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It’s not that she hates this kind of receptions, per se. But she would like them a lot more if she didn’t feel people’s eyes constantly watching her, scrutinizing her every move.
She knows there are still some of her people who believe in her, but she cannot believe so of all the aristocrats who are attending the ball thrown in honour of the Goddess. For them, it’s especially easy to judge and criticize, perhaps thinking they could do a better job at—everything she’s doing. They’re the people she despises the most, and she knows it’s reciprocal.
She’d rather be anywhere else, rather than stuck in the throne room, standing awkwardly beside her father, doing curtsey after curtsey, telling everyone who has come how glad she is that they’re there for the celebration, how privileged she feels in sharing the blood of Hylia. Which stands particularly ironic, considering she’s not.
And they all tell her that they’re sure she will achieve great things and that her powers are surely to awaken that night, but she can see that the bitter and jealous side of them hopes they don’t. They most likely aren’t worried: they think that, when the Calamity returns, they’ll be perfectly safe, whether she has those powers or not, and they do not hold worry for people that are less fortunate than them.
Thankfully for her, there are some things she can focus on to distract herself, otherwise she might just die of boredom or humiliation. She tries not to care about what people say of her, because, no matter what she does, the slander to her name will never stop, but it’s difficult. She still wishes she was better; she still wishes she was good enough to save the world.
She doesn’t even see the purpose of this ball, after all the times she was reprimanded by her father for spending her time studying instead of praying. She could be out there, doing something useful! Instead, she has to play the role of the well-behaved princess who’s mostly there to be looked at, like some sort of statue.
Obviously, people believe that yearly celebration can get her spiritually closer to the Goddess, who might finally grant her the light, but it’s not going to work, she knows. Hylia isn’t going to get all giddy and change her mind, when she’s made her views on her clear long before.
Ah, she hates having such dark thoughts, reason why she focuses her attention on Daruk and Revali, standing near one of the staircases, looking like they’re intently discussing something. To be fair, she can probably guess what they’re talking about, since they always seem to in conflict when it comes to a certain subject.
She stifles a laugh when Daruk gives Revali a ‘friendly’ pat on the shoulder, which almost sends the bird-man sprawling onto the floor. Her father sends a severe glance in her direction, and she straightens herself, resisting the urge to roll her eyes; is she not allowed to have fun at all? Of course, she isn’t, because she might offend the Goddess.
That torture does not continue much longer, since, few minutes later, all the guests seem to have arrived, which means she’s finally allowed to move freely and mingle. She isn’t much thrilled about it, but there’s isn’t anything else she can do, after all. That’s part of her duty, tonight.
Trying to remind herself she’s supposed to be graceful and light as a feather and a lot of other things she usually doesn’t think about, she descends the stairs, to get into the heart of the party.
For the first time since she’s arrived, her eyes focus on the source of the music that’s been filling the space, and a sense of dread envelops her, as she’s reminded that she will have to sing to honour the Goddess. The problem isn’t that she doesn’t want to: despite how bitter her thoughts are, most of the time, she holds so much faith in Hylia. She simply hates the idea of having to sing in front of so many people who don’t believe in her at all, and who see her as a failure.
And she’ll have to do it with Bragi, the royal composer, worst of all. She knows he’s—infatuated with her. Or rather, the acts she plays around other people. He doesn’t see her, not truly. He sees the overtly kind, delicate, ethereal princess who’s been graced by the light. He doesn’t see the girl who feels she’s losing her mind trying to find a power she doesn’t want; he doesn’t see the desolation inside her heart.
It’s not his fault, she knows, but he simply does not understand her, and she will never reciprocate his feelings. That doesn’t stop him from trying to make her notice, though she’s not even sure he’s completely aware of how obvious his feelings are. Oh, what a headache.
She scans the crowd of people around her, tries her best to smile politely at all of them, but her ears are starting to ring and her head is starting to spin. She feels surrounded, and there’s no way to escape.
