songerein | closed 🌱 remembering the lost

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closed 🌱 remembering the lost

Who: Link and Zelda
Which: Closed log (backdated to Dec 28)
Where: The beach
What: Having a memorial for the friends they lost on the anniversary of the Calamity (which is also Zelda's birthday)
Warnings: Mentions of death, tragedy, and memory loss.

Zelda's birthday dawns clear, cold, and blessedly normal (normal for Songerein, at least). The freak instance of gingerbread-town-transformation-and-miniaturization-inside-an-unbreakable-glass-dome has passed, almost as quickly as it came about. Perhaps the other dreamwalkers were as incensed as Zelda at finding themselves shrunk down and transformed into cookies and nutcrackers immediately after Christmastime. Or perhaps they were simply amused or mildly inconvenienced by the transformation.

Normally, Zelda would have been too. But the transformation occurred at almost the exact worst time, as far as the princess was concerned—the day before her birthday, which was also the anniversary of the great Calamity that destroyed Hyrule. Zelda was fraught with worry all day long that she would be trapped in the form of a cookie during her planned observance the anniversary.

Fortunately, the spell (dreamscape?) was broken quickly and Reverein greeted the next day in its normal form.

Late that afternoon, as the sun approaches the horizon,, Link and Zelda make their way to the beach. There is a layer of snow on the sand almost all the way up to the surf, and the wind blowing off the ocean is quite cold. And yet somehow, there are still ripe paopu fruits growing on a few of the palm trees. (Nature makes no sense in Songerein.) After collecting a few, the pair dig a fire pit in the sand near some driftwood logs they can sit on. Given how cold it is, Zelda figures that they can roast the paopu fruits instead of eating them raw; Sora didn't say anything about them losing their effectiveness when cooked.

Zelda has been uncharacteristically quiet this evening. While she watches Link roast the paopu fruits, some of her usual doubts float up to the surface of her conscious mind.

"I am not... entirely certain how to do this," she admits.

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The fire brings familiarity along with warmth, and that alone is enough to make Link grateful for the suggestion to roast the fruits. They sizzle as they cook; the sound and the smell of the fire bring him home in a way that nothing else can really come close to. Link turns the fruits to keep them from burning, quiet, watching their breath fog in small puffs of white as they wait. There's little noise but the fire and the sound of waves.

As much as the quiet is uncharacteristic, it's not entirely unexpected; indeed, it feels appropriate in a way, given the day. Given what they're here for.

His eyes slide in her direction at the admission, and he realizes that he's not terribly sure, either. Thoughts come to mind: flowers laid out before a statue of the Goddess. A quiet night surrounded by the wispy ghosts of memories. They don't seem quite right, though. Not for something like this. What other occasions are similar to this? A funeral: a few passing words about eternity and the loving arms of the Goddess. A wedding: declarations of love and pride, wishes of happiness for the future, recounting happy moments of the past. Was something said when he first drew the Master Sword? When a child was born in Hyrule? When he joined the Knights? He doesn't know -- doesn't remember. For a moment, he looks a little lost; uncertain.

What would any of the Champions want? What would any of them do, in this situation...? Daruk, no doubt, would fill the time with heroic songs and entertaining tales of their adventures. Urbosa would start planning for the future almost immediately, a born leader. Revali would begin dictating the Heroic Ballad of Revali the Champion, who (almost) single-handedly saved Hyrule. And Mipha... Mipha would want them all to know how honored she was to fight by their side.

I'm the one who was honored, he would think, and inevitably not say, he realizes with a pang of regret. He would wish he had said it. And he would live with that regret. ...Is living with that regret.

"I think," he ventures after a moment, his voice tentative, "...there's no right or wrong way." A pause. The fruit looks done, and Link removes it from the spit, slowly and thoughtfully as he turns over words in his mind. He splits it between two plates, hands her one. "Something like a toast, maybe, or a moment of silence. Something we wish we could say to them, a story..." Perhaps that's too much. Too many ideas. It's hard to know what feels best in this moment, heavy as it is.

