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Chapter Text

Remarkably, it took only a week for Zelda to start calling Link’s house home.

He had actually apologised when they arrived, weary and filthy from their battle with Ganon. It was an unassuming little cottage, with a slightly crooked brick chimney and a stable built snugly against the west wall. The front door creaked as Link opened it, and he grimaced before stepping inside.

“Sorry. It’s not much, especially compared to what you’re used to…”

Zelda’s mind whirred, cataloguing every square inch of the place. There was the small clay stove, and a pot rack hanging just above it, with a cabinet filled with plates and cookware occupying the same wall. Every other wall of the house was crammed with displayed weaponry: bows, spears, shields, swords, and sickles of all types glinted in the weak light of the candles. A somewhat rickety set of stairs led up to the loft, with a crawlspace beneath the steps; the loft contained a bed, wardrobe, bookshelf, and a modest desk.

“I love it,” she said immediately. Link’s dirt- and blood-smeared face broke into a grin: the smile she had held out for a century to see once again.

All had been well that day. Zelda had her first bath in a hundred years, finally shedding the soiled rag that had once been her prayer dress. Into the flames of Link’s stove went her sandals, worn through from the long journey she had made to Hyrule Castle after the battle of Fort Hateno. And there was the bed: a mattress with real Cucco down, and a patchwork quilt that smelled faintly of pine and horsehair. At first she had felt guilty for taking Link’s bed, but he insisted that he would keep well in the crawlspace beneath the stairs. She buried herself in the blankets, and fell asleep as soon as her head met the pillow.

That was where the trouble began. Endless rows of the dead marched through her dreams. Her father towered over her, his disappointment radiating like clouds of Malice, only to disintegrate in a blast of excruciating blue light. Revali plummeted from the sky, trailing smoke and feathers before splattering onto the ground below. Mipha’s skeletal hands seized her by the ankle, dragging her into crushing black waters, and she looked up to see Link’s impassive face staring down, ignoring her desperate wails. An emaciated woman covered by a gauzy white cloth, who was somehow both Urbosa and her mother at the same time.

Each night, Zelda would wake drenched in sweat, her screams stuck in her throat. Each morning, she would wave off Link’s concern, insisting that she had slept like a rock. But the circles beneath her eyes darkened with every passing day, as did her mood.

To escape the ghosts that constantly plagued her, she threw herself into the routine of maintaining a homestead. She washed up after Link cooked, helped him feed the horses, scrubbed their clothes and hung them out to dry. She also pestered him with a million questions about the new features of the Sheikah Slate, which Link had temporarily confiscated after she nearly blew herself up with a bomb.

“But how does the teleportation work?” she asked, her fingers deftly finishing another row of braids in Fundamental’s mane. The horse whickered softly, and she patted his neck. “It only works with shrines and the towers, right? Is there some sort of energy connecting them all?”

Link shrugged, preoccupied with trimming the hooves of a beautiful bay mare he had named Maeven. “I really don’t know, Zel. Like I said before, you should ask Purah about that kind of thing.”

Zelda pursed her lips, turning her attention back to the stallion’s mane. She couldn’t admit it to Link, but the thought of visiting her old allies and friends paralysed her. They had relied on her, and had endured unspeakable suffering because of her inability to unlock her power until the worst had already occurred. Since they had teleported directly from the castle to Link’s homestead, Zelda had been mostly shielded from the toll that the Calamity and the passage of time had had on Hyrule. But Purah, Impa, Robbie… the Sheikah were capable of outliving Hylians by a good fifty years, but by no means immune to aging. They would be ancient by now, the familiar faces she knew enveloped by wrinkles and sagging skin.

That thought alone triggered a frightening sense of disconnection from the world. The movement of her fingers through the horse’s hair seemed far away, as though she were dreaming.

Is this some sort of trick? she wondered, her pulse drumming. Am I really here? Is this some vision that Ganon is trying to distract me with? If I lose focus, he might—

“Zel.”

She gasped, her hands shaking. Link’s hand was on her shoulder, heavy and reassuring, his worried face inches away from her own. Her fingers had gotten tangled in Fundamental’s mane; she carefully worked them free, trying to avoid causing the stallion any pain.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Link. “Is… is everything alright?”

No. Everything’s wrong. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

Zelda forced a smile, and patted his hand reassuringly. “I’m fine. I think I just need to lay down for a while.”

She left the stable and thumped up the stairs to the loft, not even bothering to remove her mucking boots before climbing into bed. She drew the quilt up over her head, curling her body into a tight ball to quell the trembling.

She hated lying to Link, and knew she was rubbish at it regardless, but it seemed impossible to even begin explaining what was wrong with her. She could hardly make sense of it herself—one moment she was drowning in grief and guilt, and the next slipping out of reality altogether.

Zelda had been fully aware of the consequences of placing Link in the Shrine of Resurrection. She knew right from the moment that he awoke that he might not be the same man she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

What she hadn’t expected was for her to be the one who had changed.

…

I kind of thought she would be… happier.

Link felt incredibly guilty for even thinking it. In the old days, he often dreamed about when they would finally be free. Zelda would have nothing preventing her from doing her research, and Link would no longer have anything preventing him from being with her. Even with no memory or sense of who he was, it was her voice that guided him through his trials. Her face was the first he had managed to recall from the depths of his psyche.

Yet since they had returned victorious, there had been a peculiar barrier between them. Zelda was withdrawn, often gapping out mid-conversation, or seeming to forget that he was there. He wanted desperately to ask her what she had gone through, but he feared upsetting her even further, causing her to shut him out entirely.

And, although Link could hardly admit it even to himself, he also feared that she viewed him as a stranger.

It would make sense, he supposed. His entire life had been wiped away, and it was a struggle to recall even the simplest details about events before the Calamity. Mipha had supposedly been one of the closest people in his life, and he couldn’t remember what colour her eyes were. He even had a sister, but only a hazy image of a girl with twin braids came to mind when he tried to think of her.

“If I may ask… do you really remember me?”

Link frowned, releasing the hoof he had just been trimming. The first question she had asked him after finally seeing him again, and it was full of doubt and trepidation. Implicit within it was the question of whether he was really Link, or someone else walking around in his skin.

There must be some way I can prove myself to her… some way I can get her to confide in me. His mare chuffed softly, chewing the hair on top of his head as a gesture of affection. He good-naturedly swatted her nose away, thinking of how long it took to get the wild horses of Hyrule to trust him. It had taken lots of love, patience, and treats to gain their trust… maybe he should offer Zelda a crisp apple.

He shook his head, sweeping the dirt from the seat of his trousers. Women aren’t like horses, you dumb hick.

“Yoooo hoooo! Anybody home?!”

Oh, Hylia. Link cringed, steeling himself for the encounter. He dragged himself out of the stable, raising a half-hearted hand in greeting. There, on his front porch, stood a slight young girl overshadowed by a rather burly Sheikah man. Both had silvery hair, and could easily be mistaken as a father-daughter pair: at least, by anyone who didn’t know better.

“Purah,” said Link drily. “You’ve grown.”

The researcher-turned-child frowned, planting her tiny fists on her waist. The last time Link had seen her, she had appeared about five or six years old, but now seemed closer to ten. It wouldn’t be long before she hit adolescence, and Link did not want to be around that chaotic cocktail of hormones.

“Don’t patronise me!” Purah snapped, taking a menacing step forward. The effect was slightly ruined by her small stature and the absurd goggles perched atop her head. “You go and take down the Big Bad, and don’t even stop by to see me? What gives?”

Symin, her eternally beleaguered research assistant, turned his palms outwards in an apologetic gesture. “We’re sorry to have dropped by like this, Master Link,” he said humbly. “Ms. Purah caught sight of smoke coming from your chimney, and there was no stopping her.”

“I’m not sorry. I’m pissed off! Where’s my thank-you, huh? Who’s the one who got your defunct Slate up and running so you could—”

The front door creaked open, and a hesitant blonde head poked out. Symin audibly gasped before dropping to one knee, bowing his head. Purah, for once, fell silent, putting a hand over her mouth.

Zelda stepped out onto the porch, and Link felt the familiar sense of deja-vu that preceded a flashback. He saw her again, in another time, wearing an elaborate gown of deep blue, standing over three Sheikah warriors with her hand outstretched. She was tall and proud, her brows drawn straight over her eyes, every bit the monarch she was born to be.

But now… her shoulders were hunched, as though she were trying to hide in plain sight. Deep circles marked the skin beneath her emerald eyes, and her hair was ragged and straw-like, sticking out in strange places. It made Link’s chest feel tight to see her like that. He wanted to simply bundle her up and carry her away someplace safe, where he could protect her from all she had suffered.

“Please stand,” she said softly. “I just came to see what all the commotion was about.”

“P-Princess Zelda!” Symin stammered. He got to his feet, pushing his square spectacles up onto his nose with a trembling hand. “It’s an honour… I never knew that you survived your ordeal with Ganon.”

Zelda had that glassy look once again, seeming to stare right through Symin. Her eyebrows rose for a moment as her gaze landed on Purah. “It can't be... Purah?”

“That’s me.”

“Why are you a child?”

Link felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest, and fought hard to keep it back. Purah’s expression became downright stormy, her pointed ears reddening.

“Never mind that! Are you meaning to tell me you’ve been hiding out here all this time?”

“It’s only been a week,” Link interjected. Purah wheeled round, her eyes snapping.

“No, it has not been ‘only a week’.” Her tiny fingers traced scathing quotation marks in the air. “It’s been a century. I’ve been waiting an entire lifetime to see that horror put in its place, spent countless backbreaking years of work to help you two. And you’ve got nothing for me? Not even a ‘hey Purah, just letting you know we’re alive’?”

Zelda hung her head, clenching her hands together so tightly that the knuckles had gone white. Part of Link felt ashamed, but a larger part raged against Purah for daring to speak to her that way.

She’s been through more than you could possibly imagine. She needs rest, not a guilt trip.

“I’m sure Master Link and her Highness needed some time to recuperate,” said Symin, as though reading Link’s mind.

“It’s just Zelda.”

All heads turned to her. She had raised her chin, looking a little more like the woman Link had seen in his memory. Her cheeks went pink at the attention, but she held her ground.

“I’m not much of a princess anymore. Please, just… don’t call me that anymore.”

Purah scoffed, folding her arms. “And they say girls my age are the ones to watch out for. The dramatics!”

“Purah!” Symin squawked, his glasses sliding back down his nose. “You can’t say things like that—”

“Why not? She even said she doesn’t want to be a princess anymore.” She stepped closer to Zelda, whose hands were still clenched tightly together. “Have you even been to see Impa yet? I was just a researcher, but she was your friend. Are you really going to turn your back on her, like you’re turning your back on the throne?”

“Enough.”

Link didn’t say it loudly, but it cut through like a blade through sinew. Purah clamped her mouth shut, still bristling with fury. Without another word, Zelda went back into the house, shutting the door behind her. Purah made a move to go after her, but a shake of the head from Symin stopped her.

“We appreciate all you’ve done for us,” said Link firmly. “But I won’t allow you to come to my house and speak to Zelda this way. Feel free to return when you can behave in a civil manner.”

Suddenly icy, Purah turned on her heel and stalked towards the bridge that led back to the village. Symin made a few apologetic noises, bowing deeply before following the Sheikah girl, and Link stood rooted to the spot long after their backs had vanished from sight. He waited for the white-hot spike of rage to diminish before entering the house.

Zelda sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing. Her fingers were still knotted together, the tips beginning to turn a pale blue. Link sat in the chair beside her, and laid a palm over her hands. She flinched, seeming to come back to reality. Her eyelashes glinted with unshed tears; the spike threatened to return in full force.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain level. For a terrible moment, he worried she might ignore him, but she nodded tightly. Without thinking, he raised her hands to his mouth, pressing a light kiss into the glowing crest on the back of her hand. Unable to look at her face, he quickly busied himself with dinner preparations, throwing together a beef-and-broccoli fry.

They ate in silence, Link scarfing back his food and Zelda delicately picking at hers. Meals these days were hit-or-miss for her: some things she ate even faster than he did, but others she hardly touched. Beef, it seemed, was not agreeable to her. Tomorrow he would get her some fresh fruit from the market instead.

“I’m ready to see Impa.”

She said it so quietly Link nearly thought he had imagined it. He glanced across the table at her, and was shocked to see that she was actually making eye contact with him. Her eyes, flickering in the candlelight, were sharp and clear for the first time since he had brought her home. He reached over and squeezed her forearm.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

He barely slept that night, keeping an ear out. There was only silence, which meant that she was either sleeping, or had laying awake, alone in the dark with her memories of horror. Unable to bear the thought, he crept upstairs to check on her.

She laid on top of the blankets, still fully clothed and facing the wall. Her golden hair streamed out behind her; she hadn’t bothered to plait it before getting into bed, and it was terribly matted in a few places. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, which reassured him that she might actually be asleep. He turned to go back to the cot under the stairs.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Link sat at the foot of the bed, making the mattress groan. She rolled over, and stretched out her arms to him. Not one to disobey orders, he laid down on his side, allowing her to nestle her head into his chest. She was so warm, and still smelled of lavender somehow, as if she were still using the same soap from a century before. That deja-vu tickled at his brain, and he closed his eyes, resting his cheek against her hair.

The memory never came, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was this.

Chapter Text

Zelda had forgotten how easily flustered Link could become. They hadn’t even done anything particularly improper: this was far from the first time they had slept side-by-side. But for whatever reason, Link’s face had turned pink when she whispered Good morning into his ear to wake him up, and he had knocked over a stack of books in his hurry to escape down the stairs. Zelda set about picking them up as he made breakfast, and realised that many of them she had actually kept in her study. Back when she had a study.

Did he brave the castle just to get these for me?

Now it was her turn to become flustered.

Link made fresh Cucco eggs and toast, but Zelda could barely stomach even an unbuttered piece of bread. After an actual period of uninterrupted sleep, she felt far better than she had before, but the fact that she was going to see Impa today was made all the more substantive.

Purah’s lecture had shaken her deeply. It had certainly been thoughtless of her to forget to thank her allies, and she accepted that rebuke without protest. What disturbed her was the Sheikah’s reaction to her request that she no longer be addressed as a princess.

Turning my back on the throne… so far as Zelda was concerned, there wasn’t even a throne. Hyrule was fragmented, its castle and capital city a still-smouldering ruin. Surely, the task of unifying the country would fall to someone more experienced in politics. Surely, nobody actually expected her to swoop in after a century of decay and crown herself queen.

She stared at herself in the reflection of her egg spoon. If it wasn’t for the fact that the wreck of a human being moved as she did, she would be unable to recognise it as herself. A single night of rest had done nothing for the black bags beneath her eyes, and her hair was beginning to break off even where it wasn’t matted or singed. The thought of her running a country was laughable.

“Zel?”

“Hmm?” She glanced over at Link, who waited patiently at the other side of the table with a hand outstretched. She passed him her plate, and he began to inhale what remained of her breakfast. It was strangely comforting to watch him eat; a reminder that some things, like his voracious appetite, had not changed.

“I got you something,” he said through a mouthful of egg. He pointed his spoon at the crawlspace. Curious, she padded over in sock feet, stooping to avoid whacking her forehead on the staircase. Link’s cot was tucked snugly within, and laid atop it was a simple shift made of a thick emerald-green linen. It closely resembled one that Zelda had worn a lifetime ago, when she had visited Link’s home in Castle Town for the very first time. She hugged it to her chest, feeling tears pool in her eyes.

“You don’t like it,” said Link glumly. “I can take it back to the shop.”

“N-no,” she said, her throat tight. “It’s lovely. I’m just… very touched.” She bundled it into her arms, alongside the undershirt and leggings he had purchased to go with it. “I’m going to clean myself up before I wear it.”

Zelda bathed quickly, wincing at the water’s chill. She didn’t even attempt to wet her hair, let alone comb through it: that would be a painful, hours-long chore, especially since she had been sleeping with it unplaited. She was also very conscious of Purah’s scolding, the words echoing through her mind on a loop as she scrubbed her skin:

“It’s been a century! I’ve spent a lifetime waiting!”

As much as the prospect twisted her guts and made her heart pound so hard she worried it might explode, she would not keep Impa waiting any longer.

…

The sight of Zelda in the green gown he had bought tickled at his mind, but Link pushed it aside, determined to stay in the moment. The sleeves were too long, half-covering the glowing trio of triangles on the back of her right hand, and the waist a little too wide; she had borrowed a simple braided belt from him to cinch it, which served to emphasise the generous swell of her hips. He tried not to let his gaze linger there for too long.

“It looks good on you,” he said, and once again had the nagging sense that he had said that before. He had double vision, seeing her holding a parcel and wearing leather sandals rather than mucking boots, but shook his head to rid himself of it.

Zelda raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth quirked slightly: the closest to a smile he had seen from her yet. “I’m a bit of a mess,” she admitted, trying to smooth down a few matted chunks of blonde hair. “Do you perhaps have a hood I could borrow?”

It didn’t quite match her outfit, but Link retrieved a thick navy cloak from the storage system on the Sheikah Slate, and she watched with wide eyes as it materialised in his hands. For an optimistic moment, he thought Zelda might finally launch into an eager barrage of questions and theories about the functionality of the Slate, but she instead pressed her lips together, turning her gaze elsewhere.

I won’t lose you again, he thought firmly. I’ll help you get better. Somehow.

Even though the teleportation function worked anywhere, they still went outside before activating it, standing beneath the large apple tree behind the house. He was taller than her—have I always been? —and he couldn’t see her face beneath the cloak’s hood. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Are you ready?”

Her arm crept around his waist. She nodded tightly, and placed a hand on the other side of the Sheikah Slate. Link opened the map, selecting the blue icon next to Kakariko Village. Glowing strings of light appeared around them, and if he wasn’t imagining things, Zelda tightened her hold on him before the world shifted around them.

Link’s ears popped as they rematerialized on the platform of the Ta’Loh Naeg shrine. It was a struggle to take the first couple of breaths, as they were suddenly far higher above sea level than they had been moments ago. It was Zelda’s welfare he was concerned for: he had teleported countless times, and this was only her second experience with it. Her hood had shifted back with the sudden breeze, and her face was pale as she swallowed several times. But she didn’t puke or pass out, which Link counted as a success.

He tucked the Slate back into the pouch by his side, but stopped for a moment, reconsidering. In all his memories, it was Zelda who had carried it. Was it hers? He couldn’t quite recall whether she specifically owned it, or if she simply knew best how to use it. He opened his mouth, about to offer it back to her, but she was zoned out again. She stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking Kakariko, the wind teasing more knots into her already-snarled hair. Link stepped up beside her, taking in the thatched roofs, the strings of paper lanterns that threatened to take off, and the steady bustle of bodies along the dirt pathways.

“There’s so few of them left.”

Her hands were clasped together over her chest, an unpleasant reminder of how she used to torment herself with prayers. Link wasn’t sure if he should touch her, worried she might flinch away, but he took the chance anyways, putting his arm around her shoulders. To his relief, she relaxed slightly, but the aggrieved wrinkle between her brows did not smooth out.

“They’re thriving,” he informed her. “They’ve got an inn, and a general store. A clothing shop too. Kakariko’s far from the stuffy, uptight sanctuary it was before. Plenty of folks pass through here to trade, and it’s one of the safest places left in Hyrule.”

Zelda still seemed like she wasn’t listening, her jaw clenched. He gave her a light shake, and she glared up at him: at least now she was paying attention. “Hey. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“I just…” She trailed off, staring down at the village. Link was prepared to give her another shake, but she went on. “There’s so many people. I can handle seeing Impa today, but if we draw a crowd… if people start pushing in on me…”

She had begun to breathe harder. Link patted her clenched hands soothingly. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You just start walking down the hill and head for Impa’s house. I’ll handle everyone else.”

“But where—”

Link materialised his paraglider from the Sheikah Slate and snapped it open. It tugged eagerly at his hands, practically begging to join the strong nor’wester. He leapt from the cliff, grinning as heads began to turn. He made a few showy circles before landing right in the middle of the pumpkin patch, far from where Zelda would make her way down the path.

