Chapter Text
Snow swirled around their legs, crunching through ice along the road to Rito Village. Evergreens creaked in the wind, needles mixing with flurries that fell from the gray sky. Her breath's cloud swept away in the frigid breeze. Her nose and ears tingled; her pockets and gloves did little to help her frozen fingers. By her side, the little Guardian's metal legs groaned, building up with frost.
She inhaled sharply, breathing in flakes of ice, and turned her gaze to the mountains still so far ahead of them. Somewhere above the thick clouds, the sun would be setting soon. What should have been half a day's journey from Tabantha Stable soon stretched into endless drudgery. The blizzard, unrelenting, beat down on their backs with every grueling mile.
Zelda squinted, trying to make out anything familiar in the haze of cascading white. She hadn't visited the Rito before, but she studied the maps in the Castle library enough times, and paid close attention to Urbosa's directions, that she was sure something ought to be recognizable. But, as she scanned the landscape, her heart sank. She couldn't hope to tell one peak from another. If not for the indention of cart tracks, though growing fainter by the hour, she might have assumed they'd left the trail entirely and wandered into the wilderness.
"Th-there's a light up ahead," Impa said, her teeth clicking together. She pointed toward the faintest speck of orange in the distance. "Maybe that's a camp?"
"Could be monsters," Sir Link said, frowning at the light, though by his squinting face, he could see it no better than the rest of them. "I'll scout ahead."
Zelda's heart lurched with every step he took away from the group. "Do not fight them alone!"
"I won't if I can help it," he assured her. With a nod of farewell, he quickened his pace, trudging through the snow directly toward the light, ignoring the marked road. She watched him until his shadow disappared into the thick haze, vanishing into the storm.
The few elixirs they'd brought with them were hardly sufficient, the warmth in their blood struggling against the fierce and howling wind. Though they'd managed to pluck a few peppers along their path, those would do almost nothing for them until they found a means of cooking them to release the heat within. As much as Zelda loathed anything very spicy, she would tolerate it if it meant they wouldn't all become ice themselves before they reached the Rito.
She shivered, hugging herself as she and Impa continued along the path. Not many Rito had occassion to visit the Castle. Those that did were mostly in the employ of the postal service - quick fliers tasked with delivering urgent messages and news. For as long as she could remember, she'd loved watching them take off from the decks at the top of the towers, their bags laden with information and parcels. The few feathers they'd left behind were colorful, fluffy, and warm. Rito down lined most of her winter clothes and the thick quilt that blanketed her bed in the colder months. Wool was fine enough for most occassions, but nothing held heat quite so well as down. Considering this, Zelda could easily see why no other tribe in Hyrule had tried to lay claim to this inhospitable territory.
Clashing metal rang out through the muffling haze, the sound making Zelda's hair stand on end. A squeal soon followed - the death howl of a Lizalfos.
"Impa!" Zelda gasped, turning to her friend in alarm. "Link's in trouble!"
Anxiety coursed through her veins as she quickened her pace, her eyes searching for any sign of the battle. The faintest squeals and howls muddled together in the wind, confusing the direction. The light, which had at once seemed so bright a beacon, flickered.
"Can you run ahead and help him?!" Zelda begged her friend, her chest aching with every breath of snowflakes.
"And leave you unprotected?" Impa scoffed. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't risk that. Even for him."
Anger boiled in her gut, fueling her resolve to get to Sir Link as fast as possible. "There has to be some way-!"
Wood creaked and snapped beside them, a branch crashing down onto the hard-packed snow. Splinters broke off, sliding along the thin layer of ice, down the slight slope toward the orange light.
"Hold my hand," Zelda ordered, already taking the Slate from her hip.
"Your Highness, what are you-?"
Sheikah blue burst beneath them, a column of enchanted ice lifting them into the air. Impa yelped in surprise, clinging to Zelda on one side. The little Guardian let out a whistle, almost mirroring Impa's shriek, and wrapped its legs around Zelda's ankle. The ice groaned, sliding just an inch down the hill.
