Well, uh... This one took a lot longer to finish than I thought it would, but... Well, it's here now. So yeah.

Just a quick reminder: this one-shot is another entry in my on-going 'Timeline' mini-series, in which I explore the ways in which Link and Zelda's dynamic may have played out after the various games in the series. This time, we're lookin' at 'Breath of the Wild'. No, you do not have to have read any of the other entries in the series for this to make sense, but if you would like to, please feel free! You know where to find them.

Timeline

-Breath of the Wild-

It Takes a Village

There's a saying in Hyrule, and an old one at that.

Older than the mountains, whose impassive walls have guarded the nation from time out of mind. Older than the forests, in whose leaf-strewn halls the peoples of Hyrule have been sheltered and nurtured since the beginning. Older even than memory, living or otherwise.

It goes something like this:

'It takes a village to raise a child.'

It's a simple saying, really. One claimed to have been started by nearly every race of people who have ever called Hyrule their home yet is older still than any of them.

It's meaning is plain – that the responsibility of raising a child, of teaching, nurturing, protecting and inspiring them, of preparing them to grow into adulthood and be ready to shoulder the responsibilities of the future, belongs not only to the child's parents - nor their siblings, uncles, aunts, or grandparents - but to the community as a whole.

Every little word, every glance, every interaction that makes up the quilted tapestry of adolescence, eventually joins together to form the person they will one day become. Thus, being part of a child's life, even in the smallest of senses, is both a great honor and a terrible responsibility. One's youth forms the foundations upon which their lives are built, and much like the foundation of a simple cottage, or a village, or a nation, if that foundation is not firm, how can it hope to weather the storms that will inevitably beat upon it?

So, it is with pride and honor that the people of Hyrule, independent of race, have for generations revered the importance of community.

And of all the villages scattered around Hyrule, few of them embody this sentiment better than Hateno.

It's not that he intends to keep her hidden away in the house like a prisoner.

If ever she wants to leave, he'd be more than happy to let her go. Whenever he asks, however, all he receives are quiet shakes of the head or curt refusals.

She's too tired. She's comfortable where she is. Maybe another day.

At first, he's content to let her sit and get her rest. He's prepared to give her anything she wants, if he's being honest. He owes it to her, after all. He owes her more than he could ever possibly hope to repay. He kept her waiting for so long, and she never complained, not even once.

And, in addition to that, he's scared. The day he pulled her from the moldering ruin of her old home, he'd never imagined the depths to which her incarceration had left scars within her psyche. She'd seemed so… bright, so relieved to see him, to be free…

When he'd awoken the morning after their first night back, there at the Riverside Stable, he'd been astonished to see she hadn't slept at all.

She'd smiled and waved his concern away, claiming she'd rested long enough before he'd found her, that she just needed time to adjust to living again, and he'd believed her. He'd wanted to believe her. The hollowness he saw in her eyes wasn't anything to be concerned about.

Kakariko had shown him the error of his ways.

The villagers had been ecstatic to learn that the Calamity was over and their princess was free – and therein lay the problem.

She was their princess. Theirs.

They remembered.

The Sheikah have a longer lifespan than most other races save perhaps the Zora, so when he arrived in Kakariko with Zelda in tow, she was greeted not just by delighted people glad to be free of an age under the tyranny of an ancient demon but by people who knew exactly who she was. People who remembered her, and the time before the Age of Burning Fields. People who remembered her father and the kingdom and her role in it. People with expectations for the future.

The pressure, assumed and otherwise, proved to be too great for someone who hadn't yet even begun to adjust to life on the outside. Add it together with the nightmares she hid from him that kept her from sleeping, and it's no wonder she snapped.

Her first panic attack had scared him nearly as badly as it scared her. When they kept happening, he knew what he had to do.

With Impa and Paya's help, he packed up her stuff and spirited her away.

Someplace quiet, where the people wouldn't know her.

Someplace she could be free in ways she'd never been, even before the Calamity.

Someplace finally, finally, safe.

And so, they arrive in Hateno. Secretly, in the evening, with nobody the wiser.

One day, the villagers wake up and he's just… there.

He has friends in the village thanks to his numerous visits during his adventures, and though he greets them pleasantly and stops to converse on occasion, he never tells them about Zelda. He doesn't want to put any more pressure on her. When she's ready to meet new people, she will.

However, when days stretch into weeks and she still never leaves the house, he begins to worry.

She spent a century imprisoned within that castle. Surely, the last place she wants to be is hidden away inside another old building.

He's afraid to push, though. Though she puts on a calm, peaceful face for his benefit, he can sense the fragility underneath, the fermenting, festering fear that she still, for reasons he cannot understand, will not speak to him about. Forcing her to do what he wants, even if it's what he thinks is best, doesn't feel like the right move. He wants to give her freedom and that's exactly what he intends to do.

He can only hope that one day soon, she'll decide to go outside of her own accord.

He takes to leaving the door and windows of his little cottage open during the day. He tells her it's to invite the late summer breeze to sweep in and cool things off, but really it's to try and tempt her to come out of her reclusion. As he works out in the yard day after day, pretending he knows how to till the soil, he can see her sitting up at the window where she always is, gazing out into the sky in silence.

His heart aches with concern, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Nights, Link feels, are the hardest.

When they'd first arrived, on that first night together, he'd settled her down on his bed on the second floor and made for himself a pallet on the ground, close enough that he could be at her side in a moment, yet far enough to preserve at least some semblance of propriety. He remembers clearly waking up not even an hour later to find she'd crawled out of the bed and joined him on the floor.

This happened nearly every night for the first week until finally he'd given up and moved onto the bed with her. What was the point in having a mattress if neither of them were going to use it?

Before, even the thought of sleeping with her would have been scandalous and improper, but now, as he lays beside her at nights, woken once again as she thrashes around inside the blankets, caught in the snarls of yet another nightmare, all he can feel is exhaustion and grief.

He's become horrifyingly accustomed to the look of terror that clouds her eyes when she wakes, and it takes him a minute or two before he's able to calm her down, to remind her that she's safe, here, with him, together in his house in Hateno.

