Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I. Summer

She was back. She was back, she was real  in front of him, despite millennia of literature that a dragon could never regress to their human form. 

Zelda was there, her warm smile on him speaking promises of peace, love, and flourish. He once drew all his strength from her smile, but she had disappeared, slipping away from his grasp, and he was compelled to find his courage somewhere else, courage to go on without the prospect that he would ever see her again. 

Still, there she was; concrete, and there should be respite. However, his heart was contused, a strange feeling that he wasn't familiar with. When he looked at her, he should find comfort in the immensity of her emerald eyes, but there was nothing there. 

An excruciating pain came from his arm. Adrenaline must have been the only explanation as to how he had succeeded in catching her amidst the skies, as well as carrying her from the pond back to the safety of the land. Because, when he noticed his arm, it was feeble, full of malice,  dead .  

He wailed through his teeth when he touched his arm; whatever attempt at muffing his cry was futile, the pain had overtaken him and all his other senses had faded. He thought she was calling his name, but he couldn’t hear her. It was all too much. His vision was blurry, but he remembered seeing her one last time before darkness became him. 

When Link came back to his senses, he recognized the dull ceiling of Lookout Landing. He had no idea how he had gotten there; his memories were foggy, and the last thing he remembered was defeating the Demon King and bringing Zelda back to her human form. 

He tried to move, but his body was groggy. And the pain — the pain was so overpowering that the simple thought of getting up made him weaker. So, he lay there, on a mattress hard and unwelcoming, trying to make sense of the voices around him.

“There’s nothing we can do, Princess. I’m sorry.”

“Purah, are you  —  are you sure? Maybe we can — ”

“The malice has taken over most of his arm. It was contained while he had King Rauru’s hand apparatus, but now that it’s gone… The arm is unsalvageable, and if we don’t do something about it soon… The malice will spread to the rest of his body. We must act soon, or we  will  lose him.”

“I can’t lose him, Purah. But… You know him. It won’t — ”

“It won’t be easy, but he’ll still have you. Look at him, Zelda. You know I’m right. He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past three days, he’s burning up with fever. The infection  is  spreading, and it’s spreading fast. We have to amputate.”

If there was one word he heard in a sea of incoherent sentences —  amputation . It was all it took for him to start screaming —  don’t amputate me! don’t take away my arm!  — without ever realizing not one comprehensible sound escaped his lips, only grunt after grunt.

She emerged into his vision field almost immediately; or, he thought it was her. His eyesight was hazy, and when he searched his mind, he couldn’t properly remember her face. He could only rely on his heart — there was nobody else that would be there with him. Only her.

“Link,” his name in her voice was comforting. A cold cloth was brought to his forehead, a gratifying respite to the burning fire setting his entire body ablaze. “You’re going to be okay, Link.”

He yelled over and over and over again —  don’t take away my arm! you can’t do this to me! promise me you won’t do this!  — and he couldn’t understand why nobody seemed to hear him.

“Shh. I’m here. You’re not alone, Link, we’re taking good care of you,” the voice would soothe him. “You’re going to be just fine, I promise, Link.”

There were warm droplets on his face, although he didn’t know where from. He didn’t remember starting to cry.

“I love you. I know it’s hurting, but, please, hang in there just a little longer,” she continued. “We’re going to fix you. It will stop hurting soon, I promise.”

“Princess. It’s time.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Tender lips touched his forehead, and, against his temple, words were whispered meant only for him.

“You can’t leave me, Link. Not again. We just found each other — I can’t live without you, Link. Promise me you’ll fight. Promise me you won’t leave me again.”

I promise  —

He wondered, then — did she ever hear him?

Did she ever promise she wouldn’t take away his arm?

He didn’t have to ponder for too long; darkness soon welcomed him once more.

The next time he recalled opening his eyes, his body was weak, his mind was clear, and the pain — the pain was gone.

The pillow under his head was fluffy, the duvet over his legs and torso brought him warmth, the mattress under him was an amenity to his tired bones. Lying still was a feat to him; he had so much to do, so much to  save  that he could not afford to rest, but he was so  exhausted  from whatever had happened to him that he didn’t want to move.

A gentle sound to his left, and he gathered enough strength to search for its source; her, sleeping uncomfortably in a chair at his bedside, her legs curled up against her chest. He wondered why she wasn’t sleeping in bed with him — had they not done that before?

She looked tired, as exhausted as he was, so he daren’t disturb her. He was content to watch the ceiling for the foreseeable future until she woke up; she had waited for him for too many lifetimes already, it was his duty to return her the favor. And — her, safe, lying next to him, was all he needed to quail his anxieties.

Until his gaze faced opposite from her, and he realized.

He realized what had happened to him.

His arm had been severed; he had been maimed for life.

Panic became him; whatever weakness crippled him waned as a rush of adrenaline washed over his body. His legs bucked until he was sitting, he was sweating. Oxygen could no longer suffice his lungs; he desperately gasped for air, wanting to  live  but feeling the luring hand of death around his neck.

The sound of his death awoke her, and she was next to him in a heartbeat, ostensibly breathing so he would mimic her. He tried — by the goddess, he  tried , but he was still dying.

His eyes were blurry; whether because of his unshed tears or because of his uncontrollable fright, his eyes were blurry, and he couldn’t see. He could barely hear the gentle words that she was speaking to him. He had no control over anything, not even himself, and — was that how dying felt like?

No ; he had been under the mercy of death too many times. He didn’t recall it to feel like this, because death was peaceful, and it had always welcomed him as such. Unlike the peaceful sensation of death, he was surrounded by turmoil only, and the tumult stole him of his breath. 

He was trapped within his own body, within his own mind — there was no escape. The world was spinning around him and it was crushing in around him and it was  heavy . He couldn’t support its weight, not without losing himself in the process. His head was going to implode.

He would faint at any moment now; he was hot and he felt every drop of sweat in his forehead, and he felt his heart throbbing against the tightness of his throat. Was he having a heart attack? Was he dying? No, he had already ruled out dying from whatever was happening to him. But maybe he was. He had died before, and it had been so traumatic that his mind had erased that moment from his memories, for his own protection; maybe that was how dying felt like.

Maybe he was dying. That would explain why he was  so  scared, or why he couldn’t breathe, or why everything hurt, or why he felt so much without having any control or any connection to his physical body.

Maybe he was dying.

Maybe death would set him free.

“ Link? Can you hear me, Link? ”

Her voice rang in his ears; it was loud, deafening, and it was a distraction from the bright light that he was walking towards. He searched for the voice, he searched for familiarity and comfort, and her voice had always been a source for both, if he recalled correctly. He wasn’t sure; his memories betrayed him.

He did not answer, he barely moved. He was far busier with the simple task of breathing. When he blinked, he was surprised to find his eyes wet.

“What you’re feeling is very scary, but it’s not dangerous, Link,” Zelda said, her green eyes focused on him, refusing to blink — so scared she was that he would  disappear . “You’re safe, Link. We’re safe. No harm can get to us here.”

Still, he remained there, frozen within himself, trying to catch his breath when oxygen was broken.

“Hey, hey,” Zelda called for him again, this time a little stronger. Walking him through his panic attack, as he had so often done with her. “It’s not the place that is scaring you. It’s the thought. Concentrate on your breathing, stay in the present. I’m here for you.”

He listened to her; allowed her voice to guide him back to safety. 

She had always been his haven, after all. So, he locked his eyes with hers and focused all of his strength there. With his muscles tense, he wrapped his arm around his legs, bringing his knees close to his chin. He had never felt so small; he wanted to disappear.

“Breathe, Link. In and out, and then again. Can you do that for me?”

He closed her eyes to do exactly as she had told him, but snapped them open again when he realized that was a bad idea; he wasn’t fond of the darkness, and she was  light , so he chose to focus on her and her reassuring presence in front of him. 

“You’re okay, Link. You’re  alive .”

“My arm — Zelda,  my arm .”

“I know. I know,” there was a sad grimace on her face. “I’m so sorry, Link. There was nothing we could have done.”

His head shaking, he looked down at the stump left of his arm; it was wrapped in a white bandage, it was  ugly . His chest started bursting with oxygen again.

“Link, it’s okay,” Zelda called for his attention, dreading his mind would lead him into another wave of panic. 

“It’s  not ,” he exclaimed. “My arm is gone. I’m—”

She waited; he never found the words.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling, Link?” she asked, having learned through years of love and friendship that, with him, it helped when she guided him through his feelings. She saw him lifting his right arm as if he was going to sign, and another part of him seemed to have dimmed its light when he realized he wasn’t able to anymore.

His lips trembled as he tried to formulate an answer.

“I’m sad.”

Zelda knew that feeling all too well.

“That’s so much better than dead,” she whispered. “Link — we’re going to figure this out, okay? Together. I promise.”

He nodded; he wanted to believe her, he had  always  believed her, but at that moment —

He didn’t know how to.

Life became dull.

If Link had to choose one word to describe the state of things ever since the Demon King was defeated and Zelda was brought back to her human form — it was dull.

He had changed, undoubtedly, and he had yet to decide if for better or for worse. Zelda would tell him, over and over again, that the time had come for him to choose his own path, that he had  earned  it, and while he knew she did it to uplift his spirits, he hated it.

He hated it .

Sometimes, even, he thought he hated himself, too.

The sun had just set on the horizon when Zelda entered their little Hateno abode. She wore an alluring smile, which only seemed to brighten the moment she laid eyes on him.

“Link!” she enthusiastically greeted him; she was always  so  happy to see him, and if she had had any troubles during her day, she never let them trespass on her face when they were together. He had already too many troubles of his own to share hers, too, even though — that had once been the norm.

He looked up at her, his expression stoic. He would like to simper at her, too, but he lacked the strength to do so.

She closed the door and placed the basket she was carrying on the table. Link was sitting on a floor cushion, his back pressed entirely against the wall. Zelda walked up to him and sat on the floor, too.

“How was your day?”

Link shrugged. He locked his eyes with hers — and that was more than he offered her most days.

Zelda didn’t let his silence bother her; she never did.

“I stopped by Koyin’s today, I wanted to get some cheese,” she started; his silence never stopped her from rambling her day away. “She asked about you, something about her eternal gratitude as to how you brought her great-grandpa back alive to her. Not only that, but you also helped her business thrive, so she’s overly giddy about you,” she laughed. “She even sent you some cheese soup! She made it herself. It smells amazing, can you smell that?!”

Link didn’t move.

“So I thought I could heat it for dinner. That way you won’t have to deal with my atrocious cooking skills. What do you say, hm?!”

That, at least, earned a faint chuckle from him. If her barbaric cooking was what it took to get some reaction from him, she would happily take it.

“Okay, it’s a plan,” she said warmly, and, for a flick second, her eyes darted to his arm, and whatever exhilaration he momentaneously felt disappeared the moment she did. “I would like to change the bandage before I prepare dinner. Check how the wound is healing. Would — Would that be all right?”

Link was stone again. 

“No, I understand,” Zelda continued. She gazed down, a little self-conscious. “But — It’s a rather traumatic wound. We need to keep an eye out for infections and make sure the scarring won’t give you further issues. Link, I…”

“Do it,” he spat. His voice was hoarse; he hadn’t uttered anything else all day. “Just—Do it. I don’t care.”

His tone was harsh, harsher than it ever was when he was addressing her. Zelda swallowed, not allowing herself to take it personally. He was  grieving , grieving the person he used to be, and if he needed to get it out on her sometimes, she could put it behind her.

After all, at the beginning of their relationship, hundreds of years before, when she was struggling to awaken her powers, she had too often lashed out at him, and he remained ever-so-graceful with her. Her anger at him had always been unwarranted, and he had forgiven her. She owed it to him to be the strong one for the time being.

She fixed up the bandage around the stub of his right arm, and he didn’t look at her again.

She let him be, busying herself as she prepared dinner. While the cheese soup heated, she peeled the oranges she had picked up that day to make them some juice. Growing up as a member of the royal family, she had excelled at  everything  — languages, advanced math, dancing, religion — but learning how to cook had never been on her list of priorities. For the years that followed the demise of the Calamity Ganon, she had strictly relied on Link’s abilities, and whatever attempt at the kitchen had resulted in disasters so big that had them laughing for days.

Everything changed after the death of the Demon King. Peace had been restored and Link lost Rauru’s apparatus of light, leaving him permanently maimed, so Zelda had to pick up chores she had never considered before,  especially  cooking. It was a work in progress; she genuinely believed she was improving — and, most of all, tasting her terrible food was one of the few moments she saw Link laugh.