…

Zelda could only gape as Link drifted over the rooftops, held aloft by the flimsy square of canvas. True to his word, the Sheikah quickly began to move, forming a noisy, adoring throng around him. He was too far away now to see clearly, but he seemed to be waving cheerfully as two small children clung to his legs. The sight of it made her claustrophobic.

Where on earth did he get a thing like that? she wondered, hurrying down the steep hill towards the village. And where can I get one?

To her relief, Link’s plan had worked; the streets were empty. Yet she still skulked and scurried, nervous that any moment someone might call out to her, inviting countless gawkers with uncomfortable questions.

Impa’s house… Impa’s house… where could that be?

She turned a corner, and stopped dead in her tracks. She had made it to the courtyard of the Sheikah elder’s house, and two men were levelling spears at her, their maroon eyes ferocious.

“Halt!” one commanded. “How dare you trespass upon Lady Impa’s abode?”

Zelda’s mouth went dry. How could she have been so stupid? Lady Pilar was long dead, and the stodgy, imperious house that towered over the village now belonged to her friend.

Reality began to fall away around her. The guards shouting at her, advancing with their weapons drawn… they were apparitions, and would vanish like smoke. She was untethered from her body, floating high above the scene, impassively watching herself stand as still as a goddess statue. Hot, foul breath began to form around her, and she could hear Ganon’s laughter.

No! I have to keep him contained—

“Stop!”

Zelda gasped, and she was back in her body again. Someone with a sheet of silvery hair had put herself between her and the guards, holding her arms out protectively. She wore the traditional Sheikah whites, and half of her hair was swept up into a bun shaped not unlike a dinner roll. Her gold-flecked eyes were wide with concern.

“…Impa?”

A frown wrinkled the Sheikah’s brow, and that was when Zelda realised her mistake. This girl had a red forehead tattoo, rather than blue, and she stood taller than Impa ever had. The guards were falling back, the tips of their spears drooping to the flagstones.

“D-don’t you see who this is?” asked the girl. It certainly was not Impa: this Sheikah spoke with a stammering quaver, whereas Impa’s voice had always been steady and measured. “Look at h-her hand!”

At the sight of the Goddess’ crest, the guards fell to their knees, equal parts rapturous and horrified.

“Your Highness!” cried one of them, his head bowed so low that his spiky sideburns dragged in the dirt.

“Please forgive us, Princess!” the other begged. “We thought… there have been trespassers and thieves of late…”

Zelda felt a vise tightening around her chest. She cast a desperate glance over at the pumpkin patch where Link had made his dramatic entrance; a few on the outskirts of the crowd had noticed the scene unfolding in the courtyard.

“I just need to see Impa.” Her voice was no more than a whisper—no, a wheeze. She couldn’t take in a full breath. She was suffocating, the air around her stifling and reeking of Malice. I must keep fighting…

There was a gentle but firm tug at her elbow. Not-Impa had her by the sleeve, guiding her up the wooden staircase. Zelda focused on the steps, planting a trembling foot on each one, pleading with herself to stay present. Her hood had fallen back, revealing the rats-nest beneath; she tried to hide her embarrassment as the girl stared at it.

To her surprise, the Sheikah’s cheeks flushed a deep pink when she noticed Zelda looking at her, and she ducked her head, hiding behind her pearly bangs. Although Zelda felt a little guilty about it, the girl’s shyness bolstered her own confidence. Pulling the hood over her head, Zelda held her chin high as she pushed open the heavy mahogany doors and stepped into the anteroom.

Chapter Text

Zelda had spent most of her time preparing for dramatic change, and therefore was even more shocked to see how little the elder’s house had been altered. The heavy wooden palanquin still occupied the centre of the anteroom, piled high with cushions. The tapestry depicting the first Calamity still hung on the wall. The soft lanterns that always made her squint and never gave off enough light to read by still illuminated the rooms, and the house still smelled of wood polish and dust. Zelda half-expected to blink and see Lady Pilar lounging on the palanquin, her mouth cracking into a toothless smile.

“Um… I’m going to f-fetch Grandmother. P-please make yourself comfortable, Your H-Highness.” The girl scurried up the stairs, leaving Zelda alone in the anteroom.

Zelda had never known her grandmother, but Pilar had filled that role many times over. She had fond memories of running through this house with Impa, shrieking like keese as they accidently toppled over some priceless heirloom, getting shouted at by Purah before she went to tattle on them… and then smiling smugly at Purah as Pilar merely bade them clean up the mess and gave them each a bowl of sweet cream and pears.

That was when Zelda had been very young, before her mother had passed away. And now Pilar was gone too, along with countless others she had known and loved. Grief threatened to claw its way out of her throat.

I’m not ready. I shouldn’t have come here.

The stairs creaked. The shy Sheikah girl had her arm wrapped tenderly around a shrunken figure, helping her descend to the anteroom.

“Why the ancestors put so many stairs in this place, I’ll never guess,” groused the old woman in a familiar voice. “It’s the elder’s house, for Hylia’s sake.”

Zelda took a shaky step closer, and the woman looked up, her features ancient and shrouded in wrinkles. But those warm brown eyes, glinting with mischief, were exactly as Zelda remembered.

“Impa.” It came out as a sob, and then they were in each others arms, neither certain whether they were laughing or crying. Impa was so frail, making Zelda worry she might crumble to dust if she squeezed her too hard. Her old friend, however, had no such qualms; Zelda felt like she might have cracked a rib.

Impa cupped Zelda’s face in her hands, tears streaming rivers down her wizened cheeks. “I really thought that I might never see you again.”

If it wasn’t for her eyes, Zelda would never have recognised her. Impa once had full, heavy locks of white hair: she was now nearly bald, her hairline receding back to the middle of her scalp. That strong jaw and those high cheekbones which had turned so many heads were now hidden by sagging, milky skin. But to Zelda’s relief, the sight of her didn’t trigger another bout of disconnection from the world.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she said thickly, running the back of her hand under her nose. She wanted to explain herself, to share her troubles with her dear friend, but as with Link, words failed her.

Impa’s gaze scrutinised her, and Zelda could only stare down at her boots in shame, bracing herself for another cutting lecture. Quick as a whip, the old woman snatched at her hood, and recoiled as though Zelda had electrocuted her.

“Goddess above! What on earth is going on with your hair?!”

Bewildered, Zelda patted down the flyaways and burnt bits. That was what she was concerned about? Judging from Purah’s dressing-down, Zelda had expected Impa to be furious with her, to demand an answer for her irresponsible and selfish behaviour. But instead, the Sheikah elder clucked her tongue and tugged at clumps of her golden hair.

“This won’t do. This won’t do at all.” She turned to the girl—her granddaughter—and made a shooing motion. “Go on! Draw Zelda a bath and get some oil. The good stuff. And a wide-toothed comb.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” the girl said meekly, and hurried out the side door towards the bathhouse. Zelda watched her go, still flummoxed by the fixation on her hair. Surely there were more important matters to attend to?

“Impa, I—”

“Not now.” Impa lowered herself onto the palanquin, groaning as she did so. “We’ll talk later. I’ll be damned if I have to look at that tumbleweed on your head a minute longer.”

Zelda felt a smile twitch at her lips as she left the anteroom. Some things really don’t change.

…

The Kakariko bathhouse was fed directly by an underground hot spring, similar to the ones that cropped up around the Eldin volcano. The ancient Sheikah had devised an aqueduct that funneled the water not just to the bathhouse, but also to faucets in individual homes. Castle Town had had a similar system of running water: yet another example of the Royal Family’s hypocrisy in employing some of the forbidden Sheikah technology. The hot bath soothed the yellowing bruises on Zelda’s body, and relaxed her aching muscles.

It was pure bliss… until Paya broke out the comb.

For the next hour, Zelda gritted her teeth and curled her toes as Impa’s granddaughter attacked the knots and snarls in her hair. She did her best to be gentle—allegedly—and poured vials of oil onto the particularly bad sections to coax the comb through.

Yet another forceful yank on her scalp; Zelda cursed loudly, the foul word echoing off the tile walls of the bathhouse. Paya flinched, clearly scandalised to hear such profanity from the crown princess.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, the comb falling to the ground with a clatter. “It’s v-very damaged. I m-m-might have t-to cut—”

Zelda’s hands flew up to her head protectively. “No! No cutting.” She sighed, splashing some of the fragrant warm water onto her face. “Just do the best you can. Please.”

She set her jaw, determined not to curse again as Paya continued her torture. To cope, she began to ask the girl questions: about herself, about Impa, Hyrule in general… anything.

“Your nickname is Papaya? Why?”

“I h-have a birthmark. It’s shaped like a p-papaya.”

“Oh?” Zelda was intrigued. She held up her hand for Paya to see, the golden triangles pulsing along with her heartbeat. “This used to just look like a birthmark, you know. Where’s yours?”

Even Paya’s hands blushed. “Y-you’re as bad as M-M-Master Link.”

All that did was make Zelda’s curiousity even more powerful… and send a sharp stab of jealousy through her stomach.

…

Link stood outside the bathhouse, holding his sword point-down in front of him with his palms resting on the pommel. Dusk was beginning to fall, and villagers eyed him curiously as they walked by, but nobody tried to approach him this time. He wondered whether it was because they could see that he was all business now, or maybe because they thought he was being a perv for hanging around the bathhouse. His ears burned at the idea, but he didn’t abandon his post.

Maybe Zelda didn’t need a guard here, but the incident with the Yiga invasion into the village was still fresh in his mind. Every Sheikah was a well-trained warrior, and yet the Yiga had managed to infiltrate Impa’s own house. To be fair, they had only managed to do so by blackmailing one of her guards, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t try the same trick twice.

Zelda’s posh, affected voice echoed off the walls, audible even outside the heavy doors. She’s sure chatty tonight, he thought, a black mood settling over him. He wasn’t being fair and he knew it; he ought to simply be glad she was speaking again.

He was just annoyed that it wasn’t him she was confiding in.

It wasn’t just Zelda’s sudden openness with a stranger that bothered him: he was having trouble fully recalling the memory with the green dress. He had pushed it away too many times, and now there were significant gaps. It was a vicious cycle, this amnesia: the empty spaces in his mind were unbearable, but straining to remember things gave him a wicked headache. He could feel one forming now, pulsing behind his left eye.

Why did she have a parcel? he thought again for the hundredth time that day. Was it someone’s birthday? My birthday?

Hylia, I don’t even remember my own birthday. Am I still eighteen?

Giggles and a shriek of laughter came from the hill near the shrine; distracted, Link glanced up to see Koko and Cottla, the only two children in the village, playing tag among the emerging glow of the fireflies. His chest felt warm at the sight, and his earlier annoyance with Dorian, the blackmailed guard, began to dissipate. The Yiga had threatened his children in order to gain access to Impa’s house, and Link understood why Dorian had caved. That protectiveness was an honorable trait…

Wait.

Link was Zelda’s protector, but that wasn’t what he was thinking of. Link squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the migraine that sparked and sizzled, desperate to make the connection.

I understood him… because I was also protective of a child. But who?

The Sheikah children had gotten into an argument, and one of their voices grew shrill. In his mind’s eye, Link could see a little girl stomping her foot.

She had sandy hair like his, in twin braids that whipped around when she ran—

Link gasped, and all the pieces fell into place.

Zelda’s standing on my porch with a parcel. She looks so pretty I can barely breathe, and she looks nervous too. The breeze is making her green dress flutter, and I can see the shape of her legs. My sister shoves past me and starts yelling at her, telling her to go away because she wants me all to herself. She thinks Zelda’s there to take me away on a mission again.

The parcel is for my sister. It’s a sextant, because Aryll loves the ocean and wants to be a sailor. Before that, she wanted to be a pirate…

Aryll.

Aryll, I remember you.

I left you behind.

“Link?”

Link’s eyes snapped open. He had somehow sunk to the ground, still clutching the Master Sword. A small, concerned group had formed around him, and Zelda knelt beside him, her hair damp and uneven but finally tangle-free.

“Link, are you alright?”

His chest felt tight, and there was a lump in his throat so large it felt like he was choking. But to start weeping here, in front of a bunch of strangers gawking at him… there was no way. And Zelda already had enough to deal with on her own.

Link swallowed the lump, felt it crawl agonisingly through his chest and settle in his guts. He lifted his head, and gave Zelda his best smile.

“All good,” he said, throwing in a self-deprecating shrug for authenticity. “I just fell asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Link squared his shoulders, keeping a few steps behind Paya and Zelda. He didn’t miss the way Zelda kept peering back at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, that worry mark appearing between her eyebrows.

…

Dinner was fairly simple, and Paya apologised for it for the entire duration of the meal. Link didn’t care; he lived by the philosophy that good food was good food, regardless of how elaborate it was. The carrots especially were delicious: they had been grown here in Kakariko and were perfectly buttered with sprinkles of parsley.

Zelda had gone back to her usual silence, and was mostly pushing her food around the plate. He had never tried to feed her carrots, but he made a mental note that they were a no-go for her. Hopefully Paya wouldn’t take it personally.

If she had even noticed that Zelda wasn’t eating. Paya always reverted to a catatonic state in his presence, keeping her eyes trained downwards to avoid looking at him. One of these days he wanted to ask whether she behaved like that around all men, or just him.

He set aside his plate and was about to reach for Zelda’s when Impa’s intense gaze met his own. He looked back, uncomfortable, but also unwilling to show weakness. Even before, he hadn’t known Impa all that well. She had been about the same age as Zelda, and he was under the impression that they were childhood friends that had drifted apart as they got older.

He didn’t know what to make of Impa. She had been the one to explain his quest, and had given him the replica of his old Champion tunic that he now wore. She seemed strict, but also had a very odd sense of humour that mostly revolved around mortifying her granddaughter and telling rude truths: Link was certain that the state of Zelda’s hair was directly related to Impa making a comment about it.

Honestly, he didn’t know what to make of this whole situation. Why were they here? Why was there so much tension in the air?

Paya eventually cleared the plates—Link watched sadly as she carried away Zelda’s still-heaping portion—and he thanked Impa for the meal, standing up from the table. But the old woman fixed him with such a scathing look that he immediately sat back down.

“Well?” asked Impa. “What’s the next move?”

Nobody spoke. Zelda’s fingers were once again knotted together, and she stared sightlessly at the wall. Link simply didn’t understand the question, but didn’t dare have the old woman ask the same question twice.

“I don’t know that there is a next move,” he said, keeping his voice measured. “The Divine Beasts and their Champions have been freed. We fought Ganon and won.”

Impa scoffed, and Link was strongly reminded of her sister. “I wasn’t really asking you,” she said. “Your part is over. You just go back to the Lost Woods and return the sword to its pedestal, and then take an early retirement.”

Link protectively touched the Master Sword’s sheath where it rested against his chair. Get rid of the sword? Ridiculous.

“But Zelda… you still have a crucial role to fill. What you’ve been prepared for your whole life, and what I’ve been prepared my whole life to help you with.”

No way. She can’t be serious. Link gaped at her, and then over at Zelda, who still sat impassively. “You mean being the queen?!”

Impa shook her head in exasperation. “Yes, Link. That’s what I mean.” She steepled her fingers on the tabletop, her non-existent eyebrows furrowing. “Hyrule has been fragmented and leaderless for a century now. It’s time for our monarch to step up and bring unity once again.”

“Leaderless? What about King Dorephan? And Chief Riju of the Gerudo?”

Impa waved her hand dismissively. “The leader of Hyrule. The Queen is the one who brings all the regions together under one flag; the one all other leaders swear fealty to.”

Link tried for a minute to imagine getting the Gerudo to bow down to a seventeen-year-old girl with no military experience (no offense to Zelda). Or the Rito bowing down to anyone at all. The Gorons might be agreeable, but the Zora had an entire generation of people who directly blamed Link and Zelda for Mipha’s death.

“You haven’t left Kakariko in a long time,” he pointed out. “I’ve been around. Hyrule isn’t as fragmented as you think. There’s settlements all over—even the stable system is running.”

“A handful of scattered settlements isn’t a unified kingdom.”

“Who says it needs to be?”

Impa’s jaw worked, the maroon highlights in her eyes beginning to show more clearly. “I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

There was a time before when Link could become a stone wall, impassive and immune to anger. But that was before. Unable to help himself, Link rose from his seat, his voice getting louder.

“Even if she wanted to, nobody would ever bow to Zelda if she crowned herself Queen!” he half-shouted. “The world’s changed! People are independent, and would see her as a threat to that—”

There was a soft thud from behind him as the door closed, and Link suddenly realised that Zelda had left. A sudden heaviness fell over him, and he collapsed back into his seat, burying his face in his hands.

“Way to go,” said Impa bitingly. “Nobody ever believed in her. I thought you were different.”

“That’s not how I meant—”

A much more pointed bang, and Impa was gone too, leaving Link alone at the dining room table.

Nobody would ever bow to Zelda if she crowned herself Queen!

He hit his forehead against the tabletop, hard enough to leave a bruise. Things really were better when he didn’t talk.

Chapter Text

When Zelda was young, she often ran away and hid when she was upset. Hyrule Castle was enormous and easily as old as the Sheikah technology, meaning there were countless nooks to stow away in, and even entire rooms that had been forgotten, only accessible by pushing aside a decorative suit of armour. Zelda had found them all.

Although she had mostly grown out of the habit by the time Link was assigned as her personal guard, he’d had an annoyingly uncanny ability to ferret her out. He had found her hiding behind the revolving bookshelf in the library that one day she was trying to avoid a fitting for a dress. He had even discovered the same hidden passageway through the lockup that time she had forgotten about an appearance in the royal court and had holed up for hours with a new set of maps.

It’s only a matter of time before he finds me now, she thought, staring up at the underside of Impa’s house. The ancestral home was lifted off the ground on stilts, allowing a space beneath it just large enough for an adult to crouch. Spongy moss and clover grew there, as well as several mushrooms. Zelda ran her finger along the gills of one particularly luminescent green fungus, wishing she had the Slate to snap a picture.

She hadn’t expected the dinner conversation to become so heated. What had shocked her more, Impa’s insistence that she take the throne, or Link’s vehement opposition to the very idea? They had both raised good arguments, but…

Nobody would ever bow to Zelda!

She had endured being a disappointment to her father and the priests at the Cathedral, and even letting down the Champions when they most needed her. It hadn’t broken her spirit, because she knew Link was always in her corner. Maybe it was her love for him that had unlocked her power, but it was his endless optimism and unwavering faith in her that saw her through that final clash with Ganon.

He had lost that faith, and Zelda was completely unmoored without it. She felt like she was teleporting, dissolving into tiny little pieces, but instead of moving elsewhere, they were simply disappearing, scattering into nothingness. She imagined remaining here, underneath Impa’s house, allowing her body to be reclaimed by the dirt and mushrooms.

It was a fanciful thought, but it was also freezing cold and damp, so Zelda sat up with a sigh and forced herself to crawl back out.

She meant to creep quietly back into the house, but the hinges all squeaked ferociously, alerting Paya to her presence. Zelda allowed the girl to fawn over her and babble about how concerned they all had been, and what was she thinking, laying around in the dirt right after we finally handled your hair… Zelda simply bobbed along like a balloon in a child’s hand, far above everything that was happening. Aloof. Indifferent.

That is, until a surge of humiliation, rage, and sorrow brought her tumbling back down to reality at the sight of Link. He had borrowed a muted nemaki from someone, and held a bamboo toothbrush. His hair was down, long enough to brush his collarbones. He was unbearably handsome, and she was furious with him for it.

Zelda wanted to smack the toothbrush out of his hand. How could you? She wanted to scream, shaking him by the shoulders. How can you abandon me like this?

Paya slid her arm protectively around her shoulders; Zelda didn’t even realise she had been trembling. For a meek girl, Paya was capable of a glare sharper than a straightrazor, reminding Zelda strongly of her grandmother. A drop of sweat began to bead at Link’s temple, but he didn’t back down.

“Zel… can I talk to you for a minute?” A pointed look at Paya. “Alone?”

Zelda nodded, and stepped out of the Sheikah girl’s embrace. She folded her arms, her face stony as Link led Zelda into one of the guest rooms, sliding the screen door closed. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Link’s gaze.

He spread his arms helplessly. “Look, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry for how all that came out. I never meant—”

“You think I can’t do it.” Her voice sounded far away, as though it belonged to someone else. “You think I can’t bring the kingdom together and be the queen.”

