amelioration
n. the process of making bad or unpleasant circumstances better
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"The key to fighting is a solid foundation. Let's start by testing your core. How many push-ups you got in you, Princess?"
The sun was just peaking above the horizon, painting the sky lavender and tangerine. They had moved away from the trees after a modest breakfast of granola to start her training. In the morning light, Zelda watched as Link pulled his hair back into its usual half-ponytail. It was, to her relief, still sandy.
She'd tried running her fingers through her own hair, but the tangles were impenetrable. What she wouldn't give for a long soak in her clawfoot tub. Iridescent bubbles of rosemary and eucalyptus up to her chin; warm, buttery oils and soaps against her skin; favorite ivory hairbrush waiting...
Alas, here she was in the middle of Hyrule field, lying belly down in the grass, trying pathetically to get through her third push-up.
Link was fighting a grin.
"What are you smirking for?" she snapped, surrendering her pelvis to gravity.
His sandy eyebrows shot up. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Three push-ups is good!"
"Oh, don't patronize me," she grumbled, flipping onto her back.
He folded his arms across his chest. "I mean it. I wasn't expecting more than one to be completely honest with you."
Zelda groaned irritably. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Er, that didn't come out right." He scratched the back of his ear. "What I mean is, as the princess, you had no reason to be doing push-ups. I really don't mean it as an insult when I say I wasn't expecting much. Three is impressive to pull out of nowhere."
The cloudless morning sky glared down at the princess. "They're not easy," she muttered.
"They're not," he agreed.
"I just said don't patronize me, didn't I?"
"Well," he announced, ignoring her bitterness, "ideally we'd take more time strengthening your muscles before handling any actual weapons, but considering our circumstances, we'll hafta skip some steps. Let's move on to footwork."
Footwork came much easier. Formal dance, like cross-stitch and horseback riding, was once a mandatory part of Zelda's princess lessons. Although she didn't like dance, she was good at it, and when she was no longer allowed to participate she wound up missing it.
Link commended her for her quick mastery of the movements, and she felt an strangely indignant sort of pride at his praise. It came as second nature to her, so the longer she repeated his same steps, the more ridiculous the looping started to feel.
"So this is what the Knight Commander has you do all day," she commented dryly.
Link gave an amused huff. "Oh yeah, on Fridays he has us pair up and do the Salsa."
Zelda snorted, nearly losing her footwork, but she recovered quickly. "What is he like?" she then asked rather seriously. "Mido, I mean. When I'm not around." She wasn't sure she wanted the answer until Link clearly wasn't giving it to her.
"Uhh," he stalled, "he's like you said. Injected and magnetic."
She loathed the smile that split her lips and fought her face back to neutrality. "First off, it was intrepid and magnanimous. Secondly, those are my words. I want yours."
"Yeah. Mine were injected and magnetic. Weren't you listening?"
"Link." Zelda glued her feet in place and crossed her arms. "You're prevaricating."
Link mirrored her perfectly. "Did I say we were done footwork?"
Their eyes met like torrential rain on cliffsides, and green had to fight to keep from slipping. But it was no use; Zelda dropped first, feet resuming.
"Mido is... bossy," Link finally offered as he joined back in. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. He gives clear orders and takes no shit. It probably makes him a good commander."
"But...?" Zelda prompted. It took her a moment to realize he was changing the pattern on her, but she corrected her feet quickly.
"But what? That's all."
"It probably makes him a good commander, but..."
Link reversed the steps' directions on her again. "Let's just say he's good at getting people to do what he wants."
Zelda accepted that that was the best answer she was going to get as she stumbled to keep up with all the sudden substitutions, reversals and additions Link was doing. For a minute or so the only sound was that of their feet trampling the grass.
"What did he say to you during the Knights' Tournament?" Zelda eventually asked.
Step, step step, step.
Step, step step, step.
"I don't remember."
She stopped. "You're lying."
He stopped too, hands alighting on his hips. "Look, if you like him and he's as good to you as you say he is, then that's all that matters, Your Highness. Not my opinion of him."
Zelda noted his posture, his facial expression. She analyzed all the details of his body language that were trying to convey something more. Then her cheeks heated before she even asked it. "Are you jealous?"
Link sighed and crossed his arms. "Haven't we been over this? I'm not jeal—"
"I mean of him—with me," she said, fearing the answer. "Of us."
His eyes widened, but his brows drew inward. "No."
Zelda felt strangely betrayed by the small sting in her chest. No wasn't the answer she'd feared. Of course she didn't want Link to want her. She already had a beau, and lover and bedded still plagued her stomach like parasites, but he didn't have to deny it so vehemently.
He turned towards the tree where his windcleaver waited. The sun illuminated his long ears in blood rush red, and for a second Zelda believed it was blush.