Or, at least try to.

As she placed two bowls on the dinner table, she knew that there would be no emotion coming from him that night. It was the price to pay; she  needed  to tend to his wound every few days, and she didn’t mind if he hated her for it. She was a big girl, she could take it.

She called for him, the food on the table, yet he didn’t move. Still, she poured soup for both of them, placing a piece of bread next to his bowl. She sat down and waited; she would never start eating before him, some etiquette  bullshit  that she still hadn’t been able to let go of, even after all those years. She would wait for him forever, and her patience had eons of practice. 

When Link joined her, the soup was lukewarm. She opened a smile upon his presence and placed the napkin over her lap. He started to play with the bread, never daring to look her way, and Zelda —

Well, Zelda was never one to let uncomfortable silence linger.

She picked up her spoon as she started speaking, “Hateno changed so much during the time I was gone. It’s amazing seeing the village thrive, and I know just how much you had to do with it all, Link, really. You solved the feud between Cece and Reede! That’s a milestone in itself. I know that you always prefer to leave politics to me, but… I’m impressed! You’d be a great spokesperson if anything. Or a teacher! Symin told me just how much you helped at the school, and the kids simply adore you. You made quite an impression on Karin, and you know just how she is, she would never have taken on a teacher who doesn’t excel, so you should be proud of yourself.”

She was swirling the spoon around the bowl, absent-minded. With the corner of her eyes, she checked on him, steering her conversation accordingly to his body language. He was tense at it, and had he been looking at her, he would have noticed the flush on her cheeks. She cleared her throat.

“We’re working on fixing the roads, to get the trade flourishing again,” she changed the subject abruptly. “Hateno’s crops exportation is crucial for the entirety of Hyrule, and, of course, once we get the trade back on its feet, the economy will follow. We really are on route to establishing Hyrule to its glory from before the Calamity, although… I have to admit, I’m rather fond of how things look as of now. Of course, there’s always room for improvement, and it’s imperial that I, as a member of the royal family, work my hardest to help our land revamp. In the end… I suppose I don’t hold out the best of memories from my time before the Calamity, and that’s entirely on me. The people of Hyrule are not to blame for my own mishaps. But still, I… I found a place  amongst  the people of Hyrule, and I’m happy here, happier than I ever was while trapped within the walls of the Castle, and… Well, I think I can much better help if I have insight on what the liege actually need. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She wasn’t expecting an answer, so she raised her spoon at last. She was about to take a sip when she noticed it, and her heart might as well have shredded inside her chest.

Link, not uttering a word of complaint, had his own spoon on his left hand. His limb was shaking as he struggled to hold it, and the soup previously on the spoon was spilling all over the table.

Still, despite everything, he carried on. The spoon was nearly empty by the time it reached his mouth, and he would be left hungry if he kept up with it.

Zelda put her spoon down. Her heart beat too fast inside her chest, and she ostensively raised her bowl in the air. She waited until his eyes were on her, even if for the slightest second, and sipped directly from it.

Link stared at her blankly, his spoon having been dropped to the side as well. He merely blinked, waiting until she was  done  patronizing him and treating him like a child, and when she lowered her basin — she had a white mustache made of broth. 

That sight was —  something , to say the least. He remained stoic at it, but his mind betrayed him, and he was picturing her and her very serious rambles with that stupid mustache on her face, unperceiving of it, carrying on as if she were in an extremely important meeting at the Royal Castle—

Link laughed. No, he  howled  at her.

Zelda’s eyes turned wild. “What?! What’s so funny?!

Her loud panic only made his mirth increase; he was out of breath.

“I don’t—I don’t understand! Link!”

Tears were escaping his eyes, and she was blushing. Only when he could recompose himself did he bring the basin to his lips, too, still chuckling with his shoulders, and although he would never admit it, he was far more interested in giving himself a mustache, too, than tasting the soup.

Her blush intensified when she saw Link’s newly acquired look, and she hastily grabbed the metal spoon to see her reflection. Her first instinct was to clean her philtrum on her sleeve, and she was about to do so, but she hadn’t heard Link’s ludicrous laugh in  so  long that she couldn’t.

She proudly embraced her mustache, and, for the next couple of minutes, they laughed freely together.

Zelda listened with a gentle face as Link laid out all his directives before she left home for the day, disguising all her impatience into a subtle curve on her lips.

She was lenient  because  of him; had this same situation been happening a hundred years before, after he had just become her knight, she would have snapped at him the moment he started talking.

She’d changed; both of them had, and while she  hoped  they had changed for the best, she couldn’t be certain of that every day. War had that effect on people, she could see it so clearly as she stood perfectly still by the doorframe, listening to a list of decrees she had already memorized by the second day she heard them.

Don’t leave Hateno, you might run into monsters. Don’t talk to people you don’t recognize, they might be Yiga clan. Don’t eat food you find off the road, they might be poisonous. Don’t go exploring the caves in Hateno on your own, they’re big and easy to get lost inside. Also, they’re dark, and humid, and you need a ton of brightbloom seeds if you dare to enter them, so better just to avoid them altogether. Don’t climb trees even if you see golden apples, they might be pretty, but you twisted your ankle the last time you climbed a tree, you’re too tall and your legs are too long and that’s a problem when you’re climbing down, so don’t do it. Don’t let Cece talk you into buying any of her prints, they’re actually really ugly and you would look terrible on them. Unless you genuinely like them. I’m sure you would look amazing in them. Don’t let Robbie or Purah talk you into anything that might jeopardize your safety, and that includes lighting blue flames, normal flames, whatever-weird-color flames. Maneuvering weapons is also dangerous, so don’t do it, and that includes any lit torch that you might find —

Every day, she listened, even though she could recite his every word off the top of her head. She knew how important it was for him; after all, he only ever wanted to keep her safe, and while he didn’t have the strength nor the courage to do it as of that moment, he would surely offer his words of wisdom —  even  if they would, eventually, drive her insane.

“—Here’s a wild idea,” Zelda interrupted him, quite aware that she still had some five minutes of rulings ahead of her, “Why don’t you come along?”

Link stuttered on his trail of thoughts, caught so off guard that his lips still moved with directives with no sound leaving them. And for all the time that took his brain to process her words, she stood there, a graceful yet anxious smile on her face.

“I—what?!”

“Come into town with me,” she repeated meekly, clasping her hands in front of her. “I know you, Link. You’ll only truly have peace of mind if you’re with me, making sure I don’t climb any trees, or go into any caves, or—what was that again? Oh, so I don’t pick up any torches.”

Link stared at her, his face devoid of any expression.

Her smile faded, and she looked down at her feet. 

“I just,” she swallowed, biting on her lower lip. “I think some fresh air would do you some good. You—You haven’t left the house since we got back. I… I worry for you, Link.”

His eyes were heavy on her; she felt like a terrible person, although, logically — she wasn’t asking too much from him, was she?

“I’m not who I used to be, Zelda,” he spoke gravely at last, the dark circles under his eyes accentuating. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

“I know,” she presses her lips together. “What guy?”

“You know,” he gulped, raising the stump of his arm out of habit, as if he was going to run his hand through his hair. He used to do that a lot, whenever he was flustered. “ That  guy.”

“Hm. I see.”

She didn’t.

He puffed, a little impatiently.

“You know, the guy who used to do everything for everybody. Who used to protect an entire village. I’m not that person anymore.”

She ostensively blinked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Zelda.”

He was becoming irritated; she could handle that.

“All I’m saying is,” she dared, “You spend every day giving me a very big list of instructions so I won’t get in harm’s way. You might not be there physically, but you are in my every thought whenever I think of doing something reckless. If that’s not protecting me, what is?

As she spoke, his checks turned rather red.

“ Zelda .”

“You don’t have to come,” she reiterated. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want, not ever. But… think about it, won’t you? I truly only wish the best for you, and I think it would be nice if you went out again.”

He took a step back; Zelda doubted he was aware of doing so.

“People will stare.”

“They will,” she nodded. “So what?!”

“They’ll deem me  invalid .”

“It doesn’t matter what people think. You and I know better than that.”

He scoffed.

“I can’t do anything, Zelda!” he raised his voice, seeing her flinch at the suddenness of it. He didn’t apologize. “I can’t pick up a sword, I can’t pick up a  spoon . How are you not embarrassed?! You shouldn’t want to be seen with me. I’m  pathetic .”

Zelda wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

He shook his head. “Of course.  That’s  what you’re sorry for.”

“Yes,” she said adamantly; she learned, at that moment, that she could raise her voice, too. “I’m sorry that you lost your arm, Link, I really am. I’m sorry that has weighed you down. I’m sorry that you feel like you’ve lost part of your  essence  alongside it. I’m sorry that you cannot see your worth as I can, as I  do . But I’m not sorry for who you have become, because, that person — that person is still the same Link that I’ve always cared for. It is just a matter of allowing yourself to find  him  again.”

Link rolled his eyes.

She sighed sadly, understanding there was nothing she could say at that moment that would make any difference.

“I should go now,” she quietly uttered. “I do pray that you will at least consider what I’ve said.”

She turned on her heels, walking out of the door without saying another word or sparing him another glance. She left him behind, unaware that a piece of his heart broke every time she departed without him.

He found her at dusk, having spent the past couple of hours roaming around Hateno looking for her.

She was lurking on the outskirts of the village, in the Retsam forest. She wasn’t hiding; her whereabouts were a secret to no one but him. Had he dared to speak to any of the prying eyes, he would have found her a lot sooner. However, he still wasn’t ready for that.

Her words, from the last time they had had a proper conversation — if that  could  be called a conversation — had been tormenting him, playing on a loop in his mind. Hence why, after too many hours of silently contemplating the door, he had taken a step into the world again.

It was so different, yet just like he remembered it.

Of course, his immediate instinct was to go after her; he wanted her to be  proud  of him, even if he would never truly believe in that sentiment. Every minute spent in the village away from her was a moment closer to despair; it reminded him of the times he didn’t know where she was, and there was no feeling in the world worse than that. Encountering her was finding the part of himself that was missing; he could breathe easily again, and he let the reprimand that she had ignored him and wandered too far away from the village die on his lips.

With his natural stealth, he approached her and the kids she had been tending. Still, despite his slyness, she must have sensed him — the smile that she only reserved for him was stamped on her face the moment he knelt next to her, and it was gone too soon for him to relish it. 

Their shoulders grazed, and that simple gesture had spoken louder than any words they had shared in a while.

“Mr. Link!” Karin was the first to acknowledge his presence there. “Have you come to catch hightail lizards with us?”

He raised a brow, gazing sideways to look at her.

“Catching hightail lizards?!”

“That’s right,” Zelda gave him a firm nod, her eyes still darting ahead of her. “We’re having a practical class today, exploring the wild. We’ve talked all about how nature gives us everything we need, we only need to be observant enough to make the most of it. Hightail lizards, just like many other critters, are ideal for making elixirs. Right, kids?”

Aster came running towards them, holding a hightail lizard in the palm of her hands.

“I found another one, Ms. Zelda!” she screamed excitedly; Link had a feeling that Zelda had advised them not to shout so they wouldn’t scare away the critters, but the kids were all too enthusiastic to abide.

“Well done, Aster,” Zelda appeased her. “Remember, we should never take more than we need. Every life out there is a valuable life, and we must take precious care of our nature, never taking out of greed.”

Link couldn’t help himself but chortle at her assertion, and he was met with an elbow through his ribs.  Him and his stocking habits . Despite her silent scolding, he knew her to be biting down on a laugh, too.

“Ms. Zelda has told her that if we behave, we can stay until after sundown to watch the fireflies!” Sefaro said, overly stimulated and jumping on his feet. “You’re not going to misbehave, are you, Mr. Link?”

He made an exaggerated face. “Me? I wouldn’t dare to disobey Ms. Zelda. She’s very scary when she’s mad.”

Zelda rolled her eyes, albeit amused.

“ Luckily , all my kids are too well-behaved to suffer under my wrath,” she went along with it. “Go along, kids, we still have a few minutes of light. We must cease every moment.”

The kids once more obeyed, faring into the woods while never leaving her sight. Link and Zelda were left alone at last.

They were tense, for a while, both too scared to have the first word.

Link knew he owed it to her.

“Thank you for making me come out here.”

Zelda hummed.

“Thank you for not reproaching me for wandering too far away from the heart of the village.”

