(Zelink) The Legend of Zelda and the Last knight- Swords and Roses

Why we failed pt.40 Aftermath

Why we failed pt. 40

Aftermath

The villains got away but at least she'd be safe, Link might've thought to himself catching his breath. The plains around them was a ruin of hoofprints and snapping banners, its once quiet dawn smothered by chatter and trampled grass. The shouts of soldiers rallying orders mingled with the whoosh of Rito wings overhead, circling wide to secure the field, their cries and wind-beats a disorganized song in Zelda's head.

She could hardly believe they had survived at all; moments earlier, she was certain they would perish together. If the army had arrived even a heartbeat later—she dared not imagine what might have become of Link, who had been ready to sacrifice himself for her without hesitation. Now, as the morning light broke across the battered field, fragments of terror and relief tangled within her until she scarcely knew whether to weep or faint.

Then a familiar voice rang over all the others, toward her and Link still saddled on their stolen steed.

"Thank the seven and her holiness herself, you are alive!"

It was Arasmus, flanked by his trusted Dragoons, their armor black and bearing the serpent sigil of House Draene. His steed matched their shadowy color, its mane shielded with dark barding and the dust of hasty travel. The soldiers around him straightened at his approach, their discipline returning like a tide drawn by his presence. The young lord sat in the saddle with that effortless, princely posture — gallant for the crowd, calculated beneath.

Mouth dry and still reeling from the experience, Zelda hesitated to open her mouth to speak, but Arasmus — making short work over to her and Link's position — did the talking.

"We left at once we heard of your capture."

All the while one of the men helped her to dismount now that the danger was over, giving Link a look of staying out of his Lord's way. Zelda obliged, not seeing their exchange, and slid off the horse, still wearing one of Link's overshirts he'd given her for the chill during their long escape.

"Oh, look of you. You have a look of sheer fright. My poor Sundelion, all is well now," Arasmus said, making a phony show of caring for her now that his company had them surrounded and secure.

"I'll manage," Zelda said curtly, wary of his display of affection.

Ignoring her, he ripped off the peasant overshirt Link had given her and threw it back up to him rudely atop the steed. The coarse fabric fluttered once in the wind before falling across Link's lap, still warm from her. Simultaneously, he beckoned one of his men to hand him a fabulous coat of furs fit for nobility — one made from his own people of the Stonelands, where the land has the fiercest of winters — to wrap her up in. Her white gown from the festival days prior was ragged and threadbare, mud-stained from the struggle and torn at the seams.

The fur was heavy on her shoulders, soft but suffocating, carrying the same faint scent of spice and steel that clung to his own garments. Zelda could feel his fingers linger longer than necessary as he adjusted it, his smile polished for the men around them, yet hollow as a mask beneath.

Link sat silent on the horse above, jaw tight, watching the lord's every motion with quiet disapproval. The sun was rising at his back, catching the edges of his hair in light — a contrast to Arasmus's shadow cast over her.

The battlefield quieted save for the distant roll of thunder over the green hills to the south. Somewhere to the east, the last of the Yiga were retreating into the mountain passes with their prize — the Nayreilian Diadem — but none among the Dragoons yet seemed aware.