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Chapter Text

Zelda indulged in a melancholy ride home from her favorite place in all of Hyrule. She tried to get herself to cry as she rested her cheek on crossed forearms and stared out the carriage window. Crying would truly complete the picture, and she felt she needed it. The components were all there. The abrupt end of a beautiful weekend. A return to custom, duty, and the torturous stalemate between her and her father. And the stripping away of freedom, access to research, and friends her age. That last thought gave her a bit of guilt, however. She peeked at the other person in the cabin, her secretary Impa. She was around her age, or a little older. She may be blunt and sometimes cold, but who says that with a bit of effort and time, Impa couldn’t make Zelda a fine friend? She needed a friend in the castle. Then Impa looked up from her book and met Zelda’s zoned-out gaze. 

“You’ll need to turn in that slate and change into your ceremonial robes when we arrive home, Your Highness,” Impa said with no expression.

Zelda’s lip twitched, but luckily the lower half of her face was still buried in her elbow. ‘ Who says?’ the goddess Hylia says , she reminded herself. Impa’s job was to make sure Zelda did hers. And as long as Zelda’s job made her utterly miserable, friendship between the two young women would be a doomed affair. Zelda didn’t blame Impa, but she didn’t like her either.

“Care to tell me why, Impa?” Zelda intoned evenly, as she sat up and possessively clutched the Sheikah slate in her lap. And her clothes! Her field attire may be a bit unorthodox, but it was beautiful and finely crafted and perfectly proper to accept visiting nobility in. Her ceremonial robes were infantile, and humiliatingly referential to the powers that ever-eluded her. As Zelda brooded thusly and Impa thought of a way to stall in answering, the young women were sent flying from the cushions as the driver sailed over a pothole at full speed. Zelda just managed to keep the precious, ancient technology from crashing into– or out of– the window. Jarred and affronted, she banged twice on the ceiling, and in response the carriage slowed a patronizing decimal. 

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” Impa inquired. “Yes,” Zelda clipped, maintaining eye contact. And as she expected, Impa simply dipped her head and returned to her book, letting the distraction bury Zelda’s previous question. The princess ground her teeth and returned to her position pillowed against her arms. They were just crossing the Regencia River, and the usually-bustling trading post on this side of the Carok Bridge was quiet as the plague. Zelda wondered at the strange behavior all around; the driver had been going faster than he ought from the start of the ride, and Impa had kept details about her summoning to the minimum. Again she felt the urge to cry, but analytical numbness kept her eyes dry. There was a mystery to occupy her. She reflected on the unwelcome interruption into her lovely retreat.

Purah paced in a square around her half of the laboratory, notes and blueprints and doodles covering every inch of it, ceiling included. Robbie lounged on an ergonomic chaise of his own invention, spinning a quill in his fingers like the blades of a motor. Zelda was practically hypnotized by the trick and tried it herself under the table. His side of the laboratory was pristine in its organization, though a bit oddly decorated. Maz Koshia, the young and handsome court poet, was just as much a guest as Zelda was to the lab, but his mechanical mastery was well known to his lifelong friends. He stood hunched over the Divine Beast schematics, drinking them in. Zelda too poured over the fascinating blueprints on the opposite side of the large conference table in the center of the room. Robbie continued with the young researchers’ ongoing conversation:

“If the slate acts as a sort of master key for the guidance stones, then there must be at least three more we haven’t found yet, right? One for each Divine Beast.”

Zelda doubted this was the case. “But that’s just it, Robbie,” she said emphatically, “It’s a master key. Not necessarily the only key, or the only way, to access the stones on the Beasts. We’ve found no hieroglyphic evidence to support the existence of more slates.”

Purah gave Zelda an approving snap,“Yup, my thoughts exactly. Which is why I’m certain the slate was meant for you, princess.”

“Purah…” Zelda squirmed in her seat bashfully. This was bigger than she!

“I’m serious! The slate is a tool for a supporting, commanding role– or at least that’s the vibe we’ve been getting from the data logs.”

Robbie scoffed. While he almost never truly disagreed with his partner, he loved being contentious with her.“The vibe? And next you’re going to tell me that the pilots are meant to access their Beasts’ terminals with the color of their auras .”

“Maybe so, smarty pants!” Purah yelled. 

“Friends!” Maz fondly admonished, “The designs of each Beast indicate a specialized method of operation that corroborates the different strengths of their pilots, so why wouldn’t the way to turn them on follow that same vein? It doesn’t have to be mystical, but it may be very personal.” 

Zelda rose from her chair in processing this new line of thought. “Just like the slate. The shortcuts drawn on the map, the haphazard notes, the images. It bore the imprint of its ancient owner. And learning more about that person was integral in learning more about the slate itself. The same must be true for the Divine Beasts!” 

“Well I definitely agree with Purah on one count,” Maz said softly in response. Zelda tilted her head at this change in the debate’s momentum. Purah interjected an offended “one?!” while Maz finished his thought:

“You were destined to inherit this slate, and I doubt the ancients were lucky as we are in their choice of commander. A princess so gifted and passionate about our technology– it is truly a blessing.”

Purah gave her princess and friend an affectionate squeeze from behind. “Mm, hear hear!” Robbie raised his quill like a flute of champagne, “Sheikah blood in Hylian veins!”

“Eugh, you’re so garish!” Purah admonished. 

Zelda laughed, stepping out of the hug but retaining Purah’s hands. She blushed, “Thank you, Maz–”

A rough knock at the door. Everyone startled out of the sweet moment. Robbie jumped and slid across the conference table in a beeline to the front door, scattering the schematics all about. Purah let out a fuming “HEY!” while Maz and Zelda laughed and picked up the casualties. 

“Impa!” Robbie greeted, “The reasonable sister.” Zelda’s laugh caught in her throat. She stood up and stepped cautiously to where her secretary and friend were exchanging bows. Purah beat her easily in a sprint to hug her ‘baby’ sister, nearly knocking Robbie over. Impa gave a composed returning embrace, but stepped away to bow to her princess, and address her in a short, urgent manner. 

“Your presence is requested at the castle sanctum immediately, Your Highness. A new development has come about and an important person must be received.”

“It can’t wait until tomorrow? We’ve had this retreat planned for months.”

“I’m sorry, princess,” and for a moment Impa looked it, but: “We have our orders, and our duties.” 

Zelda took the little ‘duty’ comment as a complete and utter slight, and was just about to snap at her, when she saw that beyond Impa outside, the footman and driver were already loading her luggage from the lab’s upstairs apartment onto the waiting carriage. It was all happening insanely fast. This weekend had been her first break from the constant praying, fasting, diagnoses and tests in months. She felt like herself here. She felt like more than a failure. But now, being told that it was cut short, she felt like she was grasping for purchase on a slippery stone in a roaring river. But Zelda set her jaw, and said her goodbyes to her friends, none of whom knew the right thing to say. Purah rushed over to a terminal on her side of the lab at the last second, retrieving the Sheikah Slate mounted there, and placing it in Zelda’s hands. The princess mustered a smile, hugged the piece of technology to her chest, and boarded the carriage. 

‘New development,’ ‘important person.’ No doubt another abbess or shaman or doctor with the next cure for Zelda’s powerlessness. No doubt, that was, apart from the baseless, foreboding knot in the princess’s stomach. A warning of something she didn’t expect. And noticing the farming equipment left abandoned in the fields they rolled past, Zelda decided to heed that warning. Her curiosity peaked inasmuch as her fear made her sink into the comfortable cushions an inch or so more. 

Soon, the deep rumble of a great crowd started up and grew in intensity the closer the carriage crawled to Castle Town proper. The impatient driver was forced to slow down as throngs of Hylians clogged the streets in front of the castle gates. Some people even stood on their tiptoes to peer into the passing carriage. Zelda gasped, and before Impa could pull down the window’s privacy screens, the princess’s name was already passed among the crowd, whose volume subsequently rose. The footman bellowed warnings to step back and allow the carriage to pass, and Zelda picked up tidbits of the townsfolk’s speculation:

“To think, how little time!”

“A fine lad; I gave him his first job!”

“Wilford, you lying swine, I gave him his first job.”

“—does she know?”

“We should flee, Hugo. To my sister in Lurelin.”

“Lurelin isn’t better off, woman!”

”At least Arn’s boy knows what he’s doing.”

What in Hylia’s name was going on? Zelda’s boggled eyes met Impa’s once again. 

“Your father should be the one to tell you,” Impa spoke with sympathy— and veiled fear—, “Hold fast, princess.” As if she had a choice. 

The carriage pulled into the royal coach house and Zelda was ushered to her chambers by a gaggle of her ladies in waiting. She was scrubbed with salts and wiped with perfumed cloths in lieu of a bath, her hair was brushed and her ceremonial robes pulled over her head. As Zelda’s maids made frenzied final touches, she numbly looked upon her reflection. What sort of beast was she thus armed to face? What made today a day of fear for her people? She would very soon receive her answer, as her head ladies maid Amaline pronounced her “good enough” and released her to go. Zelda took the halls and stairs to the sanctum at a dignified pace; she would not be caught up in this panic like a servant. 

She did not slow or greet her father’s valets as was her custom as she swept into the grand room, side-stepping a young squire knelt on the carpet. Her father King Rhoam stood with his hands crossed behind him toward the back of the sanctum’s first floor. He would usually be in his throne above, Zelda noted. He stepped to meet her and gave her a kiss on the cheek after accepting hers to him. His countenance was like stone, but as Zelda opened her mouth to ask her first of many questions, he began immediately, though—frustratingly—with irrelevant introductions. 

“Daughter, this is Link, son of Sir Arn,” the king gestured to the kneeling young man. 

“How do you do?” Zelda curtsied, half-hearted. 

“He has pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal and received the consecration of the Great Deku Tree. According to the prophecy, Calamity will fall upon Hyrule within the year. Unless you and he can stop it.” 

Zelda’s face went slack in horror. She stared at her father, as if waiting for an amendment, an escape clause, a punchline! But nothing came. The King was silent. So she looked at the young man on the floor for the first time, and found his head finally lifted, his sky blue eyes filled with curiosity and resolve. ‘At least Arn’s boy knows what he’s doing,’ she recalled. Her lip curled and resentment filled her heart. The end of the world was nigh, an eldritch evil awaited her beneath the surface of the kingdom. But Zelda’s enemy was in that very room.