Link sighed in exasperation, raising his hand to rub at the back of his head. “It’s not that you’re incapable,” he said, clearly taking care with his choice of words. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try.”

“Of course I have to try!” she burst out. “The state of Hyrule is all my fault! What kind of ruler would I be if… how could I live with myself if I simply threw up my hands and left my mess for someone else to handle?” Zelda clenched her fists, her fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on her palms. “It’s like Impa said. My duty isn’t over yet.”

“Damn your duty.” To her shock, Link grabbed her by the shoulders, his thumbs pressing painfully into her collarbones. He was only inches from her face, his blue eyes blazing. “What about you, Zel? It’s been over a week, and this is the most you’ve said to me in all that time. You spend your days staring at nothing, and you don’t sleep. You don’t even care about the Sheikah tech anymore.”

She didn’t know what to say. She shut her eyes just to try and escape, but Link’s fingertips brushed against her cheekbone, sending gooseflesh erupting down her arms.

“I want you to get better,” he said softly, his hand moving to cup her chin. It was maddening to have him hold her this way, to be handled with such tenderness. He had only touched her like this once before, on that doomed mission to the peak of Mount Lanayru. All she had wanted then was what she wanted now: to lean into him, to have him. She wanted so badly to tell him everything.

But…

“You still don’t think I can do it.”

The moment was broken; Link’s hand fell away, and his face flushed pink with frustration. “Didn’t you listen to anything I said?”

“You said I’m sick,” she snapped. Real anger was coursing through her, the first proper emotion she had felt in days. “Don’t you dare patronise me, Link! I’m well enough to do anything I set my mind to.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s say you march on into Zora’s Domain tomorrow with your banner flying high.” He mimed a flapping flag with his hands, which she might have found funny once, but now only enraged her further. “What happens if King Dorephan says no?”

“I’ll convince him!”

“What if he can’t be convinced?”

The golden triangles on the back of her hand, usually warm to the touch, were growing hotter, burning into her skin. She glared at Link, who stared impassively back at her.

“Well?” he demanded. “What would you do then? Would you come back with an army of Sheikah? Would you force the Zora to swear fealty to you, and pay taxes to the crown? What happens when there’s more citizens who don’t want you to rule them? What happens when there’s another schism, like with the Yiga?”

The worst part of all of this was that she knew he was right. She almost agreed with him, almost gave in to the idea that reclaiming the throne was not meant to be. But it was that devastating lack of faith that hardened her heart and made her turn away.

“I’ll find a way. Just watch me.”

She made sure to slam the screen closed behind her.

…

Link threw himself onto the futon, simmering with frustration. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten the full extent of her stubbornness and quick temper. It was like she was determined to do the opposite of whatever he said, purely out of spite.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this! After Ganon’s defeat, everything was meant to be perfect. They were supposed to be finally free of the burden of their duty, and tour around Hyrule and look at plants and kill monsters. They were supposed to be together, and have that understanding and love they had fostered during their travels.

But the way she looked at him now, that cold fire burning in her eyes… it reminded him of that horrible day at the Ancient Pillars.

It wasn’t exactly like he was blameless this time, though. He rolled onto his back, pressing his knuckles into his eyelids. He’d raised his voice with her, throwing the foolishness of her idea of unity into her face with no disregard for how it would make her feel. He should have been kinder.

But I tried that. Link thought again of how perfectly her chin had fit into his hand, how she had leaned into his touch. He ached for her, the anguish of their argument threatening to tear him apart. What will I do if she does try to conquer the realms of Hyrule? Should I stay by her side? Or would I distance myself to do what I know is right?

There was a gentle tap at the wooden frame of the screen. He bolted upright, his pulse hammering. Had she come back? A dozen apologies scrambled for purchase at the tip of his tongue as he pulled open the door—

To see Paya. His heart sank, and he reluctantly stepped aside to allow her to come inside. Her arms were still tightly folded, her face impassive.

“What is it?” he asked flatly. “Have you come to tell me how horrible I am?”

Paya’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “N-no! Why w-w-would you think that?”

Link felt even guiltier now. He flopped onto the futon once more with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Paya. Please, have a seat.”

Paya eyed his bed with something close to horror, and seated herself as close to the wall as possible. He watched her curiously—if she wasn’t here to lecture him, then what was the purpose of her visit? Her face was nearly as crimson as the Sheikah eye tattooed onto her forehead, and her jaw worked, as though she were fighting for words.

“Do you think Zelda should be the queen?”

“M-Master Link!” she squeaked, hiding behind her hands. “It isn’t m-m-m-my p-place to speak on s-such matters…”

“I want to know what you think, though,” he pressed. “If she’s going to rule over Hyrule, everyone who lives here deserves to have their opinion heard.”

Paya picked at the hem of her haori, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “I c-came here to speak about something more… p-p-personal,” she said in a hushed voice. Her cheeks reddened; any more and Link thought she might just burst into flames. “I, um… overheard your c-conversation.”

Now it was Link’s turn to blush. He stared at the screen wall, trying to play it cool. How much did she hear?

“Do you l-love her?”

“What?” His voice squeaked; he cleared his throat before going on to say, “I mean… what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!” Paya burst out. She was upright, balancing on her knees with her hands clenched. “You w-want to protect her! You w-want to spend the r-rest of your life with her, don’t you?”

“Fine! Maybe!”

“Th-that’s the problem! You’re s-so focused on your feelings for Her Highness that you c-c-can’t see the s-situation clearly.”

“That’s not true!” Link folded his arms. “At least, not entirely. I really don’t think there should be a monarchy at all, for the reasons I said.” He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck where a few wisps of hair had gotten under his collar. It was getting too long; he ought to cut it soon. “But… I guess some of it is selfishness. I want her to be happy, above anything else. She’s done so much already. I thought that after this was all over, she’d finally have the chance to do what she wanted. To pursue the things she wanted to pursue, rather than being told by others what she had to do.”

Paya was quiet for a while, her hands folded in her lap. “So… if it c-came down to her being unhappy, but the kingdom being united b-beneath her—”

Link shrugged helplessly. “I’d rather her be happy. Even if it meant Hyrule disappeared altogether.”

Unbeknownst to him, only just down the hallway, separated by thin paper walls, Zelda laid stock-still on her futon, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. The golden crest flashed, following the rapid pace of her heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Impa had dragged Zelda into a long meeting in the anteroom to discuss the prospect of reclaiming the throne. Impa had several scrolls filled with ideas that she had accumulated during the long century that she had been waiting in Kakariko Village: most of them featured complicated explanations of possible court dynamics, trade agreements, and taxes. Zelda had gotten very little sleep, and she barely caught every third word Impa said, letting her exhausted mind wander.

Each time she replayed Link’s words in her mind, a tiny thrill went through her. He valued her happiness more than the entire kingdom: as a former knight of Hyrule, that was a very substantial remark. She recalled a time Before—she found herself rationalising things as Before and After—that he had told her that he owed allegiance to her before anything or anyone else.

But this… this was beyond simple allegiance of a knight to his princess.

Impa was staring at her, a hint of impatience showing through. Zelda suddenly realised that she had been asked a question, and quickly nodded.

“Hm. Yes. I agree fully.”

Impa shook her head. “You weren’t listening.”

“…What was the question?”

Impa rose from her pile of cushions, groaning as her bones crackled. Zelda grimaced, moving to help her old friend get to her feet. Impa waved her off as soon as she was upright, and made her way to the kitchen.

“I’m going to put on a pot of tea and get that granddaughter of mine to start breakfast. Go clear your head. This is serious business and I need you to be focused.”

With that, Zelda found herself wandering the grounds of the elder’s house. There were several ponds with flashing koi fish within them, and a maze of towering bonsai trees that could easily be as old as the Sheikah technology itself. She closed her eyes, listening to the birdsong and running water, the wooden windchimes that adorned the eaves…

Thok.

A few seconds went by, and she heard the sound again: thok.

Baffled, she went to investigate, stepping carefully across a red wooden bridge that sagged in the middle. There, behind the house, was an archery range, the butts all adorned with the symbolic Sheikah eye. Each eye had been pierced dead in the centre; some of the arrow shafts had been split in half by another arrow. Zelda approached carefully, ensuring that she stayed behind the red line that had been marked on the dirt.

Link drew another arrow from his quiver, sighting down the target. This one had to be roughly two hundred metres away: a daunting challenge for any archer that did not possess the keen eye of a Rito. The chilly morning breeze played at his hair, which had been pulled into a messy topknot and secured with sticks. He drew the bow and waited for the gale to die down.

He released the arrow; the breeze picked up again, pushing it off-course. It struck at the left corner of the Sheikah eye, just a hairs-breadth away from the pupil. Link cursed softly, and turned towards her.

“Rotten luck,” he said, slinging the bow over his shoulder. Zelda watched him warily, alert for any signs of tension or residual anger.

“Still looks like a kill to me,” she returned. That got a slight smile out of him, and he headed for a small shack on the other end of the range. She followed, keeping a half-step behind him.

The shack turned out to be a storage area. Link hung his quiver on a hook and set about unstringing the bow, returning it to the countless others that lined the walls. “I think I’m out of practice,” he mused. “I haven’t really fought at all, not since…”

He trailed off, but Zelda didn’t miss the sharp look he gave her, gauging her reaction. “Since Ganon,” she finished, fighting the chill that ran through her.

“Yeah.” His gaze was annoyingly perceptive; she felt like a piece of the Sheikah tech magnified beneath a scope, all her workings laid out and vulnerable. The Slate still hung on his hip, its blue and orange markings glowing. The sight of it gave her a sudden, reckless idea.

“If you’re so out of practice, why don’t we go get you some proper training?”

Link stared at her, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

Zelda snatched the Slate from his belt, opening up the map. All the shrines and towers were marked with a blue icon, but there were other markings too: little skulls, swords, and stars littered Hyrule’s virtual topography. “These are monsters, aren’t they? Why don’t we go clear out an encampment or two?”

“I dunno, Zel.” He was still looking at her in that aggravating way; examining her. “It’s pretty dangerous.”

“If I’m with you, then I have nothing to worry about, right?” She clapped him on the shoulder, mustering as much cheerfulness as she could. “It’s like you said to Impa—I also haven’t seen much of Hyrule. I ought to at least see what it’s like out there.”

She hadn’t meant it as a barb, but he winced. “I’d be happy to show you some places that are less…” He pressed a thumb to his chin, thinking hard before finishing, “…hazardous.”

He thinks I can’t handle it, but he doesn’t want me to think that he thinks I can’t. Zelda pressed her lips together hard, realising the insanity of all this even as it ran through her mind. She knew perfectly well that she was being stubborn and irrational, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. Link was staring at her again.

I wish I could explain, she thought, willing him to understand. I don’t want to annoy you. I don’t know why I’m being like this.

“I’m sorry,” she said aloud. His face went from concerned to puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Zelda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her eyes burned, and she felt a painful lump forming in her throat. Unable to speak, she reached out and simply squeezed his fingers, hoping that maybe he could interpret what she meant through the gesture. Link lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it, right on the glowing triangles. Electricity seemed to course down her arm, a small-scale version of when she had used her sealing power. It felt good, making her stronger, making the haze lift away from her brain.

“Link, I—”

“Master Link! Master Link, where are you?!”

His attention immediately snapped away, and he dropped her hand like it was a hot coal. Equal parts resentful and embarrassed, Zelda turned to see one of Impa’s guards jogging across the range, his face red with the effort. Some guard, she thought snidely, before admonishing herself.

“Thank goodness! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Link grabbed a bow off one of the hooks, his expression becoming deadly serious. “What’s the matter, Dorian? Did they come back?”

They? Zelda didn’t have time to ask before Dorian shook his head. “No, no. There’s a couple of Zora who just arrived—on foot, if you can believe that! I thought they only swam. They’ve been asking for you, Master Link.” The Sheikah eyed Zelda, and she felt her cheeks grow warm as she realised that he knew what he was interrupting. “You had better come too, Your Highness.”

Zelda felt her stomach twist into a knot as they headed to the courtyard to greet their unexpected guests. It had been one thing to imagine convincing the Zora to accept her as Queen, and theorise about the diplomacy of Hyrule’s reunification.

It was quite another to actually make that first step.

…

Link could sense Zelda’s nervousness, and it only compounded his own. It was anxiety-inducing enough to wonder what was so drastic that the Zora had sent some of their people so far away from the waterways they controlled, but he also had to worry about their reaction to Zelda. He glanced over at her; her chin was held high, but her clenched fists betrayed her unease.

Please don’t say anything inflammatory, he silently begged as Dorian opened the courtyard gate. Zelda had certainly been trained in diplomacy and etiquette, but her knowledge was a century out of date.

For the second time in two days, a goggling crowd had congregated in the streets of Kakariko Village. Despite his agitation, Link found himself grinning at the sight of the two Zora towering over the Sheikah surrounding them. He recognised the pair: Bazz, his old childhood friend, and Torfeau, who had been the one to originally summon him to Zora’s Domain. Bazz seemed just as fascinated by the Sheikah as they were by him, and he eagerly shook outstretched hands, firing off questions about their clothes and customs. Torfeau seemed to be shrinking from the attention, clutching her silvery spear to her chest. She was the first to catch sight of Link, and made an immediate beeline for him.

“Link! I’m so relieved to see that you came out of your battle unscathed!” she exclaimed, clasping his forearm. Bazz waded through the throng, his shark teeth flashing as he smiled.

“Congratulations, Hero!” Link shook his head at the old joke, and gripped Bazz’s arm as well in greeting. “I saw your battle all the way from Zora’s Domain! Most of the city evacuated to higher waters when we caught sight of the commotion at the castle, but I was among the soldiers that stayed behind.” He puffed out his chest in pride.

“Well, it wasn’t all me,” said Link, feeling the weight of everyone’s admiration. “Zelda was the one who held Ganon at bay for all that time. I couldn’t have done anything without her.”

Bazz’s mouth fell open; Torfeau’s golden eyes widened in shock. Demurely, Zelda stepped forward, her hands clasped over her green skirt. She was conspicuously covering the Goddess crest, Link noticed. His heart felt like it was jumping into his mouth.

“By Hylia!” Bazz gasped. “I never realised that the princess survived!”

To Link’s dismay, the Sheikah villagers began to kneel reverently. The two Zora, however, did not. Zelda smiled slightly, and reached out to take Torfeau’s forearm.

“I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” she quipped. “I imagine I look fairly well for a Hylian over a century old, no?”

Bazz let out a guffaw, and the tension vanished. Link began to let his guard down as Dorian corralled them up the steps to Impa’s house, shooing the looky-loos away. Maybe she’s taken my advice to heart, he thought, watching her good-naturedly banter with Bazz. The Zora warrior seemed enchanted with her, laughing far too loudly at her wit. Link scowled, almost missing a step in his fixation on their chatter. Torfeau cut a look at him; she also looked displeased. She had not spoken since Zelda had stepped forward, and had not offered her arm in greeting.

The anxiety returned, a painful knot in his gut. Zelda may have endeared herself to Bazz, but the rest of the Zora might not be affable.

We aren’t out of the woods yet, he thought grimly as the heavy doors to the anteroom swung open.

Chapter Text

“We didn’t expect all this pomp!” Bazz exclaimed, waving his teacup in the air and spilling half of it onto the polished wood floor in the process. “It’s truly an honour to meet you, Elder Impa!”

Impa looked as though she had sucked on a lemon, much to Link’s amusement. She was perched atop her mountain of pillows, surveying the two Zora with suspicion. Torfeau was equal to it, however; her tawny eyes were narrowed, and she had not taken a sip of the tea since Paya had handed it to her.

“Why were you looking for Link?” asked Zelda, always quick to get to the point. She blew delicately on her tea before taking a sip, her little finger held outwards. Once a princess, always a princess, he thought fondly. “It must be pressing business for you to stray so far from Zora’s Domain.”

“Are we not free to travel as we please?”

All heads turned to Torfeau. Link held back a grimace as Impa’s eyes flashed, but the Sheikah woman kept silent.

“It’s a reasonable question,” said Bazz, a rebuke hiding in his calm voice. “After all, we rarely travel by foot like this. I haven’t felt this dry since that one summer…”

“Please feel free to utilise our bathhouse,” Impa offered with a hint of impatience. “Like the Princess, I too am curious as to what has befallen Zora’s Domain.”

Torfeau intervened, saving them all from Bazz’s rambling. “Divine Beast Vah Ruta has stopped working,” she explained. It did not escape Link that she only held his gaze, as though Impa and Zelda were not even in the room. “Prince Sidon sent us to find you. You tamed Ruta once before, and he wishes for your assistance once again.”

“And what a boon!” Bazz cut in, earning him a glare from Torfeau. “We found the princess too! Your prowess with that old technology is legendary.”

“There is something you ought to know, however,” Torfeau continued. “It is Prince Sidon specifically who sent us. King Dorephan is still undecided on whether the Divine Beast should be restored. In his mind—and in the minds of many Zora elders—perhaps it should remain as it is, as a monument to Champion Mipha.”

“But it has to be restored!” Zelda burst out. Link gave her a tiny shake of the head, but there was no stopping her. “I’m certain that the only reason it has ceased to function is because it no longer has a pilot. If we were to bond Ruta with a new Champion—”

“And who would choose that new Champion? You, Princess?” Torfeau’s voice was like the point of her spear.

“I never chose the Champions.” Zelda’s face was growing redder, her eyebrows furrowed. “I simply requested their help, and they were free to choose whether or not to pilot their respective Divine Beasts. The Zora may decide amongst themselves who would be most fit.”

“We might choose to have no pilot at all,” Torfeau shot back. Bazz raised his hands, making a calming gesture.

“All we came to do was ask for Link’s help like Prince Sidon asked,” he gently reminded her. “Link and Princess Zelda: will you come to Zora’s Domain and assist us with Vah Ruta?”

“Absolutely,” said Zelda firmly. Link gave a tight nod, watching Impa carefully. The old woman’s jaw worked, but she thankfully said nothing. The impromptu meeting adjourned, and Link let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.

That could have been worse, he told himself, watching Bazz and Torfeau make their way to the bathhouse. But still… the flash of venom in Torfeau’s eyes worried him. He made a mental note to keep watch outside Zelda’s door from now on.

…

Zelda was used to sleepless nights by now, but rather than laying listlessly in a fog, her mind whirred, churning through thoughts as quickly as they could form.

Not revive Vah Ruta? The very notion was ridiculous, a slap in the face to all that the machine and its pilot had done for Hyrule. Not much thought had been given to the fate of the Beasts after Ganon’s defeat; everyone had been far more focused on the looming confrontation than what might happen afterwards. Zelda had no doubt that had Mipha survived, she would have continued to pilot Ruta. Unlike the other Champions, the Zora princess treated the Beast as though it were alive, and a beloved companion at that.

Zelda recalled when Ruta and Mipha had bonded, all those years ago. Zelda was feeling more confident this time, as she had already helped Revali and Urbosa bond with their respective Beasts. The process was fairly simple: Zelda would activate the control unit with the Sheikah Slate, and the Champion would place their hand on the unit once it began to pulse. Mipha had gasped and nearly pulled her hand away as the blue wisps of light enveloped her arm, running luminescent tendrils all over her body.

“I can feel it!” she had exclaimed. “I… oh, it’s wonderful. It’s as though her and I are the same.”

Zelda had wondered at that. The other Champions had also experienced a sense of contact, but Mipha had been the only one to immediately address her Beast as though it were conscious. She had complete control of Ruta within one short week, whereas the others spent months just getting theirs to walk or fly. Mipha often visited Ruta even when they weren’t doing drills or manoeuvres, just sitting atop its head and stroking the smooth stone surface, whispering lovingly to the enormous automaton.

Ruta was a friend to Mipha. She wouldn’t want it to be condemned to an early grave.

There was a soft scuffling sound just outside her door.

Zelda bolted upright from her sleeping pad, the glow from her hand filling the room with a dim light. Kakariko Village was eerily quiet at night, amplifying even the smallest noise. She took deep, even breaths, willing herself to calm down. It’s only a mouse. Just try and get some rest.

She lifted her hand to sweep a few stray hairs from her face, casting the light towards the screen door.

