Work Text:
I.
Truthfully, he isn’t sure what to make of the Princess of Hyrule.
Up close, she seems… softer. Perhaps the loss of Midna ringing in his ears is affecting his emotional judgement, but the intimidation he first felt when she lowered her hood is all but gone.
They walk in relative silence, the sun high above Hyrule Field beating down on them. The sky is a watery shade of blue he’s not seen sustained in months, and the fluffy white clouds littering the expanse seem almost too perfect compared to the thin yellow and greys he had gotten used to.
He glances at her, noting the blue of her eyes reflecting the sky. He supposes it makes sense for her to look like her own kingdom - no doubt by some divine design (as he would certainly believe she was hand crafted by Nayru) - but the frozen iciness he saw when he first encountered her seems to have melted into a deeper, warmer shade of blue.
Get ahold of yourself. He thinks, mentally noting that staring the reigning sovereign was probably the height of bad manners. But then, he herded goats for a living.
“Will you return to Ordon?”
Her voice cuts across the plain and jolts him out of his thoughts. He is used to travelling with companionship, but the velvety tones of her central Hyrulean accent are unfamiliar to his ears, so accustomed to the sarcastic, accented tones of the Twili.
“Huh?” Comes his instinctive response, and he cringes at his southern tilt compared to hers. “Oh- I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess so.”
Her gaze flickers over his features and he wonders what she could possibly be thinking. Her ability to hold eye contact is unnerving and he finds himself purposefully taking interest in a nearby tree.
“It may be that home is the most comfortable place for you to return to,” she muses, “but if you grow stifled, please know you are more than welcome in the castle.”
The neutral expression he has only just gotten used to twists up into a coy smile - oh, no wonder Midna liked her - and suddenly the tree is far more interesting than foliage ever has been.
“That is, what is left of it.” She adds, a lightness to her tone he’s dumbfounded she’s able to find given the circumstances.
“I’ll be sure to visit.” He nods after a moment.
“I shall portion off a section of rubble for you.”
He remains silent for a few seconds, trying to read her expression. Somehow, despite the curve to her lips, she has an air of… calmness, that makes it hard to be sure how she’s feeling.
“…Your highness, I-“
“Link.” Her voice interrupts him, as clear and calm as the waters of Lake Hylia, “Do not worry about me. There are worse things in life.”
Her voice mellows a little as she says his name, he notices.
He takes another fill of her, heavy, dark circles under eyes, three golden triangles etched into her hand and showing through in patches where her gloves had ripped. Her fingers are long and slender, and he supposes that’s why she’s so skilled with a bow.
There are worse things in life.
Yes, he thinks, noting the curl of her eyelashes and the bow of her top lip. Perhaps there are.
II.
“In recognition of your unyielding services to Hyrule that can never be repaid.”
Her Majesty’s voice rings out across the otherwise silent great hall, as regal and commanding as the legends tell, if not more so. His head bowed, Link does not have to look up to know the blue of her eyes will be as piercing as the day he met her.
His heart hammers in his chest, ever aware of the crowd behind him. He’s from Ordon, for Farore’s sake - he hadn’t even known this many nobles existed a year ago, let alone known he would one day be standing in front of an ancient, stained-glass tinted hall of them. Never mind that the original great hall had been destroyed - it seemed there was no shortage of ancient buildings in Hyrule. Some solace can be found in the knowledge that Rusl stands in the front row, but - truthfully - not much.
He had returned to Ordon, but, as she had said, it was… stifling. Perhaps he should have listened to the woman blessed with the wisdom of the goddesses in the first place, but the ride to Castle Town that followed had certainly been a welcome one, if bittersweet. The folk of Ordon were family - that would never change - but something about seeing Beth and Talo sit by the lake made him feel sick and think of Kakariko and graveyards and shadows. At least in Castle Town, he had reasoned, any new memories he made wouldn’t spoil the old ones.
That, and there was somebody who understood here.
“Sir Link of Hyrule, please rise.”
His name is loud and echoes around the marbled walls, a deathly silence heavy with respect behind him. Sir Link, the title foreign on his tongue, stands as gracefully as he possibly can and wonders how she does this every day of her life.
