors. It also has long sleeves that loosely reach down before cinching around his wrists with matching golden bands.
The trousers are simple and fairly similar to the leggins Link had been wearing previously on this journey, though they are looser. They’re the only part of the outfit that isn’t colorful, being a plain but light brown. Just like the sleeves, the legs are cinched at his ankles with gold bands.
A new sapphire circlet sits on the top of the mannequin, but instead of the silver that had framed the cooling gem of Link’s other circlet (the one that now rests on Zelda’s head. He thinks it suits her, but she probably won’t be allowed to keep it), this one has gold, with a few glittering chains hanging down its side in a mockery of Link’s royal crown. It’s very easy to fit over his loosely-tied hair.
The final piece (one that seems optional given how it sits off to the side, haphazardly thrown over a chair) is an off-white cloak. Link picks it up and examines it. The Gerudo people don’t wear cloaks, not that he’s seen anyway, so this must have been a last-minute addition to the commission. The craftwork is still excellent, though, with intricate designs and Gerudo words stitched around its edges. The words seem to tell a story about the legend of a Gerudo King, written with the flowery language of a children’s folktale.
It’s gorgeous…It’s all so gorgeous, and it’s so bright and vibrant and full of a life that Link hasn’t seem in clothing since he was very young. And- as he looks at himself in the mirror, staring at a boy he thought long lost- he’s comfortable. His back doesn’t feel stiff, held up by the hard backs of royal gear. His arms don’t feel constricted in ornamental cuffs. He looks- he feels- free. Happy.
His eyes sting, the pain building slowly as he stares at the boy in the mirror. He tears his gaze away to rub at his eyes, willing the tears to not come out. Willing himself to be strong.
Footsteps sound from behind him, but he ignores them, already knowing the owner of those loud heels.
“I knew it would look beautiful on you, Little Farosh.” Urbosa speaks gently, her tone dulcet and calm. Link sniffles. “Is something wrong, Your Highness?”
He finally looks up at her, staring at the blurry image of her tan face, and shakes his head. He smiles at her, a smile she returns easily.
Notes:
Next chap; Urbosa doesn't have a high opinion of the queen...but she used to
Chapter 16: The Power of Lightning
Summary:
BAd things happen in Gerudo Town.... :(
Notes:
Chap notes: Urbosa Urbosas
I'm so bad at writing combat lmao
TW for a tad bit of graphic violence in the line "But Urbosa sees them coming "
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His vai clothes had done a fair job at keeping the heat at bay, Link thinks. But the Sapphire circlet certainly does it much better. It makes his body feel like it’s being doused in water, just without the wetness. Thank Hylia.
He imagines the heat outside Gerudo Town is much more violent and unlivable, given the lack of aqueducts to keep the place cool and hydrated, but he doesn’t notice it as he and Urbosa circle the town.
“Little Farosh,” Urbosa says, pulling Lin out of his thoughts. She stares straight ahead, a small smile gracing her lips. “How do you feel about Lady Zelda?”
There’s something in her tone that Link can’t exactly place and a smirk on her face.
“She’s…” He pauses to clear his throat, his voice groggy and rough from disuse (he rarely goes this long without speaking. Impa usually provides plenty of opportunity to get some use out of his neglected voice). “Complicated.”
Urbosa chuckles heartily. They round a corner, disappearing from the view of the Gerudo Town entrance. Link wonders if Urbosa does this often, since the guards didn’t seem fazed by her walking straight through the front gate. If he’d tried something like that at home, he’d be dragged back in kicking and screaming, so things must work differently here.
“Is she complicated,” She begins, raising an eyebrow at Link when she looks down at him. “Or are your feelings for her complicated?”
Link huffs, his hands unconsciously reaching for his cloak. He grasps the soft fabric in his hands, clenching and unclenching them as he thinks. He truly doesn’t understand Zelda. He’d told her as much. Her feelings for him and…everything seem to bounce back and forth, changing with the wind. He doesn’t think she dislikes him, at least not anymore. But he- at the same time- isn’t sure she particularly likes him beyond a vague sense of duty-bound care.
What does he think of her? He…he pities her, sadly enough. He knows he shouldn’t. Very few people like pity. But that’s all he truly feels when he looks at her (it intermixes with guilt and the occasional sense of fondness when she rambles on about some old book that he was probably supposed to read at some point but never did).
But he empathizes too. To be chosen by some otherworldly being, with no choice of your own in your fate…he understands that.
“Both?” He answers simply.
A pair of Hylian men walk by, but Link pays them no mind. “We’ve…spoken about things before, but she’s in a…delicate situation.” He pauses his steps, feeling Urbosa’s absence from his side. Looking to his right, he sees empty air where she had been walking, so he spins around only to be greeted by Urbosa standing stock-still and straight, a hand on the hilt her scimitar.
“Urbosa?”
She holds up a hand to him, her eyes shifting over to follow the men as they march away.
“Stop right there.” She demands. The men falter, but don’t stop. “You know I’m speaking to you. Halt and face me.”
The men pause. They look to each other momentarily before turning to face Urbosa, matching expressions of confusion painting their faces. Link takes a step towards the woman but she holds up a hand to stop him.
She glares at the men, looking over her shoulder at them. “Unlike you traitors,” She snarls. “I prefer to face my enemies head-on.”
She glares, green eyes going Lazarus-green. “Do your worst.”
The men’s confusion doesn’t change for a moment. Then, as if on the flip of a switch, wide, toothy smiles grow across their faces. They seem to stretch painfully, predatory and frighteningly gleeful.
They disappear in a puff of smoke and matching tones of mocking laughter echo through the night.
Yiga. They reappear from the smoke, dressed in matching, skintight gear. They wield sickles low to the ground as they run for Urbosa.
But Urbosa sees them coming and swings immediately. She spins gracefully, bringing her scimitar down hard onto one of the yiga’s shoulders, tearing through his chest with a sickening squelch.
The other doesn’t stop moving or laughing, however, jumping over Urbosa’s other side to dive for Link, who dodges out of the way, crashing to the ground roughly.
He looks up to see Urbosa step over him protectively, raising her left hand into the sky.
The yiga stumbles back to his feet, whirling around to sprint back at Urbosa. Just as he’s taking his first step, she snaps and a sharp crack of lightning strikes the yiga where he stands, green electricity crackling in the air as the man convulses. He shrieks before collapsing to the ground.
Suddenly, another resounding laugh comes from the walls of the town as two more yiga come hurtling toward them. They attack Urbosa with frightening levels of coordination, striking high and low on either side of her.
She doesn’t struggle, however, using her shield to push one away from her and her scimitar to parry the other. With one temporarily out of the way, Urbosa clashes with the second, spinning around him in a dance of clanging and whistling as her scimitar moves with a speed and accuracy that is hard to make out.
Link watches in awe as Urbosa plants a heel against the disoriented yiga and kicks him away.
He realizes he’s distracted a second too late. Something sharp bumps against his throat and neck as the first yiga wraps his sickle around Link’s neck, pushing it threateningly into his skin. A telling wetness drips down to his chest when he swallows and a sharp sting of fear jolts him upright. He cranes his neck back in an attempt to avoid the cutting blade, but the yiga follows his movement.
Link clenches his eyes shut before tearing them open to watch the Gerudo chief.
Urbosa looks over, her eyes widening momentarily before she raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the yiga.
Link’s hands feel useless, hovering at his sides and shaking. He could reach up, he thinks. He could grip the blade with his hands and pull it away from his skin. It would cut his fingers something terrible, but it would work, wouldn’t it?
Just as he’s reaching up, a loud yelp sounds out as Urbosa strikes the other yiga with her blade, the man falling to the ground in a useless heap of limbs and weapons.
She turns to the yiga holding Link. The man’s shaking, Link realizes. He must not have felt it before beyond his own quivering.
He swallows again, ignoring the pain as the sickle digs into him again. Urbosa knows what she’s doing, he thinks. She’ll take care of it.
“I think our prince has seen enough bloodshed for today, don’t you?” She says, cleaning the blood off her blade with her hand. She shakes the blood off her skin after. “Out of respect for him, you can keep your life.”
For a moment, Link doesn’t think the words do anything. Then, the yiga kicks his back, removing the sickle from his neck and vanishing in another puff of smoke.
Urbosa runs forward, catching Link before he can hit the ground.
He retches as a chill runs through his body, suddenly wanting to tear the circlet off his head (it’s night, isn’t is? Doesn’t it get cold at night?). That feeling disapates suddenly as the weight of the circlet is lifted from him.
“I have you.” Urbosa says, hand running through his hair as he shakes. “Come with me back inside.”
She doesn’t push him toward the archway, he notes. She just gently guides him with a hand resting on his back. Even with the fear coursing through his veins, he appreciates it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda jogs up the steps to Urbosa’s throne room, following closely behind a small group of Gerudo guards that had come to collect her.
When Urbosa and Prince Link didn’t collect her from her exploration, she thought nothing of it, assuming they were simply catching up (they seemed very well-acquainted. While they had initially put on a facade of empty diplomacy, the warmth that had radiated from the tall chief was a warmth beyond…anything Zelda’s felt or seen before). She’d been eyeing a shop on the edge of town, one that had its doors wide open and multiple women crowded inside it as if it were broad daylight and not nearing midnight.
Just as she had begun stepping toward the shop, hoping to discover what it was that had all these women so enthused, a guard spotted her and approached quickly.
Her words were urgent, though vague; “Come. It’s your prince.”
As they enter the sandstone building, Zelda hardly notices the guards creating an impenetrable wall around all sides of the room, instead focusing on the sheer worry that overcomes her being, pushing itself up her chest and throat to cloud her mind.
Certainly nothing terrible could have happened, Zelda thinks (She hopes). Urbosa was there. Urbosa is a presumably a much more capable warrior than Zelda or any of the knights.
What happened?
A hand taps her shoulder lightly, but firmly and Zelda spins around, craning her neck to meet the eyes of a guard.
The woman’s purple painted lips are drawn in a tight line, her red eyes searching Zelda’s face for a moment. She pulls away when her eyes are done scanning Zelda, gesturing toward the stairs with the sharp end of her spear.
“The prince and Lady Urbosa are waiting for you,” she announces in a low voice, quiet enough that Zelda hardly hears it over the sounds of several other women arming themselves.
They seem to be preparing for something. But what?
The words are confirmation enough that the prince is safe, however, and Zelda feels her shoulder droop, her muscles relaxing from where they were drawn up and screwed tight.
She rushes up the stairs, turning the corner to be greeted by the sight of Urbosa and the prince sitting at the end of a large bed. For a moment, Zelda’s eyes are drawn in to Prince Link’s clothes. His vai gear is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a very breathable — but gender-appropriate — top and trousers.
She doesn’t admire for long, though, before her eyes have traveled up to the prince’s face and taken in the fear-stricken expression that lies there. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, making the blues of them seem to glow in contrast. Lines streak down his face from where tears must have fallen, and Zelda is taken slightly aback.
He has never been like this. Not even at the battle outside Goron City.
She rushes forward, only taking a few steps before halting to watch Urbosa comfort the boy. She runs her hands up and down his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his much smaller body. Her mouth moves with words and consolations that Zelda cannot hear.
Zelda’s eyes move down slightly, spotting blood coating part of the prince’s neck.
Her eyes widen. “Your Highness! You’re-”
Urbosa shushes her with a firm look. Then, she gently detangles herself from the prince and stands. He shivers at her absence but doesn’t make to pull her back as Zelda would have expected.
“Zelda,” Urbosa speaks solemnly. “Yiga attacked us just outside of town. I don’t expect a battle- they are much too cowardly- but we must be prepared.”
“The Yiga clan?” Zelda knows of them. Traitors to the Sheikah tribe. She’s read about them, and- outside of that- Impa has spoken on them on occasion.
Urbosa nods, glancing back to the prince, who stares unseeingly at his knees. “I presume they were following your group through the desert. They must have seen our walk tonight as the most opportune time to attack him, the fools.”
“I-” Zelda feels anger bud within her. “I should have been there, Lady Urbosa.” She tries to keep her tone respectful, but it’s clear that the chief hears every ounce of malice that she feels.
“And done what?” Urbosa shakes her head. “It’s clear that you are new to this. I’m not sure why her grace would send you on a mission of such importance…” A fiery glare shows in Urbosa’s eyes before she shakes her head again. “But what’s done is done. What you need is training.”
“The captain has been-”
“Captain Halke is a good man, but not the best teacher. Especially not for someone like you.” Urbosa sits back down. Prince Link doesn’t lean into her though, focusing instead on the way he fiddles with his hands in his lap. Blood still oozes slowly from a cut on his throat and Zelda finds herself wanting to reach over and wipe it away. “The general will be much more fit.”
Zelda’s eyes snap back to Urbosa. “The general? But-”
“He is very busy, yes, but I can see no better purpose for him to have than to train our her. Can you?” There’s a challenge to her tone, to her words, and Zelda can’t help but shake her head in response.
Urbosa nods. “I’ll send out a letter in the morning requesting for him to train you. Until then, don’t allow Link out of your sight until you’re back in the castle safely. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lady Urbosa. Of course.”
“Good. You are dismissed. You should sleep at the inn, the women will let you in free of charge if you let them know I sent you.”
“Lady Urbosa, his neck-”
“I’ll see to it, Zelda.”
The words are a firm dismissal, but Zelda doesn’t miss the covert glance of gratitude that the prince sends her.
She nods, bowing gently before she leaves.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urbosa’s heart is pounding, threatening to burst out of her ribcage in a violent burst of blood and bones. She suppresses it as much as she can, but the sight of the little prince- cowering, shaking in fear. Blood running down from the wound on his neck- angers her. It’s a feeling of hot rage (and a faint hint of guilt. How had she let that happen? She had been so careful) that wants to take over and pilot her body roughly.
The guilt eventually overcomes what anger was present when Link’s eyes follow Zelda’s figure as she leaves, a sort of longing in his gaze that was hidden behind careful stoicism.
She reaches over to brush a stray hair out of his face, securing it into his tie. “Don’t do that with me, Little Farosh.” She says.
He looks up at her with wide eyes. Then, his gaze drops and his expression shifts immediately, the blank slate falling off like a mask being removed. He pales.
“Zelda…” His words are whispered, quiet and soft.
“Do you wish for her to come back?”
He shakes his head rapidly, but his eyes are completely glued to the doorway.
“What is it you need, Little Farosh?”
He breathes deeply before shaking his head.
“Do you wish to speak about something else?”
He nods.
Urbosa thinks for a moment. “How are your studies coming along?”
For a moment, Link just sits still. Urbosa isn’t sure he’s going to respond, but she waits nonetheless.
He looks up at her then tears his gaze away. “…They’re not.”
A laugh tears itself from Urbosa’s throat. “They’re not? Have you been praying?”
Something crosses LInk’s face. Bitterness, Urbosa realizes. “No. Mother doesn’t want to waste time on it yet.”
“It’s hardly a waste of time.”
Link shrugs. “It is to her. There’s no certainty that I’ll even be able to wield the goddess’ power, so I’m spending most of my time studying and-”
“And?”
“…And looking for a suitor.”
“A suitor? What for?” To Urbosa’s knowledge, Link is not yet seventeen, making him too young to marry off. It could certainly be Gerudo customs messing with her mind as well, but she is sure that he has plenty of time for things like marriage after Ganon has been dealt with. It would be foolish to divide his attention now.
“To…” He messes with the ends of his top before tearing his hands away and clasping them in his lap. “Produce a female heir…just in case.”
And suddenly, the anger returns to Urbosa, directed toward a much different source but one she is familiar with feeling such rage toward.
“Little Farosh.” She says firmly. “There is no need for that.”
“Mother-”
“I’ll deal with your mother. You should begin your prayers.”
He nods, his face falling back into a more comfortable expression. A few moments of silence pass before he speaks up again; “That nickname…” He starts. “Where does it come from?”
“‘Little Farosh’?”
Link nods.
Urbosa examines his face for a moment. “A dear friend used to call you that. When you were still very young, hardly more than a babe.”
“What friend?”
“One that is…long gone.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
Urbosa smiles. “It’s all in the past.”
“My friend, you are stronger than this.”
“I’m not! Urbosa, I can’t do this-”
“You must.”
“Why!? Why should I?! There’s nothing left!”
“There is. You must do it for him…”
“…No.”
“You must, and you can.”
“…I can’t…”
The echoes of sobs and cries fades from Urbosa’s mind as she shakes the bitter memory away.
“It’s all in the past.” She repeats.
Notes:
Next chap: Zelda gets to remember her life a lil more
Chapter 17: Camaraderie in the Slaughter
Summary:
Upon returning to the stable and meeting up with the rest of the gang, Zelda thinks about the meaning of what's happened and stresses immensely. The stress over the current day is not helped by the memories that plague her in the night.
Notes:
Heyyy...how y'all doin'? 😀😀😀
I make no promises cause I've lied like six times already and I feel bad enough😔
ALSO song of the day... My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars by Mitski
Not a huge fan of this chap, especially the last scene, but I could spend all year rewriting and editing and this chap was practically already written when I got here so idk I just live here
That said, slight TW for allusions to animal death starting at "He looks down at her and rolls his eyes. 'Melissa?'" and going to the end of the section
I made some very minor edits to previous chapters filling in some mistakes with continuity and characterization, but they're so minor I didn't bother saying anything anywhere else.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The prince had not been entirely thrilled to leave Gerudo Town, Zelda knows.
He’d given her a blank stare upon the suggestion, but it flickered away behind a notable glistening in the eyes after only a second.
Part of Zelda had immediately wanted to take back her words, tell Prince Link that no, they actually didn’t need to leave, but Urbosa had been the one to suggest it initially and Zelda feared her disapproval more than she disliked the royal’s sadness.
She’d already tried arguing anyway, and Urbosa had had none of it.
Surely the prince needs more time? The red elixir one of Urbosa’s guards had given him had closed shallow cut on his neck, leaving only a thin line behind, but the stain of blood in the collar of his new tunic stuck out to her eyes each time she looked at him, drawing her eyes in and reminding her of her own failure (of which there seem to be an unending supply).
Not to mention the fear.
Zelda had spent the night at the inn as suggested, but her sleep had not come easily, each thought plagued with the image of yiga soldiers vaulting the tall walls of the town and slaughtering both the Gerudo people and her own charge. Each turn of her body making her startle as the rustling of fabric drew her eyes to the doorway, the expectation of seeing an assassin standing there to slit her own throat making her throw her covers off and reach for the comfortable handle of the Master Sword.
Each time, there was nothing there, and each time, she wondered if the prince was so uncomfortable in Urbosa’s care as she was here.
Certainly not.
Right?
Urbosa was a steady hand and a calm voice during their discussion.
‘Cowering behind our walls won’t do anyone any favors. Finish what you’re meant to do and then take the prince home’
She hadn’t been entirely impassive, though, pulling the prince away for a short and hushed conversation that left the boy with a steadier mask carefully laid over his expressions.
She isn’t sure she likes it, but it’s better than the fear and sadness.
Still, the silence on the walk back was overbearing, hanging over Zelda’s head like a persistent hand begging her to take some action, say some word, to fill it. Each word she’d spoken had gone unanswered, though, meeting only a nod or some bland acknowledgment from the prince.
Upon passing through the gap in the mountains and approaching her fellow knights at the stable, the prince had separated from her promptly and disappeared behind closed doors.
And still, it’s too quiet, Zelda thinks.
Even with the sounds of clattering weapons and boxes of supplies being thrown carelessly into the back of their metal cart, it’s too quiet. In the morning light, their entourage focuses on preparing for their next journey, and no one utters a word in Zelda’s range of hearing.
It makes her pinch her lips together, displeasure coursing through her.
She can forgive the prince’s sudden distance, even as it makes a foreign sadness that she distantly notes doesn’t belong to her constrict in her chest. The attack must have been terrifying. She remembers hearing about the yiga attacking the royals before, but not like this, not so…violently.
The knights, though, she doesn’t understand.
Perhaps she’s just too soft, taking offense at their intense focus in their task when they have no intention of offending her.
Or perhaps the other knights are simply avoiding speaking to her for anything other than direction, too bitter about their dismissal (Not possible, she thinks. They had been most relieved about the chance to leave the desert).
They busy themselves loading the boxes Zelda had packed that morning. The stable master had been kind enough to grant them some food for themselves and their horses for the journey. Sir Sado’s attempts at packing the night before had been cringeworthy at best and destructive at worst. So Zelda had forced herself up early that morning to take care of it outside their supervision (she didn’t need one of them peeking over her shoulder to critique her every choice when she knew perfectly well what she was doing, thank you, Sir Jiko-).
She watches for another moment, taking a long drink from her waterskin, as Sirs Jiko and Sado direct the few others in organizing the boxes, their voices just low enough for Zelda to miss the words and just loud enough to send a sort of echo along the canyon walls.
She sighs, popping the cap back into her waterskin and rising to her feet. She’s probably taken much too long a break. Were she on the ranch still, her father would’ve surely sent a ranch hand to dump something on her (buckets of icy water were his favorite method. If she wanted to rest in the shade all day, he’d say, she should do so instead of wasting their time). She shakes her head, pushing down the rising feeling of distress with a deep breath.
She keeps close to the stable wall, avoiding the others in order to check on the horses, as she’s sure none of them bothered too.
She’s surprised when, as she rounds the corner, she sees Prince Link has beaten her to it, the pretty outfit discarded the night before with the rest of the wash (She’d asked him to get rid of it, guiltily pointing out the blood on his collar and wincing at the way it made her stomach churn. She’s glad he listened, even through the obvious displeasure at changing back into his plain green).
“Your Highness!” She greets, her surprise evident in her tone. “It’s very early. What are you doing?”
He stares into the eyes of his white mare, combing his fingers through her mane and occasionally leaning in closer to bump his head against her snout. He doesn’t look at her when he simply shrugs in response.
A rush of irritation cages her heart with bars of exhaustion and Zelda closes her eyes and sighs.
When she opens them again, she sees the prince’s eyes dart away from her, as though meeting her gaze would physically harm him.
(Be mature…She knows, somewhere deep in her, that it must be the fear. Where she couldn’t bear the sight of his blood staining his own clothes, he can’t bear to look at her. She supposes that much is fair)
Zelda turns behind her again to gauge what the other knights are doing. None of them seem to be paying them any mind, not even looking in their general direction as they work. Jiko and Sado argue about something inconsequential as Garret and the one she has yet to learn the name of cautiously continue loading the cart, keeping their own eyes between the heavy loads they carry and the elder knights.
But still they don’t look towards Zelda or the prince, so she takes a moment to step back from her charge, watching him with a careful eye that she hopes comes across as impassive should he bother looking.
There’s something different in his body language. He doesn’t stand as tall as usual, and certainly not as easily as he had in Gerudo Town, the comfort the vai clothes and that colorful outfit had brought to him all but eviserated in the wake of what’s happened. He still hunches over when one of the knights skates just a bit too close to that invisible barrier he’s erected around himself, though it’s less protective and more…ashamed, she would say.
He doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so Zelda lets him be.
She takes another step back before slowly turning around and sitting against the wall once more, a fair enough distance from the prince to be more comfortable for the both of them, but close enough that she can still watch him and how he handles the horses.
(He brushes their manes with careful hands, eyes lowered cautiously. Once he’s given one enough attention, the next nudges him and he moves on quickly. She’s done that! She approaches just like that, but still no horse likes her. What is she doing wrong?)
Zelda leans her head back, finally tearing her eyes away from the boy.
She’d made a mistake. She can hit herself over the head with the knowledge as much as possible, slam her head down like some advice to better herself will imprint itself into her mind if she hits herself hard enough, but it never will.
How could she have been so foolish? Leaving the prince’s side like that in unfamiliar territory? It’s the first thing she learned not to do. And still, she’d done it, thinking he’d been perfectly safe with Urbosa and the Gerudo women.
But it’s wrong to think like that, isn’t it? The women are capable, but it’s not their job to watch over the Hylian prince. It’s her’s.
And in just a few hours, he’d almost died.
Even now, in her waking hours, she sees it when she closes her eyes. The image of a red-clad man running too quickly to truly be seen, skirting around Urbosa and bringing his razor-sharp blade up into the air to slash out the prince’s throat, coming oh-so-close. Blood pouring down into the sand and making is clump together viscously.
Yet another reason she could not sleep.
In her dreams, it is entirely her fault. Urbosa is standing there, and the yiga disappears, but it is Zelda that failed.
Zelda forces her eyes to find the prince, something in the back of her head screaming. When her eyes land on him, she forces herself to relax.
If she can’t save the prince, how can she save the world?
Is she even meant to?
A sharp cough draws Zelda’s mind out of the ever-growing hole it digs itself, and she draws her eyes away from the prince and to Sir Garret standing beside her place against the wall.
He watches her apprehensively, shifting his weight between his feet like he can’t stand still and Zelda realizes that she must be in quite a state.
Always odd.
She breathes in. “Yes?”
“You don’t-” He coughs again, more wetly. He brings his hands in front of his body to twist his fingers together anxiously. “You don’t look well.”
“I don’t?” Reflexively, her hand comes up to her forehead.
Garret shakes his head. “No. You look pale.”
She brings the hand back down, embarrassment surely painting its way up her neck and face. “Pale?”
“Like- erm- I don’t know…Afraid?” He phrases it like a question, his lips quirking into an unsure smile. When Zelda doesn’t respond, he laughs nervously. “Not that you’re scared. Just-”
“It’s alright…”
“It is?”
Zelda nods. Then, she swallows, feeling it in her throat painfully. She looks up at Garret, squinting in the sunlight.
He’s so young…What does she say?
Although…he’s no younger than she is. “I suppose I am…a little.”
“Scared?” Garret sounds surprised. Zelda would appreciate it if her mind weren’t running so fast, out of her own reach.
She doesn’t answer for a minute, and Garret sets his sword down in front of him before moving to sit beside her against the wall. He slides down the wood and sits cross-legged at her side, clear relief coming across his expression from the reprieve from the sunlight.
The guilt comes back then, reminding her that she’s been sitting here idly while they’ve all been working. Even the prince has technically been doing something.
“What- uh- what are you scared of?” Garret’s voice is carefully neutral, though he seems to not have experience with hiding things, as it shakes and cracks on a few words with telling nerves.
“Just- things didn’t go well while we were in Gerudo Town, that’s all.” She’ll need to tell someone about it in the end. Impa had told her to be honest, and while that wasn’t about this, she’s sure it applies to everything. “And I’m worried.”
“About His Highness?”
She huffs out a small laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Among other things.”
“Is this about that cut on his neck?”
Zelda startles. Prince Link had hidden the cut beneath his cloak before, and- even then- it was hardly noticeable once the blood-stained clothes were off. “You saw it?”
Garret nods. “He showed me last night.”
“Oh…I didn’t know-” that you were that close? That he interacted willingly with anyone here other than her? Although she didn’t know those things, if either of them were even true. She doubts her own knowledge about these things, and it makes her clench her fists.
Knowledge is supposed to be what she’s good at.
