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It was only when she felt something akin to a warm, loving embrace did Zelda finally wake up.
This is how she’d describe the ordeal to others in the future when they asked (mostly Riju, who seemed equally as fascinated at the prospect of the Crown Princess of Hyrule undertaking dragonification as she did by the idea of Link catching her): upon swallowing the secret stone, clutching the master sword tight to her body, Link’s name on her lips in those final moments, her world had stilled. Akin to a dream Zelda’s consciousness had soared, grief and hope and hurt enveloping her every sense, and in that eternal soft glow of light Zelda had believed it to be her resting place. She remembered nothing of her travels across Hyrule’s skies; she did not bear the brunt of brute weather and weave expertly through thunderstorms, she did not sharpen her claws on mountain cliffs till they glinted silver and gold, she did not scratch her scales against the rough, jagged edges of the floating sky islands that had joined her in her ascension for any sense of relief or comfort.
At least, she did not do any of these things consciously.
What she did remember and what she had clung to — in what had seemed such a fleeting passage of time to her — was the vow she repeated to herself over and over. In an act she’d believed to be her dying wish, she’d distilled every last part of Hylia’s golden glow outwards, into the sword’s keen shine, and prayed.
She’d prayed, and prayed.
This part, she would only share with Link upon her immediate descent. She whispers the confession as he leads her across the wildflowers that bloom at her feet, hand grasping at her own, skin so impossibly warm. That it was in her desperate prayers for the future she saw him; a pair of blue, kind eyes, clever hands twisting weaponry into art, deftly disposing of dark threats without so much as breaking a sweat. That she’d heard his soft voice whisper encouragement to the depths of her very being - whisper promise, whisper undying faith, and that even in the eternal shifting of darkness and light that imprisoned her, she’d felt the brush of his being against her.
This part she keeps to herself - that she’d revelled in such a feeling like a man starved.
“You did hear me, then,” Link says, looking shy. He only meets her eyes for a moment before continuing to head their trek through the fields of Hyrule together; he’s eager for her to get some rest. After an eternity sleeping Zelda initially finds she can’t agree with his reasoning, though her arms and legs ache something fierce the more they press on. “I thought, if there was any part of you that could, I…” He trails off, shaking his head. Gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Zelda has to wonder again if that wasn’t another dream. A vision of an untouchable future playing out before her.
And who could blame her? Had the grass ever smelt so sweet before? The ground so soft beneath her? Had her skin ever felt so kissed by the sun as it did now, as she basks in its gentle, golden glow?
“Thank you,” Zelda smiles thoughtlessly. She’s not sure herself what she’s thanking him for; for disposing of the world’s greatest enemy, for catching her hurtling body as it fell through the sky and once more ensuring her safety above his own, or for showing that level of care to her even in the state she’d been in. Perhaps it was for everything, but then a simple expression of gratitude would never be enough. She’s not sure anything could be; if she would be able to offer Link anything that measured up to the overwhelming happiness she felt in his presence, the gratitude that pours out from every part of her soul when she so much as pictures his face.
So instead, she squeezes his hand back.
Link stalls at the action, and then they’re standing side-by-side. Heart aflutter, she studies his figure as it’s framed in the golden sunlight. Hair flowing freely, bare-chested, scars new and old marring the exposed expanse of his skin. Still whole. Still breathing. He smiles back. He lets go of her hand for only but a moment to pull a hooded cloak from his pack, working to gently clasp its front around her neck, hands coming to rest on her cheeks when he’s satisfied with its arrangement. And in the quiet that follows Zelda feels her heart quicken with expectation, at the way his eyes seem to linger on her lips. Ever searching, ever hoping. She inhales softly.
“Let’s get you home,” is what Link says instead. He retracts his hands from where they'd held her face, opting to pull the hood gently up over her head. It’s impossible for her to stew in disappointment for too long, not when he’s back to holding her hand in a moment’s notice, running his thumb over her knuckles in a steady, circular motion. He clicks his tongue when she stumbles over herself, pulling her closer to his side. “There’s a stable not too far from here.” He tries to reassure her.
Zelda hums, closing her eyes. The next she opens them, she’s surrounded by a cascade of honey-brown locks, the steady beating of a heart right by her head. “Link?” She blearily asks. Her voice sounds foreign to her own ears, and, Hylia, she really is exhausted, isn’t she?
