Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Link has never been good with words.

In truth, he rarely speaks or even tries to enunciate his thoughts into words. He doesn’t really have to; after all, he is Princess Zelda’s once-appointed knight, now chosen protector — and, sometimes, when far away from the public eye, her romantic companion, too — and Princess Zelda speaks  enough  for the two of them. The world of Hyrule knows him as the silent hero, ever-so-quick to action and always deferring his eyes to  her  whenever someone addresses him; it’s the way the universe rolls, and he’s more than happy to abide by it.

It’s different, of course, when it’s just the two of them. In their privacy, he offers her every part of himself — his love, his devotion, his body, his  words . In their solitude, he is not afraid of being judged, or of saying the wrong thing, so he allows himself to  be  without reservation. It’s a language only they are familiar with, one that often transgresses past the barriers of their sacred haven through exchanged glances and secretive smiles; when nobody is looking, his expression speaks volumes, and she either talks back with her own or needs to hide her snicker before someone else sees through the veils of their public personas.

They work so well together; they are  perfect .

Which, as all things go, doesn’t mean that it’s perfect  all  the time. They have their moments, and Link can easily blame  her  every single time, although he’s still a derisive factor in all of it.

And their problem, their  imperfection , is less troublesome than one would expect.

She gets  needy  — and Link must deal with the consequences of it.

It happens ever so often, those moments where Zelda gets a little too overly mushy for his liking. It’s not that he minds it; no, he understands all too well that she, and he, too, have had their youths stripped away from them as they were forced into becoming adults in their childhoods, and he’s  thrilled  that she’s reclaiming some of the stolen time by being — a girl,  just  a girl. His issue, however, arises from what she  needs  from him in those moments.

There would be no problem if he could love her, if he could show her his love, in the best way he knew how; he would do anything for her,  anything , all he needed was her word — or even a subtle indication from her behalf. He would fight an undefeatable foe, he would reach an unreachable star,  anything  for her.

Turns out — she’s much easier to please than any of his impossible quests, although he would  still  prefer to take on any and every dangerous mission. Because, when Zelda is feeling sappy, she seeks words of affirmation from him. He’s  so  bad at it, so clumsy with his words that, every time it happens, Link wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and  die .

Which he isn’t allowed to, by the way. He learned that the hard way, of course, after digging himself a hole in the backyard of their house — in the name of love! — and it only backfired.

Here’s what happened. 

They were all gathered in Tarrey Town, the two of them and every one of their friends. It was a lovely night; the sky was clear and the weather was comfortable. Even Dinraal could be seen in the distance, offering them her divine blessing.

It was a wedding. No, actually, it was a vow renewal ceremony. Maybe,  most likely ; honestly, he wasn’t paying a lot of attention. He attended a  lot  of weddings and vow renewal ceremonies to keep track. It was a good thing, he supposed, that the land of Hyrule was thriving with no Calamities and no Demon Kings lurking on the horizon, that people were happy, and that life was flourishing  so much  that they could dedicate entire days to love and to hope and to dream for luminous future days. 

The reason he attends so many of these is not because he’s liked or because he’s remembered; on most days, he’s really just some guy, helping where he can with the certainty that his face will be forgotten on the next day and memorized just as the nice person who gave everyone a hand. He doesn’t mind that; he  hates  being in the spotlight, anyway. He’s there because of  her , because everybody loves her, genuinely so, and they want her presence on the most important day of their lives. 

And because she’s  her , and because she has so much to give, she attends every ceremony she’s invited to. Sometimes as herself, sure, but, mostly, as a priestess, a representative of the goddesses above. After all, she is Hylia reborn, and anyone would be a fool to turn a blind eye to a blessing from the goddess herself. Personally, he thinks it’s a little hypocritical of them, but she’s always  so  honored and humbled to be there that he doesn’t say anything. Besides, he’s seen her, he’s seen the way she bides a couple’s hands together and  light  comes from their union. It’s nothing like the almighty light with which she has sealed darkness away; it is just a little sparkle, and it’s  beautiful .

He is selfish for wanting to keep her glint just to himself; the whole world should have the privilege of experiencing life under her blessing.