There, silhouetted against the frame, was the distinct shadow of a person lurking in the hall.

Zelda sucked back a cry, gripping the hem of her nightgown. If she screamed, her assailant might attack; they were likely waiting for her to fall asleep, so they could kill her without a commotion. She barely moved, her gaze darting around the room for a weapon. There was a low writing desk pushed against the wall; the quill, perhaps, could be used as a makeshift dagger. But even better was the letter opener resting beside the inkpot.

Staying low, she slithered across the floorboards to the door, the tiny blade held tight in her trembling hand. The shadow did not move.

What are they waiting for? she thought grimly. The handle for the door was around waist-height; she would have to slide it open and stab at the same time. She shut her eyes tightly, mustering up her nerve. Okay… NOW!

She darted up for the handle, but the door slid open before she could grab it.

Link stood over her, baffled. “Zel? What are you doing down there?”

“What am I doing? Why are you lurking outside my door?”

He knelt down and gently pulled the letter opener from her fingertips. Blood had begun to trickle from her palm; she must have cut herself when she grabbed it off the desk. “I wasn’t lurking. I’m keeping watch.”

She didn’t protest as he led her back into the room, pressing the sleeve of her linen nightgown over the wound. It was really starting to hurt now, which only fueled Zelda’s embarrassment and annoyance.

“I thought you were a Yiga,” she said in an undertone. She was cross-legged on her sleeping mat with Link kneeling before her, carefully inspecting her injury.

“It’s not really the Yiga I’m worried about,” he said grimly. “Make sure to get a bandage on that tomorrow.”

Not the Yiga…? “Then who are you worried about?”

His gaze cut over his shoulder, in the direction of the bathhouse where the two Zora delegates were spending the night. Zelda’s mouth fell open, but she shut it before he looked back.

“You can’t be serious.”

His blue eyes were narrowed. “You didn’t see the way she was looking at you? The way she challenged you like that?”

Zelda let out a choked laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You think Torfeau disagreeing with me means she wants to kill me?”

“This wasn’t just a disagreement,” Link shot back. “She seems openly hostile towards you, Zel. I’d really rather be safe than sorry.”

“But…” Zelda trailed off, thinking of Mipha again. Link had been engaged to the Zora Champion once, and his father was a personal friend of King Dorephan. How could he even consider the Zora capable of such a thing? “They’re our allies, Link.”

“Not so much anymore.” He had drawn his knees up, laying the Master Sword’s sheath flat across his lap. “A lot of them outright hated me when I first arrived in Zora’s Domain. They blame us for Mipha’s death. Some even hate all Hylians, not just those connected to the royal family.”

A flash of Mipha running her palm along Ruta’s surface; grief began to well deep inside her chest, threatening to drown her.

“When it was just monsters or the Yiga clan, it was easier,” said Link, resting his forearms on the Master Sword. “But I’m not equipped for all this political dispute stuff. I see enemies everywhere, even in the people who are supposed to be our allies.”

It felt like a final piece had slipped into place. It wasn’t only that becoming queen would make her unhappy; Link genuinely feared for her life if she did so. If there was a revolt, it would only be him between her and all the people he had helped and befriended on his journey. He was being forced to consider his friends as possible threats, gauging whether they might take drastic action if their newfound independence was put at risk.

Surely there must be some way to bring Hyrule together without a monarchy, she thought, lacing her fingers together. There’s a solution that won’t put Link into an impossible situation.

“This way of thinking—of viewing everyone around us as possible threats—is what is keeping Hyrule from uniting once more.” She watched him carefully for a reaction, but his expression did not change. “We have to heal from the constant vigilance that a century of Ganon’s terror brought onto the realm. We have to be able to trust one another.”

“Do you trust me?”

His hands had tightened around the sheath, the knuckles turning pale. His face had gone stony, reminding Zelda of the protective veneer he used to wear around her.

“Of course,” she said, a second too late.

There was an awful moment between heartbeats that she thought he might get up and leave, but he relaxed, his shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Does this mean that you—”

“Link.” She reached out and brushed his knee with her fingertips, feeling her cheeks warm as he met her gaze. “Please don’t shut me out. Why do you think I don’t trust you?”

“I never said I think—” He stopped himself, and let out a heavy sigh. He seemed to be wrestling with something, and she waited patiently for him to find the words. “Look, I realise how petty and ridiculous this is, but I’ve been feeling sort of… jealous.”

Zelda’s eyebrows flew up. “Jealous? Of who?”

“Everyone.” Link shook his head. “Well, that’s overdramatic. Look… you didn’t speak. For almost a week. And that really scared me, Zel. I was going crazy imagining all the awful things that must have happened to you, but I didn’t want to ask and upset you. But then we came here… and you were chatting away with Paya and Bazz like it was nothing.”

Zelda looked away, biting her lip.

“It just made me wonder… whether you still see me as me. I worry that you might think I’m a different person, but with the memories and face of someone you used to know. And maybe that’s why you don’t want to confide in me.” He sounded like the words were being torn out of him, and before Zelda could think better of it, she threw her arms around him.

He stiffened, but she clung to him as though he were the only thing keeping her afloat. After a moment, he pulled her closer, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. He was so warm and familiar, and still smelled of pine and horsehair and like Link. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers along the back of his neck, feeling the tiny hairs there stand up.

“Some things… I just can’t speak about,” she whispered. That feeling of becoming untethered bloomed deep in the recesses of her mind, but she fought it, focusing on the pressure of Link’s arms, the way his pulse leapt against her chest. “It feels like I’m there all over again, or like I might disappear. Ganon…”

She let out a tiny gasp, but Link placed a hand against the small of her back. It wasn’t quite calming, but it reminded her of where she really was.

“Ganon,” she said again, her voice steadying. “It used my mind against me. It would show me memories, only twisted. Or it would make me think I was somewhere else, or that I’d already won and I could let down my guard. And then it would try to break out…”

She was trembling uncontrollably, as though she had been doused with frigid water. Link gently bundled her up, holding her on his lap. It was uncomfortable, the sword pressing into her back and her legs folded, but she was grateful for it.

“It also used you,” she admitted. “Quite a lot, actually. For a while I wasn’t completely convinced that it was real this time, that we had actually defeated it. I still find myself fighting, even though the battle is over.”

“I understand.”

That was all she needed to hear. They stayed in their embrace for some time, until Zelda’s legs began to prickle from lack of circulation. They wound up laying side-by-side, each half on the floor in an effort to share the sleeping pad. For the first time since even before the clash with Ganon, Zelda felt peaceful.

“I’m not going to be the queen,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “I know that’s not possible. But I still need to do something.”

“What do you want to do?”

The moon had slipped behind a cloud, leaving them in total darkness. If she couldn’t feel Link beside her, she never would have known he was there. Somehow that made talking easier.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I want to rebuild Hyrule, but I don’t have a distinct goal. At least with being the queen, that was a place to start. I feel so useless.”

Link squeezed her forearm reassuringly. “Helping restore Ruta seems like a good first step.”

“But it’s like you said—the Zora hate Hylians. And they’ll especially not like me.” Zelda sighed. “And what if they don’t allow me to repair Vah Ruta? Just the thought of letting her rot away… it’s unbearable.”

“I think you’re more charming than you give yourself credit for. Look at Bazz—he was completely enchanted with you within minutes.”

Zelda poked an elbow into his ribs. “So, when you said you were jealous…”

He poked her back. “I’m being serious. You’re charismatic, especially when you just act like yourself rather than like a princess. Also, the Zora kind of owe me. I saved their domain from flooding and freed Mipha’s spirit from the blight inside Ruta. If you’re with me, they have to treat you well by default.”

“But that won’t guarantee that they’ll let me work on Ruta.”

Link shifted, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Maybe not. But keep in mind that Sidon is the one who sent for me, not the king. Even if the older Zora choose to keep Ruta as a monument, her retirement would only be temporary.”

The Goddess crest had begun to glow again. Zelda gazed up at the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling, turning that over in her mind. Prince Sidon… he was only a juvenile when Zelda had first met him, but he would now be a fully-grown adult, ready to take the throne when his aging father stepped down. She was slightly embarrassed to admit to herself that she had forgotten how old the Zora prince would now be, but Link’s insight had illuminated a path forward for her.

That’s it, then. Ruta will be my olive branch to the Zora, regardless of what they choose to do with her. And maybe the other Divine Beasts are also waiting to be restored…

“Hey. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“Good things,” she said, and reached out for his hand.

Chapter Text

Despite the obvious fact that it was faster, more convenient, and safer to warp to Zora’s Domain, Zelda staunchly refused to do so.

“You go on and take Bazz and Torfeau home,” she’d said, lifting her chin stubbornly. “I’m going to travel the old-fashioned way.”

“This technically is the old-fashioned way,” Link had argued, holding up the Slate. “We’ll be vulnerable to monsters on the road. And robbers. And Hylia knows what else.”

“If you’re with me, then I have nothing to worry about.” She’d smiled primly, the sort of smug look that said I’ve already won, and we both know it. He’d given a deep, irritable sigh, just to let her know that he was only grudgingly agreeing.

Although warping was his preferred way to get around, he couldn’t deny that he was excited to be on the road with Zelda once again. His memories of smaller events were still hazy, but he could recall breakneck horse races on the Hyrule Plains, watching her vanish into the underbrush in pursuit of some unusual bug or reptile, and laying heart-stoppingly close to her beneath the stars, listening to her even breaths as she slept.

He was still loath to leave Zelda alone, even if it was only for a short time, and even though Dorian swore up and down that he would not let her out of sight.

“She won’t even go to the latrine unattended!” he’d announced without a shred of embarrassment, and both Link and Zelda had made a face.

“At least it’s only for a few hours,” she’d muttered. “I can hold it.”

It’s only for a few hours, he reminded himself again and again as they went to meet the Zora on the outskirts of the village, close to the cemetery. Bazz waved enthusiastically as he caught sight of them, and Torfeau still had a sour look on her face. Link crept closer to Zelda’s side, ready for a fight, but the dark-scaled Zora also lifted an arm in greeting. He was pleasantly surprised, but also still relieved that he was putting several leagues between her and Zelda.

“Link! And her Highness! Good morning!”

Zelda clasped forearms with Bazz, smiling politely. “I regret that I won’t be coming with you right away,” she said. “I still have preparations to make before we can get to work on Vah Ruta.”

Bazz looked dazzled, and his webbed fingers lingered on Zelda’s arm. Link cleared his throat loudly, and ignored the stifled grin on Zelda’s face.

“Alright, here’s how this works.” He unclipped the Sheikah Slate from his belt and held it out to the two Zora. “We all have to be touching the Slate in order for us to all warp together. Do not let go of it.”

“What will happen if we let go?” asked Torfeau dubiously, her fins twitching.

Link shrugged. “Let’s not find out. Now crowd in—we’re gonna need to get cozy.”

Obediently, Torfeau and Bazz jostled closer, laying a hand each on the Sheikah Slate. Link bit back a yelp as one of Bazz’s scales sliced through his tunic, and ducked just in time to avoid an errant elbow to the head from Torfeau. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, dwarfed between the two Zora, and the look on Zelda’s face promised a barrage of teasing later on. He dropped her a sly wink before tapping the shrine just bordering Zora’s Domain, and her blush was the last thing he saw before the world shifted.

His ears popped, and the humidity immediately soaked his clothing and hair. The Zora gasped, both stumbling as they regained their footing on the slippery stone surface of the shrine. The Veiled Falls churned down before them, forming a thick mist around the tall, scarlet-scaled figure that stood waist-deep in the basin. He spread his arms wide, his shark teeth glistening as he grinned.

“Link! My most cherished friend for all time! It is wonderful to see you!”

Link held out his arm, and Sidon enthusiastically shook it, his enormous hands reaching halfway up his bicep. Torfeau and Bazz gave their prince a respectful bow before backing away, leaving the pair of them to talk.

“It’s good to see you too, Sidon. Your soldiers filled me in on your request.”

“I take it that you have agreed to help us?”

“Absolutely. I do need to speak to your father first, though—there’s some news he needs to hear.”

Sidon’s grin faded, and the fins on his arms folded back. “To tell you the truth, that… may not be possible. You see, while Bazz and Torfeau were away, my father made the decision that Vah Ruta will not be restored.”

Link’s heart sank as he turned to look at the massive automaton in the distance, still resting upon the peak where it had delivered its mighty blow to Calamity Ganon. Every other time he had seen it, Ruta had been glowing bright blue, a symbol of hope to all who gazed upon it. But now it was dark, a motionless hunk of stonework that blended in with the mountain. How could they leave it in that state?

“It’s a damn shame,” Link said, realising as he said it what a massive understatement it was. Vah Ruta had been as much a part of Mipha as her laugh, or the brilliant flash of her scales. To let it crumble into disrepair, to be only remembered as Mipha’s tomb rather than a living monument to what she had accomplished… it was unthinkable.

“We are of the same mind,” said Sidon, the hint of bitterness in his voice at odds with his usual optimism. “I believe that my father and the elders are blinded by their grief. My sister would not have wanted Ruta to be condemned to be only a monument. To her… the colossus was alive. A friend.”

A lump had formed in Link’s throat, threatening to squeeze tears from his eyes. His memories of Mipha were still clouded, but he clearly recalled a day he had visited the Domain only to find her laying atop Ruta’s back, singing a lullaby in her clear, high voice.

“Who are you singing to?” he had asked, and she’d smiled at him as though it were a silly question.

“To Ruta, of course. She sings to me too.”

“Link? Are you alright, my friend?”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and swiped a hand across his cheeks, dragging himself back to the present. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“I was just saying that I believe it is my duty to reawaken Vah Ruta.” Sidon’s ochre eyes, so similar to his sister’s, were filled with steely resolve. “Even if I must disregard my father’s orders, I will revive the Divine Beast.”

For a moment, Link was nearly carried away by the idea. He knew that it was the right thing to do, but the political blowback would be extreme. Not only would it put Link and Zelda’s already tenuous standing with the Zora in peril, but it could damage Sidon’s reputation as well.

“Why not just wait?” he asked. “I mean, it sounds bad, but eventually you’ll become the king, right? Then you can make any decree you like concerning Ruta’s fate.”

Sidon stroked his chin, still gazing at the Divine Beast in the distance. “A morbid thought, Link, but one that has indeed crossed my mind.” He sighed. “Once Ruta is established as a monument, I fear my hands may be tied. Any suggestion of awakening the Beast will be akin to desecrating a tomb—my sister’s tomb. I will have pushback no matter what I decide to do, but I feel that our best chance of saving Ruta is to act now.”

All this political talk lately… it’s so complicated. He hated having to choose sides, or make decisions where someone was unhappy no matter what. There must be a solution that will satisfy everyone.

“Sidon.”

“Yes, Link?”

“I’d like to ask you to talk to your father once again.” The Zora opened his mouth to protest, but Link kept speaking. “The last thing Zelda and I want is to cause a rift among your people—”

“Zelda?!” Sidon’s eyes widened. “Then she is safe! You rescued her from the castle!”

“Well, yes. But never mind that for now—I suspect that many of the Zora elders, and maybe your father, might feel threatened by her. She doesn’t wish to become queen, and is in favour of independent rule among the Zora. But regardless of what she says, some might still look at her with suspicion. And going against what your father decreed…”

Sidon nodded, his hand creeping towards his chin once again. “I understand your concern, Link,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “You are, of course, free to choose what you will do. If my father has not changed his mind by the time you arrive, I will understand if you decide to uphold his wishes.”

He had better convince him, Link thought as they discussed the details of his and Zelda’s journey to Zora’s Domain, and what preparations should be made on Sidon’s end. We will awaken Ruta regardless of what the king decides… but I’d really rather not have the Zora hate me again.

…

After only an hour of being left alone with Dorian, Zelda was feeling the same antsy desperation to escape that she had felt in the early days of having Link assigned as her guard. True to his word, Dorian had been her shadow all day, following her from shop to shop as she gathered supplies for the journey to Lanayru. The final straw had been when he tried to follow her into the fitting room at the clothing boutique; both Zelda and Claree, the seamstress, had shouted themselves hoarse until he finally agreed to wait just outside the door. Although Zelda sorely missed her old traveling clothes, the sturdy breeches and leather-padded tunic Claree fitted for her were very comfortable.

To Zelda’s shock, the seamstress had refused any form of payment, despite the considerable amount of money Link had given her to purchase supplies.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Claree had said firmly, holding up a hand. “To have her Highness wear clothing that I created is an honour worth more than any number of rupees.” She had sunk into a deep bow, and continued to curtsey even as Zelda departed.

She headed back for Impa’s house, laden down with her supplies despite Dorian’s attempts to carry them for her. Every person she met bowed deeply, and whispers followed her every step. It was an uncomfortable feeling, reminding her of the old days when the whispers were those of disdain rather than awe.

It was difficult to discern which was worse.

She entered the house through a side door, and made her way to her room, doing her best to ignore Dorian’s presence. She began to sort through the supplies, and found herself running her fingers over the embroidery on the cuffs of the tunic Claree had given her. The cloth was a rich, deep red, and the embroidery was done in geometric patterns of teal, yellow, and pearl. The leather armour sewn into it was easily worth a hundred rupees, let alone the undershirt and breeches.

Come to think of it, she thought, I don’t think I paid for most of the things I collected today.

The Sheikah were warm and welcoming towards her, and reverently thankful to her for ridding Hyrule of its century-long scourge. But even so… the food, the clothing, and the camping equipment represented all the riches that the humble villagers had to offer. What could she ever give them in return for their generosity?

The floorboards creaked: Impa stood at the doorframe, hunched over a cane carved into the shape of an owl. She wasn’t wearing her conical hat, and the few scraps of hair she had left were swept into a topknot. Zelda found herself again comparing her to the girl she had known all that time ago, and wondered if she would ever grow used to being a hundred years out of touch.

“I see that the villagers were more than eager to assist you,” she said drily. She made a shooing motion at Dorian; apparently Impa’s word held more sway than Link’s, and he quickly vanished into the hallway.

“I tried to pay for it,” said Zelda hotly. “It’s not like I just took it from them…” She trailed off as the old woman chuckled.

“Keep your shirt on. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She groaned, sinking down onto one of the cushions that littered the floor. “I came by to ask what you intend to do when you arrive at Zora’s Domain.”

Zelda watched Impa carefully. Purah’s disdainful words echoed through her mind once again: Will you turn your back on Impa, like you’re turning your back on the throne? Her old friend had spent a lifetime preparing to advise her, to help her become the rightful Queen of the kingdom she had saved. How could she tell her that it had all been in vain?

Should I lie? No, of course not—Impa deserves better than that.

Impa’s gaze had softened somewhat, and she prodded Zelda good-naturedly with the end of her cane. “A rupee for your thoughts, Zel.”

The old familiarity of her nickname solidified her decision. She took a deep breath, and looked her friend straight in the eye as she said, “I’m not going to become the queen.”

She braced herself for the outrage, but it did not come. Impa maintained her level gaze, her expression unchanged.

“I trust Link’s judgement on the matter of independence and self-governance,” she continued. “I do, however, want to assist the Zora in the matter of their Divine Beast, and wish to give aid to anyone else who may need it. I believe that it will be possible to unite Hyrule without a monarchy.”

Impa continued to simply look at her. Is this okay? Zelda thought, and the words nearly reached her lips before she realised that she did not need to ask permission. Her decisions were hers alone, and Impa would respect it. But she did want to know…

“What do you think?”

Impa let out a deep sigh, rubbing at a particularly swollen arthritic knuckle. “I think that you should consider this matter further. You don’t need to make a decision now, Zelda, and I apologise for giving you that impression. Going to Zora’s Domain is the right course of action, but I believe there will be repercussions to not taking the throne that you have not considered.”

“Such as?”

Impa waved a hand at the mountain of goods Zelda had sorted into haphazard piles. “Take the Sheikah, for example. My people swore themselves long ago to protect and advise the royal family, and that oath has been kept for over ten thousand years. To break such an oath, even though you are not the one who swore it, would be no small act.”

Zelda thought back to the endless bowing heads that greeted her at every corner, and her discomfort grew.