"There's no right or wrong way" earns a sigh, even though it's good advice. That's the impression she got from Sora as well, when she asked him about how paopu fruits worked. 'Eat it while remembering the people you lost' was the suggestion he gave her. Easier said than done, as it turns out. Zelda would usually rather follow directions than figure things out on her own. The princess has a lot of experience fumbling through things without guidance and she doesn't particularly enjoy it.

Zelda accepts the offered plate from Link, ruminating on his suggestions. A toast... Daruk would probably enjoy that. Urbosa too, perhaps. A moment of silence... That sounds like something her father or Mipha would suggest. A story... Zelda would rather hear one of Revali's stories, even though they're usually about him. Something she wishes she could say to them... What doesn't she wish she'd said to them all while she still had a chance.

But they're all good suggestions, and they all bring that needed spark of inspiration to Zelda's mind. She looks down at the pieces of paopu fruit on her plate, steaming in the cold evening air.

"I wish I could tell Father that I'm sorry," she finally says. With the plate balanced on her lap, she cuts a piece off one of the fruits. "I know I said that to him plenty of times while he was still alive, but....

"I tried my best to be a good princess, I really did. I thought I was doing what was best for Hyrule by studying the ancient Sheikah technology so fervently. I never thought Calamity Ganon could overtake the Guardians---how could we ever have prepared for such a possibility?---" Zelda stops herself before she goes off on a tangent. "But I was wrong.

"And so was Father, actually." She gives a little mirthless laugh. "No amount of training and prayer was ever going to awaken my sealing power. Neither would my studies. We were nowhere near the answer."

Link is quiet as she speaks, listening to her words, her regrets. There is nothing here that he hasn't heard or understood before; indeed, some parts he has wished to refute, more than once. She had sacrificed so much for the King, for Hyrule, for all of them...and yet, perhaps no one else understands quite the same way that none of it would ever feel like enough. None of it was enough to stop the Calamity, to save their friends.

He shifts food around on his plate, thoughtful in his silence.

Perhaps the truth is that they never could have prepared for what happened. But does that make it feel better, or worse? Knowing that you did all you could, and in the end it was still not enough...is that any better than thinking you failed due to a shortcoming? He doesn't know. But maybe that's why they keep taking the blame on their own shoulders, trying to find an answer. Trying to make it make sense in a way that allows them to move forward with purpose.

Not for the first time, he finds himself unsure of what to say, knowing that platitudes would never be enough to ease the pain she's feeling. He's said it all before, anyway -- it won't bring their loved ones back from the dead, but the only reason Hyrule still exists at all is because of her.

"He..." Link pauses a moment. He knows, he wants to say, but somehow, that feels hollow. He thinks instead of his first emergence from the Shrine of Resurrection. The old man who guided him to the Temple of Time. That last moment.

"I saw him...his spirit. When I first woke up." His voice is soft; the words are hard to say, and he imagines they may be hard to hear, too. "His last request...he asked me to save you."

Her. Not Hyrule. Not the world. The King's last request had been for Link to save his daughter.

Zelda looks up from her plate, regarding Link with a look of surprise. Her father's spirit? When Link first woke up? Then, her father wasn't able to pass on after his death—his spirit remained tethered to Hyrule.

It isn't hearing that Link met the ghost of her deceased father that shocks Zelda; ghosts, spirits, and the undead are known to exist in Hyrule. When a person's spirit lingers after their death, it's usually because of something bad. Some spirits are too angry to pass on and seek vengeance for wrongs suffered during their life. Other spirits are laden with regrets or unfinished business, keeping them tied to the land of the living until their souls can be given peace. Zelda knows without asking that her father is the latter.

Zelda presses her lips together in a thin line, her gaze falling to Link's plate as she listens to him. Father asked Link to save her.