The hero’s eyes meet hers, warm and full of what almost looks like… worry?
“Link.” She whispers, the movement of her lips subtle, face ever unchanging. “It is okay.”
He wonders when the Princess of Hyrule’s voice became so soothing, and turns to face the hall.
III.
‘Sir Link’ becoming a household name was not something he had banked on when he returned to the city. The celebrity of saving the world is something a ranch hand is ill-equipped to cope with, although it doesn’t hurt his ego, he has to admit.
Months had passed since his knighthood, and his initial anxieties had been quelled by the welcome attitudes of the castle court.
Besides - Telma’s bar was never a short walk away.
Autumn leaves fall off the trees as he crosses the courtyard of the castle, the air cold and crisp with the upcoming winter. His chainmail and layered clothing keeps him warm, but the rest of the inhabitants had clearly decided not to take the risk, and the path is blissfully empty as the cool breeze caresses his face. He thinks of his home in Ordon, how the lake would freeze over soon. Perhaps he would visit, see if he could take some city-quality furs to Ilia and Uli. The pangs of twilight are beginning to ebb, and Ordon is getting easier to stomach again.
A single crow caws above, and he is about to give in like everybody else and head inside, when her voice sounds from behind him, and suddenly he is quite warm again.
“Sir Link.” The Princess says quietly, falling in step with him. “I did not expect to see you outside in such weather.”
“I don’t mind it.” He responds, slowing down to match her pace. She is layered in silks and furs and jewels and he wonders if it frustrates her, knowing the worn-leather boots she wore underneath.
“Nor do I. May I join you?” She raises an eyebrow. Yes, of course, he thinks, although he isn’t sure why she’s asking as if he is allowed to turn down the sovereign.
He nods, clearing his throat. Her cheeks are red in the cold, the darkness of her hair and eyebrows striking now the weather had paled her skin from the golden hues of the summer sun. For some reason, this renders his voice obsolete.
“I have been meaning to find you. You are rather a popular figure.” She notes with a hint of amusement, and he feels his own cheeks redden in response.
“Think it’s the whole ‘sir’ thing, Princess.”
“Zelda.” She says, her gaze fixated on the sky in front of her.
He tilts his head, as if trying to process her words.
“My name is Zelda. It would be… pleasant of you to use it, considering our history.” She says, her eyes tearing from their usual vague fixation on the air in front of her and resting on him.
“Are you-“
“Yes.” She interrupts him, her voice firm and confident, and reminds him of why she is the leader of Hyrule. “I would not suggest something I was not welcome to, would I?”
He nods.
“Zelda, then.”
He notes the twitch of her lips as the ghost of a smile flashes across her face.
“Lovely. Thank you, Link.”
IV.
“Zelda.”
The Princess of Hyrule’s laughter rings across the lake with a sincerity she is sure the country has not heard in a decade.
Link’s head finds his hands, his face burning. Kill him now, and he would be happy.
“You did not expect the banks of the lake to be dry after such heavy rainfall, did you?” She shakes her head in disbelief, eyes - intense as always; he averts his gaze - taking in the mud-covered man in front of her.
No. He wants to say. He is not stupid. His boots have never failed him before. It has never been an issue, however, that he was distracted by curls of chestnut-brown hair tumbling round somebody’s face and framing heart-shaped lips. This is becoming an increasing issue in his life, one he preferrs to push far out of his mind.
“Zelda, it’s really not that funny.” He insists, although the sparkle in her eyes makes it hard to feign anger. Let her laugh at him falling a thousand times if it meant he got to hear it.
“I believe you need a bath. There is quite a large one in front of you, free of charge.”
She had a wit so quick it made him feel as though his brain were made of Ordonian sludge.
He glares at her, and she looks back at him innocently with sapphire-blue eyes. The iridescent silver sparingly brushed over her lids glitters in the spring sunshine, making the water look pale in comparison.