Chapter Text

A line of sweaty young men, supposedly boys no longer. They had all come of age in the past season, freshly seventeen. Link’s birthday was only two days before. Groose said Link had been scrawny enough to squeeze into this ceremony, instead of having to wait for the next one. They were getting more frequent–they used to be a yearly occasion– but still. All the squires were eager, Link especially. An audience with the Great Deku Tree: the wisest, kindest, most ancient spirit that still dwelt among mortals. That alone was a sacred honor, but it was what came next that set their nerves ablaze. After the Great Deku Tree spoke with the young man, and observed his character, he would allow him a chance to wake the sword of legend from its millenia-passed sleep. And signs of an ancient evil’s rebirth stained the land–monsters, cultists, the discovery of the Beasts– an evil which required a hero. Every boy wanted to be a hero, some by brash and bold means, and others in humble service, dreaming of a glorious calling in silence. Link had his moments in either camp, but above all, he wished to preserve the kingdom he loved and honor his father. Hyrule was full of gray and complicated things; this was simple. A chance to do profound good.

The presiding knight emerged from the forest tunnel, the fog of Lost Woods so thick that the squires heard his clinking armor long before seeing him. The knight summoned one named Orsen, who wiped his hands on his trousers and looked to his peers for a moment before disappearing into the opening. The few boys who’d already been appraised were permitted to remain in the heart of Hyrule Forest. One by one, every quarter hour or so, the group dwindled. They feared being last and alone, but being the next one picked wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation either. Sir Gadwin panned over the stiff dozen boys left and chuckled. They weren’t at attention, but they acted more formal than when they were. No one mingled, not even that jester Groose. Gadwin shook his head, but sympathized, vividly remembering his time. As he turned and trekked back to follow Orsen, he called over his shoulder: “You’re next, Link.” 

Link started. No one else had received such warning. Groose barked a laugh, clearly on a similar train of thought, though not as wont to keep his thoughts to himself. “Don’t discount poor Orsen so fast, Sir!” he yelled after the long-gone knight. Another squire shushed him, and Groose took a threatening stomp in his direction, shrinking him a few inches. Link pulled the back of his chainmail vest–and the rest of Groose with it–in line beside him again. Groose shook off the touch. “I wasn’t going to do anything, mother ,” then in a more confidential, only slightly accusatory tone, “What was that heads-up about, huh?”

“I’ve no idea, Groose,” Link said honestly.

“Right,” Groose scoffed. Though he sounded caustic and disbelieving of his best friend’s ignorance, Link knew it was a front. Groose had long since been found out as a sensitive, protective soul to those closest to him, but he liked the freedom that his brute-and-bully veneer granted. Link kept Groose in check, Groose kept Link loose and sharp; it worked. A few minutes passed in brotherly silence, while Link imagined what sort of things he would ask the Tree if given the opportunity. Questions like: What kind of man was the Tree looking for? How eminent was this foretold disaster? And mostly: If he was not destined to wake the sword, which was likely, should he remain on the path to knighthood? There was more than one way to secure a kingdom, and help the people he loved. Growing up on the dirt roads connecting the races of Hyrule, Link saw many noble professions, many noble peoples. The smiths and grillardins of Goron City, the artisans and fisherman of the Domain, the expert horsemen of Hyrule Field.  Each precious, each exciting, and his curiosity and love of life despaired at missing out on something that may be his perfect fit, just for doing what was assumed of him instead. Then again, following in his father’s footsteps may very well be his perfect fit! He loved honing his body for combat, protecting the innocent, sparring with his friends. But he couldn’t help wondering…

“Y’wanna know what I think?” Groose whispered, pulling his friend from his thoughts.

“Just this once,” Link whispered back, but laughed aloud at the resulting punch to his side. Groose suppressed a genial smile, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and got a little serious.

“I think you’re favored ,” and the sarcastic treatment of the word did nothing to cover its sincerity. “What with the ministers on the balcony yesterday, and bumping up this ceremony? Now I’m realizing that you didn’t squeeze yourself in, twink– they did. They’ve got high hopes for you and that sword.”

Both a thrill and an unexpected heaviness befell Link’s heart at his friend’s speculation. Speculation that he couldn’t deny had crossed his mind as well. Great expectations separated them in this moment, separated Link from almost everyone he’d ever known. For all his gallant dreams before, he couldn’t help but shy away from the sad aspects of what being chosen– favored – would bring. Pressure, isolation, and grim responsibility. But then Link’s chin rose, his shoulders lowered; he was not afraid of responsibility. And what was he even doing, bemoaning a scenario that, as yet, had no grounds in reality? Link shook his head, and was about to say something reassuring and dismissive to Groose, when the mist-muffled chinking came from the forest tunnel once again. Link took a deep breath, and Groose finished his statement:

“If they’re right, we’re screwed.”

Link smirked and offered his hand to shake. Groose scoffed but took it, cracking it like a whip. Link didn’t flinch anymore at the familiar hazing, but seeing the thinly veiled look of pure faith in his best friend’s eyes was enough to make him more nervous than he had ever been in his life. Perhaps this matter was not as simple as he’d thought.

“Link! Come on, son,” Sir Gadwin called from the tunnel’s mouth. Link indeed came, jaw locked and gaze downcast. Into the tunnel the men entered, the sun piercing the thinning fog more with every step. The light revealed saturated, lush greenery, cheerful mushrooms, and a sort of architecture from living roots. Gigantic roots. Link’s wonder overtook his anxiety a bit, as he absorbed the new place with all his senses. The smell of rich soil and moss, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the taste of cleaner, floral air, the faint sound of children’s laughter and a maraca’s clacking. Link stopped in his tracks and whipped his head around. Children? In the Lost Woods? His eyes darted over where he thought the noise had come from; they landed on a hanging lantern made from a couple of large, dried pea-pods. Sure enough, an incoming breeze against the lantern made that percussive sound he’d heard, but what of the laughter?

Sir Gadwin had come up beside him, and Link laughed internally at how paranoid and hysterical he must look. But Gadwin landed a friendly, gauntleted hand on the younger man’s shoulder. 

“Spooky, isn’t it?” he related.

Link huffed in relief, “Yes, sir.”

“This land is thick with unknown spirits, son. But in these woods, their domain brushes against ours. They reveal themselves in little ways. Because of their father, the Great Tree, they feel safe.”

“Are they afraid of us?” Link asked.

“They don’t much like us, but ‘afraid’ isn’t quite right,” Gadwin looked around the woods at nothing in particular, searching for the right description. But he gave up quickly with a shrug, and steered Link back down the path. “Let’s head on, lad. You’ll get a better feel for the spirits once you actually meet one.”

Link and Sir Gadwin stepped into somewhat of a clearing, where the canopy of pink-leaved branches–which was visible even from the castle walls– now made a glorious domed ceiling. Link’s eyes followed the branches to their source, and peered at the trunk. It was so massive it seemed to fill the entire northern horizon, but besides its size, Link saw nothing otherworldly about it. Perhaps its face was on the other side. 

The squires who’d gone already and a few more knights sat on nearby logs and boulders, or milled about the lovely place. It seemed like a temple by nature’s design. Orsen waved at Link, a carefree smile spread wide on his face. In fact, all of the boys–who were evidently not chosen– seemed infinitely more cheerful than the group still waiting outside. Link understood; he thought they must’ve felt disappointed, sure, but mostly free. And now it was his turn. 

A minister of the king approached, and took Link from Gadwin’s charge.

“Grace of the goddess, Link,” Gadwin said, before joining his comrades.

“Thank you, sir.”

The minister ushered Link around a diamond-shaped stone pedestal set in the otherwise wild forest floor, giving him instructions he’d already been told several times before. Halfway past the stone platform, Link’s eyes drifted around unbidden and landed on– the sword! Link gasped. If it was a snake, it would have bit him. It was just so unassuming–beautiful yes, but smaller than he’d expected. Link craned his neck as he kept pace with the minister. Before he knew it, he was at the base of–not the trunk– but a root that twisted up and around to a ledge some fifteen feet off of the ground.   

“Ascend, squire. Grace of the goddess.” The minister gestured to the ledge and left for the rest of the company. The audience with The Great Tree was a private one. Link looked up the swirling slope. Realizing that this was the frontside after all, he was wary of the mystical voice and face popping up out of nowhere. He ascended slowly, and only when he stepped onto the wooden tribune and faced forward did his eyes focus. Nothing about the tree physically changed, but in the blink of his mind’s eye, it went from a blank slate to a fully-realized being. A being with a grandfatherly mouth, eyes hidden under a bushy brow, and an equally bushy mustache– all hewn in bark, as wide as the trunk itself. Link gaped in awe.

“Welcome Link, son of Arn,” as gentle and as strong as a voice could be. The Great Tree smiled warmly. Though the shift in his bark was miniscule, Link somehow knew, and returned the smile with a reverent bow.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Are you afraid, child?”

Link felt the jerk need to defend himself, but then realized how innocuous the question was. Not to mention, he must have a good reason for asking. Link attempted to explain the concoction of emotions in his stomach: “No, my lord. It’s just…I know great change and hardship will come to the man who is chosen. It is a solemn duty. But I am ready to be tried,” Link finished emphatically.

“Of course you are,” the Tree said wryly, “You want it over with.”

“No, my lord! It is a great honor! One that I have waited for all my life.”

“What if you had to keep waiting, young one?”

“…my lord?” Link puzzled.

The Great Deku Tree elucidated, “Thousands of children have stood where you now stand. Each of them walked away spurned by the sword’s light. Hylia did not answer their souls’ pinings plainly. Some sought out their destinies instead, some waited until they heard from an inner calling, and yet others waited forever. What will you do, young one?”

Link realized with a shiver that the question he’d saved for asking the Great Tree was being directed at him instead. Link wanted to know what he should do. But the Tree asked, ‘what will you do?’ How much did the ancient spirit know? Was he like the goddess, who searched men’s hearts, or was Link’s uncertainty simply plastered across his face? He sealed himself, thought of his father, his friends, his rivals. This was bigger than he. 

“I already know my inner calling, lord: to serve,” Link began. “If I am not he, and the hero is chosen in my lifetime, I will serve him and the princess with all of my might. If he is not, I will enjoy the continued security of the land, and serve its people all my days. I…I do not know yet what form that will take, I admit. But I know that I will do right by the people of Hyrule,” the words flowed from Link, as he thought and said them for the first time he found them true, and took comfort in them. But he had no idea where they came from, which embarrassed the young squire. “Or at least…I’ll try my best,” Link concluded flatly. Surely the Great Tree would think that Link was putting on or overselling it for appearances’ sake. Who talked like that? And yet, it was of the heart. He only hoped the spirit did possess supernatural insight.

