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Link’s house in Hateno was proving quite comfortable for Zelda, despite the novelty of it. The short walls and small windows contrasted greatly from her palatial room within the confines of Hyrule Castle; and her noble swordsman took it upon himself to apologize repeatedly for the simplicity of it all. Each time, Zelda met his remorse with reassurance, even promising it was preferred over her previous home. Link would always frown with skepticism, but never object. The house in question was hardly furnished, and the decor was minimal, aside from mounted weapons which belonged to the champions past, a dining table, a bed, and a single potted silent princess blooming brightly on the window sill. Zelda smiled fondly when she first spotted it, and caught Link gaging her reaction, abruptly looking at the ceiling when her eyes met his.
A team of very admirable volunteers stepped up to help the Princess excavate her important belongings from the ruins of Hyrule Castle. Her study proved the most important to her. And she dearly hoped to see most of the library restored and relocated as well. History flowed between the dirtied pages, and it would be despairing to let the past waste away in a ruined library.
Zelda was keen to take a few discovered books for herself, tales of ancient Hyrule and far beyond. Link was kind enough to help her set up a make-shift study within his house, purchasing a desk out of his own generous expenses and building a small bookshelf for the princess to house her historiography.
As the traveling knight’s house became marked with her presence, the castle seemed more and more like a prison of the past. Many kind folk offered to restore her bedroom and study within the castle to the best of their ability. But she rightly refused, knowing those walls held memories that might just undo her all over again. She never regretted her choice. The simple space within a lively Hateno village became rather homely for her. Link, however, struggled with the idea of staying put. And would still make a discomforted face if the walls, floor, and ceiling were ever referred to as “home”. Zelda could not blame the knight. He built his life in the wild. The trees, rivers and passing stables were his home. The house was merely shelter for the night in the midst of a long journey ahead.
Yet, since Zelda found herself staying there, she found Link beside her. He was insistent on preparing breakfast in the morning, and supper in the evening. And if he intended to journey somewhere, he would turn to her in the midst of his preparations, and if not already arranged, request her company. Only rarely did he leave the princess alone. On those particular occasions, he carefully petitioned her to stay within the village. Though slightly overbearing, Zelda was sympathetic towards it all. In verbal explanation he’d often express how it was his duty as her appointed knight. But his voice would tremble, and his gaze avoided hers. Fear fell off his hiked shoulders. The idea of waking up to her absence plagued his mind; not only the failure of his purpose, but the loss of it as well.
It was late in the evening when the princess and her knight finally sat down for dinner. Zelda spent the majority of the day with the Zora, helping to meet the requests of her people, and repair any damages reaped by Calamity. While Link spent his day by her side, pretending not to listen in on her conversations, and frequently inquiring of her well being. He had purchased a variety of fish from the general store. “For dinner,” he had explained simply, attempting to put the creatures in the bag wrapped around Zelda’s middle. The princess immediately stepped away from him, hand falling protectively upon the satchel.
“I have books in here.” He blinked in confusion, raising the fish up to her, as if she had failed to see what he was foolishly depositing in her bag. “I see that, Link, but I prefer my books dry and free from fish odor.” His expression changed to defensiveness, an unspoken voice saying: Where then?
“Carry them, I suppose.” He scoffed, realized she was far from kidding, and frowned. Zelda watched with amusement as he scanned the area for anything that would serve as a proper carrier, before letting out a frustrated huff. To her surprise, and by his innovation, the knight reached around behind him, pulling out a handful of arrows and holding them out to Zelda. Her stare bounced from the arrows before her, and the insistent blue eyes upon her. Not fishy. They said, through raised eyebrows and a knowing look. Zelda shook her head in disbelief as she opened her satchel, hand leaving its protective state over it to grab the arrows and place them neatly in the bag. Link smiled victoriously, and slipped the fish into his quill, along with the six arrows he left in case of an emergency.