“Fine.” He narrows his eyes, glancing at Epona, not too far away. Dry changes of clothes for both of them lay packed neatly, their trip to Lanayru Spring (extremely holy, she had informed the castle staff, deserving of two days of worship and necessitating a reliable bodyguard) not halfway over.
Her eyebrows raise lightly in surprise of his acceptance, the amusement never leaving her features. The heavy satins she usually wear remain at the castle, her riding gear clinging to her in a way he had to force himself quite sternly not to think about. Her brown hair, free of its usual ribbons and crown, lays braided behind her back.
“Fine.” He says again, rolling his sleeves up, “since it was your idea, you can come with me.”
“I absolutely am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Link.” She says, and she sounds like Colin on a summer’s day when Talo is about to do something that is absolutely dreadful and yet the funniest thing they will talk about for years to come.
“Zelda.” He echoes her tone, and her teeth flash as she laughs, taking a few steps back and taking safety in the higher, grassier ledge of the land surrounding the lake.
He rolls his eyes (overtly affectionately, he notes with a hint of worry as he physically feels his features soften), dipping his hands in the cool, clear water of the lake and flicking a few droplets in her direction. She ducks out the way, her foot slipping on a patch of muddy weeds, and he finds himself instinctively lurching forwards to catch her, damp hands pressing against her back.
She looks up at him, and he is suddenly all too aware of his heart beneath his chest and how his hands grasp her waist over the thin riding trousers she wears.
“Thank you.” She mumbles, a pink dusting her cheeks, not particularly making an effort to move in a way that makes him look away to clear his mind.
“It’s muddy.” He says flatly. “Be careful.”
She huffs in response, looping her arms around his shoulders to pull herself up, the soft curves of her body pressed against him as she steadies herself.
“Link-“ whisper the quiet, regal tones of her voice, but he isn’t listening.
V.
Beth considers herself royalty, now.
Link sighs with a familiar affectionate heaviness as the girl parades herself in front of him. For years he had witnessed her ‘fashion shows’, although, in Beth’s defence, they had never featured the Princess of Hyrule’s childhood dresses before, donated subtly in a “pile of lost bags she was sure she intended for Ordon, for some reason”. Even Talo had been impressed, although questioned why Link had not brought back a suit of armour for him.
Kids armour doesn’t exist, numpty. Had been Link’s response, and Talo had called him a terrible excuse for a brother. Link had simply smiled and said you called me your brother, that means I win.
Colin had been far more interested in the jewellery.
“And I shall wear this dress to ride into battle alongside my dear knight Sir Link!” Beth explained in full seriousness, red folds of fabric reflecting in the setting sunlight, the jewel-encrusted shoes five sizes too big for her as she feigned galloping.
“Zeldie doesn’t wear heels into battle.” Link responded, his Ordon accent, free of the restraint of castle town, catching on the end of her name.
“You’re supposed to call her your majesty.” Beth told him, a tone of authority in her voice that, he has to give her credit for, is not too dissimilar to the princess herself.
“And you’re supposed to be in bed.” He notes lightly.
“She’s only still awake because you’re waiting for your girlfriend to get back.” Talo interjected, crossing his arms, still in protest of the lack of armour in his hands.
“She’s not his girlfriend, he’s her bodyguard. She’s here to see Bo.” Beth stuck her tongue out, “although wouldn’t that be romantic?”
Link is quite done with fashion shows.
Thankfully, peace comes in the form of Ilia, her southern drawl cutting through their conversation as she calls his name, Epona by her side.
“Bed.” He instructs the children, who roll their eyes at him. Never change, he thinks.
He raises a hand in greeting towards Ilia, golden hues of the sky settling over her in an unsettlingly familiar manner. He half expects to hear a jest from his shadow, a pang he is sure he will never be rid of. Something about being in Ordon still makes this ache worse, for reasons he is sure he will never understand, though he is glad to be home all the same.
“How was it?” He raises an eyebrow towards the Mayor’s daughter, wearing shoes for once in her life as she meets him fresh from her father’s generous host of the Princess of Hyrule to discuss increased trade with Ordon.
“Fine.” She smiles in return, hand brushing through Epona’s mane. “She’s like a proper princess, ain’t she? But she’s sweet. I think. I… couldn’t really tell?”