The Great Tree’s great single brow bent in compassion. 

“Courageous One,” he said in his distant thunder’s voice, “You will be more than a servant; prepare your heart thither. But never abandon your spirit of kindness and humility. It will carry you where you are needed. It will carry you where you belong.”

Link breathed this in, and stood straighter even as he dipped his head.

“Descend.”

And so he did. Link stepped down from the ledge with a stomach on fire and steeled nerves. He looked back at the Great Tree. If he squinted, he could still make out his kind face, but it was blurrier at ground-level. Link wondered if it was the result of some spiritual veil. And he wondered, saddened, if he would ever have the honor of speaking with the wise spirit again. He treasured the conversation, turned the Tree’s words over in his mind to still his heart, as he approached the pedestal. His peers and masters, having seen Link, shuffled into a distant semi-circle around the boy and the sword. The whole forest seemed to hold its breath as Link assumed a stance over the blade. Crossguards in the shape of an eagle, the crest of the royal family. Blue and radiant and ancient and brand new all at once.  

Link wrapped both hands around the grip. It was soft, comfortable leather. Link gave a hearty tug, but only for a moment. No… he breathed. A hushed ‘ shink ’ of steel sliding across stone. An unconscious rearranging of hands. And the sword awakened, yielding gladly to its new master. Link rose it skyward, staring at the glinting blade. He was hazily aware of the gasps and cheers and general uproar of the people, but the real world in this moment seemed to consist only of him and the sword that seals the darkness. An entire conversation between them happened in the beat of a hummingbird’s wings:

Hello Master , spoke the sword into Link’s mind. The voice was feminine and musical…yet artificial. 

You can talk?!

And that same children’s laughter that he’d heard faintly in the tunnel surrounded him on all sides. But its source was no mystery now. Everywhere he looked– perched on the roots, hanging from the vines, floating with propellers of twigs and leaves– were tiny, woody creatures, with leafy masks and stubby limbs . A whole school of them, clamoring to see him, chattering at him, welcoming him. So much, too much, to absorb in a moment’s breadth. Link was overwhelmed.

What in Hylia’s–?

Designation: Koroks. Nymphs, tree spirits, children of the forest. Pay them no mind, Master. We have limited time, and you are ignorant of and underprepared for the task ahead.

Who are you? I’ve never heard anything about a voice in the sword.

It has been 12,308 years since I spoke with a Hylian last. Considering the insufficiency of your oral tradition, it was likely you had not heard of me. I am the servant of the goddess that resides in the sword. I am the chosen hero’s guide. You may call me Fi.

Link paused. It…is nice to meet you, Fi. I’m Link.

Fi did not much care for courtesy. We will speak later , she stated, a public appearance is required of you . And just like that, the full volume of a bombastic revelation returned to Link’s ears, causing him to jump in alarm. He still held Master Sword aloft, the vessel of a servant of the goddess. Link kept his gaze fixed on the sword, lowered it, and tuned into the shouts around him. 

“I knew it! I knew it!” cried his friends. A dozen claps on the shoulder nearly sent Link tumbling forward. 

“Didn’t I say so?” Gadwin boasted to a fellow knight. Rupees exchanged hands.

Groose barrelled through the entrance, followed by the rest of those who’d still been waiting. Another knight must’ve relayed the news and summoned them. Groose panned over the commotion and found his best friend. “HAHAHA,” he bellowed, “You little PUNK!” He charged Link with intent to hug, but stopped violently short upon seeing the sword. The rest of the company soon followed suit. The volume, and somehow even the temperature, lowered. Initial excitement left a sobering truth in its wake.

“Calamity,” the minister’s solemn voice came from behind Link, who turned to face him. In his hands he gingerly held an elaborate scabbard and harness, bearing the same ornaments and colors as the sword itself. Link put it together without further explanation; and so did Groose, who helped buckle the harness to Link’s back while the minister continued:

“Calamity is upon us. The sword wakes from its sleep to seal a great evil. We must take every measure the ancients have left for us, not least among which is the chosen hero. Link, son of Arn, you will deliver the killing blow to Hyrule’s eternal foe, or fail, and doom us all.”

Link slid the sword into its specially-crafted sheath, the resulting, soft ‘click’ like a period on the minister’s harrowing sentence. What was Link to say to that? Nothing. There was nothing he could say. All that mattered was what he did. And was there any doubt he would do it? Any doubt he would accept this burden? No.

Link met the gaze of the Great Deku Tree, whose face was no longer blurry. 

“Grace of the goddess, Courageous One,” he blessed him, “You are welcome to return, and seek counsel whenever you have need. This year will be arduous. Now go– join your princess.”

Link nodded, his face serene and blank. At least today was not his last meeting with the Great Deku Tree. To think that was truly the extent of his cares but three short minutes ago. Heedless of his company, he silently turned and processed back through the forest tunnel, koroks dancing in his wake. To the castle, to the princess.

Chapter Text

Mipha,

I cannot write long. We have only stopped to sup and change the horses. We hurry to the castle, for something has happened. No adjective or description could ever soften or emphasize the news I have, which is why I write to you. There is no pressure. You see through the pomp and circumstance. And oh how much of that smothers me from every direction now…

My friend, hold your brother tight. Treasure the time at your father’s table. I was the one. Calamity is coming, and I am its harbinger. I know it’s silly to be ashamed, but I can’t help it. I pulled the sword but three hours ago and now the settlements and the encampment and likely even beyond– they are all in a panic that spreads by the second. You will know how to tell your people, and they in turn will know how to behave, but we lowly Hylians tend to be melodramatic. Not that I can blame us, but the last thing I want is to join the clamor. I don’t want to be the cause of more fear. I have not said a word since it happened, not even to Groose. My jaw feels clamped shut. I cherish our correspondence now more than ever, princess. 

The next time you see me, I shall be a knight. You will have to try and contain yourself.

Yours truly,

Link

As he rode across the field, hooded like a highwayman, flanked on either side like some noble, he thought of the letter he’d sent from Woodland Stable. Princess Mipha of the Zora had been a saintly, sisterly figure in his childhood. In his short lifetime heretofore, she had not changed, while he’d done nothing but. Recently, he’d finally caught up with her in maturity, and he valued this short time in their friendship when they could be equals. As equal as a princess and commoner could be, that is. It was easy to forget, when he wrote or spent time with her. Nothing was beneath her care, everyone worthy of her kindness. He had to write to her, because she was one of the only things in his life that would stay constant. Her healing touch and listening ear. He’d forced a bit of his usual humor in the letter, to set her at ease, but he felt like a completely different person. He feared his true self was inadequate. Every eye in the kingdom would be or already was on him. Every acquaintance was sifting through memories of their interactions, for clues that he would fail or succeed. His identity was wrapped up in a far off battle, but he hadn’t done anything extraordinary yet . He had to ease their worries. He had to be strong. Suddenly, the voice of the sword cut into his thoughts; she’d been eavesdropping.

The Calamity’s future state does not render its outcome completely obscured, Master. Your performance as a squire thus far reveals a 7% probability of success were the Calamity to actualize tomorrow.

Link gritted his teeth. The whole journey, she’d used every excuse she could find in his mind and in the surrounding environment to share similar sentiments. ‘The speed of your current mail system indicates a 12% likelihood that the outer territories of Hyrule will be blindsided by the arrival of the Calamity,’ ‘At your current rate of soldier conscriptions, each Hylian will need to equipoise an average 12 bokoblins– or 8 moblins– on the battlefield,’ and so on and so forth. He prayed to the goddess that he would not go insane, that he would not succumb to despair, but then remembered that she had set this ‘servant’ in his life on purpose. It boggled the mind. He prayed he would soon understand why.

Maybe Fi sensed his annoyance, for she amended her statement. 

However…the Calamity is unlikely to manifest for another season or two. More data in and around the castle will increase the accuracy of my forecast. And you will undoubtedly improve. She cut off just short of encouraging him, but Link sensed the inkling of intention. A hint of a smile and a sway of the head. Maybe she wasn’t purely mechanical, after all. Maybe they could learn something like a rapport… eventually.

The knight ahead of Link signaled for them to slow. The minister who’d officiated the ceremony at the Great Tree came up beside him. Link knew none of them particularly well; most of his masters had been dispersed to quell the pockets of rising panic, Sir Gadwin and Sir Yvain had taken the long route through Town to aid in crowd control, and the squires remained at Hyrule Forest’s military encampment. Link missed them, but understood completely why their superiors would want the excitable young men to tarry for a bit. They’d been bursting at the seams. Link was distantly grateful for this serene, if cold, party. For the moment of calm before the inevitable, bureaucratic storm. They rose on a green bluff and stopped their mounts at the top as the full picture of the grand castle came into view. Even from the back, it was a masterpiece of incomprehensible scale. Excluding Castle Town at its front, the structure alone housed a whole city’s worth of people and activity. Spending most of his life in its shadow, he still wasn’t used to it. 

Before and below them, A steep drop of slate fell into the castle’s moat, where ferries waited to carry them across to the docks. Every turn on their journey home had been meticulous and hidden away. Attendants recovered their horses, and they repelled down the stone and smoothly made their way over the water. Link recognized everyone– the stableboys, the boatmen– but no one greeted him. They were all in a state of ‘wait and see.’ Some stared in admiration, others gravely went about their duty and avoided eye contact. And eventually, this string of silent people who he’d known all his life, relayed him through passages and corridors and to the very heart of Hyrule Castle. Thick double doors slowly swung into the Sanctum, where stood King Rhoam, not in front of his throne on the lofted floor, but on the first level of the stateroom. He was surrounded by advisors, who spoke in hushed, intense tones. The early afternoon light slanted gracefully through the high windows, deceptively peaceful. The minister at his right heralded Link’s arrival, which immediately stole every attention in the room. Their opulence and finery seemed a sharp contrast to his muddy tunic and simple hood. But the sword on his back rendered all usual class distinctions superficial. Still, Link knelt before his king as the minister went on. And on. Link’s brows screwed. The man had been the soul of brevity and sobriety in the Forest, but now revealed a different side altogether.

