Chapter Text
Despite everything that had happened, it was surprisingly easy for the pair to fall back into a sort of domestic normalcy.
Link's memories had, for the most part, resurfaced during his travels. Spending almost every waking moment by Zelda's side certainly helped, as most of his important memories somehow involved her. However, specific details were hazy, and he still felt as if he was navigating an unfamiliar and hostile world.
Returning to her side felt only natural; he wasn't sure how he even managed when he first woke up from his century-long slumber. He knew something was missing, torn from him, but his brain came up blank when he tried to think of what or why. She haunted him; she was in his shadow, in the air he breathed, in his heart and soul. Losing her was like a gaping, static wound in his body, and nothing seemed to fill it. Hearing of his duty to save her, hearing of her name from the mouths of others made him feel a heavy, icy pit in his stomach. He scoured their realm like a madman for the places he’d apparently visited with her in the tiniest hope that he’d remember something — an act that only made him feel worse, because then he missed the princess even more, and he knew that with every second he wasted wandering she was suffering.
They'd clicked back together like magnets the second they reunited. Zelda often worried that it would be strange or perhaps awkward when they reunited after so long, but the awkwardness was filled with a silent understanding. They were two souls, bound to each other and cursed to incompleteness without the other, finally given a moment to rest. Nobody else would understand them but each other.
The castle, her home, was going to have to be extensively repaired. Link graciously offered to let her stay in his house, even suggesting that he sleep outside in a tent or to find elsewhere to stay while Hyrule was rebuilt.
Zelda wouldn't have any of it.
He was still stubborn enough to not allow himself to use his own bed while she was there. He'd bought new, expensive bedding for her to use (the kind of stuff he'd never buy for himself. He hoped the luxurious material would remind her of the pristine bedroom she used to call hers.) and used his old, ratty comforter to make a makeshift bed for himself.
Old routines from a hundred years past came easily. He wouldn't let himself sleep until she dozed off, watching the doors and windows for any sign of a threat like a guard dog until he, too, fell asleep. Just like old times — his fuzzy memories of camping out a hundred years prior. When they went out, he acted as her knight still, guarding her from the monsters that lingered and strange men that eyed her in the street.
Zelda wasn't complaining — at least not at first, she wasn't. The world was still dangerous after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, and she wasn't exceptionally strong. They’d both been separated from their bodies for 100 years, but he had time to regain his original strength while she had just begun to have one again. Time took its toll; she was constantly ill or fatigued in some way, but he always took good care of her in the meantime. He made her feel comforted, seen, and protected even if the two were just sitting together in silence. He was steady and unchanging. He never wanted or needed or expected anything from her; after feeling like a failure for her whole life, it was nice to just be able to exist without judgement or contempt. She could sit in silence with him or go on hour-long tirades about whatever her sharp mind sunk its claws into, and he would just listen intently. Either way, he seemed perfectly content.
She'd cried about it a century ago, right in front of him. Her father, his court, the clergy, the townspeople, and even the servants, she felt, looked down upon her. Many of them didn't say anything, but she could tell — their faces were full of sympathetic disappointment. Like she was some sort of spectacle; a sad, pathetic little girl who wasn’t strong enough to fulfill her purpose. But he never engaged in this. Even when she lost her temper at him and tried in every way she could to get rid of him, he never judged her. No disappointed looks or snippy comments; at least, if she thought he did think them (he didn't), he wasn't saying anything. He stayed by her side, as he always did.
She tried not to get her hopes up, though. He was a knight, her knight. Protecting her was his job, and he took it extremely seriously. If she read too far into it she'd just be deluding herself. He'd always been uptight about propriety, adamant about what he was and wasn't supposed to do. Zelda had always been fascinated by how seriously Link took his role as her appointed knight. Back when she was quite clear in her disdain of him, he was more than willing to throw himself in front of a blade for her. He'd do anything she commanded without complaint or hesitation. She wonders how much of this complex was his strict military training, or if he was just like this naturally.