He laughs, knowing exactly the Zelda that Ilia had met.
“Did her face change once?”
“A little.” The other girl tilts her head. “When you were mentioned. She has a pretty smile. It’s very genuine.”
He bites back a smile of his own, busying himself with fussing over Epona.
“Can’t believe you’re all talkin’ about me in there.” He opts to say.
“She brought you up.” Ilia teases, poking him with her elbow. “Wouldn’t stop talkin’ about you, actually. Not that we weren’t glad of it. Somethin’ mutual to talk about, like.”
Link shoots her a glare, coaxing Epona into the nook by his house. She whinnies against him, her front hoof stamping.
“Yes, she’ll be back soon.” He mumbles against the horse, who has gotten so attached to the Princess anybody would think it was her horse in the first place. Link supposes that’s what taking care of an animal when its owner is faced with Ganondorf himself does for bonding, but even he is a little jealous sometimes.
“She look after Epona?” Ilia questions gently, and he nods his head.
“Might be hard to believe, but Epona loves her even more than me.”
His words hang in the air a moment, and Ilia shifts her weight.
“Worded it badly.” He sighs after a moment, “not what I meant.”
“It’s alright if it is.” Ilia says, her tones hushed and gentler than usual. “I ain’t putting words in your mouth, but it’s alright if it is.”
He opens his mouth to answer her - saying what, he doesn’t know - when Zelda’s voice cuts across the air, his name sweet and familiar on her tongue, and he looks up so quickly strands of sandy blonde hair fly across his face.
Ilia hides a knowing smile, and the hues of twilight ebb to dusk.
VI.
Link hadn’t expected the reason the Princess of Hyrule finally cried in front of him would be a picture of a goat.
He cannot believe that’s a sentence that exists. Yet, here she is, and he doesn’t know what to do.
She cries like a child. Her face hides in her hands, red with the effort of not making a noise. Every now and then, she slowly takes a huge, gulping breath, and wipes her eyes so hard streaks of black makeup stain the white of her gloves. Her forehead creases with the effort of appearing as unphased as possible, an utterly pointless exercise.
“It’s okay to cry.” He says quietly, hushed over the quiet tones of her bedroom (which, to all castle staff bar ladies-in-waiting, is off limits) “really.”
“Not if you are me.” She responds after a moment, so utterly miserable in tone he swears he can physically feel his heart break.
“Especially if you’re you.” He murmurs softly, his arm finding her shoulders. She leans her head against him, a few deep breaths to steady herself.
“I am sorry.” She whispers, her words broken by her shaky breaths, “It is not-“
“It’s okay.” He interrupts firmly, his arm around her tightening.
She is silent a few seconds more, her breathing evening out as she bites on her bottom lip softly.
“You did not deserve anything that happened to you. I would do anything to restore the peaceful life you deserved.” She says finally, her eyes fixated vaguely ahead of her as they so often are. He is beginning to understand why her gaze is always pinpointed on some far horizon; Hyrule’s sovereign is not nearly as emotionally poised as she presents herself to be.
He considers her words a moment, and thinks of the peaceful life she is picturing. Growing up in Ordon, working on the ranch, marrying Ilia or a woman from castle town he met on a trade trip. Perhaps seeing Zelda once, from a distance, meeting her icy, regal gaze and averting his eyes as he wondered what to have for dinner.
He looks down at her, soft brown strands of hair falling around her shoulders, her cheeks stained with tears and a rosy pink colour to her lips where she had pressed them together in an effort to remain quiet.
“I would do it a thousand times over to find you.” Link murmurs softly, his lips finding her head in a way he is sure he will berate himself for later.
She looks up at him, eyelashes clumped together with the damp of her tears.
“Link, I-“ she starts, and her voice is so soft, so different from the hooded woman he met in the twilight-covered castle tower it’s as though he is meeting her again for the first time. She swallows, inhaling slowly. “…As selfish as it may be, I am so glad you did.”
VII.
When the messenger from Ordon isn’t Rusl, he knows something is wrong.
