Chapter Text
An endless, pale cloud stretched over the sky. The lake that kept to your left muddled with a muted black in turn, and the steady rhythm of your footsteps on the bank kept you in a state of drowsiness broken only by the occasional hostile creature on the horizon.
“Are we there yet?” you asked. You’d spent somewhere near to three hours walking after leaving your horses at the foot of the mountain, and Zora’s domain, allegedly a beautiful kingdom nestled among the highlands, was still no-where to be seen.
“Nearly,” was Link’s response.
Had it not been for the chill in the air (remnants of the day’s downpour, no doubt) you’d have been far less impatient. It was certainly doing your cold no favours; despite how hard you tried to keep your coughs and sniffles down to a minimum, they were frequent enough that Link insisted you wear his snowquill tunic over your clothes. A sweet sentiment really, even if dry blood speckled its sleeve and nuzzling into it acquainted you with the smell of his sweat a little more closely than you’d find tasteful.
“You do a lot of this, don’t you? Just travelling to and from places.” The walk was, for the most part, relatively laid-back. Nothing of note happened bar a kerfuffle with a Lizalfos that Link decided he didn’t have the time for; the beast barely noticed him before he gestured for you to run onwards. “It’s better than being caught in fights all the time, don’t get me wrong, but I wonder how you don’t get bored.”
“I do sometimes,” he said, surprising you. To tell the truth, you hadn’t considered Link had the capacity to feel bored, let alone admit it.
“So, what do you usually do to entertain yourself?”
“I stay focused on the road ahead.”
“Right. Should have figured.”
A large, wooden box lay atop an abandoned cart on the path in front of you, and you started walking towards it even before Link diverted from the path to do the same. As expected, grass and moss thatched over the bottom rim of the wheels, like it hadn’t been moved in months. Not an encouraging sign necessarily, but at least you could be sure that whatever happened to the owner happened a while ago.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.
You pried the box open with an arrowhead, and gemstones glittered among the bed of straw that tumbled out of it: a technicolour collection of rubies, ambers, and even a pair of diamonds that you pocketed very quickly. They would cover the cost of inns for the foreseeable future.
“Not exactly. I was just…” you started but trailed off. ‘Wondering if there was more to you than self-sacrifice and ticking-off checklists? Hunting for scrapes of personality I could claw out, kicking and screaming, from your stone-cold façade?’ “Just asking,” you finished, and held an amber up to the sky, where it coloured the grey cloud overhead in a wash of sunrise.
Link nodded weakly. Without so much as inspecting them, he stuffed the remaining gemstones into a pouch hung around his hip. A birdsong—quiet and distant, chirped from a thicket of bushes at a landing on the mountain, and your tongue wet your lips at the thought of bigger animals grazing alongside them. A boar might be nice. Would certainly last a while. Enough to feed Link’s ravenous appetite thrice over and leave some leftovers, which was a challenge in and of itself.
Admittedly, the constant shortage of meat wasn’t entirely Link’s fault; you were far too soft for the way his cheeks filled out in pink after a hearty meal. It was hard to turn away from the desperate hope in his eyes (as transparent as glass) while he waited on your permission to get another serving. Paya and her rambling for the foolish hero be damned; some of it must have slipped onto you when you weren’t paying attention.
What a stupid little man, with his stupid little all-consuming appetite and stupid one-in-a-lifetime smiles, peeking into existence when he teased you with a joke or laughed at you for nearly letting Papaya buck you off. You wanted more of that. Less of the world-renowned hero that couldn’t even scratch his ass lest it scarred his perfect reputation.
“Link, do you want to play a game?” you asked when he started on the trek back up the highlands, desperately hoping he would say yes.
He looked at you in a way that suggested you piqued his interest. “While walking?”
“Just a game where we talk about ourselves. We don’t need to do anything else.”
“Is that not just having a regular conversation?”
You snorted, though you doubted the joke was intentional. “Kind of. There are rules to this conversation though. We each take turns to say three things about ourselves: two of them are facts, and one of them is a lie. The aim of the game is to guess which one’s which.”
“And this will keep you entertained?”
“Definitely,” you said and tried your most charming smile in an effort to convince him. You decided to keep quiet until he’d had some time to consider it, and the ensuing silence was boring enough that he made his mind up.
“Alright. But you start first.”
You looked about you for inspiration: at the grass that folded beneath your feet, the cliffs that circled your side in a treacherous effort to grab at the sky, and the water—a dull, shimmer-less body of black lapped with the whims of the wind.
“Okay, my first one is: I can’t swim.”
Though you weren’t intimidated by Link’s ability (or alternatively, inability) to read your expression, you opted not to make eye contact with him regardless.
“You never learnt?”
“Nope, there was never a chance to. We had one sacred lake back in Ordon, and it barely went up to my knees; everything else dried up long before I was born.”
“Can you stay afloat, at least?”
“If the water’s relatively still, then just about. But if there’s a current? I go under faster than I can blink.”
The way Link glared at the river to your left made you realise (a little too late) that he was just trying to ascertain how much of a threat it posed. You tried to usher on, but when he asked if you’d rather move to his right and keep to the hills, it was clear the damage had been done.
“Maybe if it suddenly gets deeper,” you said, because the shallow of the river barely touched upon two feet of depth, and you suspected even you could worm yourself out of a life-or-death situation where the chance of death was roughly equal to the chance of drowning in a bath-tub.
“For my second one, I’m gonna tell you about the time I chased a wild buck around town for the better half of an hour, only to have the thing almost gore me with its antlers when I finally had it cornered.”
“That certainly sounds like you,” he said in a tone that was surprisingly (but not unpleasantly) light-hearted.
“Hilarious,” you said—knowing full well your smile betrayed your amusement. This was exactly what you wanted out of him; humour and entertainment, something other than the repetitive, boring droll of staring at a path. “For all you know, that could be the lie.”
“I doubt it.” Another joke? At this rate, you could convince him to stop and smell the roses on the way to Hyrule castle. Or bluebells. Daffodils. Whatever was left after Ganon’s guardians plundered the earth.