She looks for something to focus on, afraid she’ll drown. Her eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar face, and she turns there, drawing all her attention to him. Link. He’s not wearing his champion tunic, like he was perhaps hoping he could blend in with the rest of the royal guards, avoiding people’s eyes, but he still has the Master Sword strapped to his back, which makes people stare at him all the same.
He looks uneasy. At least, to her. She’s started to learn how to read his body language, and how to interpret even the smallest alteration of his expression. How she wishes they were back into the wildnerness, just the two of them, no one to judge them, exploring the world and researching ancient Sheikah technology. Instead, they’re stuck there, pretending to be people they are not because of others’ expectations.
After a while, she cannot tell how long, he catches her staring and she snaps out of it, suddenly realising she’s been looking at him without purpose or explanation for longer than it was sane to do. She feels a slight blush creep up her cheeks. What a fool she is.
She sends a careful glance around, as if to make sure no one has seen her, because it feels so stupid of her to have been so fixated on him. She’s not even quite sure why, but she knows she feels safe when she looks at him. He feels familiar in a world full of strangers.
Link simply blinks towards her, as if wordlessly asking her if something’s wrong, and she shakes her head, though she’s lying. There’s isn’t much that doesn’t feel wrong about that whole situation, but it’s something she truly cannot escape from. She wishes she could.
There’s nothing she hates most than feeling people’s eyes on her. And not even get her started on the fact that she would probably have to dance with some dignitaries! People who only want to be see in good faith by her father and couldn’t care less about her. She’s some sort of decoration people can use to reach their ends.
She turns away, knowing that watching Link will only make her heart ache for freedom. More than that, tonight he looks something she cannot quite describe, but it moves something into her stomach. She cannot say why.
There’s something rather poetic about him, she supposes. He’s beautiful, but that’s nothing new. She’s always known that, even back when she was still convinced he hated her. But now she knows he’s most beautiful on the inside, and that makes him so much more—so much more. She finds incredible how his mere presence makes her feel less alone, makes her feel warmer. It makes her feel like she’s enough.
Long gone is the time when seeing that Sword on his back made her feel worthless. Because now she knows that the Sword represents the weight he carries on his shoulders. And she knows that they’re carrying the weight of the world together, in the end.
The universe is broken by the void that divides the two of them from the rest of the world. It feels melancholic, to continously have such dark thoughts in her mind, but she cannot help it. Perhaps, if the entire world wasn’t a constant reminder of how much she’s failing, she would feel that way a little less.
She sighs, and begins walking through the crowd anew, trying not to show her state of mind, until one of the maids finds her and drags her away, telling her it’s finally time for her performance, and she can only comply, although there’s a part of her that wishes to flee.
Bragi is waiting for her in a side room, where he’s reaharsing with the rest of the musicians. When she arrives, he turns to her, his eyes as full as the moon, his voice saccharine as he tells her that she’s shining as bright as the Goddess herself, that night, but she deliberatly ignores his compliment, informing him that she’s ready.
She pretends not to see how his face falls, because, truly, there are enough problems she’s facing, right now, she doesn’t have time to deal with someone’s unrequited feelings for her. Either way, she believes it better to make her feelings clear, so he won’t see hope when there isn’t any. Unfortunately, he is yet to catch the hint, as they have known each other for quite some months, at this point, and no matter how harshly she rejects his comments, he won’t stop trying.
He should know it’s a losing battle, anyway. He’s nothing more than the royal composer and, even if she reciprocated his emotions, they could never have a chance. She cannot marry someone of a lower status. That thought stings, for a reason she cannot understand. It’s simply ridicolous, she supposes, and that’s why she cannot stand it.
Not that she believes she’ll ever get to marry, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever want to marry someone, but, if she did, she would want it to be for love. And that doesn’t seem a reachable end. It’s unfair. Will she ever get to choose something for herself? Or is her life truly signed by a destiny no one can change?
Perhaps, in the end, it’s a silly thought, because, truly, we cannot choose who we love. Love is something that finds you at the most unexpected of times, not when you’re looking for it. Love is something that no one can control, and falling in love is so sudden that, sometimes, it takes time to fully realise what has happened.