He stands with Zelda in her study, as he so often does these days, when the news arrives. It’s Rusl and Uli’s little daughter. They request your presence, Sir Link. Reports the man, unfamiliar and distant.
No doctor is sent for, of course. They can’t afford it. The castle town doctors charge extortionately. They just want him home.
Home, he thinks, looking at Zelda’s unchanging face. She thanks the messenger, dismissing him before Link can speak.
“You must go.” She says simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He bites down on his lip so roughly it almost bleeds. The thought of Colin and Rusl and Uli sitting in their little house in Ordon spending their pittance of rupees to send someone to the castle to request his presence is so heart-wrenching he isn’t sure how to react. And what of the baby? The girl hasn’t yet seen her second year. He had been in Ordon not three weeks ago and the child had been toddling after her elder brother as fast as her very small legs would carry her.
“I-“ he starts, and she cuts him off, standing up from her desk, her hands leaning on the table.
He recognises this Zelda. This is not his Zeldie. This is the Princess.
“And I will hear none of this nonsense about not sending ahead a doctor.” She says sharply, “you consider the child family, yes?”
He shrinks a little in her presence. She is…
Radiant. There is no other word.
He nods yes.
“Excuse me.”
She crosses the room, her features as sharp and pointed as the people of castle town say; but her eyes swim with something beneath the surface, and he thinks of how she laughed and sang and danced with Uli on her last visit to Ordon.
“Zel-“
“Wait.” She quips, and he stops without question.
She leaves the room, and he catches glimpse of the guards outside almost hitting their faces with their knees in their rush to bow as she sails past. Sir Link, their fellow knight, stands inside Princess Zelda’s private study chewing his nails like an anxious teenager.
The room is uncomfortably silent without her, the air still, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Surely Colin’s little sister would not die? If it were that bad, they would have passed the message on, he reasoned. He thought back to the last time someone dear to him came close to death.
Zelda had saved him, then, too.
How long is he to be gone for? He is going, of course, no question about it, but he will be away from-
No. That is a silly thought, he tells himself. Grow up.
Maybe she could-
No. Again. Grow up.
Nausea settles in his stomach. He has experienced his fair share of grief, and does not particularly want for more. He bites on his lip again, sharp canines digging into the soft skin (they never really had gone back to the way they were before), his chest twisting uncomfortably.
The door handle turns, and some of his fear is soothed.
“The doctor will likely arrive before you. I have sent word ahead.” She says matter of factly, “you had best be on your way.”
He blinks at her. She’s doing the staring-nowhere-in-particular thing again. Her face is a solemn, unreadable mask.
“Zeldie-“
“Shh.” She hushes him, although her voice softens a little, “I will not hear it. You must go.”
“Zelda,” he mumbles quietly, “I- I can’t thank you-“
“Your happiness is thanks enough.” Her voices washes over him like balm on a wound, “and… to be honest with you, it distresses me greatly to imagine how the people of your village are feeling at this moment.”
The mask cracks a bit. To hell with the mask, he thinks.
He grabs her hand, pulling her firmly towards him. She stumbles a little, her hands reaching for his arms to steady herself. He grasps onto her so tightly he is almost afraid of hurting her - but she relaxes against him, her hands smoothing over his hair gently.
“Do not worry about me.” She whispers, her breath hot against his ear.
I will, he thinks, but says nothing.
He breathes in her scent, honey and lavender, and exhales slowly against her neck.
“I will see you soon.” He says softly, “with good news.”
“That doctor took care of my father in his final months. He is… very good.” She says after a moment, and he can tell the emotionless expression - that he now knows to be forced - has disappeared from her features. He’s about to say something, but her voice turns gentler, and she pulls back to look at him. He can usually read her eyes now, but even if he couldn’t, her gaze melts as it reaches him. “I apologise for the implication. He lengthened his life by a fair few years. I have full faith you will return with a smile - and, if they are able, do bring your… your family.”
“I will.” He says quietly, and she smiles, her eyebrows creased a little in worry.
“Write to me.” She says.
“‘Course I will.” He promises in return, voice scarcely above a whisper.