“Now, for my third…” you looked around, but the oppressive blanket of the sky stretched like an ocean of deep grey, and the roar of a waterfall drowned out anything else that might have served as inspiration. Instead, you thought back to Kakariko—a town buried far behind the line of the horizon, and fast glimpses of your child-hood came hand-in-hand with the visual. “I had, erm—” you started, and gave yourself a chance to back out before deciding to go all in, “I had a picture of you on my wall growing up.” You didn’t want to throw Paya to the wolves and explain that she was the one that drew it, but the remaining implication suggested that you were the fangirl out of the two of them: an equally horrifying prospect.
“That must be the lie,” he said, pointedly avoiding eye contact. You considered forfeiting the game to avoid admitting that you did, in fact, have a picture of him on your wall as a child, but some competitive part of you decided that would be too easy, because you didn’t.
“It’s not, if you believe that. Granted, I wasn’t the one that put it there,” you said, clipping off before you could describe the love-struck way Paya called him her, ‘knight in shining armour,’ and religiously kissed the scratchy stick-figure of him before going to sleep. “But it was definitely you: the blonde hair, your little tunic, even that purple sword you carried around.”
“The master sword?”
“That’s the one. Not that you seem to have it on you at the moment,” you said. When you turned around again, Link looked about as embarrassed as you were, and you might have found it entertaining were you not so mortified. “Don’t get cocky about it though. There was a new scribble on that wall every time Impa got through another bed-time story with us.”
“And us is… you and Paya, I take it?”
“Course. She’s the better artist out of the two of us, admittedly,” you said, recalling the development of her little scribbles into sketches that were became quite technical. As a child, the extra attention her pieces received was something you were quite disgruntled over, and you gave up the arts very quickly in favour of going out and shooting arrows into make-shift targets. “She even got taught by Pikango for a little while: the elder in Kakariko who always carts around an easel and a paintbrush.”
“She was that good?”
“Absolutely. I still have a couple of her pictures stored away somewhere.” You recalled the time she drew you to an uncanny likeness when you were perched on a tree, overlooking the setting sun. “I’ll show them to you next time we stop by my house. Maybe if you ask nicely, she’ll even draw you.” (Right, as if there was a chance in hell Paya wouldn’t drop to her knees and beg Link to model for her at the first opportunity.)
“I’d be grateful. It’d be a nice thing to hang up in my house.”
“You have a house?”
“Yes, in Hateno. Is that unexpected?”
“A little,” you said. “Honestly, I always had you pegged as a traveller.” A half-truth; you didn’t feel brave enough to admit you’d thought him flat broke.
“I suppose you’re not wrong; I don’t go there very often.”
Of course not. You wouldn’t be chipping into your savings to for beds if he had the luxury of sleeping in one place every night. Still, it was nice to know you had a backup bed in case a particularly nefarious wizzrobe ever set fire to your tarp.
“Anyway,” you said, “going back to the game: since you lost that round, one point goes to me.”
“So, which one was the lie?
“The deer one, believe it or not.”
The transparency of Link’s surprise made it clear that’s not what he would have guessed.
“I thought that might throw you for a loop, seeing as the first time you saw me, I was completely drenched in mud from chasing that boar around.” You wondered briefly what impression you left on him the day of your meeting, though you suspected he didn’t think much of it. At the time, you were probably another notch on his to-do list.
“Your turn now.”
“Right,” he replied obediently, but said nothing after that, not when the grass beneath your feet gave way to rocks and hardy brambles, and not when the once-distant chirping of sparrows burst from the brush overhead in a way that suggested you’d be finding boars very soon.
“Are you struggling?” you asked, and he looked at you apologetically.
“Nothing’s coming to mind.”
You hmmed aloud, less to think, and more to distract yourself from the soreness in your feet as gravel pushed into the worn soles of your shoes. They were ideal for running about on the soft moss of the forest floor (when hunting rabbits was your biggest problem) but their comfort ran out as soon as you stepped foot on the mountain. “Just tell me facts about yourself. Things from your childhood. Things you like and don’t like.”
“I like food,” he said simply, and you burst into laughter.
“Well, I know that much. If you’re gonna make it that easy for me, you might as well just forfeit the game.”
“Oh, I’ll think of another one then.”
“Go ahead,” you said and waited with bated breath for him to continue. Honestly, you were even more eager to play this game than you thought you’d be. Despite sleeping under the same roof, dozing off on his shoulder, and wearing his clothes, most of what you knew more about him came from Impa’s tales and Paya’s dreamy ramblings. This was your first real opportunity to hear something about him that no-one else was privy to.
“The first time I rode a horse,” Link began, “I pulled the reins too hard trying to slow it down, and it bucked me off.”
“Really?” you asked, extremely pleased with the visual. “That’s so unlike you, I’m struggling to believe it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just so disciplined all the time,” you tried to explain, “it’s weird to think of you making mistakes at all.”
“Princess Zelda said something similar,” he said, in a small voice void of emotion. For the first time since setting out that day, you couldn’t read his face, and it was surprisingly unnerving. You were just talking out of your ass, but it seemed like you struck a nerve.
“You don’t sound very happy about that.”
“Should I be?”
“About not making mistakes? I mean, that sounds like a compliment to me.”
Link seemed unconvinced, but he must have been reluctant to elaborate, because he let you have the last word. As you walked upwards, the incline of the mountain path carried you away from the river, but the roaring thrum of a waterfall brought it back just before the road curved over the mountain-top. If the Zora were as aquatic as you were made to believe, the running water would probably lead you straight to them.
You looked up to where the cliff-face gave way to the sky, and the steady darkening of the clouds made you skittish. Link warned you of the Zora domain’s perpetual rain, but you figured as long as you kept your wits about you and walked slowly where the earth looked slippery, you’d be fine. Now you weren’t so sure.
“You need two more facts,” you reminded Link, grazing the heel of your shoe over a log as you climbed over it. The way you landed on your feet was a little inelegant, and he seemed to think you were about to trip, because his hand went to your side.