As soon as the smell of Link’s cooking filled the house that evening, Zelda was thankful he had made the brave culinary decision to shove fish meat into his quill. He hummed as he worked, whisking a roux in a pan while the porgy fried beside it. The princess watched him from the dining table, feeling calmed by his excitement. She observed the way his left hand tapped against his thigh repeatedly, fondly smiling at the clear indication of enjoyment. Link was limited in his expression, but jerking hands, an itching smile that scrunched his nose, and the gentle sound of humming often pointed to an eagerness found in cooking, shield surfing, and the promise of a monster camp to clear out.
“What are you making?” She inquired, regretfully so as his humming ceased. He glanced back at her only for a moment, a way to acknowledge he heard her, before replying:
“Soup.”
“What kind?” His hand stilled a bit, and he swallowed hard at the proposition of answering another question. The princess was quick to notice. “You don’t have to answer.” But the knight persisted.
“Creamy seafood.” Link’s comfortability with the princess had taken a long time to develop. And since reuniting with Zelda, some of the stiffness had returned. She grieved it a bit, but was patient in his attempts. And while it was occasionally difficult to speak under her authority, Link was far from the boy she had appointed by the will of the goddess. Sometimes, Link would lose his reserves entirely, talking to her endlessly about an encounter in her absence.
“I tried to ride one.”
“A lynel? Are you insane?”
“A little I think. But- oh Zelda! I mean- princess…”
“Zelda is fine.”
“Right. Yes, princess. So I bought this mask that helped me blend in with them.”
But other times,
“That sounds delicious.”
“Yeah.” She was not as fortunate.
Some time had passed, and the smells leaving the countertop made it nearly impossible for Zelda to focus on her reading. So when Link began pouring the soup into two bowls, she felt her stomach leap in expectation. He placed one bowl in front of her, setting a spoon beside it. Before serving himself. Zelda sighed a silent prayer to Hylia, while Link began heaving spoonfuls with no hesitation. He acted quite like a starving child, but the princess was sure she saw him picking at the meat, snacking on a carrot, and “taste testing” the progress throughout every step of the meal prep.
When the princess brought her spoon to her lips, however, the knight fell still, and watched her with apparent performance anxiety. She smiled sincerely, closing her eyes humming in approval, a bit exaggerated as a means of encouragement. The awkward subtle smile that creased his features gave away his drive to please her. And Link returned his attention to his meal, which seemed, to him, more satisfying after the approval of the princess he dined with.
They were quiet for a while, Zelda finding nothing of interest to address, and Link utterly motivated to reach the bottom of his bowl, the promise of seconds spurring on his gluttony. And it was while retrieving that reward, that Link fell suddenly still. Zelda looked up at the sound of his breath catching, watching his shoulders lift in surprise.
“Link?” He spun around to face her, eyes wide with novelty.
“I remember something!” Throughout two months or so, Link’s memories had been slowly coming back to him. By the time he saved Zelda, he had recalled most of the events leading up to the war: significant conversations, and relevant circumstances. Concluding the defeat of the Calamity, all sorts of memories had resurfaced. He recalled training with his father, spending his upbringing with the koroks in the forest. He reminisced with Zelda in memories of befriending her and the champions. And she listened intently to the stories from one hundred years ago.
Link brought his newly filled bowl back to the table sitting in front of her with a refreshing liveliness. By his pepped posture, Zelda concluded he had been met with a rather ethusing memory.
“Go on then.” His face lifted at this, and the princess paid mind to the tapping against his thigh underneath the table.
“In Eldin,” Link began, taking a deep breath to calm the wave of emotion that made his heart swell with unneeded passion. “We were with Rivali, remember?” Zelda smiled as she shook her head. As endearing as his fervor was, she would certainly need more information to meet him in his recollection. “Yes, in Goron City.” He confirmed to himself, “And Daruk was showing me the cart system for their mines.” Ah yes, Zelda knew where this was going. “‘You’re really too light to experience its full potential.’” Link repeated the words of Revali, in a voice that nearly mocked the Rito soldier. Zelda laughed softly, and pretended not to observe Link falter at the sound. “So he summoned this wind current and sent me flying down the tracks.”