Her. Zelda. Rhoam's daughter.

Zelda would have expected her father to ask Link to save Hyrule. The King lived, breathed, and died for his kingdom, for his people. If the Calamity has prevented his spirit from finding peace, then saving Hyrule would let him pass on. 'Saving Hyrule' would include saving Zelda, after all; the only way to save the kingdom is to defeat Calamity Ganon, which Zelda has kept sealed away with her.

But he specifically asked Link to save Zelda...

"He... he did?" she asked quietly.

Link nods, heart heavy and face solemn. He did.

It isn't difficult for him to think of that time, of the old man who guided him as he first woke up, revealing the course of events that led him there slowly...but it is difficult to think of what it must have felt like, watching the decay of the country he loved for a solid century, unable to do anything about it. Watching his daughter fight this terrible beast alone.

"In the end, he could see how hard you worked." How hard she fought, how powerful she really was.

In some way, it's bittersweet. If he had known as much, said as much, when he was alive...would things have ended differently? Would she still bear the guilt she carries? Would her power have haunted her as much? Does that even matter anymore...?

He doesn't know.

"They wait for us," he continues after a few moments of quiet. "To finish what we started. To see it through to the end."

The King, the Champions... There's a note of guilt in his voice. They wait for him, more like; Princess Zelda included. He has kept them all waiting for a long time...perhaps longer still, now that he's here.

Link's words sit in Zelda's mind, making space for themselves among all the other things she thinks of her father. Growing up, all she ever wanted was for him to understand how hard she was trying. Even seeing eye to eye with her about trusting the Guardians over her sealing power didn't truly matter. In the times when she loved him and the times when she hated him, the thing Zelda wanted more than anything else was her father's acknowledgement of all her efforts.

She smiles down at her plate, tears welling up in her eyes. She cuts off a bite-size piece of fruit and eats it. Sour! It has an intense, citrusy-sour flavor, like a grapefruit or pineapple. Zelda's face scrunches up at the sour taste, a couple of tears spilling over and running down her cheeks.

Thankfully, Link waits a minute before continuing.

"They wait for us."

Zelda doesn't have to ask who he means by 'they:' the Champions, their spirits trapped within their divine beasts all this time. Link told her about it when he first arrived in Songerein, when the pair learned that his memories are decades ahead of her own. The princess shares that same pang of guilt she hears in Link's voice, albeit for a different reason. The familiar thought rises to her mind---if only she had awakened her powers sooner, the Champions wouldn't have died.

But that's not what Link said, is it? He didn't say they're trapped; he said they're waiting.

Yes, perhaps technically they are trapped, but that's not how they would think of it. Even if the Champions could pass on peacefully, they wouldn't. Not with Hyrule in this state. Not while there's still a fight to be had against Calamity Ganon.

"Is that what they said to you? That they're waiting for us?" Zelda finally looks up at Link again. She isn't quite smiling, but she doesn't look grim either. The tenacity of the Champions... it almost makes her want to laugh.

"They're eager to see it through to the end," Link says. There's a similar sort of fondness in his voice. Of course they were. Of course they wouldn't rest until their work was done. It wasn't in their nature -- not for any of them.

It might not have been their exact words, but the spirit was there. Each one of them was ready to fight, to lend him their strength. That thought should have filled him with strength, and perhaps it does...but it also serves as a reminder of how deeply he had failed them, in the end. That they aren't all able to fight this last battle side by side, the way they had intended...it's bittersweet. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering why he is the one still left standing, instead of any of them.

He finally tries a piece of the fruit, chewing it thoughtfully as he tries to figure out what else to say. Princess Zelda was honest in her words, as candid with her feelings as she often is. If he could borrow some of that honesty...what would he say? I wish things didn't have to be like this. That we could have fought together to make a better future. The Champions didn't deserve such a terrible fate...and neither did Hyrule.