“I think I have another one,” he said, and you gave him a quick thanks before telling him to fire away. “One evening, after a day of archery training during my time as a royal knight, one of the king’s maids invited me to her quarters.”
You perked up immediately.
Honestly, this was absolutely not an admission you expected to hear. Based on Link’s clumsy approach to most forms of social courtesy, flirting seemed far-fetched at best. He could barely hold a conversation on a good day, and you doubted a flattering bone structure could make up for having to talk to yourself for the duration of his company. (Then again, ‘the strong, silent type’ was popular for a reason, and hell, if you ever came across a double bed on your journey and he showed any interest, even you’d be up for—)
“But before I set foot in her bedroom, I ate all her food and she kicked me out.”
You laughed so violently that spit came out of your mouth.
“That’s—” you started but couldn’t even get another word out before your burst into laughter again. “That’s so you.”
You thought you saw the smallest glimpse of a smile from his direction.
“That better not be the lie, or I will be so disappointed.”
You passed by the waterfall in silence, though the lingering, post-laugh warmth in your belly stayed until the river slowed from an unforgiving blur to a lazy ebb that softly brushed against the bank. A sharp incline stretched over your head, and in front of it, the road narrowed dramatically. Though you waited patiently at his side while Link moved in front of you and scrambled over the incline to scout the surroundings, you readied the bow at your back when he unsheathed his sword.
Soon enough, a boulder skimmed over Link’s ear. It flew with a sharp whoosh and barely missed his head in favour of smashing against the steep face of cliff behind him.
“Shoot,” you mumbled, peering over the side of the incline to look at the offending Octorok. It was focused on Link, so despite your poor elevation, you figured you had a pretty good chance of firing an arrow while it was distracted. You edged yourself a little closer to the edge of the bank, doing your best to steer clear of the river, and just before Link had the opportunity to parry a second boulder, you sank an arrow neatly between its eyes—popping it.
Link looked caught off guard for a second, like he wasn’t really sure what happened.
“You don’t have to thank me,” you said coyly, scrambling up the incline to stand beside him. “All in a day’s work.”
For a moment, you were worried his concerned expression would devolve into another lecture from his direction about staying behind him and not getting involved in combat, so you were quite surprised to see him nod.
“I’ll get the ingredients,” he said, when he saw your outstretched hand reach towards the water. You were about to tell him you could handle something as easy as fishing out some tentacles, but he dove in before you had a chance to open your mouth. To his credit, his swimming was quick, graceful, and it only took a couple of seconds for him to be back on your side of the bank with a purple, squelching mass of Octorok tentacles.
“You could have at least taken your armour off, you know.”
Link looked down at his drenched clothes. “It’ll dry.”
“Whatever you say.”
You watched him reach behind his neck to grab at his clothes in an effort that looked suspiciously like him wanting to undress, so you gave him some privacy by turning around and staring at the cliff-face.
“Are you done?” you asked eventually.
“Yes.”
You turned around slowly (just in case his idea of ‘done’ circled around your idea of half-dressed) but were pleased to find him in his Sheikah suit, wringing his wet tunic over the river.
“Thought of a third fact?”
The way he loosened his grip on his tunic before anything came to mind was very telling.
“No?”
“Actually…” he began and took a preparatory breath in before adjusting his seat on the bank. “Swimming in the river just reminded me of something.”
You sat down next to him. “Well, go ahead.”
“It wasn’t here exactly,” he said, observing the way the current circled a stepping stone, “but somewhere along this river, my fiancée and I would sometimes practise spearing fish.”
“Fiancée?” you asked, knowing you wouldn’t be able to wipe the shock from your tone. Sure, you could more-or-less handle the thought of some poor, clueless maid finding him attractive and asking if he would like to spend the night in her quarters, especially if it was only to be subsequently disappointed by his complete lack of sensitivity. But an engagement? A genuine and consensual connection on that level?
“No offence intended, but if you want to parse that one, you’re going to have to do a little more convincing.”
His face was inscrutably hard to read as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a blue armour clad in scales and silver. “Her name was Mipha,” he said. You were reluctant to take the armour from him, but the way he held it out to you was insistent. “The Zora princess at the time. This was her version of an engagement ring.” (So that’s where his horse’s name came from. Odd, sure, to name your steed after your wife, but it would hardly be the strangest thing he’d done.)
“Armour?”
“Yes. That’s the Zora tradition. Hand-crafted for the betrothed.”
You didn’t know enough about Zora to know if he was bluffing, but a quick once-over the breastplate did, in-fact reveal signs of individual craft, most telling of which was a necklace draped over the chest: a silver chain threaded with rocks, seashells, and the carefully-carved insignia of the Zora emblem.
“You’re telling me that on top of being a royal guard for princess Zelda, you’re engaged to royalty? I’m surprised you don’t mention that more often; I wouldn’t have asked you to run after Bokoblins if I knew you were a prince.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“No?”
“Mipha was…” he started, and his expression shrouded into a blackout curtain of displeasure and sadness that you’d glimpsed only once or twice in your acquaintance. “She was one of the four Champions during the calamity.”
You felt your heart sink. Of course. Mipha: the spear-wielding Zora champion piloting the Vah Ruta. What little you knew of the champions was all thanks to Impa, and the few stories she shared about them were so Link-centred (under Paya’s discretion) you never put two and two together.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, with as much sincerity you could muster. If Link noticed the way your grip on the armour changed, like you were holding precious porcelain, he noted it without comment.
“It’s been a long time since then,” he said, like that alone would wipe away your pity. When you handed it back to him, he gathered it into his chest.
“It has.” You looked him straight in the eyes. “But it doesn’t feel that way to you, does it?”
Link returned your glance with a tepid disquiet.
“I know it’s been over a hundred years since the calamity, but it must have been shortly before your slumber that you even found out she passed away, if not after.”
The twisting on his face was pained, like you told him something he’d never wanted to come to terms with. Worst of all, with the return of his most recent memory, he could say for sure you were right. Tearing through branches in the midst of a forest, the pit in his stomach circled with adrenaline. ‘Run,’ was one of the voices inside his head, which he recalled most clearly as his feet bore down upon the mud; ‘protect’ was the other, part-in-parcel with the feel of Zelda’s hand against his. It was all action, no rest or respite until he collapsed on the earth—exhausted and drained.