“Link, son of Sir Arn of the Order of the Dragon, Your Majesty. Upon observations earlier in the week, he prevailed as our first choice, and lo: our suspicions were confirmed when Hylia granted him to take hold of the sacred sword. I am certain he will find favor with His Liege. The character and skill displayed during his squireship speaks of glorious knighthood and a certain end to our great tormentor,” he nearly folded himself in half with a subsequent bow and a wide, closed-mouth smile, and afterward joined his fellow ministers. 

Link’s lip strained to sneer, but he kept his face and body blank. He sensed a slimy ambition in the man, from whom he’d received no praise or encouragement before. But who knew? Perhaps they were all expected to don a mask and wax poetic for the king. Link certainly could relate to not expressing oneself freely, but something about the minister’s performance felt different. 

“Thank you, Minister Ethelred,” intoned King Rhoam, perfectly in his element, with not a hint of stress or panic. He stepped up to the kneeling boy.

“Welcome, Link.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Link softly replied, still facing the marble floor. 

“Your father will be proud. He has served me well these long years. Especially in the aftermath of both your mother and the Queen’s–” He did not finish, and Link looked up in surprise. Sure enough, the king needed to compose himself after the beginnings of a choke, but only for a moment. “He showed devotion and solidarity to me in the most tragic time of his life. Yes,” the king reflected with genuine feeling, “And he has been summoned from his home, as well as the princess from the royal laboratory. Both shall be here momentarily to assist in your knighting.”

A stake of respect and gratitude fixed in Link’s heart. In stark contrast to his ministers, the king spoke in simple, vulnerable realities, addressing them head-on. And he honored his father, who would be here soon. Link felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He had always vaguely trusted in the king’s chivalry and competence, but seeing evidence of it firsthand was bolstering. He bowed gleaming eyes.

“My father has been fulfilled under Your Majesty’s patronage. It is my honor to join him in pledging my fealty,” he made himself speak, though what he said was true. 

Several of the surrounding advisors’ eyebrows rose in moderate respect for the boy’s composure and concision, given the sorry state of his clothes and pedigree. The king’s face remained stoic.

“Indeed…” he drawled, “Now, let us see this legendary blade for ourselves.” 

Link drew the sword from its sheath and presented it to the king, flat across both hands. He expected him to take it. He did not. The king and his entourage leaned in to peer at the blade, but did not take any steps toward it, nor did their hands rise to feel its sheen. Was it taboo? Was it disappointing? Link didn’t know.

He sheathed the blade once more, almost feeling a need to protect it from further scrutiny, when suddenly the doors opened and into the sanctum burst a billowing of linens against his shoulder, followed by a breath of heady perfume in his nose. The princess, Zelda. She would’ve stepped on him had he been any smaller, but he hardly minded. He peeked up once she passed, the ministers likewise stepping back and watching intently. Her face was dewy and colored with exercise, and her blonde hair swayed like a lazy summer field. She moved with calculated grace, as she extended her neck to reach her father’s cheek with a kiss. She was supremely lovely, and Link had never seen her so close. He felt undue heat on his face, so he bowed it once more. 

The king gave the princess a very short summary of the day’s events, which confused Link greatly. She…didn’t know yet? A tiny catching of breath followed by a heavy silence seemed to answer Link’s inner wondering. He could hear one of the ministers grumbling to another. He looked up to see what was happening and was shocked to meet the princess’s gaze immediately. Even more shocking was the nature of said gaze. 

Hatred. 

Link stared, tilted his head, searched deeper, trying to understand. Bright green eyes filled with resentment and repulsion. Link couldn’t account for it. Did she blame him? No, she was intelligent, shrewd— that was well known in the kingdom. She would not childishly peg him with all the evil that would come. Right? So why? He’d expected apathy at best from his new partner in destiny, but was unprepared for this. He endeavored to go on as normal, and broke eye contact. Perhaps she was simply in a bad mood. She certainly was not set up for success, Link granted. Subjected to the gawking of her father’s servants upon hearing traumatic news. Link pitied her, and decided this was the safest emotion he could hope for, at least for today. 

One of the ministers, whom Link recognized as the bishop over Castle Town’s cathedral, announced the order of service. Quite put out, and not trying very hard to hide it, he explained that though Link had not spent the last night in traditional vigil after a ceremonial cleansing, the king insisted on his immediate knighting, which was the first event on the docket. Then he would be sworn into the royal guard, usually a coveted position earned by years of faithful knighthood. The scribes would send word of Link’s appointment to the four races. Then, last of all, the princess would conduct the ancient hero’s blessing over Link and the sacred sword. The bishop asked if the boy’s father was a knight and present, to which a soft voice toward the back of the room responded. 

“He is.”

It took every tensed muscle in Link’s body to not turn around and sprint into the arms of his father, who must’ve stepped in silently through the now propped double doors. He was surrounded by hostile, cold strangers, and though he didn’t mean for them to stay as such, having someone there to whom he had nothing to prove, gave him the comfort and strength he needed to stick it out. It was going to be a long afternoon, he admitted drearily. But if he could face down a lynel (and eventually Calamity Ganon), he could damn well do this. He resolved against any further whinging, even if he and Fi were the only ones who heard it.

Knights, nobles, and the household of Hyrule Castle trickled into and eventually filled the sanctum. Zelda noticed a flash of black in the corner of her vision. She looked up, careful not to gawk and crane her neck. She found the source, though it took a few moments of deliberate concentration. Sheikah, in the rafters, with their dark, sleek gear and cat-like grace. They vetted every soul who approached the royal family, both publicly in the king’s cabinet, and secretly from the shadows. Impa must’ve been among these dark shapes, since Zelda could not pick her out elsewhere. She admired them, wished to be among them. Sheikah blood in Hylian veins , Robbie had said. Perhaps that was why she was so inert.

The service soon began. Members of the peerage, beginning with Sir Arn, then Gadwin, then Yvain, the boy’s lance and sword master, affirmed his worthiness in the scripted, usual manner. Then began the oaths, broken down question by question between Princess Zelda and the kneeling squire. She stared down her nose at his mud-streaked blond hair.

“Do you swear by the golden goddesses and all that you love to honor and defend the crown and kingdom of Hyrule?” Zelda asked flatly. What a sham.

“I will.”

“That you will honor, defend, and protect all ladies and those weaker than yourself?” She chewed the words. He could be a brute.

“I will.”

“That you will be courteous and honor your fellow peers, of the Orders of Dragon, Owl, and Boar?” And the ceremony would still drone on as if he were a saint. 

“I will.”

“That you will conduct yourself as befits a knight, drawing your sword only for just cause?” Totally incidental, unearned, shameful . 

“I will,” Link answered with the same constance of spirit. Zelda let her observations of him glance off her mind like water off a waterfowl’s back. It did not matter how genuine he seemed, the pleasing accounts of him, the distinction of the goddess. His revelation as the hero of prophecy meant her doom. It meant an end to the days of persuading her father that she could still be a competent ruler as she was. It rendered her from lacking in one sphere but compensating in excellence elsewhere, to utterly inadequate. However stifling and stagnant she thought her life before, now she would see how lucky she had been. She could see it already in her father’s glances and posture towards her. He would not let up until he saw results. Nor should he, she supposed. Tears pushed at the back of her eyes, which were still directed at the young man in front of her.

The king then asked that Duskrend, their sword of state, be brought forth. Sir Yvain placed it carefully in Zelda’s hands. If possible, the sight and weight of the beautiful sword threatened to sour the princess’ mood further. It had belonged to a Zelda of millenia past, a warrior queen who defended her people with smiting arrows of pure light and this very blade. But now it was a mere trinket of ceremony in unskilled, unempowered hands. She took a shuddering breath before the last, big block of her speech.

“Then having sworn these solemn oaths, we, Princess Zelda and King Rhoam Bosphoramus of Hyrule, do dub you with Duskrend, and by the three golden goddesses, once for Wisdom,” she tapped Link’s bowed head with the flat of the sword, “Twice for Power,” his left shoulder, “Thrice for Courage,” his right, “And let this be the last blow you receive unanswered.”

Usually the part of the ceremony that discomfited and embarrassed her the most, today Zelda took a sickening satisfaction in the– sanctioned – backhanded slap to his cheek. He did not flinch or recoil, of course–she was not physically strong. And yet, it was a release of pressure in her heart, something of the truth of what she felt. But she did not want to linger on that, did not want to enjoy hurting anyone.

“Arise, Sir Link,” Zelda concluded her speaking role in the knighting, but remained in her spot, as Link rose, close enough that she could hear his knees pop. He was only a few inches taller than she, a bit small for his age, but handsome and well-formed, she noted clinically, with dusky skin, strong shoulders, and a noble jawline. What was harder to take impartially was his expression– one of barely concealed pity, maybe even a bit of an arch smile. Zelda’s lips scrunched and her cheeks burned. He knew nothing! How dare he look upon her with such familiarity. She fumed as her father presented him the symbolic gifts of belt, mail, and chain. She wrapped the belt around his waist, holding her breath as she did, yanked its knot tighter than necessary, and stood back while Amaline and the rest of her ladies maids helped him into his new armor. They afforded him all the demure and flattering smiles that she could not.

Fully girded, Link bent his neck for Zelda to lower the chain around his head, the king narrating all the while. Link straightened as she impatiently flipped the signet the right direction, watching her fingers’ movements keenly. She felt strangely fidgety in his proximity, while he held himself as a grand and unbothered statue. King Rhoam continued:

“Accept from our hands this chain, which has passed from knight to knight, for each knight is a link in the honor of our kingdom. Never forget the burden of this chain. Take it, and swear.”

Link stood high-chested and swore undying fealty to his liege lord and lady– in a manner dry and understated, Zelda criticized inwardly.

“Go now, and greet your peers!” the king shouted, and called a cheer for Sir Link, who turned almost bashfully. The resulting noise from the crowd was lackluster, for although Link was well-known and -liked among the household and peerage, the circumstance of the ceremony seemed to swirl through the room, wearying and darkening the atmosphere. With a set jaw and a steely gaze, Link unsheathed the Master Sword and brandished it skyward for every eye in the room to see, just in time for the final ‘hooray,’ which was undoubtedly more energetic. The people beheld the shining sword and hope entered the eyes of the fearful. Zelda was untouched by the display, but only watched her father give it a single, approving nod.  