And perhaps in small part, if he's being selfish...he wishes he didn't have to face this last battle alone.

He says none of that. Instead, after a short while, he says softly, "... I miss them."

That unspoken wish is one Zelda shares, deep down in her heart. It's one that bubbles up to the surface of her mind with only the slightest provocation. Hardly a week goes by that she doesn't think of that terrible day, when the six of them stood together at the base of Mount Lanayru and felt the entire kingdom shake beneath their feet. She has replayed that day over and over in her mind, wondering if there was something different she should have done at the Spring of Wisdom. If she had known that that was her last chance---really and truly known---would she have allowed herself to give up like she did?

But it's a question she tries to stop asking herself. No amount of 'what ifs' can change the past. Even this dream world, for all of its inexplicable power, cannot go backwards. It, as all things, must continue to move forward. The princess did so, even after Link fell and she was left all alone. With her powers finally awakened, she took hold of the tiny sliver of hope that he would one day recover from his wounds and went to face her destiny. Just as the Champions had.

"... I miss them."

Zelda regards Link, watching the minute changes to his expression. It's so easy for her to forget that, beneath that familiar visage, he's a different person than the knight she knew before the Calamity. Perhaps not completely different---he's still the same soft spoken glutton who follows her around like her own shadow. But his memories--the life he lived and the people he knew before the Calamity---are gone. Some have returned, he told her, but some are still missing. It's a subject Zelda rarely broaches, having learned something of tact and respect in her time in Songerein, but one she wonders about endlessly. Perhaps, since they're reminiscing about their lost friends today, this is a good time to ask.

"Do you remember them?" Zelda asks gently.

He can't put into words how grateful he is for that gentleness in her voice. It's hard enough to answer already; what he remembers most strongly is the soft disappointment in Mipha's face at his lack of memories. The scoff in Revali's voice. He hates that those are the strongest memories he has; memories from after their death, from long after they were gone. And yet...some other things come through, too. A not-so-gentle pat on the back from Daruk. Urbosa's gregarious teasing as she urged him to be more of himself.

He nods, exhaling quietly as he does so.

"Some memories are very clear," he says after a moment, trying to calm the faint wobble in his voice. "Especially when we traveled together..."

The gentle affection in Mipha's gaze. The tension he felt when Revali spoke. Yes, there are things that have become clearer, even since coming here. He can't bring himself to say more, though. Not at the moment, not with those memories so fresh. Not today, on such a heavy day. Instead, he skewers another piece of fruit on his fork, thoughtfully running his thumb along a decorative groove in the back of the utensil. It's a little while before he speaks again.

"I..." It's habit that makes him hesitate for a moment, but he knows they no longer deserve his silence. They never did. "I wish I had done more. Tried harder to know them, while I had the chance. I always thought..." He breathes, somewhat shakily. "I thought there would be time later."

A pause. "... I wish I hadn't been wrong."

For one as curious and inquisitive as Zelda, it's hard not to press Link for more details. What events does he remember from the times they traveled together? All of those memories are still so clear to Zelda, barely smudged at all by how much time has passed since. Does Link remember that one time in Kakariko Village? What about that other time in Zora's Domain? Surely he couldn't have forgotten that time in Rito Village!

But even with all her memories intact, that same regret resonates in Zelda's heart as strongly as it does in Link's. If only there had been more time.

"I wish..." she starts, carefully, hesitantly. She probably shouldn't admit this, but... "I had spent more time with everyone instead of training."

Zelda presses her lips into a line. It's practically blasphemy, admitting such a thing. What she should be wishing is that she had spent more time praying so that she could have saved the Champions' lives. And a part of her does wish that. It's still hard to shake the mindset of 'if only she had trained a little harder.'

"I don't feel like I ever truly got to know Mipha, Revali, or Daruk."