Anyway, it must have been a bigger ceremony of sorts, for he remembers a  lot  of their friends being there. Purah, Robbie, Paya, Sidon, Riju, Tulin —  so many  familiar faces that they have grown to call their family, too. He remembers how happy she was; that’s right, it was the first ceremony after the defeat of the Demon King and the dedragonification of Zelda herself, and her smile was glimmering. Maybe it hadn’t been a matrimonial ceremony at all, but a celebration of life, a celebration of light, a celebration of  her . 

It’s not that he’s an  asshole  for not remembering these events, but he’s always  so  entranced by her that everything else fades into oblivion. He remembers her dress; it was crimson, and it enhanced the twinkle in her eyes a little more than usual. It was a sleeveless turtleneck dress, with a long round skirt that made it look like she was soaring and sparkles on its bust and back. He spends  so  much time simply gazing at her and admiring her, but he cannot be faulted for it, for she is the most beautiful being he’s ever seen.

In the end, her beauty  is  a factor in the matter at hand. It was late into the evening, they had been celebrating for hours, yet people were showing no signs of calling it a day. Link was lurking in the back, his hands on his hips as he discreetly kept vigil over the princess in the distance. People would greet him as they passed by, and he would offer them a firm nod and nothing more.

He knew her to be  exhausted  the moment he caught a glimpse of her face as she meandered towards him, despite her expression still carrying every ounce of her royal composure. He smiled as she approached him, catching her with a surprised huff after she threw herself into his arms. 

“Dance with me?”

Her request was shy, quiet, and he slipped his hand to the small of her back in silent consent. They swayed absently to the gentle tune of violins and flutes, content to simply exist in each other’s presence. The world dissipated around them, and it was just them, the last breathing beings in Hyrule.

They had their whole lives  just  for themselves; Link swore, then, that he would not allow it to go to waste.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered into her neck, in a rare, precious turn of events that had him displaying his emotions in public. He felt  so  vulnerable for that moment that he tightened his grip around her, and the one second that had her stop breathing was enough to make his heart beat  just  a little faster.

In the end, she was still breathing all right, well enough to pull back a little, delve into his eyes, and ask — 

“Yeah? How happy?!”

“Very,” he stated plainly. He did not want to think, all he longed for was to be in her presence and relish her there, safe and unharmed, back with him.

Zelda could surely understand that.

Right?!

She raised one of her eyebrows, a mischievous look on her face that had him  sweating  in anticipation.

“Just —  very ?” she quoted, feigning a sadness that he could not resist, and she  knew  as much. She played him like she would play a harp, and he fell for it every single time.

So, he thought. He thought very hard, for a long time. Although his eyes were left on her, he was barely seeing her, so focused on his task at hand. His brain was working relentlessly through every possible synapse, hunting through his every core memory, until the right words came upon him—

“I am happy.  So  happy. Like a bokoblin right after killing their prey. So happy with their game that the whole world stops turning just so they can contemplate the meat in front of them.”

He was smiling so smugly after that; it was  perfect , he could genuinely not depict anything happier than one of those little monsters after being thrown a piece of meat. He was actually a little proud of himself.

Until, of course, he finally took sight of the face she was giving him, and a wicked laugh came from under them.

“Ohhhhhhhhh. You’re in trouble.” 

Tulin, that little  demon . Link had no idea where he had come from nor how long he had been there, mischievously watching the scene unfold. Oh, how much did he want to pluck a bird right then; he wouldn’t, so he only stood there awkwardly with his cheeks and ears painted red.

“You’re a dead man, man,” Tulin said, still giggling and overly enjoying the situation.

“Yes,” was all she said, a sneer in the corner of her lips, before she walked away from them, back to the party, leaving Link utterly  confused  as to what she was agreeing with. 

Tulin proceeded to laugh at his face for the rest of the night, and none of their friends who passed by was safe from hearing the recalling of Link’s latest mishap. He truly did not understand why they  all  agreed that he was a dead man walking, but he concurred that they knew more about this sort of stuff than he, so — a dead man he was.

So, he knew exactly what he had to do. The party eventually died down, and while the majority of the guests went to the inn, Link wrapped his arm around her waist and they walked a slow path towards their house in the outskirts of Tarrey Town. His grip on her was firm, assuring she wouldn’t trip and fall; it had been a long night, she was tired, and maybe a little lightheaded from the one or two drinks she had had. He guided her up the stairs and led her to bed, where she collapsed over the duvet still in her dress and sandals. She made several grunts as he worked his way around the buckle of her shoes, and was out like a light by the time he was done.