Here, there's no Calamity holding her hostage, no cold castle walls to keep her isolated from the world, no darkness. He's taken to leaving multiple candles burning throughout his home to drive off the night, and its these tiny pinpricks of light he sees dancing in her wide green eyes once the panic finally leaves her and she's able to breathe normally again.

She gets maybe one or two hours of sleep before the nightmares come for her. Once she wakes, she sits up in bed, staring out the window towards the moon. She holds his hand but doesn't speak. The silence is intrusive.

After multiple repeat instances, his exhaustion starts to get the better of him, but he forces himself to stay awake. He knows he can sleep and she won't mind, but he finds himself unable to do so when he knows she needs him.

The problem is, he doesn't know how he can help.

His uselessness eats away at him during those quiet early-morning hours until her eyelids begin to droop, and the cycle repeats.

Days drag into weeks, and Link begins to feel his initial optimistic belief that all she needs is a little fresh air and freedom begin to wane. Every day in Hateno is the same as the last, it seems; mornings filled with silent breakfasts, afternoons of fruitless toiling in the yard while she remains sequestered in the house, and nights wracked with nightmares he can apparently do nothing about.

For a man accustomed to a life on the road, this new lifestyle is harder than he's willing to admit. Still, there has to be something he can do to help. There has to be. Doesn't there?

It's on one of the rare days when Link is away that something finally changes.

Zelda sits alone in the house as per usual. She's migrated downstairs today, securing herself a spot at the kitchen table. Link had made her food before leaving, but it sits untouched on the table before her.

She knows it worries him when she doesn't eat, but how can she, when so often whatever touches her tongue tastes of ashes? When she knows that at any moment in the approaching hours, something might set her off and leave her vomiting it all back up again?

Outside, unbeknownst to her, a gaggle of children are playing a ballgame of sorts amidst Bolson's cluster of model homes. The distant sound of their giggles and shouts make their way into the tiny house, but she barely pays them any mind. Her thoughts are focused elsewhere, someplace dark and cold and lonely. Her food has long-since chilled, but she isn't planning on eating it anyway.

Suddenly, something comes flying in through the front door, startling her so badly that she upsets the small glass of milk she hasn't touched, sending it spilling across the floor.

She stares at the mess for a moment, her heart thundering in her chest and her breathing erratic, before turning towards the source of the disturbance.

Whatever it is, it's small and white and rolling slowly across the floor. It comes to a rest near her bare foot, muddy now from the drink she's spilled. Caution gives way to curiosity.

Slowly, she bends over and picks it up. It's definitely a ball – small, filthy, made of what she can only assume is rawhide, and so terribly scuffed it's obvious that it's been used a great deal. Her eyes slowly lift to the open doorway and the light outside. If a ball had rolled in here, that could only mean…

She isn't even aware she's done it at first. One moment, she's staring at the doorway, and the next its right in front of her. Her free hand comes up to shield her eyes as she gazes out into the front yard when, all of a sudden, she sees them.

A gaggle of children, no fewer than six or seven, scrambling across the small wooden bridge towards her. For a moment, she almost pulls back, only they've spotted her now and are pressing on with that eager, innocent curiosity that only children can have.

She feels her anxiety start to build but somehow manages to hold her ground. They're only children, after all, she reminds herself. They won't hurt her.

That doesn't stop her from half-hiding her face behind the doorframe, however. Though not even she is sure why.

They come to a stop just a few paces away, all red cheeks and gasping breaths and energy. The oldest looks to be around ten or eleven; the youngest can't have been older than four. They stare at Zelda like she's some sort of fascinating mythological creature and she stares right back, quiet and unsure.

Finally, one of them speaks.

"Hey!" he shouts, far louder than is strictly necessary, pointing one hand at her while the other pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his sweaty nose, "That's our ball!"

She isn't sure how to respond to that. Does he think she means to steal it?

Part of the problem is, she doesn't know how to communicate with children; she hadn't had much cause to do so in the past, and the thought of doing so now seems exhausting. Instead, she silently tosses their toy back to them, watching as it bounces on the gravel a time or two before one of the kids gathers it up in his grimy hands.

"Oh." The boy replies, giving the ball a look of blank surprise for a moment, clearly taken aback that she'd simply returned it to him without comment, before turning his eyes back to her. All at once, his surprise is gone. The grin that lights up his face is blinding. "Thanks!"

He and some of the others turn to head back without a second thought, but a handful of the children linger, shooting her curious, inquisitive glances.

The oldest, a girl with short, curly auburn hair and a round, freckle-splattered face hazards a cautious step forward.

"Um… Hello. My name is Karin. My dad is the village elder. What's your name?"

Her mouth feels unnaturally dry. She's just a child, she reminds herself sternly, get ahold of yourself. There's no reason to feel afraid.

Only, she is, and she doesn't know why.

The pause between Karin's question and Zelda's silence stretches out too long. Karin's eyebrows begin to droop down, looking concerned. Not for the first time, Zelda finds that she hates herself.

Finally, she manages a response. It's soft and weak and hoarse, but it does the trick.

"My name is Zelda."

A boy steps forward, this one perhaps a year or two younger than Karin, and to Zelda's surprise, she doesn't flinch away.

"Do you live here with Link?"

Link. The children know him. Of course they do. For some reason, this sets her somewhat at ease.

This time she answers with a nod, and his response is so fast it catches her off-guard.

"Are you his wife?"

She finds herself surprised again when something that almost resembles a laugh escapes past her lips.

"No," she says, still soft but a little stronger than before.

The boy and girl look confused for a moment, but before anyone can ask any hard-to-answer questions, the youngest of the group comes forward. She's so small that she barely comes up to Zelda's waist, but in her hands, she's clutching a cluster of bedraggled violets she clearly picked herself. With the most earnest smile Zelda has seen in over a century, she thrusts the flowers up towards her face.

"Here!" she exclaims, bouncing on her feet in eager anticipation.