Zelda pointed the Slate downward, catching the column in Stasis, and kicked the side opposite the light with the back of her heel, like she would a horse's flank to signal a faster pace. After a few hard kicks, Zelda crouched as low to the surface of the ice column as she could, gripping the other side in preparation. "Hold on to me."
In a flash, Stasis broke and released all of Zelda's potential energy at once. The column creaked and slid, faster and faster, picking up speed as the slope declined. The sounds of battle grew louder, and eventually the flash of white ice magic burst in front of them, twinkling sparks. Lizalfos hissed and circled the light, now revealed to be a campfire in front of a small wooden cabin. And in the center of the monsters, frost clinging to his hair and icicles dripping from his armor, was her knight.
The ice column shuddered beneath them, giving just a moment's warning before the magic shattered. Zelda leapt from the top, her boot leaving the ice a split-second before it lost form. In her mind's eye, she saw Sir Link's quick aim, a volley of arrows launched as he dropped toward the ground. Zelda would never be that quick, or as accurate. But, she didn't need to be. Bombs cared very little about accuracy.
Magic burst, percussive force knocking away half a dozen Lizalfos, some hissing with pain, others hissing with dark steam, their malevolence evaporating into the wind. Beside her knight and her friend once again, Zelda joined the fray. Though she lacked a weapon, she fought as fiercely as she could, stopping enemies in their tracks with Stasis and throwing the Lizalfos' sharp weapons back at them with Magnesis.
When the last monster squealed in death, Zelda's arms trembled, clutching the Slate close to her chest. The adrenaline slowly faded, her heartrate slowing, only to spike again when she heard Sir Link's sharp inhale through gritted teeth.
Scarlet bloomed through the cloth barely visible between pauldron and bracer.
"You're hurt!" Zelda exclaimed.
"It's fine," Sir Link groaned, pressing his other hand to the wound. "They just scratched me."
Zelda shook her head, all of her anxiety rushing back at once. "That's more than a scratch, Sir Link!" Though the firelight had nearly gone out, the promise of shelter remained in the icicle-coated cabin. The door crunched as she pushed it open, frost sticking wood to wood. "At least let us help."
A bit reluctantly, Sir Link followed her inside.
Darkness shrouded most of the cabin, illuminated only by the faint glow of the Slate's screen and the fading light through the open door. Firm shutters covered the windows, rattling but resolute in the merciless wind. Some kind of beast skin covered the floor, dark and wirey fur providing some insulation from the wooden floor. Across from the door, a small fireplace, set into the wall, rose toward the peaked ceiling in a tower of pale bricks. Mostly soot and ash remained within the grate. A block of flint and striking steel sat on a shelf above iron tools and a small broom, hanging on hooks. The single pitiful, half-burned log in the hearth wouldn't provide much for them for very long, and she doubted it would catch from sparks alone.
"We need firewood," Zelda decided. She squinted into the darkness, hoping whoever last occupied this cabin had left a stack somewhere within, but she found none. The cabin, while sturdy enough, was sparse. A table with two chairs, a single bed, and a handful of half-empty barrels were all that this shelter could boast. Scratches littered the floor, deep claw marks no doubt left by the monsters who pilfered what might have once been here. She could only hope that this was a traveler's rest and not a home - she didn't want to imagine what might have happened to the residents.
Impa nodded. "I'll get some. Do you see an axe in here?"
Looking around, Sir Link searched the area, at last nodding toward the table. "There's a hatchet over there."
Taking the weapon, Impa weighed it in her hand, frowning. "Not ideal, but it will chop wood better than a sword." She glanced down at the little Guardian. "I don't suppose you've got an axe?"
The egg cracked, its top half raising slightly. A mechanical arm folded out from the small crack. Blue burst to life along the extended arm, forming the shape of a battle axe - a very small one.
For several seconds, no one dared to breathe, too stunned by the Guardian's revelation to string much thought together. The Guardian whistled, its piston popping up and down, and scuttled out of the cabin. Once it hit the snow, it turned back and whistled again, higher in pitch.
"…Well, alright then," Impa said, following the little Guardian outside. "Have you always been able to do that?"