Link scoffed.

“Hey, you’ve got a remarkably loyal army of four to protect you,” he lifted his chin towards the kids; she laughed.

“Yeah. I suppose that’s right.”

Feeling a little bold, Zelda laid her head over his shoulder. He became stiff once more; he wanted to reciprocate her gesture, but he couldn’t reach her, not with her lying on the side of his missing limp. He could do nothing more than stay there, perfectly still so as not to disturb her, his remaining hand digging into the earth under him to calm his nerves.

“I’m happy you're here, Link.”

At that, he forced the tension to leave his body. He wondered, then, when had it all changed; when had her happiness stopped being his main priority?

He despised the person he had become.

He wished he could be happy by just being there, too.

They remained there, comfortable in each other’s presence, for what seemed an eternity, but, in reality, it was just a couple of minutes before a kid disturbed their peace again.

“Mr. Link.”

Muffing a grunt before it left his throat, Link looked up at Azu.

“I want to fly.”

His eyes widened. “You— what .”

“I want to fly,” he repeated, pauses between every word, to ascertain Link had understood his request. “I’m the big-time hero. I want to  fly .”

He turned to Zelda, expecting her to decipher that for him.

She smiled gracefully at him. 

“I assume Super A-Zoom would like to ride on your shoulders, as you used to carry him all the time. Remember?” she prompted, then looked at the kid, “Azu, what have we talked about articulating our wishes and needs? Link, nor anybody else, is under the obligation of presuming your thoughts.”

Azu straightened his shoulders and tried again.

“Mr. Link, can I ride on your shoulders? I would like to fly.”

Link swallowed roughly, changing looks between him and Zelda,  waiting  for her to interfere on his behalf. She merely glanced at him; he had yet to realize that her wise lecturing applied to him, as well.

He cleared his throat. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe another time, buddy.”

Azu brooded, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “But why not? You  never  said no before. I want to fly!”

“Azu, dear, remember what we have discussed? About the importance of consent?” Zelda gently admonished him; Azu instantaneously disarmed his bravado. “Mr. Link doesn’t want to lift you right now, and we must respect his decision. You can ask him again later, but you still need to abide by  his  wish. Is that all right?”

He sighed, looking down. “Yes, Ms. Zelda.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the woods once more.

Zelda didn’t lie her head against him again, and he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he didn’t miss her on him already. 

“You’re a great professor,” he said. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“Hm. I’m the lucky one. I never thought I’d get to be here again,” she said mournfully. “I knew what I was sacrificing when I turned into a dragon, I knew that there was no salvation for my soul after it, and I was all right with it. But, being here again… It’s the little things, you know? I was ready to sacrifice myself for the greater good but… Turns out, I wasn’t ready to sacrifice all the little things. I don’t think I ever will be. Renouncing the innocence of the kids, or never feeling the wind or the sun or the rain on my bare skin again, or losing you forever… I understand that I was desperate, that I wasn’t in a good state of mind, because if I was… It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t think I could sacrifice all of these again. I am  really  relieved to be home again, Link.”

“It’s not selfish,” he whispered. “It shouldn’t be selfish to desire happiness. You’ve done your sacrifice, it’s over, and the weight of the world is not on you anymore. You’ve earned the wind and the sun and the rain on your bare skin, you’ve earned to  be  here and to put yourself first. You deserve all that.”

She heaved, and when she gazed at him, she fluttered her lashes at him, a sly grin in the corner of her lips.

Link blushed, fighting the urge to put his head between his knees and pretend he didn’t  exist .

“Yeah,” she melancholically concurred. “I wish you could see the nobility in finding peace for yourself, too.”

He became sober once more;  coping mechanism , she knew. She reached out and gently placed her hand on his upper arm, just over the scarring on the stump.

He shivered, restraining himself from pulling away.

“One day at a time,” she smiled lithely. “I am  really  happy that you’re here, Link.”

He was silent, and she didn’t need to say anything else.

The sun disappeared from the horizon and the children gathered around the adults once more. Were they afraid of the darkness beyond Hateno, they would never willingly admit it. Azu, much to his element, asked to ride on Link’s shoulder again; this time, he was overly polite about it.

Link’s immediate instinct was to deny, but Zelda’s kind eyes on him had him bucking up and accepting the request. Azu’s delight was contagious, and suddenly all the kids were hopping excitedly around him.

Still, he confined to Zelda in a low voice, “I’m scared I’ll let him fall.”

“You won’t,” she reassured, helping him up to his feet. “Link, if you’re doing this because you think you need to prove yourself… You don’t, not me. But, if you genuinely want to carry a child over your shoulders, then you have my full support. I won’t let you drop him.”

He gazed at her for a prolonged second, before offering her a determined nod. 

Azu was on his shoulders, and Link held tightly to him with his left arm. Zelda kept to her promise and stayed by his side, one hand on his waist, the other hovering behind his clavicle just in case, although she had absolute faith in him.

He only lost his balance once, and it wasn’t even due to his impairment, but to the abruptness of Karin’s question to him.

“Mr. Link, where is your arm?”

He felt Zelda tightening her grip on his shirt, although he didn’t know whether she wanted to show him support or to keep him from falling. Azu barely noticed the tripping, bothered only by the sudden staleness of his flying.

“Link,” Zelda appeased him, “You should answer her.”

It wasn’t an order, but she had always had complete power over him, under his own volition; her word was law, and, for a very brief moment, he hated her for it.

“I lost it,” he answered bluntly, his glare lost ahead of him. “Fighting an evil —  person .”

“In a sword fight? Like big-time hero A-Zoom?! Wow!” Azu excitedly bounced on his shoulders, forcing Link to hold him fiercely by the leg so he wouldn’t fall. “Mr. Link, can we have a sword fight?!”

“No, we cannot.”

“Does it hurt?” Aster asked, looking at the place where his arm was with curiosity.

“Yeah, a little.”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Zelda frowning at him. She didn’t know so, and he made no effort to elaborate on it.

“Did you try to get it back?” Sefaro asked shyly. “Did you go back to look for it?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, buddy.”

“Do you miss it?”

He halted. He didn’t want to answer that.

“I lost my favorite stuffed animal,” Karin admitted in a low voice. “My granny made it for me before she passed away, and I don’t know where I put it. I find it very hard to sleep without it. My mommy says that I should be really happy that we had a lot of fun together. I still miss it, though.”

“It’s okay to miss it,” Zelda gently ran her hand through Karin’s hair. “My father took away my favorite toy when I was about your age. It hurt a lot to lose it, and I still miss it sometimes. It wasn’t very fair to lose it, like when you lost your stuffed animal, or when Link lost his arm. Unfortunately, life is not always fair, and there’s little that we can do about it. We can only move on, carrying the little strength that was left us. Still, it’s not the end of the world.”

“It feels like it is,” he murmured, not wanting or expecting her to hear him. She, of course, did.

“But it’s not,” she reiterated. “The sun rises yet again.”

Link couldn’t look at her; he hadn’t in a while.

“Azu, let’s climb off Link, shall we,” Zelda prompted, extending both her arms to him before he could complain. “It’s getting late. We should head back before your parents start getting worried.”

“But Ms. Zelda!” Sefaro tugged at her shirt, “What about the fireflies?!”

“Maybe another day,” she said; she didn’t want to break her promise to them, but neither did she want to send off Link when he wasn’t feeling well nor force him to stay there under the same conditions. She had selfishly chosen to put him ahead of the world, and she was okay with her decision. “I’ll bring you back here, you have my word. I have some matters that I still need to attend today.”

The kids gruntedly accepted it, and, in a blink of an eye, they were racing back to Hateno. Link didn’t budge, invisible strings holding him in place. 

Zelda opened and closed her lips several times, but the right words never came to her.

“I… The kids are under my care. I need to make sure they get home safe.”

“I would hate to hold you back,” he put it simply.

She wrapped her arms around herself, forcing herself to believe her chills came from the cold of dusk only.

“I can meet you back here,” she suggested, “We can… We can go for a nightly stroll. What do you say?”

His silence lingered until he mustered the strength to turn his head towards her, a weak smile upon his face.

“You don’t have to. I would like to stay alone for a little while,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at the house. Okay?”

“Okay,” she hesitantly agreed, having no choice but to turn around and leave. She wondered, then, when had their home become just a house to him.

That night, she waited for him forever.

When Link finally walked in, he found her asleep by the dining table. The dinner pans were still on the stove, untouched, and it seemed that she hadn’t eaten her share, either. Spread across the table were her research papers; there were smudges on them. If he knew any better, he would have assumed she had cried herself to sleep.

If he was still  him , he would have picked her up, ever-so-carefully so that he wouldn’t even disturb her, and carried her to bed. He wasn’t, so he left her there. 

Chapter Text

II. Autumn 

After that dire day, Link was spotted around Hateno much more often.

He was slowly returning to his habits, that was — shadowing Zelda whenever she went. It wasn’t as often as he would before, but he would still meet her outside for at least a couple of hours and feel the sun on his skin.

Zelda was beyond happy to have him there again. Wandering around without him religiously next to her — it felt like part of her essence was missing.

They didn’t talk much outside; in fact, they weren’t talking much when it was just the two of them, either. While Zelda understood he had always been the silent type, it was different; his silence was disquiet, and she didn’t feel comfortable just talking away while he listened.

As of lately, he didn’t seem to be listening to her, anyway.

She wouldn’t lie and pretend that didn’t hurt her, but she was being patient, giving him the space to heal. Still, she missed the times that she used to be the one person that he would confide to.

It all felt like a lifetime before.

It was noon, and the Hateno kids were stuck at school under Symin’s tedious classes, allowing the two of them a moment of respite. They were sitting on the swings hanging by a tree behind the school, slices of Hylian Tomato Pizza in their hands as they enjoyed a quiet late lunch.

“This looks easy to make,” Zelda commented, taking small bites of it. “We could try to make it at home sometime.”

Link chewed on his pizza a little too loudly. “It’s easy, but it requires a lot of work. You wouldn’t have the attention span.”

Wrinkles appeared between her brows as she assessed his remark.

“Are you calling me impatient?!”

He licked his fingers, done with his slice.

“Wouldn’t dream of.”

Zelda loudly gasped. 

“Link! I’m not —  impatient ,” she emphasized, overly gesticulating with her hands. “I simply — have a lot on my mind, at all times, but that doesn’t make me  impatient .”

Link chuckled.

“Ok, here,” she used her feet to turn the swing towards him, placing the remaining of her slice back on the cart on the ground. “Do you know just how many Royal meetings I attended growing up? Sitting still and quiet for a long period of time is a virtue I just happen to possess, I’ll have you know.”

He gave her a look, stealing her slice of pizza for him.

“Princess, you haven’t  sitten  still nor quiet ever since you left the castle walls.”

She huffed, grabbing back her slice when he was about to take a chunk out of it.

“Don’t steal my pizza,” she drastically waved her food in the air. “As I said, I have a lot on my mind! Have you seen how big the world is? It’s very easy to become distracted when you have so much  life  happening around you. I understand  very  well why it took you so long to come after me in the castle after waking up in the shrine of resurrection, and I  patiently  waited for you for what, over a year?! That’s how patient I am! Not to mention the whole dragon thing, that was a  lot  of waiting. I think we could even appoint me the title of  the  most patient person in Hyrule, wouldn’t you agree?”

He looked at her deadpan.

“You’re getting distracted again,” he said, nodding at her pizza.

“Am  not ,” she argued, then rolled her eyes. “Fine. You can have it. I’m full, anyway.”

He, never one to deny food, accepted back the slice gladly. Zelda watched him eating it with a certain look in her eyes that made him uncomfortable; it felt like she pitied him.

“I have a lot of my mind,” she repeated, her voice quieter by now. “Link, would you like to know what’s been lingering on my mind for a while now?”

Link didn’t answer; regardless of what he wanted, she would tell him either way.

“I’m trying to give you space, to respect your boundaries as you journey through these uncharted waters. I’ve been waiting for it to come up, for you to bring it up again, but it hasn’t, so, I’m just going to say it. Rip the bandage off,” she wandered on, and her reasoning might have made  him  a tad more impatient than one minute before. “You said, a while ago, that it  hurts .”

She gazed at him, her eyes sparkingly. He looked just at her brows, so he wouldn’t have to stare into her eyes.

“Link, I would like to talk about that.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he grunted. “Just let it go.”