He admired the sight of her there for a moment, a gentle smile on his face. He loved her  so  much, would do  anything  for her, so — he set out of the room, climbed back down the stairs, and went out with a shovel in his hand. He found a nice spot just behind the house, under a big oak tree, and started digging.

He dug for hours, sweat breaking through the nice, fancy shirt he was wearing. He dug for so long that night turned into dawn as the first rays of sunshine started painting the horizon, and suddenly there was a shadow cast over him.

Squinting his eyes, he looked up to find her there. Her hair was messy, and there were a few smudges of makeup under her eyes that she had failed to wipe off. She was no longer wearing her party dress, but one of his shirts that was too loose for her and some trousers, with a robe tightly wrapped around her. She looked confused.

“Link? What are you…?”

He ran his forearm against his forehead, sweeping away some of the sweatdrops. He jabbed the shovel into the ground, where it stayed. 

“Why are you up?”

She blinked ostensively at him.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said, her voice still a little groggy from sleep. “I looked everywhere for you, I was worried. Then, I heard the noise.”

He nodded, and — stared at her, nothing more.

“Link? Why is there a giant hole in our backyard?”

He frowned. Was it not obvious? Was it not what she wanted?

“Tulin said—”

“Yes?”

“ Everybody  said—”

“Yeah?”

He grunted some; everything would be  so  remarkably easier if she could  just  understand what he was trying to say. Why couldn’t she? She always seemed to read him like a book.

Instead — she stared at him blankly.

He took in a deep breath and tried again.

“They said—They all said I was a dead man.”

“Okay…?

“So.”

“So…?”

He couldn’t believe her — how could she not see what was right in front of her? He knew her not to be a morning person, but,  damn , was she still  that  sleepy?

He drastically waved towards the hole he had dug.

Her expression  still  did not change.

Was he going insane?

“I’m a dead man,” he reiterated. “So. I dug a hole.”

“You dug a hole…”

Why would she not stop repeating his every word — was she making fun of him?

“Yeah. For you.”

At last, her expression shifted, but to something entirely different from what he was expecting. With her brows raised high, she was perplexed.

“For  me ?! Whatever for?!”

“Because—Because,” he bubbled, and he was  certain  he sounded like a toddler who had just learned their first words. “Because I love you, and I want to make you the happiest person in the world, and… I wanted to save you the trouble, so.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, a small gap between her lips. Was she expecting him to carry on talking? It seemed like she was waiting for more—

“Just say the word, and I’ll…”

He motioned his chin down at the hole.

Zelda frowned.

“You’ll… get into the hole?!”

He nodded with vigor.

“But… why?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Because, Zelda, I am a dead man.”

He could pinpoint the exact moment that she  understood , for realization became her expression and she let out just a little gasp.

“Link—is this supposed to be a grave?!”

He made a face.

“More — like a hole.”

“I see,” she concurred; did she? — “And what’s exactly the purpose of this — hole?”

“For me to crawl into,” he stated the obvious, “Under your command.”

“Ok,” she said, apparently still processing everything, “For how long?”

“Until you tell me to get out, of course.”

“Of course,” her head traveled up and down quite slowly; it seemed like she was patronizing him. “And — where did you get this idea from, exactly?”

“Tulin said — Tulin said I was in trouble.”

She clicked her tongue.

“He said I was a  dead  man.”

“Okay.”

“Everybody agreed!”

“So you thought — that I would what,  kill  you?”

“No, of course not,” he dismissed the idea. “I would never let you carry such a burden. That’s why — the hole.”

She rolled her eyes so ostensively they might as well have reached the back of her skull. 

“Link, could you — could you come here, please?”

Cleaning his dirty hands on his pants, he spent some considerable time deciding whether he should jump over the hole or circle it; he went with the latter, over the risk of falling  into  the hole if he missed his step. As he approached her, he noticed the disappointed look on her face.

Had he — had he been responsible for it?

Had he, in his attempt to make her the happiest person alive, only let her down?

Oh no.

“Link, darling,” she began, her hands on the collar of his shirt, sweeping away some of the dirt there, and he  knew  he was in trouble, for she only ever addressed him by words of endearment amidst her soft attempts of lessening the blow of her inevitable lecturing. “Thank you for your kind consideration. I can see by your efforts just how much you love me.”

He hummed.

“However — no more digging, all right? No more holes for you to crawl into,” she dictated. “Should I require a — a  hole , I’ll let you know, explicitly so. Is that understood?!”

