mourning
n. the expression of deep sorrow for someone who has died
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Clop clop, clop clop, went the hooves on midnight grass.
Zelda didn't even have the capacity to marvel at Link's mare, now trotting along as if she were in the prime of her life. The sundelion was a Hylia-given miracle, if Zelda truly believed She cared enough to send them one at all.
The virulent storm in her head had sizzled out her ears and swirled menacingly in the sky above them. The stars were obscured by thick gray clouds and distant lightning. That thunderstorm was coming their way, and Link and Zelda would definitely be caught in it before long.
If Zelda were more superstitious, she might've thought the sky was mourning her. But she was empty of tears now, and she didn't care one way or the other. She'd taken the usual time she needed to numb herself from the tar pit of disgust roiling in her belly. Even with Link readying the horses as fast as he could, the princess was left to languish alone in his room for quite some time. When her stomach and lungs stopped heaving, she'd skulked over to Link's discarded undershirt and removed it from the fairy. She'd observed the magical creature in its blush glow and bleakly wondered if it could heal broken spirits the way it healed broken bones. Then she'd set it back down, leaving the undershirt removed for its light, and moved to the bedside table. It hosted a glass of water, some crumpled napkins and a half eaten bean cake from dinner. And a photograph.
Delicately, Zelda had brought the blurry picture to her nose, swiping the catatonic tears from her cheeks before they leapt onto the sepia toned portrait.
She'd recognized Link first, several years younger, with his same hardly-tamed hair. With one fist on his hip and a confident, close-lipped smile, his face was even more plush and innocent than it was now. Beside him, in stark contrast, was a burly man with a trimmed beard and hardset features. Despite his stout legs, he was a full head taller than Link. Between the two of them was a euphoric little girl with cropped hair and a cucco cradled in her arms.
With that, it clicked.
This was Link's family.
A small laugh had snuck up through the grief. Link certainly didn't get his face from his father! But why wasn't his mother present in the photo? Zelda knew he had one—he'd talked about her.
Tired creases in the photograph ran eerily between each family member, dividing them apart. And she still couldn't remember why Akkala rang like funeral bells in her head.
They made an ironic duo, herself and Link. The girl with a past he wanted to know about but she wouldn't share. The boy with a past he'd willingly share if only she weren't afraid to ask. But she couldn't bear to know. Because if he gave her a drop of himself she'd want the entire ocean. And she was supposed to stay on land.
Clop clop, clop clop, went the hooves on midnight grass.
Link didn't tell Zelda where they were going and Zelda didn't ask. Anywhere but here, she'd answered through sparse tears when he came back to the room. He didn't ask what caused those, either. He just threw a poncho-like blanket over her shoulders and loaded their things into the saddle bags, including more food. Zelda noted, too, the presence of some new sword in the sheath he always wore, though she was too benumbed to ponder where and how he acquired it.
Now, after an hour of nothing but silent glances, when the sniffling and hiccuping had long since dwindled, Link finally asked the question she knew was coming.
Do you want to talk about it?
She gave the answer he knew would follow. No.
He sighed heavily.
Drip! The first frosty raindrop ran down her cheek like another tear. In the distance, lights. Plumes of smoke. A stable. If they hurried, they might miss the worst of the rain after all.
Drip, drip drip!
Link and Zelda both spurred their horses into a canter. They could've careened into a gallop, but secretly Zelda savored the bitter drops hitting her face, grounding her body back to the corporeal. The icy shock was the only thing she could feel.
They made it to the stable just as the rain started falling with a hiss. For some reason, the small, warm building was overrun with voices. Why were so many people awake at this hour? Zelda took an extra moment to breathe deeply before following Link inside.
"Do you have any beds available?" he was asking the stable owner as Zelda stepped to his side.
"My Gods, Princess Zelda!" the stable owner shouted upon spotting her. "You're alive!"
Immediately, despite the dull roar of chatter, people heard and turned to her. Most people gasped, other people laughed incredulously. Some people collapsed with a sob. They rushed to her, grabbing at her hair and clothes. Link tried to intercept, but there were too many reaching hands.
"Thank Hylia!"
"She's really alive!"
"Your Highness, what are you going to do?"
Eyes wide as saucers, green darted from face to relieved face, trying to glean what she'd obviously missed.
"Maybe there's hope after all!"
"Princess, how soon will you assemble an army to take back Hyrule Castle?"
Wait. What?
Frantically, Link ripped desperate hands and beseeching fingers from the princess's arms and face. Then, with his own wingspan, he worked himself to her front and pressed his back into her, shepherding them both towards the entrance.
"What will you do about everyone still trapped in Castle Town?"
"Please, Princess Zelda, my husband— he— he stayed behind to get me out, you have to rescue him!"
There was an elderly woman near the front of the crowd, and despite the roaring voices, hers was clear as crystal. "The poor king, what a travesty."
Horror vacuumed all her superfluous senses and honed in on the woman. Just a whisper passed between them. "What happened to my father?"
"Ganondorf took the castle," she croaked. "King Rhoam is dead."
The stable fell away. The hands evaporated, the rain fled, the smell of hay and horses shattered. No thunder in her head, the stable, the sky.
Only cerulean;
Link twisted at the waist, paralyzed and fixated on only her.
Then, with a deafening crack, thunder struck.
And Zelda let herself get eviscerated by the storm.
"Princess!" Link yelled, voice splitting as he chased after her into the downpour.
Blinded by the torrent of rain and sorrow, Zelda ran without aim. She heard Link calling her name, but she kept going. The sound of waterfalls consumed the uproar at the stable, and its distant light extinguished behind the curtain of rain. By the river raging with runoff, the muddy ground sloped, and the princess went down.
Link dropped to the mud beside her an instant later. "Zelda!"
Her body wracked with fatalistic sobs, violent as during the bokoblin ambush at the river. But worse than that, there was a clarity to this sadness. Unlike before, she still knew who she was, and she felt the human weight of the atrocity that transpired.
Her father was dead.
Her father was dead, and Zelda was happy.
Don't come back until you are equipped to end this.
Those were the words he'd left her in this hell with.
She hated him for everything he put her through—every disapproving glower and disappointed word. The pressure, the apathy, the neglect. She hated him for dying. She hated her father for killing her Papa years before Ganondorf came to Hyrule.
Now Papa would never come back, and in every cell of her being, Zelda was devastated. The hinox hugs and earthquake laughter, never to rumble her heart again. Every birthday candle she'd blown out—the bedtime prayers and shooting star wishes—begging for his return, were wasted on a silent goddess. What vile deity rewards a little girl's devotion with the desolation of her soul?
Suddenly, oddly, the rain ceased. Link had removed the blanket from his shoulders and held it above their heads, a feeble shelter against the onslaught. The thunder in the sky echoed in her heart, the rain pounded from her eyes, and she let her shoulders fall against Link's. The fabric above them was not as impenetrable as her grief, and soon the rain leaked through in frigid droplets. So Link, of his own volition, brought his arms around her, cocooning them both in the sodden blanket. Then, resting his chin on her wet hair, he rocked them back and forth. His next words were felt, not said.
I'm here. I've got you.
And so, huddled in an unspoken intimacy, the princess and her knight weathered the storm together.
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A short chapter, but packed nevertheless--our poor girl can't catch a break!
If anything in this chapter spoke to you, please consider leaving a comment; they mean so much to me! And for those who already do, thank you endlessly for your support, you make this story worth sharing!
Happy Almost-Friday, everybody!
Art as always by the lovely Hiyukee on Twitter and Instagram 💗
Oh, the picture of Link's family is from the "Creating a Champion" art book~