“Self-governance among the Zora, who have a leader, is fine for them,” Impa went on. “But who will lead the Hylians? There are many who are waiting for their Queen to return and set Hyrule back on the path to greatness and prosperity. What will they think when, in their eyes, their Queen has abandoned them?”

“But I’m not abandoning anyone!” Zelda protested. “I want to help rebuild. I just don’t think that I should have to sit on a throne and bend everyone else to my will to do so.”

“I know that. I know it because I’ve spoken to you personally, and you’ve explained it to me in detail. But the average citizen won’t know it, and will draw their own conclusions.” Impa folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head, looking remarkably like her grandmother: ancient and melancholy. “You may think that abdicating will gain you more allies, but a vacant throne often causes more problems than it solves. If you do not take it, there is a possibility that someone else might take it instead.”

Only a few short hours before, Zelda had been in this same room and felt the future unfurling before her, full of hope and optimism. But once more, she felt the bubble burst, and the same thought that had gone through her mind ever since her mother had died resurfaced once again:

Why me? Why does everything have to fall onto my shoulders when I’m not ready?

Chapter Text

As they set off on their own at last, away from prying eyes and starstruck whispers, Link discovered that he was actually becoming somewhat shy around Zelda.

It was ridiculous, of course: he had spent the night with her twice now, and had even been bold enough to kiss the back of her hand. He recalled that he used to be extremely nervous around women, in the old days, but never Zelda. She could certainly make him feel flustered, but he had always been equal to her teasing. Today, though, there was something about the way the scarlet of her new tunic brought out the vibrant emerald of her eyes and the auburn tones in her hair that made his tongue feel numb.

They walked freely with no bulky packs to weigh them down: thanks to Purah’s upgrades, the Sheikah Slate was able to safely store all of their supplies. Zelda had been astonished by this, and she scrolled furiously through it, trying to figure out just where their belongings went when the piece of technology absorbed them. Link kept an eye on her footing, ready to snatch her arm if she tripped.

She had that little furrow between her eyebrows that emerged when she was concentrating. She pressed a thumb to her mouth, deep in thought, and he became suddenly warm despite the unseasonable chill in the air.

Then he lost his footing, and it was Zelda who grabbed him by the elbow.

“Distracted?” she asked, and he felt his ears tingling as he blushed.

“Um, yeah.” You have to say something else, or she’ll think… “I was just thinking about an interesting chat I had with Sidon.”

He explained the oddness of their rendezvous far outside of the Domain, and the situation with King Dorephan’s decree. Zelda listened intently, the furrow between her brows deepening; he felt a wild urge to press his lips to it and smooth it out, but the looming threat of political upheaval took precedence.

“Sidon said he thinks his dad is blinded by his grief,” said Link.

Zelda nodded, her mind elsewhere. For a terrible moment, he thought she might be slipping away again, but she was only mulling over what she had just learned, her eyes still sharp and alert. “I think that’s an apt observation,” she said finally. “He wants to honour Mipha, but is doing the opposite of what she would have wanted. Many fathers, even loving ones, tend to misunderstand their daughters.”

As they descended the grassy slope below Kakariko Village, the still-smoking castle ruins were clearly visible. Link suddenly remembered one of the many treasures he had recovered while exploring there: King Rhoam’s diary. It had felt an awful lot like spying to read it, and Link had a distinct feeling the entire time that he might be executed for treason. He’d never had any love for the king due to the way he treated Zelda, but the final entry had brought a painful lump to his throat.

I have been told that my Zelda went to the Spring of Wisdom… This will likely be her last chance. If she is unable to awaken her power at Lanayru, all hope is truly lost. If she comes back without success, then I shall speak kindly with her. Scolding is pointless now. I forced ten years of training upon her, and after all that, it seems her power will stubbornly awaken some other way.

Perhaps I should encourage her to keep researching her beloved relics. They might lead her to answers I am unable to provide. For now, I sit anxiously, more a father than a king in this moment. I sit and await my daughter’s return.

Link had brought the diary back to his home, and left it among the other books he had retrieved for Zelda. He didn’t know whether she had read it, but he felt it was important for her to know that in her father’s final moments, he had been thinking of her.

Should I ask if she saw it? Or will I only make her upset?

Before he could decide, Zelda let out a gasp so loud that he thought she had been impaled. In the blink of an eye, he’d unsheathed the Master Sword and leapt in front of her.

“Link! Look!”

He gazed out across the marshlands that had overtaken the foot of Sahasra Slope, and then he saw it.

A Guardian Stalker roved through the murky water, only its single blue eye visible through the thick mud that coated its body. It seemed like its programming had been damaged: it walked only a few steps in one direction, before circling back in another. Most Stalkers that Link had encountered patrolled up to several kilometres of territory, which was what made them such formidable opponents.

“I can’t believe it still works!” Zelda was so elated that he thought she might lift off the ground altogether. “I have to take a closer look!”

Link stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? We’re already too close.”

“Of course I know! I helped program them!” She was getting that stubborn set in her jaw again. Link was prepared to throw her over his shoulder and carry her away, if it came to it. “Think about it, Link—the only reason they were dangerous is because they were corrupted by Malice, correct?”

“Yes…”

“So, logically, since the source of Malice has been dealt with, the Guardians are no longer corrupted.”

Link opened his mouth to protest, but he didn’t have a sound argument to counter hers. All he knew was that every instinct was screaming at him to flee, or hack it into pieces before it could light him up. A memory began to rise unbidden, making the star-shaped burn mark on his chest twinge, but he shook his head to rid himself of it. Zelda’s face floated before him, her hands squeezed together pleadingly. She looked so hopeful, and it had been so long since she had seemed truly passionate about the ancient technology…

“Fine. But stay behind me until we know for sure that it’s not dangerous.”

She clapped her hands before throwing a jubilant fist into the air. “Yes! I need to see whether its energy core is still intact. It might be malfunctioning like this because the core was damaged by Malice…”

Zelda continued to think out loud as they got closer, but as much as Link wanted to listen, his focus was solely on the Guardian. That pulsing blue eye made his chest tighten, and he held out one arm protectively in front of Zelda, falling into an attack position.

The Stalker’s cylindrical head spun round as it turned back to begin its frantic pacing in another direction, and that ghastly eye spotted them.

Link froze. The Guardian froze.

“It’s okay,” said Zelda soothingly. At first Link thought she was speaking to him, but she was stepping out from behind him, her palms turned outwards as she slowly approached the Guardian. “I can see that you aren’t functioning properly. May I look at your core?”

That eye… it was soulless, yet horrifically intelligent, surveying them both. It emitted a soft whir as its inner workings tried to decide whether or not they were a threat. That same whir had been magnified by the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, followed by the sound of its beam charging up for a blistering fatal blow.

His wounds ached; his body was wreathed in flames. He watched as countless others, his comrades, fell to the white light. He was so weak, but he raised his rusted blade and faced down yet another Guardian, conscious all the while of Zelda begging him to abandon her, to save himself…

No! He wrested himself back to the present, pressing a palm to the sudden ache in his temple. Zelda was less than two feet from the muck-encrusted Guardian now, reaching out for one of its spidery legs.

“That’s it,” she said encouragingly. “Now keep still while I prise this off…”

The Stalker suddenly began to glow magenta, visible even through the mud. Zelda gasped and pulled her hand away, stumbling back and landing on her rear. Its alarm began to blare as it targeted her forehead with a red bead—

Link snatched at his back for his shield, but it wasn’t there. He had stored it away in the Sheikah Slate, which Zelda clutched protectively to her chest. His legs felt like they were stuck fast to the bottom of the mire, and a fog fell over his vision as his head throbbed. The Guardian began to charge its beam, and Zelda screamed.

I need a shield… something, anything! His gaze alighted on a pot lid resting next to one of the vendor’s stalls…

NO! That’s not happening now. I’m not there… I’m… I’m…

I’m too warm. It’s sweltering, and the entire guard had to wear full armour today. We’re all meant to watch over the King and the Princess in the square while the Sheikah show off some new technology they’ve unearthed.

The machine looks like some sort of glowing spider, with eight legs and a single eye. It’s resting on a raised wooden platform, and beside it stands the King, Princess Zelda, and the Sheikah researcher doing the presentation. The Princess usually looks like she’s smelled something foul, but today she’s staring at the machine as though it’s a beloved pet.

The Sheikah finally finishes his complicated speech that obviously nobody understands, and then gets to the good part: a demonstration. He pulls out a bow and quiver of arrows, and fires one high into the sky.

People scream and flee; even my fellow knights, clad in plate armour, start to jostle one another before thinking better of it. But before the arrow can land somewhere in the crowd, the Guardian swivels its head and fires a bolt of light, making the arrow explode with blue powder.

I’ve never seen anything like it. The throng is hushed for a moment before breaking into applause and wild cheers. Spurred on by the enthusiasm, the Sheikah continues firing off arrows. The Guardian hits every single one without fail.

Princess Zelda seems almost entranced, and takes a few steps closer to the Guardian. In the blink of an eye, so quickly that even the King’s Guard doesn’t realise it in time, the machine swivels round and plants a red bead onto her forehead.

The Princess’s eyes go wide with fear, but she doesn’t run. Everyone—even, despicably, the Guard—moves away, so fearful of the machine’s unknown power that they abandon the girl to her fate. To my left is a pot lid, resting next to a food vendor’s stall.

Before I think it through, I’m on the stage, and am standing between the Princess and that deadly automaton. It fires, and the heat is so intense at this range that I can smell my hair singing.

The beam hits the pot lid, but it feels surprisingly forceful—like a physical strike of a club or mace. My years of training kick in, and I swing my arm outwards, parrying the beam the same way I would any other blow.

Somehow, instead of turning me to ash, the beam rebounds and hits the Guardian directly in the eye.

The resulting explosion sends me flying backwards, and I collide with the Princess. Instinctively, I throw my arms around her, shielding her from the agonising slide across the rough cobblestones. My ears ring; my vision goes grey as concerned faces crowd around us.

The Princess is shockingly strong, and fights her way free of my grip. Her cheek is smudged with dirt, and her hair has escaped from its elaborate updo. Instead of gratefulness and awe, her face is contorted with rage.

“You destroyed it!” she shrieks, her hands balled into fists. “That was a priceless relic that took years of work to rehabilitate! What in Hylia’s name were you thinking!?”

She’s still screaming at me, but the words aren’t matching up with the way her mouth is moving. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought…

“Link! Link, please!”

There’s a golden light all around… where is it coming from?

…

The Guardian fired.

Zelda rolled out of the way just in time, but the beam scorched her cheek and shoulder as it met with the bog’s surface, making the water bubble and hiss. Link remained a statue, his eyes glazed over as the Master Sword hung uselessly in his hand.

“LINK!”

The red bead appeared on his forehead, but his expression did not change. That eerie emptiness persisted even as the Guardian charged another blast and bore down on him, stepping right over her.

He had died in her arms that awful day, steam and smoke rising from his body. He’d smelled like singed hair and overdone meat, covered in star-shaped burns from the countless Guardians he had battled. The very thought of it made her feel nauseated, vengeful, ridden with grief…

…and filled with sizzling energy.

Her skin prickled as a luminescence shone through it, and every beat of her heart fed the rush of power. She kicked at one of the Stalker’s legs. It certainly wasn’t enough to cripple it, but it slowed and turned its attention to her, eye flashing with Malice.

Mipha had always treated Vah Ruta as though it were alive, and Zelda had done the same for the Guardians. She had built one nearly from scratch, spending hundred of hours programming it. She had even given it a name, much to the amusement of the other researchers. Ganon’s blight had snuffed out countless lives, and the corruption of the ancient technology counted as taking life in Zelda’s eyes, even if that life was artificial.

I’m sorry, Little One, she thought, before raising her hand and bathing the automaton in golden light.

Its eye sputtered and flashed weakly as the magenta lights on its body went dim. Its legs gave out, and its upper body splashed into the mire before going completely dark and motionless. The power faded, and she nearly slumped to the ground, exhausted. But Link… he still stood stock-still, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She ran up to him, taking his face in her hand, but his eyes still stared sightlessly past her.

What in Hylia’s name is wrong with him? Is it a fit of some sort? Zelda wanted to shake his shoulders, slap his cheek, anything to pull him back, but she feared harming him further. She swallowed her fear and pulled the Master Sword from his lifeless hand, lest he spring into action as soon as he woke.

She waited, willing him to return to her.

After about a minute, he jerked back into consciousness, collapsing into the mud. She barely caught him, still wobbly from her use of the sealing power. Despite the apparent weakness of his body, his eyes were wild, his pulse pounding against her fingers as she checked it.

“The Guardian—I couldn’t—Where am I?”

Zelda took his face in her hands, making him look her in the eye. His pupils were dilated, but both appeared to be the same size. He was sweating, but not particularly pale. “We’re at the base of Sahasra Slope, close to Mercay Island,” she said, slowly and clearly. “Do you remember coming here?”

He seemed to be calming down, zeroing in on the dead Guardian. “You stopped it.”

“Yes.”

His brow furrowed as some emotion she couldn’t place played over his features. “I… I’m sorry. I destroyed it.”

“What?” She looked more carefully into his eyes. “I did, Link. I used my power and shut it down.”

His gaze was beginning to wander again, his breathing becoming more rapid. He pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing. “I hit my head.”

None of this made sense. “When did you hit your head, Link?” Suddenly she recalled running into him outside of the bathhouse: he had crumpled onto the ground, as if he had fainted. He had claimed to have just fallen asleep, but Zelda had never known him to pass out while on guard duty, no matter how tired he was. She gently probed the top and sides of is head with her fingertips, feeling for a bump.

There was no bump. She sat back on her heels, confused. Link’s gaze was still dreamy, and he slowly reached out for her cheek.

“You’re hurt,” he said sadly. “And your hair…” He tugged gently, and a charred clump of hair came away. The scorch marks on her face and shoulder stung, but could not compare to the sinking feeling of having gone through Paya’s torturous combing session only to ruin her hair all over again.

“Never mind that. Let’s get out of this bog.”

She half-dragged him over to a small island that held a glowing blue shrine. Several Lizalfos peered at them, their yellow eyes glittering, but they kept their distance; Zelda assumed they had a healthy fear of her power. Link’s fingers pressed painfully into her forearms as he slowly sat on the lip of the shrine’s opening, and she collapsed beside him, panting.

One hundred years hasn’t made him any lighter, she thought grumpily before turning to check on him. Already, Link seemed more lucid; his eyes were sharp, but he pressed his hand against his temple, his muscles taut. He relaxed as soon as he noticed her watching, and gave her an unconvincing smile.

“Well, that was exciting,” he said breezily. “I suppose we aren’t going to go Guardian-hunting again anytime soon.”

“Don’t try and pull that,” she snapped.

“Pull what?”

“Turning everything into some big joke to deflect the severity of the matter.”

His smile softened into a genuine one. “I love it when you use big words.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “It’s not going to work this time. Link… I need to know what’s happening to you.”

Link almost protested, but he winced, clapping his palms to his forehead. Zelda’s hand nervously fluttered to his shoulder, but he hardly noticed, his breathing laboured as he fought through the wave of unexplained pain.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he said through gritted teeth. “My memories… it hasn’t happened like this before.”

Zelda thought back to the terrifying sight of him slumped outside the bathhouse, nearly impaling himself on the blade of his own sword. “You remembered something?”

Link’s headache seemed to have abated, but a sheen of sweat clung to his face. “It’s not just remembering. I am there. It’s happening to me, like a dream.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t protect you if I’m like this. I’m going to take you back to the village and have a team of Sheikah escort you to the Domain.”

She had never seen him like this. Even Before, when he had been within inches of death, he had never given up. Zelda had once complained to Purah that Link was ‘tenacious as a tick,’ refusing to admit defeat whether the situation was an endless swarm of Guardians or chasing down an elusive princess who had given him the slip yet again.

“Don’t I get any say in this?” she demanded. That certainly got his attention; his head popped up, bewildered by the edge in her voice.

“I’m your protector,” Link said matter-of-factly. “If I’m no longer capable of protecting you, then I need to find someone who is.”

Zelda bristled, and he flinched, holding his hands out as if to ward off her furious speech. The attempt not successful.

“I find it incredibly insulting that I just saved you from a Guardian, and yet you still think me incapable,” she said, getting to her feet and planting her fists on her waist. “I’m not some helpless princess anymore, and you of all people should know that.”

“I never meant to insult you. I just—”

“And a team of Sheikah?” She scoffed, and gave him an eyeroll for good measure. “You’re the one who was giving me a sermon about independence and how worried the Zora are about being taken over by the Queen of Hyrule. How would they react if I waltzed in with an armed company of guards?”

She glared down at him, and he simply stared at her impassively before something flickered across his face. “Oh. Are you finished? I didn’t want to interrupt your speech—you really had the ball rolling.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to take me seriously.”

He sighed, and drew himself up. The action clearly took effort, and a momentary pang of guilt clenched at her; he’d just been through some sort of mental episode, and here she was lecturing him. Was she really any better than Purah?

Zelda pushed thoughts of the Sheikah researcher aside and reached for Link’s hands. He was giving her a look that reminded her far too painfully of that day at the Spring of Wisdom: so full of sadness and something else that she couldn’t put her finger on. She had rejected his advances that day… and then there was a deeper pang that gripped at her chest.

Does he remember that? Am I being cruel, touching him so casually like this?

It felt worse to let go, so she continued to hold his hands, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t want a protector,” she said, aware that she had said almost the exact words a century before. “You see those Lizalfos cowering over there? That was me. I can protect myself—and you.”

He shook his head, a wry smile playing over his lips. “I don’t want a protector either, Zel.”

“I know. We’re equals.” She made herself look at him, trying not to show how her pulse jumped as she did so. “We watch each others’ backs from now on.”

Link nodded very seriously. His mouth didn’t so much as twitch as he said, “Right. So I suppose you’ll take watch all night tonight, then.”

Zelda stomped towards the road, her boots sloshing through the bog. Some things really were exactly the same, even after a hundred years. She could hear his laughter and splashing footfalls behind her as he jogged to catch up.

“C’mon, Zel, I was only teasing.”

She lifted her nose into the air, just to punish him a little longer. But when she glanced over, he really did have a grave look about him.

“Is something the matter, Link?”

Zelda braced herself for another barrage of teasing, but he sighed, turning to face the castle ruins. “Yes,” he said. “If we did destroy the source of Malice… then why was that Guardian still corrupted?”

A haze of dark smoke still hung around the remains of Castle Town and her former home, and Zelda felt the air grow suddenly cold. A half-remembered dream of red lightning forking overhead played through her mind as the ominous cloud spiraled over Central Hyrule, like a cat lazily circling its prey.

“There’s a reasonable explanation,” she said, with far less firmness than she had intended. “It’s over. We destroyed Ganon.”

Neither of them voiced their doubt, but they shared it nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Although Link had allegedly been teasing about Zelda taking the night’s watch, that was how the evening played out. He had been weaving ever since their confrontation with the Guardian, his eyes glazing over as she spoke to him. He nearly burned their dinner, and face-planted into his plate mid-bite, eliciting a cry of alarm from Zelda.

“I’m fine!” he protested, wiping bits of fried greens from his forehead. 

“Bed,” she said firmly, hauling him by the arm and into the tent. “I’m taking watch tonight.”

Snoring emitted from the tent flap mere minutes later, to her relief. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged the Sheikah Slate, readying herself for a long night.

The fire crackled, the amber light bouncing off the surrounding trees and casting long, strange shadows along the ground. She shivered. It was so cold, and her rear was already starting to fall asleep. She dragged herself upright and walked a brisk circle around the campfire, the frozen grass crunching beneath her boots.

I don’t even know what time of year it is. Zelda tilted her head back, the night sky pricked with starlight. She had certainly been tutored in astrology, but to her disappointment in her past self, she had not absorbed enough of it to ascertain whether the constellation overhead was that of fall’s Kaepora or mid-winter’s Rauru. The arrows in her quiver rolled around, and she absently pressed a hand to it once again, shifting the weight of the bow slung over her shoulder.

Her real weapon was her sacred power, but Link had insisted on giving her something extra to defend herself with.

“It just feels too weird to have you unarmed,” he had said, already materialising a carved wooden bow from the Slate. That was certainly new; they used to wander the wilds with only the Master Sword between the two of them, and not once had Link suggested she carry a weapon.