He swallowed roughly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ok. Thank you, kindly.”

They stared into each other for an eternity; he, stoic as always, she — well, he noticed her face was twitching, so unlike her, and then she broke into the most absurd laughter he had ever heard. It was ugly, it had no restraint; it was  her , and he longed to capture that sound in a little music box so that he could listen to it always.

She laughed until she cried, and that moment was imprinted into his soul forever. For the tenderness of it, sure, but also — because he is now forbidden to crawl into any holes in times of distress, and whenever he’s posed before one of her giddy questions, he has no choice but to endure.

Honestly, he’s quite  certain  that Zelda particularly enjoys herself every time she backs him into a corner.

In fact, she’s  so  quiet right now that he knows, he  knows  something is cooking in that pretty little head of hers, so he runs his fingers through her hair with a certain amount of hesitation.

They’re at Tuft Mountain, lying on the grass by Lover’s Pond. After a stressful week of relentless working on the restoration of Hyrule, she had quietly asked him in the crack of dawn if they could run away to Lurelin Village for a couple of days and — disappear. He could never say no to her, not even when she turned her big emerald eyes to him, on their first day relaxing on the beach, flashing her equally long lashes at him, and asked—

“Can we take a stroll to Lover’s Pond?”

It’s not that he dislikes Lover’s Pond; he finds the place quite charming, with its beautifully heart-shaped pond and its promises of eternal true love. It is a nice, hidden gem to visit once, maybe twice in one's lifetime, and spend nothing more than a couple of hours. Because, in his most sincere opinion, despite its charm, the place is —  boring , too boring, with nothing but rocks surrounding the unusually-shaped pond. There are no trees to plunk fruits from, no flowers to smell, no fish to swim with.

Yet, Zelda  loves  the place, and any and every trip to Lurelin will inevitably lead them up the mountain. He supposes it’s a good thing, then, that they are free and alive to go to Lover’s Pond as many times as they would like, that she gets to become the teenager she hadn’t been allowed to be and infatuate herself over the most frivolous matters, such as a funny-shaped pond.

So, there they are, once again, lying on the green bare fields of Tuft Mountain.  She wants to see the fairies , so they’re biding their time, waiting for the sun to set. At least, sunsets are never boring in this corner of the world.

It’s a nice, chilly afternoon, which is so rare for the Faron region; it’s either always raining or always too hot, so the amicable weather is welcomed as they enjoy their leisure. She has her head lying on his shoulder, their legs intertwined, and she’s drawing invisible lines on his chest. He knows she’s distracted, for her tracing is messy and unpredictable; Zelda is a loud thinker, if she had matters of consequence troubling her, then her lines would be tense and calculated.

He appreciates the rare moments that she’s not overworking herself but instead giving in to the peace of the moment, just as much as he dreads them for the sole reason that, if she’s not wearing herself down, then — she has all the time in the world to let her mind roam free, from the most inconsequential insect digging through the earth to the immensity of  life  surrounding them.

Any moment, any moment now — something  will  part from her lips, and he would honestly rather defeat a lynel to impress her than deal with whatever she had in store for him.

The lines on his chest are slowly coming to a halt.

Any second now.

Any second —

“Link?”

There it is. His fingers, the ones going through her hair, find a resting spot on the top of her head, which earns him a soft grunt of displeasure from her.

“Link?!”

“I’m here.”

“Well, yes, I can feel you,” she teases, chuckling a little. She turns so her pointy chin is resting on his shoulder and she’s looking at his stiff expression. “So, I was thinking.”

“You do that a lot, yes.”

She ignores his remark.

“I was thinking,” she says, “About how lucky I am to be here. With you.”

He hums.

“So, I started thinking about you. The two of us, we — we have survived when all the odds were against us. That’s quite amazing, isn’t it? Quite —  magical , if you believe in that kind of stuff. We were never meant to be, yet, we are. I don’t know where I’d be,  who  I’d be, without you.”

He cups her face and rubs his thumb on her cheek.

“Which got me thinking, then — do you know just how much I love you, Link?!”

He blinks at her blankly.

“Well, if you’re wondering, I love you — like light.”

He frowns.

“Light?!”