“I—I can’t,” she answered. “I can’t overlook that you’re in  pain .”

He rolled his eyes, swirling his swing so he was facing the horizon instead of her. “I’m not in pain. It’s fine, it’s no big deal. Drop it, okay?!”

Zelda closed her fists around the ropes of the swing; she was gazing at the horizon, too. She felt so small.

“Why can’t you let me help you?”

He dug his boots into the ground. “There’s nothing you can  do , Zelda.”

She sniffed, quietly. “Aid isn’t just about what one can do, Link. You have my hand, yes, but you also have my ear. I understand that neither of these will  ever  be enough to fulfill what you’re longing for, but… It should be something, at least.”

His lips pressed together, he shook his head slightly.

“Princess.”

Zelda swallowed her cry; she  hated  every time he referred to her by her title instead of her name. Always putting a bridge between them, a bridge that would only grow bigger every time he did it. It brought her back to the early days of their relationship when everything was so superficial. She chewed on her cheeks, forbidding herself from crying; it was not about her.

“I don’t like to see you hurting. Physically… or not.”

Link shifted in his seat; he was angry, he was impatient, he was—

“You’ll think I’m insane.”

She snapped her neck towards him again in such an abrupt hurry that she might as well have twisted it broken; she was met with a perfect view from his jawline.

“I won’t,” she reassured, “Why would you even think that?!”

He ran his left hand up and down his leg.

“Most days, I don’t have any arguments to prove that I’m  not .”

“You’re not — You’re not insane—”

“Zelda.”

She sighed; at least she was  her  again, not some idealization of a faraway princess that had never been her. 

“Okay. Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me why you think you are insane, and… together, we can determine the legitimacy… of your claim. How does that sound?”

He looked at her again, but his eyes darted right past her.

“That — that does sound a little deranged, too.”

She smiled. “Suits the point at issue, then.”

He chuckled and agreed, glancing into the skyline once more.

“It doesn’t happen all of the time. Sometimes, however… I feel—it feels like… It feels like my arm is still there.”

She could only stare at him, intrigued.

Link exhaled loudly, running his hand through his hair; a habit he was slowly reconciling his brain to doing with his left hand.

“It feels like my arm is still attached to my body, and, sometimes… It hurts. Strong pulsating stings, going straight to my spine, and it feels like I’m being  stabbed  over and over again. And I feel — I feel like I am losing my mind because  none  of this makes any sense, but every time the pain strikes, I… I want to cut off my arm all over again just for  one  moment of relief. So, tell me, Zelda, you’re the smart one. Am I not — insane?”

“No… Link, you’re not insane,” she consoled him. “You’ve been through a traumatic event, and your body is responding to it in ways that are unfamiliar to you. What you’re feeling — it’s not unreasonable. It’s—”

“Cut the bullshit, Zelda…!” he raised his voice, and Zelda flinched back a little. His face showed remorse for his deed, but his lips never articulated his regret; he tamed himself into being calm again. “It’s in the past, I  shouldn’t  be reacting this way. It’s  abnormal  to feel pain in a limb that no longer  exists . So, please, spare me the pep talk.”

She reflected silently for a moment.

“Would you describe your pain as palpable?”

“I just told you—”

“Link, please.”

For a long time, he didn’t answer her; he was certain that she would eventually give in to the silence and start talking.

She never did.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Then why wouldn’t I believe you?!”

“It doesn’t make  sense , Zelda.”

“So? Does any aspect of our lives make sense, really,” she teased a little. “You slept the slumber of death for a hundred years, I traveled the sky as a beast for some thousand years more.  Nothing  makes sense. Your arm? It’s just another thing that we need to figure out, together.”

“Ok, then how could you  possibly  explain this? By all means, do shine a little insight our way.”

She furrowed her brows, thinking.

“You said that it hurts down to your spine,” she elicited, “Your arm is gone, but the nerves that connected it to your spine aren’t. It would actually make a lot of sense if you are still receiving some sort of… of sensory input. You said it feels like you’re being stabbed, and — well, that must be precisely what the severed nerves are feeling.”

When their eyes met again, his were misty.

“So you don’t think I’m insane?”

Her heart broke yet a little more.

“No, Link. You’re not insane,” she guaranteed. “Tell me, is it hurting right now?”

He gulped.

“Y—Yes.”

“I have an idea, but… Would it be okay if I touched you?”

Reluctantly, he agreed.

Zelda stood up and went for her pouch on the ground. He watched her without a word as she looked through her things, and then she was kneeling in front of him, a stack of yellow chuchu jelly with her.

“I’m going to apply these to your wounds, is that okay?!”

His eyes went a little wild.

“Isn’t that a little unsanitary?!”

She gave him a face. “You’re telling me that this is the most disgusting thing you’ve done throughout all your journeys in the wild?!”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Zelda reached forward to fold the sleeve around the stump. Her fingers were gracious on him when she touched his scarring. He shivered.

“It’s healing well,” she said, “But there’s still a little irritation around the scarring. That would explain the soreness.”

She squashed the chuchu in her hands, getting a gruesome and rancid texture in return; an electrical buzz came from it. Zelda smeared it on his skin, taking her time to massage the area. All the while, Link took in deep breaths.

“I would read a lot of books on healing before the Calamity stroke,” she admitted. “I wanted to be useful, in case I couldn’t unlock my powers at all and the people of Hyrule got hurt because of me. In the end, history had its own hand on the matter, but… I’m still glad I read it. I can assist you now.”

The sound of her voice was soothing, and so were her delicate fingers on him. The charged chuchu sent chills into his nerves, and he found that he rather enjoyed the sensation.

“If I recall correctly, the shocks should block the pain signals along nerves. Would you say it’s feeling any better?”

“Yes,” he said. If he was being honest, he was a little ashamed of how he was treating her; she only wanted to help.

And when her hand left him, it was like losing his limb again.

She disappeared from his sight, and his heart skipped a beat. She placed her hand on his shoulder from behind to placate him.

“I’m going to lift your shirt. Is that all right?”

He nodded.

She pulled his shirt up to his shoulder and her hands were on him again, touching the base of his spine. Her fingers were electrical, sending sparks into his soul, which only intensified when the buzz of the chuchu touched his skin.

“Every nerve in our body connects back to our spine cord. Likewise, our spine sends stimuli to the rest of our body. If we can numb your spine, it is quite likely that the soreness in your arm should dissipate, too.”

An accidental moan escaped his lips; his cheeks turned bright red. Zelda chuckled.

“You should never be in pain, Link,” she said in a low voice, her warm breath against the nape of his neck. “It’s not a sign of bravado or virility. In my humblest opinion, it is just cowardice not to reach out to those who love you, and I’ve never known you to be that. I’d hate to be proven wrong.”

Although it stung a little, he knew her to be saying the precise words he needed to hear. He appreciated it, and, one day, he would be able to enunciate his gratitude to her.

For now, he prayed that she knew it regardless.

Zelda pressed her thumbs alongside his spine, cherishing the moment. She couldn’t remember the last time they were this intimate, and she would willingly stay there forever. She would, if she wasn’t afraid of pushing too many boundaries all at once. So, when she stopped, she lowered his shirt back and pressed her lips to the back of his head for one long second.

“Promise you will  always  tell me when it’s hurting,” she demanded, “Regardless of how many times a day, or at what time in the day. Promise you will always come to find me.”

He leaned back a little, resting his back against her chest.

“I promise.”

“I need to go out of Hateno for a day.”

When the words first left her lips, he thought she was joking. A sick, twisted joke to get some sort of reaction out of him. When her eyes remained big and her expression frozen, he thought he was back under the castle, her slipping away from him again.

“Absolutely not.”

Zelda clasped her hands in front of her. It was night, and the fireplace in their place was lit to scare away the chill of Hateno’s winter. She was sitting on the floor cushion, next to the fire, a cup of tea on the ground in front of her. She had been bracing herself for that moment the entire day, and now that they had come to it, she wasn’t sure she would be able to get through it.

“Link,” she quietly said his name. “There’s just so much I can do from behind the Hateno walls.”

He was still, before all that; now, he was pacing back and forth, his legs trying to keep up with the speed of his mind.

“ No ,” he firmly stated. “You’re not going anywhere,  period .”

She sighed discreetly, bringing her mug to her lap.

“I have a responsibility to the people of Hyrule,” she kept her tone level, “I cannot uphold it if I’m stranded in just one corner of the land.”

“Princess—” there it was, her title again; she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry, you’re not leaving. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Why not?!” she provoked him, “It’s been— months  ever since I got back. I cannot hide in Hateno forever. I  wish  I could, I wish I could be  me , just me, I wish I could choose my own destiny. Alas, I am cursed to the blood of the goddess, I am burdened with a crown I never wanted to carry. I  need  to get out there.”

“I hear you, I really do, but I  cannot  let you go out there,” he insisted, “The world — is not  safe  anymore. I cannot let you risk your safety.”

“The world isn’t safe?” she raised her eyebrow at him, “The Calamity is gone, the Demon King is gone, all because of  you . Hyrule is at peace at last, we have nothing to worry about.”

“The land is  roaming  with monsters, Zelda!” he exclaimed, his anger at last coming out. “It’s not  safe  out there. You’re not going. I don’t care if you never speak to me again, I don’t care if you kick me out, I don’t care! I can handle it. But I  cannot  handle you going out there, so I won’t let you.”

Zelda gazed down at her mug; the leaves were starting to pile down on the bottom.

“It’s your house.”

He halted abruptly.

“What?!”

“It’s your house, isn’t it?” she said, “I cannot kick you out.”

His facial expression changed to something else entirely.

“You don’t—You don’t feel at home here?”

Zelda tilted her head, a little lost. “What? I didn’t say that.”

“You just said…!”

“I know what I just said,” she relented, lowering her gaze. “Never mind all that.”

“Never mind that you don’t feel at home?!”

“Link,” she breathed out, “Can we — go back to the matter at hand?”

“There’s no matter at hand because you’re not going.”

She pressed her hand against her temple; it should not be so hard.

“I’m not going far, I just want to check out this area outside Hateno.”

“You’re not going,” he said once more. “Whatever do you want to do outside Hateno? There’s nothing  just  outside Hateno, only wilderness.”

“I want to see the wilderness,” she answered vaguely. “You say that  I’m  not going, under the assumption I would go alone. Why would you not come along with me?”

He looked confused. “Why would I go? I have no use in the wilderness. I would only show you down — if we were going, which we aren’t.”

“You lost an arm, Link. You haven’t lost your skills,” she argued, leaning her head against the wall. “Don’t you think it’s time you start finding new ways to use your skills again?”

“ Don’t . You’re not going to psych me into going. This is  not  about me.”

“But it’s about the two of us,” she disputed, “ Both  of us need to get back out there, to get our lives back on track. It’s time, Link.”

He ruthlessly shook his head. “I’m not going, Zelda. If you want to go, fine, go, I don’t  care . But I won’t go.”

Zelda chuckled.

He frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“If there’s one thing about you, Link, is that you care,” she looked right into his eyes, “You care  so  much. It’s one of the many things that I love about you.”

He stared at her for a long time; she wondered if her words had somehow reached him.

When he rolled his eyes and walked away, climbing up the stairs to the loft and never looking back, she knew that he hadn’t. He went to sleep without her, and she didn’t have the courage to join him in bed.

He let her go.

It killed him inside, but he let her go.

He didn’t let her go alone, of course; she had a horde of useless Sheikah footsoldiers following her everywhere, although that didn’t exactly ease his nerves. There was nobody in Hyrule that could keep her safe, not even himself.

Still, every day, after she set out just after sunrise, he would set camp on the hill just outside their house, watching from afar as she worked all around the old equestrian riding course. He wasn’t sure of what she was doing down there; he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t told him either. He doubted she was doing it out of malice, after all, it was unusual for her  not  to talk, but he assumed she was keeping her silence as he did not want her to go, so bringing up the topic would only cause further abrasion to their relationship.

It was probably for the best; in truth, he would like nothing more than to be down there with her.

He was working on it; every day, he would task himself into going out a little further, so that, one day, he could reach her. He had even already made it past the entryway to Hateno before becoming paralyzed by his feebleness and rushing back to his hill.

One day, he knew; one day he would once and for all reach her. In the meantime, he could only pray it wouldn’t be too late, and she wouldn’t vanish from him again, although, this time, of her own volition. 

A month went by since Zelda went out.

