Reincarnated

Chapter 9: Letter from Zelda to King Rhoam

Dear Father

I wish I could speak to you, but seeing as you gifted me a guard with a letter rather than your presence, I figured I'd give you the same. He, the guard, and I are leaving tonight. Don't try to stop us. By the time you are reading this, we shall have long since departed. I cannot tell you where we are going, but I am confident that I will be safe, and Link, my guard, will make sure of it.

If Link's fate should ever fall into your hands once this has all played out, I implore you to not hold him responsible for my actions. This is a decision that I and I alone have made. Link is simply following orders from his Princess. In fact, he's promised to keep his vow to you, to never take his eyes off of me. I suppose I should thank you for providing me with such a loyal guard.

I am going to fulfill my fate, whether you believe me or not. I hope the next time I see you, your eyes can reflect a new understanding.

Zelda

Excerpt from Zelda's Diary

Link has built a fire. The embers burn hot on my face, yet the wild draws cold shivers down my spine. I told him it was okay to sleep. Hylia only knows how unrested he is. I've decided to stay awake for a bit. I've brought what I need to log our ventures. Perhaps this diary will be more engaging than the ones about the walls of my room.

The only natural place for my log to begin would be the events that bring me to a campfire hidden away under a bundle of trees somewhere south of Castle Town. We began to gather what we believed we'd need from my room and its adjoining facilities. Whatever was unavailable there we planned on purchasing in town on the way out. After my experiment at the Royal Ball, I don't believe we'd be noticed. Link's sword and garb may be dubious, but with a cloak, he could pass.

When it came time to leave, Link stopped before mounting my desk. He seemed hesitant. "What is it?" I asked him.

"I've never actually left Castle Town."

"I don't know why you should have. Are you afraid?"

"No," he replied quickly. His eyes remained fixed on the stool. "I just don't know what's out there."

"I believe that is fear."

"Oh." His eyes dropped further, from the chair to the floor, and his head followed.

"How about apprehensive then?" I offered.

"Sure." He slowly regained his posture, gave a reassuring smile, then finally stepped onto the chair to follow me out.

It was around the time I knew Father to take his dinner, so I assumed his office would be empty. Of course, it was, and so I went around to his desk. It was very much unlike mine. Papers were stacked neatly, and drawers closed flush with each other, perfectly containing their organized contents. I remember how he used to instruct me on desk management.

"You have your blank pages here," he'd explain, pointing to a stack on his left. "For letter writing, notes, memos, and the like. Then over here," he pointed to a smaller stack to his right. "This is where my personal writings are, drafts, plans, personal memos, and such. Every week, I file them into this drawer," he opened a drawer. "And when full, it's taken away to the archives. And letters, of course, go..."

On and on he'd go. After each careful explanation, my desk would resemble his for a few days, then return to mirror the clutter of my thoughts. "No no!" he'd exclaim whenever visiting my room. "How will you ever find what you need?"

I set the letter I wrote on top of his "to read" pile. I couldn't help but take a glance at his "personal notes" stack, a time-honored tradition for whenever I snuck into his study. Usually, it was some boring draft of a business matter, but I looked anyway. The allure of breaching privacy was too great.