When he woke up, there was nothing. No grief or past to speak of—just the lone thought that he had a job to do. Something that became central to how he experienced the world. That even when his memories returned, bit by bit and brick by brick, (the shame, the rage, the grief) they all came secondary to the one thing that kept him going: moving forward.
“Did you ever have… a moment to mourn them?” you asked. “A burial? Anything like that?”
“With what bodies?” he said, and though it was an impartial statement in his head, his throat turned it bitter and unsure. The subject of the calamity always made him uneasy on his feet. Too volatile.
“It’s not always about the physical act of burying a body,” you explained, not with anger, but with a sternness that made it difficult for him to doubt your authority. “Sometimes it’s just about having a moment to remember those who passed away. I know that wasn’t really the case with those Yiga soldiers we buried, but more so than being ceremonies for the dead, funerals are there to make grieving a ceremonial process. It’s a time to mourn, together, as people.”
“Did you ever hold a burial?”
“Ever?” you asked, though you did not wait for his response. “Of course. Back in the day, countless humans went missing trying to get to Ganon. As small as our village was, we held a funeral almost every year.”
Link seemed to seriously consider whether it was a good idea to let slip whatever he was going to say next, because it took him a good few seconds of just staring at your face to even open his mouth. “I meant…” he started, and for a moment wherein you forgot he was the incarnation of courage, you almost thought he’d lost his nerve. “I meant a funeral for your family.”
Bile stirred in your stomach.
That catastrophic night, when the taste of ash and sulphur hung through the air like a thick cloak that ran circles around your throat, felt eons away. Most of what you could remember whittled down to hushed sobbing against the back of your hand—too scared to open your mouth in case the guardians found you on the outskirts of the town, or worse, the offensive, scalding taste of burning made its way into the back of your throat. You cried a lot, that was certain. Months after, you were still tossing in your makeshift bed of animal fur, visualising the crackle of charred, blackened flesh you once called family. But you never held a funeral.
You shook your head, and he nodded solemnly. After that, all was silent save for the chirp of birdsong and the happy, unaware gurgle of the river. It wasn’t until Link made a move to get up that you spoke again.
“Maybe… we should?”
He looked at you.
“Have a burial, I mean. Spend a day collecting flowers and rocks and make a couple of gravestones. Just as long as it feels like we’re leaving something behind for them.”
“For your family? Or the Champions?” Link asked. He clutched the Zora armour to himself protectively as he braced himself against the earth and stood up, though he offered you his other hand to take.
“Both. My family, your fiancé, everyone who died by Ganon’s hand.” Link held onto your hand a while after your got up. It felt like an attempt to ground himself, like that physical act would let him understand the depth of your suggestion.
“That might be nice,” he said eventually, and the two of you walked onwards, away from the gravel and onto the plain.
You were so eager to get a reprieve from the rocky, mountain road that it took you barely a minute to take your shoes off. When you wriggled your feet into the damp earth, Link looked on with poorly-concealed fascination.
“It’s nice,” you told him, and flashed the shoes in your hand. “You should try it.”
It probably wasn’t wise, sure, especially with the coming of rain as a dapple of foreboding, prickly cold against your skin. But it was fun, and you figured Link’s immune system was nigh-indestructible anyway. Worst case scenario was your cold getting a little worse.
“You never guessed which one was the lie,” he said, and you were convinced it was an attempt to change the subject until he reached for the back of his shoes to remove them. Had you taken note of the way he buried his heels into the earth, you might have thought his curiosity uncharacteristic, but you quickly became distracted with the bustling sound of a boar circling a pair of berry bushes on the top of a valley, and by the time you retrieved your bow, Link was on his toes again—poised and ready to fight.
“As much as I hope it’s not, I think it was the second,” you said. The boar turned its snout upwards when you lined the arrow parallel to the ground, and you barely remembered to shoot before it turned tail into a cluster of trees. Your arrow cut through the air with a smooth arc, but still unsuccessfully landed amongst the grass.
“That was a truth, actually.”
You threw a surprised look his way before stalking off to pick up the arrow. “Then that little tantrum you pulled when I doubted the first one was a bluff?”
Link scratched the back of his head. “That one was also the truth.”
“No way it was the third one,” you said in disbelief, pocketing the arrow into your quiver and coming to stand beside him.
Link only nodded sheepishly, and your jaw swung open.
“That’s heartless!” you cried, playfully punching his arm. “I swear, I was two steps away from bursting into tears!” He laughed as he caught your fists, and that alone was enough to shock you into submission. This was the first time you heard the sound, and the immense satisfaction that burst in your chest could only be compared to a flush of cold water.
“Some parts of it were true.” There was something overly friendly in the way his thumbs rubbed against your fists, but you didn’t think to mention it.
“Like what?”
“The Zora armour was, in fact, an engagement gift given to me by princess Mipha.”
“But?”
His face fell away into something a little more serious, and with it came the turntable in your stomach. “By the time I found out about it, it was too late to give her a response.”
Your hands dropped slightly, though Link still didn’t let them go. “Do you think...” you began, “had she proposed before the calamity, you’d have accepted it?”
It was a very run-of-the-mill question, and yet it seemed to stump him, because his eyes narrowed in what was, quite clearly, confusion.
“I’ve never been asked that before.”
“Really?” you backed away sheepishly, but his grip was a little too firm to separate yourself further than a half-step. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too invasive.”
“It’s not that.”
“No?”
He shook his head and scrunched his face. This time when you took a step back, he was too lost in thought not to let go.
“I’d just… never thought about it.”
You stopped yourself short of lifting an eyebrow at him. Sure, if you were told about someone’s retrospective plans to propose to you, knowing whether or not you’d accept seemed less like a matter of deliberation and more like a case of instinct. With Link, however, things were often different. Perhaps it was just another manifestation of his one-track-mind, and he’d never thought about his future outside of the confines of his duties as Hyrule’s Royal Knight and Champion for long enough to realise he had one.