Though she would never admit it, she always wondered how far she could take his eagerness to comply. There were, however, a few things she knew he wouldn't do. He wouldn't hurt her. He was ruthless with their enemies; he was incredibly strong, as a royal knight should be, but he handled her like she was made of glass. She remembers an instance where she had gotten a cut on the way back from a shrine and she winced for a moment when he was cleaning it (he'd applied a bit too much pressure), and he spent a good half hour sulking. He wouldn't defy her father, though it was less out of respect for him than it was for duty's sake. If he ordered Link to take her to a spring, he would, even though he knew she wouldn't be happy about it. The last thing she knew he wouldn't do was cross a boundary. He kept his distance when she wasn't in danger. He didn't touch her unless it was necessary, and when he did he was so gentle, like he was afraid she would break. She'd wake up in the middle of the night panicking after a nightmare, and he'd comfort her, but he never let himself touch her for too long. He ate after she did and held the door open for her and acted as if he was dispensable. Every action of his came with the implication that he was not and never would be on her level.
The latter was what annoyed her sometimes; especially since their reunion only a few short months ago. Their titles didn't matter to her that much anymore, at least not at the moment. Hyrule was recovering and the most they did was travel to confer with other governments and occasionally Link would fight lingering monsters. They didn't have to be Princess Zelda and Sir Link right now. At least to her.
She planned to offer him a reprieve from his duty.
That evening he was out dealing with a rogue Lionel that was getting dangerously close to Kakariko village. She always felt lonely when he was gone. She wouldn't tell him, but she didn't dare stray any further than the bridge that connected his house to the rest of Hateno when he was out; she didn't feel safe without him. She already felt like enough of a leech, staying in his house and sleeping in his bed and having him cook for her. For her own pride, she didn't want to feel like even more of a burden to him.
She sat by the lit fire outside his (their?) house. It was cold that evening. She hoped that Link was warm out there.
She thinks of the folded comforter that he calls a bed. She felt bad messing it up and taking it outside, but she was cold and didn't want to go up the stairs to grab one of her blankets. Zelda drapes it over her shoulders on the way back to the fire, breathing in his scent. He never smelled like much, just mild soap and the lightest hint of citrus, but it was distinctly him and so it made her feel less lonely. She slumped against the tree, watching the flames and enjoying the warmth as she felt herself begin to drift off, interrupted by the sound of hooves on wood.
She sat up, startled. Seeing it was Link, she relaxed a bit. He frowned a bit, a look that she knew meant 'sorry'.
"It's alright. I wasn't suspecting you'd be back this soon." She said, pushing the fallen blanket back around her shoulders. Remembering that she was using his blanket, she felt her cheeks redden. "Sorry, I'll put this back-"
He shook his head .
"No?"
"You can use anything here." His voice, rarely used, is soft. He looks to the pond, then back at her. "I'll be back."
Zelda sighs, feeling lonely again. She's bored now, watching the flickering of the campfire. She'd normally read or knit or do something to keep her racing mind occupied, but now she just wants him to come back.
He does, eventually, his hair wet and holding a cup of tea out to her. When did he go back inside? She must have spaced out.
"Thank you." She smiles, taking the cup. He seems to smile for a second, before stepping back and enjoying his own cup.
Zelda shakes her head, patting the ground beside her.
"Come sit," she beckons. "It's warm."
She watches the gears turning in his head. It was an order from her, and she knew how much he hated to be cold. But he always tried to not sit at her level; if she sat on a couch, he stood or sat on the ground. Just another of his strange knightly quirks.
He ultimately sits, although he leaves a noticeable space between them. She frowns.
"If you come closer, we can share the blanket."
He says nothing, lowering his eyes.
She's quiet, too, for a moment. But she's lonely, and cold, and she can see him shivering, and it overtakes her pride.
"Link, I'm cold."
