The Legend Says I Love You | Zelink

Chapter 21: Hero of Pine(ing)

Link begins to remember, but struggles to find the context and, being 100 years later, only has Zelda to ask for clarification.

*

Link, alarmingly, kept finding himself too close to the Princess of Hyrule. Or Queen now, he supposed, of what was left. Either way, the fact remained: his body remembered things that he did not, but he could take a pretty good guess at what those things were. He forced himself to put some distance between them, stopping his arm from inadvertently (was it inadvertently?) brushing against hers as they made the short journey up the hill. He was leading her into the woods to the shrine that lay nestled amongst them, away from the village below. It was the longest time they had spent alone together that he could remember and the thought itself had him strangely on alert, like there was a buzz of electricity on his skin. He felt it jolt every time he felt himself needlessly drift closer to her, his feet naturally trying to close the gap again. He decided to preoccupy himself with some trees, poking at their roots and cutting the grass around it with his sword. He caught her smiling in his peripheral and suddenly felt like a kid being babysat more than her protector. "Could use a gardener," he said, for the sake of something to say.

"I like the wild," she said, watching the butterflies thread throughout the trees. They appeared luminescent, much like those other little animals that hid amongst the grass, and in stark contrast to the overcast forest. No matter the time of day, it always felt like twilight to him. To see her in the centre of it stirred something up inside of him.

"It suits you," he said, far too easily, as he watched her. He liked the way the breeze moved her hair. The way the grass extended to her calves and the way she would surefootedly navigate around the flowers and roots. But, the thought itself was a jinx; and suddenly she had gotten her foot caught on something and stumbled forward. Again, he had somehow found himself too close to her, but at least this time he was of use. He caught her easily by her shoulders, gently righting her before quickly letting go.

"Spoke too soon?" she said a little embarrassedly, trying to laugh it off.

"Not at all," he insisted, continuing their quiet amble but paying particular attention to any other obstacles in her path. He had wanted to take her to the shrine - in part to fulfil a scientific curiosity that he knew she had, and in part to fulfil an odd desire that he knew he did. He really wanted to show her the Silent Princesses. But he couldn't just tell her that. No chance in hell was he saying, hey, princess, want to see some flowers? But he couldn't stop thinking about them all the time they were down in the village, and how they were right there, and so many of them, and how sad and melancholy she had been all those years ago at finding just one. How she had hoped they would survive on their own, and how they had blossomed beyond her hopes right above her. That, he could remember. That, he proudly wanted to tell her. But what a tiny little insignificant memory it must have been in the grand scheme of things. What was one flower amongst a lifetime of barren fields?

The constant agonising was driving him insane. How long must he mull over his own memories in his head, when she was right there with all the answers to his questions?

"Princess?"

"Zelda," she corrected.

"Princess Zelda--"

"I swear on the Goddess, Link, I'll--"

"Just close your eyes," he ordered, amused at her grumblings. "Take my hand." It was easier to ask, to tell, to show her things, when she wasn't actually looking at him. He hesitated before continuing. He knew he didn't need to ask and that the question carried far too much weight for the situation they were in, but he wanted to hear her answer nonetheless: "Do you trust me?" Thankfully, his voice carried none of the timidity he felt.