“He frightens me sometimes, but he’s a good friend.”
Frightens? “He frightens you? Why? He’s-” Hardly scary, she’s going to say, before thinking better of it.
“It’s not- it’s not him, I guess.” Garret shakes his head. “You’ll probably think I’m stupid.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not really the authority on…stupid feelings.” She hangs her head for a moment before bringing it up more proudly. Appearances. “I’ve had my share of incidents with him.”
Garret tilts his head. “Incidents? What sort?”
“Nothing particularly noteworthy, just- moments.” Not the truth, she knows, but Zelda might just combust if they make this about all that.
“Alright.”
The way he takes in a deep breath tells Zelda he’s brazing himself. She hopes. “Why does he frighten you?”
A pause. “I think…Sometimes I think about his family. It’s intimidating. A little shameful, really, to be near people so important when I’m…me, you know?” Zelda swallows again. “And sometimes I think about who he’s supposed to be; Hylia reincarnate, and I just get nervous thinking about what’s supposed to happen now because of that.
“Sir Jiko, too.” He adds as an afterthought. “He’s really protective of His Highness, and I do not want to be on the wrong side of one of his episodes.”
Zelda narrows her eyes. “Protective?”
“Yes,” Garret nods. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t find out about that cut until after we report to Queen Ryla.” He shudders, looking to the older knight with a mixture that Zelda doesn’t quite understand. “What happened with that anyway?”
Zelda notices the change in subject for what it is, but decides not to push. If Sir Jiko wants to project his attitude as ‘protectiveness,’ then that’s not her business. Not unless he makes it so.
“A Yiga attack,” she answers plainly. Best to be vague. Not until they report it.
He pales instantly. “Hylia…In Gerudo Town?”
“Just outside the walls.”
He blinks rapidly for a few moments before his eyes light up with something so suddenly that it gives Zelda whiplash. “And you were able to fight them off?”
There’s an excitement in his tone that crushes Zelda’s heart. “Not-no.”
“No? But-”
“Lady Urbosa fought them off…” She watches Garret’s face fall and she bites her lip nervously. “I wasn’t there.”
“You…weren’t there?”
Zelda shakes her head, refusing to look at the boy. He doesn’t make any sound of disapproval, but his silence speaks volumes where his words will not.
“You’re going to have to report that to the queen.” He says.
Zelda sighs. “I am aware.”
“She won’t be happy…”
“I am aware...”
She’ll be lucky if she is given any leeway at all for things other than training. Let alone things such as Sheikah research.
She sighs heavily.
A few more moments pass, far more tense. Zelda finds herself missing the brief moment of camaraderie they’d shared. The first she’s had since coming to the castle at all.
Then, he taps her shoulder repeatedly.
“Hey,” he says. “I think it’s time to go.”
Zelda looks up to see Sir Sado sitting in the front of the carriage, fiddling with the reins. The prince is already in the back as well, abandoning his mare to be ridden by Sir Jiko again.
She sighs, forcing herself to her feet, forcing herself on another long journey.
~*~
They stop for the night.
For some unfathomable reason, it annoys Zelda (Perhaps not unfathomable. Perhaps it’s the distance between Gerudo Valley and Zora’s Domain that makes her so hesitant to stop. She has no clue why they are making their journey so…randomly).
But- nonetheless- they stop somewhere in Hyrule Field, beyond the castle, but not yet in the Lanayru region.
She can see it from the distance, though. The color in the mountains that legendary blue that is said to make up all of the Zora domain, shining in the moonlight and reflecting beautifully back at her like thousands of little jewels waiting to be mined.
Zelda huffs and stares up at the night sky from her cot on the bare ground.
Sir Jiko wanders back and forth noisily, having not taken off his armor before claiming the first watch and marching off from the rest of the group.
It truly is not the noise that keeps her up, though.
It’s the sky.
Slightly cloudy, grayed-out blue, a small scattering of stars. She hasn’t seen a sky like this in…years. At home, the sky always seemed so much more clear. At the castle (the few times she managed to pull herself out of the cozy nest of her bed), the sky seemed to hold more stars. Things to look at and wonder at.
Zelda closes her eyes, willing the memories back. She finds, however, that they aren’t so easily dispelled.
~*~
The harvest is behind. Everything is behind.
Zelda can tell.
She huffs, throwing her book down beside her on her bed before jumping up. There’s too much noise from outside as the farmhands and her father throw things around as they work.
She tried to shut them up hours ago, but marching out the front door and shouting for thirty seconds only did so much to a group of full-grown men. They started up again only a few minutes later, much to her chagrin.
Pillows are also very overrated in terms of performing as noise blockers.
So- perhaps- they will get done faster if she assists them?
Zelda swings her door open, strutting down the hall, down the stairs, and to the entry. She throws on her mother’s old boots (too big, but effective at keeping weeds and manure off her feet).
When she opens the front door, she scans the field, following the sounds of coughing that erupt.
Her eyes land on her father and she marches over confidently.
His eyes fall on her and she plants her feet before him.
“Zelda.” He says, sighing. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. His beard is tucked into his coat, but Zelda notices the way his hands move to run through it before falling back down again. “What are you doing out here?”
“I want to help.”
“With the butchering?”
“With whatever’s making all that noise.”
Her father chuckles. He shakes his head. “You won’t like it.”
Zelda narrows her eyes. She crosses her arms and levels her father with an unimpressed glare (it falters slightly at the look he gives her).
“Don’t complain to me when you get sick.” He says, walking off toward the barn.
She follows him in, following his line of sight to a cow at the far end of the building. A beautiful brown cow.
“Melissa?” She asks quietly, pulling at her father’s sleeve.
He looks down at her and rolls his eyes. “Melissa?”
“That cow.”
“That cow doesn’t have a name. It’s not for dairy.”
Zelda doesn’t understand. She’s not for dairy, she’s for her. For…companionship! “She can be!” She pulls at his sleeve again.
He tears his arms away from her slightly, sighing at the way she scrunches her face and the tears that well up in her eyes. “No, Zelda. We’re late enough with our work already, we can’t afford to keep it.”
“So you’re gonna kill her?” They can’t do that!
He steps closer to Melissa, but Zelda follows just as quickly, moving to stand in front of the cow’s pen. She bumps her nose against Zelda’s shoulder, and the girl frowns deeply.
“Zelda.” Her father scolds.
“She’s nice.”
“And she’ll feed a lot of people.”
Zelda feels tears sting in her eyes like little bees attacking her (definitely not a reference to a real event). She sniffles. “They don’t have to eat her…”
“It’ll help the farm, Zelda.”
“But why?”
“That’s just how it is. It-” He sighs heavily. “Melissa will provide food for people and payment for us.”
“It’s cruel! We raised her! And we’re just gonna kill her?”
“Yes, Zelda.” Her father answers firmly. He’s glaring at her now, but no matter what part of her shrinks back at his irritation, she stands her ground. “I know I don’t need to give you a lesson on the circle of life, but sometimes… things need to die for others to live. Without slaughter, much less would be able to flourish.”
“Then pick a different cow…” It’s a weak argument, and her voice quivers sadly as her father stares her down, unflinching from his goal. Still, she stays, sniffling and holding her arms out like she could prevent anyone from getting past her.
It’s inevitable, though, when her father pushes past her, and Zelda is left to wander alone in the dark back to the house with her hot tears streaking their way down her face.
Notes:
Next Chapter is Zora's Domain!!!!!!
it'll happen someday I promise😬
Chapter 18: The Power of Water
Summary:
Zelda and Link spend some time in Zora's Domain!!!!
Notes:
My english major is coming out tf
its been a minute since ive played botw but i reread my own fic, have watcbed a few runs and watched the cutscene i needed for this chap so we should be good😭😭😭
realized that im a bit out of order doing so...uhhh...its an AU so we're just gonna say its fine, okay?
Song of the day: Back on You by Djo
my original outline had "Cuteness overload!" in it, which im pretty sure was ironic but we can never be too sure😬
There are a couple more major notes I've added to chapter 9's post chapter notes if you're curious about how I'm looking at the timeline and lore.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Water splashes against her back in frigid sprays of ice, soothing the heat in her muscles as she grips the spear in her hand, watching the instructor before her with careful eyes wide open and scrutinizing.
The technique he shows is like nothing she’s ever seen before (Upon entering Zora’s Domain, Zelda had been taken aback by a number of things, the technique of their training not even near the top of that list. The first thing she’d noticed was- of course- the appearance of the Zora themselves. They seem different from the sketched images she’s seen in books, mutated in some way, perhaps. Aside from that, the spear technique involves a lot of wide movements. Captain Halke had only shown her a basic level of spear combat, but the Hylian technique seems to be a lot more…direct than the Zora way).
She’s struggling. She knows she is. The way her wrist moves- rolling against the swing of the spear and creating an odd arch with its movement- feels different than what it looks like the others are doing. And the others are children, small Zora children training for their first time.
Zelda pushes down the bitterness that threatens to rise at the thought that these children are doing so much better than her (and they don’t even have a world to save). It would do her no good to lash out at these people. Not now.
Also not ever, because they hardly deserve punishment because of her lack of skill (although a world overtaken by calamity is surely punishment).
So- instead- she just stops trying, dropping the spear in her place, letting it clatter to the hard, blue ground before whirling around to take a seat on the edge of the Domain’s platform.
A few of the children look her way, and the instructor shoots her an unimpressed glare before beckoning for the children’s attention again.
She should be better than this, she knows. Zelda’s spent her whole life reading about various adventures and skills, spear fighting being among them. Theoretically, Zelda knows what she’s doing and should be able to easily apply those methods.
But she doesn’t. And she’s tired of humiliating herself so early in the morning.
She leans back against the railing, letting the cool metal soothe her aching back (the journey has done her no favors, and each time she wakes, her muscles ache more and more from the days upon days of endless walking and working).
This is how another Zora finds her, a child who hadn’t been in training.
He hops along the path from the palace, where Zelda knows Prince Link and the Zora princess Mipha discuss the divine beasts in the king’s absence. Where the old Zora is, Zelda has no idea, bouncing and buzzing with excitement as his eyes land on her. He skips towards her, stopping only when he’s stood just beside her resting spot. Then, he plops himself next to her, lifting his small body up to sit on the railing with great effort.
“You were doing really good!” He exclaims, still bouncing even as he sits. Zelda’s eyebrows rise at his eager expression, surprised but trying not to seem too taken aback. The last goddess-forsaken thing she needs is to be deemed unworthy by one of the kingdom’s prospective allies.
So her lips pinch together in a humoring smile. “‘Well. ’” She corrects.
The little Zora tips his head to the side, confusion painting his ruddy face.
“‘Well’.” She repeats, face burning a bit. Perhaps that was a bit unnecessary? The Zora child doesn’t seem to understand her statement in the least bit. How old even is he? Physically, he looks the same as a Hylian six-year-old, but Zelda knows about the Zora’s odd way of aging. This child could be older than she is! “I did ‘well’. It’s only grammar.”
“Oh,” The child says, his voice low and disappointed by the clearly boring information. “I thought a ‘well’ was something Hylians use for water?’
Zelda can’t help it; she chuckles. Turning to face the Zora, she leans forward a bit toward him. “It is. It’s a homonym.”
“A homo-nym?” The small Zora sounds out the word, twisting it on his tongue, considering the vowels. After a moment, he nods, face alighting in appreciation.
“Yes.” Zelda chuckles again, the sound bordering on a childish giggle. This, at least, she understands.
Maybe she should’ve gone into teaching while she had the chance, she thinks.
“Okay!”
Someone clears their throat to the side, starting both Zelda and the child (she shouldn’t feel so comforted that she wasn’t the only one startled. He’s a child).
Zelda’s eyes dart up to land on a bright duo- though only one of them is bright in color.
Princess Mipha, in all her red-scaled, silver-adorned glory, stands sheepishly to the side of Prince Link, whose plain brown outfit bears a new silvery neckpiece similar to that of Mipha’s own grand neckpiece. She raises a hand to wave slightly to Zelda, a small and seemingly nervous expression adorning her short face. Zelda smiles in return, nodding at the friendly gesture.
She thanks the goddesses every minute that Princess Mipha is so kind. She isn’t sure how much more of the back-and-forth she could handle. Though the other leaders had been equally kind to them, Mipha’s warmth is akin to the friendliness of an old comrade rather than the cordial mutual-friend the others had given to Zelda.
“Did you need something, Your Highness?” She pauses. “Your Highnesses?”
Prince Link sends her a small, tight-lipped smile and turns to Princess Mipha expectantly, gesturing to Zelda with both hands, his palms upturned.
The Zora princess wrings her hands together nervously, her eyes widening at Prince Link’s look. She clears her throat wetly, though that might just be how it’s supposed to sound.
“Link thought it would be best if we told you we are going to the top of that waterfall,” She points behind Zelda’s head, where the greatest of the waterfalls in Zora’s Domain cascades down into the city in waves of rushing, clear blue. Zelda had been awed by its grand beauty when they’d entered the region, hardly able to take her eyes off it for more than a second of their journey. Now, she’s almost tired of the sight. Imagine that.
Mipha must take her pondering the wrong way, as she quickly holds up her hands to amend; “To discuss things, of course!”
Zelda blinks at the harsh clarification before a smile etches itself across her face once more. The blue of Mipha’s cheeks seems to be spreading tellingly. It’s… cute. How jittery she is by Prince Link’s side, practically vibrating in place.
“Of course,” Zelda responds eagerly. “To discuss.”
The blue spreads further across the princess’s face and Zelda- for a moment- considers what she just said. Would Mipha not like that, she wonders? She doesn’t know this girl…
But Mipha just smiles shyly. “Would you like to join us?”
Zelda swallows, turning her gaze to the training Zora before them, then to the small child still sitting behind her, watching them all unabashedly.
“No, thank you. I think it’s best I stay down here.”
Mipha nods before making an odd sort of squeaking noise and marching off, Prince Link in tow. He sends Zelda a small nod as he goes, gesturing to the palace where the other knights are, either telling her to go wait with them or meet him there later.
She truly isn’t sure which.
The little Zora child behind Zelda sighs heavily, and Zelda raises an eyebrow at him.
He pouts. “I need to get back to training…”
“Of course,” Seeing the dejected look grow more and more intense, Zelda leans forward. “What is your name? If I ever need to find you again.”
A few moments pass, the child pouting silently. Then, his eyes slowly light up, and he jumps up. “Bazz!” He announces, sending a sharp-toothed smile Zelda’s way before pouncing away towards the rest of the Zora children.
~*~
Zora’s Domain is beautiful, regal in a way Hyrule Castle isn’t. A way it could never be. The open structure of the reflective blue walls brings in the breeze carried off the water and the waterfalls in a severe juxtaposition to the stuffy air of the castle.
Link loves his home. He truly does.
But there’s always a sense of…something there. Some resentment hanging over his head even when no one is looking at him. Some stifling air of duty and responsibility.
There’s a lack, too. A lack of a warm smile and kind eyes, hair like his own, and color. So much color it can be blinding.
Zora’s Domain is nothing but the warmth of familiarity. It’s the only one of the other regions Link can ever remember visiting in his youth. His father had taken him at least once.
That’s when he’d met Mipha.
When they’d entered Zora’s Domain, Mipha had been part of the entourage sent to greet them. Her, with her little brother Sidon on her back, and two lax Zora guards at her sides giving the visitors smiles and cordial welcomes.
She’d greeted him with a glint in her eyes and mirth in her body language, practically leaping toward him before schooling her own expression upon seeing the lack of response (he’d felt immensely guilty. She should never feel so ashamed of her actions, especially because of him. But he could feel Zelda’s eyes on the two of them. The knights’ eyes on him. And he’d fallen back into a secure action and stood completely still). She’d cleared her throat and greeted them, welcoming them to Zora’s Domain before leading them to the palace.
There, the knights had been escorted away, leaving Link and Zelda with Mipha and Sidon in the throne room. Led to their rooms, as Link was told, not that he asked nor that he particularly cared what those men did out of sight.
Mipha had begun speaking immediately, excited but subdued in Zelda’s presence. The Hylian girl had been very aware the effect of her presence and had promptly requested leave from the situation (She’d seemed a bit…unsure about it, too. Torn between staying attached to Link’s side as she had been since Gerudo Town and wanting to extricate herself from what must’ve been- to her- an awkward reunion between old friends. She’d been getting better in recent days, allowing more distance to pass between herself and Link, but Zelda was clearly still effected by the results of her last absence. Link shudders at the memory, shaking if off and remembering Urbosa’s words to him. He could be courageous. He doesn’t need to be babysat).
Mipha had gladly directed Zelda to the courtyard, where training for young Zora was being held. Zelda had seemed a bit indignant at first, probably offended at being compared to a child, when her face did some strange expression between resignation and giddiness and she’d left without further explanation.
(Zora’s Domain is much more secure than Gerudo Town, anyway. The surrounding mountains provide shelter from many a foe and there aren’t miles of sand surrounding it. No yiga would be able to get as close as they had in the desert, surely)
Mipha (and Sidon) had listened to Link’s explanation of his mission attentively, frowning at the queen’s idea for her to pilot Vah Ruta and looking down at Sidon with a sidelong glance.
However, rather than refuse as Link thought she would (as he hoped she would. His mother had demanded they ‘convince’ each candidate to agree, but Link would hardly strong arm his friend into something like this), Mipha nodded sagely, tilting her head to look at Link again with sad eyes.
Mission effectively dealt with, they now sit atop the waterfall overlooking the Domain, the waters close enough to spray rogue drops up at them, slowly wetting Link’s brown tunic as Mipha relished in the cool touch of it.
Mipha holds her spear ceremoniously, tapping it into the hard blue ground once. She tilts her head toward Link, her eyes downcast for a moment before she nods and moves to sit on the edge of the waterfall.
Link follows suit, kneeling on the concrete a few feet away. He follows Mipha’s eyes as the slide down the water and into the lake below, landing on a small enough figure that he hardly sees it at first. A small splotch of red that he faintly recognizes must be Sidon.
He swims around in the lake aimlessly in small circles and Mipha lets out a small laugh.
Link smiles over at her, a goofy grin that he’s sure his mother would say is unbecoming on his face.
He’s missed her, he realizes. He’s hardly thought about her since the last time the leaders had all visited Hyrule Castle, and- even then- he’d hardly been allowed a free moment to see her.
(And why would he be? There’s nothing more important than reading to be done in the kingdom, surely!)
Mipha’s smile softens and she clasps her hands in her lap, looking to Link for a mere second before tearing her eyes away with a strange look.
“If I may ask,” she starts. She absently fiddles with the chains of her braces, a show of what Link would call anxiety or nervousness in her that is uncharacteristic. He tilts his head with curiosity, eyeing her. She meets his eye slowly, her face flushed. “Who are the other pilots?”
Link blinks at her, surprised by the question. It had seemed more personal than that. it has been a long time, though, so perhaps he needs to relearn Mipha’s mannerisms? Distantly, it makes him want to tear his hair out a bit, the idea of not knowing her.
He clears his throat, preparing to speak. His heart thuds in his chest when he opens his mouth.
“Urbosa for Vah Naboris-” His voice comes out all croaky and weird, and he shakes his head, lifting his hands to sign the rest (Mipha’s not a stranger. She’s not even a distant acquaintance, why can’t he talk to her? Sometimes it’s like his voice has a mind and personality of its own, and just decides when it can be used on a whim unknown by him. It’s beyond annoying and reaches dangerously into being humiliating).
Mipha only nods, not saying anything about the change, her expression kind and understanding.
Link sighs.
‘Daruk for Vah Rudania,’ He’s sure Mipha knows his sign for Daruk. He’s used it for her before, hasn’t he?
Mipha nods again, understanding and clearly agreeing. “These are good choices. Those are both very strong warriors!”
Link smiles and nods, as that’s all he can do.
Mipha’s jewelry clinks as she plays with it nervously again. “And Vah Medoh?”
‘We haven’t been to Hebra yet.’ Link is excited for Hebra, if only for the excuse to wear the new cloak Urbosa had given him again. Zelda had practically banned it after they’d left Gerudo Valley, but she could hardly demand he not wear his warmest cloak in the coolest corner of Hyrule. ‘My mother has told us any Rito will do.’
Mipha hums, in displeasure or thought, Link can’t tell. “I don’t know many Rito.” She says, tilting her head down to watch Sidon some more. “Their chief spoke of a few with my father last time we visited your castle, but-” She cuts off with a small huff of amusement and Link looks down to see Sidon hopping in the water. “-I’m not sure of any names.
“And what of you and your knight? Zelda?” She tests the name on her lips, a proud look at remembering it on her face.
Link exhales, preparing the speech Impa had carefully crafted for him (Mipha deserves more than a rehearsed speech, doesn’t she? Well, if ‘speech’ can be used at all for this).
‘Z-E-L-D-A is the hero of legend. She weilds the Master Sword and will use it against the Calamity when the time comes. I will aid her if I can, but-’ He pauses. But what? Does he say that his mother doubts that he will be able to fulfil the role of Hylia’s incarnation? Would that sow doubt?
Mipha smiles, though, nodding for Link to put his hands down, and he does.
“Link,” She whispers wistfully. “I have faith in you, do you know?”
Link only blinks at her, staring blankly as possible.
“You and Zelda are the first of your kind, but not the first of your roles.” She continues. “You can be an exception to the rule, but you will never be alone in it. No matter the circumstance, others have walked your path before, and I am…certain you can, too.”
The look she gives then is so earnest. Her body is so lax and open, her head tilted to the side, and her eyes gazing up at him with a small smile etched on her face.
It speaks only of honesty, and Link…doesn’t know what to do.
He watches Mipha, his expression unchanging, and he wants to say something. To thank her? Tell her she’s wrong? Tell her she’s right?
What would he even say?
Link brings up his hands, watching Mipha’s eyes light up, her face blue for some inexplicable reason. His fingers twitch around the signs, switching words too quickly for someone to understand, he’s sure.
‘I- That’s- Z-E-L-D-A is more prepared than I am, I think.’ He looks to Mipha briefly, seeing her looking expectantly between his hands and his face, her eyes shining. ‘But I appreciate that.’
Mipha nods, slowly pushing her spear behind her. “She seems much kinder than your previous knight.” She says simply, watching Sidon splash around with an indistinguishable glint in her eyes.
She’s been odd, hasn’t she? Has Link really neglected his oldest friend so much that he can no longer read her at all?
He nods anyway, avoiding the urge to look over at the Zora palace, where he knows Jiko surely rests from the journey. He shakes his head to push down a shudder, but he allows himself to rub at his wrists, where the knight had slammed them against the solid Goron-made cart.
Then- like a flash in his mind- he sees Zelda in that moment. He’d hardly been paying her any mind, but- distantly- her horse huffed and stamped its hooves, and then there she was. The Master Sword’s tip pressed against Jiko’s neck, rage alight in her pretty eyes.
(…Maybe not a thought to linger on.)
‘Yes,’ He signs easily, feeling his shoulders relax a bit (she’s down there, too). ‘She is.’
Mipha smiles again. Then, her eyes focus somewhere behind him before meeting his again; with relief, Link notes the first familiar mannerism of hers.
She’s upset about something.
He frowns.
Maybe he has it wrong? Why would she be upset?
Before he can say anything to her, Mipha gently says; “I’ve heard that she isn’t quite…learned as a fighter.” She turns her body a bit to more comfortably meet Link’s eye. “May I ask how she is progressing? I know training can be…harsh for Hylians.”
She has no intention to gossip; that much is clear. It’s never been in Mipha’s character. Still, she seems genuinely invested in what Link may have to say about it, and it’s…still shocking somehow.
How is Zelda progressing? He hasn’t actually seen her training before, nor has he been asked about it (an intentional choice rather than an overlooked mistake, he’s sure).
She’d saved him multiple times now, yes, but did she do it with great skill?
No, not really.
Link winces at the thought. Still, Zelda hasn’t really shown any particular sort of…talent for swordplay. She’d wielded the Master Sword against that moblin near Goron City, sending a flash of light unlike anything he’s seen before (a bitter thought, isn’t it?). She’d held the blade with confidence against her fellow knight on the road to Gerudo Valley.
And, before all that, she’d saved him from the guardian’s blast using only a pot lid. A moment of panic, maybe, but admittedly not the smartest choice (he wonders about that. Zelda holds herself with confidence that he knows he lacks, and she is especially proud of her knowledge. Where courage seems to fail her, her intelligence shines potently. There’s just…gaps in it all).
‘I’m not sure,’ He answers honestly. Link’s sure that’s not the answer anyone would want him to give. Impa would tell him to think about his words more, fill in the space of knowledge with promises and oaths to discover said knowledge. His mother would scoff, immediately knowing what should’ve been said to answer both honestly and vaguely.
Clearly, this isn’t his strong suit.
Mipha goes to speak, but Link continues for some Hylia-forsaken reason.
‘I think she has what she needs,’ He signs, hesitating briefly. ‘it just…maybe not be what everyone else thinks she needs right now.’
“I see,”
‘I wouldn’t know how to breach the topic, anyway,’ He sighs and Mipha frowns again, an unpleasant expression on her usually-bright face. ‘Every time I speak to her, it’s like she takes every word I say as an insult and throws it back at me tenfold.’
He scoffs, the sound making Mipha’s frown deepen. He moves to say something else, something nicer, perhaps, but ends up just slamming his hands down into his lap in frustration.
Mipha’s cool hand finds his shoulder, a faint wetness seeping through the fabric, and Link breathes deeply. He really shouldn’t burden Mipha with his own doubts. They plague him for a reason.
“Perhaps the situation requires more delicacy,” she says, her voice sweet even as her frown persists. “Zelda comes from a very different life than you or I. Perhaps there is something in the things you say to her that are insulting.”
‘I wouldn’t-’
“Not intentionally!” She amends quickly, her voice high. “But- There are many things I think we don’t understand. Zelda may just be one of them.”
That much is true. Link nods, looking down at his hands as he picks at a nail.
“Like you and I,” Mipha says again, more quietly this time. Almost shyly. “A Hylian and a Zora experience the world differently, but there are ways to bridge the gap.”
Link finds his eyes actually moving this time, down the waterfall toward the courtyard where they’d left Zelda.
Of course their lives are different, but could that truly be it? They share a fate, don’t they? Zelda had told him that she hated him because he stole her life away from her, but she’s losing her life to the same thing he is. Should that not bring them together?
Then again…the faith Mipha has in him may be misplaced. His destiny may be something entirely different from what they think. If Link is not Hylia’s incarnation, then the next has to be.
He’d told Impa he wouldn’t doom a girl to that, and he’d meant it.
But if it’s not him, then the alternative to dooming that unnamed, faceless girl is dooming all of Hyrule.
Including Mipha. Including Zelda.
Before he can put his thoughts into words, Mipha gasps lightly, a sound tinged with joy. He looks over to see her looking down again, watching Sidon as he approaches the waterfall.
He watches the young Zora, distantly aware of when Mipha rises to her feet, standing at the very ledge of the water.
