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Link did not, by any means, consider himself inattentive. In fact, he felt defined by the opposite. Trained by his father to become a great knight, and chosen by the goddess to receive the sword that seals the darkness. At all times, in all settings, Link prioritized his duty as a swordsman, surveying his surroundings constantly, with much precaution. His sword, an extension of his body. His unwavering focus, an extension of his mind. Responsibility clung to the knight like chains against his ankles. It was impossible to ignore, and equally as important to give attention towards.
So when he slumped against a tree, a harsh cut in his side making him hiss, all for a bushel of lavender, Link knew his preoccupation had gotten rather out of hand.
Though surprising, it was a rather domestic morning leading up to his injury. Upon waking with the morning sun, reaching over the mountains to light Hateno with its warm glow, Link swiftly left the comfort of his bed. He stretched routinely: legs, arms, back and chest, eyes falling upon the still princess who occupied the other side of the bed. His watchful gaze was unintentional in nature, but purposeful in performance. He observed her gentle expression for any sign of discomfort, and watched for the careful breaths that lifted her shoulders with life. Content with her state of safety, Link stepped briskly down the wooden steps, skipping a few for his own amusement.
After slipping into his boots, he tied his hair up with one hand, grabbing his hood with the other, and sliding his foot under the handle of the nearly empty barrel by the door. He hobbled on his one available limb for a moment, one not quite long enough to ponder if his urgency led to convenience or merely foolishness, before tossing the hood over his head, grabbing the barrel, and slipping out the door.
The morning breeze carried a sense of peace with the stirring village. And Link sighed into the open air, finally allowing himself the freedom to slow down. He ventured across the small bridge and through the village houses. Finding his way to the market, Link kneeled at the pond by the side of the dye shop. Steadily, the knight dipped the barrel below him. He watched the water pour into it, feeling its cold touch against his knuckles, and listening to the sounds of the morning in motion. His mind however, was stuck within the house he had left behind. The graceful image of the princess, still succumbed to sleep, forced its presence at the front of Link’s thoughts. And his reflection in the water became defocused. He wondered if she had heard him leave; if his attempts to be quiet failed, and the sound of the door closing behind him stirred Zelda in her moments of rest. His stomach churned at the thought. The water was suddenly taking far too long to make its way into the barrel, and Link’s hand tapped the side of it in an impatient, anxious repetition.
Was she waiting for him, sitting on top of his bed, sleeve of her gown falling off her shoulder? Did she wonder where he had gone, despite knowing he always gathered water in the morning? Was she frightened in his absence, feeling lonesome and unprotected? The knight stood with a start, urgent to conclude the chore. At the force of his motion, water whipped around in the barrel, splashing upwards and soaking the linen of his shirt. He audibly gasped against the sudden cold and rapidly attempted to steady the barrel which rocked under the handle. Soft laughter sounded from across the pond, and Link quickly learned he was not the only Hylian getting a day’s supply of water at such an early hour.
When he returned to his house, Link paid no mind to the wetted shirt he wore, nor the embarrassment of his actions. Rather, upon opening the door, his focus was directed towards the bed on the landing and the sleeping figure tucked away on top of it. His relief was certainly overzealous, but he couldn't help the feeling of consolation that filled his chest.
Link decided on porridge for breakfast, knowing the princess was partial to it. But not plain, he recalled while slicing bananas and crushing wild berries for an additive. Zelda never objected to savory foods, but had a tendency to prefer something sweet in the morning. He stirred in the berries with precision, hand tapping the side of his thigh as he silently reflected on the princess’ apparent sweet tooth.
When they were first reunited, Zelda was terribly unwell. One hundred years weighed heavily upon her, and despite her assurance that she felt no injuries, the princess collapsed just hours after her rescue. The passing weeks were a slow, challenging period of restoration and healing. Despite repeated efforts to escort him from her counsel, Link refused to leave her side, scowling whenever pushed aside by nurses or attendants. A royal guard was petitioned to watch over her, but Zelda herself refused in favor of her faithful knight. Link was infinitely grateful for that, and intended to justify her decision with unwavering performance.