“Don’t worry,” Link’s voice jolts her out from her thoughts. She glances up to catch the grin he gives her, before closing her eyes and snuggling into his chest. She relishes wickedly in the strangled noise that sounds from his throat. “You’ve only been asleep for a few minutes,” Link then continues, ‘We’re nearly at the stables now, just a little bit longer.” Zelda sighs at the promise, and feels Link chuckle deep in his chest. “I told you you’d be tired,” he quips quietly.
“The hypothesis…” Zelda slurs, nuzzling her nose against him. He really is so warm. “It was worth proposing.”
Zelda dreams of going on a visit to a strange, faraway land.
She remembers joining her father and mother on such visits as a child; whisked away to these diplomatic meetings dressed in garbs of royal blue and gold, hair plaited and neat and not a single strand out of place. In her dreams, she’s swaying on a boat that cuts cleanly through a sapphire ocean, clutching at her mother’s skirts as they peer over the edge of the ship together. The passengers faces around her are blurred, indistinct, but she hears laughter. She hears revelry, the dissonant clatter of song and dance in the distance accompanied by the constant crashing of waves.
She sways - up and down, up and down.
When she awakes, the swaying gentles, and she hears the clopping of horseshoes from beneath her. There’s a strong, warm presence grounded behind her, arms steady around her waist, and she opens her eyes to be greeted by such vivid and bright shades of red, orange and yellow.
“Akkala,” she says to herself dumbly, half-asleep.
The presence behind her hisses with a sharp intake of breath, in a voice she immediately recognises to be Link’s, and the horse beneath her stills to a halt without any complaint, ears flickering. One hand retracts from where it had been wrapped deftly around her, and she feels before she sees a waterskin being gently pressed to her mouth. “Honeyed water,” Link’s voice says, and so she opens her mouth and drinks. It spills past her lips, down her throat, and she wonders, when had she gotten so parched? She drinks till she has to pull away to gasp for breath, and there’s a hand rubbing steady circles at the small of her back, as the waterskin disappears from her sight.
More awake, she blinks, and looks up to the person seated behind her. “Link,” she says. “Where- where are we?”
She watches now, as he tucks the waterskin back into a side-pouch of the saddle they share. He’s quick to resume hold of the horse’s reins, gently tapping his feet against the creature’s sides to encourage it to continue at a steady, slow pace. “Akkala, as you said,'' Link echoes her earlier gab. “I um, I bought a property for us there, not too long ago now. I thought maybe you’d want some privacy for your rest after last time.” He coughs, trailing off. This is another of Link’s quirks she’s come to recognise as showing he’s embarrassed, though for the life of her she cannot fathom as to why he would be.
Last time. Her mind catches up to her. “You mean Hateno?” She hadn’t thought about it for so long; back when Link had first taken her to the humble little countryside village after Calamity Ganon’s defeat. At the time, Zelda had felt more ghost than human. She’d feared the curious looks the villagers sent her way were instead marred with trepidation, with fear, and who could blame them if they were? She’d been nothing but the wisp of a girl in her old prayer dress. A soul lost to the ages. To try and acclimate to the outside world once more, to shed off any doubts of her person and rejoin society with a fresh smile on her face: it had been an endeavour she found she could only compare to the echoing loneliness that came with fighting literal evil incarnate for a century alone. More than once she had cried till her throat was raw in Link’s embrace on their small, cramped bed. More than once she had determined she needed purchase of something in the local village shops before halting in her tracks at the bridge in front of their house, heart seizing, hands shaking.
It hadn’t felt like a deserved victory then, in those stifling months that followed the aftermath of the fated battle.
It had taken a long time for that place to feel a home; though waking in the sure hold of Link’s arms every morning had helped more than she could confess.
She feels the steady rock of Link nodding behind her before he voices his agreement with a thoughtful hum. “It’s quiet here,” he adds. “Tarrey Town’s nearby, but the property itself is surrounded by nothing but wilderness. It just- it seemed like a good idea to take you here...”
Zelda can hear the apologetic spiel that threatens to leave Link’s lips before he has a chance to voice it, so she quickly interrupts him. “It sounds lovely. Thank you again, Link. That’s very considerate of you.” Still she sounds so formal, so as if to affirm her approval properly she rests her head against Link’s chest again, sinking into his back with a faint sigh. Really, how she’d ached for this, how she’d longed for this.
Link hums, low and sure. Only five minutes pass before he shakes her slightly, offering her an apple plucked from a nearby tree. “Still a little more ways to go,” he says, whispering in her ears. “And you haven’t eaten for a while. Just see if you can try a little bit.”