Time was flying by, and her little project down the hill from the village was coming along nicely. With Hateno being the biggest and most populated town in Hyrule, she had decided it was time to start expanding it. Hence why she hired Bolson Construction down to East Necluda to aid in the building of the  Hateno Plaza .

She judged the decrepit equestrian riding course to be the perfect spot for it; she remembered how vivid the place used to be in her childhood, and it brought her fond memories. Her mother would bring her there all the time to watch the soldiers train, and, while she had never gone there after her mother’s passing, she still relished the remembrance left in her mind and heart. She hoped that the plaza would one day bring warmth to the broad community, too.

Zelda tried to help as much as she could. She wasn’t prone to physical strength, and she found the hard way that she was a little too clumsy for handling hammers and nails — maybe Link  was  right, and she did get too easily distracted at times. Still, her lack of skills didn’t stop her from aiding where she could. If anything, she was remarkably more useful than  Addison , but he was good company, so she wouldn’t complain.

That day, she was working on the flower bed. Modeling brick after brick and laying them on the path; it was boring work, and she got overly excited at the bugs she had found through the earth too many times to count. She wished Link was here, so she could show them to him.

She wished many things, as it would seem; as it turned out, almost all of them resolved around  him .

She didn’t wish that things would go back to the way they were; no, she had learned a long time before that there was no point in desiring things that could never be. She yearned, however, to have her best friend back; she acknowledged the selfishness of it, and she would never speak it aloud.

Still, she yearned. She yearned every time she left the house, and every time she made it back, and saw an empty shell of the person he used to be.

It was past noon, and the sun was shining bright on them; she was sweating, and she had pulled the sleeves of her blue shirt over her elbows to help with the heat, although it was making little to no difference. She had a trowel on her hand, or — she  had  a trowel on her hand some time before; she was terrible at this, she kept losing it all the time because she was  distracted .

Damn him and his impeccable observations about her.

“Looking for this?”

Zelda jumped at the sudden intrusion of her privacy, and her heart was beating fast inside her chest when she turned around to face  him .

“Link?!”

Of course, she had recognized his voice the moment she heard him, but seeing him there, with her own eyes, brought tingles to her spine. She wondered if her thinking about him had lured him there, but she was  always  thinking about him, so, if that was somehow true, she would have attracted him a long time before.

“You dropped it some five minutes ago,” he said, a sly grin on his cheek as he handed it back to her. “I assume you found a bug?”

She blushed, the red on her apple cheeks only being emphasized by the sun and sweat on her face. She grabbed the trowel with pursued lips.

“Several, actually, and they’re all quite fascinating,” she debated, twirling the trowel in the air; he dramatically leaned back so she wouldn’t accidentally hit him with it. “What—What are you doing here?!”

He made a face, “Didn’t you ask me to come?”

“Yeah, but…” she stuttered a little, forcing herself to her feet, “I’ve asked you every day. I never thought you were listening.”

Link shrugged, uninterested in the topic. He swirled his feet, taking a better look at the place around him.

“Nice bit you’ve got going on,” he said vaguely. “Is Addison giving you too much trouble?! He’s like that.  Useless , but will always give you something back for your efforts.”

“No more than I give myself,” she teased, crossing her arms under her chest. “I’m trying my best, but… Truth be told, I don’t think I’m cut out for his kind of labor.”

He chortled. “You’re not. You don’t have the attention span.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not a bad thing,” he continued, on his back to her. “You’re far too curious for your own good. This — This is tedious work, it requires a whole different set of skills than the one you possess. You’re a scholar, and a princess, you set these things into motion, but your value doesn’t lie in sticking around to see it come to fruition. Why are you even still coming down here?!”

“I…” she stared at the nape of his neck; it was easier than looking at him in the eyes. “Well, I made you a promise, didn’t I.”

He glanced over his shoulder, getting glimpses of her image from the corner of his eyes.

“I told you I wouldn’t go past the riding course,” she reminisced, gazing down, “So… I’m making the most that I can, here. Until you’re ready.”

“Until  I’m  ready?!”

“Yes,” she nervously concurred. 

“You think I’m ever going to be ready to let you go?” he asked, baffled;  offended .

“No,” she said, “Until you’re ready to  come with me .”

His eyes remained on her for a second too long, and she felt the weight of his soul on her for that brief moment.

It was tense between them, and Link changed the subject as it had never mattered at all.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there or will you show me around?!”

She raised herself on her tiptoes, little squeaks making past her throat given her newborn excitement. She rushed to him and grabbed his left hand; had  he  been absent-minded, he would have surely tripped as she hauled him.

She showed him  everything ; from the canteens she was building, to the restoration of the cabin previous there into something else entirely, to the foundation of the restaurant, the library, and everything more. She talked, and talked, and talked; he listened and chimed in when she gave him the chance.

For that precise moment, it was almost like everything was normal again.

Chapter Text

III. Winter

The day came, and Link and Zelda finally set out on a journey away from Hateno. 

It was tense, although not uncomfortable. They were walking, having decided not to take their horses; Link was not yet confident to ride on a horse and wield a sword at the same time in the face of peril, and Zelda respected it; getting him out of Hateno was already a milestone, she would eagerly abide by any of his never-ending list of rules. Besides, it was only meant to be a quick trip to Kakariko village; if all went smoothly, they would get there before sundown.

He carried the Master Sword on his back; he had been training his maneuvering with his left hand, and while he still had so much to enhance on his skills, he felt intrepid enough to take on any danger in his current shape. After all, with the defeat of the Demon King and the disappearance of the blood moons, monsters were imperceptibly vanishing from the land of Hyrule.

Nothing  could go wrong, he was certain of it. Nevertheless, his awareness of their surroundings remained sharp. 

Much to her essence, Zelda strode from side to side, collecting stuff for the satchel on her back — and sometimes for  his  satchel, as hers grew too full for her to fit more things in there — while bringing out curiosities about every critter she would find. The sound of her voice was soothing on his nerves and set his mind straight; his duty to keep her safe so she was free to be herself prevailed.

Therefore, when it happened — he was stunned. Everything was going perfectly, too perfectly, and that should have been his first sign. Then, it all happened too fast, and his mind would take some time to process everything and account that, regardless, they remained safe and sound. Even if not because of him.

It was a sundelion. A single sundelion amidst the green of the land, a little far away from the path they were on. He was looking ahead of him, so he hadn’t noticed it; he wouldn’t notice it, not until he perceived her absence from his side, even though that was his  most  imperative decree, that she should not stray away from him. He didn’t think she was purposefully violating his terms, but he would still chasten her for it later, and it would only make it much, much worse.

When she disappeared from his side, his heart started beating too fast inside his chest. He swirled around desperately, trying to spot her amidst the wilderness, and every second without her lasted longer than an eternity. He would only find her a lifetime later, far into the distance, kneeling under a tree and fondling the sundelion with the utmost care, like it was the most valuable life in the world.

She was so enchanted by it, she wouldn’t see it coming; she wouldn’t perceive the black bokoblin lurking by, ready to charge against her. Link’s blood rushed fast through his body, the vein on his forehead pulsing; he tried to scream, to give her some sort of warning, but his voice was stuck in his throat, and no sound came out despite his best efforts. He could only run towards her, the Master Sword already in his left hand, but the feeling of having failed her still crept inside his chest.

It was  unbearable .

He came at the black bokoblin at full force, although the strike against the beast still wasn’t as effective as it once had been. It flew a couple of meters away, but it was back on its feet too quickly, more angered than before.

Zelda startled at the sudden noise behind her, turning around to find Link battling a monster. Her heart sped up, and, still, her first instinct was to pose herself in front of the sundelion to keep it from harm. 

She needed to keep her safe .

Link struck against the bokoblin one more time, missing it; the sword was foreign to his left hand, and his arm had started to tremble under its weight.

He was a failure; he would fail her again .

The bokoblin successfully swung his weapon against Link, bringing him down to the ground. The blow against his lungs made it  impossible  to breathe for the time he was lying still against the dirt. What an incompetent he was.

“Link!”

Panicking at his collapse, she rushed towards him. As she ran, an appalling sense of dejà vu came clashing on her, bringing her back to his fall at Fort Hateno; she  needed  to save him from death, she owed him that much.

Zelda put herself between him and the bokoblin; Link was, at last, getting back up, but there was no time, she  had  to do something. She was not good with a blade, never had been, but she still held the sacred power of the goddess in her blood and a zonai secret stone hidden with her. She could save him.

The bokoblin swung his weapon at her; she sensed Link’s despair even without looking at him just as she saw the dagger flying towards her, until it was millimeters away from her neck, frozen midair, invisible strings holding it in place.

With her jaw clenched, she stilled her mind and adjured diligence to her soul, just like Queen Sonia had taught her. The one second that lasted the bokoblin’s confusion was the time she needed to command the blade back to where it had come from, and the bokoblin perished at the vicious blow against it.

Tension evaded her body when she exhaled, and she turned to find Link, exasperated, behind her. The look on his face was like nothing she had ever seen, a mixture of rage and resentment that she had never known him for; it scared her.

“Link…?” she hesitantly took a step towards him, her hands craving to touch him, but she held them in place. “Are you… Are you okay? That was a nasty fall.”

Unlike her, he remained tense. His left hand clutched to the Master Sword so harshly, so  angrily  that his whole body was shaking. His glare on her was so daunting that it forced her to look away.

“We’re going back,” was all he said before taking off; he didn’t even bother making sure she was following him, walking away with the sword still in his hand. 

Zelda couldn’t fight him; wouldn’t dare to. Casting one last glance at the sundelion, she lowered her head and walked compliantly behind him, never venturing to utter one word or pick up one rock as they journeyed back to Hateno.

Zelda closed the door behind her, dropping her satchel to the ground with a thud, and it was the loudest sound she had made in a long time.

Link stood on his back to her, facing the portraits on the wall; she hadn’t seen his face ever since he started marching back towards Hateno, therefore she couldn’t read the expression there. That made her uncomfortable, not knowing what he was feeling, but she knew it wasn’t about her. It was never about her, and she could be patient regarding it.

She told herself that every day, every time she saw him struggling.

For that very reason, she would prevail silently until he was ready to talk.

Yet — she had not been ready for him to  explode . Although it was long overdue, it would go on all the wrong ways, and she would be left wondering if they could ever amend their relationship.

“You disobeyed me,” he spoke gravely at last, discarding the sheath of his sword and his shield down to the table, quietly as ever. “You had  one  rule, not to wander away from me, and you broke my trust by doing so. How can you be  so  —”

Stupid? Selfish? Irresponsible?  —   she had heard it all from her father’s lips, centuries before, and they had tucked away a part of her essence every time she heard it; to hear it from  Link , though — it would extinguish all her fire. He was always the only one to believe in her, and to allow her the freedom to be who she wanted to be. She closed her eyes, anxiety piling up in her chest as she dreaded what was to leave his lips.

She thought of the sundelion, its golden petals taking her back to millennia before, when fathers were kind and mothers were generous. She would like to talk about them with Link, but she didn’t think he would listen.

Link took in a deep breath, quietening himself before any foul words escaped his lips, words that could not be unsaid. He turned around to face her, and the woman standing there looked  so  small, unrecognizable from the person she was. She did not meet his eyes.

“Nothing happened, Link,” she reminded him in a low voice. “I understand that it was very scary, but  nothing  happened. We are both unscathed.”

“Yeah. Not thanks to me,” he spat, his fist clenched with rage.

She furrowed her brows. “Does it matter?  Who saves whom , it’s just optics.”

He shook his head.

“I just don’t understand,” he said, “ Why  did you have to run away? Why did you—”

“—I wasn’t running away—”

“—have to run off without at least giving me the courtesy of a heads up?!”

She swallowed, her throat felt dry. 

“Something got my attention,” she admitted, “With all due respect, Link, I was not thinking about you.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

She frowned, closing her hand in front of her heart, a twinge coming from there that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’m sorry. What’s  that  supposed to mean?”

He glared into her eyes, almost piercing through her soul, and his attention shifted back to his sword as he would not delve into that.

Zelda, however, would not let it go.

She took one brave step towards him.

“Did you mean to imply that I don’t  care  for you?!” she asked, more powerfully than all the other words she had said. “Because, if you  did  — that is mean, and heartless, and  not  true.”

“Just let it go,” he responded, feigning more interest in the sword on the table than in her.