Eating became a fruitless task for the princess, as her organs failed her. But without proper nourishment, her sickness persisted and fatigue worsened. The nurses and attendants struggled greatly in her stubbornness. Food became a value in a product of pain. And there were only so many attempts before Zelda fell into a state of hopelessness, simply refusing to eat at all. Link’s heart pained at her misery. And his hands itched to make it better.
She groaned in the nights, sleepless, while her limbs cried out for rest. Link had overheard the nurses’ dreadful whispers. She was starving. She was starving and he was sitting beside her bed. He was sitting beside her bed while her body ate itself for survival. His stare was firm on the fire in front of them, warming the room to treat the princess’ ever climbing fever. His grip was tight on the strap of his bag, holding a variety of ingredients he could easily utilize. When the groans turned into muffled crying and hushed prayers, Link furiously pulled the bag into his lap, disregarding the orders of the nurses, and trading responsibility for his utmost priority: her safety.
He did not cook anything special, rather the opposite. The smell of steamed rice filled the room as he toiled over the fire, listening intently in case her cries worsened. After removing the dish from the heat below it, the knight made a rather daring assumption. She would not like something so plain . His solution? The subtle addition of ground sugar cane.
“Princess,” his voice was raw as he walked lightly back to her bed. Zelda, dazed and endlessly hurting, rolled herself away from him, either at the sound of his voice or the smell of the dish he carried. “Princess,” he repeated, a bit more confident this time as he sat upon the bed with her. “I have something for you.” For a moment, she stilled and fell silent.
“Link?” His name was called with disbelief, as if Zelda felt convinced she had never been rescued at all.
“Yes, princess.” He affirmed with a fervent and unseen nod. “I have something for you,” he echoed, while any new sentences lost the fight against his tongue. With great effort, she moved back towards him and Link praised Hylia for the small victory.
Her pained expression became visible in the dancing firelight, and the swordsman swallowed the hurt he felt for her. With no other instruction, his thumb fell against her chin, gently guiding her mouth open as he filled a spoon with the sweetened rice. “You need-” his voice shook, so he licked his lips and made a second attempt, “I need you to eat this, okay?” He guided the spoon into her mouth, which closed around it without any prompting. She made a sort of choked sob as she swallowed and her knight was quick to reassure her. “Shh, good. That was very good, princess.” Then everything repeated, except this time, when she cried, Link pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. She quieted instantly. The next time, Zelda did not cry at all. And the time after that, by some miracle, she opened her mouth on her own accord.
“What’s for breakfast?” Link genuinely yelped in surprise, spinning around and stumbling back a bit, ladle still firmly gripped in hand. Upon seeing the princess, who clutched at her chest, eyes wide in some state of shock, he spoke loudly.
“Princess! Good morning.” He wasn't sure why he said it with such enthusiasm, adrenaline still running high as he lowered the ladle, which pointed its round edge towards her in an accusatory fashion.
“Yes, good morning, Link.” She breathed out, and Link felt his face and neck grow uncomfortably hot with embarrassment. “Sorry for startling you.” He bit his tongue, almost replying ‘you didn’t’ as a feeble attempt to defend his honor. “Here I thought it was impossible to sneak up on you.” As did the knight, who felt genuine concern at his own inattentiveness. It was so unlike him, trained to be on high alert, instincts proving a good defense. Zelda did not seem nearly as bothered, leaning over the steaming pot to get a peek at his creation.
“It’s wildberry porridge,” Link chimed with pride, finally answering her initial inquiry. She looked back at him with excitement in her eyes, and Link failed to suppress a simple smile at the sight, turning back to the shelf and grabbing dishes.
“Your hair’s getting longer,” she noted aloud as Link fished two bowls down from the hanging shelf. He hummed in a way that acknowledged her remark before turning back to the princess, who reached out to brush the lengthened bangs out of his eyes. Link’s whole body froze as her fingers grazed the top of his ear, breath shallowing when she did not initially pull away. Rather, her hands found their way to the back of his head, tugging at the worn hair tie. Link felt his hair fall loose onto his shoulders, but more pressingly, his heart pounding somewhere in his throat. Her eyes burned into his own. A soft effortless smile prettied her features. And Link’s palm suddenly felt warm and sweaty as he tightened his grip around the ladle.