Hesitant, Zelda reaches out and takes them. From the look of them, the girl had been holding on to them for a while; the stems are bent, the petals twisted and limp. They'd seen better days, but in spite of that, they were still quite lovely. Zelda had always loved flowers.

"You're pretty!" the little girl continues in that non-sequitur way children have of communicating, and something clogs itself in Zelda's throat.

A voice calls out from across the bridge, one belonging to an adult, and something like panic flashes through the children's eyes. All at once they're scrambling back across the bridge, calling out hasty goodbyes. The youngest girl is the last to leave, and as she bids her farewell she tags an exuberant "See you later!" on the end.

Slowly, Zelda retreats back into the house, gazing down at the half-dead flowers in her hand. Something like a smile touches her lips.

When Link returns that evening, he finds her once again seated by the window, gazing outside, and he has to fight down his disappointment. It takes him a moment to notice the flowers sitting in the vase on the sill, and when he does, he feels the first inkling of hope start to bloom inside of him.

Some nights, when the sky is clear and the moon is full, a scene takes place.

The hero leaves his house, one arm extended behind him. She holds his hand and follows him out into the darkness. Their steps are slow and soft on the fuzzy grass, startling a handful of fireflies who might have drifted too close. With a gentleness that belies the heroic strength he's known for, he leads her towards the small pond beside his home, careful not to let her trip or stumble over any half-buried rocks left forgotten in a field not properly sown in generations.

When they arrive at the poolside, not a word is spoken. She sits silently beside the water, hands crumpled listlessly in her lap, eyes, green as the pool before her, staring vacantly into its shallow depths.

He stands nearby, close enough to be at her side in a moment should she need him, though she never does. Far enough to give her the space she needs, though he fears he'll never quite know exactly how much that is. Hours pass to the tune of chirping crickets and croaking frogs and the gentle sighs of the wind. The fresh air teases her hair, disturbing the surface of the pond, sending cascading ripples that distort her reflection, pale as the moon that shines above her.

Eventually, he leaves his silent vigil and returns to her side. She takes his hand again without comment and without expression, rising slowly to her feet and following him as he guides her once again back within the safety of his home. Her eyes betray no emotion, no indication that they've even noticed their change in scenery. The only sign of feeling she displays lies in the strength of her grip on his hand, clinging to him like a child lost in the darkness.

When they reach the house, she disappears within, but he lingers, leaning a forearm against the outer wall of his home and hiding his face against it. For a moment, all is still save for his shoulders, which quake as though under the weight of some unfathomable burden. Here, alone, he allows himself one brief moment of weakness. Then he's gone, disappearing back into the house and to her side.

Eventually, the sun rises. A new day begins.

"How's she doing?" Purah asks during one of her many visits, and Link struggles to come up with an optimistic answer.

The truth is, she hasn't really changed at all. At least, not in any meaningful ways. She still wakes with nightmares every night, sweat-soaked and sobbing. She still sits by the window and watches the world go by without giving away any indication that she wants to be a part of it.

Some days are better than others, of course, and there have even been times when he's managed to get her to eat an entire meal, but whatever darkness haunts her behind her eyelids remains hidden from Link. She won't talk to him and he doesn't know how to get her to open up.

He doesn't respond, but it doesn't matter. Purah can infer the answer from the expression on his face.

"I think it's time we try something new."

Well, if she has an idea, he's all ears. He's run himself ragged wracking his brains for some plan of attack that might help her get her life back, but so far he's come up with nothing.

The two are sitting outside around the campfire while Symin stays inside with Zelda, keeping her company with talk of the projects he and Purah are working on. They don't enthrall her like they used to but at the very least she pays attention, which is more than can be said about most conversations he tries to start with her.

"What do you have in mind?"

"She needs to socialize more, Link. She can't be expected to get over her trauma if she spends every waking hour of her life cooped up inside reliving it."

He finds himself bristling unexpectedly, as though Purah was somehow implying that Zelda's lack of progress was his fault for allowing her to do just that, but he shoves the irritation down. He's been on edge lately, and Purah is only trying to help.

"I don't suppose you have some brilliant plan to get her out of the house? I don't want to force her into doing anything she isn't ready for."

"No, no, you're right. Forcing her isn't going to help. It has to be her idea. What we need is to find some way to entice her to make the steps herself."

Easier said than done. Still, she's right, and there's no sense in giving up now. Nobody knows Zelda better than they do. If they can't help her, no one can.

"Isn't there anyone in the village who she might feel more comfortable talking to?"

Link starts to shake his head, then hesitates as a thought occurs to him.

It's a bit of a stretch, but maybe… at the very least, it was worth a shot.

Anything was worth a shot at this point.

The next morning, he pays a visit to Bolson and when he returns home, he places his newly purchased bench out in front of the house. He doesn't say anything to Zelda about it; from the emotionless look she gives him, she clearly knows it's meant for her, but when she doesn't immediately spring up from her spot by the window to try out her new seat, he's neither surprised nor perturbed.

Instead, he heads out into the village and makes a few stops.

First, he heads to the general store.

He greets Ivee on the way in as she sweeps the front steps, nods politely to Amira, and tries to ignore the shrewd, calculating look she gives him. Clearly, he'll be the subject of today's gossip once again, though that isn't anything new. Instead of focusing on it, he heads over to the counter to speak to the shop owner.

Pruce is a kind, fatherly man who's taken a liking to Link. No surprise there, really; he likes all of his frequent customers, and as Link doesn't own any cows or sheep or chickens of his own, he typically has to buy his food from Pruce. They exchange pleasantries briefly and in the middle of their conversation, Link learns that news of Zelda has finally broken to the town.

News that she's living with him, that is. Not news of who she is. He breathes a sigh of relief.

He isn't perturbed that Pruce and the others know; she isn't a secret, exactly, and he wasn't really trying to hide her from them. Still, the last thing she needs is a sudden wave of visitors; he fends off Pruce's questions with a story about her being an old friend who needs to get away for her health before changing the subject. If Pruce notices that Link isn't eager to discuss his roommate, he doesn't bring it up again.