She accepts the offering with a smile. She bites through the soft, scarlet flesh, tongue dancing at the sensation of its tangy flavour. With sweet juice dripping down her lips does Zelda note the change in the colour of the sky above, as she peers out from under the concave of the dark hood Link strapped to her. Pink bleeds to orange which then bleeds to yellow; the sun is dipping low and nestling down to rest beneath the horizon. The birds cry out in a sleepy chorus. Just the end of another day, really.
She swallows.
The rest of the journey passes by in somewhat of a blur. In-between bites of apple Zelda drifts in and out of sleep, though she tries to listen to her surroundings. To the humming of the insects that hide between the tall blades of grass, the distant rushing of a river nearby, to the steady breathing of Link behind her. To that constant, reassuring beating of his heart, perfectly in tandem with the gentle step of their horse’s hooves.
He’s alive, she thinks. He’s here, with me. Her eyes again drift to a close.
This isn’t a dream.
The next she opens them, Link is before her on the ground, gently lifting her from the saddle. “Can you stand?” he asks, hands still resting on her waist as he settles her down, and Zelda has to force herself not to openly marvel yet again at his strength. She plants her feet firmly onto the ground, and forces herself to nod, biting her tongue because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Link, undeterred, only breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good.” He raises his arms and lifts the horse’s reins from around its neck, leading the creature and Zelda both forward toward a quaint little home out in the near distance.
Surrounded by oak and pine, Link’s new abode is wholly unassuming from the outside. By what must be the main entrance is a stable, large enough to house two horses at least, one that he leads their horse to with a practised ease. He at once moves to undo the tack in swift, deft movements, hanging the saddle onto an outcrop of rock behind him. He turns to Zelda, easing her spikes of anxiety and loss with the steady thrum of his voice. “Behind here, there’s a pond,” he gives her a nod, gesturing vaguely with his arm. “If you want to clean up. I know it’s been a long journey.” He’s chewing his lips, another sure sign that he’s feeling apologetic. Her heart pangs at the sight, so in spite of herself she reaches out to touch his shoulder, feeling her cheeks warm under his wide gaze.
“I’ll be there, then.” She says in lieu of anything else that threatens to spill past her lips. Link gives her another nod, another small private smile. She wonders if it was possible to ever get tired of such a sight, as she stumbles over rocks and protruding tree-roots round to the back of the house. The hooded cloak she wears trails behind her like a shadow, and she realises she forgot to give it back to him. Spying the pond in the distance—unmissable as the waters shifted from pink to blue to gold—she reaches up to undo the clasp. She pulls it off from around her shoulders, folding it gently to her chest. She glances behind her, sure she’s now hidden by the swathes of trees that surround her, and then lifts the fabric up to her face, and breathes in.
Sure enough, she thinks. It smells like him.
She sets the cloak down by the waters edge with the same sort of reverence one might treat an ancient artefact, patting the fabric down like Link might somehow feel her affection through it, that these feelings may have any chance to reach him through the piece of clothing he’d taken and shared with her. She catches a glimpse of her shifting reflection from the corner of her eyes, and she turns to face it fully.
Still Zelda is dressed head-to-toe in ancient Zonai aesthetics. A finger traces across her necklace, skimming over the shine of the golden secret stone that pulsates at her neck. She slips her hands behind her neck, undoing the clasp.
Unbuckling and shedding these accessories and her shoes feels almost like shedding the part of her that had lived through those wondrous times of the past, and that any moment now she might wake up at her study desk in Hyrule Castle, the world whisked away from under her in the illusion of a dream. The pieces feel as aged and stiff as she does as she takes them off, cradling them gently in the sweaty palms of her hands. A part of Zelda half-expects them to shatter into dust upon placing them gently to the ground - ten thousand odd years passing them by all at once. Sonia’s warm voice echoes in her head, unbidden but not unwelcome, as she continues to glance down at the strewn out jewellery, and all at once Zelda is transported back to those echoing, lofty halls of the Royal Chambers, where she’d bathed in an eternal and fluorescent white light.
(‘There are certain Zonai pieces for women at different stages in life,’ the ghost of Sonia’s voice declares, bouncing off the non-existent walls, appraising Zelda in her new attire so teasingly. ‘These bracelets are technically only for those who are pledged to another, though from the sounds of it, I suspect this may not be entirely inaccurate in your case, dear Zelda.’)
It’s with an intense relief that she folds into the ponds embrace. She sighs at the feeling of water lapping against her skin, warmed by the afternoon sun. It sinks around her, gentle tugs at her dress and hands. Not for the first since waking up does Zelda feel anchored, feel safe, nostalgic, and calm.