Somehow, though he hardly recalled, the swordsman ended up sitting beneath her on the floor, bowl of porridge in hand, while she sat upon a chair behind him, diligently braiding away.
“You know what I miss?” She had spoken into the silence. And Link’s ear flicked at the sound. The hands in his hair made his mind cloudy, muddling his thoughts and hindering his ability to craft a reply. So he swallowed hard in an attempt to free his stuck voice, a pointless effort it seemed, as it hardly made itself known when he hummed.
“Mm..” Contrasting Link’s intentions, his response carried little interest or enthusiasm. It was less of a confirmation, and more of a recognition. Zelda paid no mind, however, either to show him grace or perhaps, Link dared to hope, she understood him in his wordlessness.
“Back in the castle, I had trouble falling asleep.” The swordsmen made silent note of her choice in tense, which contradicted the sleepless nights she had experienced beside him at present in Hateno. He did not comment on it. Instead, he occupied his mouth with another spoonful of the porridge, and his mind with her careful words and gentle hands.
“My father took note of this,” she continued, forming a braided crown around the back of his head. “He had the kitchen staff prepare a honey lavender tea for me to drink every night to soothe my mind into a state of rest.” Link’s interest rapidly spiked and he set his spoon back into the bowl to sign something, before remembering his back was turned.
“Did-”
“You can sign it.” The princess unintentionally interrupted. “I’m above you. I can see your hands.” As if to verify her statement, though in truth Link had no real understanding of his actions, he tipped his head back, neck craning to look above him. His gaze latched immediately onto sea green eyes, Zelda leaning down to meet his stare. A soft gasp fell from his lips unintentionally, and Link jerked his head back downwards. Fast enough to give him whiplash. He heard her subtle laughter, heart kicking unevenly in his chest. And he was certain Zelda’s attentive hands could feel the heat breathing off the back of his neck as they grazed up against it.
Tea - help? (Did the tea help you?). If she nodded, he couldn’t see. But he assumed she must have, because her voice took a moment to utter a reply.
“Surprisingly so,” was her affirmative answer. And Link’s eyes fluttered closed as her fingers began brushing through the hair under his new braided crown, tilting his head down instinctively, hands falling still around the bowl in his lap. Honey lavender tea . His mind savored the information, and the plans he had made for the day were abandoned when the princess muttered: “it was nice.”
It was still early when Zelda went up to the developing school in Hateno village to oversee construction. Link, after walking her up to Symin, bid the princess a quick and temporary farewell. He initially planned on gathering resources. The dye shop needed more ingredients for pigmentation, a task which Link eagerly agreed to. But of all the recommended natural pigments: a variety of mushrooms and insects, Link added his own remedies to the list: flowers, herbs, and honey. But of course, these took priority. Link would need to harvest the leaves and the petals, before steaming, rolling, and drying them. Because the princess said “it was nice” when describing a honey lavender tea and she appeared to have meant it. And the princess had been working tirelessly to repair a kingdom, with sleepless nights giving her little energy. And maybe, though less likely, Link just wanted her to cast him a soft smile. Maybe hear her praise his devotion. Maybe, but only maybe, have her sleep against him, head in his lap, free from the stress of the world outside their little house in Hateno.
Collecting a variety of plants that would serve as a fitting substitute for tea leaves was easy enough, but the knight was persistent in finding ingredients that would best replicate the honey lavender tea that eased the princess into sleep all those years ago. Hyrule herb was intuitive and easy to locate, nightshade was more of a challenge to find, but equally important. Time passed unknowingly as the sun sat above Hyrule and the morning rolled into noon. And Link felt rather embarrassed by the state of his bag, filled shamelessly with aramoath, violet, and thistle, pockets overflowing with leaves of apple trees and pine.