As if she would know what love is. She has never been in love and she believes she will never be, because there are so many more important things she has to worry about. That would all be a terrible burden.
She cannot pretend it’s something she has never thought about, she is only human, after all. She doesn’t know what it is, but she likes to imagine that it’s warmth, it’s refuge, it’s freedom, it’s understanding, it’s something devastatingly beautiful, it’s being with someone and feeling grounded. It’s a blinding light, the light she cannot find inside herself.
She snaps out of it, telling herself it’s useless to daydream about something she’ll never have. She has a duty, and that’s most important. Even if she did fall in love, and the possibility is remote, she could never act upon her feelings.
She pushes all those useless thoughts at the back of her mind, as she walks out of the room alongside Bragi, to climb on the small stage that has been prepared in the throne room. The composer is asking her if she remembers all her lines, in a whisper, and she tries not to bite back that she’s been singing that same song every year of her life, she cannot possibly forget it, and simply nods.
She tries not to admit it to herself, but she truly hopes that, this year, it’ll be different, that the celebration will be worth something, and her power will finally awaken. She’s truly starting to lose hope and so is everyone else.
Looking at all the people in front of her, whose faces seem to be blurred, all of sudden, she wonders what they think of her, although it isn’t difficult to imagine. It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It cannot matter. She will not be brought down by their gazes, by what they think of her. She’s so much more than that.
Once again, the only thing her eyes can focus on, is Link. He’s standing in the far back, a little further away from the stage than everyone else, reason why she can still see him. She doesn’t know why, in a room full of people, her eyes only see him. But she knows it, truly. In the same way, he’s also the only one who sees her, while everyone sees what they expect of her. Singing in front of those people feels a little less like a burden, with her eyes on him, knowing that he’s there.
As Bragi announces the opening of the performance, people begin moving, searching for a partner to dance with, and the music starts, her sole focus becomes remembering those words, although she knows them like the back of her hand. And, secretely, she hopes her voice will reach the Goddess, and she will understand how much she needs her to grant her that light.
Slowly closing her eyes, she attempts to think about the light she’d had in her life, before everything started to seem as dready as it does now. Perhaps, if she thinks about the light, that same light will come to her.
She thinks about a time before her father started reprimanding her whatever she did, when he would carry her on his shoulders as they walked around the halls of the castle, and she would laugh, fullheartedly, and he would tell her all about their kingdom, all about their people.
A time before he started seeing her as nothing more but a disappointed, as someone who is never good enough, who is never trying enough. But that only serves as a reminder of how much has changed.
She thinks about her mother, about how much she loved and believed in her. All the evenings she had spent reading stories about the goddess, about the triforce, about the princesses that have come before her. She remembers those stories, she remembers how innocently she’d always thought she would one day become like them, the saviours of their people. When she still didn’t know how much her own name would make her feel worthless.
But that only makes her miss her mother more, and unfairly makes her resent her for leaving her alone in that world. There’s too much light in her life that has become pure darkness, that has been swallowed by the darkness of failure.
And, as she swims through the shadows, her mind latches on the only thing that had seemed like gloom and had proved itself to be the light. She doesn’t understand why that stays at the centre of her every thought, but she supposes that’s the only light she has left.
The only moments she doesn’t feel plagued by a suffocating cold, are those she spends with Link, after all. She’s still glad she has given him a second chance, because, if she hadn’t, she would still be alone, forlorn in a world that does nothing but judge her. They understand each other, they understand their burden; he understands that she has never wanted this, but it’s her duty, and she’s got to carry it through.
He’s the only one that understands that she needs kindness, that she needs someone to listen. She can talk to him without feeling guilty about her bitterness. With him, she’s has the freedom to speak about what she’s interested in, she has the freedom to talk about her research, without anyone telling her that she’s wasting her time.