Feet bare, she pads across the wet earth beneath her deeper into the centre of the pond, no real destination in mind as she lets herself be ruled by whim alone for once. And it’s wholly involuntary, the way her toes curl in delight at the sensation of sand upset by her weight shooting out from under her and creeping up across her skin. The sediment billows up in dark clouds under the waters surface, and she finds herself gliding her hands through one such impression just for the fun of it. It’s as if she were a child again; pretending to be a giant in the confines of her pearlescent bathtub, a titan of the sea, with there being no creature bigger and fiercer in the world than herself.
She smiles at the way her fingers cut through the brown and grey, at how the sand disperses under her attention, before falling to the bottom of the pond again. Undergrowth plants tug at her heels; she’s careful to manoeuvre around them, studying their fluctuating forms through the haze of dark blue that surrounds her. It’s near crystalline perfection in how the pond reflects the plant-life around her, how each firefly that darts shyly about her figure has their own dance partner reflected upon the mirror of the waters surface.
She wonders idly if birds had followed her form similarly, back when she’d soared high through the heavens, claws (she must have had them, surely?) skimming through white clouds, wind and rain. That she could think something so whimsical about what she'd believed be her eternal prison nearly startles her. It's hard for her to believe, in this moment, that for so long she’d hovered above Hyrule in an aimless wander, clutching the last hope humanity held close to her chest, a prayer singing loud in her heart all the while.
And who had been the one to bring her back down?
It really is such an amazing thing, Zelda can’t help but marvel with a sudden sense of clarity. It really is such an amazing thing to be alive. She cups the water, brings it to her face, and drinks. She almost wants to cry. Truly, she was blessed by Hylia to be as fortunate as she was.
She hears the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath heel, the halt in chattering birdsong and scattering of wings to the air, before she hears him speak from behind her. “Zelda.”
She turns.
His hair is still loose, is the first thing Zelda thinks. A wild, golden mane that shines gently under the last straying glints of evening sunlight. A foolish thought possesses her of wanting to run her hands through it, braid and kiss and revere it, but then her gaze reaches Link’s eyes, and his cheeks are tinged pink, and she wants to hope that maybe such a thought isn’t so foolish after all. Now dressed in a simple tunic and trousers after the day’s endeavour had torn some of his previous attire from him, he almost looks to be an unassuming, average Hylian boy; if one were to ignore the glint of the sword of legend that hangs strapped to his back, and the sight of scars that now show up past the neckline of his shirt.
Perhaps he would’ve been such an ordinary boy in another life, in one where Zelda’s existence didn’t tie him down to her fate and force an unbearable burden upon his shoulders. Or maybe Link was always destined to stand out in a crowd, to attract others, to accomplish great feats and then always keep striving for more.
This idea seems much more likely, not only because it eases some of the guilt that haunts her still.
The colour on Link’s cheeks appears to darken, and Zelda starts with embarrassment at the sound of him clearing his throat. Hardly behaviour befitting of a Princess, a voice echoes judgmentally in the back of her head, somehow sounding like herself and nothing at all like her at once. To be ogling your chosen protector, have you no shame? Zelda wants to duck her head underwater just to try and put off some of the heat that inevitably crawls across her face like wildfire.
Of course she has shame.
“I brought a spare change of clothes,” Link quietly continues, eyes shifting to gaze at the ground so suddenly it startles Zelda again as much as it does him, though he was obviously oblivious to the war Zelda was currently having inside her mind. “I’ll leave them here for you.” Still refusing to look up and meet her eyes once more, Link gently sets said clothes down along with a towel, careful to find a spot to place them unmarred by mud and leaves, satisfied only when he leaves the bundle elevated on a nearby rock. He moves to stand, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t stumble on his feet when he refuses to look around him. “I’m sorry for intruding.”
Don’t talk to me like a stranger, is what Zelda madly thinks, not now, not after everything.
What she says instead is much more simple and concise: “Link.”
It only takes a word to have him freeze in his tracks, to slowly look up and meet her eyes again. His cheeks are still stained with a flush of something, though he clearly tries to set his face at a careful level of neutrality that Zelda had long grown used to seeing past.
She surprises not only Link but also herself by what she says next, possessed by a sudden boldness, “Do you want to join me?”
Link’s eyes widen. If Zelda had had the foresight to bring it and the confidence to do so, she would’ve loved nothing more than to take a picture of such an expression on his face with the Purah Pad. But she didn’t, and even if she did she’d never have the courage to do such a thing so blatantly in front of him—no, the various snapshots she had taken of Link when he wasn’t looking and appeared to be particularly blissful didn’t count—so instead she immortalises the image by searing it into her memory. Even if she is to be immediately and vehemently rejected, it was important to remember such things.