When he spotted the lavender bushel, its surroundings faded behind it, and Link felt his attention tunnel on the flower. It was rather foolish and far too enthusiastic the way he ran towards the plant, dropping onto his knees in front of it. Careful not to rob the plant’s chances of future prosperity, Link refrained from breaking it at the stem. His hands felt the petals brush against his knuckles, while the breeze shifted the grass around his knees, and kicked his hair up off his shoulders. Link reached his hand behind his head for a moment, tracing the tight pattern of the braid, and reminiscing the feeling of Zelda’s hands at work. He reoccupied his fingers with the plant in front of him, while his mind visited the princess’s golden smile behind his eyes. Link fumbled with the flower, heart stirring as he swore he heard her laughter. He questioned what she was doing in his absence. Was she assisting in the construction? Was her long hair pulled up behind her head, swaying with her while she shared the labor? He imagined her focused face: brows furrowed, tongue between her teeth. Would she be excited to see him return? Was she missing him? Was he dominating her thoughts the way she overwhelmed his own? Link’s hands stilled around the plant.
He supposed such fixation started when his memories were stolen from him: this sudden all consuming distraction. With his past lost to the depths of his mind, Link was, in essence, nothing but a Hylian. And the first thing he was made aware of as his eyes opened, was a gentle, lovely voice whispering his name. Surely, if nothing else was known to him, his mind would cling to the only thing he knew. And with a whole new kingdom under his feet, Link could not shake the aching hope to hear the voice again.
When his conscience resurfaced her image, the prepossession worsened. Deep, sea green eyes, pouring with spirit and temper. In his recollection, Link felt his soul still under her stare. Even in her frustration, the lost princess shined in her apparent divinity. And the knight could do nothing but ponder. Golden hair tossed behind sun kissed shoulders and a voice that carried her words with intentionality. His name sounded like a prayer, whispered into his thoughts from the distant horrors of Hyrule Castle. In the midst of any activity, Link saw her behind his eyes, collecting images of flowers, as if she did not effortlessly outshine them in her own allure. Every step the swordsmen took was determined to meet her in her need. To find her in her absence.
But then, it was excusable. Then, in the face of threats against him, or challenges to improve his strength, Link thought of the princess. Because he was ordered to protect her. Because he was committed to his responsibility. He slaughtered the monsters that inspired Calamity's reign, and faced the castle with vengeful eyes that taunted the beast within it: she will not fall prey to you.
But Zelda was safe now. She did not call upon his aid the way she had before. So why then, did Link still intend to do all things for her? Why did he remain so desperate for her company? Perhaps a stuck sense of service, a promise of protection. Or, alternatively…
At the sudden sting of cold metal, Link spun his body around at a rapid pace, rolling onto the palms of his hands to face the offender. A Yiga member stood above him, laughing in a taunting way as he flipped the sickle under his grip.
“I’d be the first to know the legendary swordsmen has a passion for flower picking,” the masked figure scoffed as Link stumbled backwards, kicking his feet against the ground to create distance before the next swing. “I’ll be sure to request a nice bouquet for your grave then.” As he raised his weapon, the knight had three distinct thoughts, all crashing into the front of his brain with the force of a tidal wave and the consistency of the water itself.
Firstly, how in Hylia’s name did he sneak up on me? Link was trained to hear, feel, and recognize the presence of others from great distances. Yet, by the time Link rolled around to meet his opponent, the Yiga member was directly behind him, with an easy aim to kill.
The second question; are the plants intact? , effortlessly answered the first. Somehow, the swordsmen held the task of collecting tea leaves and lavender with such great importance, that his mind prioritized it above his own training, which had become second nature to him at this point. But even in his foraging, Link’s attention was far beyond it, his mind miles away from him. So then it was not the bushel of fresh lavender that plagued his praised attentiveness, rather, the promise of the princess’s well being.
That was a terrible quip: was the last of these sudden and simultaneous thoughts. And it was quickly followed by the swordsmen pushing himself forward against the palms of his hands, and sending a firm kick into the gut of the Yiga member, who fell backwards at the force. Link wasted no time getting to his feet and unsheathing the master sword, though it seemed quite a waste to use such a weapon on a rather pathetic defected warrior. Regardless, he sent a swift slash down his middle, and the man choked out in surprise. The knight watched with cold eyes as he pushed himself back to his feet, only to effortlessly disarm him, hitching his sword under the scythe, and tossing it far away from the Yiga member. He stumbled, tripping over himself as he back-tracked, Link matching each step back with one forward, rubbing his thumb against the top of the sword’s hilt.