He’s the only one who makes her feel like she’s allowed to breathe, without having to spend her time watching her back. Even with the people she trusts the most, she feels judged, pitied, but never with him. Because they are one and the same. He understands how terrible it is, to feel like you will never live up to people’s expectations. He understands how terrible it is to be a person behind an expectation. When they’re together, she can forget the rest of the world.
She thinks about that light and doesn’t let it leave her mind, hoping that something will change, that Hylia will see that light.
As the last note leaves her lips, she remains still, searching for something, a spark of hope inside her veins, but nothing ever comes.
She tries to hide her disappointment even to herself, but she knows it’s there. Regrettably, she should’ve expected this to happen, because nothing has truly changed, other than the urgency with which she needs those powers. The Goddess has once again ignored her plea.
People begin clapping but, the only emotion she can feel is an unpleasant sense of shame and humiliation. She wishes this could’ve been avoided, but, no matter how hard she’d fought against this, her father had continously told her that it was crucial, that she couldn’t bring such offense to Hylia. He didn’t seem to care as much about how it would make her feel.
She feels her cheeks burning in a silent anger, as she opens her eyes, ready to face all those people that have stopped believing in her and love slandering her, while pretending to be loyal.
Scanning the crowd with her eyes, her gaze finds Link, and notices that he’s not alone, anymore. Rather, he’s standing next to Mipha, looking at her, still holding her hand, clearly signalling that he was dancing with her.
That rage that has started bubbling into her chest flares up, and it’s almost painful. She cannot even comprehend the reason why. Everything becomes much more than she can take.
She can only stare at them, suddenly feeling so away from everything. Knowing that she’s been looking at him all of this time when he likely hasn’t thought of her a moment is rather unnerving. And Mipha looks at Link with such enamoured eyes. It’s almost uncomfortable. More than that, it bothers her to no end that she cannot understand his feelings.
She doesn’t even understand why she should care, because Link is free to do whatever he pleases and to dance with whomever he pleases, but she hates being unable to read him. He looks at Mipha with a softeness in his gaze she has rarely ever seen, and that, perhaps, means he feels the same. Certainly, it would make sense, given their situation. They’d be good for each other.
Perhaps, what irks her is knowing that Link would probably rather spend his days with Mipha, rather than her. Of course, Mipha’s the pride of her people, she knows exactly what her responsibilities are and she lives up to them, nothing like her. He’s stuck with her, and nothing more.
It was foolish of her to believe that they’d started to become friends, that he’d started to trust her and warm up to her. She’s nothing more than another burden on his shoulders, something else he has to carry, something else that pushes him into silence. He might be her light, but she’s still his darkness.
She bows to the crowd, hastly, and makes her way down from the stage the moment she gets the chance to. Everything has started to become suffocating, and she needs to breathe. The world is spinning.
Making sure no one can see her, she sneaks out onto the balcony from one of the open windows, closing it behind her, muffling every sound. She breathes in the night air, trying to calm herself down. No rage will ever help her change how things are. But she also knows that it’s unfair.
Why must she suffer this way? She has never asked for any of this. She has never asked for her life to become this way. She hates feeling this way all the time, but she cannot help it. She hates being so lost into her own mind, into her own pain. It feels selfish, because she knows she should be fine, she should be alright with everything. This is what she was born to be. That’s exactly the problem, perhaps. She was born to be something she cannot become.
Taking a couple of steps to reach the balustrade of the balcony, she leans on it, staring up at the moon, so quiet and peaceful. Still, she feels the urge to scream. Scream at the Goddess, ask her what more does she want from her, ask her why she’s never good enough, ask her what she’s supposed to do to awaken those powers.
And she wonders if the princesses that came before her ever felt as discouraged and as hopeless as she did, and what kept them fighting through all their battles that got eventually lost in time. What light kept them fighting through it all. She supposes she’s the only one who couldn’t unlock her power, though, and she has no idea what’s so different about her, what’s so wrong about her. She won’t find any answer in the stars, she knows.