“No, Link, I will  not  let it go,” she declared. “I have not pushed you out of that door, not once, you did so out of your own volition every single time. I have been patient, I have given you the space you need. I have cared for and taken care of you all that time. You do  not  get to tell me that I don’t think about you because of some incident on the road. Ever since I came back, my  only  concern has been you. Only you.”

“Zelda,” he tilted his chin towards her, threatening; there was a dark haze on his eyes, one that she had never seen before. “You don’t want to have this conversation.”

“It seems that I do,” she disputed. “It’s about time we have it, don’t you think? I can’t tiptoe around you forever, Link.”

He huffed, quite ironically. “You think you tiptoe around me? You’re the loudest person I know.”

She could hear the sourness behind his tone; still, she wouldn’t back down.

“We haven’t had a meaningful conversation ever since I came back, Link,” she said, “Every time I bring up your arm, you shut down, or  worse , you’re rude to me. There’s just so much I can take of your self-sabotaging habits.”

“Nobody’s forcing you to stay,” he prompted, pulling back a chair and sinking down into it. “The door is right there.”

“I don’t want to leave, Link!” she exclaimed. “I have a duty of care to you. I won’t leave you.”

“It seems, then, that your duty is misplaced,” he derided her. “Your concern should not lie with me, but with Hyrule.”

She crossed her arms. “Link, if I don’t care for you, you will not care for yourself, either. I cannot let that.”

“I’m not your  charity  cause, Zelda.”

“I didn’t say you were!” she debunked. “First, you imply that I don’t care for you. Now, you  refuse  my care for you. I don’t understand what you want from me, Link.”

“There’s nothing  you  can do for me,” he dismissed, “I want you to let it go.”

“I can’t do that,” she whispers. “I won’t cease until you get better, Link. I  owe  you that much.”

He rolled his eyes. “I never asked for your help, Zelda.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, Link. You don’t need to ask, because I’m your friend, and I love you, and I only want what’s best for you.”

He slammed his fist against the table. The noise made her flinch. 

“And amidst all that, have you never considered that you’re only making it  worse ?!”

Zelda stopped moving; while she had often been the target of his anger, she had never considered herself to be the reason behind it. Tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, but she never shed them.

“Is that why you don’t look at me anymore?”

He raised his head at her as if to prove her wrong.

“You don’t look at me anymore,” Zelda reiterated, hurt echoing through her voice. “It feels like you can’t stand the sight of me. And every time your eyes are directed at me, they are always darting straight past me. I always assumed you were ashamed of your condition, but I wonder, then — what fuels your anger at me? I’ve never done you any harm.”

His eyes narrowed at her, full of rage. Rage that embraced so much more than her simply wandering away from him. 

Her eyes threatened to leak.

“Have I?”

He stood from the chair, walking towards her until they were face to face. Despite their height difference, he resembled  so  much taller than her at that instance that Zelda had to fight the urge to recoil.

He was overcome with fury and hatred and resentment as he had never been before; had he been posed in front of a mirror, he doubted he would recognize his reflection. It was a sensation resembling what he experienced when he faced the Calamity, when he faced the Demon King, in which his enmity was his only ammunition to confront those evils, even though it was  just  her, the person he had sworn his life to, and she was the amalgamation of everything that he hated about himself.

His lips would say things that he had never believed, things that could never be unsaid, and he would wonder, then, if their relationship could ever be mended after all was said and done.

“Looking at you  hurts .”

Zelda could not respond to that; she would only breathe in and out, forcing herself not to crumble down.

This was not about her .

Or — was it?

“Every time I look at you, I am reminded that you are the reason behind my every misfortune.”

His voice was low, respectful, like he was addressing dignitaries, which only made it worse. When had she stopped being  her  to become only the princess he was knighted to protect?

“I died because of you.”

A dagger through her heart.

“I lost my memories because of you.”

And another.

“I went deep under the castle for you, because of you.”

And another.

“I lost my  arm  — because of you.”

And another.

“So, tell me, Zelda — how do you  expect  me to look at you?”

She bled, and he would never see it. He inflicted the worst kind of wound on her heart and soul and he left no visible marks on her body.

She would bleed out, and he would never know it was because of him.

“I see,” was all she said, her eyes looking down at her feet. She was crying silent tears, there was no point in trying to hold or hide them. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Whatever for?”

“For everything.”

His head rattled.

“It’s too late for that.”

She nodded, ashamedfully. Her arms were wrapped around her small figure, trying to sustain her composure; a dark pit had formed inside her, and she found herself powerless to prevent it from eventually swallowing her hole.

Still, she wished — she wished she had the strength to look at his face; his face was always so decipherable, she would know if he meant any of what he had said if she could see his face. She was not strong enough; shame on her.

Shame on her for everything she had bestowed upon him. 

“I suppose I should go, then,” she susurrated. “I don’t — I wouldn’t want you to constantly be with a reminder of every evil that has fallen on you.”

She waited for some response, for him to tell her to  stay ; she was a fool, he would never say that, not given all the penance she had brought upon him. He stayed silent, so she understood his message very well. She reached for her satchel by her foot, full of collectibles and no personal items, and she turned to leave.

The hope that he would call her name only died after she walked out and closed the door behind her.

Link would only realize what he had done after she was gone, only the ghost of her presence lingering in their house. His heart began to thunder inside his chest, a sentiment akin to when he had first awakened on a sky island without her. His hand clung to his hair, threatening to pull; his lungs choked on the very oxygen they were given, and his legs became so weak that they led him to the ground.

“What have I done?!” he would say, over and over again, grasping at his throat and trying to untangle the invisible rope there, to no avail. When the first sob escaped his lips, he couldn’t lull them anymore. There was no salvation for him; he had ostracized the last person that still cared for him.

The things he had said — he was disgusted with himself. He would never forgive himself, but — he still longed for her there.

He was nothing without her.

Days went on by without him seeing her again.

It was noble of her not to inconvenience him, he was surprised that she had lasted so long without at least sending someone to check in on him. Then again, it was to be expected; he had essentially cast her away from his life. He shouldn’t anticipate her return.

Link learned, then, that he was useless without her. He could survive alright; while he struggled to do most things with his nondominant hand, he could still manage. It was everything else — he had no reason to go on, to  live  now that she was not there, encouraging him. He had no motive to make the bed, or to wash himself, or to leave the house. His life was stale, reeking of deterioration, and it had only been a couple of days without her. 

He was  nothing  without her.

With her gone, his anxiety, too, was through the roof. He didn’t know where she was sleeping, if she had rupees on her, if she had left Hateno at all. He was no longer privy to her whereabouts, to her  respect  nonetheless, and if something should happen to her out there, when he wasn’t dutifully by her side — well, he would only have himself to blame.

His inquietude and apprehension for her safety were the catalyst to get him out that door; he needed to find her, he needed to bend down on his knees for her and beg for a forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, he needed to see her with his own eyes to make sure she was still unharmed and unhurt — at least, physically. His restlessness was so much that he asked person after person in Hateno for her location.

They never seemed to know where was.

Funny; she carried a glow that would enchant everywhere that she blessed with her mere presence. It was eerie that no one would have noticed the light of her magnitude. Unless her glow had dimmed, and if it had — he would add it to his list of sins.

He trailed each of her usual spots amidst the village, and then he probed at her not-so-secret locations, the ones where she would go when she needed to hide away from the world. He was starting to believe she had left Hateno for good, having turned the page on the chapter of her life that included  him , when he saw her silhouette from afar, sitting by the bank of the Firly Pond down from their house.

He was surprised to find her so close to home.

Link walked down the slope with care; not because he was afraid of slipping, but because he dreaded to startle her. He noticed, as he approached, that she wasn’t alone; she was idly chatting away with a Korok hovering in the air — she had always been too good at finding those little demons; of course she was, it was her nature to be curious about every rock and leaf out of place.

The distance between them grew shorter, the image of hers becoming clearer under his eyes. He saw the wet streams on her cheeks, and he understood — she was pouring her heart out to the spirits that only she and he could see, and he wondered how many times she had done it before; after all, he hadn’t been a good friend to her lately.

When she noticed him there, his body rigid on the opposite side of the bank, she was quick to run the back of her hands against her cheeks. Not that it would matter, her red eyes and nose denounced her crying. Link heard the Korok making sounds of disapproval at him, unaware that he could see and hear it, too.

“I apologize, I’ll be on my way,” she said quietly, and what bothered him the most — there was no bitterness, no resentment in her voice. She sounded genuine.

“No. Stay, please,” he asked. He, too, hoped she heard no animosity on him, and when he saw her pulling her knees to her chest, making herself small, he wasn’t sure he had succeeded. “Would it be okay — if I joined you?”

She discreetly nodded, and Link sat down next to her, although there was still some distance between them. He raised his head to offer the hovering Korok a look, which sent it hurrying back to the Lost Woods without a second to spare.

Zelda chuckled at it, but the sound was hollow. 

Link dug his fingers into the grass, his feet into the water.

“Where are you staying?”

She shivered; despite everything, he still  cared .

“At the lab,” she said, “Robbie has a spare futon, there.”

“He’s letting you sleep on the floor? That won’t do, I’ll—”

“Link,” she stopped him. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to — extrude me from your life and still  care . You don’t get to  be  here. I can’t  take  that.”

He dropped his gaze. 

“I miss you.”

“Well, I can’t take that either,” she asserted. “You have to make up your mind, Link, you can’t have both ways. It’s not fair to  me , nor to you. You don’t get to play with my feelings like that.”

She was right, and he was  proud  that she was standing up to herself, she so rarely did; that’s how much he hurt her.

“I won’t pretend that these past days have been easy,” she continued; even then, she was the one to hold the conversation. “It’s funny, isn’t it, I cannot remember a part of my life that you weren’t there. You were by my side in my every core memory. You were by my side in every frivolous moment, and don’t those matter the most? I suppose it’s natural that it wouldn’t be easy to adjust to a new life without you in it. Still, it feels like — I don’t say this lightly, but it feels like  losing a limb .”

The stream of tears intensified again; she showed no effort to wipe them away.

“It’s fine, though, I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry about me, just like I’ll do my best not to worry about you. And we’ll move on. We’re free to live our lives as we want, at last. Well, at least you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she sniffed, “Me too.”

“No, Zelda,” he said, his tone attracting her eyes to him. “I’m  sorry . I know there’s no undoing the harm I’ve caused you, but I’m  so  sorry. The things I said—”

“You didn’t cause me any harm. You’re right after all,” she said, “I am the reason behind your every misfortune, that much is irrefutable. My incompetence to use my powers has taken  everything  from you. I should be the one apologizing, although I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Link cringed, but he did wonder — had she believed those statements all along? Was she drowning in her guilt ever since?

He was a  monster .

“You’re not at fault for any of that,” he announced strongly, “I don’t  blame  you for anything that might have happened to me. It’s only my  duty —”

She was frowning. “Then why did you—”

“I wanted to hurt you,” he admitted; he carried his shame, but he needed to be transparent with her. “I was hurting and… I wanted to make you hurt as much as I am hurting. I was selfish, I was a  coward .”

“Link—”

“Only a self-indulgent wimp would be so egoistic as not to see how much  you’re  hurting, too. I’ve disregarded your pain on account of mine, there’s no excuse for my behavior. Still, I’m  so  sorry, Zelda.”

“I’m not hurting, Link,” she objected softly, “You’ve gone through your fair share of penances in this life, it’s reasonable that all would eventually start catching up to you.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t make me any less of an asshole for taking it out on you.”

He said it seriously, but Zelda chuckled. Link looked at her, and laughed, too.

“That sundelion,” he brought up, recalling the unfortunate event, “It meant something to you, didn’t it? It wasn’t just some  flower  that distracted you.”

She compressed her lips.

“They were — Queen Sonia’s favorite,” she reminisced in a low voice. “I wasn’t expecting to find them here, in our age, and… I wanted to save it. I know it’s not logical, the flower wasn’t in peril, I hadn’t even noticed that bokoblin, but… maybe, if I could save it… I could save Queen Sonia, too.”

A sudden wave of cold air swirled around her; she assumed she had summoned it. She chuckled. 

“It’s silly, I know.”

“It’s not silly,” Link said. “She — She died in your arms, didn't she.”

Zelda frowned her eyes at him. “How did you know that?”

“You were kind of crying your memories away all over the land of Hyrule.”

Her expression was blank. 

“I’m afraid I don't follow.”

He dismissed the matter with a gesture. 

“That doesn't matter,” he shook his head gently, “You tragically lost someone dear to you. You held death in your arms once again, and I  know  how much that weighs you down. Your grief should not be put on hold for my sake.”