If she's looking for judgment, she won't find it from Link. In fact, what she finds in his expression, in his small nod of response, is a little more like agreement. In the end, no amount of prayer had been able to awaken her powers; it had all been her own strength and resolve. Perhaps if they had all nurtured that a bit more, helped her find her own way rather than her father's...

Not that any of this can change the past. Perhaps he just wishes that Princess Zelda could have been present for more. If not for the destiny hanging over them...could they have all been better friends?

He's quiet for a few moments, thinking it over. Chewing thoughtfully on a piece of paopu fruit.

"They were always kind to me," he says quietly, thinking back on Mipha's gentle voice, on Daruk's nickname for him. ... Then, he pauses, realizing that Revali was included in the statement; his mouth sets in a bit of a deadpan frown. "Well. Mostly."

The Rito had always been sort of the lone outlier. His own exception to every rule. But as Link thinks about him, looks back on fuzzy memories and vague recollections, his expression relaxes. He can't blame Revali for any of it. He knows he could have tried harder.

"I think Revali saw through it from the start," he says after a quiet moment. "All of the strength I tried to project. As if he knew it was an act."

Or maybe he had been looking for an ally from the start. Looking for kinship, someone he could trust. And Link had failed to live up to that by closing himself off.

"Well. Mostly." gets a chuckle out of Zelda. Even if Link had stopped there, she would have known what he meant. Revali never made any secret of how he felt about Link. Even in the presence of the princess, a situation where most people would have couched their words, Revali seemed to have no qualms about openly questioning Link's fitness to be the hero who wielded the Master Sword.

"Perhaps," Zelda muses. On the one hand, there is probably an amount of truth to Link's theory. Revali was sharp and always watched Link with such scrutiny that Zelda wouldn't be surprised if he saw past the wall of strength Link always tried to maintain.

But on the other hand, she has often thought that Revali's feelings toward Link might be similar to hers.

"I think, perhaps, he might have also been... jealous," she ventures, moving a piece of fruit around her plate self-consciously. "I always felt like maybe he and I had that in common..."

Link should have expected to hear those words, but he still feels a sharp pang of guilt in his chest as Princess Zelda says it. She's nothing if not insightful --she always has been-- and while Link had done his best to ignore those feelings...he could never truly escape them. Still can't, perhaps.

He remains quiet for a moment. It's hard not to think back on every moment he remembers. To overthink, to analyze, to regret.

"I didn't make it easy," he finally says, softly, looking up from his plate. He knew, of course, that being around him was difficult for her -- possibly for Revali, too. The princess hardly tried to hide her feelings; indeed, she was quite vocal about them. If he had tried harder to be a friend to both of them, instead of just a protector, instead of just a comrade in arms...how different might things have been?

It doesn't really matter, now that all is said and done. The point is that he served as a constant reminder of her perceived feelings, and even though he knew that, he did nothing about it. He was so caught up in his own duties that he failed to even try.

"I'm sorry."

Link's apology gets another chuckle out of Zelda; it's the same thing he said the first time she admitted those feelings to him.

"You needn't worry." She waves off his apology with one hand. But as she does, it occurs to her—could it be that Link doesn't remember that day? That almost seems impossible. Zelda can't forget that day; it was one of the first times she ever allowed herself to be completely honest and vulnerable with Link. Could he really have forgotten something like that?

But his reaction, the stiffness and tension he seemed to give off for a minute, suggest that he's hearing her words for the first time.

"I told you that once before," Zelda ventures. "About how I felt about you. Is that... a memory you lost?"

She tries to keep her tone as neutral as possible. Even though it's such a poignant memory, she doesn't want to make Link feel guilty that he doesn't remember. After all, he didn't choose to forget his life before the Calamity. If she's the only one still carrying these memories, then she wants to share them with him again.

I told you that once before.

... Had she?