To his relief, he has what Link's looking for in stock. Link pays for it, as well as some more food and other odds and ends, before bidding Pruce farewell and heading on his way.

He passes Amira again on the way out, and from the look on her face, she'd been listening to every word he and her husband had been saying. No doubt rumors about his and Zelda's scandalous relationship would begin cropping up as early as this afternoon. He lets it go with a rueful shake of the head. Not much he can do about that.

He expects his next stop to be more difficult, but as soon as he's back outside, he sees them. Nebb and Narah, two of the village children, racing wildly through the street.

Though she never said anything about it, he knows the flowers on the windowsill were Narah's doing. Zelda would have never treated a plant specimen so poorly meaning she can't have picked them herself, and no one else in the village loved flowers as much as Narah.

He calls them over, and, after a few quick jokes and promises to the older brother that he'll show him more of his weapon collection soon, he turns his attention to little Narah and thanks her for giving Zelda the flowers.

Nebb has already become bored of the conversation at this point, but Narah seems to glow with pride and delight. He tells her how much Zelda likes them (though she'd never said a word about it to him; still, he thinks it's true, so he doesn't consider it lying) and invites her to come by and pick flowers in his yard whenever she likes. He makes sure to invite Nebb and his friends as well to use his field to play their games, and the two little kids agree without ever even once doubting that there was anything more to his invitation than neighborly kindness.

Part of him sort of feels dirty about using children in his plans, but he shakes it off. He isn't asking them to do anything difficult or dangerous.

When he returns home, he sets his basket down on the table near where Zelda is sitting and, after pulling out the milk and eggs and cheese and other foodstuffs he'd purchased, he places her gift on the table in front of her.

Without saying a word, he gathers up the food and heads over to the cupboards. He'll need to take the milk down to the cellar later so it stays cool, but for now, he could use the eggs and cheese to whip up something to eat.

"What's this?" Zelda asks a moment later, her voice subdued.

"A book." He replies absently, rifling through the spice cupboard as he decides what to prepare for supper.

"Is it for me?" She asks, and when he doesn't answer, she picks it up and flips through the pages. "It's blank."

"That's because you haven't written anything in there yet."

She glances up at him, confused, and he shrugs.

"I figured, you know, since we have all this time on our hands, maybe you could get back into some of your old hobbies. Maybe start studying something again, or… I don't know. Keep a journal. It doesn't matter to me."

It occurs to him that he's maybe treading too close to a sensitive topic and doesn't know how to regain his footing when she speaks up again.

"And the bench out front?"

Here, his smile turns guilty. He's been caught.

Well, he hadn't exactly been subtle.

"It's just… Hateno is lovely in the fall, see, and I thought… you might like a place to sit… outside."

She stares at him for a moment, not speaking, and he feels the uncertainty start to well up again. He's nervous, like a boy courting, only it isn't her heart he's trying to win – it's acceptance. Some semblance of peace of mind.

He worries that his obvious attempts at getting her out of the cottage are going to upset her, and as she stares at him, expressionless, he starts to think he's done just that. His plans are falling apart all around him, and he feels his heart start to sink.

Finally, however, the tension leaves her shoulders. She offers him a small attempt at a smile.

"Thank you, Link."

Somehow, he knows without knowing how that she isn't talking about the book or the bench. She's thankful that he's there, that he's trying.

She retreats back up the stairs and he returns to cooking, but not before noticing she'd taken the book with her.

A small smile graces his lips.

Sometimes, when the fear takes her, she lashes out.

Nights are terrible, of course. With him lying so close to her, when she begins to thrash and struggle in her dreams, he's the one who takes the brunt of the damage. He prefers it this way, however; sometimes, the violence she inflicts is self-destructive, and he'd rather she hurt him than hurt herself.

It usually isn't more than a few scratches and bruises. Honestly, he's had worse falling off his horse, and though she apologizes profusely every time, tears of horror and guilt and shame in her eyes, he never blames her. He blames himself for not being able to stop it.

It's the panic attacks that happen when she's up and awake that scare him the most.

Anything can trigger them. A sudden noise, like the shattering of a plate or the distant roar of thunder, can leave her hunched over and hyperventilating, and the time it takes to calm her down, to convince her that she's safe and nothing will harm her, seems to drag on in an agonizing eternity of vain, repetitious reminders until she finally believes him and remembers how to breath.

It's rare, but on a handful of occasions, she becomes violent when she's awake.

Once, he returns home to find her curled up in the corner by the fireplace, shaking and sobbing. He doesn't know what happened to set her off, but in his haste to check if she's ok, he moves in a little too quickly.

In her heightened state of panic, the sight of a figure swiftly bearing down on her flips the switch from flight to fight, and before he knows what's happening, she seizes the heavy metal skillet from off its hook and swings it at him, her eyes wild and manic.

He almost manages to pull back enough to dodge the blow, but the edge of the skillet catches him on the side of his chin. She isn't strong, but her fear has thrown her adrenaline into overdrive, and the pan leaves a bloody gash on his face as he stumbles back, tripping over a kitchen chair and crashing to the ground.

It's his cry of pain that finally brings her back to reality, and as she stares down at him, chest heaving, she sees the blood and feels sickening dread wash over her.

The skillet hits the floor with a dull clang.

She tries to run, to escape the cottage and her fears and what she's done to him, only to fall to her knees halfway to the door as hysteria-induced vomit forces its way out of her windpipe.

Ignoring the stinging on his chin and the pain in his hip from the fall, Link helps her get cleaned up and put the kitchen back together.

She tries to apologize, to help bandage the gash, but her hands are shaking so badly she can't hold the bottle of elixir. He brushes her off and does it himself, and she retreats upstairs where she can hide beneath his covers.

The rest of the day is tense and strained.

Later on that week finds her sitting on the bench while he works in the garden, and the second part of his plan comes into beautiful fruition.

Narah and Nebb come across the bridge, along with a handful of their friends.

Link straightens up to watch them, waving lazily in response to their greeting, but he keeps his eyes on Zelda.