She looks as though she is about to speak, but she brushes her thumb over his cheek instead, her eyes settling on the bridge of his nose. The sunlight streams through the window, pattern of the glass laying dappled shadows across her skin. His arm around her waist tightens, and she sighs heavily, strands of hair falling over her face as she leans into him.
“Do not let me keep you.” She mumbles.
His lips find her cheek, pressing against the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll see you soon.” He says, more to himself than to her.
“Yes.” She responds hoarsely, “soon.”
He looks at her, her porcelain skin flushed a light shade of pink, the gentle slope of her nose, the part of her lips. Perhaps it is the anxiety, he thinks, or the realisation that life is not as long as one might think, but his fingers tilt her chin towards him, his hands threading through her hair.
“Zelda,” He breathes, his voice almost inaudible as she locks his gaze, dark eyelashes framing melancholic eyes. “I-“
His voice falters, his heartbeat in his ears.
“Link,” she whispers, the silky, hushed tones of her voice gentle as she reaches up and presses her lips to his for a moment so brief he isn’t sure if he imagined it. “I know.”
He says nothing, only holding her closer.
She opens her mouth to speak, and he interrupts her, his mouth finding hers again as he notes she tastes faintly of tea, her lips soft and chaste and perfect beneath his own.
“Shh. Don’t say it.” He mumbles quietly, “give me something to look forwards to.”
VIII.
He hadn’t expected the ache of missing her to be quite so… physical.
Uli’s daughter, against all odds, had made a full recovery. She wobbled down the path by the river holding Colin’s hand these days, her complexion a delightfully human-colour compared to the icy, pale state she had been in when he arrived weeks prior. What the castle doctor had done, he didn’t know, but there was no doubt in the village the man had saved her life. Despite this, there was a constant ache in Link’s chest he found it hard to ignore.
Whilst he missed Zelda terribly, spending time back in Ordon had been… nice. They were not rich in rupees, but the Princess had covered the doctor’s salary and then some, and he had told the townsfolk their hospitality had been so delightfully warm he would have worked for free. If the child’s infection ever returned, he had said, all he needed was some pumpkin soup and he’d be on his way. Uli had cried almost every day since her daughter’s health slowly restored, and even Rusl had clamped Link on the shoulder so hard it had near-bruised and lamented how they were now in debt to the one person in the kingdom they could not possibly hope to repay.
Her relief will be payback enough. She was worried, Link had told him. Ilia had giggled and made a remark about Link’s very existence being Ordon’s contribution to the royal family’s wealth and Link had kicked her under the table as she scoffed into her soup. The mayor had made a sort of exasperated noise Link hadn’t heard since the summer they were twelve and Ilia had locked Link in the spring for a day and forgotten about him.
Bo had insisted they extend a formal invitation of thanks to the Princess and host her in Ordon, and Link had to stare at the ceiling to not make eye contact with Ilia. Talo was clearly being a bad influence on her.
Despite being back in what was technically his own bed, Link had struggled to sleep for the past few weeks, when the dark hues of the night sky painted the view outside his window and the owls hooted in the trees. Ordon was pitch black compared to the constant-hush of Castle Town, and although it was certainly far more peaceful, he found himself missing the glow of the houses and market outside his window in the castle - the sound of soft footsteps, the portrait of Midna that now hung in the half-restored throne room.
And, of course, her.
He smooths out the folds of the half-crumpled letter painted with her handwriting. Embarrassing as it is to admit, it had taken him a few times to read the loops and curls of a royal hand. But read it he did; and he has since read it at least twelve dozen times.
My dearest Link,
It gladdens me greatly to hear of the doctor’s successful treatment. I thank you for your correspondence in the matter.
So formal. A tiny laugh escapes his lips as he reads the words in her voice, a pang of longing through his heart as his name sounds in his ears in her rich tones.
I must admit, I am missing you quite terribly. It saddens me to hold council and not see your lovely face looking at me from across the room, although it is considerably less stress not having to hide a smile during cabinet meetings.
How is Ilia? I had a wonderful conversation with her when I last visited Ordon. She knows you well. I was humbled in her presence.