“Sidon!” She calls, making her brother turn his head from the waters to crane his neck up at her. Link can tell- even from this distance- that the younger Zora is hesitant. Scared.
He tilts his head curiously, wanting to see how this goes, all thoughts of Zelda effectively diminished (definitely).
“Like Zelda,” Mipha starts, bending down briefly to scoop her spear back up. “I myself am not sure about Sidon’s progress.”
Her head tilts, and her voice takes on a different tone. A sadder one. Link looks up at her with wide eyes, taken aback by the change.
“One day, Link, I must leave him to face my fate with Ruta.” She speaks of the Divine Beast with familiarity, a sense of commitment. “However long that takes, he will be the one remaining here, in Zora’s Domain.”
Link blinks, watching his childhood friend.
He shouldn’t have asked her, he knows now. His mother had suggested her, but he should’ve sought out another Zora warrior.
Mipha hums, watching Sidon continue to swim around aimlessly. Then, she leaps, her right leg kicking off the ground and sending her body flying up into the air briefly before she dives down. Link watches her glide into the waterfall with grace, beginning to swim. Her red body disappears beneath the water, bobbing up in a new spot every few seconds, traveling with a skill and speed only possessed by the most experienced Zora, and Link knows why his mother chose her.
It’s beyond impressive, watching the way Mipha flips from the bottom of the waterfall to land in the water behind her brother. She must say something to him, because he nods eagerly and climbs up onto her shoulders, gripping her head with his small arms.
He can’t fail her, can he? Even as he watches Mipha swim back up, her arms tightly at her sides as she leaps through the waters with ease, Link knows the pilots aren’t meant to fight alone.
Although they’ll be together, they need all the pieces, don’t they? At least, as his mother’s prophet apparently put it.
Link sighs, shoving his shaking hands into the gap of his tunic between layers as Mipha flies through the air above, flipping over to land behind him, planting Sidon on his own feet in front of her.
Link smiles as she kneels before her brother, her eyes locked on him as he stares up at her with big eyes full of awe and love so strong Link can almost feel it emanating from his small body.
“Sweet Sidon,” She says, her voice low and smooth. She adjusts his own jewelry before continuing. “Should fate ever part us, I’m counting on you to protect our beloved home from harm. I have nothing but faith in you.”
She smiles as Sidon nods eagerly, his expression as serious as such a young child’s can get, and Link frowns.
Sidon hardly reaches up to his knees, and Mipha would ask this of him? Mipha…has to ask this of him?
He watches them from a few paces away, stepping back slightly more.
This shouldn’t have to happen. Mipha shouldn’t have to be so brave, and neither should Sidon. Neither should Urbosa or Daruk or Zelda.
They shouldn’t have to do it all alone, risking themselves like that.
So, truly, he has no choice either.
He’ll have to try, too.
Perhaps- even if the goddess did not choose him- he can prove to her that he is worthy of her power?
He has to.
He swallows as Mipha rises to her feet once more.
“Shall we try one more time?” She asks, her voice nothing but encouraging.
Notes:
Ive thought about adding and reworking a bit to include more of Age of Calamity while maintaining of Botw of it all, but i struggle figuring out when that stuff would happen. also that version of Impa is a bit different than mine, which is based more on impa from oot and ss sooo im NOT probably gonna do that. Purah and Robbie are ALL ur gettin
Anyway, next chap: Following a few nights in Zora's Domain, the knights are sick of knowing nothing about Zelda, so Zelda gives them a nugget of info
This next chap is much longer, so may take a little bit longer than usual! :)
As always, I adore comments and interaction, so don't feel too weirded out by the idea of letting me know what you think or just yapping at me!
Chapter 19: A Journey's Joys
Summary:
Link and Mipha rekindle their friendship and Zelda shares stories around the fire
Notes:
This chap was outlined with only the last section and i was thinking we needed more zoras domain time, so i added a whole bunch😼- also the title i had just did NOT work and i couldnt come up with anything so this is what u get
I really dont know why this chap took so long, but here we are and its a lil extra long as a treat
(thats a lie. i got distracted plotting for totk. everything until then is competely outlined🫡)
Minor TW for ptsd-esque flashbacks featuring blood and violence starting at "Suddenly, Zelda can hear the screams" and ending with "She blinks again and her vision clears"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When the prince disappears to go off with Princess Mipha, Zelda doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. It’s a rare day when she gets the sort of freedom that she presumably has now, left with no charge to look after and no endless list of duties pounded and etched into her brain.
It leaves her a bit dumbfounded, admittedly.
There are a few long and painfully unremarkable moments in which Zelda simply stands there, her eyes moving slowly across the courtyard in search of something to do.
It’s been so long since she’s been truly bored.
She’d forgotten how dreadful it feels.
First, she looks up, watching the waterfall where Princess Mipha had taken Prince Link. The rushing waters are loud even from her position, the cascading waves roaring as they rush down and crash into the water below in a rhythmic melody that- were she to focus solely on it- she’s sure would calm her mind. Give her a sense of calm. Tranquility, even.
Any other time, Zelda would love to try it. To listen in on the waves and allow herself to float in a living dream.
That must be part of the reason the Zora love it so much. They have no need to live next to running water, nor in an area so made up of waterfalls. Zora’s Domain used to lie in caves and underwater systems, she knows.
The waters in the canyon make for a breathtaking scene, but a part of Zelda wonders if the thunderous, calming waves provide partial reasoning for the Zoras’ choice to reside here.
Princess Mipha had taken Link up on her back.
Her back.
Initially, watching the princess travel up the waterfall (the prince had seemed…taken aback at the offer. He’d- of course- hidden it quickly, but Zelda’s been trying to get through that thin facade he wears. If only to make her duty easier) had filled Zelda with envy. It was so easy for Princess Mipha to climb up flowing water, and with a near-grown Hylian on her back to boot.
Zelda cannot offer such…thrill? Aptitude for anything in particular?
Then she’d remembered that’s not her responsibility. Princess Mipha is a Zora princess. She’s been raised to climb waterfalls, to fight with a spear, to lead her people.
Zelda has only read of such things. Dreamed of such things.
She knows, though, that the prince is- at the very least- safe with Princess Mipha.
Perhaps a bit too safe.
Zelda breathes out a small laugh, recalling the princess’ sheepish expression as the two royals had taken off.
The view from the top must be very romantic.
Zelda bites her lip to hold back another laugh. What a fool she must look, a lone Hylian laughing to herself on the outskirts of the Zora Palace courtyard.
Goddesses, she needs to find something to do with herself.
At least something to keep her hands occupied until the prince returns and their joint negotiations with the Zora can continue outside of the two royals’ more…personal discussions.
Her eyes move back to where the young zora Bazz had run off to, to the group of training zora.
They’re still going strong, the younger students following the carefully telegraphed examples given to them by their various teachers (more must have shown up while Zelda was distracted. Curious- and mildly alarming- that she hadn’t noticed until now).
As she watches, she accidentally catches Bazz’s eye, the young zora’s eyes lighting up when he spots her. He promptly gives up his grip on his spear, the weapon’s tip falling roughly to the ground and chipping the otherwise-pristine stone, in order to wave at her with a wide smile.
She winces, returning the gesture sheepishly as his instructor shoots her an unimpressed glare.
As Bazz is brought back into his lesson (begrudgingly, if his foul expression is anything to go by, what a silly boy), Zelda watches them work.
She tries to imprint the images in her mind; the way they grip their spears, their bodies turned (to present a slim target, as the instructor had told her before she’d so kindly wandered off), and their non-dominant hands near to the sharp tips of the weapon.
It’s simple enough, she thinks. Though she hadn’t managed it very successfully, she thankfully doesn’t need to fight a supposed calamity off with a spear (still, she finds her breath hitching at the thought. Presenting it as a supposition helps, she supposes, but even the word is sour in her brain. Calamity).
What she truly doesn’t understand is the footwork. With their bodies turned as such, their steps are more akin to a galloping movement. Each stride becomes either a complex dance into a new position or a jolting jump away from a coming strike.
Zelda unconsciously looks down at her feet, at the too-tight boots that she doubts would even allow for such coordinated movement.
Footwork, though, does apply to her, doesn’t it?
Zelda closes her eyes and sighs.
Hylia, she has work to do.
After taking a moment to push back her dreadful thoughts on skilled footwork, or rather her lack thereof, Zelda looks back to the training Zora, prepared to throw herself back into the fray, so to speak.
It is then that Sir Sado marches out of the palace, a pleasant smile on his face.
The man would be tolerable enough if it weren’t for the smirking bastard behind him.
Jiko treads easily into the courtyard behind his companion, his usual armor apparently discarded into their temporary quarters, leaving him in some zora-scale gear that Zelda figures he must have borrowed while he was in there.
She finds herself sighing again, a much more displeased sound, but she can’t bring herself to care much.
For every ounce of skill Jiko has, there are three ounces of pure and unfettered…well, what Zelda would like to call assholery, for lack of a better phrase.
The man laughs heartily at something Sir Sado says, his eyes sweeping the courtyard in a carefully-practiced move before landing on Zelda. His expression shifts, unreadable at the current distance, before he pats a hand on Sado’s shoulder, gestures in Zelda’s direction, and starts walking over.
Great.
Zelda grits her teeth, watching the knight with what she’s sure is clear hatred in her eyes. She hopes it reads like that, anyway.
When he is close enough to speak to, Zelda finds her eyes drawn to his collarbone and the strangely ornate necklace that lies there. The insignia of the royal family in what must be pure gold dangles around this foul man’s neck like an unassuming piece of junk, otherwise hidden by his layers.
Zelda’s eyes dart back up to meet his, and she finds that his gaze holds what appears to be…a challenge?
She quirks an eyebrow, trying to push down the discomfort that threatens to close her throat at the closeness to him.
She’d been wondering if he was particularly angry about when she’d threatened him. The small cut still scars his throat, rough and unhealed. There’s not a part of Zelda that regrets it, but there is a part that fears retaliation. Jiko is a trusted knight, and who is Zelda to that? Truly?
“You and His Highness must have worked out your differences,” He mutters, a sour tone to his voice where his face is carefully blank. “Like walking on eggshells, isn’t it?”
Zelda squints, trying to decipher the strange tone.
“Not entirely,” She answers vaguely, her eyes darting to the waterfall. She can no longer see Princess Mipha’s bright figure on its edge, which brings Zelda enough hope that she may soon end this conversation, so she forces herself to stay put.
Jiko huffs through his nose. Then, he turns to stand beside Zelda to watch the zora practice as well.
“I always found spears to be too convoluted to use,” He says easily, his tone relaxed as his posture. It doesn’t escape Zelda’s notice, however, that his face is still blank. A base layer on a canvas meant to hide the painting beneath. And still she can’t figure out what it was. “I prefer a more direct approach.”
“I don’t know what sort of companionship you’re hoping to find, Sir Jiko,” she spits the name out like a curse, surprised that she doesn’t literally spit with it. Jiko seems taken aback, finally reacting with more than a quirked eyebrow. This time, there’s a hint of anger. “But you will not find it with me.”
She finishes firmly, hoping her voice doesn’t shake the way it usually does in these situations. The courage she’d found on the road has escaped her, apparently, leaving behind that stupid little girl who can’t even stand up to her own father, let alone a knight of the kingdom.
Jiko clenches a fist before releasing it slowly, purposefully.
“‘Companionship, ’” He parrots back, not looking at her. For whatever reason, he seems truly offended. “I’m only trying to stand with you, Lady Zelda. I’m just saying we’re alike.”
Zelda huffs, finally forcing her muscles to move, her legs beginning to carry her away and towards the palace as she speaks one last statement to the knight.
“If I ever become like you, I’ll know something’s gone terribly wrong.”
She doesn’t bother stopping long enough to hear Jiko’s response, but a childlike giddiness rises to put a smile on her face at the distant spluttering reaction the man has.
She suppresses the urge to giggle, biting her cheek to keep the smile at bay.
In her distraction, she rams right into something, something which curses and tumbles over on the floor in front of her, various stones falling from its grip.
Her mouth agape, Zelda watches as Lord Muzu- Princess Mipha’s tutor and King Dorephan’s advisor- grumbles up at her, his wide face twisted in faint disdain.
She winces, quickly falling to her knees to assist the zora in standing.
“I apologize, my lord!” Zelda exclaims, reaching to take the elder’s arms and hoist him up to his feet. Her hands slip on his clammy skin, but she holds tight so as not to drop him (because wouldn’t that just be wonderful?).
Lord Muzu groans, swatting her hands away with his, smacking her wetly. Zelda releases him with wide eyes and a grimace, wiping her hands on the front of her tunic. Lord Muzu glares at the action.
“Leave me!” He demands, his voice crackly with age. He points to the stones he’d dropped before turning slowly onto all fours to push himself up slowly. “And grab those. Seems the least you could do.”
Zelda nods, quickly diving over to scoop up the jagged slates, stacking them carefully on top of one another. Her eyes move over them without her consent, taking in vague shapes and language carved into the surfaces.
She can see no more before Lord Muzu tears the slates from her arms, grumbling under his breath.
A part of her, deep down, is annoyed by the old man’s attitude. She hadn’t meant to run into him, after all.
The part of her that is at the forefront for the moment, however, makes her face flush with humiliation.
Of all the people to clumsily ram into. Well done, Zelda.
“My lord,” She starts quietly, her footsteps echoing in the empty chamber as she follows after the shockingly quick zora. He does not turn to acknowledge her, but Zelda’s sure he’s heard her. “I apologize for my absentmindedness. I should have been looking where I was going.”
“Yes,” He mutters, stomping on, yet confirming Zelda’s suspicions. “But far be it from me to shame Hylians for their fool tendencies.”
‘Fool tendencies’?
Zelda picks up her pace, jogging to catch up with the man.
“If there’s anything I can do to assist you, my lord, I would gladly.”
She leaves the offer open, out in the air for Lord Muzu to take should he wish. The last thing she needs at the moment is to offend the man by insinuating he cannot do his work on his own.
She’s shocked he hasn’t already misunderstood her words.
Lord Muzu hums, impatient and clearly unimpressed. “What would a hylian have to offer me in assistance of zora research?”
It’s meant to make her feel silly, Zelda can tell. The tone of the words is familiarly patronizing, the words bordering on insulting, but a faint pride rises at the bait.
She hums, as if in thought. “Well, I can provide translation from your language into any major Hyrulean tongue, though I expect that’s not what you’re working on.” Already, Lord Muzu seems shocked, his steps faltering for a split second. Zelda smiles. “But I can also write copies for you. I am fairly familiar with Zora mythos, if you’re seeking interpretation?”
It sounds pompous, she knows, but the pride she feels at finally having a chance to use the knowledge she has overcomes any sort of shame she would’ve otherwise felt.
(If someone spoke to her like this, she’d be furious. She half expects the old zora to be outraged. She expects something along the lines of “I am not in need of assistance!” Perhaps with another comment on her being Hylian)
Lord Muzu stops in his tracks, near what must be his desk, because he lightly lowers his slates onto its surface before whirling around at Zelda.
“You’re trying to convince me that a Hylian knight knows the Zora language?” He asks, disbelief painting each word.
Zelda does not like this man, she decides. He is far too much like the Hylian nobles he so clearly hates; self-righteous and closed-minded. She does not voice this. Rather, she smiles and says, “Yes. I am a burgeoning scholar before a knight, my lord.”
Not technically the truth, but she likes to think it is. Though her studies have brought her no greater success as the term ‘scholar’ would usually imply, it is the one thing she still holds hope in at this point.
The old Zora doesn’t need to know this, though.
He squints at her like he’s trying to read past her words into some illicit lie meant to destroy him. Perhaps he truly believes that. It would be pitiful, but Zelda hardly knows this man’s age, and she does know that the Zora and Hylian peoples have not always gotten along.
After a long moment of scrutiny, Lord Muzu nods and grumbles out, “One mistake, and you’re done.”
Zelda just nods, eagerly diving around the man to read through his slates.
It’s been a long time since she’s been this excited.
First-hand Zora history!
~*~
Getting comfortable in Zora’s Domain is easier than Link expected. There is a part of him that thought being within these walls (deeply familiar. An image etched into the back of his mind of when he was much smaller, running with Mipha through the open-air and feeling the faint splashing drops of water on his skin before his father collected them. An image that fades in and out with different perspectives, becoming blurry the more he tries to focus on it. A memory he has but can’t quite reach) would feel deeply unsettling. A part of him that thought he would feel the discomfort of being unwelcome, of being an intruder in a home that’s been rid of him for so long.
It does not feel like that.
Instead, as he sits gingerly on the end of the bed the Zora had provided him (not like the stone slabs they heal on nor the sections of water they truly sleep in. Something kept specifically for Hylians), it’s as though the palace welcomes him back with a warm smile and an inviting hug (Impa must be rubbing off on him, with such flowery words…But Link does find it accurate).
He runs his hand along the top of the duvet, feeling the smooth, silky material between his fingers, just as cooling as the waters outside.
It’s the same, he realizes- or a very good replica of it anyway- as the one he’d been given the last time he was here. Dark green with diamonds of blue and yellow sewn into the edges smoothly, showing the genuine ability of Zora seamstresses.
And the care of their leaders.
Link smiles, pulling the cover up to his nose foolishly, as though he’d be able to smell anything other than the sweet splash fruit the Zora use to wash.
A knock comes suddenly- a gentle rapping on his door- and Link startles, dropping the cover and rising to his feet. He clears his throat before quickly crossing the room and pushing the door open.
He’s greeted with the sight of Zelda’s hand.
Link jumps back, avoiding the hand as it falls through the air. Zelda gasps, visibly grimacing and letting her hand fall back to her side, clenched into a small fist.
Beside her, Mipha laughs quietly, a small huff of breath that escapes her sweetly.
“I was going to open the door,” Zelda says quickly, her voice pitched a bit higher than usual, almost petulant. Link pushes down a wince, choosing instead to turn his gaze to Mipha (he can’t possibly have upset her by opening a door, right?). “Your Highness.”
Mipha’s smile falters. She looks between Link and Zelda with concern clear on her face, a small flush recoloring her scales.
“I…” She hesitates, discomfort hanging in the air. “Had hoped to speak with you before you leave tomorrow, Link.”
It’s a statement, but Mipha keeps her body relaxed even in her clear discomfort, making the sentence a request.
Link grins, briefly nodding to Zelda before stepping aside and pulling Mipha gently inside by her elbow.
Mipha smiles, and he closes the door before he can see Zelda’s reaction.
As the door slides shut, the smooth metal concealing the hall, Mipha hands Link a finely crafted key, producing it from his peripheral vision.
He takes only a second to admire the craftsmanship (the key is golden with three smaller metallic sections of blue at its head) before quickly slipping it into the lock to latch the door, assuming this is what Mipha wants.
He slides the cover back over the keyhole before turning back inside the room.
Mipha stands tall and welcoming in the center of the chamber, her eyes averted and lowered in a shy expression. Link admires her grace, that which she maintains, even though he can so clearly see beyond the facade she puts on and sees just how out of place Mipha truly seems in this room. At face value, Link would figure that Mipha has been in this room often and therefore has no reason for discomfort in her own home.
He doubts anyone else would see it. As accustomed to reading further into people and things as he is, Mipha- of all people- is easy to decipher.
Her eyes meet his for a moment (half a second. Maybe less, maybe just a little more) and she flushes again (as she’s been doing so often since he arrived. He wonders if she’s ill? Maybe they came at an inopportune time? He hopes not, that would just make him feel so much worse) and then her eyes fall back to the wall behind him.
Oh.
The discomfort is not with the room.
The discomfort is with him.
“I realized I had forgotten to give you the key,” Mipha practically whispers, gesturing to the key in his hand. “I wanted to give it to you.” She says it in a way Link could only describe as over-enunciated, like every word is deeply thought out and planned.
Link frowns.
He knows he shouldn’t take it to heart. He’s been just getting used to Mipha’s presence, too, like he’s forgotten how to speak with his old friend. Over their days here, however, things had shifted. Every smile Mipha gives him, every silent moment they share, each time King Dorephan laughed in that rumbly way of his and shooed them out of the throne room, reminded Link of being a child. When they were young (four, maybe? Five?) and the only worry they had was whether they could swim the lake faster than the last time.
He’d hoped she felt the same way.
Link steps over to Mipha, circling around her playfully before sitting on the edge of his bed. Her eyes follow his every move, wide yellows quivering like she’s about to cry, her mouth agape to reveal her sharp teeth, her moist cheeks still flushed a deep blue.
He hesitates for just a second. Maybe she is upset or unwell. Then that would explain her odd attitude and the flush on her scaled skin. Should he have left her alone? Was she about to leave?
Before he can think about it any more (to the point he wants to pull at his hair in that frustrated way that makes Impa smack his wrists with her kanzashi or- on rare occasions- her bare hands), Link pats the bed beside him, nodding when Mipha’s wide eyes meet his in question.
Mipha glides across the short distance between them easily and sits beside him with her hands clasped in her lap.
She’s cool beside him, her moist skin almost touching his, and Link turns his body to face her better, a smile on his face.
Finally, Mipha smiles again, too. She turns her body to mirror his, her back straight and legs crossed as opposed to the way he leans toward her in his similar position.
“I-” She starts, her tongue running along her teeth (a nervous habit she’s had since they were kids. With her mouth closed as it is, he only notices it because of the slight way her upper lip shifts). “Ledo offered to deliver it. He’d wanted to check the lock. But I told him I could do it.”
Link nods politely.
“I-” She stammers again, her eyes leaving his for only a second before they stay steadily on him. “I wanted to speak with you.”
Link only nods again, a hint of eagerness peaking through as he stares over at her. It doesn’t seem particularly worrisome, whatever she wants to speak about. If it were, her nerves would present in a more cordial manner, as they do when she speaks to large crowds or gathered nobles in the more rare instances where she’d spoken on her people’s behalf at Hyrule Castle.
He makes himself visibly more inviting for her. Really, it’s the least she deserves. And, if she speaks first- opens that door so to speak- Link may find himself more open to it as well.
or, at least, he hopes so. While they’d had a few private moments, it hadn’t been this private. It feels a bit…weak, perhaps, to Link: having to have such specific surroundings, but being out by the waterfall or alone in the throne room had been too stifling to truly allow himself to…exist maybe?
It’s a hard feeling to describe, one he’s tried to explain to Impa on a few occasions.
Feeling eyes on him- real or percieved- makes his throat squeeze into itself, suffocating and stifling and extinguishing any words he might’ve wanted to say.
(“So the presence of others? Your nerves take over when faced with unfamiliar people and situations.”
“It’s not…their presence. It’s just- a feeling, I suppose. If I wanted to, I could probably speak to you with others around, but I couldn’t do the same with those people, I think”)
Now, though, in the privacy of this warm, familiar room. With a lack of cold, unrelenting responsibility, Link hopes he finds the child that used to laugh and play with the Zora before him, with no invisible barrier to keep him from reaching him.
Mipha smiles softly, her hands clasped before her.
“Do you remember when we first met?” She asks, the smile even audible in her voice. “When the king first brought you here?”
The question startles Link, admittedly. He’d thought Mipha would want to talk about…well, he doesn’t know exactly. Something more interesting? Treading new ground- or at least fun ground- rather than reiterating the past.
Still, in response, he nods, humming an affirmation (small steps).
Mipha brightens, whether at the motion or the sound, he isn’t sure.
“When I first met you and your father,” She continues, looking forward and nodding her head as she speaks, as though painting a picture with her movements. “I knew you were good. Both of you.”
Her words don’t describe it, but he can see it all nonetheless. He remembers being terrified to leave the castle, never having done so before. He was five years old, clinging to his father’s hand the whole time, sorely wishing his mother had come as well, but she’d assured him he was brave enough to go without her.
Mipha had been physically grown by then. She’d met his eye during the initial meeting between the two kings, smiling kindly down at him from her place at King Dorephan’s side, and waving when he shyly smiled back.
She’d interjected in the middle of her father’s words, suggesting she, Sidon, and Link get acquainted elsewhere in order to strengthen the bonds of their peoples.
Their fathers had laughed and chuckled respectively, he remembers, before dismissing them to go play.
Mipha taught him to swim that very same day.
Link tilts his head at her, gesturing for her to go on.
“Your father was a wise man and a worthy king, and I know someday you’ll even surpass him.” Her voice grows almost wistful, lowering with respect, and Link’s ears twitch and fall slightly. Mipha quickly presses a scaled hand into his, squeezing comfortingly. “My father agrees, though he has expressed more doubt about my taking part in this war.”
Link opens his mouth to interrupt, keeping his hands down and pressed with hers, but she continues.
Negotiations with King Dorephan had gone well, once he’d returned from wherever he’d been on their first day. At least, Link had thought so. It had only taken around an hour to convince the king to allow Mipha the final say in the matter, though Link regretted taking the choice from him when he gave her that sad look.
“He only worries. Perhaps too much, but he lost his wife in my mother and a friend in your father, both to monsters.” Her voice lowers. “I cannot fault him his concern, but nor can I sit idly by while the rest of Hyrule fight for us, while you fight for us.”
With that, she finally turns to him, her yellow eyes shining wetly. Even with unshed tears, Link feels pinned by the intensity in her gaze, the determination.
“Perhaps he is right, and there is another Zora just as well-suited to Vah Ruta, but- as the princess- it must be me, do you understand?”
Link nods before- “Yes.”
His voice comes out so quiet, so soft. Shaky and hesitant for all the confidence he tries to put into the syllable. Mipha’s eyes widen before her face lifts into an expression of pure joy, pinched into a bright smile with her eyes crinkled in such a way she rarely expresses, and Link finds he doesn’t care that the word was so much more pathetic than he wanted it to be because she likes it.
They sit like that for a moment longer, their hands intertwined and Mipha’s smile brightening the room.
Another beat and Mipha’s hands pull from his only to cup them from the underside so gently as though she thinks his bones may shatter if she held on any tighter (she’s a strong enough warrior that something tells Link she could probably do so easily, but she never would. Not to anyone).
“Do you think-” Her words cut off, her face going blue once more. “Do you think I could see you more? Outisde of official visits?”
Link pauses, blinking. She is asking to visit him? At the castle?
It takes him aback in a few ways. The first is the thought of his mother having to host a royal guest for no real reason. She wouldn’t be pleased, but she’d always seemed to like Mipha before. Perhaps Mipha’s presence would even bring something out of her that’s been long locked away, like the talkative little boy in Link?
The second is the overwhelming, pure joy the thought brings him. To have a true friend around- one other than Impa- would be…unspeakably nice, he finds. One who understands the pressures of royal life and, now, the pressures of divine responsibility (the thought of the Zora princess in such a position still does not bring him great pride, but she won’t back down now. He will have her back just as she will surely have his).
Link laughs, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly and breaking free in a short and giddy burst of sound.
“I…I’d like that- I think,” He clears his throat, pushing back the days of disuse and seeing Mipha’s wide smile from the corner of his eye. “Mother shouldn’t mind too much.”
“Truly?”