That does it, and he obeys, moving closer to her. She fills the distance, wrapping the other end of the blanket around him. Feeling bold, she gently lays her head on his shoulder. She feels him stiffen for a moment, before relaxing.
"I missed you today."
His breath hitches for a moment. "Sorry..." He mumbles.
"No, I... I know you were doing important work. I just..."
It's quiet for a moment. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's not uncomfortable either.
Zelda enjoys the warmth of his body, before deciding that it isn't enough. She tries to climb into an embrace before Link stops her.
Mortified, she backs up, covering her face with her hands.
"Your Highness," He says, his voice strained. "It's not right for me to..."
"I'm sorry, I'm cold-"
"N-No, I... I don't want you to be cold, either."
They're silent for a moment, then she speaks. "Listen. I know that you've been trained to be my knight since you were a kid, but... Our fate, it's been fulfilled. You don't have to do this anymore."
He stares at her, stunned.
Zelda looks to the side. "Mipha told me once that you were so carefree when you were little. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that." Her eyes soften, sparkling with emotion. "I want you to be carefree again. I don't want to be the reason you deprive yourself of a proper life. I want you to be happy, outside of your duty."
He still just stares as if she's speaking a different language. Zelda sighs.
"I want to relieve you of your duty as my appointed knight."
He looks at her as if she'd slapped him. Then, he looks away. He stutters for a moment, trying to find the words.
"I don't know how to be anything other than your knight." He says softly, barely making any noise.
They're quiet for a heavy moment, before Link opens his mouth again. "I don't want to be anything else." He adds.
Zelda looks at him. His expression is unreadable, even for her.
"Surely that can't be your will." She says.
"I don't know any other way."
"That doesn't mean you don't have a choice."
He pauses. "Do you not want me to be your knight?"
"I'm not talking about what I want. I want to know what you want."
He looks her in the eye. "I want to keep you safe."
"Is that all?"
"Everything I did, it... It was for all of Hyrule. But mostly for you." There's an intensity to his eyes. "I would do anything for you."
"Why?"
He's silent again. Honestly, she’s surprised he’s said this much already. She knows asking him such a difficult question wouldn’t get her anywhere, but she doesn’t think of it until after it leaves her mouth. He's talked a lot this evening; she doesn't expect him to speak much more.
"Come sleep in the bed tonight." She says, raising to her feet and walking to the front door. She looks back as she opens it. He scrambles to follow her through the living room and up the stairs, frowning. She lays down, patting the space next to her.
He stares, stuttering before he speaks. "It wouldn't be proper."
"But you followed me, did you not?"
He just stares, brow furrowed.
"I have offered to relieve you of your duty, yet you cling to it. You want to join me, but you won't, because of your duty. You confuse me." She huffs.
"If someone saw..."
"Nobody will see us. It's your home.”
He pauses. “I can’t.”
“I don’t understand you.” She says abruptly. He doesn’t reply. She feels her cheeks heat up; her curtness was out of genuine annoyance, but she feels a bit embarrassed at her childishness. “Please, Link. I’m lonely, and I’m scared. I’m sorry.”
His face softens, and she can tell he’s thinking about it.
He gingerly sits down on the mattress, tentatively laying down after a few moments. He keeps his distance, as always.
“I’m sorry for being pushy.” She sighs.
He looks at her softly, shaking his head. She turns so that she’s laying on her side, facing him.
“I’m tired.”
He hesitates. “I’ll keep you safe. Get some rest, okay?”
It’s not long before she’s asleep. He watches the gentle rise and fall of her chest under the blanket, the delicate noise of her breathing, the way her hair spills over the pillow like spun gold and the fluttering of her lashes as she sleeps. He feels something, then, something so similar to the hollow feeling he had before their reunion yet so different and full. It was almost religious in nature; she was his world, and she was right there. She trusted him, enough to be so vulnerable with him. He had to protect her with his life.