“Leave,” he ordered. And the man refused to face the consequences of disobedience, vanishing as quickly as he appeared. Link’s grip on the sword loosened, tight shoulders falling slack, and a deep exhale leaving his lungs. He turned back to the plant abandoned behind him, and his bag along with it. And it was only when squatting down to retrieve his things that the swordsmen became rapidly aware of a splitting pain up the side of his back. A suffocated gasp left his frame, hand finding the open gash with ease. Lifting the bag over his shoulder, sword still unsheathed in his right hand, Link urgently scanned his surroundings. He could easily fix himself up in the village, then continue his work on the tea for Zelda, a task his skull itched to complete, the bag hanging off his hip serving as a constant reminder. But upon a quick surveying glance, Link concluded he had ventured much farther than anticipated, near Blatchery Plain if his sheikah slate served him well.
Initially his plan was simple: walk fast. But it was proving difficult as the cut in his side stung deep into the ribs underneath it. Returning the sword to its sheath had the knight gritting his teeth and hissing sharpley, walking left him aching, and he became frightfully aware of the blood which made its way down to the thigh of his pants. Plan B; walk faster, proved futile as well. And Link ultimately found himself collapsed under a tree, fishing for anything he could use as a proper gauze.
By the time Link finally returned to the village, shirt stripped from his shoulders to wrap around his middle, and on top a horse he certainly did not leave with, it was nearly evening. And much to his surprise, Zelda met him before he even reached the archway, racing down the path.
“Where in the goddess were you?” She nearly yelled as she came beside his horse, gripping its maine to pull it into the village. And Link felt his throat close in shame, hands balling into fists as his gaze fell downwards. He was hunched over a bit on top of the steed, an old tan horse he mounted during the tireless way back to the village. It certainly was better than walking, which was doable, but miserable. The princess opened her mouth to continue her scolding, brows furrowed and lips curled, but her eyes fell upon the makeshift bandage, and the obvious stain seeping through it. Her mouth shut, forming a firm line as she turned her back to Link, guiding the horse diligently into the village.
Neither of them spoke, and Link shuddered under the gaze of the Hylians that watched them. It was improper, and unbecoming. Zelda’s chosen knight, the hero of Hyrule, wounded on such a simple venture. His hand absentmindedly found itself lingering on top of his baggage, protecting the plants which filled the space, the only proof of a worthy outing.
Eyes poured over the princess’s blond hair, back turned to her knight as she walked with purpose. And even the soft motion of her long hair tossing behind her left Link reeling back into his head again. He wondered if he had lost his composure entirely, and pondered any way to restore it. But when the princess glanced back at him, those earnest eyes diving into his own, concerned and full of intent, he gave up any hope he had harbored.
Zelda’s imprint on his mind was permanent. The light of her presence had swallowed any rationality. And Link was helpless to it all. She offered her hand to aid his dismount, but the swordsman refused in a stubbornness that mirrored Zelda's own. She grimaced at the way he jumped thoughtlessly off the horse, taking on the pain he refused to express. With a discomforted smile, he managed to open the door for her, and she shook her head as she passed him, making Link swallow hard.
It was when Zelda was properly bandaging him that the silence between them was finally broken.
“How bad does it hurt?” She inquired, and Link squirmed a bit on the bed, a motion that greatly contrasted his reply.
“Hardley.” But Zelda just hummed in response, careful attention dedicated to properly secure the bandage around his middle.
“What happened?” His reply was urgent, eager to conclude this conversation. Yet,
“Yiga.” He was honest, in spite of how greatly it shamed him.
“Did Master Kohga return?” Link felt his face unintentionally contort into an offended expression, eyes narrowing and forehead creasing. A look that far too easily conveyed the thoughts he spent years protecting. Like hell. Master Kohga had the combat skill of a chuchu, and a destructive inattentiveness, a trait Link feared was contagious. And Zelda met his expression with soft, knowing laughter. Laughter that was a rarity in its nature, laughter that could never be invited, but was always welcome.