Link nods, feeling a bit stupid at the repeated motion and saying: “Yes.”
Mipha laughs now, too, her’s more gentle and melodic.
“This is…wonderful news!” She stands suddenly, huffing a bit as though exhausted from a great exercise. “I shall leave you to retire to bed, then, and will see you tomorrow.”
Link stands as well for whatever reason, and they simply remain in their spots for a second. Mipha nods a few times, her hands twitching like they want to move, before she turns back to the door.
Quickly- more quickly than she’d entered- Mipha rushes out, opening the door gently and circling around Zelda before promptly disappearing around the corner.
Link watches her go, accidentally meeting Zelda’s eye from where she’d been oddly close to the door (not at its side as usual, but moreso in front of it). Her eyes are wide, her expression oddly chastised, before she smirks at him.
He tilts his head in question, his eyes squinted at her curiously.
She giggles, the sound a bit forced, and closes the door.
…Link scratches his head.
What was that about?
~*~
They have far more resources than they need, and far more jewels still.
It takes several hours to repack the Goron cart after their days in Zora’s Domain, even with the help of a few Zora warriors.
Mipha had been kind to offer, though Link had tried to decline the help. They could certainly handle these things.
It is unfortunate that Sir Garret overheard, quickly jumping in to accept the help on Link’s behalf. He was not thrilled. Mipha, however, found it endlessly amusing.
It is even more unfortunate that King Dorephan found today, of all days, to be the best for Mipha to start training with Vah Ruta. He supposes it makes sense to start as soon as possible, but he’d been hoping to spend these hours with his friend.
One last day before the war preparations.
One more day they were not granted.
So Link is not in the best mood.
Zelda must have noticed early on, because she quickly started keeping her distance from him, only shooting occasional glances towards him when she must’ve felt she’d gone too long without watching her charge, as she calls him.
Link huffs, leaning back against the cool palace walls. He reaches up to fiddle with the necklace Mipha had given him, the metal clinking and jangling with all its hanging pieces.
(Mipha still has not explained the piece to him. When she’d given it to him, her eyes lowered and body language nervous, she’d proudly clasped it around his neck. Maybe it was her nerves? She didn’t think he’d like the gift? Truly, though, the only thing he doesn’t like about it is the guilt he feels for not having brought anything for her.)
(Anything other than a weapon of war)
The sound does not calm him as it should. Usually, when he’s overwhelmed, he can make some sort of noise that distracts him. A harp, or simply Impa’s humming, was the typical source. His father used to play an ocarina for him after a nightmare or a particularly bad day. His mother would hum along, her voice soft and melodic, and they’d look at each other and at him with so much care…
Link sighs. He slams his hand down, tearing it away from the offending, jangling object.
His eyes scan the gathered crowd, here to send off the Hylian entourage, and land on Zelda on the opposite side of the cart. She speaks to the young Zora who’s taken a liking to her recently. Bazz, if he recalls correctly.
(“He’s a very brave little one.” Mipha had said after Bazz had pulled Zelda away quite suddenly. “I expect he will be splendid with a spear. One of our finest.”)
The little Zora practically jumps up and down with energy or excitement, babbling up toward Zelda with a joy that only a child could have.
Zelda watches him indulgently, a small smile on her face that Link can see even from this distance. She doesn’t interrupt the boy, carefully listening to whatever he says.
He wonders if they could ever get to a point like that, he and Zelda.
They’ve made progress. They can go longer in a conversation without one or the other saying something that inadvertently hurts someone. Mipha had said their experiences were just too different. That they said things that made sense for them, but not for the other.
He can only hope that river isn’t too wild to tread through.
Link…has not breached the topic with Zelda. Of their differences. Frankly, he doesn’t want to, but Mipha deserves the basic respect of accepting her well-meaning advice.
He just doesn’t know how to do it.
He does, however, want to be able to call Zelda a friend.
He has so few of those of late.
“Link.”
But maybe he should know better than to make friends with his personal knight again.
Link swallows and turns to face Sir Jiko as he sidles up to him, planting himself less than a foot away from Link, their shoulders almost touching.
He doesn’t say anything, only briefly meeting the knight’s eyes.
Sir Jiko hums, a satisfied smile on his face. “I’m glad you and Princess Mipha could see each other. Must be nice to have such a good friend.”
Link expects a hint of bitterness in the words, a layer of disdain. He finds none, looking over in confusion at Sir Jiko, waiting for the switch.
Still, nothing changes.
“I would argue we were here a few days too long,” he continues calmly, crossing his arms and watching the others finish up with the cart, strapping the horses back in. “But who am I to deny the prince his days of lounging?”
(There’s that hint of anger, hidden in the way the knight’s eyebrow twitches just slightly. The way his lip curls in with the words that would otherwise sound pleasant.)
Link glares (ignoring the way his chest siezes and his hands threaten to freeze up when Sir Jiko levels him with that blank stare).
‘What do you want?’ He signs.
Sir Jiko huffs, his eyes darting briefly to the crowd (not wanting anyone to see him communicating effectively while the prince uses sign, surely). “I’m just happy to see my prince happy…Your Highness.”
Link scowls. ‘You’re lying.’ He signs jerkily, quickly. ‘What do you want from me?’
He hesitates before adding, ‘What else?’
Sir Jiko rolls his eyes, a larger break in his facade (It’s working). “I’m trying to have a civil conversation.”
‘Nothing is civil with you.’
“Link,” He growls. His eyebrows furrow as he glares forward at nothing at all. Link jumps before steadying himself with a shaky breath. “Don’t push this. I’m trying.”
‘To do what?’
It’s an accusation and a challenge, one Sir Jiko sees through clearly, as he turns on Link. He shifts his body confidently to stand between Link and the gathered crowd, leaning into his space.
Link takes a step back, hitting the wall. His eyes search behind Sir Jiko as a faint ringing sounds out.
He tries to be brave in the face of this, wanting so desperately to stop being such a coward. But his ears pin back tellingly, and his heart thuds against his ribcage.
He scrambles against the wall, trying to slide out from under Sir Jiko’s body, his hands slipping against the smooth stone uselessly. He has nothing else to use, so when the knight puts his hands against the wall on either side of Link’s body, he freezes.
“You’re nothing but a brat.” Sir Jiko snarls, his face finally twisted into that unpleasant glower, bordering on animalistic rage as always. One of his hands moves to Link’s arm, fingers digging in painfully. Link winces, gasping quietly, but Sir Jiko ignores him. “You’re unappreciative and spoiled. You think you’re so much better than your pompous little advisors and dukes and lords, but we all do so much for you- I do so much for you- and you don’t care at all.”
Link shakes his head, frowning. He tries to push it down, to copy that mask that the man before him uses, but it forces itself through like a knife through fabric, filling his chest with stifling sharpness.
But he knows Sir Jiko is lying. He knows it. These knights do nothing for him. They do everything for his mother.
He’ll ‘appreciate’ it when it’s done with his own well-being in mind. And not a day sooner.
He tries to tear his arm from Sir Jiko’s grasp, but the man is too strong.
‘Let go.’ He signs with his left hand. ‘Get off of me.’
Sir Jikos scowls, his mouth opening to spew more putrid words and insults.
Before he can say anything, however, footsteps rush over, slamming against the stone hurriedly. Zelda pokes her head around Sir Jiko, standing beside the two men with her hand twitching and that incessant ringing growing louder.
“Do you have a problem, Sir Jiko?” She asks, her green eyes narrowed into a fiery glare as her twitching hand moves slowly up to the hilt of the Master Sword on her back. The movement is slow and deliberate. A show for Sir Jiko, but calm enough not to draw additional attention.
Sir Jiko’s hand releases Link’s arm, the fingers practically peeling away from the indents they’d left in his skin. He stands up straight, his hands at his side, and looks at Zelda.
…The mask is back.
For a moment, he looks between Link and Zelda, before nodding jerkily and wandering away.
Faintly, Link recognizes Zelda’s soft touch on the arm Sir Jiko had held, but he can’t focus on it.
The ringing shifts into a comforting, pulsing sound, the Master Sword glowing faintly.
~*~
The sharp scrape of Jiko’s sword fills the air as Zelda watches him, her eyes narrowed partially in displeasure and partially with the exhaustion of a day’s travel. The knight sharpens his sword carefully and diligently, pulling the blade up to his face to check its sharpness before promptly pushing it against his stone again, providing the loudest sound in their little camp.
A little way away, Sirs Garret and Sado speak in hushed tones. Zelda can’t be sure what it is they talk about. Their voices are low enough that Sir Jiko beside them probably can’t even hear them (especially over the maddening, rhythmic slide of his sword on that damn whetstone). By the expressions on their faces (or- more accurately- on Garret’s face. The young knight is clearly less experienced in hiding his thoughts and feelings. It makes Zelda wonder why Impa chose him for this journey if he is so inexperienced. It also makes Zelda mourn the fact that he will, someday, lose that expressiveness. Although perhaps she will, too), Zelda suspects it isn’t anything too serious.
The fire crackles between them, and Zelda shudders. The closer they’ve gotten to the Hebra Mountains, the colder the winds have blown. She’d known, of course, how the weather would be. The chills she’d felt blow in on her initial journey to Castletown had been bad enough, truly, but she’s read that Tabantha winters can chill even the most acclimated of Rito in minutes.
She’d wanted to go around through the Tabantha Frontier, suggesting the idea to Sado as he led the caravan. Coming from closer to the Gerudo Highlands would provide at least a semblance of warmth on the journey, she’d reasoned.
She wouldn’t admit that a part of her feared their cart would get stuck coming from the Mountains, digging into the deep snow. Then they’d either have to trek on foot or stay with it and risk freezing with them.
(She had brought a coat with her. One Purah had gifted her during one of the brief passing they’d had. It is white and leathery in texture, but Sheikah characters inscribed in its inside provide a sort of warming effect Zelda has unfortunately not been able to take the time to study)
Sado had only shaken his head at the suggestion, pulling tightly on the reins of the horse pulling the cart. This is the path Her Majesty has chosen for us. He’d answered.
Zelda truly doesn’t think Her Majesty has ever been this far west before.
Prince Link shifts, drawing Zelda’s eyes away from Jiko for the first time since they’d settled.
In the days since they’d left Zora’s Domain, the prince has been antsy. Truly, it frustrates Zelda. When the young royal decides he’s had enough of sitting around a camp, he wanders off, either assuming Zelda will follow (which she does. Every time. No matter her own wants to remain comfortable) or not caring. When he tires of the steady trot of their travel, he presses his heels in and spurs his horse on into a quicker gait or even a gallop at some points, and Zelda is- once again- left to chase after him.
The only positive (though, sometimes it bothers Zelda. She feels guilty to thinking it each time) is that the prince speaks to her more.
He seems almost eager to discuss with her, his hands moving near-constantly when they’re beside one another. Everything he has to say is unimportant and bland, but Zelda accepts the attempt, nodding along to whatever comment he makes of the weather or their journey at the appropriate moments.
She aches for something with a bit more substance, but the prince had made it abundantly clear before the… incident with the guardian that he has no interest in the same things she does. And his interests outweigh hers, of course, she thinks bitterly.
Regardless, it’s yet another reason she keeps so close an eye on Jiko now. His latest threat towards His Highness had not affected the boy’s light attitude nearly so much as Zelda thought it might when she caught them, but she wasn’t about to risk it.
Particularly not when His Highness has done nothing to deserve such treatment.
Truly, no one could deserve such foul threats made upon their person.
“-is not!” Garret’s voice rises high like a whine in the air, and Zelda’s (as well as Prince Link’s and Jiko’s) head snaps to the two knights across the fire.
Garret catches her eye before noticing everyone else and his face turns pink, his ears dropping. Sir Sado laughs heartily, one hand slapping against Garret’s back hard enough to make the boy wince, but the older knight doesn’t drop his smile.
It’s the first Zelda’s seen the man without the mask, and she finds her ears perking up to catch more of their discussion.
Beside her, the prince leans in slightly, almost unnoticeable.
Sir Sado raises his voice. “You know, it’s not that bad! Jiko once mistook Lady Purah for Lady Impa when we were recruits!”
Jiko almost drops his sword in shock before his hands steady. He slowly sets his whetstone aside and sheaths the blade, his eyes moving slowly over to meet Sir Sado’s with displeasure.
“Must you bring that up?”
Garret’s eyes light up at the confirmation and Zelda hears the prince huff beside her, a small laugh that sounds more like a sigh to her ears. She looks over to see a small smile on his face as he watches the two knights, his face lit warmly by the light of the fire.
Zelda tears her eyes away.
“You should’ve seen it, really,” Sado goes on, his hand clasping on Garret’s shoulder. “Lady Purah played along, even. She gave him orders and everything. Stuff like: ‘Have the cooks make extra pie for the researchers’ and: ‘Tell the queen I’ve changed my mind about the researcher’s funding’! It would’ve been obvious to anyone else, but not our Jiko!”
Garret laughs brightly. “Did that really happen?”
“I didn’t tell the queen that,” Jiko huffs, crossing his arms. “I didn’t have the authority to approach her…”
Sir Sado laughs again, bending at the waist, and Zelda finds herself smiling along now, too. The image is just humiliating enough to remember, she thinks.
“I am not the only one who’s done embarrassing things!’ Jiko tries, voice bordering on desperate. “Ukyo once told the captain his makeup looked ‘splotchy’.”
It’s a name Zelda doesn’t recognize, but Sir Sado chuckles warmly, nodding along.
“He never knew that that was just how his skin was.”
“Ukyo?” Zelda interjects, her head tilted curiously.
The laughter stops suddenly, and Zelda finds herself with four sets of eyes locked on her. Even the prince looks at her with a hint of confusion.
Garret’s face falls, and his ears droop again. Beside him, Sir Sado squeezes his shoulder and bends his head down low, as though in respect or mourning, and Zelda knows she said the wrong thing.
“Sir Ukyo,” Jiko answers, his voice monotone. “He was part of our entourage.”
A gentle tap on her shoulder makes Zelda turn to the prince. Her shock must be evident because he winces.
‘He was killed by the Lizalfos before Daruk found us,’ he explains slowly, his ears tipping back with every switching sign.
Suddenly, Zelda can hear the screams, see the man fall from his horse as a spear tears through the skin of his abdomen and rips out his intestines, strewing them out on the field and spilling blood in every direction. She can feel her shaking hands and hear the thrum of the Master Sword as it urges her to fight.
She blinks and she can see the hordes of Lizalfos and Moblins rushing them from every direction. How had they gotten so far without any of them noticing? A horde of this size?
Zelda blinks her eyes back open and all she can see is the blur of tears, but she knows there’s blood on the ground in front of her, she just can’t see it clearly-
A hand grabs hers gently and Zelda can see the prince cowering behind her, his hands still coated with the blood of the Moblin he’d killed.
The hand clasps around hers, but Zelda hadn’t held his hand, she’d hidden him and run off. Hadn’t she?
“-elda.” There’s a hand on her knee. She’s sitting somewhere. “Zelda.”
The voice comes again, calm and steady even in the face of battle and death. This man wouldn’t be so calm in battle, would he?
She blinks again and her vision clears to reveal Sir Sado kneeling in front of her, his hand tentatively pressed below her knee. She wiggles her fingers and feels the hand in hers and looks over to see Prince Link. His eyes are averted, looking at the ground beneath their feet as he grips her hand.
Suddenly, she feels terribly and painfully embarrassed.
Zelda looks up, but her eyes don’t meet anyone else’s. Jiko and Garret are also looking elsewhere, though she isn’t sure at what.
“It was your first battle,” Sir Sado drones on carefully. Zelda looks back down at him. Her leg bounces, and his hand falls from her knee. “You did just fine.”
Zelda blinks. “Fine?” She croaks.
He nods, and the pressure in Zelda’s hand squeezes a bit harder.
After a moment, he says: “Tell me something about yourself?”
“What?”
“Tell me something about your ranch,” His voice carries more loudly now and Zelda stares in shock, her mouth agape, as he smiles broadly. “I want to know more about our Knight Who Will Seal the Darkness!”
“…Yeah!” Garret’s voice comes hesitantly, but encouragingly. “Tell us something!”
For some reason, Zelda cranes her head to look at Prince Link. For permission? She doesn’t need his allowance to speak. For encouragement? She isn’t sure.
The prince finally meets her eyes, swallowing, and Zelda watches his throat bob with it.
He nods, using his free hand (She’s still holding his hand. She doesn’t need it, does she? Still, she doesn’t let it go, nor does he pull away) to sign: ‘I am curious what life is like on a ranch.’
Zelda isn’t really sure what they want to know, and the last thing she wants is to embarrass herself.
Sir Sado must see her struggle because: “Tell us anything! Any nugget of information.”
…right.
~*~
Honestly, there’s so little Zelda understands about her father’s work.
She’d watched every day for as long as she can remember from the window in her bedroom as Father and his ranch hands in the early mornings as they corraled the horses into the stable before moving on to other chores swiftly and efficiently.
She spent enough time watching them (when she wasn’t occupied by whatever book Russa brought from Kakariko or Castletown or wherever her journeys took her. Currently, it was a very interesting read on the flora of Tabantha) that she would consider herself adept at the order and operations of the ranch.
She wasn’t prepared for it to be so hot.
The moment Zelda had stepped outside this morning, shucking on an oversized pair of boots her father fetched for her from goddess-knows-where, she’d been sweating.
Realistically, it isn’t much cooler inside, but the walls are insulated in a way Zelda knows intimately (one of the walls in her room had to be rebuilt in the winter once, as she had chipped away at the layers keeping the outdoor climate from invading. Father had not been happy) and it keeps it at at least a reasonable temperature. Stale and warm, but not sticky and scalding.
She doesn’t understand how it can be so hot so early in the morning. The sun is hardly above the horizon- the moon still hanging in the sky- and perspiration drips down her forehead. She doesn’t understand why they don’t wait for a cooler day to perform the smaller tasks around the farm rather than risk heatstroke staying out in this all day.
The sun beats down on her as she crosses the field from the barn, headed toward the stables on the other end. She’d been tasked with assisting Father with checking on the cows after the horses had been brought in and the herding ones saddled (she had not taken part in that, her father saying it would be quicker to split their attention with the extra hands today). They’d counted the cattle, cleaned their stalls, and prepared buckets for whatever milking needed to be done later.
It was grueling.
It’s not that Zelda isn’t familiar with hard work! She’s just been ‘too young’ to take part until now, and- even then- Father had needed convincing.
But at thirteen, Zelda thinks this is probably an apt time to begin.
It just sucks, for lack of a more eloquent word.
What sucks even more is what she knows she has to do next: clean horse hooves.
She shouldn’t have agreed to do it. She really doesn’t even know why she did. She has no real idea how to do such a thing. She’s read about it, of course. Father has gifted her many, many books on running farmlands and ranches, but this isn’t like learning equations or history, is it?
Although maybe it is? She could look at it that way, and perhaps it would make things easier?
As she steps into the stable, Zelda scrunches her nose up at the smell (they save cleaning the stables until after the herding is done, she knows. That doesn’t make it smell any less musty) before promptly turning to the stalls of horses lined up inside.
Most of them don’t pay her any mind, padding around or eating what hay they’ve been given to keep them occupied for the day inside, but some of them look over upon her entrance, huffing and gazing over expectantly.
Or as expectantly as horses can look.
Zelda doesn’t appreciate the way they judge her with their wide, blank stares.
Her eyes move down the line of horses to land on Epona with her short, reddish hair. She is one of the animals seemingly unbothered by Zelda’s entrance, her head poking into the stall beside her to nip at her neighbor until she jolts away with a snap. Epona pulls back after exhaling with enough force to blow the other mare’s mane up.
Zelda sighs, brushes her hands off on her trousers, and starts toward her mare.
She comes to a stop in front of Epona, gazing up at the grown horse. She tilts her head to match the curiosity the mare regards her with, meeting her eyes.
Zelda is not impressed. Epona is her’s, yes, but the mare seems unruly at best and downright rude at worst.
Epona huffs again, the hot air rushing against Zelda’s face and she groans. She opens her eyes to glare up at the mare, who throws her head back lightly in displeasure.
“Really?”
Epona shakes her head a little furiously, trotting around slowly until her backside is facing Zelda, and Zelda watches with her mouth agape and her arms raised indignantly.
With another groan, Zelda pulls the stall door open and steps inside cautiously, watching the mare as she clearly watches her, too. Slowly, she edges her way around the horse until she is just behind her front right leg.
Does she just…grab it then? All the instructions say to just calmly pull the horse’s leg up and start, right? They didn’t say anything about a weight or height limit, did they?
Zelda swallows and leans down, fully prepared to just grab Epona by the ankle and pull her leg up, when a chortling sort of laugh from behind her makes her jump and whirl around to face one of her father’s ranch hands.
Tetsu, a larger man who’d been working on their ranch since before Zelda was born, laughs at her face. Zelda glares up at the man. What is he doing? Other than leaning in the stables and trying to embarrass her?
“You need to tie her first,” He says, his strange accent (Islander accent, maybe? The cut-off syllables sound similar to what Zelda has seen described, but she can’t be sure obviously)- along with the continued chuckles- making it entirely too difficult to make the words out. He nods over to Epona, though, pushing himself off the wall to grab a string of rope from off the wall. “Make sure she can’t wander off, see?”
He holds out the rope for Zelda, and she snatches it, reaching over the gate. He holds his now-empty hand up placatingly, his face pinched in a half-smile with amused eyes.
Even as she listens, knowing he has more experience in this (probably. Unless he spends every day here leaning against walls), Zelda asks: “Where would she go in here? It’s too small.”
“Sure, but if she even turns around while you’re working, you could scrape her skin. Or yours.” He doesn’t sound like he’s particularly bothered by either idea, and Zelda glares at the rope as she ties it off to the hook on the wall of Epona’s stall.
The horse regards her with unimpressed eyes that Zelda knows are judging her, now.
Tetsu stays where he is- Zelda can feel his eyes on her- as she pulls her pick out from the bag Father had given her. She eyes Epona’s leg, sighing before grabbing it roughly with her free hand and hauling it to bend backwards.
Epona pulls forward, trying to pull her leg free, but Zelda pulls back, using both hands now.
The instructions never described this. They said if the horse was calm, it would be fine! Epona was calm before.
So Zelda pulls her leg back, holding it by her knees as she tries to get a good grip on the pick.
It’s not like holding a quill or chalk, so Zelda wraps her fist around it and brings it to the bottom of Epona’s hoof.
In a split second, Zelda feels Epona’s leg tense up, her body going rigid. Then, Zelda is roughly pulled back, the collar of her shirt threatening to choke her as Tetsu grabs her and hauls her back. She feels the rush of air where her head had just been and lands on the floor with a yelp, looking up to see Epona’s leg swing back down to rest on the floor, the mare stamping her feet and huffing irritably.
Testu rushes past Zelda, sending her a brief glare before slowly circling around to the front of Epona’s vision.
Why is he glaring at her? Zelda pushes herself to her feet with a loud huff, glaring fiercely at the man and the mare. She hadn’t done anything wrong! It was that stupid horse!
Tetsu grabs the rope connecting Epona to the stall, pulling it gently and shushing the mare with gentle eyes and soft-spoken words. After several moment, she finally stops stamping her feet and slowly her huffing stops as well. Her body is still tense when Tetsu reaches up to run a hand along her muzzle.
Zelda scoffs, making Testu turn his eyes to her.
She gestures to Epona, only barely resisting the urge to stomp her foot.
“She’s being ornery!”
Tetsu sighs, the glare returning half-heartedly. “That kick would’ve killed you, kid. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“I’m helping!” Her voice rises in pitch and volume, her throat pinching as she almost screeches the words. She swallows. “I’m doing what I was told to do!”
“You need to be kind to the animals.”
Zelda groans. Did he not see what happened? “I wasn’t mean! I was cleaning her hoof!”
The door slams open, but Zelda pays it no mind, watching as Tetsu rolls his eyes at her. Rolls his eyes!
“You need to make her aware of your presence and calm them first. You also didn’t clear the dirt off first.”
Before Zelda can retort that it doesn’t make a difference if she’s scraping it all off anyway, the rumbling voice of her father interrupts, and she stills as his presence becomes known behind her.
He’ll never believe her over Tetsu! Why does the Goddess hate her so?
“What’s going on here?”
Zelda opens her mouth swiftly, but Tetsu still beats her to it.
“She was being rough and unkind with Epona, Rhoam. Almost got kicked.”
“I was doing it right!” Zelda spins to see her father pinch the bridge of his nose, his face going red. “She just doesn’t like me!”
“Epona wouldn’t have tried to kick at all it you’d been doing it right, Zelda.” He huffs, grinding his jaw in a telling sign of his contained anger. Zelda resists the urge to hang her head, deciding to stand her ground because she’s right. “Go back inside.”
“What?” Zelda feels her lower lip start quivering, and she shakes her head. “But I was-”
“You are clearly in no shape to be doing this kind of work.”
“I was doing what you told me to do!”
“If that were the case, you would’ve done it right.” Father levels her with a glare, his face beet-red and jaw clenched. Zelda’s eyes sting.
She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t get yelled at tonight.
And she had done it right, hadn’t she? The horses are just mean to her…
Father shakes his head, closing his eyes and turning away from her. “Go inside, Zelda. Go to your room and read until you learn to listen.”
He storms off, Tetsu close behind, leaving Zelda sniffling in the stables.
Notes:
would Muzu have the title "lord"? probs not but Zelda likes to keep carefully respectful lol, until u lose that respect
ts makes it sound like im making the hero of time links dad...i am NOT. Thats probs his great⁵ grandfather or some shit idk😭
my brief research told me that "kanzashi" is what those hair pins are called and some of the images looked about right for what i imagine Impa would have so if thats incorrect feel free to lmk😔
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Chapter 20: The Power of Wind
Summary:
Zelda and Prince Link reach Rito Village, seeking a pilot for Vah Medoh.
Notes:
I forgot to mention this before, but props to y'all commenters, because I've gotten several that are outright the same thoughts I was having while writing lmao
Also note that I have added a list of fics to the series page that will be included if that's something you're curious about!
Also also, be sure to follow my Tumblr if you want to ask, comment, request, or say anything to me at all!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It is a dramatic thought, but Zelda can swear each step is colder than the last.
Securing the Master Sword more tightly to her back, she shoves her hands inside her coat, feeling the small symbols vibrating almost imperceptibly, the tips of her fingers going numb with the sensation.
It grounds her, in a way. Both the heat provided by the friction (as she has since discovered is how the coat works. Purah had advised her not to touch the symbols for long, but Zelda could hardly help herself once she discovered that low movement) and the tingling sent halfway up her arm keep her mind off the warmth, her body more focused ed on regaining feeling in her appendages where the cold can no longer touch.
With the cold kept at bay, it is only excitement and eagerness that fill Zelda’s body and make her almost bounce in place (if she had a fraction less self-control, she certainly would, but not in present company).
The Rito are perhaps the people she knows the least of.