“Yes, light,” she concurs; she’s fully lying on top of him by now. “Light is — everywhere. It is imprinted into every creature and it is in the reflection of your eyes. Life would not thrive, would not exist, without light. Grass feeds on light, and the deer feeds on the grass, and the wolf feeds on the deer, and we feed on the wolf, and then, when we die, we are buried, and the grass feeds on us. It’s the circle of life, and it all begins with light. Light lives in you, and in me, and… Light guides us home. When I was fighting the Calamity, light lured you back to me, and you brought me home. When I became a dragon to heal the Master Sword, I was a dragon that shone just a little brighter so you could look up and find me, so you would  always  find me. And, Sonia’s time power and Rauru’s  light  blew through you so you could bring me back home. Light has always, will always be the reason I’m alive.”

He’s gazing at her so intensively that she blushes a little.

“What I’m saying is, my love for you is like light,” she reiterates. “It’s — everywhere, and it’s infinite as long as there is a sun, as long as there is  me . It guides me through the darkness when I’m lost, it brings me back home. And — it makes my eyes sparkle a little more than usual whenever I see you. That’s… That’s my love for you.”

There are butterflies in his stomach, and they’re eating him from inside, making him  ill . That’s a — a rather cumbersome way to love someone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she’s laying her head on him again, listening to his heartbeat. “I just — wanted to let you know,” she chuckles to herself, “I suppose this place makes me rather — emotional.”

Of course, Link  knows  that’s not how it works. She’s pouring her heart to him, and he must at least try and meet her halfway there. If he fades out the sounds of the nature surrounding him, he can perfectly hear Tulin, that little demon, whispering to his ear —  you’re in trouble , and all his friends, Sidon and Riju and Yunobo and Paya and Teba and Purah and  Impa  are staring at him, rightfully agreeing with the little Rito.

He wants them all to shut up, he wants to prove them  wrong .

So, there he is, thinking really hard. Wrinkles all over his forehead, that’s how much he’s trying.

“I love you…”

Her ears perk up, and she’s once again looking at him with interest. There’s  so much  expectancy in her eyes, he understands very well that now is not the moment to mess up, that he absolutely cannot let her down. He swallows roughly, and sweat drops are dropping from his temples. The muscles on his phonation apparatus starts working ahead of his vocal cords, for he opens and closes his lips several times before any sound comes out.

“…like a table.”

Her expression doesn’t entirely change, save for the gentle rise of her right eyebrow, displaying her curiosity. It would seem that she’s waiting for more, for further explanation, which is  ridiculous , because, truly, how could he be clearer than that?!

He grunts; ok,  fine , he can concede that it isn’t at all  absurd  that she’d expect a little more from him.

Like a fucking  table —

“You see, um—” he babbles, moving to a seating position as if that would  help  his articulation; Zelda falls back to the grass, and she’s leaning on her elbows to properly look at him. He wants to  disappear , why did she  have  to take his hole away from him? — “My, erm, my legs were carved  just  for you, you know? And—And my  arms , too, you see. Just like… a table…”

She frowns just a little.

“That’s, em, quite lovely. Thank you…?”

“I’m not done,” he stops her there and pulls his legs closer to him. His back is so perfectly straight that he might look just an inch taller. “I am wood, and… and you’re — glue.”

“Glue?!”

“Glue, you know,” he gesticulates with his hand. “You’re the glue that holds my wood together.”

“I don’t think tables are put together with glue—”

“Zelda,” he warns her. “Fine, you’re the — the screw that holds me together, that doesn’t really matter. The point is, my love for you fastens me in place, you keep me from breaking over.”

There’s the beginning of a smile in the corner of her lips; he exhales in relief, he must be doing  something  right. 

He could even stop there, but something inside him compels him to carry on.

“And-and because I’m put together so perfectly, you can lay everything on me. Your dreams, your hopes, your insecurities, your fears,  everything , and I will - I will hold it strong and stable. And my wood will swallow your tears — and I know you’re about to say,  Link, wood cannot get wet, otherwise, it starts rotting , and,  granted , that would be the norm for normal tables. Not my table, though. My table is steady. For you, and because of you.”

Her smile is now gentle but prominent. His stoic mask breaks, for he looks a little smug.  

Which was a sign that he should stop there, savor his small victory. He doesn’t.

“And, if, for some reason, our house catches fire, probably because I forgot to put out the stove, then I will gladly burn down so you can escape to safety. I know that our love can survive every odd  except  the laws of nature, but I don’t ever want you to think that you weren’t enough after I turned to ashes. Not even your tears that potentially had my wood rotting and inevitably weakening my structure, making me just a little more inclined to destruction, it was still… not… your fault…?”

