Work Text:
The chill of Hyrulean winter sinks its claws into Link’s very bones, reaching deeper, deeper, deeper. Salvation from the cold lays in the kitchen, somewhere Link isn’t allowed to be. He’s a royal guard, not a chef, regrettably. Maybe in another life, though.
The royalty’s gone, leaving their troops and guard to watch lonely Hyrule castle. Remembering the day they left was easy, simple. It was snowing, definitely, and the sky was grey, matching the color of the castle, which loomed above them. Upkeep order, King Roam had said, and that was that. The king and his daughter traveled to some darling seasonal home in Akalla, where autumn seemed to never end, while everyone else stayed behind, forced to suffer in the cold.
There’s nothing for Link to do except shiver or think during winter. Training and other activities are suspended, allowing those who remain in the castle to wallow in misery or, in some cases, holiday cheer. A commoners holiday approaches on the few calendars the castle has, which are mostly pinned up in the dining hall and kitchen, so that those working for the royalty know what time to start preparing a feast, or clean up more often.
The winter festival is a time of warmth and family, which is why, Link thinks, it’s a holiday only celebrated by those under the rule of the monarchy, and not the monarchy itself.
As the festival approaches, the occasional garland or wreath is thrown up somewhere in the guards hall, offering both decoration and a reminder to those who live in the castle of their families and the holidays past. Someone hung a garland above Link’s bed, a thin, spindly rope with fabric stars and pine needles painstakingly sewn on. The pine needles occasionally shower down onto Link’s head like the delicate snowfall outside, bringing a deep, earthy scent into the covers of his blanket, the fresh scent most noticeable late at night. The scent is nostalgic, something about the minty tone of it reminding him of his sister, Aryll, and his family home, which is surrounded by tall, thick pines.
Link sighs, the air coming out in a puff of white in front of him. Aryll would be 12 now, right? Or maybe 13. If only the king allowed leave to visit family during the holidays…
~~~
He’s thinking of the princess on a miserable day at his post, the entrance to her room. For him to guard a princess’s room while she’s not even there seems pointless in his mind, but the king’s orders are stiff and unwavering: Guard Zelda with your life!
His uniform is thin and uncomfortable as he waits for nothing, the expensively-dyed fabric of the uniform not well-suited to cold environments. Supposedly up in the mountains in Hebra guards actually have fur lined uniforms which preserve heat, something which is talked about by almost every member of Hyrule’s forces. It seems too good to be true, but once winter bares its icy fangs, everyone submits a transfer form for Hebra, hoping to not be confined to the cool slate of the castle during the frigid months.
Link’s mind wanders as he leans against the wall, his spear at an angle next to him. Aryll…the winter festival…dinner…Zelda. He always found himself thinking about her, his thoughts inevitably rounding back to the princess. She’s the first word on the tip of his tongue, the first thought of the night. Zelda feels like a sliver of home inside of Hyrule castle’s harsh stone walls, speaking to Link in passionate tones about Sheikah tech and science and whatever else has caught her fancy. Her voice sounds like a spring brook to Link, babbling and babbling, making no sense but there's just something so beautiful about it. She’s everything.
At the same time, she’s overbearing, and strange, Link decides. She’s unladylike and has the least grace he’s ever seen, which is saying something for someone like him. Zelda is rude, horribly so to Link, and seems to ditch him at every chance she can get. But regardless, even though she treats him like some sort of burden or scab she isn’t able to scratch off, Link can’t help but harbor some sort of tender feeling for her, the very princess he’s meant to be protecting, helping, supporting and watching over. Link is there to chase her down from the shrines she prays at, shatter the doubt she feels, the doubt she’s received from her father. Link is there to bring her back to reality.
Sometimes, it feels almost as if he does his job and more on top of it. It feels too soft between him and the princess. It feels like more than it should be.
Link, someone says. Her voice is refined, gentle, tipped with underlying anger. She sounds like an overwhelming summer day, something from Link’s childhood, way back before Aryll was even an idea, before anything was an idea. Back when it was him and the oppressive heat.
A flash of yellow in front of him, blue cloth in the corner of his eye.
Zelda?
His eyesight focuses in as he rubs his eyes quickly, staring ahead at the blur of a person. They fade into view and end up being…Smith.
Shifts over. Smith says, and leans against the wall next to Link. They share the silence for a moment until Link nods his head, an ugly uneven bob that jerks his hair out of place, and starts walking back to his quarters.
Why did he think of Zelda? Surely he didn’t miss her. The two weren’t friends, it wasn’t proper for someone of his class to be even acquaintances with the princess of Hyrule. And yet, there was something attracting him to her, something bringing him back, tripping over himself trying to get back to her.
Ah.
He was-No. But he wanted to bring her home, to meet his family, to meet Aryll, to show her not all people were like her father. Not all people were bad.