Her eyes were watery again. 

“Our grievances can coexist, you know,” Zelda put it simply. “Link?”

“Hm?”

She lowered her knees at last, her feet sinking into the water, too. She opened herself to him. 

“Let’s talk about your grief.”

Link’s gaze followed down to the stump of his arm. With his left hand, he touched the scarring there, maybe for the first time, embracing his wound. 

“I don't know who I am if I can’t be the hero, Zelda.”

His voice was broken; he was broken. 

“You're still the hero, Link. You don't need your arm to make you that.”

Link shook his head, his gaze returning to her. He looked at her and he  saw  her; he saw her for who she was and for who she could be  to him .

“I couldn’t even save  you .”

She couldn't tell whether he was referring to their little incident or to her slipping away from his grasp back under the castle; regardless, she recognized his pain all too well. 

“There are more ways to save  me  than with a sword,” she opposed, “Link, you… you save me every day.”

While he narrowed his eyes at her, it wasn’t out of malice. He genuinely did not understand.

“You… You’re my foundation,” she explained. “I don’t think I would have  survived  after the defeat of the Calamity Ganon if you weren’t there. Your familiar presence in a world I didn’t recognize was comforting, you by my side when everyone we knew had perished a century before… it was remedying. You bring me the same relief as coming up for fresh air after spending too much time underwater. You keep me from drowning. If that’s not  salvation , Link, then what is?”

His lips were quivering, and his vision was blurry.

“You’re projecting your strength on me, Zelda,” he wailed, his emotions threatening to break away from the hidden chest inside of him. “I’m worthless, I’m dead weight. Without the sword, I’m…  nothing .”

“Not to me,” she said, placing her hand on his thigh; anchoring him. “You’re my friend. You’re generous and you’re selfless, you help every soul and creature without ever expecting anything in return, even the Koroks, and I know just how much they get on your nerves. You are kindhearted, and a little sassy at times, and I always have to hide away my snicker when we’re in public and you let out a snarky comment only meant for me to hear. You are the only person that I am comfortable being myself with, you’re the only one who gives me this liberty. You’re special, to me and to everybody else. You’re… You’re everything to me, and if you’re  everything  — then you can’t be  nothing . That’s illogical.”

He shut his eyes tightly; how could she be so blind to believe all that?

“Link,” she called for him, kneeling in front of him, her legs in the water. “Have you cried?”

He pressed his lips together; even with his eyes closed, he could sense her in front of him.

“I cried,” he admitted, “The night you left. I couldn’t breathe, I never felt anything like that. The feeling that I might have lost you forever, but this time — from my own doing. I was so scared.”

Zelda smiled sadly.

“Your fears brought out your emotions, that’s a good a thing,” she concurred, “But… have you cried for what you  lost ?”

Link opened his eyes again; if he focused enough, he could see her through the misty layer in his vision.

“It’s not weakness,” she encouraged him. “Link, I promise you — there’s something worse than being sad, and that’s being alone and being sad. You’re not alone, Link.”

Link pressed his forearm against his mouth, trying to restrain his whimpering; it was too late, his sobs broke through the barrier, one after the other, and he collapsed against her. They were in the water, and Zelda wrapped her arms strongly around his shoulders while he hid his face against the crook of her neck. He cried like she had never seen before; he offered her his emotions like he had never dared before, and Zelda was content to simply hold him.

She would hold him forever; she never wanted to let him go.

Link clung to her, his fingers scraping at her shirt. He was making a mess out of him, out of her, and he sincerely doubted he would be able to look at her again after; still, he cried. He cried for who he was, for what he had lost; for what would become of him, and for what he would never become.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” she whispered, rocking him back and forth, her hands running up and down his back. “Let it out. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He hysterically nodded against her chest;  he believed her .

“I miss—” he choked out, “I miss being able to sign.”

She froze for one long second, then hugged him tighter.

“Talk to me,” she gently instructed. “Let it out.”

He wept some more.

“I want to be brave. I don’t know how to be brave without my sword.”

“Of course you do,” she said, “Despite everything, you’re still you.”

He trembled against her. “I was never in control of my own future. Everything was always laid out for me, fated to me, and I was fine with that. Now that I am… I’m scared, and I am lost.”

“Together, we will find your place again,” she reasoned. “You’re not alone. There’s nothing we can’t do when we’re together.”

“I want to disappear.”

“We’ll disappear.”

“I want to start over.”

“We can start over.”

“I want to make a life where we’re not always fighting and dying.”

“We can have that.”

“I want a life where we can just be.”

“I do, too.”

“I want you to be safe.”

“I am safe.”

“I need you to always be safe.”

“We’ll figure that out.”

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“It’s all right to be afraid. Fear can bring us together.”

“I can’t lose you. I can’t ever lose you.”

“You’re not losing me.”

“If I lose you again — I won’t survive that again. It hurts too much to lose you, I can’t endure that pain again. I’m not strong enough. You’re my strength, if you’re gone, you take my strength with you. I’m not  strong , Zelda.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I’m not strong. I’m a coward. I hurt you.”

“I forgive you, Link. I forgive you.”

“Why? Why would you forgive me? I’m a monster.”

“Just because you did a terrible thing, it doesn’t mean you’re a terrible person. The world is unforgiving enough as it is. The least we can do is to find ways to forgive each other and ourselves.”

He was, at last, quietening down his sobs. The tears that then soaked her collar were silent.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I am terribly sorry, Link, but I am exactly what you deserve.”

He pulled back, and he drew his strength from her to not look away. She held a tender smile to him, not judging him for his pitiable appearance or his breakdown.

He smiled, too; he found that it wasn’t so difficult to do so anymore.

“I built you a house.”

Zelda made a face. Of everything, that was the last thing she was expecting him to say.

“Why, Link — Are you kicking me out?”

“ What —no,” he answered anxiously, only then seeing the teasing expression on her face. He sighed. “Our house — Our house is haunted, Zelda. Haunted by too many bad memories. I want — I’d like us to start anew. I want us to heal.”

Zelda brought her hands to his face, wiping away his tears.

“I think that’s a lovely idea.”

He pressed his hand over hers, cupping his face with it.

“Link…?”

“Hm?”

“Can you teach me how to fight?”

He tilted his head, looking at her funnily.

“You said you need me to be safe. I think — My powers are unreliable, even now, but, if I knew how to handle a weapon, I think it would bring you peace of mind. You wouldn’t have to worry about me all the time.”

He hummed.

“Do you really want that?”

“Yes,” she concurred, “I don’t want to become a fighter, that hardly interests me, but… It’s important, isn’t it? For me to know how to defend myself.”

He kissed her knuckles, stood up, and helped her to her feet, too. He guided her out of the water, their clothes drenching.

“It’d be my honor, Zelda.”

Taking him by surprise, she jumped on him, embracing him once more. Link realized at last — and it brought him immeasurable respite — he had never needed two arms to hold her back.

Chapter Text

IV. Spring

“Watch your posture.”

Link stood behind her, during yet another one of her sword fighting lessons. With his breath on her nape, he entranced her back with his fingertips, making a path down her vertebrae, and her spine became perfectly aligned. He placed his hand behind her neck, slightly brushing her messy hair and bringing static to the back of her neck; she shivered, but leveled her head. He tapped her feet with his own until they were impeccably paralleled.

 His torso was then glued to her back, so close they could feel their body energies flowing from one body to the other. Her elbow dovetailed perfectly in the curve between his arm and forearm, and the sword reached her vision range.

“It’s heavier than the wooden sword you’re used to holding,” he said, his hand hovering just under hers to keep her from letting the weight of the blade bring her arms down. “How does it feel? If it’s too hefty, we can go back to the other one.”

To provoke him, she tightened her grip around the hilt, ignoring the debilitating sensation in her arms due to its weight.

“I can handle myself, thank you.”

Chuckling at her obstinacy, Link retrieved his hand. As he expected, gravity pulled the sword down, earning a loud grunt from her, but her determination brought it back up, and she steadied it. Hesitating a little, he stepped away from her.

“That’s good. Find your balance.”

Zelda beamed proudly.

She didn’t move as he circled her until he was standing in front of her. Her chest sharply rose and fell from her heavy breathing, and, through her sweat, she had to blow away a lock of hair that the wind had howled onto her face. Still, she held her posture.

Biding his time, Link swirled from side to side; anticipating that she would grow tired from the position, although he should have known better — once she set her mind on something, she would never cave in.

“Good. Now, hold the pummel right above your belly button, just a little far away from your stomach,” he instructed, standing just a few inches away from her. “Point the tip somewhere between my sternum and my throat. If I dare to attack you, I’ll impale myself at your sword.”

She did as she was told; drops of sweat ran down her temple. The sun was burning over them, and she wished he had chosen  any  other time for their training, but something about her needing to learn to defend herself through any inconveniences. At least, it was better than their training under the rain some weeks before, which gave her a terrible flu and too many days spent in bed.

“When you’re going to strike,” he continued, “You must bring the grip right past your eye, gaining force so you’ll come down on me. Remember, your dominant hand always guides the blade, whereas the other one sets force into the blade.”

She followed his guidance, forcing him to dodge himself quickly in order not to get hit by her clumsy maneuvering. 

“Like this?”

“Yes, very good,” he congratulated her, “Bring your left foot behind the right one. Always keep balanced, Zelda. Push your left foot when you’re about to attack, slide your right foot on the ground, and raise your sword. Bring back your left foot and strike.”

And she did, aiming her sword to an inexistent point right above his shoulder. Link didn’t flinch at the sensation of cold metal so near his throat, even though she was gulping at the possibility of accidentally harming him. He could see right through her, so he grabbed the blade in the air, by the tip, to relieve her arms a little.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to hurt me. This blade is not even sharp, it’s fine. Besides, I trust you, otherwise, I wouldn’t have given you this sword.”

She still panicked. “What happens if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then I take the sword away,” he threatened, letting go of the tip. “Rule number one.  Always  trust yourself when holding a weapon. We don’t go into battle believing we’re going to lose, do we.”

She willfully nodded.

“I thought rule number was to never allow myself to get distracted.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, that’s rule number one.”

“Then what about—”

“They’re both rules number one, they co-exist. It’s irrelevant, you’re getting distracted! That’s rule number one you’re breaking.”

“You’re being confusing! That’s not very scholastic from you.”

“Zelda.”

“Fine! I’m not distracted.”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, “When striking, keep your arm straight – but don’t lock it, we don’t want you to break it. Bend it when it reaches your head. Then, reverse all of that to strike.”

Zelda obeyed each of his commands, this time landing her sword on the other shoulder pad of his. 

“I think I’m quite good at this, I must say.”

Link huffed, and she feigned offense.

“Perhaps you’ll be as good as me, one day,” he teased, ignoring how she had a weapon in her possession and could strike against him if so she wished. “Don’t weaken your strikes, keep each of your swings full and powerful – yell while doing so, it helps.”

Watching as she practiced her moves, Link picked up a wooden sword from the ground. He, too, held it a little gawkily with his left hand, something that would have made him self-conscious some time ago. Now, he found that it didn’t bother him as much; he wanted Zelda to be proud of him for it, but she treated him  so normally  and, as it turned out, he didn’t mind that, either.

“En garde,” Zelda alerted him, her blade hanging just a few inches away from his.

He ignored her, carelessly swinging his sword in the air. “In the battlefield, your enemies don’t put much effort into saying politeness such as en garde.  Especially  bokoblins, rudest little demons.”

Ignoring the sarcasm behind his words, Zelda harshly threw her blade against his, startling him as she went. “However — we’re not on the battlefield. The mastering of swords commands respect, therefore, I demand it from you.  En garde .”

He rolled his eyes but humored her nonetheless. He straightened his back and moved into position; their fight began, metal crashing against wood, daggers howling as they cut through the air, muscles rigid from tension, gaps of contentment and deterrent as they dueled. 

Until Link threw a hard strike just next to her neck, leading her to lose her balance. Zelda tripped on her feet and landed on the ground. She tried to get up, decided she was too fatigued for that, and properly collapsed on her back, her sword discarded by her side.

He laughed, disposing of his weapon, too. He walked up to her and offered her his hand; he was a welcoming shade against the burning sun.

“Come on. Get up.”

“No,” she grunted, spreading her arms and legs like a dead animal. “I give up. Leave me alone to die.”