He slowly comes to a halt as he notices her cringing.

He sighs.

“I ruined it, didn’t I.”

She condescendingly makes a face.

“You kind of lost yourself a bit there.”

“Yeah.”

A visceral sound leaves his throat as he leans his chin into the palm of his hand.

“I was doing  so  well,” he grunts.

She nodded. “Bumpy start, but you managed to pick it up quite well.”

He grunts some more; a bystander would assume he is  dying .

They would be right — he’s dying of embarrassment, of self-repudiation, of self-disdain.

Where the hell is his  hole  when he needs it—

Zelda is now sitting next to him; he hadn’t seen her approaching. She runs her fingers through his hair, and he sees the amusement in her face as clear as the summer sky. 

“Sometimes, I wish I were a tiny brain cell inside that head of yours,  just  so I could catch a glimpse beforehand of what exactly goes through your mind.”

His cheeks are on fire after her comment; he feels them burning, and they are likely redder than a spicy pepper.

“Don’t fret yourself, Link,” she teases. “I love you like a table, too.”

“You do?!”

His evident surprise has her giggling.

“I do.”

Leaning forward, she crashes her lips against his. He is startled by it, too, but, despite the sudden speed of his heartbeat, he kisses her back.

Their dedication to their love for one another is so colossal that the fairies around Lover’s Pond come and go and they never notice.

Chapter Text

They are perfect for each other, and their life together is as perfect as it can be, but — it does not mean that all days are perfect.

Some days — are sad. Just sad.

It comes with the rain, usually; the rain is sad. But there are other signs, too, signs that he is not naïve to miss, but little power he has to fix anything.

Some days are meant to be sad, and all he can do is be steady for her, even though it always breaks his heart.

He had known she would hit rock bottom for a while now, and he had spent the last couple of days dreading the next. She has stopped sleeping, instead spending the entire night tossing and turning in bed, only to morosely apologize to him in the morning for disturbing his rest. It’s not that he minds, but her words lack the vigor they normally carry, and  that  troubles him.

She has lost her appetite as well. He’s been making her favorite meals and desserts, and he doesn’t even think she’s noticed his efforts; he doesn’t mind that either, but it tugs at his heart to see her taking a bite or two and leaving the rest for him. She’s always apologizing for it, too, for wasting his time and his food, and there’s no amount of reassurance from him that lessens her guilt.

He doesn’t know if she discerns the signs as he does; he doesn’t know if she notices that she’s drained of all her energy, that she’s not interested in the bugs she finds in the wild, that she snaps, ever-so-subtly, at the kids at school when they’re pestering her too much, that her concentration slips away from her when anyone is talking to her. He wonders if it’s only the drenched rain that brings her the realization.

That morning, they awaken to the sound of rain.

That morning, as she stares out the window of their home in Hateno at the pouring rain, she quietly whispers, for herself more than him —

“I think I am having a bad day.”

He hums from behind her; he’s close by, has always been, watching her from the corner of his eyes while giving her the space she needs.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She exhales loudly, but her hand remains against her throat, like she’s struggling to breathe.

“No. I don’t think so.”

He nods, although she cannot see it.

“Zelda?”

It takes her forever and a little more, but eventually she turns her head to the side, over her shoulder. He’s still not in her vision field, but she’s listening.

“What do you want?” he asks.

She’s still, very still.

“I don’t know.”

“But you do,” he takes one daring step toward her; he thinks she sees him. “ The first thing that came to your mind — what was it? What  do  you want?”

“I want…”

She gives herself an eternity; it’s okay, patience is inbred to him.

“I would like to go out.”

He’s nodding again.

“Ok, ok. Give me one second, I’ll grab our cloaks and we’ll go—”

“Link.”

The way she calls for him — it brings him to a halt when he is already halfway through the stairs. He glances back and her eyes are on him for the first time that day.

“If it’s okay with you, I… I’d like to be alone.”

“Oh,” he says, forcing himself to swallow his surprise. “S-sure. I’ll… Let me grab your cloak anyway, okay? I don’t — it’s raining a lot.”

She nods, and he’s back on her side in a blink of an eyes, pulling the cloak over her shoulders and clasping them in front of her neck. He brings the hood over her head, and he thinks — he  thinks  he sees the start of a smile.