The Guardian whistled affirmatively as the door shut behind them, leaving Zelda in the darkness.
After a few moments of silence, Sir Link let out a tense breath. "That thing's weird, Your Highness."
Zelda frowned, taking out her Slate to begin typing more notes on the little Gaurdian's ever-growing page. "I cannot disagree with your analysis, Sir Link." When she input her new notes to her liking, she turned up the brightness on the screen as high as it would go - which was, admittedly, not much brighter than a candle - and set it on the table.
In the dim blue light, the dark scarlet wound looked almost black. The same darkness stained Sir Link's gloves where he'd tried to hold pressure. Though he tried his best not to show it, his tense jaw betrayed how badly the strike hurt.
"Let me help you dress that wound," Zelda offered, taking her satchel off her shoulder. She set it on the table, moving some of her belongings around to get to her small medical kit. A vial of oil and a small bottle of strong wine, while useful enough in preventing immediate infection, would hardly be sufficient in the long term. She made a note to buy something more substantial the next time she found a market. When she'd finished setting her supplies aside, she turned back to Sir Link, who hadn't moved at all from his place. She set her hands on her hips. "Sir Link."
Her knight shook his head, still clutching the wound on his arm. "Princess, I appreciate the offer, but I can do it myself."
Frustration sparked in her chest at his words. "I'm perfectly capable of dressing a wound, Sir Link. I've been trained in basic medicine."
Again, Sir Link remained firm. He turned his face away, gritting his teeth slightly. "I- it's not that I don't believe you're capable, Your Highness. It's just…" he winced, quickly giving up on trying to bend his arm at all. "It's beneath you."
She couldn't stop the incredulous huff, hardly believing what she was hearing from him. "Beneath me?" She spread her arms, gesturing to the empty cabin around them. "Unless you see a physician or servant here, I'm all you've got. I hardly think taking care of my friends is that far outside the realm of my duties."
When she stepped toward him, she half-expected him to run from her out into the snow. She had no idea whose pride he thought he was saving. Such matters hardly concerned her. But when he didn't flee, she set to work undoing his pauldron, unbuckling the strap from his arm.
He didn't complain, only clenched his teeth harder when she had to move his arm at all to get his armor off. But, when she got down to the gambison, she stopped, frowning. "I don't suppose those sleeves roll up very well, do they?"
He shook his head.
Skies, this was going to get more complicated. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the awkwardness of the situation. "Very well. We'll have to take it all off."
Even in the blue sheen of the Slate's light, Sir Link's face reddened noticably. "Y-your Highness!" He took a step back, wincing again. "I'll be fine, really. I'll wait for Impa to come back."
Frustration burned hotter. "Because I'm a princess, is that it?"
He nodded, taking another step back toward the unlit hearth.
"And Mipha isn't?" Zelda snapped.
If she didn't know any better, she might have thought she saw a different pain in his expression, though it faded as quickly as it appeared. "Mipha's different."
"Sir Link, you're being ridiculous," she chided. "So I can't magically heal you like a Zora. Fine. But Princess Mipha is on the other side of Hyrule right now. All you've got is me. I'm sorry that I'm not good enough for you but-"
"It's not that," he said quickly, still averting his gaze from her. "I- I'm engaged to Princess Mipha."
An old thorn dug into Zelda's flesh. She straightened, refusing to let the injury aggrivate her. "I'm aware."
He shifted uncomfortably. "She- ah, that is…" He took a breath, his face somehow even redder now. "I'm not concerned for Mipha's honor."
Zelda stopped, her eyes widening. A similiar blush crept over her cheeks. "O-oh. I see." She looked down at the vials in her hands, so small and insignificant, hardly sufficient for the task at hand. Wine to clean, oil to seal. A remedy for physical damage. And yet, he was more concerned with reputational injury. Chivalry would kill him in the end.