She sighs, burying her face into her hands. It’ll pass: she’s had to live through many disappointments, and this won’t be the last one. She doesn’t know what she’s fighting for, but she isn’t going to stop.
The window opens behind her, as someone walks outside to stand on the balcony with her. She sends a glance back, fully expecting it to be one of her maids looking for her, to bring her yet another lecture from her father, or worse, Bragi looking to give her yet another unwanted compliment that will only make her feel worse about her situation. But it’s neither of them.
It’s Link, and her heart gives a strange pang when her gaze lands on him. Everything in her tells her to give him the same prideful treatment she would’ve given him months before, and tell him to go back inside, where she’s sure he’d rather be, but his eyes are concerned, and she cannot bring herself to. Curse her for learning to read his expression.
Still, she turns back towards the moon, determined to ignore him, because she does not want him to see her state of mind. Even more so when he hasn’t helped her feel any better that night. Not that it’s part of his duty. He has no obligation towards her. Simply, she doesn’t want him wasting his time on her troubled mind when he could be inside, dancing with Mipha, where he won’t be reminded of the burden he carries on his shoulders.
Perhaps, he should hate her. Had it not been for her, he wouldn’t have to carry such responsibility, and he’d be much happier. That’s the problem with him, though: he’s too kind to hate anyone other than those who deserve it. Who’s to say she doesn’t.
His shaky voice breaks the silence, forcing her to turn around. She cannot ignore him when she knows how difficult it is for him to speak, especially in such a crowded place.
“Princess?” she can only look at him, although she finds herself peculiarly avoiding his gaze, without a true reason why. Her eyes focus on the hilt of the sword. She cannot tell him how much she detests hearing him be so formal, when she’s countless times told him to simply call her by her own name, because she knows he won’t change.
He doesn’t do anything that would feel like a violation of unspoken rules. He even refuses to touch her, unless he absolutely must, as if he’s afraid they’ll get burned if he does. Which is ridicolous. He doesn’t need to always stand behind her, he doesn’t need to blend into her shadow. She doesn’t want to pretend he isn’t there. She wants him to be there. More than anything.
“Everything’s alright, Link,” she lies, once again, though he can read right through her, and she can see it from his eyes. He knows she’s lying, but he also won’t force her to say anything, if she doesn’t want to.
He still silently tells her that she can speak to him, whenever she wants, for whatever reason. She doesn’t want to burden him more than she already does, not that night, when she has seen how much happier, how much lighter he looks when he’s with someone who isn’t her.
She doesn’t want to push him further away from her, weighing down on him, afraid he will fall into the abyss that divides them from the rest of the world. She doesn’t want to drag him into that darkness. Everything will be alright. She will be alright because she has to be.
She doesn’t understand why he’s there, truly. He doesn’t need to be. He could’ve left her there, alone, and she cannot comprehend why he didn’t. She’s nothing more than his duty. He shouldn’t care. She doesn’t want him to care, because it makes her heart ache. For what, she does not know.
Desperately trying to distract herself, she listens to the muffled notes being carried through the glass of the windows to the hall, and remembers the time he refused to dance with her. Something makes her want to ask him again, but it’s so terribly cruel, when she knows it’s something she cannot allow herself to ask. But, out there, no one can see them, and she can make a fool of herself. She doesn’t know why she’s asking. Perhaps, she simply wants to forget, to stop thinking. She cannot ask him to leave, because he won’t, not when he can see how distressed she is. Sha can only ask him to help her forget.
She stretches her hand out, looks at the night sky reflecting in his too blue eyes, looks at all the stars she can see and, silently, pretends they’re there for her, although she knows they’re not. She doesn’t quite understand why, but she wants him to look at her with that devastating softness, more than that mere kindness.
For a moment, he seems surprised, doesn’t seem to catch the suggestion, until she speaks it out loud.
“Dance with me,” it’s not entirely a question, and she knows it. It comes out of her lips sounding more like an order than anything else.
She wouldn’t resent him, if he denied her that, but she doesn’t know if she could bear the disappoinment. She doesn’t know if she could bear such a rejection.