She stiffens at the sight of the ragtag group of kids and almost moves to retreat back inside the house, but the kids are too fast for her. The boys rush over to Link like they usually do, asking to see his weapon collection, mocking his amateur efforts to get something to grow in the rock bed he calls a garden, but he's only partially paying attention. It's Zelda he's worried about. The fear that he was pushing things too much is very much alive and real.

Fortunately, there were fewer girls than boys in the village, and they at least seemed somewhat better behaved. They engage Zelda in polite conversation and, to his relief, she seems to respond.

She doesn't stay outside for long. Eventually, it proves to be too much for her and she retreats back inside the house, but not before spending nearly a quarter of an hour talking to the girls. It's quite the achievement.

Before she goes, Narah presents her with another handful of flowers, these ones plucked from Link's own yard.

Zelda takes them with a brief yet grateful smile, bids farewell to the girls, casts Link an unreadable look, and disappears back into the house.

She doesn't speak about the incident at all that day, but he notices that she continues sitting out on the bench whenever the weather permits, and every day when the children come to visit, she puts in the effort to sit and talk with them for as long as she can.

It isn't much, but she's trying.

His gratitude towards the children is immeasurable.

"I'm sorry," he hears her whisper one night, and he turns to look at her in surprise.

"You're sorry?" He asks. For a moment, he's not even truly sure he heard her speak, her voice had been so quiet. "For what?"

It takes her a second to gather her thoughts. He isn't sure what time it is, but it's late, that much is certain. He's lying on his back, one pillow under his head, while she lays beside him, curled up in the fetal position. The flickering light of a nearby candle dances silently in her eyes.

"For this." She finally whispers back, not meeting his gaze. "This is not the future we had wished for."

Something sticks in his throat. This was the first time she'd spoken to him willingly about anything even nearing the Calamity, and though he knows he cannot screw this up, he has no idea what to say.

"Zelda," he tries, struggling to keep his voice as gentle and comforting as possible, "the only future I ever dreamed of was one where you were safe. And now look at us. We're here, the Calamity is gone. That's all I could ever ask for."

"Is it, though?" She asks, voice so quiet that barely any sound passes her lips. "If we're really safe, then why don't I feel like it?"

The fear in his chest is paralyzing. She turns away from the candle, her gaze finally meeting his, and a century of fear and pain and isolation stare back at him. He reaches for an answer like reaching for a sword, desperate to seize his chance to fight her fears away, only to find nothing.

Seconds tick by without an answer and eventually, she gives up. The sad little smile that graces her lips is equal parts disappointed and understanding. The forgiveness in her eyes, even as the tears begin to leak out, pierces him like a knife. She leans forward and buries her face in his chest, seeking at least some comfort from physical touch where his words could give her nothing.

"I just don't want to be afraid anymore…"

A wave of uselessness envelopes him even as his arms surround her. He feels the telltale prickle of tears in his eyes too, only these are tears of anger, of rage, of self-loathing. He swore an oath to protect her, to save her… And here he sits, useless, unable to do anything.

"I'm right here, Zelda," he gasps, struggling not to let his emotion show. "I'll always be right here."

At some point, Zelda becomes somewhat accustomed to having the children over.

She isn't sure at what point her stamina for human interaction had fallen so low, but it seems to be easier to handle time spent with children than with other adults.

They're loud, it's true, and sometimes they ask uncomfortable, difficult to answer questions, but they can be sweet when they want to be and there's something disarming in the pure, unadulterated honesty she sees in their eyes.

Which isn't to say that it isn't hard, some days, to put on the smile for them and answer their seemingly ceaseless questions. Somedays, she wants nothing better than to curl up in Link's blankets and hide her existence from the world. Somedays, she does exactly that. But when she sees how hard Link is working for her, how much he's moved his life around for her sake, how much he puts up with day after day, the guilt starts to eat at her.

She wants to get better. For his sake. For hers as well. This isn't the life she wanted, and while she's tired of fighting, tired of hanging in, she can't bring herself to let go. Not when he is finally there in front of her.

So she forces herself to endure her time spent with the children. Seeing her there on the bench he brought for her, drawing diagrams of flowers in her notebook, seems to ease the shadows she's brought to his face.

And sometimes, she can even admit that being with the kids is a little soothing in its own right. They squabble and bicker more often than not, but sometimes, when they're focused on their games and their attention isn't on her, she can just sit back and allow their sheer, bubbling vitality to soak into her along with the warmth of the early autumn sunshine.

On one of her better days, little Narah asks her if she wants to come with her to see the rest of the village. On any other day, Zelda would have said no without a second thought.

For some reason, inexplicable even to her, she finds herself instead saying yes.

Within minutes, the children have gathered her up and are ushering her across the bridge, chattering excitedly as they lead her through Bolson's cuboid model houses and into the village proper. Link tags along, of course; her gratitude for his unwillingness to let her out of his sight is almost as strong as her sense of unease. Thankfully, the kids don't seem to notice this, their eyes shining with excitement as they draw Zelda further into their world.

Why this should excite them when they live here and walk these streets every day is lost on Zelda. She's too busy second-guessing her decision, feeling the anxiety begin to well up within her as she leaves the familiar comfort of the cottage behind and finds herself confronted with the villagers of Hateno for the very first time. She's terrified of what they'll think of her.

Unbeknownst to Zelda, however, the villagers of Hateno are already more or less apprised of her situation. Oh, they don't know that she's secretly the long-lost princess or that she spent a century alone using all of her strength to single-handedly hold an apocalyptic demon at bay. They don't know that the future of their country rests squarely on her shoulders, the pressure of which consumes her nearly every waking moment of every life, or of the agonizing adolescence she had one-hundred years past thanks to her bloodline or the childhood she'd missed. They don't know her at all, really.

But they do know Link. They know of his efforts to care for the mysterious stranger who hides within his home. And from rumors spread by the chattering mouths of children and confidences spread from those more or less in the know (Bolson, for example, or Reede, the village elder), they know that this woman is sweet and shy and fragile. They know she isn't well, but they know that she's trying. And they know the children love her.