A realization like lightning, striking down, decimation upon those struck by it. A singe upon Link’s usually emotionless face, flush climbing his ears, condensing near the tips, bright, startling red.
Oh.
Softly sighing, softly accepting.
Oh.
~~~
Drip.
Water. It laps at his arms and legs, cool liquid meeting pale skin.
Drip.
It feels like an eternity, prying his eyes open. His eyelashes seem to be glued to each other, determined to be holding onto each other till the very end. Eventually, with some harsh rubbing, his eyes slide open.
Drip.
Harsh light surrounds him, casting his shadow on the cave wall as he sits upright. It is all so unbearably blue.
Drip.
The water recedes, leaving Link awake and chilled down to the bone. The air around him tastes stale, century old, and it barely moves as he gets up, swinging one stiff leg over the edge of the tub, then the other. He sits on the ledge for a moment, gathering his thoughts and emotions. Underneath his feet, the floor is illuminated blue. Bright, brilliant blue.
Drip.
The decals on the walls (runes? drawings?) gently glow, filling the space with enough light to see. It’s cramped, Link thinks, legs still dangling over the basin’s edge. He could touch the floor, maybe, if he stretched. Instead, hands softly push off from their grip on the flat part of the edge, and Link takes his first steps in a century. It’s embarrassing, awfully so, as legs that have stayed stagnant for years tend to buckle under the weight of their owner, but Link makes do. Link always makes do.
~~~
The cave gradually grows colder as Link nears the entrance, which from the tub just looks like a circle of light. Nearby he finds clothing (“...not warm,” he muses) and a sheikah slate (“...not edible,” he thinks). What help will they bring him, these rags and seemingly impossible to understand technology? Do these things belong to Link? Who left them for him? Will they come back? There are so many questions.
All he can remember is…nothing. There’s nothing. Was he always such an air-head?
He shakes away any thoughts and heads to the cave’s entrance, shivering slightly from the drop in temperature. Poking his head out, Link’s sight is filled with white. It’s snowing, he realizes. The area around the cave seems to be coated in a blinding white layer of snowfall, which soon enough drapes itself over his hair too. The thin clothing from the cave does…enough, though it feels like nothing against the sheer cold and wetness of the weather. Snow comes down in flurries, sometimes gently, dozens of flakes spinning in the air, back and forth, back and forth, until they eventually settle over vegetation and skeletons of trees. Sometimes the sky seems to split, dropping what seems like millions of snowflakes on top of whatever is around, dusting itself onto the grainy rocks like a baker sprinkling sugar onto a pastry.
His gaze shifts away from the snow by his feet and on the trees and to the land before him. Link stands at the end of the bit of land before the fall, staring right at the kingdom. Hyrule, his mind supplies him.
Hyrule. What’s Hyrule? Is Hyrule a country, a county, a kingdom? A kingdom, Link thinks. But who’s the king of the kingdom? Is there a king of Hyrule? Questions float around Link’s head like the flurries of freezing snow. Stacking up, piling up, never melting, never dissipating. Only adding more and more layers until everything looks white.
Link ignores his thoughts and faces Hyrule, shivering slightly in the chilly air. The land looks healed, as if it’s new. The vines and weeds that climb up broken structures look fresher than they should, though the once-bountiful leaves are reduced to veiny branches in the current weather. In the distance stands a great castle, though it looks run down and rather abandoned. Every few moments, it looks like the castle's form is shifting, strange black smoke twisting around it, causing the illusion of the castle’s turrets swaying in the wind. It looks… poisonous , Link thinks. Unsafe , something deep inside him says. Holy, he believes.
~~~
Link explores the frigid area around the cave and then some, wandering and wandering, no aim in mind. Should he have an aim? Is there a reason he woke up like this? Is there a reason he woke up alone? It doesn’t matter, it seems like. A shockingly large amount of things are to be found around the cave, things like crudely constructed structures and a tall tower, or building, though it’s fallen apart from age. Inside sits a statue, something giant. Someone giant.
It whispers to him, on the edge of his mind, in those moments when he can’t sleep as he lays in the mysterious basin in the cave. Someone nags at his blank memory, pulling, twisting, asking do you remember me? Will you remember me? Sometimes it sounds like a woman, someone who sounds wise, someone who’s seen more than Link ever will. Less often, when the snow outside the entrance of the cave begins to slip in he can hear a girl, or maybe someone his age. The voice reminds Link of flowers and blonde hair. She reminds him of days far past, from a time where he knew more of the world and slept somewhere warm and soft.
By the building (temple, he realizes) lay the remains of apples and a torch. Finds a burnt out fire, still smoking as he sees it. The snow around the fire is bunched up, or shoved, maybe. Someone’s sitting spot.