At least, that’s what she tells herself, as she begins to squirm under his attention.
Such immediate rejection does not come, however. Link only stares at first, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out, like her offer was a riddle he had to untangle in order to uncover the entrance to a dungeon. Another challenge yet to conquer. A tongue darts out and wets his lips. “Are- are you sure?” He stumbles over the question, and flushes darker in turn. Less myth, wholly human. The man who’d saved the land of Hyrule and in turn the world beyond more than once, tongue-tied before her. It’s endlessly endearing.
Oh. Her heart soars at his uncertainty, at the bashful way he holds himself, sheepish smile directed to her and her alone. And though her arms feel like lead as she’d seized up in anticipation, Zelda brings her hands away from where they’d unconsciously raised them up to her chest, noting the way Link’s pupils dilate at the action. “Yes.” It’s barely a whisper past her lips. It sounds like raising a white flag. It sounds like a sigh of relief. It sounds like she’s in love.
She’s known she has been, for a long time.
She’s known since she first set eyes on him as her father surveyed the new recruits to the Royal Guard, and felt such an intense pull she’d nearly fallen over the battlements and straight into his arms.
She’s known since that fateful day in the desert he’d rescued her from the blades of the Yiga Clan, confided in her all his struggles and doubts late into the night in a voice barely above a whisper, and she’d wanted to kick herself for being so cruel to him, for misjudging him so deeply.
Since he’d taken all those fatal blows for her in a field stained black and red with malice and blood, tears running down his cheeks, his last efforts in that life dedicated to ensuring her survival.
Since he’d woken up from his century-long sleep, sent Calamity Ganon’s foul form dispersing with the shine of his blade, taken her trembling and shaken figure back to ‘their’ home with a smile and wink like it was all so easy. Since they’d overseen the dismantling of the Divine Beasts after they’d powered down for good, watched the tombs of their old friends be dispersed and brought to life as parts vital to the restoration of each corner of Hyrule, and he’d sworn as she’d started to cry that it was his dearest wish to always be with her, no matter what.
It is with these thoughts in mind that she lets all previous restraint and echoes of ancient and long-irrelevant protocol fly to the wind with the farewell of a timid smile. Screw any sense of shame, any sense of pacing, she’d waited ten thousand odd years to be reunited with him again. Propriety could wait for them.
She decides then she doesn’t care if the damn dress she’s wearing has gone see-through under the waters attention, as she lets her hands rest by her sides. To be honest, she finds she rather likes the idea, if Link’s the one who gets to see her like this. If it’s her swaying figure that has him stumbling over his words, soft-spoken voice more strained and jilted and echoing with a want than she’s ever heard it carry before.
In the heated quiet that follows her invitation she muses the possibility that he does want to reach out, cross the expanse of distance between them before enveloping her in his heat once more, course hands eagerly trailing across every inch of her skin, deftly skimming under the white silk that flutters around her before coming up to cup her breasts, hot breath fanning over her ear, teeth grazing at her neck. And that if such a fantasy were ever to be realised, would he ask the same of her, to peel his clothes away, map out every ab and birthmark and scar with her hands, mouth, tongue.
How glad she would be then, to initiate such a gesture. To thank her loyal swordsman good and proper.
Her throat feels dry. She swallows.
Link is the first between the two of them to move. She inhales sharply when he seems to startle to life after a moment of quiet has passed between them, undoing the buckles of his shoulder pad with a practised ease. He takes the Master Sword off with a casualness that beguiles it’s universe-changing power; as if it were a weapon he’d only picked up on the side of the road because it had seemed like a good enough idea to do so at the time. She’s placed up against the bark of a nearby tree, with one last lingering touch to her sheath before Link continues.
Next comes the unbuckling of his bracers, easily shrugged off his arms before falling to the ground with muffled thumps. He then turns his attention to his tunic. It shifts up his torso in awkward, stilted waves before coming clean off and thrown unceremoniously to the side to join the rest of their abandoned belongings, their growing ‘Link and Zelda’ pile. He ducks his head away from her in an action that feels almost shy as he strips, and it’s then that Zelda sees that even the tips of his ears were tinged with a delightful red blush, visible even in the dark shade of the encroaching night.
Zelda’s heart squeezes. She swears the water around her buzzes. Her blood feels electric under her skin. If it was true, that her enjoying the sight of her chosen protector peeling every last piece of armour away was something to be deemed blasphemous, deemed to be unholy and promiscuous and all the other words her tittering chambermaids would use back when she’d had her first blood a thousand lifetimes ago, then well. So be it.