Link knew, of course. She had never tried to hide her resentment, her irritation. She had never tried to hide how she felt at all, but had she said as much to him? Spoken so plainly about it? Link searches his memories, tries to replay everything he can from the very beginning, and finds nothing there. A few intimations, anecdotes...but nothing like she's describing.

If he still does not remember that...how much else might he still be forgetting that he doesn't even know about?

Slowly, perhaps still a bit surprised, he nods, face drawn into a neutral expression. In truth, he's not entirely sure how to feel about this reminder, the acknowledgment that there's still so much he doesn't know about himself and his past. Logically, he knows he's done what he could to retrace the steps of his life that he lost. He knows there was little other choice. But some part of himself blames his past failings for putting him in this situation, too.

"I'd like to hear about it sometime," he says quietly, after a pause. "... If you don't mind."

He wouldn't dare say so aloud, but there's a thin, maybe somewhat desperate hope that these little stories could spark some sort of recollection. That there's a chance of reclaiming the missing pieces of his past.

Link isn't the only one thinking such thoughts; Zelda, too, wonders if sharing stories of their time together before the Calamity will remind him of those same events. Those memories are still inside his mind somewhere, waiting to be unlocked. The other memories he's regained are proof of it.

Zelda sets her fork down on her plate, taking a silent moment to remember the day in question. The days before the Calamity feel like a lifetime ago. And in a way, they are. The year and a half she has spent in Songerein makes the Calamity feel so far away, as if it was the nightmare and this was the waking world.

"A month or two before my birthday, we traveled to the Spring of Power in Akkala. Father sent me to train there again, even though I had already failed to awaken my powers the last time I was there. 'If I applied myself properly this time, it would work.'" Zelda briefly straightens her back as she imitates her father.

"Of course, it didn't." She slumps back down. "I even stayed up all night trying."

She shakes her head. "I think I probably shouldn't have, because I was extra cross when I finally gave up.

"You brought me a blanket and helped me sit down by the fire. My legs hurt so badly I could barely walk. And while I was sitting there and you were cooking breakfast, it smelled so good that I... started to cry."

Zelda keeps her eyes on her plate out of embarrassment. It's hard to admit that it was something as small as breakfast that prompted this outburst."

"And then it all simply... spilled out. I wanted to ask you how you became such a good cook, but what came out was something about how everything you did always came out perfect." Zelda waves one hand in a vague gesture. "I cannot recall my exact words; I had been awake for thirty-six hours by that point. But I kept crying and telling you how jealous I was that everything you did was always perfect and anything I thought that I did perfectly was never good enough for Father. I told you how it always seemed like you never struggled with anything."

Her brows furrow. "I think I asked you if you thought I wasn't trying hard enough to awaken my powers. You had been awake as long as I had and yet there you were, making a perfect breakfast from only the supplies we had packed and whatever you had foraged from the land."

Zelda finally looks up at Link, her expression apologetic. "It wasn't one of my finer moments.

"But you did not get upset with me. You even said something kind to me, but I must have been too wrapped up in my own feelings because I don't remember quite what you said. After that, we slept for most of the day and I felt better that evening."

There is no sudden onset of memory, and while he doesn't immediately want to admit it, Link is...a little disappointed. He isn't sure what he was expecting, though; it's difficult to compose a tableau of what that moment might have looked like. Does he remember what the Spring of Power looks like? Where would they have gone, after that? A stable, perhaps -- or in that time, before the Calamity ravaged the Hylian territories, would it have been an inn? What would he have cooked?

His face sets in a soft frown of concentration as he thinks about it. Maybe he's trying too hard. Forcing a memory to surface is like trying to force a flower to bloom, far too heavy-handed. A futile effort.

What comes to mind, instead, is the fateful onset of the Calamity; a bitter moment, piercing his mind like an arrow. Princess Zelda sobbing into his arms. It was all for nothing. But it hadn't been, had it? She saved him, and sealed Calamity Ganon. They had all sacrificed something to save Hyrule, they had all worked so hard, and yet...