The sunbeams crawled across the room with the hours of the day, as the program slogged on. Scrolls were sent out by the presiding scribes to all the races of Hyrule, which–of course– had to be read aloud at length. The captain of the royal guard inducted Link, his uniform to be custom-made as soon as possible, but the sash presented and outfitted over his standard armor in the meantime. The bishop returned to the front and led the assembly in the appropriate rites and hymns, blessed Link and the royal family, and anointed the sword and her boy for the last order of service.

Zelda was actually thankful to be called upon once more, for her feet were stiff and achy after hours of standing still. The sky was turning rosy and golden, and her eyes felt itchy and heavy. She approached the middle of the sanctum where Link had been directed to kneel once more, and began the hero’s blessing. It was this ceremony that warranted the dreaded robes that she wore. They made her a representative of the goddess Hylia herself. She spoke the sacred words, extending her hand to Link’s head, as if suffusing him with something. Something that she didn’t have. It went smoothly, by far the simplest piece of the program, until the latter half:

“ Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight, the sacred blade is forever bound to the side of–”

“‘Soul’, Your Highness,” Minister Ethelred corrected her with a lofty incline of his head. Zelda choked and sucked in a breath. He was right, she realized in horror. It had been years since she’d first memorized the blessing. She forced herself to continue, her voice unsteady. 

“Pardon me: the ‘soul’ of the hero. We pray for your protection…”

Keeping his face angled down, Link couldn’t help a covert glare at the offending minister. Was he truly permitted to interrupt and publicly degrade the princess over such a tiny error? Evidently so, as the rest of the ministers and even the king directed disapproving murmurs and scowls not to Ethelred, but to the princess! The inner workings of the royal entourage mystified Link, and a bit of the respect the king had garnered earlier went on hold in his estimation. Zelda may resent him, but she had done her duty to the utmost that day– quite soundly , he thought wryly, still feeling an imprint of her hand of his cheek. She didn’t deserve to be their scapegoat.

While Zelda brought the blessing to its conclusion, Link brooded, wishing he could’ve done something to defend her. “Again, we pray that the two of you will be stronger together as one,” Zelda finished feebly. Her ladies maid then passed her the Champion's Tunic, the ancient hero’s garb that the princess would tailor to Link’s measurements in the coming days. With this, the ceremonies were finally complete. King Rhoam summoned tables piled with hors d’œurves and invited all present to stay for an impromptu reception. The sanctum exploded with pent-up commentary, mingling, and barely-audible music. The nobles began to hound on Link in the center but Sir Arn was too fast. 

He picked up his boy from his knees and nearly crushed him in an embrace. Link grasped his father’s wide shoulders like a drowning man, headless of the uncomfortable armor separating them. The day had drained him– body, mind, and soul. His father’s voice was the only one Link wanted to hear, but a hundred other voices choked it out. Yet the rumbling from Arn’s chest of praising words unheard was a comfort in itself. Link was unwilling to let go just yet, and didn’t care if he appeared childish for a moment. He’d make it up. He peeked his eyes open and caught a glimpse of the princess slipping out of the room over his father’s shoulder. So sad, so bitter, before the battle had even begun. This whole charade that he suffered through a single afternoon had been her lot all along. Hylia help her, he prayed, and help me.

Arn pulled away and shook Link gently by the shoulders. “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned about his unresponsiveness. Equal measures of pride and sorrow shone and seeped out of his every pore. He was gray before his time, and knew the cost of service. There wasn’t a boy in all of Hyrule more worthy of the mantle, but he selfishly anguished the peace his son would be denied. Tears threatened, but Arn stamped them down, as he held his boy’s head, covered in hair like his mother’s– that rare baby blond that stubbornly stuck around to adulthood. 

“Yes, just tired,” Link smiled blearily. And that was all they were allotted before the swarm of people closed in. Arn protected him as much as he was able, keeping every greeting at a polite minimum, creeping toward an obscure side exit. Congratulations, interrogations, introductions, re introductions because ‘I’m sure we’ve met before!’, unbidden advice, solicitations, offers of marriage– at a certain point Arn committed to literally pushing through the gaggle of Hylians and out of the sanctum, his son in tow. Link gratefully followed, and saw that Gadwin had joined them, the three knights congregating in a secluded nook hewn into the stone. They bid a far too brief goodnight, and parted ways. Arn to his lonely townhouse, and Link– escorted by Gadwin– to his new bed, already made up for him in the barracks used by younger, unmarried knights. Down the twisting stairs they went, into the belly of the castle, Link feeling blank but for a fathomless exhaustion. Gadwin stopped in front of the arched entrance to the large hall, and waited for Link to wrap up a yawn the size of his face before slapping him on the shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

“Have a good rest, Sir Link,” a crinkly-eyed smile, “The king has requested your presence in his conference room at the end of the third watch.”

Not even sunrise. This was probably why he’d been allowed to leave the party so early.

“That bed there is yours,” Sir Gadwin pointed to the only tidy bed in the hall, with Link’s few belongings already stacked around it, and just as soon stepped out.

Frustratingly, as soon as Link crashed onto his new accommodations, armor discarded but sword and sheath remaining, his mind cleared and his eyelids seemed pried open. He turned on his side and looked around the space. It was too quiet. Six or seven knights milled about the room in perfect routine, heading to or wrapping up shifts. No one talked, and no one paid him any mind– which was refreshing, yes– but he couldn’t help missing his squires barracks, where even when the massive dorm housed just three or four of them, the room would be filled with snickering and mischief, deep into the wee hours of morning. There was always some foolhardy plan, or an embarrassing retelling of a training accident. Was it efficient? Was it proper? No, but it was fun ! The reminiscing smile fell off Link’s lips, and an actual tear crept down the bridge of his nose and dripped on his brand new linens. He missed his friends, he missed Groose. And he would still see them all the time! But it wasn’t the same, and he could never go back. 

Amaline and the rest of her ladies maids were still at the reception, so Zelda undressed herself, pulling her night clothes on and trying to stifle her sobs. She sat at her desk, lit the large candelabra, and worked on a horticulture report she’d left unfinished before the retreat. When that didn’t help, she tried sketching the Divine Beasts from her memories of the schematics. And when this also failed to stifle her tears, she journalled. This worked, because it made her angry instead. She wrote about her mother, and the monster she’d created when she died. She wrote about the goddess, and all the possible reasons why she has ignored her thus far. ‘I am weak, I am selfish, I am unkind, I am wicked, I am blind to the realm of spirits. Or she is cruel. She is distant. She is limited.’ She wrote about her love of science and knowledge, and fate’s utter disdain for that love! She wrote about the boy who was everything he needed to be. The boy who was told what to do, and did it. The boy whose father protected him from the maddening crowd. And she nearly tore the page apart, so great was the princess’s envy. Her disgrace could not be allowed to stand. Someone else had to taste from her cup. And who better than him ?

Chapter Text

My Dear Urbosa,

Doubtless you have heard by now that Sir Spotless has claimed the Master Sword. I wish that I could simply ask after your well-being, and pepper you with questions about Vah Naboris, but alas. My world of doom and prophecy has become everyone else’s world too. Which should make me feel less alone, yes? It doesn’t! Father has made sure of that. Please, as soon as you are able, come to me! I can’t bear this place for much longer.

Grace of the goddess. Reading that over again is mortifying. How much forbearance you must have to be my friend, Urbosa. How much honor for my mother. Do not come to the castle; there is enough to occupy you without my neediness. In all honesty, I am well (fair?) in body and mind. I know I am wretched and spoiled, but I care deeply for you and am sorry Castle Town must be the bearer of such news. Know that I pray for your safety and the preservation of the noble Gerudo daily. That sounds benevolent, but in truth, I manage to pray for most people and things these days. “These days”! It has been less than a week and I refer to it as an epoch. Only, it does feel like an epoch. The days drag on as if in a stupor. Before dawn, I rise for lauds at the cathedral, where I am graded on my performance by the bishop. Every aspect of my spiritual life is being screened for possible snags. For I still feel nothing. If mother were here, would it be easier, would she coach me to success, or would I just disappoint her too? I suppose it’s useless wondering, but when I do you are the only one whom I can tell.

After three hours of prayer and correction, I breakfast with Father and Impa, receiving my agenda for the day. At best, a morning of instruction at the orphan asylum and an afternoon of excavating rhyme or reason out of a mountain of paperwork. At worst, hosting duties. Sometimes I think if I demurred any harder than I already do upon these visits, then I would cease to exist entirely. How many different ways must I discover of saying “I apologize for not being enough”? Entertaining the Hylian nobles is the only thing that makes me look forward to vespers, to think of it not as a task, but as a balm. Perhaps that is what prayer should always feel like to the truly devout. Forgive me, Hylia. But Lady Clovenly is the only one who can invoke such fervor from me!

At dusk I am back in the echoing walls of the cathedral, and my father must pick up the pieces of whatever diplomatic mess I left behind. The bishop once again listens in and gives frequent counsel. Last night he berated me for having not yet prayed for my partner, the boy Link. Which– no– I had not mentioned him by name, but I had prayed for him as a part of many general supplications of victory and safety for Hylian knights. It was an unfair criticism. But once again, I demurred. I verbally kissed the feet of Sir Link with my following prayer. It will not have fooled Hylia, but the bishop is none the wiser. He does not know that I hate the boy. Have I mentioned that yet? Well Urbosa, I imagine you will disapprove, but I cannot help it. I hate him! 

He is cold and perfect and superior. Though he has given no outward indication– he takes too much pride in his behavior for that– I know he thinks of me as little more than an invalid, a child, a burden. And to see how matey he is with his own King is sickening! I overheard my father talking with him from outside his quarters (I am not proud of it). He sought the boy’s counsel, as if he were some experienced minister, and not a commoner who came of age last week! I would call him a social climber, but I know such things are beneath ‘His Eminence.’ Enough! He’s been given enough attention without taking up half of my beloved correspondence with you. I will close the matter with this: my only consolation in his presence is imagining how we together would laugh in the face of his seriousness.

Send me good news and romantic anecdotes of Gerudo Town, descriptions of spicy air and crystalline oases. And everything you can on Vah Naboris . As much as has been taken from me, I still administer research on the Beasts, though my faithful team at the research lab does all the real work. Be merry, dear friend. I eagerly await your response.