And so it is that as she begins meeting the villagers for the first time, from Nebb and Narah's father Nack to Pruce, who owns the general store, and Thadd, the village watchmen, and Karson, Bolson's apprentice, she's surprised to find they aren't pressuring her.

They offer polite greetings, welcoming her to town, letting her know if they need anything they're always there, and then they let her go. Part of this, of course, is thanks to Link, Bolson, and Reede, who've made it clear that under no terms is Zelda to be harassed. But part of this is also because the villagers can simply tell that she's uncomfortable and they know better than to pry.

Not everyone keeps their distance perfectly, of course.

Selden, the self-proclaimed tour guide of the town, was simply born overly-sociable. He greets Zelda with an enthusiasm that would have been considered overbearing even before the Calamity, and he tags along with the group, letting his bubbling joviality mix in seamlessly with that of the kids. She's a little grateful that he's there, however; the children weren't the best tour guides, and with Selden around, Zelda was at least learning the layout of the town; where which shops were, who lived where, what everyone's names were, etc.

It surprises her when she realizes she actually cares to know these things.

Through Selden, she meets Sophie, his daughter as well as the village seamstress and possibly one of the shyest people Zelda had ever met, which makes her feel somewhat better about her own social anxiety. She, along with Ivee, the bright and cheerful daughter of Pruce the shopkeeper, Koyin, a shepherd on the opposite end of the village, and Prima, who works as the receptionist at the inn, were all of age with Zelda, something Selden notes with obvious emphasis. It's clear he thinks Zelda is looking for friends. She doesn't have the heart to tell him he's wrong, but she does her best to return Sophie's shy smile anyway.

Nikki and Amira, mothers of a couple of the kids in the cluster, greet Zelda politely, but the moment the group leaves them behind they stick their heads together and begin to gossip. The sight of this sets Zelda somewhat on edge, but her meeting with the ever-eccentric Sayge, the dye master, manages to push these thoughts out of her mind for a time.

She finds she likes the villagers on the whole; sure, the gossiping housewives are difficult to be around, Selden can be a bit much, and there's one boy named Manny who seems a little too excited to shake her hand, a rather lecherous look in his eyes, but most of them seem kind and considerate.

Reede, the village elder, and his wife Clavia are just wonderful. The young married couple Ralera and Rhodes manage to pull her into a brief conversation about windmill maintenance, which they apparently handle together. Meddo, Aster's father, knows a great deal about local myths and legends, elderly Leop, who owns the Great Tan Pu Inn, has a grandfatherly countenance that sets her anxious heart somewhat at ease.

The village isn't large, and they complete their circuit in a little under an hour. It's obvious to Zelda that the kids want to keep walking around with her, but her nerves have been worn down to their edges and the longer she stays on the streets, the more people seem to want to talk to her.

The children are packed around her too tightly. All at once, she finds it hard to breathe.

Right as she feels the beginnings of an attack coming on, Link's hand is in hers, drawing her gently out of the crowd and back in the direction of their quiet, safe little cottage.

He makes the apologies for her when some of the kids complain about her leaving so soon, but before they can sneak away, Reede stops them with one last comment.

There's a festival coming up, he says, his eyes fixed on her, but gently, not pushing.

A festival for the harvest. There would be food and music and dancing, and a large bonfire in the village center. If she was feeling up for it, it would be wonderful if she would like to come and see it.

Link says nothing, leaving the answer up to her. She's both grateful and annoyed. The longer she stays on the street, the closer she feels to falling apart.

She tells him yes, as that seems to be the quickest way to get away. He beams, delighted, and the children let out a cheer, but she's already hurrying away, trying not to run. Her hand feels cold and clammy in Link's.

When they reach the house, she spends the rest of the day in silence, hiding under the covers.

Link is quiet, too, and from the set to his shoulders, she knows he thinks the day was a failure.

Once the panic fades, however, she finds herself gazing out the window, watching the stars as they pop into being, replaying the names and faces of the villagers in her head, one by one, until she was sure she had them all memorized.

The thought of the festival had her nearly sick with anxiety, but maybe… maybe it would be ok…

The day finally comes when Bolson finds Link out in the woods, chopping firewood in preparation for the approaching winter.

There's a ferocity to his movements, a wildness to the force behind his swings, that speaks of the darkness bubbling under his friend's usually calm exterior. He's bottled up his frustrations for so long, they're seeking release wherever they can find it.

If he keeps this up too much longer…

"So this is where you are, Link."

Link barely reacts to his presence, however. With a grunt and a swing, the ax head bites into the trunk before him, spitting out splinters of wood.

"Can I help you, Bolson?"

The old woodworker frowns.

"Believe it or not, I was actually coming to ask you the same question."

Link pauses for a moment, shooting a quizzical glance over his shoulder before returning to the task of felling the tree.

"…What do you mean?"

"You're not looking too good there, tough guy. And it isn't just me who thinks so. The villagers are talking. We're worried about you."

Link grunts dismissively but otherwise doesn't comment. The tempo of his ax swings is becoming erratic.

"When's the last time you got a full night's sleep?"

He stays quiet, and for a moment Bolson thinks he isn't going to answer.

"I… I don't know." He relents finally between swings. "She has so many nightmares these days, I…"

"And what about food? It looks to me like you haven't had a decent meal in quite a while either."

"I eat plenty." Link grunts over the staccato of chops.

"And a bath? I can't imagine she appreciates your smell, and your clothes look like they haven't been cared for properly in weeks."

"What are you getting at?" He finally snaps, securing his grip on the ax. In the half-light, the gash in the wood looks ghastly and deep. It's a miracle the tree is still standing.

Bolson lets out a weary sigh, shifting his weight atop years of accumulated pine straw.

"I'm just concerned, Link. You've been so caught up in helping Zelda that you're letting yourself go. It isn't good for your health."

"What do you want me to do, Bolson?" Link shouts, rounding on the older man, and for a moment Bolson eyes the ax in his hands with no little trepidation. "Should I just leave her, then? Abandon her again? Is that what you want?"