“Maybe you can give her your answer when he have the burial?” was what you said instead. “For an armour as well-crafted as that, I think she deserves one.”
“Right,” Link said, punctuating it with a solemn nod. You took your place next to him, and the near-wistful look he gave your hand as you walked side by side twisted something in your stomach.
Rain danced on your skin. Luminous pillars stretched overhead, and you gripped the balustrade of the walkway you were crossing like it was the only thing preventing you from toppling over. A murky sky swam with ash-grey clouds above you—an ominous symbol that Link had explained was a product of Vah Ruta’s rain.
“Honestly, I’m nervous,” you said, shifting your bare feet in the ankle-deep water that circled them. Some time ago, you’d wrapped a cotton, white scarf patterned in blue and red over your head in a bandana (one of many borrowed items from Paya) as both a cover from the rain and a last-minute attempt to hide your circular ears, but it soaked quickly, and now did little to temper the roll of droplets down your temple.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. On his back (in a make-shift bag made from your leather tarp) he carried the boar you found in the mountains, trimmed, salted, and smoked for preservation; a hulking mass of meat you couldn't even lift off the ground despite your best attempts.
To top it off, you barely killed the thing in time to stop it from ramming you off a cliff, so you'd since concluded that the creatures were probably cursed, and you’d never catch one without facing a near-death experience.
“Is there anything I should know about?” you asked. “A special way to bow? Should I call him Prince Sidon? Or does he use something more formal?”
“He might shake your hand,” Link said. “Watch out for that.” He looked about ready to laugh at your unease, and honestly, you weren’t particularly happy about it. Regardless of his behaviour in your presence, he wasn’t far from silver spoon himself. He had, after all, grown up in the well-to-do background of Hyrule castle, a place bustling with high-born merchants, dukes, and kings. If a situation called for it, he could very well start acting as such. You, meanwhile, had spent half of your life in what might as well have been the sticks, the other half in a hut on top of a hill with only your bow and arrow for company, and if that wasn’t enough, you were human, which had been a little hit-and-miss with royalty in the past.
“You’re telling me the Zora Prince is gonna waltz in and start acting like my best friend?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
You found this unconvincing, but you kept quiet until Link waved at a landing that overlooked the plaza you were headed to. Standing as a striking contrast of bright red against the dark sky above you, an imposingly large Zora waved back.
“Link!” it shouted with a booming voice that almost made you jump out of your skin.
“Is that him?” you whispered, and Link gave a brief nod before leading you up a staircase of marble and silver. Sidon charged towards Link as soon as you set foot on the landing, and you swore your heart would have skipped less beats had he been an angry bear instead.
“It’s good to see you back in our kingdom!” he said, clasping Link’s hand between both of his and shaking it. A monstrously dazzling grin of sharp teeth flashed from under his lip. Dear God, he could easily chew your head off. “And you’ve brought a friend!” He focused his cat-like stare in your direction, and you did your best to temper your flinch.
“It’s an honour,” you said, bowing before him.
“So well-mannered! Please, companion, lift your head. Any friend of Link’s is a friend of mine.”
When you did as asked, his outstretched hand was already waiting. Firm handshake, you thought, hoping he wouldn’t notice how clammy your palm was. Firm handshake, firm handshake, firm—
“And such a magnificent handshake!”
You gave him a shaky smile in return for the compliment, though your heart leapt to your throat when his own fell away to something more serious. He leaned in to scrutinise your bandana, and you almost fainted on the spot. ‘He knows,’ was your final thought before you accepted your inevitable death at his hands.
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but might you perhaps be a Sheikah?” was what he asked (instead of ripping your head off).
“Oh, you mean the colours!” came your response, simultaneously too late and too hurried. Of course he’d mistake you for a Sheikah if you were wearing Paya’s scarf. “That’s very perceptive! I come from the Sheikah village over the mountain.” Not a lie, necessarily, but a misleading truth. Better safe than sorry.
Another dazzling smile overtook him. “Ah, you must mean Kakariko! I have heard of it! Though I rarely get the chance to step outside of the Zora domain, travellers only sing its praises.” he said, with a warmth that felt very genuine. Perhaps Link was right and you were a fool to worry; regardless of his title and imposing appearance, he seemed to care little for formalities that would betray your status as a village bumpkin. “Pray tell, are the evening fireflies as spectacular as the rumours suggest?”
“Absolutely.” The smile that crept onto your features was stealthy, and you didn’t even notice it until you heard the excited lilt to your voice. “There are nights we leave our lanterns at home and let them light the way.”
“What a sight that must be,” he said, with a glint in his eyes that suggested he was marvelling at the imagery in his mind. “Though the heavy rain and mountains keep our fireflies at bay, I hope you find the Zora Kingdom a welcoming place regardless.”
“Honestly, if everyone is as nice as you, I think I’ll love it.”
He didn’t respond to you instantly, and you wondered if maybe it was an overly bold thing to say to a prince when his eyes darted shyly to the floor. At least until he looked back at you, and that dazzling grin came back full-force.
“I should hope so,” he said. (Correction, you were definitely a fool.) “Now, friends,” Sidon cleared his throat and turned to Link (who, for some reason, was getting uncharacteristically impatient), “I hate to hurry our introduction, but Vah Ruta’s ceaseless rainfall burdens our reservoir as we speak, and my kingdom is pressed for time. Have you had the chance to prepare for your encounter with the Lynel?”
You felt a shiver scatter across your spine as Link nodded.
He was going to fight a Lynel? The same, infamous beast that well-meaning travellers warned you to avoid like the plague? Among all of your years on the road (most significantly as an orphaned child hunting on Hyrule fields), you’d never met a person who challenged one and lived to tell the tale; the few bits and pieces of rumours you’d picked up still had you cautiously scouting the perimeter of every clearing you thought they might be circling.
“I’m sorry this task falls to you,” Sidon said gravely. “Were it not for the beast’s shock arrows, I would accompany you. Instead, I must leave the fate of my Kingdom in your capable hands.”