But it couldn't be. His tone was too casual. "You ready to try holding a weapon?"
"Er, uh, sure," she stammered, feigning indifference.
He brought the blade over, explaining where to position her hands and which fingers are most crucial for grip, then held it out for her to take.
Something already felt wrong, but it wasn't until she held the weapon in her hands that she found out what. Her fingers wrapping around the handle brought back a tsunami of sickening adrenaline. She could see her hand plunging into the Yiga's chest, hear the meaty thud, feel the way her shank tore through muscle.
"It's okay, Your Highness," Link chuckled, voice far away, "I'm not throwing you in the sparring ring, we're just..." His attention snagged on her dilated pupils, her suddenly shallow breathing. "Oh— Oh shit."
He might have told her to let it go, but it didn't register. Then he tried tugging on the handle beneath her hand, but the princess's fingers were locked tight, like she was clutching a precious gemstone she couldn't afford to lose.
"Princess, breathe with me." That came through, somehow. Maybe she was searching for his voice. "One... two..."
She followed his counting for Hylia-knows-how-long before the blade finally slipped out of her grasp. She plopped onto the grass beside it and Link followed them down.
"Forgive me," Zelda sputtered, "I-I let it happen again."
"You didn't let anything happen," Link asserted, quickly moving the weapon behind him. "You were ambushed. I shoulda known that—"
"No, no. Don't try to shoulder the blame. I'm the one who freaked out over nothing." Zelda counted out two more deep breaths in her head while Link waited.
The breeze tickled the grass against her legs, but she couldn't feel either of them.
"You don't hafta fight, you know," Link murmured.
"Yes, I do!" she burst. "I'm so sick of being useless!"
Princess Zelda's persisting inability to use her power was never publicly broadcast, but it was the kind of news that passed around in whispers. The whole kingdom probably knew. If there were ever a shadow of a doubt in Link's mind, her outburst last night when he found her by herself would have been all the edification he needed.
He frowned. "You're not useless, Princess. You do a lot for Hyrule."
"Oh yeah?" she bit angrily. "Like what?"
"Like uh... like..."
With a frustrated cry, she rose and stormed towards their camp.
"Princess, wait!" Link called after her. "I'm a knight in the barracks. Just because I don't know what goes on inside the castle all day doesn't mean you're not doing important work." Her stomping didn't slow, so he picked up his pursuit. "What about the malice?"
She whipped around. "You're an ass, Link!" The insult made him stumble. "You know damn well that I can't do a fucking thing about the malice like everyone expects me to!"
Hearing her curse, he faltered again, but recovered quickly. "What you did yesterday was amazing."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He slowed, just a few paces away from her. "When we first encountered the malice, you were terrified. But then, not only did you somehow overcome that panic and guide your horse through it while we were under attack, you actually went off by yourself to face the malice again that night."
"And for what?" Zelda retorted. "I didn't accomplish anything—"
"But you tried."
Zelda rolled her eyes. "A good effort is not going to stop the Calamity."
Link stepped towards her. "A good effort is exactly what's gonna stop the Calamity." Another step closer. "That's why you wanna learn to fight." Another step. "That's why we're going to Kakariko."
They were nearly toe to toe now. Zelda leered down her nose at him. Despite being shorter than her, there was an air to him, a confidence in his chin and shoulders that chipped away at her obstinance.
They were headed to Kakariko. Even if she wasn't cut out for physical combat, Zelda knew there were other ways she could fight against the Calamity. Assuming, of course, the sundelion was actually...
The morning sun continued to pound down on them. One would think that on a clear day like this, sky islands would be visible to those bound by gravity. Still, the princess couldn't afford to lose hope now.
"Well"—Zelda took a great inhale—"let's get moving. Kakariko is waiting."
The pools of Link's eyes narrowed into rivers, as if trying to decide if the princess was actually eager to get going or just trying to drop the conversation. But he acquiesced, and in no time at all they had gathered their small collection of things. Link didn't feel comfortable mounting his horse in her state, so Zelda rode beside them at their laggard pace.
"Have you been to Kakariko before?" he'd asked as they first set out.
"Not since my mother died," she'd answered. They'd visited for some royal dalliance or another, but the princess had no recollection of it.
Zelda would have preferred to travel through lunch, but Catherine needed a rest. The princess ate her granola on a tree stump and watched Link coddle his mare.
She was even more sick and lethargic after lunch, and they didn't make it far before they had to stop again. The worse Catherine got, the more withdrawn Link became.
"Do you think we'll find your flower in Kakariko?" he murmured by the campfire that night, looking forlornly in the direction of the horses. It was the first conversation he'd started since lunch.