Link had taken great care when buckling the quiver to her belt, so there was no logical reason for her to be obsessively checking it. He was quite a bit taller now, and had gotten to his knees in order to reach her waist. There had been an odd moment when he had sat back to check his work, his hand lingering on her thigh.

“Right,” he’d said, a sudden pink flush spreading over his cheekbones. “That should do it.” He had snatched his hand away as though she’d burned him, and had not said another word until they sat down to eat.

Perhaps he doesn’t want me to get the wrong impression, she thought, trudging yet another lap around the firepit. But then again, I really don’t need a quiver and bow. Perhaps he gave them to me just so he would have an excuse to—

Zelda shook her head before the vain thought could form, and crouched before the flames, holding out her icy fingertips.

There were far more pressing matters that she ought to put her mind to. The prospect of meeting with the Zora was certainly daunting, and the troubling idea that Ganon’s corruption might still be influencing the ancient technology weighed heavily upon her. Yet try as she might, all she could think of was another campfire, another bitterly cold day, another time.

Immediately after her desperate final plea to Hylia, the Calamity had shown itself, erupting from a sudden fissure that formed around the castle. In the ensuing chaos and slew of horrors, Zelda had not given much thought to the emotional blow she had dealt Link atop Mount Lanayru. But now, in the stillness of the night, her mind was free to relive it.

He had kissed her. It still seemed unbelievable that he had been so bold. But she too had been caught up in the moment, having longed for him for all that time. He had been shockingly forceful, no longer treating her like something fragile; she had been breathless, wondering whether he might crush her to death, or devour her. The very memory of it made warmth bloom somewhere deep inside, and she pressed her knees together, taking a deep, steadying breath.

She had spurned him, believing that her infatuation with him was the reason she had been unable to access her sacred power. It had felt like tearing her heart out with her own two hands, but the worst part of it all had been hurting him.

He had died believing that she did not want him, when he was truly the reason she could access her power.

Zelda swiped her hand across her eyes, swallowing the ache in her throat that the cruel irony formed. It traveled into her chest and sat there, amplifying the chill in the air. She had not exactly interrogated him to discover how much of his memory had been recovered, but the easy way he spoke with and teased her seemed to indicate that he did not remember the events atop the mountain. Perhaps he was recalling events in reverse-chronological order, beginning with his early life and probably ending with the Calamity and the battle at Fort Hateno.

But some memories seemed to have specific triggers, such as what had just happened with the Guardian. Zelda felt the familiar itch in her fingertips for a quill or graphite stub, but contented herself with mentally filing the hypothesis away for later.

If he doesn’t remember, should I tell him? That would be a conversation fraught with emotional mines, and Zelda could not think of a single good way to segue into it. The kiss aside, she was unsure whether it would be best to allow him to recall events as they came, or to inform him of his past.

You can also simply ask what he would prefer. The voice of reason cut through her racing thoughts, and she shook her head ruefully at her own short-sightedness.

It would make most sense to speak to him in the morning, but Zelda had a distinct sensation of ants crawling over her body that only intensified the longer she stayed silent. So she opened the tent flap, and removed her boots before stepping inside.

The air inside was much warmer, fed by Link’s body heat and the small oil lantern beside his sleeping mat. His hair had come loose from its tie, and strands of it were glued to his open mouth as he snored softly, his eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids.

Once again, she longed for her field journal. I wonder if he can access memories in his dreams? Zelda herself had been able to recall past lives, and had premonitions in the form of dreams. Perhaps the Hero of Hyrule had similar abilities, but the only indication to his dreams Link had let on was that he’d once had one where she was “huge”.

He’s going to be a difficult subject, she thought fondly.

He snorted himself awake, choking on his own saliva. Zelda flinched backwards, watching in disgust as he wiped his mouth, leaving a string of spit hanging from the back of his hand. Is this really the same person I was lusting after just a few minutes ago?

Link suddenly realised she was there, and tried to casually wipe the drool onto his blanket as if she hadn’t seen anything. “Hey, Zel. Everything alright?”

“I was just thinking about your amnesia, and I believe I have a hypothesis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A hypothesis that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Zelda launched into her explanation before he could stop her. “I couldn’t help but notice that you remember having a sister, and living in Hateno Village. But yet… you don’t seem to recall many memories closer to the Calamity, aside from ones spent with me.”

He was fully awake now, and humouring her. “That’s true,” he admitted. “But I remember the Champions. I recalled a handful of things about them as I recovered their Divine Beasts.”

“But only a handful.” She raised a finger for emphasis. “I believe that eventually all of your memories will return, mostly in reverse-chronological order, seeing as you can remember your childhood. On the other hand, there are some memories that emerge through specific stimuli.”

“Like the Guardian. And the Sheikah children.”

“I—yes. I didn’t know about the children.” Zelda waited for Link to elaborate, but he did not. “What I came to ask of you is whether you wish to speed up the process of recovery.”

“How, exactly?” Link seemed guarded, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. Her wild scientific tangents tended to end with him being forced into some sort of experiment.

“Well…” She began to pick at the hem of her tunic, but made herself stop. “I could just tell you about things that you’ve experienced. Perhaps that would be enough to trigger the memory.”

Her heart drummed as Link thought it over, running his hand over the back of his neck. “I dunno, Zel. I already remember everything that happened with us.”

Zelda hardly dared to say it, but she had to. “Are you sure?”

She had forgotten just how hawkish his gaze could be; his blue eyes seemed to be slicing into her. “Is there something I need to know?”

She stared down at her lap, clenching her fists. The Goddess crest flashed, betraying her rapid pulse. She nearly jumped as he put a hand onto her forearm.

“I want to remember for myself.”

Zelda’s breath caught. He was mere centimetres away, and she could count every miniscule freckle scattered along the bridge of his nose. Could he be about to…?

“Are you sure?” she asked again, her voice hoarse.

He nodded, and gave her a fond smile. “Yeah. I mean, when I met your father’s ghost on the Great Plateau, he gave me the rundown of what had happened. I didn’t remember anything then, so I’m not sure I would now. It’s just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I get confused. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m really remembering something, or if it’s just my brain trying to fill a hole.”

“I understand,” said Zelda. She was incredibly relieved that she did not have to clumsily explain that she had broken his heart on the eve of the Calamity, but the prospect of him suddenly remembering it in the near future…

Wait. “You met who on the Great Plateau?!”

His smile transformed into a fully fledged grin, showing his crooked incisors. “I guess now I’m the one who knows things you don’t.”

Link started from the very beginning, and told her all about his journey from first waking up in a strange, alien world with only her father’s strangely jovial ghost up until he reached Vah Medoh in the north, which was when they both realised the horizon growing lighter, streaking the night sky with pink and cream.

They would reach Zora’s Domain by next light.

Chapter Text

The road to Zora’s Domain had once been an architectural marvel: the surface made of only the finest luminous stones, and ornately carved with runes and images of past sages and monarchs. Traders from even the furthest reaches of Hyrule would flock to the Domain, the road constantly bustling with traffic.

That exquisite stonework was now long gone, either pried up by scavengers or buried beneath the constant mudslides brought on by Vah Ruta’s rainfall. The path was barely visible, winding aimlessly through the cliff faces surrounding the Zora River. It was almost enough to send Zelda back into that odd sensation of being untethered, but the tediousness of the journey kept her firmly and miserably within her own body.

As usual, Link was frustratingly competent, clambering over the slippery rocks and dancing over the particularly soggy sections of earth as Zelda flailed and slid backwards. Her boot sole skated across a hidden patch of moss, and she landed hard on her hands. She sucked back a shriek of disdain, shaking her arms to dislodge the mud that had crept up her sleeves.

At least it isn’t raining, she thought, forcing herself to remain optimistic. Link had already crested the hill, and she tried not to hate him for it.

Link started back down towards her, and with an exaggerated windmilling of his arms, lost his footing. He rolled down the slope, coming to rest at her feet so coated in sediment that he resembled a golem.

“Oh dear,” he said, smirking up at her. “It seems I fell.”

Zelda was nearly in too black of a mood to laugh, but she shook her head, feeling the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “You obviously did that on purpose.”

“Did not!” He rolled up his trouser leg, pointing at a microscopic, half-healed scrape on his knee. “See? Banged up me leg. Oh, Hylia, it hurts! I think we’d better rest.”

It was the same old trick: pretending he was too exhausted to go on to spare her feelings of physical inadequacy. Still, she wasn’t about to argue. Despite the chill that still lingered in the afternoon air, Zelda stripped off her boots, plunging her sweaty, mud-encrusted legs into the river.

Ordinarily, she hated the water. She had spent far too much of her life wading into sacred puddles, shivering as she begged the Goddess to reveal her birthright to her. But after a long day of hiking, and cursing, and sliding back three steps for every five taken, the stream felt absolutely rejuvenating. Link had sought out a flat section of ground, and was already pulling the cookpot out of the Sheikah Slate. She thought about offering to help, but it felt like her rear end had grown roots; the task of heaving herself up from the riverbank felt simply impossible.

Although her body was exhausted, Zelda’s mind was as sharp as ever. She found herself watching Link as he prepared their lunch, replaying his words.

Banged up me leg.

That was his old Hateno accent; Zelda hadn’t even realised its absence until it suddenly re-emerged. Before, he rarely spoke in the presence of others, and when he did it was in the same affected Castle Town cadence that coloured her own words. But the slightly country-bumpkin slang he used to use… it was only around those he was close to.

Her fingers twitched towards her waist, searching for the pencil stub that was not there. Why would his speech pattern suddenly change? What triggered it? Link was humming nonsensically to himself as he turned over the meat frying in the pan. Is he even aware of it?

“Zel,” he said, making her nearly jump out of her skin, “Are there any fish in the river right now? I dunno if there’s going to be enough protein here for us both.”

Zelda shoved her psychoanalysis away, turning her attention to the stream’s surface. Hyrule Bass were especially plentiful in the Zora River—at least, they had been. Now that she really thought about it, she hadn’t seen a single flash of scales or splash of a fish jumping all day long.

“Should there be fish here?”

“Aye,” Link replied (That accent again!). “We’re pretty close to the Bank of Wishes. It’s still a prime fishing spot.”

Zelda frowned, and dragged herself upright, feeling the current tug at her ankles. The water was far murkier than she remembered, a dark, brackish sediment settling over the bottom. Holding onto a jutting stone for purchase, she reached out and experimentally prodded the muck with her toe.

Fire shot up through her leg, traveling up her spine and into her chest. It was so intense that she only got out half a scream, her vision greying as all the strength fled from her body. She collapsed into the river, the chill of the water doing nothing to calm the searing agony coursing through her veins.

I’ve felt this before.

Ganon’s maw opened wide, his breath scorching and reeking of brimstone as it swallowed her. She had managed to put up a protective cocoon of golden light, but the beast’s innards still burned through, blistering her very essence.

No! I must fight!

Thundering laughter bore down, nearly deafening her. Foolish girl. Succumb, and your death will be swift.

I fell for it. I really believed it was over.

All is lost…

…

Link knocked over the cooking pot in his haste, barely feeling the pain as the sizzling contents poured into his lap. Only the very top of Zelda’s golden head poked through the water’s surface, and the current was strong enough that she was already being pulled downstream. He lunged towards her, grabbing her by the one pale arm that clung desperately to an outcropping of rock.

The water burned: it felt like wading into a magma stream at Death Mountain. Link gritted his teeth and pulled Zelda’s arm with all his might.

It wasn’t enough. It was impossible for her to be this heavy, even if she was waterlogged. Something had a grip on her, and it was draining his strength, too; his legs wobbled, as though he hadn’t eaten in days, and his head felt like it had been filled with bricks, suddenly too heavy to hold up.

Gotta make it… to shore. Keeping a death grip on Zelda’s wrist, Link flopped onto the rocky bank, barely able to pull his legs from the water. The burning stopped, but the weakness remained. He laid his cheek against the blessedly cool stone, panting.

All he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep, but Zelda… she had been in there for nearly half a minute by now. He offered up a tiny prayer to Hylia and whoever else might be listening, and tugged so hard that he thought his shoulder might pop out.

Zelda’s upper torso emerged from the river, every vein raised and visible through her ashen complexion. Link forced himself upright, wrapping his arms around her chest and crawling backwards, away from that poisoned stream. As soon as her feet cleared the bank, he fell onto his back, gasping like a gutted fish.

Whatever had attacked them, it did not surface to finish them off. Link’s bout of faintness finally wore off, and he turned his attention to Zelda.

If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, Link would have thought she was dead. Something in his throat tightened as he took in the angry red sores that covered her from knee to foot, and he swiped furiously at his eyes.

I took way too long. I should have taken her back to Kakariko like I was going too…

She coughed weakly, water dribbling from the corners of her mouth. Panic grabbed the reins: if that water got into her lungs… He pulled her upright, and she immediately vomited bile and riverwater into her lap.

A potion. That’ll help her. He snagged the Sheikah Slate from the overturned remains of their lunch and materialised a small, corked bottle filled with red fluid. He pulled the cork free with his teeth, and put the bottle to her lips.

“Zel, I know this is hell, but you gotta drink this, alright? Can you manage that?”

He tipped it, and a few drops landed on her mouth. She groaned and tried to move her head away, but he gently tapped her forehead.

“Drink, please.”

Zelda finished most of the potion, some of it pouring down her chin. Her breathing had returned to normal, and her colour was better. The sores on her legs were a different story. The flesh around them was hot to the touch, and there was no telling how far up her body they went; Link was not about to remove her trousers to find out.

“I’ll leave that to the experts,” he muttered, fumbling for the map.

Zelda cracked open an eyelid, that wrinkle forming between her brows. “What?”

Link gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster, clamping down the anxiety screaming through him. “Never mind. Just… hold onto me. And maybe hold your breath.”

He tapped the shrine marker just below King Dorephan’s court, and his vision momentarily dissolved into sparks of blue light.

The obsidian surface of the shrine’s platform took shape beneath them, and Link clambered to his feet, lifting Zelda. She feebly put her arms around his neck, burying her cold nose against his ear. He took a few clumsy steps, nearly slipping in the pool of water surrounding the shrine as he tried to balance her weight.

“Stop! Stop!”

There was a metallic ringing as three Zora guards drew their spears, levelling them at Link. Their faces were pale with fear, spearheads trembling.

“I saved your Domain, and I now need your help!” Link cried. “She fell into the river—”

“Don’t take a step closer!” one of the guards shrilled. “Keep that blighted Hylian away from us!”

Zelda had gone limp, her breaths fast and faltering. He struggled to keep holding her as the guards advanced, corralling him back into the shrine. His boot slipped, and he landed hard, bones cracking against the stone floor. Zelda’s head lolled back, her lips pale and tinged with blue.

I can’t save her. I went through hell, and I can’t save her.

He lifted the back of her neck, pressing his forehead into hers as bitter tears streamed down his face.

Chapter Text

Zelda…

She groaned, screwing her eyes shut against the light. She turned over and pressed her face into her pillow, nestling deeper into her blankets.

Zelda, it’s time to wake up.

“Not now, Mother,” she mumbled. “It’s too early. Close the shutters.”

Zelda.

She opened her eyes, and was momentarily blinded by a great white face. It was haloed in gold, the features undiscernible yet somehow familiar.

“…I know you.”

Yes. I am you. And you are me. It’s time to wake up, Zelda.

Zelda woke with a gasp, her heart hammering as the sickening sensation of having been dropped onto her back steadily dissipated. The ceiling overhead was painted a bright cerulean, with a stylised red fish chasing its tail in the centre. Something heavy rested on her thigh; she slowly pulled herself upright to see Link sprawled in a chair beside her bed, his head occupying her lap. He snored softly, his palm resting over her left hand, a realisation that made her ears go warm.

She had been in this room before, although never as a patient. This was the infirmary, where Zelda most often would meet with Mipha before setting out for the Divine Beast. The length of the room was filled with pools of water, each large enough to allot one Zora. The cot that Zelda now laid upon had been pushed haphazardly against the opposite wall, jostling for space with an enormous cabinet filled with jars and bottles.

Is this real?

That awful voice cutting into her mind, the fires that scorched not only her body, but her spirit too. She had been in this room before; it would not be difficult for Ganon to warp her psyche, make her think that she was really here. Zelda couldn’t remember how she had gotten here, a telltale sign that she was being manipulated. Her breath grew short, her chest feeling like it was being filled with smoke.

Wake up! I have to fight! I have to—

The double doors at the end of the infirmary creaked open, and a flash of crimson scales appeared. For a moment, Zelda could have sworn it was Mipha who walked towards her, warmth in her amber eyes and a smile playing over her lips. But this Zora was a juvenile, her head-tail nearly brushing the stone flooring.

Relief washed over her, melting away the tension in her muscles. This girl was a stranger to her. In all Ganon’s power, even it couldn’t create faces that she had never laid eyes on. The more she looked, the more impossible it became for her to be Mipha; her eyes were too close together, and her scales had more of a rusty hue.

Not to mention that Mipha is dead. Zelda felt tears prick at her eyes, but she allowed herself to feel that pain, letting it root her firmly in reality. The girl gave Zelda a cheery wave, setting down her medical kit at the foot of the cot.

“You’re finally awake!” she chirped. “And you aren’t glowing anymore. That’s good. You were really freaking out some of the other medics.”

Zelda lifted her hand. The golden crest flashed, and the skin around it was still faintly luminescent. “Sorry,” she muttered, unsure of what to say.

“Well, I didn’t mind. I thought it was pretty. You know, some Zora glow at night. They have special spots along their fins.” The girl began fumbling through her kit. “I’m Finley, by the way. What’re you called?”

“What happened to me?”

“You don’t remember? That boy there said you fell into the river.” She shook her head, her expression suddenly grave. “You’re lucky to be a Hylian. Most of us Zora… wouldn’t have survived.”

Link slept on, his ears twitching. It gave her an odd, floating sensation in her chest, but she tamped it down, anxious to know what was going on.

“Why would a Zora not survive a plunge into water?”

Finley sighed, all of her earlier pep dissipating. “There’s something foul in the water, miss,” she said, unscrewing the lid of a rather pungent poultice. “I don’t know all the details, only it kills us almost instantly. Nobody wanted to even touch you when they found out you’d been in the river, but…” The girl squared her narrow shoulders, determination flashing in her eyes. “I’m a medic. I would never turn away someone who needs help.”

A lump formed in Zelda's throat as Finley gently pulled back the sheet, mindful of Link’s head. Zelda was nude from the waist-down, and white spots mottled the skin all the way up to the middle of her thighs.

The Zora let out a low whistle. “Wow. I guess whatever was making you glow did the trick, huh? You’re already practically healed.”

“Am I?” That was a new development; there was nothing in the scarce documents about the sealing power that mentioned regenerative abilities. Was I far gone enough that the Goddess herself stepped in?

Finley pulled on a pair of gloves and went to work, spreading the poultice over the marks on her right leg. Link snored louder, and Zelda felt her cheeks go hot, suddenly realising just how exposed she was.

“Er… Finley. Would you maybe mind covering me up before he wakes?”

“Ooooh, right. Sorry. I forgot you Hylians worry about things like that.” She hastily applied the last of the poultice before pulling the sheet back over Zelda’s lower half. “I just thought it… you know, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.”

Zelda made a half-choked noise, her face hot enough to fry an egg. “It’s not like that.”

Finley eyed Link’s prone, protective form laying over her. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I have a Hylian boyfriend too.”

Zelda made the strangled sound again, and the Zora grinned, showing a row of unexpectedly sharp teeth. She prodded Link’s shoulder, and he stirred, rubbing at his eyes. Then he shot upright as though he’d just received an electric shock, snatching his hand away from hers.

“Zelda! Wow. I—um… you’re awake? So am I.”

Finley guffawed, her laughter echoing off the infirmary walls. “I’ll leave you two alone. No funny business, okay? I’ll be back again soon to do your other leg.” She dropped a wink as she packed up her things, leaving them both sputtering and indignant.

“So inappropriate!” Zelda burst out as soon as Finley had left. “Isn’t she a child?”

“Well… not quite. She’s about twenty, I think. So a bit younger than you, in our years.” Link’s face was nearly the same colour as the Zora’s scales. “I, um, I’m sorry about that. I just sort of nodded off, and I guess landed… like that.”