(A whisper of a thought soon follows, of much the Hero of Hyrule could unravel under the attention of her swift fingers, if the sight of her obscured body was enough to send his face aflame and throat tight with constriction, and body held with a force that her heart hoped to be restraint.).
Link gingerly then enters the pond, trousers rolled up to his knees, and Zelda nearly bites her tongue in shock at the feeling of disappointment that surges through her along with a voice that whines at Link for not shedding them away with the rest of his clothing. Near dizzy at the boldness her affection for him was taking her, she takes a steadying breath, looks once more to the dark expanse of water that envelops her figure, before chancing to meet Link’s gaze again. And her heart stills; Link looks otherworldly, alit in the ethereal blue glow of the nearby blooming Silent Princess flowers. His gaze never once leaves her own, as the water parts as he makes his way forward, plants receding to the side as if purposefully making space for him, all so that he could meet her. Each step feels significant, weighted, as if he were parting the very sea, reaching out to his wayward lover stuck adrift in the blue waves.
Ah, Zelda belatedly realises, I’m becoming fanciful. Then Link is right in front of her, hands coming up to rest on her elbows, searching eyes focused and kind and aching, and Zelda’s not sure she can think or realise anything anymore.
It must be her mind playing tricks on her then, that she can feel his heat so intensely from this distance between them. That his scent floods every of her senses, of honey and salt and smoked Hyrulean herbs. That she feels like she’s drowning in him, in him and those damned blue eyes of his. And, Hylia, he’s smiling, and what’s she ever done to deserve such a sight, really?
“Link.” The air rushes out of her lungs. She wonders if she might collapse onto him. She hopes she manages to kiss him first.
Perhaps feeling emboldened at the way she shakes under him, Link breathes out in response, “Princess.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but it’s not unkind, and the red of his cheeks and shake of his grin betray he’s feeling as nervous as she is. Regardless, she loved when he was able to joke around with her like this, moments where he pushed her and she pushed him in their own little back-and-forth before one party relented (in most cases, this was usually Link). He’d exhibited more such behaviour with her only after his revival, and she wonders not for the first time just how much Link must have held his tongue around her in the past. “I’ve arrived as you’ve commanded me.” His voice is so gentle Zelda isn’t sure this could be categorised as simple teasing anymore. There’s an underlying fondness that sinks to her very core with every word that leaves his lips, and she wonders if he can tell how much it’s displacing and overwhelming her because then his hands move to hold hers and he’s resting his forehead against her own.
She really wants to kiss him.
Instead she whispers, “I didn’t command you.” Always having to have the last word.
“No,” Link agrees, expression pleased. “But you always could. I’d do whatever you asked of me.” His breath is hot on her face. Oh Hylia, she really, really wants to kiss him. Push herself up from the ground, wrap her legs around his waist, and let these sweet inhibitions pull her forward, pull her ever closer to him.
Instead she stays rooted in place. Her cheeks feel terribly warm, and Zelda has to wonder, just how much of her want was written all over face? Just how much could Link’s scrutinising gaze put together, in this gentle sliver of moonlight that now bathed them?
He only continues to smile down at her in the wake of her uncharacteristic quietness, lazy and sweet and shy all at once. He pulls away from her for but a moment, and Zelda’s aghast at how she nearly whines at the loss of him, at the cruel absence of his grounding presence, but then there’s an arm strong and sure hoisted around her waist, another hand back to leading hers, nose nudging against her own, and then they’re swaying, swaying together in this little humble pond tucked away from the rest of the world.
There’s a flash in her mind of a memory she barely recognised as her own anymore, of Link in his Royal Guard uniform, stiff and formal and distant as he’d led her across the ballroom floor. Some inane feast it had been - some celebration of his accomplishment in retrieving the sword key to their victory, to sealing away eternal darkness. An attempt at twisting something so dark and foreboding into light-hearted humour, revelry to the fullest degree. She remembers hating this boy leading her across the empty dance-floor, wanting to spit in his face at what she presumed to be a false parade of chivalry, at what she feared to be barely-concealed disgust hiding under those impassive and careful eyes.
Now, she sighs contentedly. Pulls from Link’s face only to rest her cheek against the expanse of his bare chest, feel and hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her. Closes her eyes and let the warmth, warmth, warmth consume her.