Zelda, dreading the question, took another begrudging bite of the same bland granola to buy herself more time. Logically, it just wasn't realistic. A lost flower from the sky? She had been stomping on any hope trying to take root in her heart when she thought of it herself, in order to brace for inevitable disappointment. But there was such a fragile sweetness in Link's features as he watched their distant horses that Zelda couldn't bring herself to voice that.
"If that structure truly came from the sky, then there's a very good possibility," she said instead.
He seemed to brighten at this, but only for a second.
"I wish we'd grabbed something more than this granola," Zelda sighed dramatically, trying to keep the conversation alive. Then she forced a chuckle. "I feel like I'm back in the Yiga hideout, eating the same thing over and over again!"
"Sorry," he said absently, missing the attempted humor. She was about to backtrack when he finally looked at her. Or rather, the granola in her hands. "If you don't want it, I'll give it to the horses. It'd be a nice treat."
Truthfully she was still hungry, but she wasn't about to keep the horses from their would-be treat, not when Link lit up at the mere suggestion. She relinquished her granola over to him, and without another word he rose and strode away from the campfire.
When it was obvious he wouldn't be coming back for some time, Zelda sighed, slid off the log, and waited for the stars to burst through the tie-dye blanket overhead.
"That one's Navi," Zelda said, arm reaching for the glittering night sky above. "And that one's Tatl."
"You made that up," Mido smiled, rolling towards her.
"I did not!" she laughed, rolling towards him.
It was the first night Mido had urged her to sneak out of her room, months before he would have the gall to try and kiss her.
"Okay, tell me some more, then."
"Let's see, there's Tael, and over there's Ciela..."
"Ciela? Like the cleric?"
"Mhm."
"Huh. Why bother to learn all their names?" he murmured, brown eyes aglow, waltzing across her face as if he'd find the answer in her features. She had never felt butterflies for anyone quite like she had in that moment.
"I don't know all their names," she giggled again. "Just the major ones. Legend says the stars used to guide ancient heroes on their journeys."
His eyebrows lifted, allowing his gaze to slip upwards. "Guide them where, exactly?"
"I don't know, anywhere. Deserts, oceans... anything that needed crossing."
"Wouldn't a map be easier?"
Her laughter twinkled like the constellations, unaware that he'd meant it earnestly. He laughed too, just because she was shining like one.
Stargazing would become one of her favorite activities in wake of this moment.
When the laughter dwindled, he pointed a finger at a star. "So that one's Navi?"
"No, that one's Tatl." She moved his arm a skosh north. "That one's Navi."
"Really? How can you tell them apart?"
"Well, Navi's the brightest. And if you're watching, she always appears first..."
And as the sky's colors melted away, that first star burned through the periwinkle and navy. Its radiance made Zelda ache for that night with Mido again. Even though they had had months, it felt like only a few days before the whole world pressed in on them.
Where in Hyrule was he now? Had his search for the Master Sword proven fruitful yet?
As Navi flickered above her outstretched palm, Zelda closed her fingers as if she could catch the star and tuck it away in her pocket. Then, with her fingers coiled tight, Zelda looked to Link's windcleaver, resting by a tree. Finding the Master Sword wasn't enough. The prophecy counted on both of them.
Without a chance for second thought, Zelda kept her breathing even and picked up the blade, holding it the way Link had instructed. She felt the solidity between her palms, considered the weight of the weapon—both literally and figuratively.
Then, she gave it a swing. Sort of. Her motion was heavy and uncoordinated, so she tried it again slower. Not imagining she was attacking anyone. Just... swinging a long kitchen knife. Again, this time a little differently. And again, still lacking grace. Maybe it was due to the creeping night making it harder to see.
"Are you nocturnal or something?" Link was leaned up against a tree.
Zelda startled but managed to keep a grip on the windcleaver. Her skin pricked with irritation and embarrassment that Link would observe her without making his presence known. Even if she was occupying their camp.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.
"It's like the real you only comes out at night."
She glowered at him so that she didn't have to ask the same question twice.
"Your Highness, yesterday morning you were having a panic attack just from holding that windcleaver, and now you're out here swinging it in the dark by yourself? You keep overcoming your fears in like, a day." He laughed, pushing off of the tree. "It's kinda crazy, actually. You're not high on more fairy magic, are you?"
"No," she refuted, defensive and offended.
"If you really want to practice proper technique though," Link said, ignoring her animosity, "let's pick it up in the morning so you're not swinging blindly."
━━▲━━
Step, step step, step.
After another unexciting granola breakfast, the princess and her knight found a big enough clearing between trees and malice to start their warm-up with some footwork. Once their muscles were good and warm, Link produced the windcleaver.