"No one is saying that," Bolson replies calmly, forcing his eyes away from the blade and meeting Link's wild, feral gaze with one that he hopes is calm and level. "What I want is for you to take a second every now and then to step back and breathe."

Link lets out a rude scoff and, thankfully, tosses the ax to the side. He runs his agitated fingers through his hair as he starts pacing in tight circles.

"Step back? Step back?! How can I step back when I know she can't? If she doesn't get a break from this, why should I?"

"Because you're not her, Link." The older man intones gently. "Because this isn't the kind of problem you can fix if you rush things. And because if you don't start taking better care of yourself, then who's going to be there to take care of her when it's you who breaks?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it, his jaw clenching in aggravation. The look in his eyes is stark and despairing. Slowly, his pacing comes to a stop.

"I… Bolson, I get what you're saying, but I… I c-can't-"

"You can." Bolson cuts in firmly, taking a step forward and placing a bracing hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You will. If not for yourself, then do it for her. That girl has enough on her plate as it is without having to worry about you, too."

All at once, the fight drains out of him, and the Link standing before Bolson now is unlike any that he has seen before. His eyes are sunken and hollow, his shoulders weighted, his expression haggard.

"I just…"

"I know, Link." He draws the boy in closer, pulling him into a firm embrace. For a moment, he tries to push him off, but there's no strength in his arms and soon he's clinging to the back of Bolson's shirt, struggling to stay on his feet.

When he speaks, his voice is choked with the tears he wouldn't let himself shed.

"I-I just want her to feel safe again…"

"I know, boy. I know. So do I. We all do."

They stand there for a time, and as Bolson watches the sunset through the trees, he does his best to hold his friend together.

Over the passage of several weeks, autumn descends in full over the hills of East Necluda, and Hateno finds itself engulfed in a wave of orange, yellow, and brown.

Link no longer leaves the windows and door open at nights, though the chill of the night air still manages to permeate the old farmhouse through a multitude of cracks and crevices. She's more grateful than ever to have him lying beside her at nights; not just as a source of comfort when the nightmares inevitably come, but also as a source of warmth.

She's taken to helping him cook meals now, and most of their food consists of hot soups and ciders. It isn't much, but it's the best she can do with her limited culinary skills. She hopes it's enough to alleviate the burden she's placed on him at least somewhat.

Somehow, though the colder days and evenings should be encouraging her to stay indoors, she finds herself braving the streets of Hateno with more and more frequency. Never alone, of course, and if Link can't tag along for one reason or another, then she finds herself in the company of either the children, Bolson, Clavia, or Sophie.

Bolson, Zelda had soon learned, was the closest thing Link had to a friend in the village, and though he was quite a bit older and often times bizarrely eccentric, she finds herself more comfortable in his company than most others. It helps that he seems to make it his goal in life to see her smile, her and Link both. That she can tell he cares for Link so honestly plays a large part in her comfort around him.

Clavia and Ivee are chosen more out of convenience than anything else. Clavia, wife of the village elder, can't have been more than a decade or so older than Zelda, yet she treats her with the sort of patience and gentleness that reminds her of her late mother. Zelda enjoys her time with Clavia largely because she knows the older woman doesn't push or pry and is content simply to let her be.

Sophie is a little different. She's shy, almost to the point of being unable to speak when pushed outside of her comfort zone, but Zelda finds herself sensing in the girl a kindred spirit of sorts, and the two naturally gravitate towards one another.

On the rare days when she isn't busy minding her shop, she and Zelda sometimes sit together on the hill overlooking the windmills and talk. Never about anything personal; she doesn't know if Sophie is being intentionally careful about digging into Zelda's past or if the girl is simply too shy to do so, but she never asks and Zelda never tells. They spend their time together engaged in idle conversation, talking about nothing. It's one of the most relaxing parts of Zelda's days.

As the harvest festival draws near, Sophie finds herself roped into the task of making last-minute reparations to some of the villager's feast day clothes, and as the days get colder, Zelda occasionally sits in the shop with her while she works. At some point, Sophie offers to help teach Zelda how to sew, and she takes her up on her offer without much thought.

It will be good to focus on learning something new, she tells herself even as she pricks her finger for the umpteenth time that day. Of course, buried beneath that thought lies the hope that she might be able to use this skill to help Link out in some way. He always had clothing that needed mending, and there was so little she could do for him even though he was always doing so much for her. That, and… it might be nice to feel useful again.

One day, however, Zelda and Sophie are sitting together in the latter's house, quietly working on their stitching, when the door bursts open and two figures appear.

It's Koyin and Prima, the only other two girls in the village who are of age with Zelda and Sophie. Zelda feels herself begin to tense up.

They greet Sophie with the sort of casual ease that tells of a years-long acquaintanceship, complete with light teasing and inside jokes as the two tell the seamstress of the reason for their visit – more festival clothing to be altered, designs to be added, etc.

The conversation goes on for a few minutes and just as Zelda is truly beginning to feel out of place and begins to consider leaving for the day, Prima draws her unexpected into the conversation.

"So… Zelda, right?"

Zelda forces her best smile and hopes it doesn't feel too fake.

"Settle a debate for us real quick, if that's ok."

At her perplexed look, Prima turns and smiles coyly at Koyin, whose face suddenly flashes beet red.

"Wha-? No! Prima, shut up-!"

"What's the story with you and Link?" Prima continues loudly over her friend's protests, a teasing grin on her face, though one she knows is meant for Koyin and not her. "Are you two, like… Married? Betrothed? Family? There has to be some reason behind why you're living together."

"Prima…" Sophie whispers reprovingly, but Zelda finds she isn't embarrassed or offended at all. In fact, for a terrifying moment, she'd been afraid Prima was going to try and ask about her past. Asking about her relationship with Link was, in contrast, not nearly as daunting.

The only problem was… Zelda doesn't really know how to answer.