He dismissed her drama, very gently hitting her torso with his foot to get her to budge. “You’re fine. Get up.”

“No,” she groaned some more, “You’ll have to drag my dead corpse out of here, I don’t care.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Zelda.”

Loud moans escaped her lips; she made no effort to stand up.

“I hope you know you’re being very annoying right now.”

She ducked her lips, insulted, before breaking into laughter.

Shaking his head, he lowered himself to his knees, close to her. She was still giggling, and her amusement brought a smile to his own lips. He delicately brushed her messy hair away from her face.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out, surprising even himself. He was enchanted by her.

“Hm. Do you think I can use that to my advantage when fighting against some bokoblins by the road?”

“I’m afraid they have — some rather divergent beauty standards.”

“Damn it,” she complained, still grinning.

Link properly sat next to her, appreciating the cold breeze that the Akkala airs brought to the backyard of their house. They had properly moved there several weeks before, having put a start in their new life. A life in which she was everything, and he was —

Link. He was Link, her partner, her best friend, her right hand. He was a hero, too, and he helped where he could, and nobody would look down on him because he no longer possessed prodigious swordsmanship skills. Because, after all, he was the Hero of Hyrule, and Hyrule — was at last not in need of a hero anymore.

As Link grew comfortable with her defense skill, their trips between towns became more often. 

She would proudly wear her wooden sword on her back as they traveled back and forth from Hateno. She had yet to use her skills against a monster, which was a relief to him, and so was that weapon on her back that allowed her to roam free along the wilderness without him constantly worrying for her safety.

They were finally getting into synch.

Link would follow her on her little projects across Hyrule, always giving a hand where he could, whether to her or to villagers lurking by. He was slowly learning that his usefulness didn’t always require his hand on a sword; in fact, it seldom did, and he was still seen as a hero after the smallest of tasks. 

He found it a little unfair, to do so little and to be considered so much, but Zelda wouldn’t allow him to bring himself down; she was his most devoted supporter, and she was always there for him in the times he did feel worthless, a noble act that would make him feel  worse  for how badly he had treated her. She would absolve him of his misdoings every day, and he was starting to think she had long stopped listening to his constant pleas for forgiveness.

That day, they arrived in Hateno in the back of a wagon. They had run into Juney, a resolute young lady with a cart full of handmade sand seal plushies, around Sahasra Slope, and, as fate would have it, she was also headed to Hateno, having made the toys herself to give to the school kids. Zelda was sincerely moved by her intent, and, despite Link’s ever-growing suspicion at how long it was taking her to reach the village — he  had  run into her ages before, after all — they ended up fetching a ride with her.

They reached the town past midnight, and Zelda had fallen asleep on him some hours before. In her arms, she held a plushie, and the sight of it stung his heart; it reminded him of the youth that they had never had, hail the resolution of the goddess.

Perhaps, losing his arm had been a blessing in disguise. He was free to be whomever he wanted, although he knew she would never back away from her duties, regardless of how much she deserved her liberty, too, so — he chose to be by her side.

He quite liked the person he was with her.

Juney did them the courtesy of dropping them in front of their house before she followed down to the inn. A lifetime before, Link would have carried her to bed without a hustle, but he could no longer ascertain he would succeed at it without dropping her to the ground. His heart shattered just a little to nudge her awake.

He guided her towards the entrance with his arm around her waist, to certify she wouldn’t trip on her own sleepy feet. Her head was resting on his shoulder, an angle that would make bystanders laugh given how much taller she was than him; she still carried the seal on her arms, and he doubted she realized it, but he still offered Juney a warning glare when she was about to yell at Zelda for taking it.

Link led her to bed, where she dropped herself without any class. He took his time to untie her boots, being certain she had fallen back asleep by the time he had done it. He pulled the duvet over her, chuckling as she comfortably moaned. In a moment of weakness, he leaned down and kissed her forehead; his lips lingered there for a second too long.

“Stay.”

A little startled by her voice, Link pulled back; his cheeks turned remarkably red, and he was glad she had her eyes closed as not to see his embarrassment.

“Please.”

Sheepishly, he sat on the edge of the mattress, removing his boots as well as his tunic. She had already scooped to the side, against the wall, waiting for him, and when he finally lay by her side, he was tense. Zelda curled up against him, forsaking the pillow for his chest.

“Rest,” she ordered, albeit in a sweet voice.

“I didn’t lock the door.”

“Nobody is coming in.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Link,” she trapped him down when he tried to get up, “We’re safe. You’ve done your duty and we’re safe. You can stand down, soldier.”

He took a deep breath and listened to her.

He stood down, closed his eyes; involved her in a warm embrace, and — rested.

“Good night, Link. I love you.”

“I love you. Sleep well.”

Zelda and Link slept in like they never would have allowed themselves to before; it was nice.

It was lunchtime by the time they emerged into the village; warm familiar faces greeted them as they walked the path towards the school. She carried the sand seal plushie in her hands as a grown-up would, having no proper recollection of how it had ended up in their house, resolved to return it to Juney; she had, after all, crafted them from the kindness of her heart to give it to the children.

When they reached the school, Juney was there already, seemingly having just started handing out the toys. Upon noticing their arrival, Karin renounced her position in line and rushed to them, crashing against Zelda’s legs with a thud as she hugged her.

“Ms. Zelda! You’re back!”

Smiling tenderly, Zelda placed her hand in her hair.

“Why, hello, Karin. I’ve missed you, too.”

Karin eventually let her go; she offered Link a shy greeting, but didn’t pay him much attention.

“Ms. Zelda, the nice lady has brought all of us new toys!”

“I’ve heard. Have you thanked her?”

“I haven’t gotten mine yet,” Karin said, “But I will. Oh, Ms. Zelda, did you get one too?”

“Oh, no, I — I’m here to return it, actually.”

Karin frowned, but didn’t think too much about it. Instead, she grabbed Zelda by the hand and pulled her back to the queue, where all the other children anxiously awaited their toys but were equally pleased to see her back. Zelda, knowing she wouldn’t escape them so soon, silently asked Link to return the plushie with a gesture and dip of the head.

The children talked endlessly and Zelda listened; all the while, Link helped give away all the toys, until every kid was content with one, and there was still a load of plushies inside the wagon.

“It’s a nice deed you’ve done,” Link quietly told Juney. “You should keep it up, if so you’d like. There are lots of kids around Hyrule.”

“Oh, thank you. They’re hard work, but it’s lovely to see how much the kids love it.”

“She’ll commission you, I’m sure,” he said, pointing at Zelda with his chin. “She’s building a school in Tarrey Town. Kakariko, next. She wants to change the world, and knowing her — she just might. Still, plushies would definitely help.”

Small hands tugged at his tunic; Link looked down to see Karin there once more.

“Mr. Link, what’s Ms. Zelda's favorite color?”

“Sky blue,” he said without thinking; he paid no attention to Juney giving him a funny look at how fast he answered.

“In that case, can I have the spare blue plushie, please? Mr. Link?”

Link gave it to her; coincidentally, it was the same plushie that she had been playing with the night before. It must have fallen to the back of the wagon, or maybe he and Karin were subconsciously having the same idea. He followed Karin to the tree where Zelda was playing with everyone else.

“Ms. Zelda! Ms. Zelda!”

Zelda looked up at the urgency of her name, seeing as Link and Karin approached. She frowned at the spare toy that Karin was bringing, but held her tongue before she started a misplaced lecture on greed.

“Ms. Zelda,” she was out of breath from her little run, “Ms. Zelda, I think you should have this.”

Zelda’s jaw fell, and, amidst her attempts to say something, she looked up at Link, expecting him to help her out. Link merely shrugged. She cleared her throat.

“Oh, Karin, that’s really sweet of you, thank you,” she smiled. “But — don’t you think another little kid should have it instead? Look how happy it’s made you. Every child deserves this happiness.”

Karin shook her head.

“You said your father took away your favorite toy when you were a kid,” she innocently reminisced, not expecting or noticing the sudden wave of sadness that washed upon Zelda; nobody noticed, perhaps not even Zelda herself — only Link. “That was very mean of him, but you can have one again. Besides! I know this is your favorite color. Mr. Link told me.”

Karin placed the plushie in her hands, not giving him the chance to further protest before she took off, wanting to play alongside her friends. Zelda pressed her lips in a thin line, studying closely the toy in her possession; she fought the tears in her eyes.

Link sat by her side.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, their shoulders touching.

“That was all her, don’t thank me.”

“But you knew exactly which one.”

She turned to him, wishing to drown in his ocean eyes. A familiar voice in her head — the stern, unkind voice of her father — told her to quieten her urges, that she was a princess and should know her place; and, just like he had taken away her only source of comfort following the death of her mother, she confined his hard speech somewhere deep inside her that could no longer harm her.

She leaned forward and kissed him, and the whole world bore witness to their love.

Link should have known better when he allowed her to blindfold her. 

He should have foreseen how much a  disaster  that would be; she was too eager and impatient to properly lead him without having him stumble into rocks, bushes, steps, and everything else that came in their way.

Still, she was  so  giddy and enthusiastic that he could never tell her no. And if he was all bruised and potentially missing a toe afterward — well, it would still have been worth it. 

After too long lumbering in darkness, she had him sit. Of course, he wouldn’t tell her that he had plied the angle of the sun on his skin and the inclination of the hills to know precisely where they were — he did know every inch of the land — and ruin her surprise, but, there they were, in the Hateno tech lab.

Zelda ordered him to stretch out both his arms, and he hissed when he felt something cold touch the healed incision on his stub. He drew in a sharp breath when his nerves there started tingling, and, with a click, the sensation was gone. He pointed his chin towards his right arm; it was suddenly heavy, but no more than he could handle.

She untied the blindfold, and, with his eyes still closed, he heard the fabric falling to the ground.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He did, and his first sight was her hesitant eyes. He was confused as to how she had gone from overly happy to reluctant in mere seconds, but, when he searched for the source of the weight loaded onto him, it all made sense.

There, attached to his arm, was a prosthetic. 

“I’ve been working with Rob and Purah over it for the last several months,” she admitted, and his immediate thought was —  when  had she been working with them? He followed her everywhere, and she was so busy with all her little projects, and how could he have  missed  her sneaking to the lab? — “We’ve been using some of the sheikah technology we saved from the Divine Beasts. It was quite a challenge to get it to meet our needs, but… Tell me, how do you like it?”

He didn’t answer her, instead admiring the prosthetic arm; he jumped back a little when his brain conjured a movement and he saw the hand perform it.

“It’s connected to the nerves in your body, so… If there’s a neural input, the prosthetic shall abide by it.”

He tried several different movements; closing his fist, holding up different fingers, swirling the hand in the air. It felt like  magic .

“It’s not perfect, and it might glitch from time to time,” she continued. “It doesn’t hold a lot of force either, so it’s unlikely you would be able to pick up a sword with it, or anything a little heavy, really, without dropping it. At least with this prototype. Naturally, we will continue to study to improve it the most.”

Link closed and opened his hand several times; he was enchanted by it. 

“You won’t be able to carry a sword,” she repeated, a little self-conscious. “But… You said you missed being able to sign.”

That made him halt; little words that he had confessed to her over a year before, in a moment of frailty that he was ashamed of, words that he had never said again, neither had he expected her to retain them — after all, she had never brought it up again; he assumed her quietude had been a respect for him, but silence was always unusual to her. 

His new arm froze in the air and, with a heavy heart, he looked for her eyes. He only found glimmers of hope there, a longing for the dazzling kind of future that once could only be attainable in their dreams, but now was so tangible that they could almost reach it with their fingertips. 

“Zelda.”

His eyes started to twinkle, and, despite how much he tried to sustain his composure, tears still streamed down his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice was stranded —  and that was okay. 

“Thank you,”  he signed, bowing his head to her. His left hand was trembling a little when he gestured, and he brought it to his heart; there was a tight feeling coming from there, it was overwhelming.  “It means so much.”

She smiled, thrilled to see him so elated; although they had found a new balance in their new life, and their current rhythm satisfied them all right, she prayed that now he had found what he didn't know he was foraging. 

When Link came clashing against her chest, she let out a squeak of surprise. His arms clung to her back, and, for that moment, just like every moment that came afterward, they shared a soul. She hugged him back, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The whole world stopped moving, they were the only living beings still alive, and they were at peace with whom they chose to be. 

They would be all right,  he  would be all right; he no longer doubted that. So long as they were together, so long as they could rely on each other — they would be all right.