Love,

Zelda

After lauds that morning, Impa had informed Zelda via telegram that breakfast with the King was cancelled, and a platter would be sent up to her quarters. In raptures for her first moment to herself in days, Zelda practically ran back to her room. Writing to Urbosa was on the top of her list of things to do once she found the time. She threw open the shutters to the sunny breeze, gathered her stationary, and would have jumped on her bed like a child if doing so wouldn’t catapult the waiting breakfast platter skyward. So she calmly scooted to the middle, prepared her inkwell and her plate, and bundled up in her duvet, as close to content as she had come since the retreat. In between bites of fruity pastries and savory crepes, she scribbled away on parchment against a slate, finishing up the letter jointly with her breakfast. Alone and with no one to frown upon her, she was uncouth , clapping the crumbs from her hands and licking her lips. She noted with a snort the cocoa drops in the margins. No matter, it was still readable. She rang for Amaline, who whisked the letter away to the royal postmaster. Then she took a deep breath and collapsed onto her bed, rattling the platter beside her. She racked her brain for the next thing on her list. She had to seize this rare moment of freedom! But nothing came. Her brain felt fuzzy, the cogs and gears slow. She was weary, and all she could think to do was stare at the chandelier and long for the company of the friend she’d just written. It had felt good to get her frustrations out, as it had with her journal entry a few evenings prior, but after the high came emptiness– a lack of direction. So your life is unfair. So you can’t seem to meet anyone’s expectations of you. So you want him out of your life. Well princess, what are you going to do about it? For the life of her, she didn’t know. Another half hour passed in this lazy grasping of thoughts, but at least she was able to relax in some measure before Amaline entered the room again and announced Impa’s arrival.

Zelda gave a perfunctory attempt at presentability– it was only Impa, after all– as her secretary walked in and greeted her. As a default, she was on her guard, resistant with her attitude, since rebelling outright was not an option. Impa had been the willing scapegoat of such sardonic behavior.

“Good morning, princess. I hope your breakfast was restful,” Impa said softly. 

Zelda’s shoulders softened slightly. She could think of nothing clever or biting now. “Yes thank you, it was,” she answered sincerely, as she stacked her dirty dishes and passed the tray to Amaline from behind the Sheikah. Impa gave them an ample berth and a sympathetic smile. Zelda almost assumed she was in a good mood, until a closer look revealed glassy eyes and oily cheeks, as if she’d been shaken from sleep and thoroughly occupied ever since.

“I’m glad,” she paused and waited for the ladies maid to quit the chamber completely, “Your father has requested a formal meeting with both you and Sir Link. As part of this request,  he wishes that you be the one to summon and escort him, in order to present a united front. It is important for the people to begin seeing you in his spaces, and vice versa.”

The princess’ eyes darkened and bile threatened to rise in her throat. The last place she wanted to be was any space of his. No wonder Impa was being nicer than usual. 

“That is servants’ work,” Zelda ground out.

“Yes, Your Highness, I am sorry,” Impa granted, “I asked if I may go in your place, but the King refused. In addition to his political reasons, I am needed elsewhere,” her faraway look drifted ever farther.

It almost seemed unfair to rail and whine at such a tired, passive version of Impa. So as much as Zelda dreaded this little quest , she conceded with as much tolerance as she could muster.

“And where shall I find him?” she asked with crossed arms.

Impa’s perfect fighter's posture seemed to sag, and her next breath took a second longer than normal. “I tried to ascertain as such, my lady. But his friends and father could not give me a clear answer. I would start at his barracks, off of the second gatehouse.”

Zelda rolled her eyes, not at Impa per say, more so at the machinations of fate. Her inner monologue was simply: ‘ Of course .’ Impa quickly excused herself, using the skylight trapdoor exit with graceful, acrobatic leaps off Zelda’s footboard and bookshelf. As if in a puff of smoke, her secretary was gone. She only let Zelda and the other Hylian nobles see that side of her when trouble was afoot. So Zelda tried to put her own plight into perspective. It was no great tribulation; it was just massively annoying. But as of today, Zelda only had a surface-level knowledge of the young swordsman, and intelligence won wars. If finding Link proved harder than it should, it would be a special opportunity to learn about him. Weaknesses, vices, dirt . Probably accompanied by some literal dirt. She prepared her spirit and her clothes for a wild cucco-chase among the rabble of Hyrule Castle.

Along cloisters of marble and under the iron portcullises Zelda walked. It seemed almost every place she stopped she’d ‘just missed him.’ First the knights barracks as Impa had recommended, then following clues of the knights and servants milling about: the training grounds, stables, the post office, then the smithy and boiler room, in the depths of the castle. From what she gathered, Link was as hardworking as he was attentive. Though perhaps a bit scatterbrained, one of his friends had admitted with a shake of his head. This was the only even slightly negative thing she’d been able to weed out of those she’d accosted. There must be more, she insisted to herself as she marched through the tunnels to her next stop. The postmaster had mentioned that Link often worked at the anvils of the royal smith for exercise after dropping off his mail. With no one around, Zelda allowed her pasted-on smile to fall and a sneer to take its place. What overkill .

She felt a puff of hot air on her face as if from the breath of a massive subterranean beast and thanked the goddess that she neared the boiler room and her trek was almost finished. The halls here could not be considered halls by any standard but a purely functional one. No sunlight had ever touched them, their only light being the few torches on sconces that had not been snuffed out by the dank condensation. Their walls were not chiseled, but carved by the now-extinct mogmas who’d hewn the castle's foundation from an ancient quarry. Zelda had never been down here before, but knew where to go regardless. She had memorized the castle’s schematics as a little girl. Her father had been so proud of her, showing off the skill to every attendant with a moment to spare. Her mother had still been alive; that was the difference. Anything delighted him then, nothing delighted him now.

A large domed cavern opened up in front of her, and she took a moment out of her dour mood to admire the industry of it all, after noting that Link was once again– not there. The diagrams on the maps were nothing to the living reality. From the large spherical furnace in the center branched out tubes and troughs and workstations in every direction, like the spokes of a wheel. Steam and magma were carried to reservoirs and tanks which supplied hot water to all Castle Town, and powered its many mills and machines. A great whooshing bellows above the furnace pumped the smoke out and fresh air in. Considering the room was filled with fire in all its states, the temperature was relatively bearable; the ventilation had not been a neglected part of the design. And because of this, all among the snake pit of tubes, swarthy smiths of all ages hammered away, calling and laughing to one another over the din. Zelda almost forgot that she was in the room, and not just a fascinated outside observer, when suddenly, the wall beside her turned, and she jumped out of her skin.

It wasn’t a wall of course. It was a Goron! Twice her height and big as a wardrobe, with a wide smile and an ashy quaff of hair atop his head. In his hands he held a red-hot, premature sword, carrying it between a through and his station, evidently. Zelda had heard of a Goron joining the household as the royal smith’s young apprentice. She exhaled relief and delight– she’d never seen a Goron in person, but immediately felt the gentleness and cheer that they were known for across the land.

“Hello! You must be…Fungo, yes?” Zelda recalled.

“That I am. Sorry for the fright, little lady!” Fungo waved and tucked his neck humbly. Zelda was struck with the realization that he didn’t recognize her, and was not in a hurry to change that.

“Not a problem,” she tried matching his bright smile, “I don’t want to keep you from your work, Mr Fungo. But may I follow you and ask you a question?” She stepped aside and allowed him to return to shaping his sword, which looked more like a child’s magic wand in his hands. Fungo made some complimentary comment on her elegant turn of phrase and began asking how her day had been so far, as if they were old friends. Usually such niceties would be a bane to the princess, but Zelda could feel the genuineness emanating from the young Goron, and it was novel conversing with someone who did not know her position– it felt almost like espionage, she thought with a thrill. Only, the Hylian smiths all recognized her. One by one, they halted in their work and eavesdropped on the pleasant back-and-forth with wide eyes, none of them daring to interrupt. This amused her as well.

“Link-goro doesn’t come here to work out, little sister! He just comes when he can to help with the knight’s sword orders. He gets along great with the guys, and he’s getting really good!” Fungo was explaining. Zelda nodded with interest at the differing account. So…he was duplicitous , she grasped at straws.

“I guess it is good exercise. I wouldn’t know,” Fungo shrugged good-naturedly, “But today he just stopped by to talk. First time since you-know-what.”

“And did he mention where he was going when he left?”

“Think he said he was trying to find his squire buddies, so probably his old dorm. How’s that?” Fungo held up his nearly shaped sword, with its insanely detailed hilt. Zelda took it carefully with the giant gloves he’d let her borrow, watched the orange light dance across the swirls and waves.

“Beautiful,” she praised sincerely. He was an artist. And she had her next stop on the docket. “Thank you for all the information, Fungo, you’ve been very helpful,” she removed the gloves and prepared to leave.

“‘Course! Hey, uh–” his big brows lowered for the first time since their meeting, “Are you just checking up on him or something? Making sure he’s okay?”

Zelda felt her slight deception lose all of its fun at the real kindness and concern in the Goron’s voice. Her vague answer of “Something like that” was not what you’d call convincing, but Fungo wasn’t one to be suspicious. 

“Oh good, ‘cause he didn’t seem like himself today. He’s stronger than any Hylian I’ve ever met, but I think he’s taking this Master Sword thing pretty hard,” Fungo admitted softly, stooping down a bit. “Thanks for looking after him in that fancy, royal overworld, little sister,” he chuckled.

Zelda swallowed, couldn’t bring herself to say ‘your welcome’ or the like, and simply bid the Goron farwell. She was touched by the sensitivity Link’s friend had toward him, and would’ve been duly sympathetic, if the recipient had been literally anyone else. And really, how hard could he be taking it, if his performance didn’t dip in quality whatsoever? He was the last person in the kingdom who needed pity, she huffed internally. She paused to get her bearings and headed down the tunnel that let out nearest to the squires barracks. As she made her way, Fungo’s booming voice followed her, chastising his fellow smiths:

“It’s rude to stare, goros! Get back to work!”