She knows their origins, of course. The stories that contradict one another about how the race of bird-like people came to be. Some texts suggest they evolved from the Zora in the times of the Great Sea, while others suggest that they are a settled form of the Watarara tribe who grew tired of their migratory ways.
The texts Zelda has found on their evolution from Zora claim that all Zora died out or went feral in the time that the Rito began to thrive, leading the Theory of the Eras to cover the inconsistencies.
A blur catches her eye as she thinks, and Zelda watches what appears to be a distant Rito fly far above them, heading toward the village in the mountains.
The War of the Eras was recent, Zelda knows. So recent that even Father can remember a time when the kingdom was rebuilding after the destruction.
(“That hero,” He once murmured on a hot night. One of those dark evenings around the anniversary of Mother’s death, when his sadness overtook even his will to work and drove him into a slump on the threadbare sofa, a bottle clenched in one pale hand. “How we can continue to call him that after the destruction he caused, I will never know. Hyrule is better off now that he’s gone.”)
To think that any number of their people had simply ceased to exist at one point in time, only to be brought back in such a manner.
It’s spectacular and terrifying altogether.
As the Rito in the sky disappears from view, Zelda becomes aware of a presence at her side: Prince Link.
Her back stiffens and her eyes widen as she tries to pull herself into a better stance befitting of the royal’s presence (for the other knights’ benefits, if anything. Zelda has no doubt that the prince himself cares little for decorum, but she also has no need for the others to bring her absentmindedness to attention. Especially after her show from the previous night).
Prince Link licks his chapped lips before wincing at the cold that must assault the newly-wetted spot.
‘Have you met the Rito?’ He signs jerkily, his hands moving like he’s forcing them to consciously. Unlike the usual way he signs, Zelda thinks.
He doesn’t look her way, instead keeping his eyes straight forward and his head level with the path they follow. Snow billows lightly from above, coating his hair and the shoulders of his Gerudo cloak, and Zelda frowns.
She would’ve thought he’d be more comfortable in the Gerudo garb, considering how difficult it had been to get him out of them initially, but the prince shows no essence of joy or excitement, reminding Zelda all too well of when he’d first been attacked in Gerudo Town.
She remembers her promise to Lady Urbosa once more and winces.
“No,” She answers honestly. “It is too far from Akkala.”
The prince nods, seemingly uninterested in her answer.
Zelda pushes down the initial wave of frustration that heats her chest in waves.
“Have you?” She asks in place of the accusations that coat her tongue. A silly yh; they’re his people just as much as the Hylians of Hyrule Field.
The prince merely shrugs one shoulder and raises a hand to lazily sign.
‘I’ve seen their chief in passing.’ He answers simply, almost cold, if hands could portray such a thing.
Zelda’s stumbles.
He had spoken to her. Yet he responds to her own words like she pulled him unwittingly into a conversation he has no interest in?
Zelda huffs.
It’s not as though she’d struck up conversation with any of them since leaving their campsite. Truthfully, she’d been hoping to avoid any conversation with them for the rest of the day, her breakdown lingering in the back of her mind.
The prince pulls his cloak tighter around himself, and Zelda pulls her own hands free from the insides of her coat.
“Will this chief serve as our pilot?”
It’s a genuine question, but the prince almost laughs at the words, breathy as though in some sort of shared joke.
‘I hardly think so,’ he responds quickly, rolling his eyes. Zelda’s lips purse at the flippant answer. ‘She wouldn't want to, I think. I’m not sure the lifespan of a Rito, either but I’m sure her age is another reason she won'tbe joining us.’
Again, his expression sours as he speaks, like the words leave acid in his throat.
Zelda glares openly at his side, knowing (or perhaps simply trusting) that he isn’t looking her way whatsoever.
“Rito live almost as long as Hylians,” she practically spits, foul heat filling her chest as the prince simply hums in response.
“You know, Your Highness,” She starts, giving up any pretense and any effort to remain cordial for the young royal before her. His lack of interest in the discussion he’d started, along with the blatant disregard for her own words, forces the next statement out of her mouth all on its own. “You needn’t start conversation with me if you truly dislike it so much. I’d much rather you remain on your royal high horse than deign to pretend you care!”
She stomps off without further ado, pushing through the steadily deepening snow to reach an empty spot between the prince and Jiko.
(She ignores the jolt of guilt that comes over her as she walks back through the situation, but she can hardly resist the urge to turn around and glance over her shoulder. Prince Link’s face is carefully blank, but he finally looks at her. She only glares at the unreadable expression he locks her with)
The knight in front of her turns back with amusement plain in his face. Zelda finds her fingers itching to reach up for the hilt of the Master Sword, if only to wipe that look off Jiko’s face.
“Didn’t I-”
Zelda interrupts as quickly as the man had started. “Sir Jiko, I truly do not want to hear it.”
Put off, the knight sends a purposeful glare her way before his face wipes completely clean (thankfully), and he turns back around.
The cold is getting on everyone’s nerves, she realizes belatedly as a petal falls into her eye. The heat used to do as much back at the farm, when sweat would blind the workers, and layers of burns made their skin peel back painfully.
She shouldn’t have snapped like that, really. It’s much too late to go back, though, so Zelda settles for shoving her hands back into the sides of her coat for comfort.
Mercifully, she can see the village coming into view, and she distracts herself by analyzing its structure.
The first thing that catches her eye is how large it is. Much larger than she ever would have thought it would be. Each hut is built similarly, much in the way that Castle Town’s homes replicate one another.
The main portion of the village is built on stilts atop and around the edges of the mountain, looking over the vast canyons where perches without defensive fences lie.
(She wonders briefly how they raise their young. Safety railings are hardly necessary when one has wings- when one uses wings- but can they really fly so early on? Zelda mourns her lack of information, noting internally to do far more research into the Rito before her next encounter with them)
The huts held on these stilts and narrow walkways seem to be built in their own circular shapes, much like the path their built on is rounded, columns of wood revealing the interiors to those with a keen eye. Zelda squints to try and see a few of them, but finds the distance is still too great to truly see anything other than the stark lack of window coverings.
Hardly an inch of the stony spire is uncovered by some Rito carving or building. The village is clearly thriving. Zelda thinks there must be hundreds of non-migratory Rito inhabiting it, as she watches several blurs fly to and from the village, some carrying small loads of what must be food or some other such supply.
It seems both crowded and warm in a way that would soothe the ache brought on by the cold. Such a small location for so many to live. She can hardly imagine the work that must go into caring for such a place, though the Rito seem to be very community-based already from the looks of things.
As they take their first step onto the final bridge separating them from the village, Zelda is finally brought back to herself by the slight sway under her feet. Her breath catches, and she quickly grasps for the rope beside her to follow along, sourly noting how she is the only one to do so.
She can hardly bring herself to let go, though. Should the bridge fall (which she is certain it won’t. The Rito may not use it, but she highly doubts they would neglect one of their structures), she will be the only one to survive it.
Now that she thinks of it, perhaps that isn’t a good thing. She doesn’t think she’d live much longer if she returned to the castle alone.
As she slows to watch her steps, the prince catches back up to her, still not glancing her way.
Zelda glares at his side as she stumbles along, but watches his signs carefully.
‘You and I will go ahead to talk to the chief,’ he orders, eyes set straight. ‘The others will arrange a place to stay.’
Zelda nods and relays the message to the other knights, noting how they already seemed to be picking up their pace as though to follow through on the order.
She furrows her eyebrows.
Prince Link quickens his pace as well, and Zelda is left to choose between her safety net and keeping up with the group. With one mournful look at the rope between her fingers, she lets go, stumbling and wobbling to stay in step with the prince.
The moment they step back on steady ground is accompanied by crossing the threshold into Rito Village, and Zelda feels it immediately.
The torches marking either side of the entrance send an aura of heat that Zelda longs to stay by, to raise her hands to to fend off the chill that had seeped in.
She walks past the torches with the group, almost immediately ramming straight into a Rito walking by. She startles and comes to a jolted stop, her neck craning to look up at the bird-like man before her.
Before she can stutter out an apology to the absurdly tall creature, he waves at her with what seems to be a smile painted in his beak and walks away from the group, seeming unoffended by their approach.
The other knights pick up their pace together, Sirs Gared and Sado stepping around Zelda and the prince to catch up with Jiko, who sends her an unreadable look, his eyes roving over her and the prince, before the knights start moving again.
They approach a Rito woman standing outside one of the first huts. She wears very colorful feathers and what looks like a bit of small animal fur around her shoulders, the feathers of her hair braided down the sides of her face. Jiko says something to her, his head nodding with what must be respect, and she nods back, leading the men further into the village, where they disappear from sight.
Zelda tries to follow them with her eyes, trying to take in more of the village opposite the direction Prince Link starts off in. That direction seems more bustling than the one they are meant to take, more Rito and more crowded paths. She doesn’t long for the claustrophobia that Castle Town had caused upon her arrival, but she also finds herself intrigued by the flora that the Rito have clearly planted along that path. How can those plants live with so many people walking by, she wonders.
Eventually, Prince Link’s distance from her becomes slightly concerning (Lady Urbosa’s voice in her mind is just as stern as it had been originally, rage barely concealed behind bared teeth and seething remarks of cowardice), and Zelda is forced to catch back up, briskly jogging along the wooden path.
The prince’s steps are confident. Zelda would have been convinced he’s been here before if not for his previous statements to her, as well as the way his eyes flit about for direction in the same way a new hire at the farm would when they don’t want to ask for help.
She’s about to tap on the arm of a nearby citizen when Prince Link comes to a stop, looking proudly at the building beside him.
Zelda eyes it critically. Truthfully, it looks no different from the rest of the huts around, if not a bit larger. After a moment, though, she looks deeper in through the open doorway and sees a number of colorful objects hanging from the ceiling. Feathers, she realizes.
(She’s reminded of an old Rito story she once read. One of the only ones she’s read, actually. When a Rito dies or retires from their line of business, typically that of fishing, hunting, or building, they give up a feather to their next of kin as a symbol of their faith in their successor. When they didn’t have next of kin and refused- or otherwise couldn’t- choose another, their feathers went to the chief for means of memoriam. It reminds her very vaguely of the way Hylians view artifacts. In a way, the instruments that adorn the cases of Hyrule Castle’s halls, the old, torn-up clothing that makes up the tapestries in the Sanctum, the enchanted scarf just outside the Royal Wing, are all examples of similar memorials)
This must be the chief’s home. Zelda eyes Prince Link with consideration.
He turns to meet her gaze for only a second, blank eyes flicking away just as quickly as they’d found her own. Zelda keeps her sigh internal, this time.
‘When we meet with the chief,’ he signs slowly, staring off into some unknown spot as they make their way closer to the hut and further from the Rito and the stray travelers attempting to pass them on the path. ‘Would you do the talking?’
Zelda had rather thought that was already the plan, and nods slowly at the request.
She hadn’t done much speaking in the other regions, mostly due to the prince’s familiarity with those peoples. Lady Urbosa hadn’t much required any convincing at all. Princess Mipha had agreed easily, the true problem being her father (Zelda can hardly blame him, and the image of cold green eyes flashing in fear briefly invades her mind). Daruk had come to them more so than they had gone to him, in a way, seeming as though he’d prepared for that very offer for years.
Zelda can only hope that- now that they are in an entirely unfamiliar place with entirely unfamiliar people- the Rito will be as willing to help.
(She wouldn’t be, would she? The number of times she’d considered backing out on the journey to Castle Town alone should have disqualified her from ever being heralded as a Hero)
The prince nods back, ducking into the hut before them.
Zelda lets out her breath.
One…
Two…
Three…
She straightens her back until her shoulders feel taut and tall, and marches confidently in after him.
Upon walking inside, she finds her hands immediately diving inside her coat, finding the little button Purah installed for her to switch the runes off.
The warmth inside the chief’s hut is remarkable for a building with no windows or doors, torches set low on either wall to avoid catching on the feathers strung about, and a small fire in the middle of the room, almost like a campsite. The windows allow a small, comfortable breeze that is quickly fended off by the fire in a rush of air, the occasional snowflake finding its way in only to melt upon contact with any of the wooden and feathered surfaces.
“You must be the young prince and his lady knight!” A voice cuts through the fog of warmth that threatens to surround Zelda, lulling her into far too much comfort for the current situation.
Zelda realizes her mouth is stuck open with something like awe, and she snaps it closed.
Looking to the source of the voice, Zelda finds a Rito woman adorned with the thickest furs she’s seen yet, her brown feathers shifting to white on their ends, the two longest of which seem to be pinned back to her head with clips made of animal bones.
The Rito smiles warmly, the look strange on her beak, though Zelda knows she only thinks this because of how inexperienced she is with the Rito people.
Prince Link steps up, nodding once- low and respectful- before gesturing Zelda forward with a flick of his hand.
She resists the urge to scowl, stepping closer to the Rito and further into the warmth of her home. Now inside, Zelda can see that hardly an inch of the Rito’s home is undecorated, every wall covered with feathers, bones, threadbare fabrics, and all manner of strange objects turned into decor.
She clears her throat and clenches her fists. “Yes, and you must be the chief?”
A small bundle off to the side catches Zelda’s eye, but she tears her gaze from it quickly to return her focus on the Rito before her.
The woman must see the move, however, because she chuckles before looking to the bundle herself.
“Kula,” she corrects. “I am the chief, but you are welcome to use my given name instead.”
Prince Link nods as Zelda says: “Thank you, Chief Kula.”
Kula’s eyes glitter. She steps back to sit on a cushioned log behind her, gesturing for Zelda and the Prince to sit as well.
Zelda looks forward, quickly finding two large pillows on the ground on the opposite side of the fire from Kula’s seat. She wonders how Kula knew to be expecting them so soon, how detailed the queen- or rather, Impa- was with her letter.
She sits with her legs crossed in front of her, her hands resting in the gap in the middle. The pillow is as soft as she would expect from one made almost solely of feathers, but there must be something else in it, because it keeps its shape and stability to comfortably hold Zelda’s weight.
Prince Link follows her down, sitting beside her.
Kula looks at the strange bundle again, her smile never wavering.
“You must forgive my distraction, Your Highness.” She meets the prince’s eyes. Zelda looks to see him meeting her gaze attentively. Carefully. “I recently hatched one of my own eggs. It is sometimes difficult to keep my mind on other things.”
The prince nods, and Zelda says, “Of course, Chief Kula.”
Kula directs her smile down at the two Hylians, her voice unwavering but mirth clear in its tone.
“From Her Majesty’s missive, I can only assume you two are here about Vah Medoh?”
Zelda nods. “We are. It is in need of a pilot for the coming Calamity.” The word comes out easily, the constricting of her throat from the fear the mere word causes impossible to hear.
“Right,” Kula nods. Her smile falls only slightly, and Zelda already feels immense guilt for being the cause of that. “She has rested without a pilot for many years; it is only logical to find one for her before the inevitable.”
This is truly the difficult part, so Zelda takes a deep breath. She looks to the prince, as though checking to see if he really won’t do the speaking, before asking Kula the question they’d come to ask.
“Do you have anyone in mind who could serve as a worthy pilot?”
Kula hums. “Many of our warriors are more than skilled enough to assist in the battle, but I’m certain that’s not what you ask for.” Her eyes dart between the Hylians for a few moments. “I’m sure you don’t need my promise to know that we will all do our very best to assist when the time comes, but Vah Medoh’s needs must be very particular.”
It’s said like a question, Kula’s eyes landing on Zelda once more with blatant curiosity.
“Yes, I-” Zelda stutters, thinking of what to say. Other than King Dorephan, the other leaders hadn’t needed briefing on their Divine Beasts. What could she say to the chief that Kula doesn’t already know? “Well, from what I know, Vah Medoh harnesses the same Sheikah technology as the other Divine Beasts, but from the sky. We would- of course- need someone who could reach her at any given time. Someone strong enough to make the flight to and from the beast numerous times.”
Kula hums again. “I’m sure there are many of us who can offer that. Is that truly all of her requirements?”
Zelda pauses.
What else do they need?
Her eyes widen, and she looks over to the prince with alarm. He gives her a strange look, nodding for her to go on as though she has anything more to say.
That cannot truly be it.
‘Strength’ is all that’s required of a Divine Beast’s pilot?
Her mind floods with thoughts as she tries to garner a more specific guideline for the Rito chief.
Daruk. Strong. Warm. Eager to help. He wields a weapon larger than Zelda’s entire body, but rarely swings it from what she knows. There’s a compassion in his fiery gaze as though everyone before him is a friend. A Brother.
Lady Urbosa holds a determination and bravery the likes of which come straight from the old legends. The Gerudo chief is unshakeable, her mind impenetrable but welcoming nonetheless. The look the warrior had given Prince Link alone is enough for Zelda to know she would follow him wherever he would have her.
Princess Mipha is nothing but grace. The way she swims, the way she speaks, the way she walks, and spins her spear. Everything is a dance to bring her closer to what she wants, to what she loves, and she clearly loves so fiercely.
“Intelligence.” Zelda says finally. “Vah Medoh’s pilot must be knowledgeable but eager to learn. We need someone who can strategize on their own but follow orders in a group. Someone with compassion and a willingness to fight.”
The short statements feel like a bold, empowering announcement, dramatic in the way they leave her mouth and fall upon ready ears. Zelda flushes as Kula’s and the prince’s eyes lock on her for several moments.
Then, Kula hums again, the sound pleased and happy.
“I believe I have just the eager young man for you,” she announces.
~*~
The walk to the Rito’s training grounds is silent and cold, the chilled weather cutting through Zelda once more outside the warm safety of the village.
Her coat warms her torso, but her feet ache from days of unending travel, frigid wetness beginning to seep in through the holes that have been progressively scratched into her relatively cheap trainee boots.
(She wonders if she’ll be provided new ones. Hopefully. At this point, what little she makes would most likely all have to go toward a pair of boots sturdy enough to survive her work. A good choice in the long run, she supposes, but she knows she’ll mourn the loss of her rupees anyway)
Still, she doesn’t complain about the sudden chill in her toes nor the sore puffiness creeping into her fingers that she feels distantly each time she flexes them.
What Zelda does wish to bemoan is that cursed silence.
The tension between her and Prince Link is almost palpable, and Zelda cannot bear to sit and stew in it for a moment longer. She’d thought they were far past this. Not friends, of course. She hardly thinks she could ever breach into a friendship with any royal, let alone the one before her. There is far too much…bitterness between them.
Something in her twitches at the thought, distant ringing sounding in her ears like the buzzing of a persistent fly.
Zelda shakes her head, turning to the boy beside her.
They pad along the path Kula’s guide had pointed them to. Zelda hopes it’s the correct one, at least. The man’s wing had spanned a fair distance when he’d gestured with it, but Prince Link had seemed to know exactly where he meant.
Zelda knows the geography of the area, the map having been ingrained into her mind before their first day on the roads, but the snow obscures any paths that may have been laid out on those maps, masking everything in the same, blinding canvas of confusion.
“Your Highness?” The boy doesn’t respond, but his eyebrow twitches, his eye darting briefly in her direction, and Zelda knows he’s heard her. “What if this ‘Revali’ does not live up to Chief Kula’s praise?”
She thinks it would be quite the feat if he did, in honesty. The chief had sung nothing but praises for the young Rito and his skills with a bow.
One of our best, she had said with that same glint in her eyes. Revali will be all you need and more, I am certain.
The prince raises that same eyebrow, as though asking ‘why does it matter?’ and Zelda frowns.
“Not that I don’t expect he will,” she continues. The prince continues to stare sidelong at her. “I’m sure he will excel at whatever mission he is given, but I wonder if you don’t have certain expectations of your own? Or your mother’s?”
That last part makes the prince wince before he quickly masks it again. He purses his lips in clear displeasure.
‘He’ll do fine,’ he answers simply.
It doesn’t answer Zelda’s question, but the prince goes on before she can ask anything else.
‘My mother wants a Rito to pilot the Divine Beast. Nothing more.’
The phrasing gives Zelda pause, and she finds herself glaring a bit at the prince as he continues walking, unaffected by the way he’s brushed this mystery man- and Vah Medoh- aside.
It shouldn’t surprise Zelda the way it does. Of course Prince Link shares his mother’s views on the Sheikah research. Perhaps she’d thought that- because of the prince’s connection with Impa- he would have more care for the Sheikah’s pursuits. Perhaps she’d thought that he underwent enough scrutiny from the matriarch himself that he would be quick to side with those like him.
She was obviously wrong, and none of them are at all like him, after all.
“Fine.” She bites out, marching forward and tearing her eyes from the uncaring face of the prince.
She tries to quicken her steps, walk ahead of the younger boy, but a hand quickly catches her arm, gently pulling her back before promptly releasing her again as though her skin were burning.
Prince Link eyes her with guilt written plainly in his icy gaze.
‘I’m sorry,’ his hands shake in the cold winds. ‘I just really don’t want to talk at the moment.’
He waits, and she stares him down. His eyes meet hers for a moment more before quickly flitting away and darting around, clearly uncertain.
Zelda’s own eyes move around his face for a while, searching for the truth in his masks. It’s hard to discern when the royal can’t seem to make up his mind about anything. When he says one thing before acting in the opposite way.
Eventually, she sighs and nods once.
The prince nods back, gratitude so clear in his expression that Zelda finds it difficult to maintain the anger that had been steadily rising in her since his last comment.
Then she scolds herself for her mental weakness. So easily swayed by sad eyes. What a pathetic excuse of a knight.
The two approach the edge of the cliff, Zelda’s heart thudding louder and louder as she follows the prince to the frankly dangerous position. The snow is thick enough it could cover any ice, and if the prince slips and topples over the edge, how can she-
Zelda shakes her head, her eyes moving quickly to her own feet as well as the prince’s. Close to the edge though they are, they are still several feet away, and the cliff is not at a slope. If one of them slips, they’d have to travel a decent amount before any serious harm could occur.
She uses this logic to calm herself, slowing her breathing as she’s been working on with Captain Halke (It’s the same method she’d always used before. The one Russa taught her).
Over the edge, she can see what appear to be various targets lining the round canyon they stand over, blue and red circles marking the spots to aim. She wonders how often this area is used, noting the lack of ice or snow covering the targets, but also the lack of damage by way of slash marks or holes where arrows could have dug in.
The training grounds at the castle hold only used mannequins and targets holding on by threads, slashes and holes and gashes in each item from where hundreds of trainees and trainers must have drilled.
There is no sign of the Rito Kula sent them after, however.
The prince huffs, and Zelda allows her mind to wander in her brief moment of respite.
What would Father think of this, she asks herself. He’d never much cared for the other peoples of Hyrule, claiming that each group kept to themselves enough that worrying over one another now would only cause more harm than good, thanks to the differences that had grown between them. From this limited experience, Zelda can see where he was always coming from.
Each region they’d been to had been so distinct from one another. So distinct from Central Hyrule and the Hylians of Castle Town.
Gerudo Town is remarkably small, most women out on journeys for one purpose or another: some finding their significant others when they hadn’t found so in one another, some seeking new jobs and lives. The ones that remained were friendly and business-oriented in a way that reminded Zelda of the few merchants she’d spoken to in Castle Town, but in a way that made them seem more genuine. The Gerudo merchants didn’t hide behind pleasant smiles and unimportant stories, rather telling each customer what they needed to know and when.
The warriors were different from the knights in so many ways that Zelda can hardly list them in her own mind. Without a strict code to guide them, the Gerudo warriors fight with fluidity and freedom, everything from their dress to their weapons shining and swaying more proudly than any knight’s armor.
The gorons had hardly a structure at all, and- in that- they had more strength between each of them than any sector of the Royal Army. Zelda knows the Hyrulean military is fierce beyond its appearance, especially since the War, but the camaraderie the Gorons all had with one another and anyone they deemed worthy was…quite shocking.
The Zora people had perhaps been the most strikingly similar to the Hylians, though Muzu would hate to hear her think so. The biggest true difference Zelda can note is the way they view one another. Perhaps due to the size of Zora’s Domain, there’s a familiarity and a warmth between all the Zora that reminds Zelda of the bonds of a family; strings binding souls together.
Her eyes move unconsciously to Prince Link, her head tilting with curiosity once more.
Were their souls not bound together now?
Not in the way of the Hero and the Priestess of light, but in the way of a knight and his charge? Or rather ‘her’.
The ceremony they’d performed should say enough. Zelda scratches the back of her hand, remembering the soft ribbon that had been tied there, connected to the very boy before her.
She tries to make sure she knows everything she can, and yet there is still so much she is missing.
Prince Link groans quietly, the sound catching Zelda off guard and knocking her out of her own head.
He rolls his eyes, the motion big enough for Zelda to notice (he must do it on purpose, then. Carefully choosing when to show her what thoughts).
‘Where is he?’ He signs, clearly not looking for an answer from the way his eyes roll up once again, and a disinterested, bored expression etches itself on his face.
Zelda sighs. “I understand honing your skills takes time.” The prince sends her an unimpressed look, and she suppresses a small laugh. “Although, perhaps it taking this long is a sign of sorts.”
In that moment, a large gust of wind blows up and over from the inside of the canyon. Zelda wraps her coat tighter around herself, noting Prince Link doing the same with his cloak. The cold air bites the skin of her face and tears into her eyes before she closes them, the wetness from her licking her bottom lip quickly cools over, making her want to suck it back into her mouth to warm it again.
Ignoring that urge and shaking her head, she slowly, carefully steps closer to the edge.
With a deep breath and timid, calculated movements, Zelda sticks her head over the side. She stretches her neck as far as it can go, not wanting to take another step nearer to the steep edge.
As she peers over, her heart pounds and her body freezes. The chilly air that had assaulted them continues to rush past her into the sky above.
She holds her breath and opens her eyes.
She didn’t notice she’d closed them.
Her eyes widen just as they open when a dark, blue-colored blur speeds up the canyon walls and straight toward her. Zelda gasps and throws herself back, feeling the fwoosh of the freezing air blow her hair up as she narrowly avoids colliding with the moving object.
She grunts and falls to the ground on her behind, her right hand quickly jolting for the Master Sword.
Prince Link gasps behind her, and she whirls around until she’s practically crawling on all fours to see what could have earned such a reaction.
Before she can do anything except take in the sight of the blur above them, that same object quickly comes back down, revealing itself to be a Rito.
Oh, Zelda thinks foolishly.
The Rito flips once in the air- an impressive show of agility- a gust of wind coming from seemingly nowhere to push him further up into the sky. The man widens his wings confidently, but Zelda sees the exact moment he messes up.
It is such a small thing, truly: One feather out of place makes that gust of wind push his right wing higher than his left, sending him spinning out of control.
Within seconds, the Rito crashes into the ground between Zelda and Prince Link with a quiet groan.
Sharing a confused glance with the prince (one that seems to hold a hint of distaste from the boy. It is covered mostly in genuine concern and curiosity, but Zelda sees it buried in the way his eyes narrow), Zelda crawls a bit closer to the fallen Rito before pushing herself up onto her knees beside his prone form.
Her hand comes out to brush lightly against soft, moist feathers, her voice uncertain as she calls to him.
“Are you alright?”