With your hand on mine? She couldn’t look at him; Hylia only knew what her face would betray. “It’s alright. You’ve had a trying few days. I can only imagine how exhausted you must be.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He cleared his throat, staring down at the toes of his boots. “I thought you were really gone.”

The tightness in her chest threatened to snap, to burst through her ribs and expose everything. He didn’t know that he’d said those exact words to her before, didn’t know what she had done to him. How will I bear it when he remembers the pain I inflicted?

“It really made me think,” he continued. His knee had begun to bounce nervously. “I… Zel, I’ve been meaning to tell you that—”

“Link! Link, my friend!”

The infirmary doors banged against the wall, and an unbelievably large Zora shouldered his way through, the blue plume atop his head brushing the vaulted ceiling. Zelda could only stare, dazzled by the jewel tones of his scales and the silver finery that decorated his forearms and broad chest. Link rose from his seat and reached out an arm in greeting, but the giant Zora took an uneasy step back.

“I am delighted to see that you are both unharmed, but… it is in my best interests to avoid touching you. I apologise for the breach of etiquette.” The Zora’s golden eyes widened as he met Zelda’s gaze, and sunk into a deep bow. “Your Highness. It warms my heart to see that you have made a speedy recovery. My name is Sidon. I believe we have met before, although my memory of that occasion is hazy.”

It felt like the room was spinning. There was so much new information, and Zelda’s brain didn’t know which to process first. It seemed to be stuck on a feedback loop of Why is Sidon so enormous? Perhaps Link would know: he had been very close with the Zora people.

“How long have I been here?” she finally asked.

“A few days,” Link supplied as Sidon lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged. He had to feel cramped, squashed into such a small space, but his face betrayed no discomfort.

“I wish to apologise for the way my people treated you upon your arrival,” said Sidon. His eyes flashed. “They will be dealt with accordingly.”

Zelda could not recall much of what happened after she had stirred whatever lurked beneath the river, but she vaguely remembered spears being pointed at her.

You’re lucky to be a Hylian. Most of us Zora wouldn’t have survived.

“Sidon… er, Prince Sidon,” she corrected. “Can you tell me what has your people so frightened? Why can’t you shake Link’s hand?”

“Please, your Highness, just call me Sidon.” He sighed, and ran a red-scaled hand over the feather adorning his head. “It has been a rapid and difficult development, but I will do my best to give you the shortened version of events. Not long after I spoke with Link—perhaps a mere matter of hours—a few fishermen requested an audience with my father. They had traveled about halfway down the Great Lanayru Spring, not far from Vah Ruta’s current resting place. They claimed to have arrived only to find that all of the fish had perished, floating belly-up on the surface of the spring.”

“A blight,” said Zelda.

“Yes,” Sidon confirmed. “At first we presumed it was a blight amongst the fish themselves; we have dealt with that sort of thing before. But… when we sent a party to investigate…” The great Zora sucked in a shaky breath, taking a moment to compose himself. “Only two survived the initial journey. Before they passed on, they told us that the water seared them like electricity, burning them from the insides out.”

Or like fire. Zelda shuddered involuntarily, and Link’s hand fluttered to her shoulder.

“Upon further investigation—which took far too long, seeing as we were forced to travel by foot—we discovered that most waterways connected to the Great Spring were affected. Some sort of sludge has settled into the riverbeds, poisoning the water. We Zora are far more sensitive to even small changes in water than you Hylians, and even a small drop of the blighted substance touching the skin or scales made us deathly ill. Over twenty Zora have already succumbed.” Sidon’s eyes were misty, his fins twitching. “Most of them were infected by the two who returned from the initial investigation party. No one has dared leave the city, and we have blockaded Luto’s Crossing to prevent anyone from entering.”

Zelda’s mind buzzed, feeling a few pieces drop into place. She plucked the Sheikah Slate from Link’s belt and opened up the map of the Lanayru province. A marker flashed, showing their current location, but Zelda moved the view southward, to the mire surrounding Mercay Island.

“The Guardian!” she cried. Paralysing dread spread through her, making her heart pound faster. “Link, that Guardian was corrupted by Malice. And that bog is directly downstream…”

Link’s face had gone ashen, every muscle rigid. Zelda felt sick, bile rising to the back of her throat. It’s supposed to be over!

“Malice? What is Malice?”

Zelda tried to compose herself, to answer Sidon’s question without screaming. “It’s… it’s a sort of substance that the Calamity produces,” she explained. “I suppose you’ve never seen it. It covers most of the land surrounding Hyrule Castle. I thought it was only there, since that’s where Ganon appeared…”

“It’s not just there.” Link’s hands were squeezed together so tightly that the knuckles were white. “It’s all over Hyrule. And it was particularly thick inside the Divine Beasts, too.”

Zelda gasped and Sidon’s eyes widened as they both reached the same conclusion at once. “It’s Ruta!”

“It must be Ruta!” Sidon echoed. “The Divine Beast has the ability to generate water, and it was pouring down rain for weeks until Link arrived and stopped it.”

“A pencil! Please, get me a pencil and paper!”

Link gave her a baffled look, but got up to rummage through the cabinets. He produced a chunk of graphite and some thin material that was most likely gauze, but Zelda wasn’t about to complain. She scribbled furiously, her mind moving faster than her hand could.

“Link—did the Malice ever dissipate when you reclaimed the Divine Beasts?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Think faster! she screamed internally. “Some of it?” he said hesitantly. “When I destroyed an eyeball formed from the Malice, big chunks of it disappeared. But there’s quite a bit that I couldn’t get rid of.”

“Did you ever encounter it spreading like this?”

“No,” said Link firmly. “This is a first, definitely.”

The page was filled with Zelda’s scrunched, spidery handwriting; she flipped it over, careful to avoid smudging the graphite. “Sidon—has anyone been inside Vah Ruta since Link reclaimed it?”

“No. As Link may have informed you, Highness, my father and the elders wish to keep Ruta as a monument to my sister. Nobody has set foot in there since the Calamity was defeated.”

Zelda nibbled on the end of the pencil, deep in thought. “That’s too bad. I hoped that perhaps someone might be able to compare with Link and chart the Malice’s growth.” She sighed, and folded the page into neat quarters. “No matter. I’ll simply have to investigate it myself.”

“What?!”

“Your Highness, you can’t!”

Their outcry was so perfectly timed that it was nearly humorous. Zelda folded her arms and gave both Zora and Hylian a withering glare. “I shouldn’t need to remind anyone that I was—and am—the leading expert when it came to the Divine Beasts. If Ruta is compromised, I am the only one who has even the slightest chance of recovering it. Not to mention…” She gulped a deep lungful of air, fighting to keep panic from setting in. “Not to mention that I have been the closest of any of us to the source of Malice itself.” Hot air caressed the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, and she tamped down a scream.

It isn’t real, she told herself firmly. Stay focused. You have to show strength.

Sidon stroked his chin contemplatively. “Dangerous though it may be, I agree that this is our only course of action.” Link started to protest, but the Zora prince shook his head. “I know, Link. It’s far too much to ask of you both, and yet I must ask it. But first, I will have to consult with my father.”

“If it’s alright,” said Zelda, “I would like to speak with King Dorephan myself. I meant to speak with him concerning some other matters as well.”

Sidon’s eyes cut over to Link for only a split second, but it was enough for Zelda to see the nervous twitch of his fins. “Of course,” said the prince smoothly, almost making her wonder if she had imagined it. “I can bring you to the court whenever you feel ready, Your Highness.”

“I’m ready now,” she said firmly. “I just need someone to bring me some trousers.”

Amusement flashed over Sidon’s face, and he gave her a gracious bow before pulling himself up to his full height. “Very good. I’ll see you both shortly.”

Chapter Text

Zelda refused to be talked out of meeting with the Zora king. She ignored Finley’s pleas that she rest, ordering the medic to bring her breeches. She cut Link a dagger glare when he offered to help her get out of bed, and he respectfully turned his back as she got dressed, doing his best to pretend not to hear her stifled grunts of pain as she dragged the rough material over her still-tender wounds.

Link didn’t dare tell her that she ought to cut herself a break; their argument over her mental capability was still fresh in his mind, and he had little desire to start a new one over her physical ability. But watching her torment herself, refuse even a crutch as she wobbled along on half-healed legs… it felt like a series of punches to the guts that only kept coming.

Zelda leaned over one of the pools of water in the infirmary, combing her fingers through her hair to coax out the knots. She deftly wove the golden strands into her usual crown braid, tucking a few loose pieces behind her pointed ears.

“Well? Do I look presentable?”

She looked tired. Dark bruises formed crescents beneath her eyes, and her complexion was frighteningly pale. A memory tickled at his brain: a peculiar sensation of snow falling over his face, drifting over her bare white shoulders. But as he reached for it, the image vanished back into the murk of his subconscious.

Although she seemed like she might fall over at any moment, Zelda would never not be beautiful. He mustered up a smile for her, doing his best to mask his concern. “As always.”

That reassurance seemed to give her confidence; she stood a little straighter, her limp less noticeable. Link wished that some of it would rub off on him. As they made their way to the court, the knot in his stomach grew tighter, threatening to suck the rest of him into a compact ball of nerves. Almost instinctively, he found himself falling back a few paces before she shot him a curious look.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Old habits.”

They rounded the corner, and were met with a daunting, opulent staircase carved from the same blue-green stone as most of the Domain’s infrastructure. The rails were carved with images of fish and swimming humanoids so realistic that they seemed to almost breathe; Zelda leaned heavily on them, her face reddening with the effort. She shook her head tightly as Link offered his arm, conscious of the two Zora guards standing outside the double doors atop the stairs.

Link’s guts flip-flopped, not unlike the first time he had approached this throne room. It felt like ages ago that he had turned up here, with no memories and only being sought after because he was a Hylian, rather than because he was a legendary hero. He hadn’t known then how lucky he ought to have counted himself.

The guards bowed their heads in greeting before moving to open the door.

“A moment, if you would.” Zelda was still pretty rosy, and her knuckles were white where she gripped the stair banister. Link dithered for a moment; he didn’t want to make her angry, or feel weak, but he also didn’t want her to tumble down the staircase. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and to his relief, she smiled appreciatively.

“Is everything all right, Your Highness?” asked one of the guards: a rather pretty cerulean-scaled woman. Zelda drew herself upright, smoothing down a few stray hairs that straggled from her braid.

“Yes, thank you.” In less than a second, all signs of her injury had vanished. If it wasn’t for the burnt bits of hair from her encounter with the Guardian and the deep circles beneath her eyes, she looked like she could have walked straight out of his memories.

The heavy stone doors swung inwards, and Link pushed his shoulders back, trying to mimic Zelda’s composed, stately posture. For the first time that he could remember, they stepped into a throne room side-by-side.

Link was taken aback by the emptiness; for some reason, he had been expecting the presence of the entire court. It appeared that they had confined themselves to their homes, along with most of the Domain’s civilians. King Dorephan’s immense bulk occupied the throne at the centre, flanked on either side by only Sidon and his advisor, Muzu.

Zelda sank into a deep bow, the soft noise of pain she made audible only to Link’s ears. He followed suit, feeling a little silly. They had planned this: even though Link’s father had been a personal friend to the Zora king, and Zelda was, well, Zelda, they had thought it best to show humility. But without an audience, the gesture felt fabricated.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” said King Dorephan. “At first I was in disbelief that the Hero of Hyrule had managed to cheat the grave—and yet, here too is the Princess herself.”

Cold sweat inched down the nape of Link’s neck. The King’s voice was so deep and sonorous that it was impossible to discern his tone. Was he pleased to see Zelda? Or could he be thinking of the unfairness that they had survived, and not his beloved daughter?

“Please rise. There is no need for the pair responsible for our salvation to kneel before me.”

Link carefully studied the trio of Zora. Zelda was certainly the more perceptive one, but he had a way of watching people without them knowing he was. Dorephan’s face was the same mask of serene impassiveness that Link had once worn, but Sidon seemed ill at ease, fins fluttering. Muzu was either incapable of restraint or not bothering to hide his distrust; the flat-headed Zora’s eyes were narrowed, a small hiss of scorn escaping through his sharklike teeth.

Tread carefully, he thought, sending Zelda a momentary and meaningful glance.

“I wish to express my condolences for the blight that has afflicted your Domain,” said Zelda. Link had always admired her way of speaking in a political setting; the words were poised and regal, but still rang with genuineness. “Link and I have come to offer assistance in any way we are able.”

Muzu scoffed. “And what exactly is it that you are expecting in return?”

“Muzu!” Sidon chided. “We’ve talked about this. Link helped us once already. Do you really still not trust him?”

“It’s not him I am wary of.”

There it was, although presented much less subtly than Link had expected. It’s a good thing I didn’t insist on that Sheikah escort.

“Please excuse my advisor,” said King Dorephan. “However, I must admit that his misgivings are shared.”

“You do not believe that I am capable of eradicating this blight?”

“Quite the contrary, Your Highness. My concern is that our people will owe you a debt that we are unable to repay.”

This was very different from Hylian politics. In Link’s experience, every interaction was clouded with double meanings, with threats and demands couched in politeness. King Dorephan was showing his hand suspiciously early. Link willed himself to focus, to find the cracks in the Zora king’s mask. What does he really want?

This was the part where Zelda was supposed to assure him that no obligations were necessary, and that she had no intention of taking the throne. But, much to Link’s exasperation, she did not.

“The only thing I ask for in exchange is access to the Divine Beast. I would need access to it immediately, in order to begin my investigation into this blight, but afterwards—”

“This is not possible.” The king shook his great head, pretending not to see Sidon’s beseeching look. “My son acted prematurely by sending for you, and for this I apologise. Vah Ruta will not have another pilot. It is the resting place of my daughter, and it will remain as such.”

Link could practically see the argument swelling in Zelda’s throat. Her composure was nearly gone, her hands in fists at her sides. “With all due respect,” she said carefully, “if the blight’s source is within the Divine Beast—and I am certain that it is—it must be investigated.”

“Sidon has already informed me of your… hypothesis.” Zelda’s cheeks flamed at the insult, but she said nothing, a bone in her jaw moving. Link was in awe of her restraint, tamping down his own wave of frustration. “As I said before, his request for your assistance was premature. I appreciate the gesture, Your Highness, but you and your knight have done enough for the Zora. We will handle this problem ourselves.”

That arrogant moron! Link fought to control his face as the king rose from his throne, signalling that they were dismissed. Muzu gave him a polite bow, but neither Link nor Zelda missed the smug look he shot her way.

“You are welcome to spend the night here in the Domain,” said the king, his rich voice echoing off the empty walls. “I shall send a company of soldiers to accompany you on the road back down the river in the morning.”

With that, King Dorephan made his way back into the depths of his palace, Muzu following closely behind. Sidon looked deflated; the pathetic expression he wore only fanned the flames of Link’s already-blazing anger. He turned on his heel and stalked for the door, the sound of his boots striking stone ringing through the empty Domain.

Zelda followed, her limp worsening with the distance they put between themselves and the Zora palace. They stopped at a small bench overlooking a steep drop into the poisoned water below, the afternoon sun making it glisten deceptively. The mountains surrounding the Domain pressed in, coiling the tension in Link’s muscles to a snapping point.

Zelda let out a wild scream. Link nearly fell off the edge, his hand grabbing for the hilt of his sword. Her face was rigid and nearly scarlet, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She slammed a fist into the bench and let out another feral cry of rage before burying her face in her arms, resting her forehead on the railing.

He had seen her frustrated before, but never like this. “…Zel?”

She muttered something, muffled by her shirtsleeves. He leaned closer.

“They’re all fucking stupid.”

Link let out a sharp laugh before he could stop himself. She peeked up at him, her eyes puffy. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No. Well, yes. I’m sorry!” he said hastily as her brow furrowed. “I’ve just never heard you swear like that. Or screech like that. It’s impressive, honestly.”

She sighed, rolling her head so that her cheek rested on her hands. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I just… I don’t know what to do, Link.”

Something about the way she said his name struck him, making his heart feel like it had received a small squeeze. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, too; her green eyes were made all the more luminous, offset by the redness around them.

Not something you should say to her, he thought. Not charming. He had a sudden, wild urge to bridge the gap between them, to kiss her swollen, tear-streaked cheeks.

“We don’t have to help them,” he pointed out. “We basically were told to shove it. So why are we even still here? I know you love the Divine Beasts, but Zel… there’s three others waiting out there for you.”

He thought he was being reasonable, but from the way Zelda was looking at him, he might have grown a third ear in the middle of his forehead. “What about Sidon? The king and his advisor are old fools, but Sidon is your friend.”

Is he? Link found himself thinking again about the first time he set foot in Zora’s Domain after his century-long nap. Sidon had only sought him out because he was a Hylian, had only called him ‘friend’ after Link had done the impossible for him. And now he was asking for his help again, not even asking him if he was well, or how his battles and trials had affected him.

He had been quiet for too long. Zelda was simply gazing at him, waiting patiently. He appreciated it: she was one of the few who would never pry for an immediate answer.

“I’m not so sure Sidon is a friend,” said Link finally, turning his gaze back to the still waters. “It’s the same as before.”

“How do you mean?”

“He only wants to get close to me because I’m the Hero.” The words began to tumble free, coming faster than his lips could form them. “People don’t want to be around me because they like me. They do it to get something. Folks all over Hyrule love when I come to visit because I’ve brought lumber for their houses, or cleared the fishing hole of monsters, or stopped a band of Bokoblins from rustling their sheep. It’s great to be appreciated, and they give me a place to stay, or a free meal. But it’s never long before they want something else from me.”

Zelda was silent, her oval face also turned towards the lake. Link began to feel somewhat embarrassed. Listen to me, whining like a petulant kid. I should just do what needs to be done. It doesn’t matter what I feel.

“You were always so… noble.” Her voice was thoughtful, but it still felt like an insult.

“I’m not anymore, I guess.”

“I prefer that.” The sun cast a golden glow over her, reminding him suddenly of when she had emerged from the Calamity, power rolling off of her in waves. It had honestly frightened him: Zelda had become something else, something more. He was relieved that she now seemed so mortal, dangling her hands over the railing with her ankles crossed. “I hated you for it. You never asked for your position, same as me. But you rose admirably to the task, never once complaining. I never knew you felt this way.”

“I guess I felt… ashamed.” I still do. “I didn’t want you to think less of me, or to add to the burden you were already carrying.”

“My burden…” For a paralysing moment, he thought he’d said the wrong thing, stepped into yet another invisible conversational pitfall. But she was only mulling it over, running her fingertips over the triangular crest on her hand. “I’ve been acting selfishly.”

“What? Zel, no—”

“I only thought about what I wanted,” she continued. “I assumed you would accompany me to Zora’s Domain. I never asked what you thought of it.” Zelda fixed him with that piercing emerald stare, making him feel like she could see directly into his mind. “What do you want, Link?”

“I want you.”

Her mouth dropped open into a lopsided ‘O’. Link felt like he might catch fire, or his spine might collapse in on itself as he realised what he’d said. It was too late to take it back, so he forced himself to continue, to ignore the terrible possibility that this might make her leave him for good.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. After, you know? We were supposed to finally have time for us.” He reached over and tapped the Sheikah Slate attached to her waist; she flinched, but didn’t move away. “We were going to travel, Zel. Fill out that compendium of yours. I got Purah to put something together on the Slate for you to do that. It’s got pictures and everything you already recorded in the notes, and there’s room for more entries.”

Zelda stared vacantly down at the Slate. “…You remember that?”

Be bold, be bold. “I visited Satori Mountain before I came to the castle. Stocking up for the final battle, you know? It’s one of the most biodiverse…”

“…biodiverse places in Hyrule,” she finished, her head still bowed.

“I remembered you telling me that. I went there, and saw the big cherry tree… It’s still there, Zel. Exactly like it was a hundred years ago. I took you there for your birthday.” Link took a deep breath, feeling like his bones had been replaced with jelly. “I remembered that there was something I meant to tell you, but I didn’t.”

“Why?”

The memory floated before his eyes; her hair was fiery in the setting sun, offset by the looming black figure of Mount Lanayru in the distance. She had never been so beautiful, but her shoulders curved inwards with the weight of the task before her. Any other time, any other day, and it would have been perfect.