Despite it’s brevity, the knight's taunting expression fell. His eyes flickered and widened, jaw slacking. The smile that claimed her features took Link’s steady breathing with it. And he stared as she grinned down at him. He was laying there, and Zelda was curled above him, her hand on his side, and goddess above she was smiling. Waves of her sea green eyes crashed into his own like a balmy tide. She scanned his stilled guise, and her grin shifted into a soft stare. When her thumb traced the top of the new bandage, hand moving down his side, Link shut his eyes tight. Heat crawled up his neck and reached for his cheeks when she spoke again.
“You promise it is not hurting you?” Link had to turn his head to the side before opening his eyes.
“I promise,” he said to the wall. Zelda hummed in confirmation, and her hand left the wound, the warmth of her touch with it. Link feared for a moment she would depart from him, in favor of the desk or somewhere more spacious. But Zelda seemed content by his side, and her hand only moved into his hair, running through it in soothing motions that made Link’s eyes flutter closed again, sigh leaving parted lips.
Link had to wonder, just sometimes, if the nature of their relationships was more intimate than necessary. He questioned if hands in hair, brushing knuckles, and a subdued, silent company were inappropriate considering their positions. Though, three objections met his concern every time.
Firstly: It is for the Princess. Was it not his position to do any service she required? No, Link was only made to protect her. He did not need to cook for her, to walk beside her, to hug her from behind when she cried into her hands at the sight of the castle ruins, and the weight of death it brought upon her shoulders. But surely, if he did not cook for her, her highness would starve. And if he did not maintain closeness, he could not remove her from surrounding dangers. What kind of faithful knight would let his princess fall under the weight of despair? Surely it hurt her, so Link shielded her from it. Because he was protecting her, because he was chosen to.
And Link recalled their first night in the house, his house. A house he had surrendered it to her as soon as she recovered from her exhaustion and illness. She stopped him from leaving, standing in the door frame with a pained expression upon her face. And in a voice impossibly quiet, she whispered into the night, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Link would never sleep in an inn again.
Second: I am not appointed anymore. A somewhat true statement. A few months prior, when accompanying Zelda to Lurrien Village, she posed a sudden topic of interest: his appointment.
“You were really only assigned to me due to the threat of Ganon and he…” she swallowed, drawing her hands down a piece of her hair, tugging it lightly. “He no longer plagues this world.” Link nodded shortly, unknowing and rather oblivious to the nature of the statement. She ceased her walking, and the knight took an additional two steps forward before observing her sudden stillness. He turned to face her, studying her hesitancy with a persistent gaze. Zelda swallowed, and Link felt his shoulders tense. “If it pleases you… you are relieved of your duties.” And the swordsmen was thrown into surprise, because the remark greatly contrasted one she had made only a month before.
It was that first night they shared in Hateno. By the princess’s silent request, Link found himself laying across from her on top of the far too small bed. His eyes fell shamefully downcast, watching his own hands fidget to relieve the anxiety their closeness created. He hardly knew her then; a mere face carved in memories reclaimed, a voice he heard when the moon shadowed the kingdom in a red stain, a presence left in forgotten photos on his sheikah slate.
“Link,” she whispered. His eyes refused to meet her, but he nodded to show his acknowledgement. “I’m so afraid.” His hands stilled. “Please… help me feel safe again.” He lifted his head, and her eyes were shut, tears falling onto the pillow beneath her head. Link spoke for the first time that day,
“I will protect you, princess.”
Link frantically waved his hands in negative motions, shaking his head swiftly.
Want - stay - with - you (I want to stay with you). Please.
He watched her sigh in a state of relief, and he fell into awe at the smile that crossed her features.
The third reason was a selfish one: It makes me happy. Though it was not a very essential objection, Link believed, somehow, that he deserved nice things. Despite his failures in the past, and his expectations to uphold, Link was only a Hylian. As was his princess. And maybe, after all the chaos, after the war and losses, amnesia and a hundred years of suffering, maybe they deserved to feel happy.
“Now would you care to explain why there are leaves in your pockets?” Maybe the princess deserved a good night’s rest with a supplement she used to find comfort in.
“Tea for you.” And maybe Link had developed a sort of preoccupation in regards to Zelda.
“You are unbelievable.” But maybe,
“Thank you, princess.”
Maybe that made him happy as well.