Zelda remembered quite well now. They were there in hopes of getting Daruk acquainted with the divine beast mechanisms. In fact, Urbosa was with them as well, but Zelda found correcting her swordsman might hinder his ability to speak. While she and Urbosa spoke with the research team on their findings, the boys, being true to their nature, went off to ride the carts. They were built mainly for transporting ores and such, but it was not uncommon to see the Goron children riding them around with giddy laughs and a rare delight that Zelda believed was only found in youth. She was proved wrong though when the shrill animated cry came from a familiar, though normally emotionless, voice. The sound flew over her head, followed by an intense wind, followed by Champion Rivali, who seemed intent on sending Link flying off the tracks given the force of the wind that pushed the Hilyan in the lousy metal cart.
Zelda opened his mouth to scold Rivali, but was stopped as the distant yells turned into spiked thrilled laughter. Her heart stilled at the sound. At that point in time, it was rare to hear Link even speak. Yet, at the adrenaline filled danger of flying down an unsturdy rail at life threatening speeds, he was forced into frightened and excitable laughter. Laughter that could be heard throughout all of Goron City. Laughter filled with joy she envied. Laughter she wished dearly to hear again in private counsel.
Rivali seemed suddenly uninterested now that Link was clearly entertained, and not horrified. So he ceased his cruel winds. And Zelda stayed frozen still until the laughter died down. When Daruk and Link met up with Urbosa and her honor, he wore a contagious smile. Though it faded into a look of embarrassment when blue creased eyes met awestruck green ones, ears flushing and an apologetic expression.
“Do you remember, princess?” He asked again, drawing her back into the present with a gentle voice and the sound of soft tapping upon his thigh.
“I do,” was her affirmation. And the knight smiled at this, a shy, fond smile that remained with him as he turned back towards his full bowl. For a moment, the room felt blessed with the presence of four others with them. Their weaponry glinted upon the walls. Their company lived again in Link’s retelling. For just a moment. But nothing like forever. Eventually, Link’s smile faded, and Zelda’s shoulders dropped a bit as she sighed.
“Thank you for sharing,” she tried, looking over to Link, whose eyes had darkened, stare downwards. She could see him fold back into the confines of his mind. And as always, chose to give him space. Link was familiar with processing inwardly. Despite Zelda frequently reassuring him that his feelings were welcome in her presence, Link failed to find comfortability in that level of openness. The princess did not mind too much, giving him room to dissect his thoughts. She finished her meal in the silence, growing a bit of concern as Link had abandoned his own. It was while washing her bowl clean that she tried again:
“Speaking of Goron City, why don’t we make it our next stop? You can stalk up on Goron spice.” Link was initially unresponsive, and the mild concern grew into worry. “Link?” At the sound of his voice, the hylian’s eyes flickered and his stuck gaze lifted slightly. Without turning to face the princess, he gave his acknowledgement.
“Hm?” Zelda abandoned her dish in the barrel below her, reapproaching the table with newfound caution and unsettled curiosity.
“I said we could go to Goron City tomorrow.” Link’s flat stare struggled to detach itself from the vase upon the table. The illusion of being deep in thought masking a lack of thought entirely. “Would you like that…?” She slipped into the seat in front of him with quiet movements.
“Mhm.” The response was delayed and hollowed of any conviction.
Zelda had encountered the chosen knight in many settings. She watched him get frustrated when denied certain things, grow quiet in the company of strangers, get twitching excitement when faced with a challenge. In the privacy of the night, she heard him speak on all sorts of matters, eyes on the ceiling to ignore hers upon him. She felt him retreat into his mind when made uncomfortable or anxious. But…
“Link.” This time, it was not a question. This time, his eyes lifted to hers, staring far beyond them. Zelda nearly shivered at the absence in his expression. Her mouth opened before she contemplated the right words to speak.