"To strike, bring your left hand up above your eye," explained Link as he demonstrated himself. "When coming down, your right hand guides the blade and the left hand sets the power. A blade is strongest at this angle." Link moved slowly through a slicing motion. "Your blade is flexible, but striking at an angle that causes it to bow"—he bent the blade gently to demonstrate—"is much weaker. This is how novices end up breaking their weapons."
He scrutinized the blade, bringing it to his nose for closer inspection. "Actually, this one's already taken a real beating. It probably won't last much longer even with proper use, so don't feel bad if it gives out on you, okay?"
"Okay," she nodded, still trying to commit everything he'd just said to memory.
"Alrighty then!" He held the weapon out to her. "You ready?"
Then, with a deep breath, Zelda took the windcleaver in her hands. She acknowledged the sensations trying to resurface and dismissed them.
"Now, the special thing about windcleavers is that when you swing them right, they create a gust of wind that can knock your enemies back."
She remembered as much from their run in with the Yiga. She brought her left hand above her eye line, as he'd instructed.
"But be careful, the recoil is strong enough to knock you over if you aren't—" As he was explaining this, Zelda was already giving it a try. His arm reflexively shot behind her back like a safety bar and, sure enough, she conjured a gale. However, as she fell backwards, Link quickly retracted the arm that would have otherwise caught her, and Zelda tumbled backwards, rolling once, twice, into a puddle of mud.
She came up gasping. "You just—! You deliberately let me fall!" she exclaimed, arm pointing accusingly.
"You told me not to lay another finger on you," he reminded her, hands raised in feigned surrender.
"Hylia above, Link! I don't know if you're petty or bovine or both! You're obviously allowed to catch me if I'm in danger!"
His weight shifted to one leg, and his mouth quirked wryly. "I think our definitions of 'danger' might be a little different."
She shook her arms to dispel some of the mud. "What if this had been a pool of malice?"
"It's mud," he deadpanned.
"Extrapolate a little!"
"Maybe you shoulda listened to all the directions before trying it out."
"Maybe you should've given all the directions before handing the windcleaver over!"
"Okay, I'll admit it was an afterthought. I'm sorry," Link said in a way that suggested he was not at all sorry. He strode over and offered her a hand, the sun highlighting his sandy locks from behind.
An all-too-familiar situation.
She'd come to realize the incident in the training yard was no strange anomaly. Link was not some indomitable warrior. No, but he was observant and trusting. People were patterned creatures, and the knights were practically his family. Link had been internalizing his brothers' and sisters' patterns all this time, and that's how he remained unscathed in the Knights Tournament.
Zelda scoffed. "Too little, too late. I'm not touching your grubby little mitts."
"My grubby little mitts?" he repeated, looking her up and down with impish exaggeration.
"Okay, you're having way too much fun with this." She hauled herself to her feet, sweeping off large globs of mud, and assumed ready position with the windcleaver. "Just show me what I did wrong."
Link helped her edit her stance, planting her back foot perpendicular for more support, but her next swings didn't produce any blasts of wind. When she wondered what she was doing wrong, Link suggested the weapon was naturally wearing down. Zelda suspected he just said that to make her feel better, but she didn't say anything.
When the sun was high and everywhere that wasn't caked with mud was slicked with sweat, they called it quits. Zelda announced her need to wash up, but they were in the middle of Hyrule Field surrounded by nothing but trees and grass and pools of scattered malice. So, they got their horses and continued on.
When they finally happened upon a large river hours later, Link recognized it immediately.
"At this rate, we'll be in Kakariko by tomorrow, Your Highness," he'd said excitedly. Then, "Doesn't it make you so sad to think we'll only have a few more granola meals left?"
She smiled. "What makes you think I won't eat more granola to celebrate?"
Link let out an amused exhale through his nose. "In that case, shall I bake us a granola cake?"
"Only if we have enough granola juice to wash it down."
Link's facade broke with incredulous horror. "Granola juice? Oh my Gods, that's nasty! It'd be all chunky."
This playful disgust was a new reaction from Link, and it felt like an accomplishment. Bubbles rose in Zelda's chest.
"Well, I'll get the campfire started while you wash up," Link said with a yawn.
Zelda traveled a good bit in the opposite direction to a place where the trees and underbrush provided some semblance of privacy.
She set the windcleaver down and peeled her boots off first, savoring the feel of soft grass between her toes.
Then, as she loosed her belt, something in the bush behind her shifted. Her heart skipped a beat. It was violating enough to be secretly watched while handling a sword, but trying to catch an uninvited glimpse of her undressing was an entirely new level of unacceptable. A kind that she... wasn't actually equipped to address. Despite vulnerability and confusion boiling into distilled anger, ice slid through her veins, and she was scared to call out Link's perversion.
She was utterly frozen, unable to do anything except turn her head slowly.
The bush rustled again, but to her relief—or perhaps horror—it wasn't Link.