"... You have worked harder than anyone," he says softly, after a moment. Something clicks into place as he repeats those words, unknowing at first, but more confident with each breath. Not the whole memory, but small pieces of it come to him: her face by the fire, tear-stained and full of shame. The sound of eggs sizzling in a pan. The dead weight of exhaustion that burdened their bodies as much as it burdened their hearts.

So, too, comes everything else: the words left unsaid, things he later regretted keeping to himself. Even now, he hesitates, wondering what use any of it might be. He lets those words linger. in the air for a moment, uncertain, before he ventures to say more.

"Your dedication inspired me. Pushed me forward when I wanted to rest. I wish I had said so back then."

In the immediate silence that follows her story, Zelda watches Link closely, praying to see a sudden look of enlightenment that would suggest the reawakening of this memory. When such an expression never comes, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed as well. She was hoping her words her words would be enough to trigger a recollection.

But perhaps it's more difficult than that. Maybe not all of his memories will return with the sort of sudden revelation as those he regained during his recent travels. Maybe being so far away from Hyrule and their own bodies is makes recovering his memories even more difficult than normal.

She could have been content to leave it at that, but when Link does speak, something about his words tickles a bit of recognition in the back of Zelda's mind. That sounds right, somehow.

She overlays those words on top of the memory of that exhausting morning. They had made camp not far from the Spring, since the nearest settlement was some miles away. Her clothes and hair were still damp from the Spring, and were making the blanket she was wrapped in damp as well. The air was chilly with the changing seasons and Zelda remembered feeling like she couldn't get warm no matter how close she sat to the fire. Even now, she can only recall how much she admired and loathed Link in that moment, her misery and frustration at her own failure dredging up old complaints she thought she had moved past. They spilled out without her even intending and Link took them in stride (as he did everything). "You have worked harder than anyone."

His words bring her out of her thoughts—now, just as they did then. Her dedication inspired him... Her gazes flicks away shyly, down to her plate, and then to the fire, and then once more back to his, and she self consciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. What if he had said that back then? Would things have happened differently? Maybe not—and Zelda has to make a conscious effort not to fall down a hole of "what ifs"—but it certainly wouldn't have hurt anything.

"You... inspired me too," Zelda admits to her plate. "After Fort Hateno, when I was all alone, I thought about you. And my father, and the Champions. The battle was already lost, everyone was gone. Even with my powers, what could I do?

"But you... you never gave up on me. Even when it was just the two of us left and I barely even wanted to save myself. You gave me the strength to stand up again and return to the castle."

This was as it had always been, ever since he was appointed her protector. Even when she didn't want it to be so; even when it frustrated him, when it made them both tired and tense. They supported each other, learned to lean on one another. Learned to depend on one another. Maybe he had begun to take it for granted, the fact that she was there, the way she was able to fill the silence with her presence, her words, with her love of her homeland. At the beginning, he had spent no small amount of time tuning out her thoughts and observations. By the time they were ready to travel to the Spring of Wisdom, he found that he had come to appreciate them.

The silence that had followed his awakening in the Shrine had been so stark. And he never realized it, before he started piecing together his memories...how deeply her absence affects him.

"I never will," he says after a little while, soft but stalwart. His eyes remain on the fire, at first, watching it flicker, watching the smoke change directions with the wind. It feels difficult, in a sense, to make some declarations such as this. After the Calamity, he began to wonder whether those promises spoke of dedication or merely hubris. Did overconfidence contribute to his downfall? Could a more measured show of humility have saved Hyrule?...

But this-- it feels different. It is not lost on Link that even now, even here, Princess Zelda's physical body remains trapped within the seal, keeping Calamity Ganon from destroying what's left of their home. Even now, she waits for him to come to her aid. As if in acknowledgement of that, his eyes rise to meet hers across the fire.

"Whatever happens... I'll always find you."

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closed 🌱 remembering the lost

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