His head whips around to face her, his eyes narrowed in rage. Though she can tell it had already been there before her appearance, a hint of confusion there as well.
He pushes her away from him with a strength that almost topples her over once more.
She narrowly avoids huffing at him, but the prince makes no such attempt.
The Rito-Revali doesn’t seem to hear it, or he rather ignores it, instead rising shakily to stand on two legs in front of Zelda.
He huffs loudly and groans in clear pain.
“It’s not enough,” his voice comes out croaky and tinged in pain, his legs bent and his stance wobbly at best. Zelda has half a mind to assist him again before thinking better of it, choosing to instead watch what he does.
His eyes rove over the canyon, following the path he’d taken into the air until he growls faintly.
“I need to stay in the eye of the whirlwind,” he mutters. Zelda is clearly not meant to be hearing this, but it is difficult not to from the close proximity. “-Must push myself harder.”
It makes Zelda swallow, reminding her all too well of her own blade continuously pounding into the ground, her opponent untouched, even as sweat drips down her forehead and her muscles ache with effort.
Suddenly, Revali’s back stiffens, and he turns around fully. His gaze moves right over Zelda, however, and instead lands on the prince standing a small way away. Zelda notes that he’s gotten several steps closer as well, his steps having gone unnoticed by her.
(It must be the snow. It disguised his steps. Just another thing to work on, isn’t it, Zelda?)
Revali’s glare grows more intense. Zelda could swear she sees a faint color paint his cheeks, but it may simply be the cold.
“You know, Your Highness,” Revali bites out. His tone is as cold as the frigid air around them, and Zelda’s eyes widen. Prince Link stiffens at the sudden attention. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”
Revali’s mouth twitches, the glare only becoming more obvious the longer the prince does not respond.
“You have our apologies,” Zelda says slowly. Revali turns to her with shock before the glare comes back, the rage from before just as prevalent on his face. “We went to the village. Chief Kula told us we might find you here. We are in need, you see-”
Revali waves a wing to cut her off, and Zelda snaps her mouth shut. A small wave of annoyance fills her chest, but she does her best to keep the displeasure off her face. It wouldn’t do to upset their prospective pilot.
“Yes, yes. You need someone to pilot the great Divine Beast. In order to defeat Calamity Ganon.”
It’s the first time Zelda’s heard one of their pilots speak as such, and she hardly resists the urge to let her mouth fall open in surprise. The way Revali says the words is confident and spiteful, not joyful, per se, but something akin to it.
“To slay the beast once and for all,” The Rito continues dramatically, the shaking in his legs all but gone and his voice confident without the pain to lace the words. “Will be my great pleasure.”
Zelda stutters, caught off-guard. “Thank you, Revali!” Her words are entirely too excited, and Revali can clearly tell if the way his face scrunches up is anything to go by. She clears her throat, gesturing between the three of them. “If we work together, I am certain-”
Interrupting her once again, Revali whirls around and kneels on the snowy ground. Zelda’s voice fades out as he clearly loses interest in her words.
He remains on the ground for a moment, his head hung low as though in prayer. His wings come out to his sides, almost touching the rocky surface.
What on Hylia’s Earth is he doing?
Without further ado- and to answer her question, Zelda supposes- a gust of wind flashes below Revali’s feet, sending the snow he’s stood on blowing away from him as a whirlwind sends him flying high into the sky.
Zelda gasps as the air hits her again, a combination of the cold and the spectacle of the moment making her eyes widen.
Revali soars confidently above them, that cyclone of wind aiding his flight until he’s hardly more than a speck among the clouds.
Is this an ability all Rito have? Zelda laments her lack of information, watching Revali’s form bounce in the air a bit. The same thing that had happened before must happen again, because he quickly adjusts himself, rapidly pushing inside the whirlwind before it disappears completely, leaving him hovering high in the sky.
It must not be, she concludes. But for Revali to have such an ability…where did it come from?
It is a spectacular show as Revali quickly glides back down, a bow produced and clutched in his talons. He glides in and out of the canyon in a matter of seconds, soaring and flying around each target, veering around rocky outcroppings, and turning in the air.
In just that brief second, several thunderous sounds ring out, filling the canyon with a brief and sudden heat. Zelda can hardly see Revali as he picks up speed, his form becoming a blur once more.
As he flies around, one by one, the targets become engulfed in flame, leaving them charred after the cold has extinguished the fires.
Zelda allows her mouth to fall open as Revali finally comes back to land on an outcropping nearby.
Her eyes move back to the canyon, darting around to each target. Then she thinks, with a hint of wonder: He shot them all! And in such little time!
Her excitement is almost girlish, but Prince Link’s presence at her side draws her quickly out of it. His own expression is slightly grim, a distant scowl twisting his lips.
Revali stows his bow, standing tall as he announces: “I know I play the biggest part in assisting you, Lady Knight.” The word is pointed, and Zelda knows the prince is glaring from the way Revali’s gaze grows a bit brighter after looking in his direction. Revali somehow straightens even more. “Be sure not to lose your confidence after seeing me in action.”
Without a moment to respond, Revali takes off again in the direction of the village.
Zelda stares after him, only becoming aware of the prince’s movement when the boy’s figure appears in her line of sight, already halfway down the path to the bridge.
With a sigh, she jogs after him.
~*~
The frigid air fights with the warmth of the fire to send chills down Zelda’s spine, but they’ve been in the village long enough for her body to have adjusted somewhat to the harsh climate.
It’s still freezing, she thinks, as she rubs her hands on her upper arms. Covered though she is by her thick coat, the nip of frost on her face and fingers persists unfettered by the fire.
She knows that may be, in part, due to the construction of the village. Each room is built in a sort of circle, elevated above the uneven, rocky ground of the spire with thick wooden supports. She has no doubt in the integrity of the building, nor does she fault the Rito for the openness of the structure.
Similarly to the castle, these rooms have thick curtains around the open space of windows to cover up the breeze, but- all too different from the warmer castle- these windows span most of the room with scarcely any wall between them to keep the heat in.
She won’t complain about it, of course. The Rito are built for this sort of environment and have evolved through the centuries away from their more humanoid origins to better accommodate to it. She wonders, though, if the first Ritos to make their home in Hebra had such difficulty with the cold. Perhaps Tabantha wasn’t as cold as it is now, and the Rito evolved along with their land.
Zelda perks up a bit, and her hand moves to her side to fetch her notebook from her bag (she’s sure there’s something already written about such an idea, but she must write it down to remember to look someday) when she remembers she’d left her bag in the back of the Goron cart that sits on the outskirts of the village.
She can hardly go fetch it now. At least not until Garret or Sir Sado returns.
Her fellow knights have made themselves scarce. They’d briefly greeted Zelda and the prince on their return to the village, ensuring their safety in a series of checklist questions that Zelda’s sure Impa pounded into their skulls before sending them off on this mission, before promptly wandering off again.
She wonders what it is about Rito Village that draws their attention.
It truly is a lovely place, regardless of the climate. The Rito are accommodating and warm, listening to all of their concerns and quelling their fears, few though they are. Meal time had been especially pleasant with practically the whole village gathered on one of the outer ledges to eat a meal prepared lovingly by a number of the elders (Zelda found it impressive how they managed to make enough food for everyone present, but not so much as to be wasteful. At the castle, Zelda finds herself almost overwhelmed with options, most of it being taken away and dumped wherever it is the servants take them. Even back home, Father or Russa had often made enough food that what was left over had to be thrown out for the animals or into the woods). Everything is done together in such a way. A communal effort to make everyone’s lives easier.
She finds herself wanting to trust the people here. It is not the same as Gerudo Town or Zora’s Domain; Zelda doesn’t find herself inherently depending on them, necessarily. Where the Gerudo had been distinctly warm and familiar with the prince, and the Zora more than willing to teach the Hylians and treat them as their own, the Rito feel like they simply are this way. It feels to Zelda as though the Rito have not changed anything about their daily routine with the presence of the Hylians, but rather brought them into it instead.
(It’s all much better than the castle, where everyone is ruled over. Zelda has no true issue with the monarchy. She doesn’t adore it in the way Father does, but its structure is effective and at least gives the appearance of care. Queen Ryla may be a cold woman, even cruel at times, but she is dedicated to her people)
Still, the other knights hadn’t seemed to care for it one way or another. They took part in each tradition they were pulled into, but didn’t seek it out themselves.
They also hadn’t been this eager in any of the other territories to explore or take part in local tradition, but it had been Sir Sado to drag the other knights away with an air of amusement.
(Zelda hadn’t missed the look he’d sent her, though. Knowing and dare she say a bit patronizing. She shouldn’t be offended. It was a kind gesture. Still, she balks at the treatment. She hardly has any need to be babysat, especially outside of combat)
She had suggested joining them when the prince had made himself comfortable. He hadn’t responded properly, merely shrugging before lying on the hammock (most rooms have several, from what Zelda had seen. Community sleeping quarters. The prince had been granted one of his own upon arrival. She wonders briefly where she is meant to sleep. She hasn’t had a chance to check, always watching the prince).
He is still closed off, of course. Zelda should have known that it wouldn’t simply disappear over the day as she was hoping it would.
She pushes down familiar annoyance with a sigh, peering over at the prince again. He has his back to her, lying atop the thick cover on the hammock. He doesn’t acknowledge the sound.
Perhaps he simply misses home, she thinks. Goddess knows Zelda has her days. Days when the bookshelves in her quarters tempt her to the elegant desk she has yet to use, drawing her in for a day of reading and studying with titles that are familiar but far too expensive for her to have read before, and her heart aches.
Though she’d always tried to help on the ranch, wandering behind Father just to be close, she’d never been good at it.
There was never much she was good at. Reading was it, if Zelda is honest with herself.
Her gaze moves from the prince to the wall, eyes finding the Master Sword leaning in its sheath, unassuming and ornate.
She can’t even wield it, but her hands feel empty without it.
There’s a personality within the sword that she doesn’t understand. She knows that much. The voice that had sung to her in the woods, the chiming and ringing that plays in her ears like a strange, out-of-tune instrument, even the voice from the ceremony.
Why it’s so choosy with its voice, Zelda doesn’t understand.
There’s only one thing about it that is consistent.
Her eyes sweep the room, leaving the wrapped hilt of the sword to land back on Prince Link’s back.
His breathing is steady, but Zelda knows he isn’t asleep. He shuffles closer to the wall every now and then. Sometimes his back will tense for only a brief second before he relaxes again.
Zelda tilts her head.
The sword likes him. For whatever reason, it resonates with him like an eager child with their chosen adult.
She wonders if the sword’s chimes are meant for her or rather for him.
Zelda finds herself glaring at the prince’s back for a moment before forcing herself to hang her head low, between her legs, where she sits in front of the fire.
He doesn’t deserve her ire.
However much she wants to continue blaming him for her problems, Zelda knows she can’t. It’s not right, nor is it correct.
It’s simply that her mind seeks out something to blame for her circumstances. Something other than herself (though she knows, deep down, this is truly where the blame lies).
The prince is…odd, but not unkind, Zelda finds.
His sudden change in attitude is not helping this assessment.
Zelda clears her throat, looking back up to the prince’s hammock. When he doesn’t turn or acknowledge her once again, she repeats the action.
She watches his back, staring daggers into his Gerudo cloak. Nothing.
She sighs.
Really, she should leave him alone. She knows better than to poke at things that don’t want her poking at them (especially when that ‘thing’ is the Crown Prince and her better), but the annoyance at the prince’s sudden shift in mood is tinged with familiar curiosity. A curiosity that comes to her most often when she flips the pages of an old book and discovers a diagram filled with unfamiliar labels for her to learn. The curiosity that comes with a puzzle to solve.
And Zelda quite enjoys puzzles.
“Your Highness?” Her voice comes gently and with that same curiosity present in the tone of her words. She winces and tries again, if only to seem a bit more indifferent. “Your Highness.”
She watches the cloak shift as Link’s right hand flips the fabric off to hold a clear sign up, urging her to continue. He doesn’t bother turning around, and Zelda sighs again.
She counts her victories, though, of which she has now earned exactly one.
“I…was curious,” She starts tentatively, one eye locked onto the prince’s unmoving form, her voice confident where she’d feared it would waver. “If something might be the matter?”
Even from under the thick cover provided by the Rito (an oddity, apparently. Of course, their feathers would certainly provide enough coverage in the weather. Zelda had been shocked to learn that they very rarely use any other source of warmth, even in sleep), Zelda can see the way Prince Link’s back tenses and- for a moment- she considers backtracking, apologizing for her assumption, her…insubordination?
But is it not her responsibility, as the prince’s personal knight, to assist the young royal in even personal matters?
Perhaps not.
Zelda clears her throat before she can work herself down. Courage is fleeting, and she will use what she has now.
“You’ve been especially…taciturn,” Her voice stutters as the prince rolls over under the cover, moving to face her. “Since we crossed into Hebra.”
She means to phrase it as a question. An invitation, even. It comes out more like the sort of formal question Father would ask of a new ranchhand to determine what sort of work they could do on the acreage.
She cringes internally, but her face is confident, locked in an expression that Zelda can only hope exhibits openness, perhaps even mild disinterest.
The prince blinks slowly, his own face revealing nothing, and Zelda pinches her lips together.
They stare at one another for a moment, trapped in some sort of silent contest of will to see who will give up the facade first. Prince Link blinks the whole time, like some sort of process is taking place behind those bright eyes, even when the rest of his face may suggest he hadn’t even heard Zelda’s words.
Disinterested has never been something Zelda’s been called, and she mourns the loss of their contest almost before it’s begun.
But before she can concede to the prince and step back from this terribly awkward one-sided conversation, Prince Link sighs heavily. He pushes himself off the bed to sit on its edge with his legs hanging over. The strange fabric sags beneath the uncentered weight, but the prince does not acknowledge the uncomfortable shift.
‘Something happened,’ he signs timidly, the motions small and his head held high (though his eyes are lowered even to below Zelda’s own eyeline, not meeting her gaze). ‘Something I’d rather not discuss.’
Zelda’s eyes widen of their own accord, and she tilts her head. She resists the urge to scoot closer on her knees, eager for answers.
“Something I don’t know about?” It would be difficult to achieve. She spends each waking moment shadowing the prince’s every step, and- even in her sleeping hours- she finds herself with one eye constantly open in anxiety.
Prince Link winces, his own mouth twisting in something unpleasant. ‘Yes. Something personal.’
Personal.
Zelda squints and tilts her head further, trying to read further into the prince’s expression. He must notice, because he finally meets her eyes before quickly turning away. Then, looking back, seeing her still eyeing him, and turning even further.
She shakes her head, finding nothing in his uncomfortable expression other than just what she must be making him feel with her scrutiny.
Personal could mean any number of things, the less appropriate options being unlikely to cause such a reaction in the prince, though she can hardly think of anything else that could have occurred.
Perhaps it is Jiko’s confrontation with him in Zora’s Domain? While some days have passed, whatever took place before Zelda arrived had seemed to leave both parties bothered.
Or, more recently, Revali’s words. Zelda can even admit that they were harsh and unfounded, shrewd but unfair.
The prince couldn’t have known that the Rito they were searching for would be so…rude, so it wouldn’t explain the timeline of the behavior.
Zelda frowns.
So many options and yet no answer.
The prince shrinks into himself, seeming put off by her silence.
Zelda splutters, searching for words to say to comfort? Defend? How to defend from a problem she doesn’t know the cause of?
(“Coping,” Russa had once said, her tone dripping with disinterest, “is different for everyone, Zelda. When your father is upset, he works himself to the bone, until he bleeds. It is something that takes his mind off his troubles. You read. I myself am partial to a bit of comedic distraction.”)
“Revali.” Zelda starts, leaning back and gripping her heels to keep herself upright. The prince looks up in obvious shock at the change in tone, clearly catching on to the way her voice shifts higher, almost conspiratorial. “He seems a bit desperate for attention, doesn’t he?”
Truly, Zelda dislikes the conversation she chose. Picking at someone’s clear insecurities is uncouth and unnecessary, but she finds herself lacking a better way to go on.
For a moment, the prince is silent, staring at her like she’s grown a giant eye like the stories of Gohma. Then he blinks rapidly and signs a quick response.
‘Desperate?’
“For attention. Your attention specifically.”
Prince Link snorts and rolls his eyes. Zelda almost laughs at the casual expression of disbelief. Were the queen here, she is certain the woman would be aghast at such a display. Zelda herself is almost shocked into stillness before relaxing once more, remembering- perhaps- that this boy is even younger than she is.
‘He hardly needs it. Piloting a Divine Beast should bring attention enough.’ His signs are quick and almost sloppy, unsure and stuttery.
Zelda shrugs. “And yet he tripped over himself trying to impress you.” She is vaguely reminded of her visits to Kakariko Village, watching the young children chase each other and pull on one another’s longer hair. She finds herself picturing Revali tugging insistently at the prince’s bejeweled hair and has to stop herself from laughing at the image.
The prince chuckles, a lighter sound than the sardonic snort. ‘Yes, I was very impressed by his great fall.’
“It was quite a fall.” Zelda’s heart clenches again, guilt flooding her for mocking the young Rito. “He improved. He’ll get even better, I’m certain.”
And, like that, the mood shifts back. Prince Link’s face falls, and his shoulders slump. He rolls his eyes, but there’s too much severity to his body for it to be anything but a show.
‘We can only hope,’ He signs quickly, slowly lowering himself back down.
Notes:
Next chap: Back at Hyrule Castle, Zelda resumes her role as Link's knight and also has an interesting conversation with a certain somebody!
This chap took WAY longer than I usually take to write, but it is another long one. I still have a lot of will to write this, I just struggle to find time to with where I am rn, so bear with me!!!
I also took a few liberties with Rito and their culture, I think. I mostly based it off literal birds tbr and what little I gather from them in botw- Rito Village is also much larger here because I figure it would've been before the calamity, though ik Central Hyrule was hit hardest.
I used a new keyboard this chapter and noticed myself missing a LOT of keys. If anything is super weird, that's why. I went through and edited, but my eyes only see so much rip
Always, always feel encouraged to comment and share whatever!!
Chapter 21: The Eyes That Follow You
Summary:
The entourage arrives back at Hyrule Castle, and Zelda begins understanding the people she's now surrounded by.
Notes:
Song of the Day (because I finally remembered) is Castle in Hollywood by Laufey!!
You will have noticed that I also made some changes to the series page as well as the summary for this. I struggle with summaries, so I'm trying a few things to see what works best! Hmu if you think this is good or have some advice for summaries lmao!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moon is high in the sky when they cross the Regencia River back into Central Hyrule, marking the late hour straight above their heads. Zelda peers up at the blinking stars in the clear sky before her gaze is brought forward by a pleased gasp.
Ahead of her, beside Sir Sado, who walks with a noticeable gait to his step that must speak volumes to his level of exhaustion from their long days of travel, Garret points to the Northeast eagerly. His own expression speaks of excitement and alertness; the polar opposite of the older knights’ tiredness.
Zelda and the others follow his gesture, finding the silhouette of the castle far enough in the distance that a faint fog covers its towers, but close enough that those high points cover several stars from their line of sight.
(Zelda thinks it would take two hours to get there, at the most. Hyrule Field didn’t take long to cross when she had been with Father, but their distance hadn’t nearly so far, either. By the time they’d crossed the border into Central Hyrule, they’d done most of the southern traveling already)
“We could make it tonight!” Garret announces joyfully, causing Zelda’s shoulders to fall, disappointment flooding her, and making her aching muscles somehow hurt even more.
She can hear Captain Halke’s voice in her mind, scolding the group for not immediately shooting the idea down.
You’ll use far too much energy, his voice informs her. Better to save it should you come across any threats in the field. The last thing any of you needs is to be caught unawares in your excitement.
And it is excitement that fuels Garret. Zelda could tell that purely by the tone of the boy’s voice (And it’s strange to think of. Truthfully, Sir Garret does not seem any older than Zelda herself, and he must be hardly more than a cadet himself. New to knighthood, just like her. Still, he was chosen by Impa to accompany the prince, and he must have held his own in the battle in Eldin. Zelda laments the fact that she had not seen, or perhaps simply acknowledged, the boy before he’d made his plea to return home quickly in Goron City. She wonders if it is because he has family in Castle Town. Parents, perhaps?) if she could not see his face light up with a large grin and a new glint to his eyes.
The other knights can clearly tell, as well, if Sir Sado’s soft look is anything to go by. Even Jiko seems charmed by the boyish joy Garret presents.
Zelda can see the want to return in all of them. Homesickness, for lack of a better word. Sir Sado isn’t the only one whose steps falter and stutter with miscalculated strides and imperceptible stumbles, and Zelda can feel the air between them all growing somehow even more tense as exhaustion takes its hold.
Jiko has been especially rabid since leaving Rito Village. More so than usual, that is, his mask of decency slipping with greater and greater frequency to reveal the snarling animal beneath it.
Almost in a domino effect, each time Jiko has glared, snapped, or stomped ahead, the others have grown stern and stiff.
(Notably, the only one seemingly unbothered by all of this is Prince Link. He wears his own mask with a more convincing confidence than ever before, revealing a frustratingly small amount in any given moment. While he’s gotten less standoffish in his words and manner, the blankness is almost worse)
Zelda is sure the others note similar change in her, as well. She could hope to whatever higher power, be it Hylia or the old gods, that she’s learned to cover her own feelings better, but she knows she hasn’t.
Her fingers twitch for a quill she doesn’t have with her, and for a notebook that still lies on the ornate desk within her chambers in the castle.
How foolish she’d been to leave it behind. Traveling all of Hyrule, and Zelda forgets her notes! Mother is surely laughing at her right now, seeing Zelda’s brow crinkle in annoyance without the familiar pen to calm the muscles that ache to write.
Perhaps a small, similar eagerness to Garret’s fills a bit of her. To return to her notebook, write everything she could remember learning from the varying Hyrulean peoples. To fall into that over-plush bed and lie her head on the pillow of feathers and cotton, satin sheets hugging her sore body and lulling her into what will certainly be the most comfortable sleep of her life…
Maybe Zelda would actually have no problem with carrying on through the night?
As if hearing her thoughts, Sir Sado sighs.
“We really shouldn’t overextend ourselves,” he says, moving his hands to his hips. Garret turns to stare him down with wide, blank eyes, betraying nothing. Sir Sado sighs again. “That last attack…it was devastating. It would be negligent of us to continue after so recent an attack.”
He almost seems to be convincing himself, his words dwindling in volume as he goes on, his forehead wrinkling with some untold emotion.
With a jangle of his armor, Jiko crosses his arms, drawing all eyes to him. His eyes move to meet each of theirs in turn as he speaks.
“Patrols have been increased in the Field and around the Ranch since then. It’s unlikely any attackers could make it nearly as far this time. We’d do just as well to make our report as soon as possible.”
Zelda frowns, and Prince Link comes to a stop beside her to watch the men.
“It could be hours, Jiko.” Sir Sado insists, his voice lowering even more, almost silent against the hum of crickets and the rushing waters behind them. “And I can tell we’re all exhausted.”
His eyes rove over their little group, surely noting every little scratch in the other knights’ armors, every bag under their eyes, every unwilling twitch of tired muscle. As he spies Zelda, his eyes dart around her face. What he finds, she doesn’t know, but he lets out a deep breath when he spies the prince.
Zelda moves her own eyes, catching the end of what appears to be a series of signs.
She squints, looking between the prince and the knight. Sir Sado shakes his head and pinches his nose. In reaction to what the prince signed?
Zelda nudges the boy beside her very lightly, asking: “Can you repeat what you just said?”
empty eyes meet hers and pale hands sign something unfamiliar, followed by: ‘-right; Mother will want us back as soon as possible.’
“What was that first sign?”
Prince Link’s eyes flash, for so brief a second that Zelda is hardly sure she saw it at all.
‘J-I-K-O.” He spells.
“Fine.” Sir Sado announces loudly, voice cutting and clear of exhaustion, the picture-perfect image of a knight as he pulls his back up straight and his face into pure emptiness again. “We trek the rest of the way and make our report.”
Relief makes Zelda’s shoulders fall back as she breathes, and Garret beams at the taller knight before turning on his heel and marching a bit too quickly down the road.
“-only hope Her Majesty dismisses us.” Zelda eyes Sir Sado as he shakes his head, but Jiko is quick to pat the man on the back, a wide smile gracing his own face as they follow after the younger knight.
Zelda hardly thinks the queen will take their report so late. What little she knows of royalty and nobility comes from Father, but she’s sure that- if he were right about anything- he was right about a noble’s want to rest.
Not that she could truly blame them, at the moment. Could she spend her days resting a large and even amount each night in a bed big enough for three grown men, she would (though, in truth, it’s more her own habits that took her sleep from her before).
Relief flooding her being, when Zelda falls into step beside the prince, there’s still one thing she wonders about.
“I thought the knights didn’t know Hylian Sign?”
The prince’s eyes dart between her and the road, or perhaps between her and the other knights.
‘They don’t.’
~*~
By the time they have passed the threshold that marks castle grounds, having passed the night patrols easily with Sir Sado and Prince Link leading their entourage, the moon has passed its zenith and begun to sink toward the horizon in the promise of morning soon to come.
Zelda mourns the night of sleep that will surely be interrupted early. Soft pillows and duvets are more than she could ask for, but oh, how they make rising difficult.
The time makes it all the more shocking when a hooded figure approaches them, quick and long strides marking their determination.
Zelda considers reaching back to withdraw the Master Sword, but soon realizes that none of the others seem bothered by this newcomer. In fact, they all seem to fix their posture into something more akin to what she’s seen from the other Royal Guard. She lowers her hand, shakes it out, and eyes this individual.
Something about them is familiar, she realizes. The height, the confidence in those steps, the hints of red in their cloak, and the clothes underneath.
Impa.
The realization comes just before the woman comes to a stop before them, and Zelda hardly pushes down the relieved sigh before the Sheikah’s red eyes rove over her to land on the prince.
Impa pulls down her hood, revealing her hair still tucked neatly as usual, but in a style different from what Zelda has seen from her. Rather than allowing her long silver hair to run down her back beneath the knot at the back of her head, Impa’s hair is swept back fully, a second knot created below the first and shining with what must be wax or oil.
Curiosity makes Zelda sniff the air around the woman, but whatever product she’d used has no scent, and it’s not something that looks familiar to Zelda. She determines it must be learned from the castle rather than Kakariko.
Impa’s eyes flash back to her, and her eyebrows furrow in clear confusion. After a silent moment, she sighs and turns back to Prince Link.
“Your Highness,” She greets, her voice clear despite the weariness at the corners of her eyes. She clasps her hands in front of her body and bows shallowly. “Welcome home. Her Majesty sent me to fetch you, if you would.”
Zelda stiffens.
The prince nods once, following Impa easily as she puts a hand on the back of his shoulder. The two disappear into the castle without another word. For a brief second, he turns his head back, and Zelda could swear he made eye contact with her, but then- just as quickly- he’s gone.