“Are you here right now?” And just as she inquired, she watched her knight lose himself completely. His body fell slack, exhaling a slow lifeless breath, and blinking dispiritedly. “Link.” She echoed, but there was no response this time, giving an answer to her previous question. Panic rose in her chest, but she fought for her composure, moving the bowl out from under his hands and looking desperately into eyes that seemingly failed to see her. “Can you hear me?” She asked, voice wavering as he blinked. Still no response. Zelda’s breathing shallowed with worry. Her mind raked through every experience she had with the swordsman: nightmares and flashbacks, overwhelmed and understimulated. This was different . He did not seem merely withdrawn, or distressed. Rather, he didn’t seem at all. It left an utterly powerless feeling creeping over the princess in a way that felt frighteningly familiar.
“Can you hear me?” She repeated, again met with silence. “Can you see me, Link?” Zelda toiled over the very real possibility of touching him. But she greatly dreaded the unknown outcome of such an action. She would not consider Link to be touch adverse, more touch hesitant. And early on the princess found it impossibly difficult to determine when and what kind of touch was permitted by his mind and body. So she sought his initiation or permission every time. Even as she learned his patterns, what was and what wasn’t allowed, she still made sure to check time and time again.
He was comfortable with her arms around him on horseback, sought out her hand when traveling through the thick fog surrounding the korok forest, and was always quick to comfort her in whatever means, physical if necessary. But conversely, he cringed when she sat too close beside him at the dining table, flinched at any sudden touch from behind, and fervently refused her touch when obviously panicked.
“May I touch?” She asked, hopelessly, scanning his hollow face for any sign of conformation. When tears visibly pricked his eyes, Zelda abandoned her presuppositions. She took his limp, unmoving hands into her own, and could have sworn a short, active breath met his lungs as his stare wavered slightly. Motivated by the subtle motion, she released his right hand and used both of hers to encase his left. “Can you feel this?” Though he was sure to not reply, Zelda concluded he could hear her, somewhere. She ran her fingers against his palm, a benign, tender touch. “Try to feel, Link,” was her plea, squeezing the tips of his fingers, massaging his palm, and tapping against his wrist. Careful carenessing, and hopeful handling. Zelda’s stare never left his vacant eyes, and she gasped when his hand seized a bit in response.
“Can you hold my hand?” Her palm rested on top of his, stilling her movement to await his own. Zelda heard his breathing deepen and watched his blinking stutter. Though considerably late to her command, his fingers twitched, and fought to slowly surround her hand, fulfilling her request with great struggle. “Good, Link,” her reassurance sounded as confident as she felt, uniformed and utterly desperate. “Can you hear me?” To her surprise, a short nod met her inquiry. And she nearly cried in relief. The hand closed around her own squeezed lightly, and Link softly gasped. “Can you see me, Link?” His eyes rose to meet her desperate expression. He nodded again. Zelda felt her lungs open, allowing her to swallow whole breaths as she squeezed his hand back in response.
They were quiet for a while, aside from soft breathing and steady, occasional reassurance from the princess. Even when Link began to return to himself, he did not withdraw from her touch. On the contrary, the knight fidgeted with Zelda’s hand: intertwining their fingers, toying with her thumb, tracing the lines of her palm, and tapping upon her knuckles. With each touch, he grounded himself. His delicate contact along with the softened expression he wore, made Zelda’s heart unwillingly race. And she scolded such a foolish organ for its inconsideration. As he dragged his fingers up and down her own, she spoke again, flustered by the weak sound of her voice.
“Would you like to talk about anything?” The movement ceased, and the princess nearly berated herself. Slowly, he removed his hands from their curious exploration of hers, bringing them down in fists in front of him, before pointing a finger against his chest and circling his pointer fingers around each other.
Can - me - sign? (Can I sign it?)
He met her eyes with a face of shame, as if questioning was considered improper, as if any of his appeals could be deemed so.
“Of course,” was her instant reply, before she gasped and corrected herself.
You - want - me - same-same? (Would you like me to as well?)
No. You - speak - fine. (No. You talking is fine.)
She nodded in affirmation, waiting for him to continue. His hands clenched and unclenched a bit in obvious anxiety.
Me - remember - something - different. (I remembered something else).
Her eyes widened in understanding and Zelda felt almost imbecilic for not recognizing his initial silence as a discouraging moment of remembrance. His downcast stare and tear pricked eyes surely should have offered clarity to her. Link motioned to get her attention again.