No doubt this would prove to be a gruelling trial, even for Link. Nevertheless, there was no part of him that looked afraid. Two days ago, you might have mistaken his cold expression for apathy. Now, however, you recognised it for what it truly was: the sharpened face of Hylian Champion, a mask that came into existence at every duty he was given.
“I’ll do my best.”
Link hadn’t discussed any of these proceedings prior to arriving in the Zora Kingdom. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how he was planning to face off against the Lynel, or where you next needed to go, so you presumed he’d discuss it with you on the way there.
“I wish the two of you luck,” were Sidon’s parting words, “please take care.”
“Thank you,” Link said. You nodded along and readjusted the quiver at your back, waiting for Link to stalk off to whatever road would lead him to the Lynel. As though rooted to the earth, however, Link showed no signs of moving. He only stared at you dumbly, as though bracing himself to speak.
“What is it?”
You could tell by his reluctance alone it would be something you weren’t going to like. With an awkward (almost nervous) turn of his lip, he finally came out with, “it’s best you stay here,” and his sheepish tone was the only reason you didn’t immediately fly off the handle.
“You have to be kidding.” More than anything, you were disappointed. You really thought he was getting better about this whole co-operation schtick.
“It’ll be more dangerous than the enemies we’ve faced so far,” was his justification.
“I know. That’s exactly why I should go with you.”
Link actually rolled his eyes at that, and you were so surprised to see it you almost felt your frustration run into thin air.
“Look, I’m not delusional; I know close-combat is your field of expertise, and I’m absolutely not going to be running up to it and poking it with arrows. But on the off-chance something goes wrong for you, I want to be there; that’s all I ask.”
Sidon cleared his throat from beside you. Honestly, he’d been so passive to this spectacle you forgot he was there, so when you turned to see the embarrassed way he shifted on his feet, some part of you died on the inside.
“Link,” he started, “though I hate to intervene, should this not be your companion’s decision?”
Oh, he was on your side? Princely title and those staggering ten feet of height be damned, this guy was your new best friend.
“Prince Sidon is right,” you said, but Link only looked at you with a pained grimace. “Plus, you’ve seen me use my bow on more than one occasion. I thought I’d done enough to prove myself.” You tilted your head back towards your quiver—and your genuine look of disappointment must have been the last straw, because Link took a deep breath and gestured for you to walk behind him.
You and Sidon shared one last look before you muttered a ‘thank you’ and jogged to your place beside Link.
“This would be so much nicer if it didn’t stink of smoked meat,” you said, referring to the tarp that you’d tied around a set of branches as a make-shift umbrella. Your on-and-off cough had made a re-appearance as soon as reached the foot of Ploymus mountain, so you decided to leave the boar meat in a dry alcove and use the tarp as shelter from the rain.
Link didn’t say anything, but he did pointedly look down at your heels, not for the first time since you’d set out.
“You’ve got something to say,” you declared, because you’d grown to recognise this kind of persistent stare as the preamble to Link making a comment on something. “Come out with it.”
He looked reluctant for only a little while longer before it tumbled out of him. “Your feet have blisters.”
You lifted an eyebrow. He was about to face Hyrule’s most fearsome beast and that’s what he was worried about? If this was the only reason he wanted to leave you behind in the Zora Kingdom, you’d probably skin him alive. “Yeah, my shoes aren’t great for long distances. Don’t worry about it though; I’ll get a new pair next time we see a merchant.”
Link looked sufficiently convinced. He only gave them one more prudent examination before turning back around to face the peak he was leading you towards.
“Unless you want to carry me up the rest of the mountain?” you teased.
His eyes snapped back towards you. There was something in them that you couldn’t quite place—not dark or threatening, but an out-of-character, playful edge that had you bracing yourself.
“Alright,” was all the warning he gave you. When he lifted you into his arms, you only gave a little yelp. It was effortless, though you weren’t surprised when you’d seen the ease with which he carried stacks of weapons twice your weight.
“I was kidding!” you said and tried to wriggle out of his arms (admittedly half-heartedly, but well, it’s not like this was particularly unpleasant).
“Do you want me to put you down?” he asked, and you didn’t know how to answer him at first, because you didn’t, not really. But he needed to be well-rested for his fight against the Lynel (‘or, well, stealth-mission to acquire twenty shock arrows,’ as he’d clarified, and you couldn’t decide whether it made you feel better or worse) and having blisters on your feet wasn’t a good enough reason to embezzle him out of his strength, so you nodded.
“Are you sure?” he asked, with that same, strange teasing lilt to his voice as he held you against his chest.
You laughed and tried to wriggle yourself out again, this time a bit more forcefully. “Admit it; you just want to use my tarp-erella.”
“That’s not it.” You were a little disappointed when he stopped walking to put you down, but you thanked him regardless. The whimsical light of his features straightened to something a little more sober when you stepped away from him. “I don’t mind the rain,” was what he told you, the same thing he’d said when (after pridefully flashing your finished invention) you asked if he wanted to come under it.
“Sure,” you said. When you held the tarp over your heads and stepped back toward him, however, he must have decided otherwise, because he didn’t move away.
The peak was deathly quiet.
The song of frogs from near the river had long since been drowned out by a waterfall, and the chirping of the birds thinned to nothing in the static of the rain. Earlier, the grass shifted with the movement of crickets; you’d see them burst from below your foot with every step. Now, even they seemed to fear the earth.
“How are you feeling?” was the first thing you said to him.
His answer didn’t come immediately. Reminiscent of your meeting, his expression was sharpened with a trademark focus that only seemed to grow deeper when he thought about how to answer your question. “Good, I think.” He was still wearing his Sheikah suit, though he gently removed his weapons and placed them in a pile. “The rain will help to mask the sound of my footsteps.”
The tension in the air, though likely one-sided, still coiled in your throat. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were sending him to his death. With his current equipment, he couldn’t do much to kill the beast without endangering himself, so you were relieved he was sensible enough not to chance a direct confrontation. Still, sneaking around without weapons wasn’t an ideal solution. If the beast noticed him, it would be catastrophic.
“I’m worried about you,” you said honestly.