A bit of Zelda’s mischief returned, though now dulled, and she climbed back up to the sunlight. Brushing off some pervasive soot, she soon returned to an area of the castle proper she normally frequented, where the servants were reverent and straight-faced. Delivery carriages rose dust around her, children of the household played tag in grassy patches. They stopped to stare as she passed, looking almost afraid. Zelda tried at some weak smiles, but otherwise didn’t bother. In a few minutes she approached the squire’s barracks, hearing it before seeing inside its front doors. It was a stout, long building, stand-alone but for its back against one of the castle’s inner walls. It had a foyer with couches and tables that surrounded the common sleeping room further inside. She entered the foyer, cringing at the deep smell of teenage boy floating off of the cushions and rugs, but stilled her steps the closer she got to the gaggle of voices in the inner room. She lingered beside one of the foyer’s smaller doors, leaning her ear toward the opening. This is what she heard:

Chapter Text

Pipit occupied himself with his beloved lint rake, and the squires’ hanging, half-dirty uniforms at the head of each bed. He’d said he would stop on his own, that keeping one’s gear tidy falls to the individual, but his friends knew better than to believe him. Pipit took a special pride in doing things for them, or at least the little things. He kept his hands busy, and contented himself with interjecting only when his wisdom was needed. The thespians, Halcyon and Groose, lounged on Pipit’s made up bed and reenacted a hazing ritual they’d pulled on the new squires the day before, one that Orsen would’ve joined them in “...If he hadn’t been spooning with Thaddea all day–”

“HEY!” was Orsen’s bawk. He played up the offense, but secretly swelled with pride, especially when Link interjected.

“Hold on! You and Thaddea? When did that happen?”

“No, it’s okay– you can say ‘ how did that happen?’” Halcyon quipped, which earned him a hurled pillow to the face from above. Pipit groaned at the resulting cloud of feathers.

Link sat on his old bed across from Groose and Halcyon, repelling his arms from the bottom of the top bunk’s railing, a mold that his body filled like molten stuff. The sword sat in its scabbard, hung on the footboard. Still within arm’s reach, but off of his body for the first time in a while.  His bed had remained vacant, though squire inscriptions had increased. Link didn’t like that; it gave the impression of a shrine, or memorial. But being with his best friends didn’t spare much time for gloomy thinking. He’d saved the best for last on his day-off tour around the castle, and he fondly savored every detail, letting them do most of the talking. But this bombshell couldn’t stand; last he’d heard, Thaddea, the pretty assistant to the housekeeper, didn’t know her admirer breathed her same air.

Orsen lay splayed on the bunk above him, hanging his head and elbows over the edge. But he jumped down and sat in the alley between the friends so Link wouldn’t have to crane his neck.

“Well, it’s actually sort of your fault,” he began slowly, with an unsure smile.

Link scrunched his brow, taken aback, but gestured for Orsen to continue.

“The night we got back, after your knighting, we were both feeling a little panicky– and claustrophobic, I guess. We both had the same idea, both went to the same place to escape for a while–which I will not divulge!”

“Didn’t ask!” Groose sang. Halcyon faked a gag of agreement, and picked out the last cucco down from his hair.

“ Anyway , we startled each other at first, but then we talked– about deeper stuff than we ever would have if you hadn’t–y’know…” he trailed off, speaking plainly but feeling odd about it. “And we took comfort in each other,” he finished with a sweet, reminiscing shrug. Link grinned, proud of his friend’s spontaneous bravery, and happy that he’d found someone. As spineless as he could sometimes be, Orsen was the gentleman among them; he deserved it. 

In sharp contrast, Groose snarked under his breath, “‘Taking comfort’…haven’t heard it called that before.”

“HA!” Halcyon crowed; Orsen huffed, chin jutted and eyes closed, so that he didn’t see Groose round on him. The minotaur of a boy grabbed Orsen’s shoulders from behind, hauled him up, and brandished him at Link.

“ Soooo …what do you say to Sir Link and his new maiden-magnet??” He drew out his words, as if talking to a toddler at the confectionery.

“Uhh, thank you?” assented poor Orsen, even as he squirmed for his freedom.

“Guys, you shouldn’t kid about the sword,” Pipit scolded, upset enough to wrap up his lint raking. But in the chaos that ensued, no one save Halcyon heard him. Link kicked a foot out from under Groose, who stumbled enough for Orsen to escape, putting Groose, twice his size, in a headlock with a desperate war cry. Groose laughed a deep, fake laugh, as if to show that even his vocal cords were hard as rock, and flexed his arms up to grab the smaller boy’s cowl and pick him off like a clingy kitten. But Link jumped from the bed and piled on, laughing with abandon, the extra weight causing Groose to actually teeter, grunting. 

Halcyon leaned back on linked fingers and a propped leg, unbothered as can be. “Look, Pipit, we all gotta handle it in our own way,” he explained, “Groose jests, Orsen drowns his sorrows in women, you boss everyone around, and Link avoids us for a week straight!”

“Aww, is that your way of saying you missed me?” Link crooned right before Groose gave a final “RAHH” and heaved the boys over his head, crashing them into the wooden floor, bellies up. All the air fled their lungs, so they laughed in silence, their abdomens spasming. For once, Groose didn’t join in. He stepped on Link’s chest, interrupting another recovering breath.

“Don’t change the subject. He’s an idiot, but he’s right– where have you been?” He leaned more weight on Link as he accused, causing Link to grimace and grab his best friend’s ankle. With one massive hand, Groose held Orsen’s head at arm’s length, preventing him from helping his savior. Pipit answered in Link’s stead.

“Off doing more important things than plagiarizing the chore ledger with you two, that’s where!” He shoved Groose aside, and handed Link upright once more, who gave Pipit a crooked smile of thanks and fixed his nest of hair. 

Groose grumbled, “How’d you find out about that?” to which Pipit fumed:

“BECAUSE I READ THE CHORE LEDGER.”

All the boys laughed, except for Pipit, of course. He sighed like a weary– yet fond– mother.

“The point is, he’s been meeting with the king , planning for a literal war . He’s too busy for us.”

“You mean he’s too good for us…” Halcyon muttered.

“Don’t say that, Halcyon…” said Orsen, affronted.

“He’s kidding,” Link assured the smaller squire. He knew his friends, knew when what they said lined up with what they meant. So when Groose grabbed his shoulders, shook them, and said–

“But we’re here for you. That hasn’t changed. You know that.”

–Link knew it was felt and true. And by the rare serious silence that fell over the merry group, he knew the others felt the same. His brothers, whom he’d hoped to live and die alongside… He smiled at each of them sadly, with nostalgia and regret.

Pipit was the first to notice, then Orsen. They gasped and dropped to one knee. Halcyon twisted around in his relaxed posture to see where their attention was caught, and just as soon scrambled to the floor to join them. Groose released his hold on Link and followed suit.

Link expected to see the king when he turned around, which would’ve been shocking enough in the middle of a squire barracks, but it was the princess, the alarming proximity of whom froze Link in place, preventing him from bowing as well. His face turned stony–and a little red–, his shoulders rounded. She’d snuck up on them like a hazy cloud over the sun. Some soldiers they were. How long had she been there, and how much had she heard? Her annoyed expression said ‘a while’ and ‘enough’. Another question distracted him from saying or doing what he should have– how had she known where to find him, on his day off? He hadn’t reported in anywhere.

“My father requests our presence in his chamber at once,” she said. Link stared, waiting for more which didn’t come.

“Excuse us for our behavior, Your Highness. We did not see you,” Pipit said to the ground.

“Your Highness should have sent an attendant.” Groose remarked politely but with the obvious undertone of ‘why are you here?’ Link winced slightly, keeping eye contact with the princess, who ignored his friends as if they spoke in animal calls. But he saw more shyness in her eyes than contempt. She knew she was the odd one out. 

“Come,” she ordered, and swept away to the foyer. Link rushed to grab the sword, buckling the harness as he shot his friends a look of apology and goodbye.

Princess Zelda brought him to the king’s private conference room without a word, always staying three paces ahead. Several times, Link considered conversing, apologizing, something , but a sixth sense seemed to stay his tongue. She didn’t want to hear from him. But he wanted to hear from her. Why did she hate him? How could he begin to earn her trust?

The upper floors of the castle were kept in pristine shape, without that musty smell that he was almost fond of in the lower rooms. Much of their climb up was through open airways, and everything was a distinctly brighter shade, from the carpets and tapestries, to the very walls. The higher one goes in Hyrule Castle, the closer one feels to the sun. Link had spent more time in these lofty floors in the past week than he had in his entire life before, mostly in the cabinet and war rooms. Now he was peeling back an even deeper layer of the royal family. Besides the bell tower above the sanctum, the king’s conference room was the highest habitable point of the structure, and only for the most confidential of proceedings.

Zelda turned the gold handle and entered the room with neither knocks nor fanfare of any kind. Perhaps Link would not be the only one to bear the brunt of her frustrations. King Rhoam stood from his stately desk in just as hurried a motion as his daughter sat on one of the crimson winged chairs facing him, crossing her arms and leaning on one elbow. As aloof as she presented, she couldn’t hide a catching of her breath, a deep sagging into the velvet. She was weary. Even so, the royals did not acknowledge each other.

“Welcome, Link. Please, close the door and have a seat.”

Link bowed and did so, troubled by the hostile strain in the air. He peeked at the princess beside him. He couldn’t help but think of the affection of King Dorephan and Mipha in sharp contrast. The king spoke to him but addressed them both.

“There’s been a distressing escalation to an issue that has haunted our land for millenia.”

Link and Zelda’s ears perked up. For once, intelligence was suspended from them equally, if only for a few clandestine moments.

“The Sheikah have splintered. This morning a cult who call themselves the Yiga have declared war upon Hyrule and their Sheikah brethren. They claim a… fellowship with the spirit of darkness, with the very person of Ganon.” The king drifted off in a haze of unanswered questions and morbid curiosity. Zelda had no problem filling the silence.

“I must go to my scientists, Father. They’ll need my help in tracing back what may be compromised,” she leaned forward, pleading, fingers on either side of her legs, clutching the edge of her cushion. Link was surprised by the pragmatism in her first reaction– the thoughtfulness and the urgency. As for him, Link was flipping through all that he’d seen of the Sheikah warriors in action. Their uncompromising yet graceful movements, their arcane wisdom. But as much as he knew by experience and friendship of the other races of Hyrule, the Shiekah had remained, for the most part, mysterious to him. He had catching up to do in preparation for this new adversary. Zelda seemed much more familiar with them, to the point of not suspecting her scientists of being party to this schism for even a moment. She was capable of fierce loyalty, Link noted with a ridiculous pull of envy.

The king flared his nostrils, and pinned his daughter with a glare. “Where you are needed is here. You will not use this tragedy as an excuse to escape from your duty.”