As though some imaginary lever had been pulled, each knight seems to slump in on himself, with Zelda as the sole exception. She finds her eyes turning to them as audible sighs leave their lips. Garret shakes out his hands, cracking his neck. Sir Sado lets an easy, calm smile come to his face, looking over each of them in turn. When his eyes find Zelda, the smile falters as he notices her still so tense, but he only nods.
Even Jiko, with his hand usually wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around the hilt of his sword, stretches both- strangely empty- arms above his head with a relieved groan.
It is a strange thing to bear witness to.
They soon continue their march, steps now easy and light chatter filling the night air between them, and all traces of the dutiful knights Zelda has grown so used to have all but vanished.
Perhaps, Zelda thinks, she’d forgotten- in all the excitement of Divine Beasts and royalty and Heroes- that these men are simply human.
She lags behind a bit, finding herself lacking for idle conversation, and watches the men ahead of her laugh and banter and grow seemingly more excited the closer they get to the barracks.
It’s a mistake she hopes to never repeat.
“-Lady Zelda?”
She stops abruptly, noticing the others doing the same.
They stand just before the entrance to the barracks, a shoddy little stone doorway down a slope from the courtyard, marked by a grand archway that must have been built rather recently.
Zelda tilts her head, her eyes widening as the other knights look at her. Sir Sado and Jiko send her almost identical expressions of amusement, and Garret hardly seems to be paying attention himself.
Zelda turns her eyes to the speaker- Jiko. Her lips try to force a snarl onto her face that she quickly resists with a twist of her mouth.
“Apologies,” she mutters. “What was that?”
Jiko laughs shortly, slapping Sir Sado’s arm with the back of his hand. “I told you she wasn’t listening. Caught up in her own mind.”
Zelda does snarl at that, and Jiko’s eye catches hers for a second so brief she doesn’t doubt the other knights missed it.
“She has the right to be,” Sir Sado resolves, voice gentle and placating. The snarl falls from Zelda’s face, and a flush replaces it at the knowing look he gives her.
A look full of pity and understanding wrapped into one sympathetic, readable package.
Jiko shrugs. “I asked, Lady Zelda, if you were interested in joining us for drinks. The nearest taverns serve the most piss-poor excuse for ale in all of Hyrule, but it seems a fitting reward for our hard work, no?”
Zelda is almost tempted, actually, shocking herself. It would be nice to see more parts of Castle Town that she hadn’t gotten to experience before being pulled so abruptly to the castle. Nightlife is something she’s only read about in the few books gifted to her by Russa. ‘Guilty pleasures’, she’d called them.
Sir Sado’s answering chuckles rip the temptation from her quickly, however.
“I’m sure Saskia and the girls must be missing me by now,” he laughs. “Do ask again tomorrow, though. I just know Lowra will drill us extra hard tomorrow for our ‘days off’.”
Jiko scoffs. “Lowra should hardly be general anymore, anyway. Not after-” he stops suddenly. His eyes dart to Zelda before quickly finding Sado again with hardly contained aggression. “You’re right. We’ll all need drinks after that. Even the kid.”
He flicks his wrist in a gesture to Garret, who stands impatiently in the doorway, eyes heavy and leg bouncing.
Sir Sado lays a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You don’t need permission, Garret. You’re dismissed. And take this with you.” He dumps his armful of armor- pauldrons and chainmail he’d stripped off just outside the city- into Garret’s hands.
“Thank Hylia,” and without further ado, Garret whirls around and rushes into the barracks.
Zelda laughs, the door slammed so suddenly the old hinges shook, and she has a hard time not relating to the knight who was so eager to find his own bed.
“Well,” Sir Sado huffs, amusement clear in his tone. “I should be off as well. Jiko. Lady Zelda.” He bows to them in turn before making his own way out.
A wife and daughters, Zelda thinks. Another thing she should remember to note down before her foggy, exhausted state wipes it away like dust in a well-used drawer. At least, she can assume that is who ‘Saskia and the girls’ refers to.
She should not be surprised, truly. Sir Sado is a very warm man, and a very capable knight, not to mention many years her senior. It is no shock that the man would be so settled.
Footsteps draw Zelda back into the present, and Zelda turns with furrows brows to see Jiko’s retreating form leaving her vicinity, not a word spoken.
How inconsiderate. Not that she truly wanted to say anything else to him.
Zelda shakes her head, glaring daggers into the man’s back.
“A look can only do so much, My Lady.”
Zelda starts, jolting around and finding Captain Hawke standing in the doorway where Garret had disappeared. She clears her throat, quickly finding herself snapping clumsily into a parade rest.
Captain Hawke shakes his head, a small uptick to the corner of his mouth.
His armor is all but forgone, Zelda notices, but for a pauldron on one shoulder that shines with the telling care of a ceremonial piece laid over a green tunic and chainmail.
“Come with me,” he says. “It’s time you made your report.”
~*~
The halls of Hyrule Castle are shockingly quiet in the night, the only sound save the stomping of patrolling knights the echoing of Zelda’s and the captain’s own steps as they make their way swiftly through.
The path is familiar, Zelda knows. The twists and turns speak of the path to the Sanctum, yet it feels entirely different at this hour. Each hall, with its regal tapestries and soft red carpet, feels unremarkable and near boring in the greyscale of darkness.
Still, exiting out onto the precipice just before the grand Sanctum makes the nerves in Zelda’s body erupt in reaction, her chest constricting with anxiety as the looming towers of the highest peaks of the castle glare down at her.
Captain Hawke stops his swift journey to face Zelda. His right hand tweaks at an empty spot on his belt where his sword usually sits.
“The report should move quickly,” he says, voice low. It only reaches Zelda’s ears because of their close proximity, and she has a feeling he intended it that way. Could anyone truly be watching at so late an hour, she wonders. If Lady Urbosa’s attitude is anything to go by, the Yiga surely wouldn’t risk approaching the castle itself, so Zelda wonders what else could be making the man in front of her so cautious, other than a well-learned discretion. “At this hour, Her Majesty will be without a full court present. Her questions will be direct, and your answers should be concise. Do you understand?”
The words are spoken sternly, but the captain holds a gentle softness in his eyes that forces Zelda to take a deep, steadying breath.
Already, she can picture Queen Ryla’s cold, empty glare pinning her beneath the older woman. Zelda sighs and nods.
If Lady Urbosa has already sent her letter- the request to move Zelda’s training- then Queen Ryla must certainly know of what happened in Gerudo Town. Zelda wonders what the punishment will be for that, if any. Lady Urbosa surely would have urged the queen to be lenient, but Zelda is not sure the Gerudo’s plea would have fallen on ears that are willing to listen.
Before that fierce anxiety can take hold again, Zelda steps forward, the captain falling into step beside her.
The Royal Guards at the door push it open as they near, allowing them entry to the dark room.
Without the sun casting light in through the gaps in the roof and the beautiful glass on the walls, the Sanctum feels somehow colder than ever, a chill filling more than the air between them. The stone appears duller, the ceilings higher, and Zelda stiffens when her eyes find the queen.
Standing beside Prince Link- who appears to have come straight here from where Impa had led him off from- Queen Ryla wears a simple green gown with a surprisingly plain design woven into it. It almost seems more like a slip in nature than a dress, the material soft and worn, where the queen’s apparel usually speaks of care and disuse, creases steamed out, and sleeves form-fitting. The gown she wears now is rather loose, Zelda notes, though not unflattering.
(It does raise a few questions, does it not? The queen does not appear ready for guests, seeming ready for sleep or other such nighttime duties)
The queen’s hair lies straight down her back and shoulders, strands falling further when she leans over the banister that separates her visions from Zelda’s own body.
She feels suddenly exposed as the woman’s eyes find her even from their great distance. She can almost sense each movement, every section of her body Queen Ryla examines, before the monarch sighs loudly to announce her readiness.
Impa steps forward then, drawing Zelda’s attention back to the floor before her. The Sheikah woman nods deeply to Zelda, almost a bow, before turning her back to her and facing the queen.
“Lady Zelda and her entourage return from their journey, Your Majesty.”
Her voice is near bored, and- if Zelda is not mistaken- a bit bitter.
Queen Ryla lowers her head in an echo of Impa’s own gesture before speaking.
“Lady Zelda,” Even in the silent of night, her voice is booming, demanding immediate attention. It forces Zelda’s spine straighter in its power. “I trust you found the prophet’s chosen pilots for the Sheikahs’ Divine Beasts suitable?”
‘The Sheikahs’.’
Zelda nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Impa turns briefly back to Zelda, her red eyes slitted. “And what do you have to report?”
Queen Ryla sighs, her head lolling briefly before straightening again. Zelda flushes.
“I- er- apologies! Goron Chief Daruk has agreed to pilot Vah Rudania and sworn allegiance to the Hyrulean Army.” Not in such words, truly, but Zelda has a feeling Queen Ryla does not appreciate Daruk’s friendly, blunt manner. The Gorons’ sociability does not meld well with what she’s learned of the Hylian upper class.
Clearing her throat, Zelda continues, aware of the four pairs of eyes that bore into her.
Lady Urbosa does not seem a friend of the queen’s, both women seeming put-off at the mention of the other, but there is hardly anything Zelda can do about it. “Lady Urbosa, Chief of the Gerudo, is ready and well-equipped to handle Vah Naboris.”
As expected, the queen seems annoyed at the mention of the Gerudo Chief, her fingers tapping in turn against the railing she grasps in a pattern of clear frustration. Zelda finds her eyes meeting Captain Hawke’s, and the man nods in approval.
“We were able to come to an agreement with King Dorephan regarding his daughter, the Princess Mipha. When the time comes, she will pilot Vah Ruta, and the Zora will be at our backs.”
Sir Sado and Garret had referenced reports numerous times on their journey. Zelda believes this is not typically what happens and hopes she is correct. The amount of detail required in a typical briefing would surely take hours to speak. They need not hear how long it took to persuade King Dorephan right now.
“And the Rito Elder pointed us in the direction of a promising youth who agreed to pilot Vah Medoh.”
Queen Ryla perks up, if only slightly. “‘A promising youth’?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Revali. He harnesses the power of wind and may be the fiercest archer I’ve seen.” Not that Zelda’s seen many archers, truly, but Revali still seems a cut above the normal masses. Even some action-oriented books don’t feature archers so skilled. For fear of losing realism, amusingly enough.
“I see,” the queen drawls. She leans back and away from the balustrade. She whispers something to the prince, who nods in return. When she turns back, her mouth is pinched in a thin line. “And were these pilots amenable?”
Zelda pauses for only a second. “Yes, Your Majesty. They were all ready and willing to assist.”
“This is good,” finally, the queen cracks, and her lips curve into a smile wide enough for Zelda to see from so far away. It must be played up, performative, to reach such a distance. Even so, Zelda finds herself relieved at such an easy reaction. “Did you come across any difficulties on the road?”
And just like that, Zelda tenses again. Her back stiffens, and her eyes widen.
Her hesitation must be answer enough, because Captain Hawke meets her gaze with his own posture straighter than it had been before, and Impa’s red eyes mirror Zelda’s own, her usually stern and disinterested expression broken with something like shock or- perhaps- fear.
Apparently noticing this new tension, Queen Ryla raises her voice.
“Well? We all seem rather nervous suddenly.”
Prince Link’s hand finds the queen’s shoulder, but he is brushed off just as quickly. Zelda watches with a strange anger as the prince withdraws, lowering his gaze.
She finds herself glaring at the queen, who surely can’t- or doesn’t care to- see her expression. How dare she? When it had been her son in so much danger, as well as Zelda and the other knights?
Zelda’s hands clench as steps approach her, and she barely manages to tear her eyes from the queen to meet Impa. The attendant furrows her eyebrows.
“What ‘difficulties’ were these, Lady Zelda?” She asks, her voice so low Zelda isn’t sure Queen Ryla would have been able to hear it if it weren’t for the distinct echoing in the empty chamber.
Zelda swallows the lump in her throat, a sudden cold gripping her heart.
“Eldin.” She answers simply.
Someone inhales sharply from somewhere far away, but Zelda does not know who. She can smell blood sharp and tangy in the air, embers burning the skin of her uncovered face.
No! No, not now! She isn’t there! She knows she isn’t.
A gentle voice enters Zelda’s ear from beside her, and who could be so gentle in the midst of battle?
Battle. Monsters. There are monsters coming. They ambushed them.
“What happened in Eldin?”
Zelda’s hands shake. Sir Ukyo- that was his name. The man, the real man that had died- screams as bokoblins and lizalfos tear into his stomach. They pull out his innards, strewing intestines, blood, and organs Zelda should know the names of onto the rocky ground. The gore fills her senses, makes her hands sticky, and her eyes water with the sudden flashes of red.
“We were attacked,” she says, and her voice is shaky. She can barely hear it over the sound of screaming, over the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears as she runs around desperately. “Monsters.”
She has one job! One responsibility! Where is he? Where is the prince? What happens if she doesn’t find him-
Her vision blurs, her mind fogs. Suddenly, Zelda can’t see a thing, but she feels an armored hand on her shoulder.
Sir Jiko. Pushing her aside to defend the prince. Doing what she couldn’t. What she can’t-
“-Fatigue. It happens-” The man’s voice drones on softly in the background, diminished by the ringing of the Master Sword in the throes of battle.
This is what it was made for, Zelda realizes. She whimpers pathetically, but she hardly cares what the monsters think of her.
A new voice, higher and sharper, joins in. A bored, even tone filling Zelda’s ears.
“-Go.”
Suddenly, her feet are moving, but the battle isn’t over, and the war isn’t won.
~*~
Every step Zelda takes, every location she is brought to as she shadows Prince Link’s every step, brings about new awe in her. From the grand gardens with their blooming flowers (some of which Zelda cannot even name!) to the most secluded of corners where Sheikah workers still linger and meet the prince’s gaze with eyes that reveal nothing.
All this, and nothing awes Zelda more than the library.
When she first follows Prince Link down one of Hyrule Castle’s identical halls, Zelda expects nothing more than another dull day of watching the other teen wander to and from his own chambers, Sheikah eyes never far away (and those are the ones Zelda spots. She suspects there are a number of Impa’s people far out of sight, using the shadow magic they are so known for. She’s never asked, of course- though her curiosity urges her to- Impa would not be receptive, Zelda thinks).
So when he first makes an unfamiliar turn, rounding a corner Zelda’s never rounded before, it takes a moment for surprise to make way for wonder.
Stepping through the threshold of a skinny stone archway, decorated in carvings and fanciful etchings that Zelda is sure have no meaning, is nothing new, but the destination is.
Hyrule’s library spans what appears in Zelda’s mind like miles, reaching far enough away that she can’t make out the faces of the servants and nobles on the opposite end. The prince’s sturdy boots make his steps echo up to the arched ceiling, bouncing around the vast hall to announce their presence. Zelda’s own steps are comparatively quieter.
Her legs move of their own volition, trailing behind the prince as Zelda’s mind and eyes wander.
The first thing which draws her attention is the staircase. The library is two stories!
Her head cranes back as they step down to the bottom floor. A lifted balcony connects to the top floor of the library, where dozens of shelves absolutely filled with books sit unused and pristine. She longs to see what could be up there that no one seems interested in, to run her fingers along the spines of the books until one catches her eye, and then hang her feet over the edge of the balcony and read far into the night.
She suspects no one here would like that much, but finds that the thought doesn’t bother her much.
On the bottom floor, Prince Link leads her to a far corner just beside the bottom of another staircase. Zelda watches the people around them.
A small group of Sheikah- researchers, surely- sit along the opposite wall, stacks of books kept in various piles around them as they pull yet more from the shelves. The nobles seem to be watching them as well, sneers bringing their lips back in displeasure like a foul scent was filling the air.
A wave of envy hits Zelda like a sudden punch of air, stealing Zelda’s breath and leaving her staring with a strange sort of apathy at the researchers.
How she longs to be back at her desk at home- scratched and worn as it may be- and read far enough into the night that Father has to come rapping at her door to demand she sleep.
Zelda sighs, tearing her eyes away.
In the time she’s been distracted, the prince must have found whatever he was looking for, because he pulls a large leatherbound book from the shelves (Zelda realizes belatedly that she should’ve offered to help. The prince comes down from the tips of his toes, the force of the heavy book coming down causing his arms to sag). He turns to Zelda, nods with a small smile, and tosses the book down on the table closest to them.
Zelda resists the urge to wince as the book thuds against the wood, the resounding echo drawing dozens of eyes to them.
Prince Link pays them no mind, so Zelda purses her lips and settles in across from him.
He flips the book open, and Zelda cranes her neck as best she can to see what he looks at. A table of contents greets them both, and the prince runs his finger down the list. It stops very briefly on something Zelda can’t read from her angle, and he flips through the book carelessly, the thin pages creasing with every flick.
This time, she does wince, and she waits until he’s found the page he’s looking for (looking again would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but Zelda knows how frustrating it can be to forget one’s page number) before speaking gently and quietly.
“Perhaps that book calls for a bit…gentler care?”
The prince’s hand freezes from where it had been gliding below the words already (far too quickly for the royal to have actually been reading it, Zelda notes with a sigh). He lifts his gaze slowly, eyes meeting Zelda’s with a hint of confusion.
He stares for a moment, and Zelda realizes that he seems genuinely confused, unsure of what he could have done wrong.
She pushes down the anger that rises (he could purposefully seek out a specific book in the library, but wouldn’t have the sense or knowledge of how to properly care for it?) and slowly raises a hand across the table.
She gently grabs the corner of the page, lifting it with the tip of her finger pushing down as best she can from across the way.
“You could tear the pages, so you should turn them like this.” She pulls her hand away and shakes her head. “Honestly, have you never read a book before?”
The safest way to turn pages was the first thing her mother had taught her when learning how to read, after all! Surely Impa, at least, would make sure the prince wasn’t so…reckless!
An indignant look flashes across the prince’s face.
‘I’ve never torn pages before!’ He insists.
“That does not mean you can’t!”
He rolls his eyes before promptly grabbing the book by the bottom edge and pushing it across the table to the empty spot beside Zelda. She starts, staring at the upside-down pages before her eyes are drawn back to the prince when movement catches her attention.
Prince Link rises out of his seat, rounds the table, and plops down in the seat next to her. He flips the book around quickly to lay it between the two of them, scraping it against the table, and gestures to the page.
Confused, Zelda peers into the page, briefly skimming to find that this particular chapter of the book seems to be covering the Minish- outlining the differences in what Hylians used to believe about the Picori and what the Minish themselves have supposedly had to say. It’s a fascinating subject, but Zelda is at a loss as to what the prince wants her to do with it.
She looks back up into Prince Link’s eyes, trying to figure it out.
He rolls his eyes again, a gesture Zelda finds to be extremely exaggerated on his usually subtle and dull face. He points to the top of the page, where the title chapter “The Picori Blade and the Minish Truth” lies in bold black text.
‘You must have advice on how reading works, too!’ He signs. ‘Because I can’t be doing it right.”
Zelda blinks slowly. Then she does it again.
Is he serious?
The prince looks at her expectantly, his finger still lying over the chapter title.
Zelda looks between his face and the book. In those few moments, the prince’s face twists with each glance, mouth twitching and straining as though he’s trying to maintain his serious expression.
Zelda glares.
“You’re mocking me!”
The prince’s expression finally breaks, and he smiles toothily at her, lopsided and full of joy.
(Zelda finds the anger leaving quickly, draining out of her. The embarrassment, however, only rises in its place)
‘You’re mocking me!’ He signs in return, exhaling his amusement in the absence of a full laugh.
Zelda splutters, shaking her head. How dare he?!
“How!? I simply didn’t want you destroying-”
The prince shushes her, the sound fluctuating as he chuckles and breathes in continued amusement at her expense. She shakes her head, but he points dramatically behind her.
Zelda whips her head around with a glare, expecting nothing to greet her and for the prince to be playing another immature joke (his turn in mood is quite sudden, but Zelda supposes most of them have seemed to be in better spirits since returning from what little she’s seen of Sir Sado, Jiko, and Garret in the past days). What she sees instead are eyes on her.
The nobles that had been sneering and glaring at the Sheikah have turned their attention to Zelda and the prince, their anger clear even from feet away, and Zelda flushes.
She turns back to the prince and the book, her head hung.
She can only hope none of these nobles are close enough to the queen to report her behavior. This is inappropriate, Zelda! You know this!
The voice that speaks to her sounds strangely like Father.
A hand on her shoulder brings Zelda back quickly before pulling away.
The prince gives her an apologetic look, his blue eyes shining with sympathy and thin lips pinched at whatever her expression must tell him.
‘I didn’t mean to make you…go away. I just thought you should know they’re watching.’
Zelda clenches her hands in her pants, feeling her nails bit through the thin fabric into her palm. She releases just as quickly, the pain leaving crescent indents in her hands.
She catches the implications of the prince’s words a few moments later.
“‘Go away’?” She asks, staring at his ever-souring expression for some sort of answer that doesn’t lie in his face. The blank mask is slowly returning, but Zelda can hardly spare the concern that comes with it when she’s so filled with shame and confusion.
Queen Ryla doesn’t need to hear of another of your failures.
Another.
Zelda jumps in her seat, her eyes widening, and she only catches the end of what Prince Link signs in her rising anxiety.
‘-In the Sanctum.’
She never filled out a report.
Surely someone would have let her know? She never finished her verbal briefing with the queen, and no one had ever demanded a written report from her!
The prince grabs her shoulder again, shaking slightly, and when Zelda looks at him again, the blank mask is replaced with shock- and a bit of fear?
“What is it?”
The prince hesitates, and his hand doesn’t leave Zelda’s shoulder for a moment. She finds the touch…calming somehow, though. The warmth pushing into her skin calms her thoughts as she focuses on her charge. As she should be doing.
When his hand pulls away to sign a response, Zelda mourns the loss for a brief second.
‘You don’t have to worry about things so much,’ His hands sign slowly, gently.
He stares into her in a way that…Zelda isn’t sure how to respond. And his words speak directly to the thoughts in her mind, like he can hear them.
A small, pulsing sound fills the air for a moment, muting itself just as quickly as it had come.
“What do you mean?” Zelda swallows.
Prince Link sighs. He turns his body back into the table, looking away from her as his hands lower and move more quickly.
He doesn’t want anyone to see, she realizes.
‘At the Sanctum.’ He says. ‘In the camp. You keep…going away. Thinking about what’s happened too much. You don’t need to do that.’
Zelda stares blankly as he continues, unsure of what to say, what to do. He seems to be misinterpreting her worry, but his words seem almost rehearsed. As though they’re words he’s been wanting to say.
‘Impa called it Battle Fatigue and Nostalgia, you-’
“I don’t-”
‘You really don’t have to worry about it!’
Zelda snaps her mouth shut just as Prince Link slams his hands down into his lap. She blinks in her stupor, staring at the boy in front of him like she’s never seen him before, and- for a moment- it’s like she hasn’t.
Of course, he’d been around both times Zelda had seemingly lost her mind. Only…he doesn’t seem…bothered?
“I-” Zelda’s voice comes out a bit croaky and pathetic. “What do-”
The prince holds up a hand to interrupt her, and she falls quiet again.
‘You’re worried about people seeing it. Seeing you. But that’s not something you need to worry about.’
He stops, giving Zelda an opening to finally speak.
And instead of saying anything remarkable, she asks: “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, making a point to look around them. Zelda follows his gaze for only a second before he taps on her arm to bring her back.
He gestures as he signs, pointing to what must be what he speaks of.
‘The nobles never look away. They’ve been following you, and me, and Impa, and Purah, and everyone since we’ve all been here, looking for every little flaw to claim we shouldn’t be where we are.’
Zelda swallows, recalling fierce glares and voices murmuring and arguing in the Sanctum on her very first day. Complaints resounding around her in front of the queen herself.
‘You won’t see most of them, but the Sheikah watch us, too. They serve the blood of Hylia, and- as it is- that’s my mother more than it is me. They judge, but they judge for the sake of Hyrule.’
He sighs, and Zelda finds herself unconsciously echoing it.
‘You’ll always have eyes following you, Z-E-L-D-A, but they don’t get to decide what’s right for your position.’
The words are out of character, comforting in their essence. Words of a friend. Impa, perhaps, or someone further away. His father, grandparents, even the queen?
Zelda is struck suddenly with the realization that Prince Link must be thoroughly familiar with her position. A boy born where there should be a girl. A rancher where there should be a king. A hero for a grandfather.
Each day, Zelda learns more about the boy beside her, and- each day- she finds her bitter anger growing duller and duller, so slowly she hadn’t noticed before.
“I-” she says intelligently, but finds herself still unsure of what to say. An unfamiliar feeling.
Prince Link’s eyes move to something behind Zelda, and she follows his gaze, feeling a presence suddenly over her shoulder.
A Sheikah woman stands over their table, robes so similar to Impa’s draped flawlessly over her form. Her shadow is all-encompassing and covers the light from the windows above to mask Zelda in shadow.
“Lady Zelda,” she says, her voice monotone, back straight. “Her Majesty requests your presence immediately.”
Zelda knows a demand when she hears one, even with the wording. With a brief look to the prince (he’s looking away now, careful not to meet the Sheikah’s gaze).
“His Highness will be safe in my care until you return.”
Zelda turns back to the Sheikah woman.
She clears her throat.
“Of course,” she says.
The Sheikah nods, bowing her head low in a show of respect. “You’ll find Her Majesty in the Royal Wing.”
~*~
“I apologize for tearing you from your duties so hastily, My Lady.” Queen Ryla’s voice is just quiet enough not to echo down the halls of the Royal Wing while still holding that regal power that demands Zelda’s undivided attention.
Zelda’s back aches from standing so stiffly in the royal matriarch’s presence, straight and at attention like any good soldier would be. The queen’s steps, however, echo dramatically down each end of the hall.
Zelda wonders how much of the woman’s height is true to her form.
Although Zelda knows she herself isn’t particularly tall, nor tall enough to make accusations along this line.
She shakes her head. It cannot be respectful to think such things of the queen.
Without a glance back at Zelda, the queen continues walking. Her hands are clasped in front of her, earrings and gorgeous bracelets of dangling gold and glittering jewels jangling as she moves.
“If I am understanding correctly,” the woman speaks. “Prince Link and yourself ran into some difficulties outside of Gerudo Town.”
Her tone betrays nothing, but Zelda’s heart stops at the words, and a chill runs down her spine as suddenly as though she had fallen into one of Hebra’s snowbanks. Her eyes widen when Queen Ryla stops moving before a large tapestry.
“Your Majesty-”
The queen holds up a hand, and Zelda’s mouth snaps shut.
For a moment, Zelda’s jaw clenches, and she grinds her teeth. The queen’s face reveals as much as her tone, and Zelda finds that she can’t read much into it because of the way her own breath hitches and her chest constricts in a telltale anxiety.
“Chief Urbosa,” Queen Ryla’s tone shifts then, the letters grinding out as though it physically pains her to speak. “Sent a letter. The Yiga Clan attacked in the desert, and she has doubts about your training regime.”