“Thank you.”

He dismisses it.

“Don’t stray too far away, ok?” he requests, “I’ll worry.”

He would worry either way.

“I won’t, I promise,” she assuages. “Link—”

He waits as she tries to find her words.

She exhales tiredly once more.

“If I’m gone for too long, will you come get me?”

“Always.”

He watches quietly as she leaves, and his eyes follow her from the window. She’s true to her word, circling around their house until she finds the big, bulky tree by the pond in their backyard, where she stumbles down with no class nor grace.

The rain douses her.

Link busies himself for the rest of the day with any and every chore that comes his way; washing the dishes, dusting the shelves, folding the laundry,  anything  to keep his mind occupied. Still, every few minutes, he takes a peep out of the window — she’s always there.

The urge to go after her has his legs tingling, but he is respectful of her privacy until the sun starts to set on the horizon; it’s still raining when he steps outside, and a chilly breeze encompasses him. He no longer regrets having taken some extra minutes to go after her so the fireplace was lit up, dry clothes were laid on the bed, and a steamy cup of hot cocoa was set by the wooden table.

Likewise, he is soaking wet by the time he reaches her; she has her back against the trunk of the tree and her knees close to her chest. From the crown of the tree, currents of water drip heavily into the ground, some of her directly onto her, which she doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, she isn’t aware of him approaching either, not until he sits directly in front of her eyesight, and it still takes her a couple of seconds to process his presence there.

“Oh.”

He’s not taken aback by her reaction to seeing him. Instead, he waits.

She wipes at her cheeks, although the rain keeps on falling.

“Is it — is it time to go already?”

He shrugs, making himself comfortable against the moist earth.

“We can stay,” he says simply.

She rubs the back of her hand against her face once more.

“You hate the rain.”

“Yeah, but — not as much as I like you.”

His counterback seems to have some effect on her, for suddenly her face is twitching. There’s a dip between her brows, and her eyes are really, really small, like she’s thinking about something of great consequence. 

“Why?”

He frowns, completely lost.

“Why… what?”

She blinks at him, quite slowly, her face devoid of any expression.

“Why do you like me?!”

His eyes become wide, and his confusion does not leave him.

“I, um—”

She’s looking at him expectantly, and he cringes ever-so-subtly — what a  terrible  time to blank out.

He clears his throat.

“I like you — because you’re you.”

She huffs, rather ironically, and turns her gaze away from him. He thinks he hears her sniff, but it might be the rain.

“That’s not good enough, Link.”

He presses his lips tightly together; the rain pours insistently, and he can’t truly see her. He wonders, briefly, if that’s what she had wanted all along, to disintegrate amidst the rain.

“You’re good enough to me.”

She shakes her head.

He crawls towards her, still not invading her personal space but so he’s back in her vision field.

“Hey.”

It takes her eyes some time to acknowledge him there; when he comes into focus, a weak smile shapes her lips.

“Hi.”

He smiles, too.

“Talk to me.”

She finds solace in him, and her face is twitching again; she’s  breaking . She brings both her hands to her temple, distressed, and she clings to her hair a little too hard. She’s hyperventilating, she’s  drowning  in the rain. It breaks his heart.

“I don’t understand—” she begins, her lower lip trembling as the leaves of the trees that are floating on the air around them, “—I don’t understand how can you not… hate me…”

There are lines written all over his forehead; he doesn’t understand her either, but he waits so she pours everything out of her chest.

“You look at me and you  still  see past all the atrocities I’ve been responsible for,” her voice tries to betray her, but she gets all her words out, all her self-disdain out; Link sees, through her expression, that she’s genuinely distressed by her allegations, that she believes everything she says, and it falls onto him to tell her otherwise.

“See past? There’s nothing to see  past ,” he quotes, making signs with his fingers in the air. “I see you for who you are, for what you are. There are no atrocities there, only the goodwill of a heart who does  everything  to save her people, even when all the odds were against her.”

She blinks at him somberly.

“How can you be so blind,” she accuses, “I have intrinsically perpetuated everyone I’ve ever loved to their deaths. My father, and the champions. Queen Sonia. You… My incompetence has killed all of you. I am a disgrace to the earth I walk upon.”

He listens to everything; he bears witness to the tears that fall from her eyes and blend with the endless raindrops that pour from the gray clouds.