Zelda doesn’t know how long they stay like that, together. Link’s lead is so gentle, so subtle, she barely registers them moving as they glide across the perimeter of the pond in one another's embrace. He presses kisses to her head, lets go of her hand only to tuck stray locks of hair behind her ears before moving back to hold her in his grasp, squeezes strong and reassuring. Each press of skin-on-skin thaws another part of her still frozen in time, and she reasons she could get drunk on this feeling, nuzzling into his chest, if she wasn’t drunk on it already. Of feeling safe, of feeling loved, of feeling warm.
Of being here, with him.
“This still doesn’t feel real,” Link whispers into the still silence, stars as their witness, so quiet and withdrawn that Zelda has to wonder if he’d even meant for her to hear him at all. Another kiss to her head, a brush of a calloused thumb dancing over her knuckles again. She hears the sigh of relief deep inside of him, the choked sob before he kisses her again, and again.
She gasps against him. “Oh, Link.” Peels away from his chest to meet his eyes, heart stricken at the sight of those sure, steady eyes clouded with the promise of tears.
“Zelda,” Link answers reverently like it’s a prayer, her name a vow he’ll swear on over and over. There’s a sharp intake of breath from up above her, another kiss this time pressed sweetly against her forehead, and he continues. “I really- I really believed that I may not see you ever again.” A kiss is pressed swiftly to her cheek, and it’s all Zelda can do but shiver under his attention, shift ever closer but still feel that it wasn’t enough, never enough.
“In the sky, after everything-” the words flow like rushing water from his lips, steady, swift and sure in that low husky whisper, and Zelda thinks she might die from how fast her heart is beating, “when Rauru and Sonia appeared, and I saw you, falling between the clouds-” another quick intake of breath. “I didn’t dare believe what I saw was real. And when I felt you, real and warm and breathing in my arms-” another breath in, and then in a voice barely a fraction above a whisper, “I thought to myself, I’m never leaving her side again.” There’s another shift, and he has both her hands in his own, gently guiding and bringing them up to his lips, a kiss pressed solemnly onto both. “As long as she’ll have me, I’ll stay by her side, always.”
“Careful, Link,” Zelda holds back a sob of her own, grinning wild and free and open for what felt like the first time in her whole life; several lifetimes at that, really. “I may never let you out of my sight again if you say such things.”
“And that,” Link assents, gaze still continuing to never leave her own, “would be perfectly fine with me.”
She can’t take it anymore.
Putting aside all doubts and fears and worries of inexperience Zelda surges forward, lips crashing against Link’s own. He makes a noise of surprise against her, one that she drinks eagerly like a man parched. Then he hums, hands quick and eager as they come to rest at her waist, squeeze her tight before pulling her flush against him. Chest to chest, she dimly wonders if he can hear the rapid beating of her own heart, the longing that continues to burst at the seams. Where Zelda had started Link is quick to take the lead, nudging his nose clumsily against her, tongue darting out against her lips and then daring to chuckle at the sound of her rapid gasp that follows. Her own hands reach up to cup his cheeks, tugging at his hair and delighting in the ragged sounds she draws from him before settling comfortably behind his neck.
He tastes like honeyed water, Zelda wildly thinks as Link kisses her harsh and true, only pulling away from her mouth to bite at her ear, her neck, hands settled at her waist draping traitorously low toward the wet warmth between her thighs.
What she found she could not express in words alone Zelda tries to communicate through touch, through each kiss she presses rapidly to Link’s lips, to his cheeks, to any part of him she could get a hold of, but still she tries to voice the thoughts as they burn on the tip of her tongue. She pulls away, panting, “I thought the same.” Her eyes meet Link’s again, that steady loving gaze she’s sure she’d die without, and her cheeks burn with freshly-falling tears. “Waking up in Hyrule-” she surges to kiss him again. “Our Hyrule-“ she says against his mouth. “With you at my side-” it’s all she can do but kiss him again and again, tasting the salt of her own tears and the faint memory of endlessly sweet honey. “It all feels like a dream. Link, I’m so happy, I’m-”
She’s cut off by Link’s lips finding her own this time. His tongue sweeps over her words, teeth biting at her lips till it’s all she can do but brokenly moan against him, words lost to the withering sensibility of her mind. She will lose herself in this feeling, she’s sure of it. She lets Link guide her to the pond’s edge without so much as opening her eyes, feeling the water disperse behind her. She feels his hands haul her up by her waist onto the waters edge, resting her back against the pillowy grass.