She sighs, her eyes unmoving from wherever she must be looking. Finally, Zelda tears her eyes from the floor where they’d fallen (when had that happened? When had subservience taken over her being so dramatically to make her submit unconsciously to a woman who hadn’t even made a suggestion about punishment?) to look at what has her attention.
What she finds is a tapestry. It’s nothing particularly special to see in this wing. Zelda has wandered these halls very few times with Prince Link. Enough to know that there are several tapestries just like this one of what must be various members of the royal family- both alive and dead- but not enough to have studied the subjects of them.
The one before them depicts a man with bright blue eyes that are strikingly familiar, hair a dark blond that almost seems to shine with red. A man who must be in his late twenties with a joyful glint in his eyes that is even visible through the woolen fabric.
The late king, she realizes belatedly.
Turning back to Queen Ryla, Zelda sees something new in her face. Mourning. The sort that is intimately familiar. The sort that reminds Zelda of long, cold nights spent in an empty and too-big bed, hugging a threadbare pillow instead of a warm body.
Prince Link is nearly the spitting image of his father, save for the reddish hair and soft features.
Zelda has heard very little about the king. She was too young when he was killed to have had much of a vested interest in the royal family. The tapestry, though, depicts a man full of life and kindness, the likes of which Zelda has rarely seen.
Sadness pours over her being like a sudden rainfall. She turns back to the queen.
“I have my reservations regarding sending you on your own,” the matriarch says. Perhaps Zelda is imagining things now that she’s seen the subject of the woman’s attention, but her voice seems soft now. “Simply being called ‘hero’ does not equate to massacring monsters on your own. You will seal the darkness, but you will do so with an army at your back.”
It’s a demand as much as it is a promise, and Zelda relaxes.
There will be no punishment here, though her heart still siezes in her chest each time the queen opens her mouth to speak. Regardless of mourning- of sadness- the woman has a presence to her that makes Zelda’s feet stick to the floor as though she’s trudging through mud after a rainstorm.
“Regardless of what…technology will assist you, if Urbosa believes our hero’s training is insufficient, then I suppose I cannot doubt her expertise.” Finally, the queen begins walking again, tearing her own gaze roughly from the tapestry of her husband. “General Lowra has already agreed to further your training, Lady Zelda. I trust you will be a willing student.”
Her icy eyes land on Zelda (a few shades darker than the prince’s and his father’s. More cold cobalt than soft cornflower), and Zelda stiffens again.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she stammers in response, bowing her head to avoid the woman’s bitter stare.
“Good.” A few seconds pass, and Zelda remains planted in place, head held low. “You may go, My Lady. Do not shirk your duties. I have faith in you.”
Zelda needs no more direction. Letting out the breath held in her lungs, she turns on her heel and flees.
Notes:
Impa's hair is held in place with a form of wax which was a practice in japan to upkeep intricate hairstyles (they also needed a special kind of pillow, i think. We can assume that Hyrule Castle would probably have this lmao). I read that it is so they only really had to restyle like once a week or so. In this case, Impa doesnt REALLY need it, but I think she is at just the right level of care/not care about her hair that she doesn't want to redo it every day.
It is unclear to me whether "human" is an alternative for Hylian or a separate race, because the games kind of switch up how they use it ( I've noticed a lot of people online refer to Link in Twilight Princess as being a different race than the others in Ordon. In Skyward Sword, though, I believe Human is the only term used). In this case, it is interchangeable.
Remember, I LOVE to hear from y'all whether is be comments or otherwise!
Chapter 22: The Champion
Summary:
Zelda gains a bit more experience as a knight- conversing with probably the last person she would expect- and the castle considers its newly-found Pilots. And its hero.
Notes:
So I fucking lied lmao this chap took like 2 weeks longer than I said it would smh
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fourteen seconds. That’s how long it takes Zelda to get the blade knocked out of her hand.
First, she attacks, just as she’s been told to do. An easy thrust with the tip of the practice rapier (“A delicate weapon, My Lady. Perhaps better suited to your frame than that of a longsword”) toward the weak spot by the general’s shoulder where his chestplate meets his pauldron.
His own blade is lowered to his right side, so it should be an easy strike.
Of course, it doesn’t work quite like that. Lowra lifts his rapier in a flash, the blade blurring up to block and parry Zelda’s attack.
Confusion makes Zelda freeze in place as Lowra closes the short distance between them. Her eyes widen when his empty hand comes up from below them and wraps around her wrist.
She does her best to resist, truly, but with her rapier locked with his (“A bind. A common tactic to assert and challenge strength in combat. Always avoid this when possible, My Lady, for you will lose”), Zelda has no choice but to remain exactly where she is.
She groans in discomfort and frustration when that hand twists her wrist, and she drops her blade. It clatters to the ground between them, leaving Lowra with his rapier held below her chin.
“Do you yield, My Lady?” He asks, face blank and cool metal touching her skin.
Zelda nods, frowning deeply.
With an almost imperceptible sigh, Lowra pulls away. Zelda does not bother scooping her rapier up from the ground, instead waiting for whatever ridicule the general wants to pile onto her.
He’d practically told her what he was going to do, and still she had walked right into his trap.
“Do you understand what you did wrong, My Lady?”
His words are smooth and easy, and he moves to stand several paces away from her. His blade sheathed, he stands tall with his hands clasped behind his back. A stature which shows power and confidence, even where there isn’t a weapon in hand nor a sigil to announce said power.
The words come out like a mumble when Zelda answers, “Yes. I allowed you to trap me in a bind.”
“Yes.” He eyes her dully. “And what else?”
What else? Zelda frowns.
Could she have stepped back from his approach? Surely that is too easy a solution to such a common method of attack, and would probably ruin her balance…
Her height, perhaps. Captain Hawke had always told Zelda to use it to her advantage against much taller opponents. Wind and weave, is what he said. They’ll have a much harder time catching you than they would someone larger.
She could have dodged, then.
The general must not be satisfied with her time, though, because he quickly interrupts her line of thought.
“That,” he says. “Is your other issue.”
Zelda blinks owlishly. “…What?” She’s hesitant to ask, but the answer seems clear and completely nonsensical. “Thinking?”
“When you think, Lady Zelda, you freeze. To keep up with- or move ahead of- your opponent, you must be able to think while in motion. Your mind works too much to find an answer before jumping to action.”
“I don’t…” Pausing under the guise of picking up her weapon, Zelda sighs. “I’m not sure how to do that.”
“Something that will require practice, then.”
“I suppose.”
“How is your memory?” The question is sudden, and Zelda starts when Lowra takes a few steps closer to her. “Do you find yourself having troubles with it?”
“I- no.”
The general nods, satisfied. “Good. You will learn with time. Her Majesty bid me quicken the pace of your training, which we will, but- for now- you will focus on sparring. With each fight lost, your body will begin to understand its mistakes.”
Muscle Memory. Zelda wouldn’t think that ‘developing muscle memory’ would be a solid form of training, but she can hardly question a man with decades of experience (the gray-silver of Lowra’s hair and strong, wide stature of his body tell Zelda everything that his armor doesn’t) when she herself had hardly even read about combat methods before being named Prince Link’s knight.
She nods, decidedly put-out, and probably pouting a bit like a child. The need to be mature left behind at the prospect of yet another failure.
“We’re done for now, My Lady.” Lowra holds out a hand to Zelda, taking the rapier from her firmly. His eyes meet hers with that same trained emptiness he’s shown since she first arrived, and she feels a familiar heat in her chest.
She grits her teeth.
“Her Majesty has made it clear that His Highness won’t require your assistance today,” he continues, stating what Zelda already knows. “So Captain Hawke has asked that you be sent for guard duty in the Lower City.”
That makes Zelda perk up. “The Lower City?” She asks stupidly. She hasn’t even been allowed to leave the castle once since their journey in search of the Pilots, let alone allowed into Castle Town itself. A small burst of excitement replaces the terrible anger, and she fights down the urge to smile. Still, she should seek information rather than confirmation. “Why not the General Square?”
General Lowra shakes his head, but it seems less disapproving of the question and more a strange form of solidarity.
“We have specialized patrols for that. Crime rates are much higher toward the Upper City and the castle, but the Lower City is made up of volunteers and recruits.”
It is yet more proof that none of the Guard see Zelda as anything more than a cadet, but it makes a strange sort of satisfaction fill her.
Much of Castle Town has seen her face and knows her to be the hero (A Loving Heart and a Determined Mind…Zelda wonders if the Great Deku Tree approves of her progress. Goddess knows she’s hardly done anything at all, let alone anything worthy of being deemed heroic), but her fellow knights see no such superiority in her.
She finds herself liking that.
“Where might I find the captain?” She asks, eagerness peering through where she’d tried to mask it all.
The general makes no acknowledgement of her slip.
“He’ll be waiting with the next patrol change by the barracks within the next hour.”
~*~
The streets of Castle Town’s Lower City are nothing like the grand, swirling designs of the center, and Zelda finds her eyes wandering as Captain Hawke leads them around the winding alleys.
“Zelda!”
And a low-pitched voice grates at her ears, bouncing around the alley walls and dragging along the stone ground to insert itself into her senses.
Eyebrows furrowed, Zelda looks only out of the corner of her eye to find the source of the voice- a red and brown blur rushing toward her with notable excitement in bouncing steps.
One eye on the captain, she turns her attention to the boy who bounds over to her, trying to contain her shock as she finds the son of that shopkeeper.
Roderick’s son, Groose.
He has a broad smile on his face, showing off yellowed and crooked teeth. Bright red hair stands tall, a surprising lack of gels or oils that Zelda can see making it maintain such a stiff position.
All in all, he looks practically identical to the day Zelda met him. She narrows her eyes upon remembering the boy’s behavior that day; annoying may be the most fitting word, but Zelda finds various synonyms and descriptors coming to her mind that grow more and more rude with each building letter.
First impressions are rarely very good, she thinks. It is far too fitting a thought.
The thing that stands out most about Groose now, though, is the recruit’s armor he dons.
Zelda scans him, finding familiar, cheap leathers. The sigil of the Hyrulean Army sewn proudly into his chestpiece.
She resists the urge to sigh. She also tells herself that the reason for that is a faint disappointment at another boy joining in what will quickly become a war effort, and not because she finds Groose irritating.
“I knew it was you when I saw your hair!” Groose announces. He walks beside her, huffing quietly in exertion, chest puffed proudly. “I heard that you’re the subject of prophecy.”
A defensive flash surges within Zelda, and she pushes it down. She considers Groose for a moment as their company stops- the captain explaining something distantly.
He doesn’t seem to be mocking her, nor does his expression (a small smirk, eyes that dart between her and the captain like he doesn’t want her to catch him looking) tell her any stories of displeasure or anger.
Just another knight.
Zelda sighs. “I…suppose I am.”
‘Subject of Prophecy’ is a hefty title, but going along with it seems to be much more efficient a tactic than denial. After all, the Great Deku tree himself had named her a similar such thing.
Groose interrupts the tightening in her chest with a hearty laugh, grumbly and loud. Zelda meets Captain Hawke’s eyes, but they quickly move away, the man shaking his head.
“Seems about right,” Groose says. He sniffs in a poor imitation of snobby nobility. Zelda breathes out a small laugh. Groose’s proud look annoys her, but it was rather funny. “Well, prophecy or not, we’re both stuck with guard duty.”
It’s strangely small-talk-ish for the boisterous boy, but Zelda finds her shoulders falling as the conversation goes on. Her muscles relax almost one by one, and she hadn’t even known she’d been so tense.
“Yes. General Lowra and Captain Hawke thought this would be beneficial for my training.”
Groose waves her off. “Eh,” he rolls his eyes. “Beneficial beneschmicial. They just wanted your sulky behind out of the castle.”
“Sulky?” The word comes out before Zelda can stop it, high and offended. She laughs when Groose’s eyes widen, his ears twitching. “I can hardly be kicked out for being sulky.”
Groose recovers quickly. “And where are you now? This doesn’t look like the castle, does it?”
“I-”
“Sir Groose. Lady Zelda.” Captain Hawke’s voice interrupts. Zelda jumps when she sees the man standing only a few paces away, something akin to disappointment on his otherwise blank face. Zelda feels her own ears pin back before she can stop them. “Will you be an acceptable team?”
“Sir?”
“You two will patrol together,” he explains in such a way that tells Zelda he must be repeating himself. How had she missed that?
How idiotic. You’re not one to be absentminded.
The captain continues on, undeterred by the cowed knights. “You’ll watch over these alleys. Keep to the Lower City, and watch for anything out of the ordinary. Yiga, thieves, any sort of lowly criminal or petty crime. You’ll report back to me at the barracks at sunset. Dames Frida and Valoris will relieve you.”
Before she can answer- too preoccupied with the wonder of how she let herself be so distracted- Groose nods sharply.
“Yes, Captain.”
Captain Hawke’s eyes roam over Groose and land on Zelda. “My Lady?”
She swallows. “Yes, Captain.”
He nods. “Don’t be nervous. It’s your first route; mistakes are expected even where they aren’t encouraged. Be diligent.” With that, he turns on his heel- hand on his sword- and marches back off in the direction of the castle.
She watches him go, biting her lip. Her ears are twitching, and she reaches up with a hand to calm the movement with her fingers, grasping the pointed tip of her ear between two fingers.
A shoulder bumps hers.
“Dad says you like sweets.” Groose looks down at her, smirk still in place.
She tears her hand away from her ear, the twitching slowing as confusion replaces her nerves.
“Huh?”
“My dad told me he took you to Mal’s,” he shrugs. “You wanna go again?”
Temptation rises immediately, and Zelda remembers the fruit cake Mal had served her. Moist cake with soft fruit and a hint of hazelnut. Now, she has to resist the urge to drool, but-
“We’re on duty.” She argues half-heartedly. It feels like a weak argument even to her own ears. “I don’t think we can-”
“It’s on our route. We’ll stop in, ask her if anything weird’s been going on, and then leave. If we happen to have a snack while we talk, then who does that hurt?”
It would take everything in Zelda to argue back. She should, really.
But it’s been so long.
In the end, she doesn’t argue.
~*~
The shop is exactly the same as Zelda remembers it, for better or for worse. The boards over the few windows out front block any sight of what otherwise would’ve been a display of Mal’s many handmade treats, the roof missing shingles and cracked in places where the rain must surely invade now that Zelda looks closer.
Groose pulls the door open, struggling slightly to turn the doorknob, and Zelda considers him for a moment.
“You’ve been to Mal’s?” She asks.
Positioning himself behind the open door, Groose freezes in the middle of gesturing her inside. He blinks rapidly when she speaks, clearly taken aback.
From inside, Zelda sees Mal behind the counter. She whirls around and quickly spots Zelda. Her whisking motions stutter, and her mouth opens and closes for a few seconds before she sets her bowl aside on the counter between them.
“Well?” She calls, her voice reaching Zelda- and Groose- as though they were right beside her. “Come on in!”
Groose smiles wide and tilts his head to the door as though to say, ‘You heard the lady’, and Zelda spares a small smile of her own before entering.
The door swings closed loudly behind Groose, dimming the light of the room.
Mal sets her hands on the counter and leans halfway over. Her face seems to be somewhere between some sort of excited grin and a concerned destitution. Zelda doesn’t much like it.
“How are you doin’, hon?” She asks, voice soft and gentle. Zelda is suddenly reminded of her last words to her when Impa and Prince Link discovered the Master Sword.
‘May the Goddess have mercy on your soul’
Not a typical expression in the faith, for mercy is meant to be a guarantee under Hylia’s grace. It isn’t something you wish for, because it is something you are always meant to have.
How terribly ironic.
Zelda has no…gripes with Hylia. Truly, it is not the goddess’s fault that a hero is required, though the stories as to why that is are unclear and divided.
She gives Mal a tight smile, her mood suddenly much less light than it had felt only moments ago.
“I’m alright,” she answers simply. It’s the best answer she can give, in all honesty.
“We’re here on official guard duty,’ Groose’s deep voice interrupts, and suddenly Zelda feels his presence close to her side as he leans on the counter to face Mal. The woman raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t seem surprised by his presence or his attitude.
It would seem Groose is a universal problem.
“‘Official’,” she parrots in a strange imitation of Groose’s voice. Zelda holds back a chuckle when the boy’s mouth falls open in an offended gape. “What sort of ‘official’?”
“Nothing too much to turn down some good snacks-”
“We wanted to ask if you’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary.” Zelda interrupts Groose in the middle of what was clearly going to be a drawn-out speech. His hand is already halfway to his rupee pouch, and Zelda only feels slightly bad for momentarily denying him his treat.
Still, she finds herself looking to the door every few seconds, as though the captain or someone will burst in at any moment and spot them shirking their duties.
Just as the queen warned you not to.
They need to make this as quick as possible.
Even if the slice of remaining fruitcake practically dangling before her mind tempts her like a siren song.
“Well, there’s not much.” Mal starts. Groose visibly deflates as she wanders away from the cakes on her counter to sit on a stool off to the side. “I suppose there’s a lot more war talk than before. Everyone who comes in has somethin’ to say about the calamity, these Divine Beasts, the hero-” She gestures to Zelda. “They like it. They like you.”
“Do you-” and suddenly every thought leaves Zelda’s mind, draining out like a reservoir in a drought, as she takes in Mal’s words. They like her? “What?”
“They like you,” Mal repeats. A smile finally graces her face fully. “It’s been a long time since we’ve heard anything about the calamity, let alone that good progress has been made. It’s good news, and people are attributing it to you!”
“I’ve hardly-” Zelda swallows. A warmth builds in her chest, so similar to the frustration and anxiety she finds herself feeling so often in her situation. “I’ve hardly done anything at all.”
Mal only shrugs, Groose watching their conversation with bored eyes. “But this all started when you were discovered. I’ve even gotten more customers than usual thanks to Lady Impa lettin’ it slip where she found you.”
That gives Zelda pause. It’s unlike Impa to ‘let’ something slip. Whatever she’d said, Zelda is certain she said it intentionally- but for what purpose? What good could come from telling the public they’d discovered her at a bakery?
Groose interrupts her thoughts before they can get much further.
“Good thing. Asking our prince to do anything is like asking Fledge to carry in dad’s heavy barrels; it’s not that he doesn’t want to, just that he can’t.”
The tightness shifts in Zelda’s chest, and Mal narrows her eyes. “That’s hardly fair, Groose.”
He shrugs. He holds his hands up with the palms up, mimicking a scale. “Fair, true. Unrelated.”
Mal’s gaze shifts to a small glare, and Zelda’s hands shake a little bit. She gets the sudden urge to defend Prince Link from Groose’s judgment, but it doesn’t much matter, does it? What Groose thinks hardly means anything, but still, Zelda doesn’t appreciate the words. Mal is correct; they are unfair.
“Was there anything else, Mal?”
She shakes her head. “I suppose…” After a few seconds of silence, her eyes widen and she snaps. The noise is loud and sudden in the silent space, and Zelda and Groose both jump at the shock of it. “There was a man! The other day, one of my customers. He came in actin’ all strange, asked a few questions about the war, the prince, street gossip. Then he left without buying anything.”
Certainly suspicious behavior, though Zelda can hardly say if it’s worth noting. ‘Out of the ordinary’, though…
“You think he was, what, a spy?” Groose asks. He leans over the counter again, his interest reignited.
“Maybe. A Yiga in disguise. The Sheikah say they can look like anyone.”
Groose sighs. “Every report about a Yiga in Castle Town has been a lie so far. You see someone acting a little weird, and you think ‘Yiga!’ instead of just ‘oh Harold must be having a bad day today’.”
“It wasn’t one of my neighbors. Even with the popularity, I don’t get a lot of visitors I don’t recognize.”
“It wasn’t a Yiga, Mal.” Groose sighs heavily. He lolls his head back in frustration. “But I can tell someone to come talk to you later. To draw the guy or whatever.”
“Thank you, Groose.”
He waves her off with a groan and an eyeroll, fixing his hair with one hand. With the other, he gestures back toward the door.
“We should get goin’, though. Zelda?”
Zelda eyes Mal for a moment. She meets her gaze. Nothing there tells Zelda she could be lying. She truly does believe the man she spoke to is bad news, whether it’s Yiga or not.
She sighs shakily.
“Alright.”
Waving back to Mal, Zelda follows Groose out the door.
The woman’s words stick out in her mind, echoing on repeat.
As they leave, Groose seems only displeased that Zelda ruined the mood enough to prevent him from getting his snack, but what Mal said scares Zelda.
A small, wiggling worry worms its way into her heart, and Zelda finds that- no matter how hard she tries- she can’t shake it out.
~*~
Queen Ryla’s deep blue eyes don’t betray a hint of warmth as Captain Hawke’s voice drones on.
Zelda keeps her head straight and her eyes lowered respectfully, but she can’t help but glance up every now and then to catch glimpses of the queen’s reactions to the man’s words.
They’re all surprisingly close together. When Dames Frida and Valoris had relieved Zelda and Groose, swiftly taking their places where they’d been watching out from a back-alley wall, the captain had met them before they could even reach the barracks.
He’d sent Groose off with a respectful nod and an eye that clearly told tales of mistrust and suspicion bordering on humorous, then had gestured for Zelda to follow him.
(“A report”, Captain Hawke says. His voice is louder than Zelda’s ever heard it, thrown over the boisterous sounds of the castle grounds’ training soldiers. A swift look tells her the general is no longer present. “Needs to be made for more than just long missions.”
He leads Zelda back inside the castle, through the same grand doors, leading past the dungeons.
A few figures can be seen inside the dingy cells.
Zelda averts her eyes.
When they’ve left the darkness of the dungeon, they begin walking along the edges of the battlements. The soldiers here bear a symbol more closely resembling the sigil of Hyrule. Where Zelda and Groose had worn a sigil of the Triforce surrounded by what must be rays of power or perhaps light, these soldiers bear the likeness of the Triforce and the legendary Crimson Loftwing.
She wonders how many of them know what it is.
“Her Majesty spoke recently in court about appointing the pilots you found as Champions of Hyrule.”
“Champions?”
“Yes. They will all have to pass their share of trials first, according to Queen Ryla and Lady Impa. They won’t trust them simply because you and His Highness hand-picked them.”
Zelda resists the urge to sigh. “Of course not.”
“There’s a reason I’m bringing you with me now.” The captain continues after shooting her an odd look. “I hope for Her Majesty to name you a Champion, as well.”)
Her heart pounds with every word that leaves Captain Hawke’s mouth, and Impa’s stares do nothing to assuage Zelda’s rising anxiety.
Truthfully, it’s the absence of Prince Link that raises Zelda’s heart rate to a hammering beat in her ribcage. How he can be away during what must be an important meeting, Zelda doesn’t know. Impa’s presence doesn’t make it any better, the prince’s attendant seeming eternally displeased in an even more dramatic way than usual.
They say nothing, though, as the captain drones on.
He finishes with a confident rephrasing of his drawn-out speech: “I believe it would do us well to have a Hylian champion alongside the other representatives, Your Majesty.”
Silence overtakes the small chamber, almost suffocating in its implication.
The Queen turns her head to Impa, and the Sheikah quickly moves forward to allow the woman to whisper something lowly in her ear. Zelda watches Impa’s expression, but- as expected- she betrays nothing.
When she’s done, Impa nods with a low ‘Your Majesty’. Her red eyes land on Zelda and Captain Hawke in turn, a small gesture of respect, before she rushes out of the hall in a flurry.
“Lady Zelda,” Queen Ryla’s voice pulls Zelda’s eyes away from the spot Impa had disappeared from and to her cold, blank face. Zelda straightens instinctively. “I’ve already confided in you my faith.”
Zelda nods. Keeping her own face blank has grown to be easier, but in front of the queen, her lips threaten to pull tight, her chin threatens to quiver, and her mouth fills with saliva and forces her to swallow nervously every few moments.
Then the woman makes it far worse.
“What is your opinion of this, My Lady?” Cold cobalt meets the verdant color of her own eyes, and Zelda blinks.
She should be ready for this. It’s no different to presenting an idea, Zelda. No different to explaining a concept to a ranch hand that doesn’t understand arithmetic.
Other than this being the queen of Hyrule, of course.
It takes true and great effort for Zelda to meet the woman’s eyes- her own wanting to dart anywhere else- but once she does, she finds that chilly gaze significantly dimmer looking upon her own face, and she takes a deep breath.
“I suppose,” she starts. A quick look back to the captain garners her nothing more than an encouraging nod, though Zelda isn’t entirely sure they’re thinking the same thing. “For Hyrule to have champions from every race would be more beneficial than lacking a Hylian.”
But Queen Ryla shakes her head.
“I meant your opinion on the captain’s choice of champions.” Her lips do not quirk, nor do the muscles in her face twitch, but one eyebrow raises slightly; a hint of something. Frustration or confusion, perhaps, though the queen hardly seems ill at ease in any way. Amusement? “Would you like to be our champion? With your new training, it seems you are a fitting candidate.”
It’s the first time Zelda can recall being given an option, for Queen Ryla and Captain Hawke truly don’t seem to be making any demands. The question doesn’t come with the undercurrent the woman’s words usually do, asking and prying in lieu of the demand she wants to give, but rather genuinely asking for Zelda’s thoughts. It’s…shocking.
For a moment, Zelda considers the queen. She stands only a few feet away, her hands clasped as formally as always in front of her forest green gown, tightly pressed into the golden chains at her waist.
Not a hair is out of place. While Zelda and the captain remain the queen’s only guests in this chamber, she had not decided such under guise of looking improper for better company. Whatever had made Queen Ryla decide on such a meeting, it has nothing to do with her physical circumstances.
Perhaps she is growing to better trust Zelda? After all, it cannot be that she brings every soldier of hers to the doors of her private chambers to bear witness to an utterly emotional spectacle during a brief conversation.
Perhaps it is simply the fact that she is in a good mood that makes her so patient and lenient.
Zelda wonders what the prince is doing. For a small moment, considering that it may have been him who brightened his mother’s mood.
Though the possibility seems unlikely… From experience, Zelda knows how difficult it can be to sway a parent into a better headspace. Especially a parent so…unmoving as the queen.
Difficult, but not impossible.
“Your Majesty, I-” I would not be worthy. I would much prefer to be an advisor. A scientist. Should she say these things? The only question that remains is if Zelda has enough leeway here to decide upon her own circumstances. As the hero, can she be allowed anything but the path presented to her?
In the end, she finds no answer in the waiting faces of the queen and the captain, and instead says;
“I would be honored.”
Notes:
A bit more of a filler chapter than I would usually like, but this chap fought me, and the outline was not inspiring
Groose got his time in the sun, but I don't foresee him making another appearance in this specific story! He will not be thrown away, but he just won't be at the forefront as much as OG Groose! (his character tag will be removed in a few chaps for that reason. I want it there rn so it's clear, but I'll get rid of it later so any hardcore groose fans aren't tricked lmao)
Next chapter is a bit of a throwback (not for us, but for someone)! I'm very excited for you guys to read it!
Hmu for literally anything here on my Tumblr!
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