“I meant what I said, you know.”

She looks at him rather confused.

“What?”

“That — I’m your table,” he reminisces, a sleek smile on his lips. She huffs, a little dismissive of him, but he doesn’t back down. “I’ll remain steady even when you stain me with your tears. I’ll stay strong and unbreakable even when you lay all the weight of your world on me. I’m not running away, no matter how ugly it gets, because, Zelda? Tomorrow brings the promise of beauty again.”

A sob escapes her, and it seems to startle her just as it did him. She brings her closed fist to her mouth, a little ashamed, and, when everything becomes too much to bear, she buries her face into her hands and — cries.

“I don’t understand—” she weeps, “I don’t understand why you don’t hate me.”

He presses his lips together and thinks just a little more than he usually does. 

In fact, he thinks for  so  long that she’s probably forgotten by then what he’s replying to.

“Because,” he says, “You’ve stolen a pizza my heart.”

The seconds following his statement are stale, and a little tense, too. She stops crying, she stops moving, she stops  breathing , and he’s forced to hold his breath in, too, anticipating her reaction.

Eventually, she does part her fingers so she can take a peek between them; she stares at him incredulously for one minute longer before she  breaks —  and, this time, he’d dare to say she does in a good way.

“I’m serious, Link!” she’s laughing and she’s crying and she’s making weird noises and faces, and that’s the sight of hers that he appreciates the most.

“So am I,” he states, feigning a seriousness that isn’t common to him when he’s with her, but soon he breaks into laughter with her. 

“Is your  every  declaration of love related to food?!” she challenges, weeping at the corner of her eyes; her chest is still combusting with the reminiscent of her laugh. “Never mind—don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

He shrugs, not at all concerned with his everlasting love for her  and  for food. His attention instead lies with her dropped smile; while his prelude was welcomed, it was also short-lived, and she’s back with the looming sadness that has been plaguing her all along.

“Sometimes — most of the time,” she corrects herself, closing her eyes briefly, “It feels like their death was in vain.”

He thinks of the words that Urbosa passed down to him after he freed Vah Naboris; he made a silent pledge, right then, that he would honor the Gerudo’s final wish to guide Zelda through her grief and not let her carry the blame for things that were fated to happen. On days like this, he fears that he hasn’t been able to keep up with his promise, but he never stops trying.

“The weight of the world is not your responsibility, Zelda.”

She nods, unsteadily; it hardly seems to make a difference.

“My heart needs their death to have mattered, because if not… life becomes unbearable.”

He huffs, looking down on the wet earth beneath him.

“Here we are, trying to save the world, and we can’t even save the lives of the ones we love,” he says, his finger drawing lines across the dirt that would soon be washed away. He ponders for a minute, before raising his eyes to her again. “Their deaths matter if we make them matter. They propel us forward.”

She takes in a shaky breath, and she’s nodding again. 

“When I first woke up in a brand new world, without a single memory to my name,” he reminisces, “It wasn’t always easy to move forward. But I would think of your sacrifice, and I would push on. I would have given up a countless number of times if you hadn’t sacrificed yourself to me, and to everybody else.”

She sniffs, running the back of her hand against the corner of her eyes. 

“You always say that,” she gently comments, laughing a broken sound. 

“Maybe, today is the day you will finally listen to me,” he teases, although there’s still truth to his statement, and she knows it.

She knows it .

“Maybe,” she agrees; there’s a taunting smile in the corner of her lips. “Link?”

He hums.

“I think — I think I’m ready to come back inside.”

He smiles a little more broadly at that, and offers her his hand. 

“There’s a warm meal waiting for you,” he says as he pulls her to her feet.

“Of course there is,” she chuckles, resting her body against his as they stroll towards the house.

“Of course there is,” he emphasizes, “ Olive  you.”

It takes her a moment before she narrows her eyes at him.

“You’re impossible,” she rolls her eyes, but she cannot force back the laughter that escapes her. 

“I’ve been saving this one for a special occasion,” he admits, giggling alongside her.

“Well, you’re lucky I  loaf  you too.”

He stops walking altogether, glaring at her.

“Don’t steal my thing.”

She’s so taken aback that she can only puff at the absurdity of it all. Within seconds, they’re laughing together once more, and she nudges him between his ribs with her elbow ever-so-slightly. In return, he embraces her with one of his arms, and they walk home just as the rain starts to thin over their heads.