She looked back at Sir Link, her resolve hardening. "Well, I don't care about my honor. In case you haven't noticed, there's no one here to gossip. I know what my purpose is for helping you, and I suspect Impa will have no inclination to spread rumors." Pausing, she considered what a potential rumor might do to her reputation, if such were to exist. "Besides, there's very little left to be said of me that's more damaging than being the 'heir to a throne of nothing.'"
At this, Sir Link finally met her eyes. That same electric blue that first fascinated her, now magnified in the artificial light of the Slate, sent a shiver down her spine. There was a pain behind his expression. She told herself it was his own injury that caused it. "Why would someone say that about you?"
Why? She could almost laugh at so ridiculous a question. Was he truly the only person in Hyrule who hadn't heard of her complete failure to unlock her powers? And yet, when she examined his genuine expression, she could find no hint of deciept or exageration in his features. As always, her knight was forthcoming.
Now wasn't the time to get into it. "Nevermind that. My point stands. There's no harm to be done to me by assisting you, but some harm may come to you if you disallow me. I don't even want to think of what could have been on that Lizalfos's claw."
Sir Link cringed. "That's…that's fair." Reluctantly, he sighed. "Fine. I, uh, can't get my armor off myself anyway."
At last given permission to help, Zelda set back to work. Having done one side already, the other was less troublesome. Piece by piece, she laid his armor on the table. The curved metal sent strange reflections of blue around the room, slivers and half-moons of light and shadow. When the last of his outer armor was removed, the greater challenge remained.
Zelda took a step back, considering the puzzle. While she had no doubt that he could bend his arm if he needed to, she'd prefer not to cause him any more pain than necessary. And as cutting it was simply out of the question, one solution remained. "Arms up."
He hesitated a moment, giving her a questioning look, but obeyed nonetheless. With her help, he shimmied out of the thick cloth armor. Part of the wool had started to leak from the blood-stained gash in the fabric. Assuming he didn't also think that mending was beneath her, she would assist him with that as well before they moved on in the morning.
With the gambeson removed, she bid Link to sit on one of the creaky chairs by the table. Now freed from the thickest material and armor, Zelda could roll up what remained of his undersleeve. Her palms brushed over the muscles in his arms, pushing the fabric back until she could reach the wound without obstruction.
The gash wasn't as bad as the bleeding had implied, mostly superficial, but it dug into the crook of his elbow. At the slightest movement, the wound would stretch and whatever meager clotting that began would break again. How had he continued to fight after they dealt this blow? She frowned.
"Is it that bad?" Sir Link asked.
"Well, no," Zelda decided. She reached for her canteen. Though there wasn't much in the way of comfort or equipment in the cabin, there were rags left in what might have been a bucket for cleaning. She grabbed the one that appeared the least contaminated, wet it, and started to clean the drying blood from around the wound. "My concern is that your continuning to use this arm after the cut might have caused more damage. I'm actually surprised you could still fight at all."
"I didn't notice," Link admitted. He kept looking at her work and turning away, as if equally fascinated and unsettled. "When I'm fighting, I don't tend to notice injuries until much la- shit!" He jerked away as soon as the first drop of wine hit him.
"Sorry!" Zelda bit her lip, letting him take a moment to gather himself.
"No, no, it's fine," he grunted, holding out his arm again. "It just stung."
"It's alcohol."
"Yeah," Sir Link frowned, turning his gaze from the injury. Evidently, his fascination had dried up. "I know. I just forgot how much it hurt."
As horrible as the circumstances were, Zelda found an odd humor to it. She poured part of the wine onto her rag, diluting it with water. "You run into battle without flinching, blocking deadly strikes and repelling fierce blows, and alcohol is the thing that makes you wince?"
Proving her point, Sir Link grit his teeth, deliberately turning as far from her as he could. "It's different."
She kept the humor of it to herself as she finished cleaning the wound. When she was satisfied with her work, she poured a drizzle of oil onto his skin, sealing the gash. She had only a small roll of gauze, and it took nearly the whole thing to wrap his arm tightly. However, when she was finished, she felt a strange sense of accomlishment. "Well then. My apologies for not being Princess Mipha."