“I didn’t want to add to what you already had on your mind. But almost losing you…” He let his eyes travel down to her legs; not lecherously, but remembering the horrific wounds the Malice had inflicted. “Every time I looked towards the castle, Zel, I regretted not telling you how I feel.”

“Link…” It was barely a whisper. Her hands were clasped together on her lap, clenched so tightly that they were losing colour.

“Zel, I think I’m in—”

“Link, no.”

It felt like when Daruk used to slap him on the back; he was reeling, all the breath suddenly knocked out of him. Zelda lifted her head, a wretched expression carved into her face.

“I’m so sorry, Link, but there’s something you don’t remember. I… we can’t. Not until you remember.”

He was so sure.

He was absolutely certain that he remembered everything. He even remembered the worst day, the day that the Calamity broke loose. He remembered the agony of his body burning, looking into Zelda’s eyes and seeing her realisation that he was gone. That had hurt far worse. He would take a thousand Guardian blasts before having to go through that again.

Zelda was crying again, the tears making new tracks along her face. “Please, Link. Just try to remember. Then you can decide if… if you still want me.”

“Zel…” His tongue felt numb. His brain was frustratingly foggy, trying to pull him out of the present and into the cracks between memories. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me feel differently.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, swiping the heel of her hand under her eyes. “I guess we’ll see.”

Link watched her climb painfully to her feet and hobble away, back towards the abandoned city centre. His mind raced, sorting through all of his memories chronologically. That pulsating ache behind his eye had started up again, but he gritted his teeth, determined to find the blank spot.

Nothing seemed to be missing. It was the opposite torture; rather than being presented with yawning abysses in his psyche, everything was tauntingly in order, with no sign of the missing piece.

Except… the sting of rejection felt very familiar. His headache intensified, and he shut his eyes against the sunlight, pressing his knuckles into his eyelids. The white fuzz that stirred in his vision reminded him of snow… snow that settled on a bare, frostbitten pair of shoulders.

“Link? My friend, are you alright?”

Sidon’s voice. Link turned, already feeling guilty for his earlier frustration with the Zora prince. He was being unfair: Sidon had no control over what his father decided, and was too preoccupied with the plight of his people to ask redundant questions about Link’s wellbeing. Link and Zelda were the only chance for the Zora to survive, and for Mipha’s legacy to live on through her Divine Beast.

I’m a selfish git, he thought miserably.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Sidon was agitated, his head-tail twitching and skittering along his back. “Do you know where the Princess has gone?”

Link ignored the dull ache that pierced his chest at her mention, and shook his head. “Why?”

“I have a proposition.”

Chapter Text

As prince, princess, and hero hatched their desperate plan, a solitary, bent figure made his way up the steep banks on the outskirts of the Domain.

Thick, pearlescent sheets of fog rippled softly in the breeze from the eastern sea, making the already-treacherous terrain slick and difficult for the old Zora. The moon was setting over the peak of Ruto Mountain, tinging the drizzle to a dazzling silver.

The Zora elder was unmoved by the beauty, his fins twitching as he stumbled his way towards the foot of the waterfall. He had dared not come, his bones creaking and crying out from the journey, but also did not dare to break his arrangement. His thoughts were of his grandchildren, hidden on the banks of Toto Lake. They were safe there from the blight… but not from what would come if he cowered there alongside them. For nearly a year, he had happily accepted bribes from the woman in the mask, selling snippets of information from the Zora court for a handful of gold. But things had changed—the gold was less forthcoming, and the woman grew impatient.

“You took your time.”

The Zora flinched. The voice was soft, but with an accusatory note that he both resented and feared.

“I apologise,” he said stiffly, casting about for the source of the voice. “I am old, my lady, and travelling on foot is difficult.”

Smoothly, moving like a fish beneath the river, a figure melted out of the shadows. The Zora’s eyesight was weak, and he trembled at the sight of all he could make out: a single eye staring at him from the opening of the figure’s hood.

Kehlar felt her lip twist in disgust as she gazed down at her informant, grateful for the mask that hid her true feelings. Such cowardice, she thought, running the palm of her hand over the pommel of her sword. Such weakness of spirit, to sell out his ruler for a few miserable coins. I would never allow such weakness to fester in my court.

“What news have you brought, Zora?”

“The blight… you promised me last time that you would eradicate it.” The elder’s watery eyes met her gaze, and although his body shook, his words were clear and cutting. “Why do you allow us to die?”

Kehlar took a soundless step forward, a smile curving her lips as the Zora stood fast. Perhaps he is not as cowardly as I thought.

“The cure is coming,” she said, a half-truth. “I simply have not received any information worth hearing.”

“I have shared all I know, my lady!” the Zora protested.

“Forgive me for my disbelief. A high-level member of the king’s court such as yourself, and yet all you share are petty politics and intrigue.” A scoff slipped out, despite herself. “The king and his son argue? What value does that information hold? All boys squabble with their fathers.”

“Perhaps, my lady—” the elder’s fins twitched frantically— “if you could simply tell me what your goal is, then I would be more able to provide useful—”

“And have you report back to your king?” Kehlar’s voice was sickly sweet as she pulled the sword from its sheath. A muscle moved in the Zora’s throat as he stared at it, the moonlight reflecting off the blade onto his withered face. “I think not. I am a woman of my word, Zora. Once you provide me with proper information, I will cleanse your waterways.”

Kehlar could always see it: the exact moment when a person bent to her will. Something changed in the Zora’s eyes, and his knobby shoulders slumped in resignation. “It is true that King Dorephan and his son argue, but it is not a petty squabble. There has been much debate about… about Vah Ruta. So I have been told.”

Kehlar fought to keep her body language from betraying her surprise. Ruta! I had counted on them leaving it be!

“There has been talk of re-activating it?”

She sensed that the elder was still keeping something from her. Careful now… patience is a subtle tool. There is no need to pressure him yet. She continued her languid circle, contemplating every twitch and shiver of the Zora’s body.

“It has been proposed that… that Ruta may be the source of the blight.”

Kehlar couldn’t help it—she froze, paralysed by shock. No! How could they know?

This ruined everything—Kehlar was supposed to be the one to purge the blight, to win over the favour of the Zora king. Coupled with what she knew from the inside, and the people’s favour once they saw her as a hero, Kehlar had planned to eventually take control of the largest waterway in Hyrule: the first step in reuniting the shattered kingdom.

But if the Zora eradicated the blight on their own…

The elder stared at her. Kehlar resumed her prowl, squaring her shoulders. “Who proposed such an idea?”

“It… it was the Princess. Princess Zelda.”

She seized the old Zora by his frail neck, ignoring his cries of pain and indignance. “The Princess is alive?” she demanded, throwing him to the ground. “She’s here, in the Domain?”

“Mercy!” he wailed, cradling his left arm that hung at an awkward angle. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady! She arrived only a few days ago, and sought audience with the king!”

In a quavering voice, he explained what he had heard through the grapevine, how King Dorephan had rejected the Princess’s offer of help. Kehlar listened and stared out at the glowing stone city without seeing it, her brain churning through the sudden slew of information.

Princess Zelda… alive. It was impossible, a factor that she had not even considered. The very thought of that snivelling blonde made white-hot rage boil up from Kehlar’s stomach, threatening the rational part of her mind.

It was her fault. Everything the fault of that failure of a Princess, everything the fault of that imbecile King Rhoam for putting the fate of the known world in the hands of a bratty teenager. Hyrule’s citizens paid the price for the royal family’s years of mismanagement and tyranny, their refusal to listen to their advisors.

Kehlar’s own father had stood in the King’s court, and had been one of the few to demand attention to the needs of the people. Rhoam had turned a blind eye to the famines that plagued the eastern settlements, ignored the hordes of monsters pouring in from the north, instead pouring tax money into the mechanical creatures that would supposedly save them. Tens of thousands perished while the king hosted banquets in honour of the Hero, the Princess, and the pilots of the Divine Beasts.

Although he was a Sheikah warrior trained from the day he could walk, Kehlar’s father had perished when the Calamity erupted from beneath Castle Town, seizing control of the ancient technology and turning it against the people it was meant to protect. Kehlar had only been a child, barely old enough to hold a bow, but she remembered the smell of burning flesh, the way flakes of clothing and ash stuck to her cheeks as she fled down the streets, the searing cobblestones burning through the soles of her shoes.

Never again, she’d thought later, each day that she and the other survivors struggled to eke out an existence in the apocalypse. Never again will a fool reign simply by virtue of their bloodline.

The Princess surely hoped to curry the favour of the Zora in the same way Kehlar had planned, surely intended to retake the throne. Vah Ruta sat atop a modest peak to the east, a dark, lifeless lump against a sky turning pale green. The Princess had possessed more skill with the ancient machines than any Sheikah. As much as it galled her to admit, there was no way Kehlar would be able to purge the blight before Princess Zelda would.

“My lady… the King forbade her to approach Vah Ruta.”

Kehlar whirled, and the old man cringed—she hadn’t realised she had spoken aloud.

“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped. “That Princess is too arrogant to allow the Zora King to tell her what she can or cannot do. I’m sure she’s there as we speak.” She turned back to face the Beast, willing her heart rate to calm, to allow her to think clearly.

This changes everything. She may be able to reach the Beast first, but I may yet conquer the rest of Hyrule before she can. I must be able to cut my losses… to begin again elsewhere. There are more spheres of influence that can be manipulated.

“Go back to your people, Zora.”

The elder scrambled to his feet, still nursing his broken arm. He bowed to her again and again as he backed down the slope, his sagging fins nearly brushing the grass. Kehlar sheathed her sword and removed her mask, breathing in the salty tang of the morning air. Her keen ears still heard the Zora mumbling curses to himself, and she allowed herself a small smile.

I am a merciful leader, she thought as she took in the majestic pinks and oranges that began to streak the sky. I allowed him to keep his life even though he has lost his honour.

There was the distinct sound of a body tumbling, and a harsh crunch of bone on rock. The elder’s cries grew louder, carried on the breeze from the sea.

Kehlar looked towards the city, where the thin wails would surely be heard.

But then again… it may be more merciful to put him out of his misery.

She unsheathed her blade once more and headed down the embankment.

Chapter Text

Link lifted the glowing blade of the Master Sword aloft, casting eerie blue light over the cold stone walls of Vah Ruta.

Every inch of the surface was covered with writhing Malice, except for a small circle around the uneasy trio. Sidon shifted, bumping Link’s shoulder in his nervous attempt to remain within the range of the Master Sword’s protective power. Zelda clung to the Zora’s back, her pale face turned grey in the dim light. Link had been worried that the journey to the Beast might be too hard on her still-healing wounds, but Sidon had simply scooped her up and ignored her protests.

“Just a little further to the left,” said Zelda, pointing to an imperceptible location beneath the mass of black corruption. “It’s under there.”

Nearly stepping on each others’ feet, they inched across the floor, the slithering sound of the Malice almost deafening. Link prepared himself for the psychological effects of the corrupting essence of the Calamity, but it was another thing entirely to actually experience it. Between the pitch blackness, the anxiety for Sidon and Zelda’s safety, and the waves of terror and hatred rolling through his mind, it took all of his effort to not break down and scream.

“There! Sidon, set me down.”

Gingerly, Sidon knelt and allowed Zelda to step down into the pool of protective light. There was a small hatch set into the stone flooring, carved into the shape of an elephant’s face. Zelda hooked her fingers into the holes that served as its eyes and easily set it aside, revealing a complicated mess of tubing and wires.

“It’s just as I thought,” she murmured.

Sidon shuffled closer, peering around her hunched body into the hatch. “What is all that? Is that what fuels Ruta?”

“Not exactly. These are more like arteries… no. More like nerves.” She pulled one of the tubes loose before snatching her hand away—oily black Malice oozed out before quickly retreating from Link’s sword. “These should be glowing blue, indicating that Ruta is activated and receiving power from its Champion.”

Sidon’s anxiety had been replaced by utter bafflement. Zelda was still poking around in the hatch and talking to herself in an undertone, so Link took over the explanation.

“The way Mipha explained it to me is that you don’t just control the Beast—you are the Beast.” There was a sudden pang of grief in Link’s chest, augmented by the Malice, and he swallowed the ache in his throat before continuing. “When you connect with it, you’re controlling it in the same way that your brain controls your muscles.”

“It’s fueled by your life force,” Zelda added, sitting back on her heels. “This tubing runs throughout the entire beast—hundreds of thousands of information pathways per square foot of Ruta’s body. Your life force is not only what tells Ruta what to do, but also what gives her the power to do it.”

Sidon’s pupils had gone from slits to nearly hiding the golden irises from view. “So it… feeds off its Champion?”

“No!” said Link at the same time as Zelda said “Precisely.” They glared at each other for a moment before Zelda clued in to Sidon’s reluctance.

“It’s not a parasite,” she reassured him, patting the only part of him she could reach, which was his scaled kneecap. “It will not take any more from you than you can give. But… it does take a particularly strong spirit to share life force. Mipha had a strong soul, Sidon, and so do you. Of course, I won’t force you to bond with Ruta. It’s your choice.”

There was a tense silence, punctuated by the slithering sounds of the Malice still pressing in around them.

“What’s running it now?” Link asked. “Before, when it was hijacked by the Waterblight, Mipha wasn’t in control.”

Zelda rubbed at her chin, eyes fixed on some unseeable point in the darkness. “I had expected that the Malice might be powering Ruta… but I believe nothing is powering her now. Perhaps the Malice simply hijacked her life force, rather than acting as life force on its own.”

That went over both Link and Sidon’s heads, and Zelda seemed to sense it. “Never mind. In any case, we need to rid the Beast of Malice and keep it from poisoning the water. Which is my task.” She slowly got to her feet, wincing slightly.

It struck Link just then that he’d never seen her purposefully use her power—it had always been more of an instinctual reaction. She had shut her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration as she held her hands out in front of her, cupped as if asking for something.

Seconds slipped by, and Link barely breathed. Doubt began to creep into his mind: She’s too weak. She can’t control it. She was never worthy of the golden power—

No! Those were thoughts planted by the Malice, a last-ditch attempt to save itself. Sweat had begun to form on Zelda’s upper lip, her arms trembling.

“I believe in you, Zel,” Link half-whispered, trying not to break her concentration.

A white light blazed before his eyes, so sudden that it nearly tricked his mind into believing it had been there all along. He blinked, and blinked again, tears streaming down his cheeks as he shielded his face with one arm. There was a low thrumming sensation deep in his bones, and he could hear distant shrieks as the Malice was obliterated in searing light.

Just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Still half-blind, Link groped for Sidon’s arm, making sure he hadn’t fallen into the sea of corruption. Coloured streaks danced before him as his eyes readjusted to the softer glow of the dawn streaming in through Ruta’s windows. Zelda had dropped to her knees, her skin still faintly illuminated by the golden power.

Sidon was the first to reach her, his huge hand covering the entire breadth of her shoulders. “You did it!” he cried, engulfing her in a bone-cracking hug. “Zelda, you are brilliant—”

She was whispering something, and Link knelt beside her. Her eyes were wild, sweat still pooling on her forehead. “It didn’t work.”

“What do you—” A slithering noise, barely audible. Link’s head snapped towards the hatch, where a small clot of Malice had begun to reform, barely bigger than his thumb. It multiplied with astonishing speed, black oozing and wriggling out of the cracks in Ruta’s surface.

Sidon cried out—a thin tendril, hardly thicker than a strand of hair, struck out at him, recoiling only a few inches from his ankles. The trio shrunk back together, Link brandishing the rapidly dimming Master Sword as Malice swirled around them, eagerly pressing closer as the protective circle began to fade.

Zelda’s fingers found his wrist, gripping hard enough to hurt. The Malice towered over them, surrounding them on all sides in a wall of oily darkness. Energy thrummed through Link’s veins, originating from the point where Zelda’s hand touched. It reminded him of when they had battled Calamity Ganon—his heart pounding in his throat, barely able to think from fear and adrenaline, and yet finding the strength to deal the final blow from the swell of power emanating from her.

We did it together.

He turned to face her, and turned the Master Sword point-down, offering the handle to her. Her pale, frightened face stared back at him, her fingers still pressing on the bone in his wrist. He reached for her other hand, feeling as though time had slowed, and rested her palm on the sword’s pommel.

Together, they drove it deep into the stone.

There was an earth-shattering screech, and Link’s hearing immediately went. He didn’t dare let go of the sword to clap his hands over his ears, barely able to stand as the full extent of the golden power surged through his fragile mortal body. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear—he simply clung to the pommel and Zelda’s hand, a roaring wave seeming to sweep him away completely.

He awoke some time later, Sidon’s worried golden eyes peering down at him. Zelda still held his hand, the Master Sword nestled carefully in her lap. He nearly bolted upright when he saw it—a huge crack had formed in the otherwise peerless metal, zigzagging down from the golden triangle set into the crossguard.

“What happened to it?” he croaked, his head pounding.

Zelda shrugged helplessly, her grip tightening on his hand. Sidon gently guided him upright, his enormous hand spanning the entirety of Link’s back. Sunlight illuminated the stone walls, filtering in through the massive windows in Ruta’s sides. The control unit was just ahead of them, now visible through the arched doorway. Link peered up at Sidon, giving him a half-hearted smirk.

“Still want to activate this thing?”

Zelda opened her mouth, and then chose to say nothing, still holding the wounded Master Sword against her chest. Sidon gave him a tight nod, and turned to her.

“What is to be done?”

Link staggered after them into the room, noting with grim satisfaction that Zelda was no longer limping. The golden power had sapped away his life force, while invigorating hers. But why? What was different now? He had grown stronger from her power while battling Ganon—why would it now suddenly crack the unbreakable blade forged by the Goddess Herself?

Zelda was walking Sidon through the steps of activating Ruta, and Link dragged himself out of his black thoughts. He realised that he had never actually seen it happen—the Champions had all bonded with their Beasts while Zelda still had the nasty habit of forbidding his presence whenever she could get away with it.

“It needs a bit of power first,” she was saying, pulling the Sheikah Slate from the bag at her hip before passing the sword back to Link. “You’ll need to rest your palm against the pedestal.”

Sidon’s face was drawn, but determined. He laid his hand against the emblazoned Sheikah eye, flinching as it flashed bright blue. His slitted pupils suddenly expanded, and he nearly pulled his hand away.

“It’s—!”

“Don’t worry,” said Zelda soothingly. Blue light began to swirl around Sidon’s body, washing out his red scales to a pale silver. “It’s going to take a little from you to wake itself up.”

As if in response to her words, a deep thrumming came from beneath their feet—the sound of untold numbers of gears and miniscule bits of machinery beginning to move. The control unit began to glow a more steady blue, and the light around Sidon dissipated. His chest heaved, and Link was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“I can… I hear it. It says—she says…” His voice was choked. “She says she’s pleased to finally meet me… after hearing so much about me from Mipha.”

The lump in Link’s chest threatened to burst out. Zelda’s knuckles were white on the Sheikah Slate, and her lip trembled as she struggled to regain her composure. She swiped a hand over her eyes before stepping up to Sidon’s side, nudging her shoulder against his waist.

“This is the last chance to change your mind. Once I use the Slate to make you an administrator… that’s it. Ruta is yours for life… and you’re hers.”

“Do it,” said Sidon roughly. “I want this. It’s… it’s what’s right.”

She nodded. Sidon took his hand away, staring at the control unit with fierce determination. Zelda laid the Sheikah Slate on the pedestal, and it flashed once. She began poking rapidly at the screen—Link glanced over her shoulder, utterly baffled by the strings of glowing blue symbols that fell vertically across the screen. The screen flashed at the same time as the control unit, and Sidon gasped softly, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“It’s done,” said Zelda, tucking the Slate away. “You’ll feel tired for a few days—Ruta needed a significant amount of your life force to make this bond. But give it a week or so, and we can come back and try to make it move around.”

Sidon approached almost shyly, clasping Zelda’s forearm in both of his massive, red-scaled hands, his face a mask of emotion. “You… you have no idea what a gift you’ve given me, Zelda.”

She smiled, the first real one that Link had seen in days. “Let’s hope we can convince your father that it is a gift, and not an insult.”