Please pass my regards on to Rusl and Uli. If time allowed, I would visit myself, but my schedule is quite full. I shall endeavour to make the trip when life allows.
I hope I shall see you soon.
Yours,
Zelda.
PS. Since I cannot be there, please accept this from afar. I sincerely hope nobody intercepts this letter, lest I die of shame. I can hear Midna’s mocking laugh in my ear already.
A sunset-pink coloured lipstick mark stains the corner of the page, and he bites back a smile, folds the paper neatly, and places it back in his pocket, over his heart.
IX.
The pink lipstick from the letter is clearly very transferable. He supposes that’s why she chose it to mark the paper.
The problem is, paper is not what she is marking at this present moment in time, and how in Din’s name he is going to leave this room without raising eyebrows he doesn’t know.
Thankfully, he doesn’t care.
An hour he’s been back. It’s almost funny. She had met him at the gate and had her usual public-facing-stare-at-nothing expression on her features, but her face was flushed and she was practically buzzing on the spot and she kept looking at his face and hiding her smile as they walked inside together. Nobody had questioned it, of course. She had been busy over the past few weeks and clearly had much to brief her top-ranking knight on.
Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as the staff were concerned.
“I missed you.” She breathes underneath him, her back pressed against the oak wood of her desk, one hand threaded through his soft hair as the other gripped onto the edge of the table for stability. Her lips press against his neck, pink gloss smudged across her face and sticky against his pulse.
“I can tell.” He says, amused, his forehead pressing against hers as her lips move to his jaw.
“Be quiet.” She huffs, her face burning.
“Don’t use that tone on me, Your Majesty.” He laughs softly.
She rolls her eyes, smiling. “I truly did miss you.”
“I could hardly stand it.” He reassures her gently, his hand cupping her face, thumb tracing patterns on her cheek. She exhales, leaning her cheek into his touch. I love you, he wants to say, but the moonlight seeps into the room and her skin is cool and soft to the touch and his voice disappears in his throat.
“I revere the fates that had us meet.” She murmurs quietly, “when Farore put you on this land, it was surely so Nayru could lead you to me.”
Suddenly, his thought pales in comparison, but he has never been a wordsmith.
“Zelda, I love you.” He murmurs against her skin, and he hears her inhale shakily.
“Is it selfish?” She breathes, “to believe you were made for me?”
Her body is warm against his and he can feel her heart beat against his chest. Her hair lays out around her like a halo, mahogany-coloured locks interwoven with honey tinted highlights that accented the flecks of silver in the deep blue of her eyes. Her chest rises and falls heavily, the deep-red fabric of her dress cut in a way that exposed more skin than was perhaps appropriate for her station, a thin gold chain with a blue-encrusted pendant representing wisdom resting nearly on her chest. Crafted by Nayru, he thinks, and then allows himself to think for me.
He shakes his head, and his arm hooks around her waist to pull her body flush against his as he closes the gap between them, dusky pink lipstick against his mouth.
His name falls from her lips as they part against his, and he melts.
X.
It is a truly unremarkable day when she finally says it.
He feels her gaze on her across the room and turns to her with a raised eyebrow. Her head rests on her hand as she looks at him, her hair loose around her shoulders, purple dress bringing out the blue of her eyes.
“You alright?” He asks.
She nods, humming softly.
“I do not believe I ever told you explicitly, Link,” she muses, with all the nonchalance of somebody pondering the weather, “that I love you.”
It is so delightfully Zelda to word it in such a manner.
“No, I don’t believe you did.” He teases affectionately.
She clears her throat.
“It may have escaped your notice, but I am not exactly renowned for sharing my emotions. Regardless, I am confident in what I say.”
Her voice quietens, a tiny smile creeping onto her face. Soft eyelashes flicker as she studies his face as though it were an altar of worship.
“Link, I love you.” Come the hushed tones of her voice that are reserved only for him.
The warmth that fills his chest reminds him of the sun. He thinks of soft smiles and pink lipstick and handwritten letters and confessions of divinity under candlelight.
“I know,” he says,
and she laughs.