With the torture complete, Sir Link inhaled slowly, letting out his breath deliberately to distract himself from the pain. "I wouldn't want you to be her," he admitted, the words striking Zelda square in the chest. "You're you. Mipha's adept at healing, that's true. But you're good at other things."
Zelda raised a brow. Who in their right mind would call her good at anything? She couldn't even do the one thing she was born for. Still, her curiosity demanded satisfaction. "Like what?"
"You're smart, for one." Despite the obvious pain, he smiled a little. "You think quickly. When you look at a problem, you don't throw up your hands and walk away. You solve it. The way you summoned the Molduga to fight the Yiga for us? That was brilliant!" He winced again, inadvertently shifting his arm. "And that thing you did with the ice? I never would have thought of that."
Surprised, Zelda sat up a little straighter. "Oh. Well, that wasn't anything special, really. I needed to get to you fast, and I saw how quickly pieces of wood slid over the surface of the snow. So, logically, I made an ice block that could mimic that effect and bring us down the hill quickly to you." She shrugged. "Anyone could have done that."
"No, Zelda, they couldn't," Sir Link said. His expression rapidly shifted into mortification, realizing his mistake. "I- I mean, Princess!"
She laughed, more amused than offended. "I don't care what you call me, Sir Link. You can call me Zelda. I really don't mind."
His blush returned with a vengence, averting his gaze again. "It's not proper."
"So?" Zelda started packing up her supplies, or at least what was left of them. "Neither is being alone with a man. But if you don't mean anything by it, then neither do I."
Unsure, Sir Link flexed his hand, focusing on anything other than his embarassment. "You deserve more respect than that."
A softer laugh, sadder, escaped her. "There are some who would disagree. But thank you." She slipped the last of her supplies back into her bag. "For what it's worth, there aren't many people in this world who call me 'Zelda.' I'm lucky if my own father remembers that I have a name. It's…nice, to hear it."
Slowly, he lifted his gaze back to her, his expression troubled. At so close a range, bright blue struck her as keenly as a Guardian's blast. Despite all of her reason telling her otherwise, that she was walking straight into danger, she couldn't tear herself away.
"Then, I'll call you Zelda," he decided. "But you have to call me 'Link.'"
His words surprised her, almost breaking her from the trance. "What?"
"I refuse to hold more respect than you. If I drop your title, you drop mine."
Something in the earnestness of his tone embedded itself in her heart. The mystery continued by the day. Against all reason, all pride, all self-preservation, he spoke and acted with conviction. She could not deny him such a request. "Very well, Link."
To her amazement, even such a simple alteration made him smile. For a moment, without titles between them, she could imagine that they were anything other than princess and knight. Though they didn't have nearly the history that she shared with Impa, something about him set her at ease. As protected as she felt when he defended her with sword and shield, she knew that her name would be just as safe in his care.
Though he couldn't move his arm much at all, he shifted just enough to take her hand in his. "I don't know what people have said about you, and I don't care. You're not the heir to nothing, Zelda. You're the Princess of Hyrule. You're doing everything in your power to protect your people." His grip tightened, a gentle pressure. "And I'm going to stand beside you every step of the way."
Her mind raced at such a statement, her thoughts spinning as her heart beat faster. Stupid girl, selfish girl, let it go. She chided herself over and over, trying to force herself to watch anything but the way his lips moved when he spoke, to focus on anything other than how his hand felt in hers, to do anything but lean closer. Stupid, selfish, arrogant. Her heart pounded, struggling against herself. He doesn't love you. Don't you dare love him.
And yet, some foolish part of herself, some stubborn weed that never quite died, saw him lean toward her in return.
"I've got the firewood!"
In a flash, Zelda sprang to her feet. "Ah, wonderful! Thank you, Impa!"
The little Guardian followed Impa inside, a chunk of firewood carried in the crack of its shell. It whistled happily, marching straight over to the hearth to throw it in.
Impa followed suit, setting her armful of split logs beside the fire tools. "Oh, good, you've wrapped his wound. I guess it wasn't as bad as it looked?"
"No," Link answered. The dim blue light hid the flush on his face. "It never is."