Link looked at you like it wasn’t something he expected to hear, and you weren’t surprised by it. Likely, genuine concern (past the one expressed in basic formalities) wasn’t a sentiment he’d had directed at him in years. Certainly since he woke up from his one-hundred-year slumber, but maybe even prior to that, when he outgrew his training and assumed the role of a prodigy.
“I’ll be alright,” were his awkward words of reassurance.
You shook your head. “That’s not enough. You have to promise me you’re going to be extra careful.”
“I promise,” he said obediently, but you shook your head again.
“Hm, no…” you scratched your chin in mock-deliberation. “It’s still missing something. I think we need to pinkie promise.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“It’s a thing where you—”
“I know,” Link said, without waiting for you to finish, and stuck out his pinkie finger. “Here.”
You took it wordlessly, and when he gave your hand a firm shake, the whole thing was so unconventional that you snorted under your breath. “Alright, I feel a little better now. Thank you.”
His smile was small and subtle, but it was still encouraging enough that you felt your anxieties recede. By the time you broke apart from each other, you felt more or less at ease.
“Do you know where you’re going to be waiting?” he asked.
You gestured flippantly to a little boulder stationed over the field, but he didn’t seem to like that, because he shook his head. “No. You’ll be in direct view of the Lynel.”
“I know, I know, but give me a second; I’m going to show you something.”
He waited through his reluctance as you jogged some distance away and picked up a hollow log half-way sunk into the earth.
“Watch this,” was your prideful admission, before you dropped it over your head and regretted it almost immediately. The inside was full of dirt, dust, and cobwebs—a delightful concoction of ingredients that fell right into your eyes. “Oh god, I didn’t think this through,” Your voice was choked up and hoarse. “I think I just swallowed—” you continued, but burst into a series of coughs before you could finish. With a roll of his eyes that you couldn’t quite see, he moved in to help you of the log, and when it fell aside and dropped to the floor, your eyes were glazed in tears. “I think I just swallowed a spider.”
He buried his oncoming chortle into his hand, and oddly, instead of embarrassment (though that certainly wasn’t absent) you felt yourself light up.
“Seriously, I still feel it in the back of my throat.”
He shook his head at you—and for the first time in your journey, he looked at you like you were the unruly child, a feeling that returned threefold when he picked a strand of cobwebs from behind your ear and shook them off onto the grass.
“Alright, let me try that again,” you said and bent down to pick the log. This time when you put it on, you did it carefully, and after a couple of seconds of trying to wiggle as far into as you were comfortable with, you peered at him through a hole in its front. “What do you think?”
“High-fashion,” he said in complete deadpan.
“Well,” you started, and this time it was you that laughed, “I’m not about to pass up a compliment like that.” The sides of the log had been shaved away, leaving two, convenient slices just wide enough to stick your hands through, and used them to put your hands where your hips would be. “But I meant it more as camouflage.”
Link took a couple of steps away and examined you from a greater distance, head tilted in consideration, and must have liked what he saw, because he gave you two thumbs up.
“You think it’ll be enough to fool the Lynel?”
When he moved back in, he gave you a firm nod. “They’re smarter than the average beast, but as long as you don’t stick your arms out and keep still, the log hides you completely.”
Another first of the journey—words of assurance. This was perhaps the only time he’d commended your efforts in anything but making food, and your confidence sprang seemingly out of thin air.
“Well, in that case, I’m raring to go. Where is that Lynel? Let me clobber him.”
When his expression faltered, you were worried maybe he’d taken the joke a little too seriously, so you were pleasantly surprised when he playfully flicked the trunk of the log where your forehead would be.
“Ouch, noted,” you laughed and covered your head in a defensive manoeuvre that was entirely for show. “I’m just kidding, I promise.”
He looked at you conspicuously as though unsatisfied with your reassurance, but you still near-tripped over your feet when he held out his little finger for you take.
The next smile you gave him gathered every positive feeling from inside of you (of which there was plenty to choose from, now that the deathly atmosphere from before had been completely shaved away), and you curled your finger around his with confidence. “Don’t forget the promise you made to me, either. Be careful. I’ll be looking out for you as best as I can, but that doesn’t mean you can act like an idiot out there.”
He gave your entwined fingers a shake as a last assurance, and it, too, felt like he was trying to pour all his feelings into one gesture. Come what may, at least you both knew that you didn’t want to lose each other. Not a big profession, perhaps, considering you’d feel the same way to most strangers, but one that, nevertheless, managed to feel a little special.
When you broke apart, it felt reluctant. His first, few, baby steps away from you were taken backwards (like he didn’t want to break eye contact) and even after that, when he started walking along the grass to the flat landing of Ploymus peak (where the Lynel was inevitably making its rounds) he turned around to give you one, lingering look.
It was the last push you needed to pick up your bow and settle yourself in front of the boulder that would be your vantage point for the course of the mission. When you finally heaved yourself onto it, newly acquired log-body and all, you couldn’t help but marvel at the view.
In the distance, the Zora Kingdom—a beautiful singular structure of silver and marble, was only a blue smudge against the fog of the rain. Here, where the only thing that blocked your view of the horizon was the far-away silhouette of Death Mountain and the sharp incline of Shatterback point, the wind tugged at your exposed skin, and the cloudy sky felt the closest it’d ever been.
Most importantly, however, the entirety of Ploymus peak was open towards you. Gathering your wits, you scanned the surroundings rapidly for the first sign of the Lynel’s appearance, and true to its infamous reputation, it didn’t take long to spot its hulking mass behind a far-away tree. Half-beast, half-man, were how cautionary tales described it, but even they seemed optimistic at best. The thing was fully bestial, all the way from its thunderous hooves to its blood-coloured mane encircling its head like a crown of fire. Even without the axe slung around its back, it was a truly horrific creature, and if you ever encountered it alone, you wouldn’t stall a single second before sprinting far, far away.
Now however, you were with Link, who expectantly looked at you for the first sign of go-ahead. Waiting. Despite whatever reservations he had prior to coming here, he trusted you, and there was something humbling about it that steeled your nerves.