Neck tingling (with cold or something else?) Link stares at the charred wood, lost in realizations and even more questions. Unknowingly, an old man watches him from the temple’s tower, murmuring to himself, curiouser and curiouser.
~~~
Zelda festers with the soul of the goddess, just like each and every one of her past selves. A remarkable number of her mothers, sisters, daughters, and nieces have had their fates dictated by the immovable force of the goddess, and once they bear no purpose they are left empty, soulless, like shells of the Hylians they once were.
In the dim gloom of Hyrule castle’s sanctum, shadows move, dancing, drifting. They fold into shapes as if they are malleable, like the clay Zelda used to form when she was a child, uncaring, free from responsibilities to a certain extent. Sometimes, around dawn, maybe, the shadows spin themselves into people of the past, or possibly figments of Zelda’s imagination. Pale, flickering sunlight shines its way through the once-grand windows of the castle, dropping their shadows behind and over every cranny, every craggly line in the wall, every piece of broken furniture. It seems reminiscent of a lantern that hung in her room, a spinning one that projected vast worlds and scenes onto the walls. A mechanism, made by Purah, or the scientists before her, or the scientists before them. The lanterns would turn, almost as if by magic, and the shadows on the wall moved, telling the stories of the Zelda’s and heroes before Zelda’s time. The shadows almost seemed to do the same.
Zelda sits on the floor by where her father’s throne sits, dress rumpled, creased as she leans against the throne. The dress has darkened, no longer white but something akin to eggshell now, something a bit off-key, just like her. The sack on the ceiling bulges, a sore on the eyes of the princess. Ganon is trapped, held captive by her, although the two know: this is a waiting game, and neither will truly be able to run free. Zelda hopes, prays, for Link. For Link to be happy. For Link to forget her.
~~~
He makes it off the plateau swiftly, shimmying down the rocks, landing upright on his feet. The land is vast and the land is grim.
Hyrule has had its chest ripped open, it’s still-beating heart torn out and thrown away. Wherever that heart is no one can say. Maybe it’s a part of the land itself, pumping, beating as plants overtake ruin. Maybe the old blood of Hyrule flows through the veins of those who survived, those who picked themselves up and made something of themselves. Maybe it sits still in Link’s chest, frozen, unneeded, practically abandoned, if not for the love Link holds for the country.
Every time the sun shines on his face, the flowers and grasses wave and dip in the wind, the ruins crumble a bit more, Link falls a little more in love. It feels good, having something to love, something to adore. It helps him, helps Link patch the part of his soul that lacks, that is missing something. Someone.
Anger, he remembers. Traveling on horseback, long blonde hair, a plethora of blue dresses, one blue shirt. Chilling water followed by embrace, followed by despair.
Was that love? He wonders.
No, the statue on the plateau whispers. I am.
~~~
The shrine of resurrection is cold. Shivers wrack Zelda’s frame as she sobs.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Petals fall from her fingers, flower stems clutched in her hands. She locks them together like a prayer, like a plea.
Goddess, Zelda speaks, voice hushed, throat scratching, voice catching on itself. The word itself is enough; if she wishes to hear, she will.
Link lays before her or…what’s left of him. Zelda’s eyes are drawn to him, over and over, guilt knowing at her, salt on an open wound. If only she wasn’t the princess. If only he had never met her, had never cared enough about her to last long enough for them both. If only the day wasn’t so bright, if only it felt like the sky cried along with her for him.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The stems stick to her hands, unshakable, only a few petals left. The rest blew off in the wind as they fled, layers of color flaking away by the second. Link’s gift, it seemed, wouldn’t last. Link's confession , Zelda thinks.
It feels like Zelda is floating out of reality, drifting in a dream, snuggled by blankets in her large bed back at the castle. Her knight and champions are dead. She’s alive. Her knight loved her. He’s dead.
Rising with steely resolve, Zelda stands, leaning her weight onto her left leg. The petals flutter off of her dress, drifting to the ground one by one. She shifts onto her right, wincing. It's twisted, maybe. She glances to the basin in the room where Link lays, still, unbreathing. The flower stems in Zelda’s hands hold fast as she approaches Link’s body and gently peels the stems off of her palm. The water swirls as it fills the basin, luminescent, glowing with a cool teal shade. The stems begin to dissolve as soon as Zelda dips them into the liquid, ultimately disappearing in a few moments. A gift returned, she thinks.
In the distance, the Calamity swiftly inserts itself into the life-blood of Hyrule, stretching its influence between regions, wriggling itself into every crack. The stalls of the winter festival in Castle Town are trampled, guardians running amuck amongst the people until there are almost none left. Malice infects nature, lakes broiling, stones lift themselves from the earth and begin to move, searching, searching, searching. Hyrule is utterly decimated for the first time in a millenia.
For the princess of Hyrule, Calamity Ganon thinks, a gift given .