You - blame - yourself. Zelda blinked in surprise. Stop.
She smiled weakly, he echoed the expression.
“What did you remember?” Dread was apparent in her tone, and the knight’s fallen smile justified it. His hands shook slightly as he began his descriptions. Contrary to his previous retelling, Link was sure to include as minimal details as possible, signing fast to push through the conversation. Two-of-us - go-to - castle. Finger spelling guardians, the knight depicted their overtaking, and shortly after, merciless fire. Screaming - there. You - want - help - them. Zelda could feel her heart pound deep within her ears, clenching the cool fabric of her dress with fragile hands.
Link never asked if she remembered. Her frozen stance was clear enough. You - ran - there . Zelda would always remember. The champions were making their commute to the divine beasts, climbing to their tombs, with hope in their heart for safety. The princess and her knight, however, set on a different path. Their goal was to arrive at fort Hateno, before making the commute to the castle. The screams from Hateno village however, perturbed Zelda enough to spin on her heel in an attempt to turn back. She watched in horror as a guardian scaled its way down Mount Lanayru, and towards the defenseless village below. Taking off in a sprint, Zelda felt a firm tug on her arm, causing her to stumble backwards. Link shoved her out of the way blocking an unnoticed attack from the right. The Guardian faltered and fell at the hands of its own fire. When Link pulled her up, there was a frightened persistence deep within his eyes, pleading the princess to abandon the village, abandon the people. Hands gripped her wrist with imobile firmness. And he swallowed harshley, fighting through the responsibility that forced his mouth into silence.
“You… we have to go to the Castle.” His voice was loud enough to counter the rain and distant screaming, louder than Zelda had ever heard him. And her resolve wavered, knowing he was regrettably right in his solicitation.
Past - I - want - help. (I wanted to help them).
I - want - help. I - want. Zelda watched in despair as the knight repeated his hopeless confession. Tears welling up in his eyes. I wanted to. I wanted to help. Breaking internally at such a discouraging sight, the princess put her hands over his own to cease the distressed movement. And Link gasped as tears slid down his cheeks, tainting his face with streaks. Deep, discerning breaths turned into silent sobs. And it was only then that Zelda felt her own unnoticed crying, falling against the wooden table..
Body moving on its own accord, she stood, wiping at her face to rid the signs of her own sorrow as she lowered onto her knees in front of Link. Having no incentive to ask, she drew the swordsman against her chest. He collapsed before her, sidling out of his chair and onto the floor where she kneeled. His hands crawled up to grasp the garment wrapped around her, while hers fell into his hair. In an all too familiar way, her cherished knight cried helplessly in her hold, as she had in his a hundred years ago.
It took a great deal of time for both to return to their composure; the princess crying long after Link fell into stilled silence. He never retreated from within her hold, which she would later thank him for. Even when tears ran dry, Link stayed curled up against her chest, head rising and falling with her steady breathing. His hands had found one of her own, and again he toyed with it absentmindedly. Though at one point, he brought her knuckle against his lips, which Zelda was fairly sure was an intentional affection. Her other hand ran through his hair in motions quite soothing, both for the princess and for the Hylian slumped against her. When he did speak again, his voice was hoarse and slurred with exhaustion.
“M’ sorry.” The fact that he dared apologize, when Zelda practically fell apart in his moment of need, brought about the princess’ immediate dismissal.
“We’ll have none of that.” Was her quick, shaken reply. Link shifted himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his swollen eyes in circular motions. Zelda knew, come tomorrow, Link would be horrendously humiliated by his behavior. Come tomorrow, he’d get out of bed before the light of the morning reached the village, too ashamed to face his princess. Come tomorrow, he’d beg for her forgiveness, assure her his actions would never be repeated, and resume a formal silence with a flat face.
But tonight was not tomorrow. Tonight, he took her hand when walking up the stairs. Tonight, he thanked her when she lay beside him. And tonight, the two fell asleep beside each other, knowing no other in Hyrule would know the same pain of failure, nor the comfort of sharing it.