“Tragedy? Has anyone been hurt?” Link asked, deflecting the king’s stormy attention onto himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zelda bristle at her father’s rejection-accusation combo, but she continued to ignore Link.

“Their flight from Kakariko was a violent one, but the casualties were sacred heirlooms and structures. They defaced shrines and tombs… many of their own ancestors. The attack was meant to crush spirit, to utterly cast themselves off from their race. Crushing of the body will come later, when banners are dropped by despairing arms,” Rhaom clenched his fist so his gauntlet creaked with the force of it. “Or so this new foe believes,” he spat. “While there is a Hylian left to defend them, the loyal Shiekah will stand. I have deployed companies to their places of significance, hoping to snuff out a headquarters before it is formed.”

“Why would they flee to a Sheikah place, Father?! If they have truly cut themselves off, and if their attack was organized, then they have bases already! And they are surely in the most  banal country they could find. In caves or holes or trees! You send these companies through their hunting grounds, and into an ambush!”

“Silence!” the king bellowed. And so there was. A thick, bitter silence, in which Zelda’s fuming breath in her breast was the only movement. Link raised his head to the statuesque king.

“Where would you have me go, my lord?”

To that, Zelda finally acknowledged the young knight, with a scoff of disgust and shock: “You would throw away your life for the favor of greater men?”

“He would trust the wisdom of his king, and seek to fulfill his oath to him,” Rhoam rumbled, cold and pointed as steel. “I have paid you a disservice, in allowing your scholarly fancies to grow unchecked–”

“Unchecked–?” Zelda opposed in a shrill voice. But her father plowed forward the louder: “You have become arrogant and narrow-minded. You forget in your friendship to the young, heathen generation, that the Sheikah are a devout people, putting much stock in the ancient lore and arts. For in the former days, their connection to the gods was so great that their powers struck the then king with terror. In his madness and fear, he brought them low, destroying their sacred relics and temples, but the people reforged the bonds of love with the crown prince. They forgave Hyrule. Not all, we now know. The Yiga seek this lost wisdom, to use in service of the Demon King. They are not slinking animals in the trees, though they employ many mercenary tactics. They would excavate a weapon to oppose the Beasts, and they would turn the prophetess of our time to their devices, dead or alive.” His voice finally shuddered, unsteady. Love shone through a crack in his granite exterior. But if Zelda picked up on it, it moved her not.

“So I would have you beside my daughter, Link,” Rhoam answered softly, “At every moment, of every day, until this conflict is passed.”

Zelda gaped wide-eyed, and Link felt a wave of horror flow from her mind and over his. It disturbed him. It would’ve seemed obligatory before, the knight of prophecy taking up the office of guard over the princess, but now doubt hung over the whole affair. For the first time, he sought out Fi’s odds, instead of being their begrudging audience.

Will this help us, Fi?

Fi did not answer immediately, which was a bad sign. Eventually she said in her twinkling, singing voice, 

Maybe, but after much toil.

High risk, higher reward?

A very halting …yes.

But no numbers? Link urged.

Fi gave no answer.

Wonderful.

“What say you, Link?” Rhoam spurred. Link shook from his internal dialogue, and cast his careful gaze on Zelda.

“It would be my honor…if the arrangement pleases the princess,” Link said. Zelda’s furious glare at the carpet flickered for a moment, then hardened even more. Link knew it was a vain olive branch, but if he could advocate her dignity, in little ways over time, maybe it would soften her to him, and strengthen her to the king. Or maybe not, he shrugged in his mind. Maybe she would always rail at authority and help, forever steeping in misery. But for Link’s part, he would uphold his vow, honoring those weaker than himself. The princess seemed to be preparing a scathing remark. But Rhoam cut her off, saying “The princess is pleased to obey the will of her father.” Zelda withered, past the point of rage, past the point of any voiced thought. For who would heed it? Link continued to stare, as grim-faced as a blond boy of seventeen could look.

After a short summary of Link’s new schedule, Rhoam went into a spiel on Zelda’s increased regime of prayer, fasting, and hosting– the monks of the outlying Sheikah temples were being enfolded into the castle’s priestly order. They would be distressed, displaced, and the ministering of Zelda would to them be like beholding the face of the goddess herself. Zelda sat in a posture most would think resigned, and perhaps she was, but her eyes were empty of love for anything, let alone refugees and worshipers.

Then the king asked, “Is the Champion's tunic ready for your knight to don?” to which Zelda, whose eyes took on an odd gleam, replied “It will be soon.”

The moon waxed and waned and the kingdom broke into a new normal. Impa was called away on the Yiga campaign. Soldiers were deployed, monsters grew bolder, trade became slower and more dangerous, and the poor felt the impact thereof. But in the castle walls, Zelda wreaked a quiet kind of havoc, waged a different sort of war. The object? To drive her knight to the point of resignation or, even better, to get him fired. She didn't care what that would mean spiritually speaking. Surely the goddess had a backup.

She gave Link book orders for books that did not exist, the directions on which led to lavatories. She made him ‘princess-proof’ her quarters, wrapping gauze on any corner that could bruise or any finial that could poke. She picked flowers in the castle garden under Link’s watchful guard. With the lavendar and peonies she made corsages for her staff and guests, and the thistles she sewed into the Champion’s Tunic. With a shameless, surgical smile, she handed him the neatly folded bundle. And over the next few days, she watched him squirm, waiting for the accusations, anticipating them hungrily.

They never came.

In a rare moment away from Her Highness, sparring with Groose, the itching became so distracting that Groose was landing more hits, and harder hits, than he ever had before. They broke off the match. Link paced on the worn dirt floor, panting and twitching. His mind was torn between the two pains– the new smarting blows and the ongoing incessant chaffing– but any horror or hatred he might have felt at the princess’s behavior, which knowingly landed him in this state, was crushed beneath a mountain of stubbornness. And still that ever thinning layer of pity.

“What is wrong with you?” Groose hid his concern under a sneer.

Link passed off a massive twitch as a shrug and said, “Nothing…” but the movement revealed a sliver of exposed collarbone, at which Groose sheathed his sword and approached to get a better look.

“Finished already?” Link weakly goaded, even as he shuffled away from his best friend’s appraisal. 

Groose ignored him. “Take off your tunic,” he said, and after some push-back and a survey of the empty courtyard, Link relented. 

Spreading from his naval all the way up past his shoulders and down the length of his back was a pink, flaky, raging rash. Link shook with a sudden chill at the exposure, looking down at his torso with a set jaw, clenching his fists to keep his fingers from picking. He needed to get some more ointment before his next 16-hour shift. He looked up in time to see the last of the shock leave Groose’s features, resentment taking its place.

“I must be allergic to the fabric,” Link said blandly.

Groose picked up the crumpled tunic from off of the bench where Link had laid it, and brandished it in a fist between them. “It’s LINEN, you whipped mule! She must’ve done something to it!” for Groose, along with most of the household, had picked up on the strange tyranny with which Zelda ruled over Link and only Link. She made no attempt at hiding it.

“Mighty thistles,” Link admitted, and took the clothes back.

“You know?!” Groose sputtered as Link silently put the tunic back over his head, helpless to keep his friend from doing otherwise. After a moment all his steaming head could think to say was, “She can’t get away with this.”

“Yes she can. And if you’re here for me as you say, you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone else.”

Link could’ve said any number of things to show Groose that, yes, he was quite aware of the princess’ ridiculousness, of her injustice. And most of them would be heartily felt. But he said none. To slander her, to complain, would fall right into her trap. He didn’t yet know the right course, but until that time he could very well avoid the wrong ones. He wished he could make Groose understand, wished that he could express even a tiny bit how grateful he was for his loyalty, but instead he simply packed the remainder of his things and turned to leave. He had only looked Groose in the eye during the match itself, though neither boy realized as much, and they both left the interaction uneasy and unsatisfied. Groose didn’t think for a second that Link would ‘lose’ this war with the princess (or perhaps siege was the better word), but he worried how much of his friend would be left when it was over.

And Zelda’s armaments did not stop at thistles. The worst of this moment in history, and the moment’s eventual undoing, came in the form of escape attempts. At the end of her rope, daring and almost wishing him to report to her father the extent of her misery, she made increasingly elaborate plans which Link thwarted at every turn. She moved from the classic bedding-rope-out-the-window (just to see if the novels were true) to strategies of her own invention in quick succession, but, trying as she may to lose him, Link kept up. At the end of a rabbit-hole she’d push him down on the opposite end of the castle, he would still be at the threshold of her chosen gate (or at the foot of her chosen tower) by the time she’d gotten there. And the object of the rabbit-hole? When it wasn’t a complete fiction, it would be completed as well, sitting innocently in his hands. A 20-year-old invoice from the castle bookkeeper, a teacup from her great-aunt’s china set in deep storage, a baby bunny from the menagerie. She hadn’t even known they had bunnies. And in that moment she was a thread’s snapping away from punting the poor creature across Hyrule Field. 

She even tried to lull him into a pattern of predictable trajectories, making the point of escape to the area of the distraction a straight line through the heart of the castle for several instances. Then she gave him a task where she would make her escape right under his nose! He would be busy running to the other end of the grounds while she would already be long gone! At this point a concerned party may ask, ‘gone where?’ And Zelda would ask too, if the preparation alone didn’t occupy all of her efforts and anxieties. She had a fuzzy final goal of ‘Gerudo Town’, but couldn’t plan beyond that until she was away, away! She had to get away. The goal was in sight, the light at the end of this particular royal tunnel, but as her quick stride broke into a run, a shadow fell across the arc of noon-sky and grassy hillside. She skidded to a halt, knowing even before she could distinguish anything out of the black, man-shaped blot, that it was he.

 Link almost wished he could reassure her that she really was impressive and ingenious, that she shouldn’t feel discouraged. She proved a worthwhile challenge, and he never had a moment to spare during one of her episodes, in thought or in action. She may benefit from knowing that he was out of breath every time, and had extensive help from his many friends and Fi, and of course that he was still constantly itchy (even after he relented to wearing a thin undershirt). The only thing against her was that he was simply up for it.

…but perhaps that wouldn’t be the most welcome input right now.

Zelda silently burned, backing into the shadows of the tunnel once more, turning and clipping down the way to her study as if nothing had happened. She was not deterred, but she was growing more desperate every hour. She felt more than heard the steps of the knight behind her. If he were a demon or a monster it would have made no difference in the effect he had. It was haunting, maddening even, but she would not give in.