The forest floor will be my wedding bed, a voice inside her daftly thinks, watching with eyes half-lidded and unfocused as Link settles between her legs, lips never straying to leave her own. Her dress has hiked up past her stomach at the movement of their new position, a fact that has Link greedily drinking in each new exposed part of her body with those clever, clever hands. She keens at the feeling of calloused fingers running up and down her thighs, across her stomach and under the swell of her aching breasts, scratching against soft sensitive skin. Immediately she’s filled with the thought of wanting Link to touch every part of her, push her face down to the earth, to stroke against the heat that pools between her thighs with this same sincere reverence-
She arches unbidden against him at the thought. The groan that grits past Link’s teeth in response is enough of a reward for defeating unholy evil more than once.
“Link,” she all but chokes out, reaching wildly to grasp at one of Link’s hands before bringing it up to over her breasts. “Here, can you touch here as well?”
She feels him smile on her lips before she looks up to see him; paused and hovering above her. His eyes, lidded and dark and as bold as she’s ever seen them, look to where she directs him, pressing down in consent, squeezing-
“Anything you command.” He reiterates, any teasing lilt the phrase would usually have lost in the breathless way he now addresses her. With clarity Zelda eagerly drinks in the sight of her loyal knight above her, his kiss-stained lips red and glossy, eyes wide and wild, hair a tousled mess.
I did that, a part of her whispers. A mad sense of pride spikes through her. I did that to him. She smiles. She’s sure she looks just as messy as him.
Link clicks his tongue, and she’s ripped from her thoughts and brought back to the present. She’s about to ask if something’s wrong when he pushes over her, one arm sweeping under the back of her knees, and she’s hoisted up—she prides herself on only letting out a small squeak at such an action — before he carefully shifts her into a traditional princess carry. She grapples to hang her hands around his neck, and it must be only then that he notices her confusion, because he presses a kiss to her forehead, the ghost of a laugh escaping past his lips. “I have a bed,” is what his low, suddenly shy voice supplies, sheepish, still breathless, still smiling.
Zelda’s smile grows wider.
“Are you alright, Zelda?” Link’s sleep-ridden voice asks for what must have been the fourth time that night, muffled as he presses himself deeper into her hair.
And so Zelda answers for the fourth time: “Yes, I’m more than alright, Link.” She brings a hand up to cover Link’s own where it rests at her waist, hoping to be as reassuring as he’d been for her. “I promise.” Sweet and succinct.
In truth, Zelda felt more alive cozied up in this quaint little twin-bed than she had for a long, long time. Though sore and aching, the mattress bent pleasantly beneath her, she could smell the mingling scents of fauna and wildflower from outside through the nearby open window, and most importantly her anchor remained ever dutifully behind her, hums of contentment echoing through her as her back was pressed flush against his chest. She snuggles deeper into the pillow by her face with a sigh.
When he’d first asked if she was alright around fifteen minutes ago, he’d had good reason to do so. Cheeks flushed in shame as she recalls, she’d whined so pathetically when he had finally eased himself out of her after they’d finished, desperately grappling at the bedsheets beneath her for any sort of purchase, trying to find something to keep her grounded. She was only placated by the steady kisses Link pressed to her neck, her shoulders, her back, hands firm and grounded at her waist. “I never want to be without you,” ushered past her lips before she could think, head and heart still buzzing on the high of being at one with the person she’d loved so intensely for so long. Link had moved to kiss her fiercely so fast as soon as she’d said that, a growl sounding deep in his throat. This kiss had felt like yet another promise to her, one that he only broke to then bury his head into the back of her hair, and inhale gently. His arms had moved quick to wrap around her figure, an inaudible sigh of relief as his touch against her, like he’d half-expected Zelda to fade into nothingness without him on her.
And it’s only then that Zelda'd first realised - that perhaps he clung to her presence for any sort of stability, as she did with him. That she was keeping him grounded in reality as much as he was for her.
Link now hums again. A sweet, low thing; the ghost of a compliment. “I’ll never leave your side again,” he repeats the nights mantra, like a knight reciting their holy vows. Another kiss to her neck, the unthinking featherlight dancing of fingers against her stomach. She tries not to shiver. He yawns, but not before finishing, “I’ll follow you always.” Even in his sleepy stupor did these words carry a solemn weight. They were a promise. A vow.
She could do that too.
“And I you,” She manages to choke out. “Always you.” She adds, even if it’s nonsensical, because it feels appropriate, and any filters she usually had in place to keep her from spilling out every inch of her heart were slowly succumbing to the lull of sleep as she was; in the warm, loving embrace of another. The hum that she feels and hears from behind her tells her it was the right thing to say.
Yet another kiss to her form. Some things were always easier to say with actions rather than words.