Link doesn’t do anything, for a moment that feels an eternity, and there is something on his face that is so unreadable it drives her mad. It’s started to be much easier to read every nuance of his expression but, when he doesn’t want to be read, when he brings up walls no one can break, it’s almost impossible. She wishes she knew what he was thinking, but she cannot read his mind. How much easier things would be if only she could.
After a while, his eyes firmly set on her face, carefully observing her, like he’s trying to determine how much he can allow himself, he moves forward, he moves closer, and Zelda cannot help but draw a sharp breath in, despite herself. She doesn’t understand why she’s acting like such a fool, that night.
She awaits for the contact of their hands, but it never comes. His hand stays floating over hers, never grazing her, never touching her, as if he’s afraid they will be criticized, if seen. Like touching her is some sort of unspeakable sin, a misdeed towards the Goddess. But she wishes he could see that she doesn’t care about any of it. She isn’t the Goddess. She’s just Zelda. Always just Zelda.
She doesn’t say anything, because this is more than she thought he would be willing to give her. He keeps at a safe distance as they start dancing to the soft music, his other arm firmly behind his back. It’s enough. Everything she wants is to forget how useless and worthless she feels, and, in part, she supposes it’s working.
But, now, she cannot stop thinking about what truly is the difference between her and Mipha. He didn’t seem to have much of a problem in touching her. They’re both royalty, after all, she doesn’t understand why he needs to behave with this reservation, when he’s with her. Then again, they’re also completely different.
Perhaps, he knows that protecting her is part of his duty, and he’s afraid harm will come to her if he dares getting too close. He’s afraid of what people would say, of both of them. In the end, everything the world likes to do, is chatter and spread rumours about them. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to care.
In that moment, everything she wants to care about is being there with him, forgetting about the weight of everything on their shoulders.
She stares into his eyes, and finds herself dangerously falling into them, falling into the waves, and wishing she could erase all of his worries, wishing she could tell him that there’s no one that understands her like him, and what he’s doing is enough. That, to her, he’s already a hero, and he doesn’t need to prove himself. That she’s sorry for all the cruel words she’s spat at him, for all the cruel things she’s thought about him. That she’s sorry if she’s simply another burden on his shoulders.
She wants to tell him that he’s her light, that everything he does brings her comfort, that she doesn’t know what she’d do without him. But she cannot find the words to say such things, because it seems like she’d simply make the burden even heavier. She’s simply glad that he’s there with her.
The music stops and, slowly, so do they, without moving away from each other.
Zelda cannot pretend her heart doesn’t yearn to hold his hand, she cannot pretend she doesn’t want him closer. She feels like she’s starved of touch, like she needs to feel warmth seep into her veins. She so wishes he would stop caring, and, if he cannot, she wishes he would allow himself to misbehave. To believe there would be consequences, and still ignore any warning.
She cannot stop herself from imagining him as he moves closer, wraps his arms around her waist, holds her closer, so close and so tightly she feels her bones breaking, she feels all of his warmth, all of that warmth she’s been missing. So close she can breathe him in, memorise his scent, know that he’s real and he’s there for her.
She imagines him as he whispers that everything will be alright, that she’s alright, that he believes in her, that he’ll never leave her side.
And then, as he kisses her cheek, places his lips against her skin with such softness; kisses her eyelids, her forehead, her chin, her jaw, her neck—she snaps out of her reverie, so suddenly it almost physically hurts, blocking out every further thought, every further irrational, foolish, unwanted thought.
Link is still right where she left him, standing in front of her, at a safe distance, refusing to even graze her. She yearns for him to hold her, but it’s something she cannot have.
At first, she felt such hatred for him, and she’d believed it would always be that way.
Then, she began to see him for what he truly is, and to consider him as a friend.
Now, she doesn’t know what he is to her, and it terrifies her.
In the end, he’s nothing more than her knight. Nothing more.
But she knows, looking into his kind, loyal eyes, than he’s already much more than that.
Much more than he should’ve ever been.