Carefully (making sure the Lynel wasn’t looking in your direction), you pointed towards it, and Link gave you a firm nod.
The path of arrows that marked his route around the field took him in zig-zags. Whenever you were sure the beast was turned away, you’d point him in the direction of another arrow, and he’d follow you, with such blind trust that he barely even looked around himself to double-check whether you were right.
It was only when Link was at the foot of Shatterback point, half-way up a towering pine tree in an effort to collect another shock arrow (which, if you were counting right, should be the last), that your careful routine came to a screeching halt. The Lynel hadn’t noticed you, but its systematic patrol of the peak brought it near the boulder you were stationed at. Still, you felt secure. As ridiculous as your disguise was, Link had deemed it more than enough to deceive the Lynel, and when the beast circled around and behind you, it felt like perhaps that would hold true. If you waited it out and stayed quiet, he’d certainly keep on walking.
There was only one problem.
When Link slid back down the tree, newly acquired arrow in hand, he’d seemed to have completely lost track of the Lynel’s location.
Your heartbeat spiked. If you pointed out its whereabouts now, it would certainly notice you. Sure, you could chance an arrow into its skull; it was barely twenty feet away, a range that might as well have been point-blank. But if you endangered yourself, Link would certainly have something to say about it, and a pinkie promise, though not legally binding, was probably enough to shatter whatever trust he’d built for you if broken.
So, you stayed unmoving, and watched in horror as Link started walking towards you.
The next few seconds, though brief, stretched for infinity. The beast turned the corner from behind your boulder, and when Link realised he was in danger, it was too late.
A volley of shock arrows was the Lynel’s opening attack.
It must have been by God's grace that he dodged in time, but they still hit close enough that the earth fizzled in sparks of electricity that toppled him over. He made a move to get up but only shook and shivered, rooted to the floor, and he was left completely helpless as the Lynel rushed him from behind and lifted its axe.
It was only thanks to a well-aimed arrow you bounced off the weapon that the beast’s strike narrowly missed Link’s neck, but it was no-where near enough to prevent his oncoming attack entirely. When the axe smashed against the earth, the ground shook, and whatever magic entwined the beast flushed from it in one, haphazard roar.
A wall of flames soared into the sky.
It was horrific—an explosion of such unprecedented magnitude that it sent Link’s braced body across the field, tumbling across the singed grass in your direction until you heard a sickening crack as he smashed straight into the boulder.
His limp, unmoving body sent your pulse into a flurry.
There was blood on his back. Bloody burns on his shoulder. His face. Even strands of his hair coiled with a deep maroon. Was he breathing? You couldn't see.
You took a deep breath.
He had to be.
As long as there was a chance he was still alive, you’d have to grab it by the throat. His demise would spell far worse for the fate of the world than anything you could even imagine. Besides, you still had the Lynel to worry about it. On the off chance Link wasn’t dead, it would certainly finish him off.
Plan of action. You needed a plan.
Jumping down? A one-one-one encounter sounded like a terrible idea, but at the very least, you could shield Link’s body with yours. The log might bear some of the force, though you doubted your good fortune would last longer than that. There’d be no way to run, but more importantly, if the beast’s attack was as strong as the last, you’d be crushed in one fell swoop, and then the both of you would be dead. With certainty.
Running?
No, leaving him behind was not an option.
You looked around yourself.
Arrows. Of course. You could shoot it in the head, and—
No, no, no.
A mere arrow? Sure, enough for a Lizalfos. Not enough for that thing. In the least, you’d need some sort of magic to take it down if you wanted to do it for good, but you’d have hard luck with that. A human couldn’t even channel magic, and manifesting it out of thin air was about as probable as drawing blood from a rock.
Nevertheless, you gathered your quiver in your arms.
If you wanted magic, there was one other option.
You crouched down on the boulder, hiding from the Lynel’s view, and shimmied the log from your body. Another deep breath to steel yourself—something that proved completely impossible. This was the craziest thing you’d ever done. No competition. Quiver in one hand, and a single arrow you’d chosen to hold in the other, you crouched down on the boulder, hiding from the Lynel’s view, and waited for it to approach Link’s body.
It took a step.
You pushed your palm onto your nose to silence your laboured, anxious breathing. This was death, you thought, growing more nervous by the second. You were going to die.
And another.
Paya would certainly miss you. So would Impa. She didn’t always make it obvious (there was a sense of pride about her that made her rough around the edges) but on the occasion you were awake to witness her tuck you in, she still kissed your forehead in affection. A mother, to both you and Paya.
The Lynel’s next step brought it standing over Link’s body.
Now.
You took a running start from the rock and leapt over the edge, above Link’s body, over the Lynel’s head, and onto its back.
Even before the beast sank to its knees with the sudden force of your weight, and even before you felt the force of your adrenaline rush you like a tonne of bricks, you snapped the belt of your quiver over the Lynel’s waist and around yourself (gripping it so hard that your knuckles turned white) and secured it into the beast by stabbing the arrow you were holding through the leather and into its thick skin.
Everything was happening all at once, both too slow and too fast.
You weren’t even outwardly aware of what you were doing when you reached into the Lynel’s quiver for one of its shock arrows. It stung. Whatever enchantments protected the shaft from conducting electricity into Hylians and the Lynel didn’t work for humans, and the buzz rattled through your hand.
Nevertheless, you were undeterred. You pushed the brittle edge of the shock arrow into the Lynel’s eye with a fast, decisive moment, and the beast’s roar threatened to split the earth. A blinding flash of light sparked against your hand, and the current rushed straight through the Lynel and into you. It was only thanks to the quiver’s belt that you didn’t tumble off the beast’s back and right into the line of its stampeding feet—gigantic pistons that would have crushed your skull before you could blink.
The Lynel fought against the arrow, clawing at your hand and trying to buck you off like a feral animal, leading you upwards, up, up, to the overhang of the mountain—an incline you only subconsciously recognised as Shatterback point.
An erratic, scourged dance still sparked with electricity sent it tumbling off the cliff and into the Zora lake (a black body of water that threatened to swallow it alive) and you went with it, a helpless speck against the deep, grey sky.