"…No," she says after a drawn-out moment, keeping her eyes fixated on her sloppy needlework; it was supposed to be a flower and somehow looks more like an octorok. The old Link would have gotten a kick out of that. "We're neither married nor betrothed."

Though, the two had been sleeping together for some time. Funny, she'd never thought anything strange about that, merely accepted it as Link doing his duty trying to protect her. Only, she knows she'd never be able to explain that properly to Prima and Koyin, even if she wanted to. Which she doesn't.

Suddenly, what goes on between her and Link at night feels private, and not just because it touches upon the crippling traumas she still can't seem to make any headway against.

"So, family then," Prima concludes, and Zelda can't help but notice the slight look of hope that appears in Koyin's eyes.

Zelda shakes her head, a little faster than she'd intended.

"No, we're not related either. Link and I are… He is my…"

Knight, she finishes mentally. Only, she can't bring herself to say it. Being her knight implies something about herself. And what's more, calling him just her knight makes it sound like he isn't anything more.

Which he wasn't. But…

Suddenly, for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels her heart begin to pound. Not from fear or stress or anger, but from… something else. Something that warms her cheeks, that sets her stomach aflutter.

The fog she'd been living under for these past few weeks since her rescue from the castle had somehow managed to eclipses the burgeoning feelings she'd begun developing all those years ago, before the world had fallen apart.

No, just as the world had fallen apart. Not far from here, near the Blatchery Plain, when Link had fallen to save her and she'd realized what life would mean without him by her side…

She loves him. It isn't a revelation, not exactly; she already knows, she'd known it when she'd marched into the castle to face the Calamity alone, to buy him time to regain his strength. It was what had given her the strength to face her century of imprisonment.

More than that, it was the reason she stuck with him even now. Because he makes her feel safe. Because when the nightmares return, whether sleeping or awake, he is the only one she wants to turn to, the only one who can make it all go away.

And somehow, ever since the panic attacks had started, she somehow managed to… forget. She's been so focused on herself and her pain that she's forgotten the good that has come along with it.

Goddesses, she's even been sleeping with him at night! Making him food, learning to repair his clothing, living together in this tiny little cottage, playing at house… Like a real couple. Like two ordinary young adults, starting a life together.

Starting a life… a life, with a future not encased in cold, stone walls… Funny. For the first time, thoughts of the future don't feel so claustrophobic.

She's been silent for too long. When she looks up, all three girls are staring at her. She's made painfully aware of how red her face has become because she can see pink staining the cheeks of the other three.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammers, mortified, but before she can come up with an excuse the others hastily wave it away.

"No, it's ok! I get it!" Prima says quickly, letting out an awkward laugh. "I get it, it's personal. I shouldn't have asked-"

"No, it's alright-" Zelda tries again, but this time Koyin buts in.

"Prima's really the last person who should be talking about other people's love lives," she states emphatically, and from the edge of bitterness in her voice, Zelda could tell she wasn't over her friend teasing her earlier. "After all, she's the only one of us to have received a public declaration of love in front of half the town-"

"Koyin!" Prima shouts, suddenly livid, and Zelda finds herself confused as the other two girls burst into peals of uncontrollable laughter. "That so does not count! Besides, he's so creepy and – ugh! What kind of guy gives you bugs as a token of affection?!"

Koyin is laughing so hard she's doubled over on herself, slapping her knee as she gasps, "T-there were s-so many! All over the place!"

"Ugh, and they got in my hair and in my dress! We were cleaning them out of the inn for weeks!"

Over the sound of their laughter, Sophie shoots Zelda a covert glance which Zelda returns with her best attempt at a reassuring smile. She's getting better at these, she thinks, as she returns to her needlework. Conversations, sewing, and smiling.

The others continue their chat, but Zelda lets it wash over her like a warm bubble. Her thoughts lay elsewhere, on the little house on the edge of town and how oddly right it feels to hear herself call it her home.

Link does his best to be strong for her sake, but not even a Champion can hold out forever.

The situation with Zelda is unlike any trial he's ever faced before. Give him a horde of monsters to battle, an ancient demon to slay, a dangerous dungeon to explore – those he could handle.

The hopelessness and despair that permeates Zelda's countenance is not a challenge he can face with strength and courage alone. His sword arm cannot drive away her demons, not the ones that dwell within her mind, and with every new nightmare, every panic attack, every flashback to her century of imprisonment, he feels his strength continue to wane.

He's useless. Everything he does is wrong, every word he says a mistake. What he wouldn't give to make her right again, to just take all of her pain away so he could see her smile freely for once…

In a removed way, he knows it's wrong of him to blame himself for her condition, to blame himself for how little he feels like he's been able to help her, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to fight away the little, mutinous voice in his mind that whispers to him that he should be doing more, that every nightmare and panic attack she suffers are just new failures stacked on top of old ones.

If he really cared about her as much as he thinks he does, then shouldn't he be able to help more? If he was really helping her at all, then wouldn't she be improving faster?

When it becomes too much, when he feels himself about to crack, he slips away from the house. He makes sure she knows he's going, but he never tells her where it is he goes. Sometimes, he gets Purah or Symin to come down from the lab and stay with her for a few hours, or, if they're busy, he asks Clavia or Sophie or Ivee or Bolson. She doesn't need to be babysat, he knows, but he always feels better knowing she isn't alone.

On these rare moments of escape, he finds his way down to the Great Ton Pu Inn where he secrets himself in the back of the dining room and drinks. Never enough to get truly wasted; if he really let himself go, he'd be worse than useless to Zelda. But enough to loosen his tongue, enough to get him talking.

Usually, on days like these, he finds companionship in the form of Bolson, Karson, Reede, Thadd, or Pruce, depending on who happens to be free. Elderly Leop had been known to join a time or two as well, or else kindly Uma with her sage wisdom.

More often then not, they sit quietly and listen to him vent. It's more anger at himself and the situation in general than anger at Zelda, but there have been times where his frustration has gotten the better of him and he's said things about her he knows he shouldn't. The guilt over that stings almost as strongly as his guilt over his inability to help.

"Link, none of us knows what to do any more than you do," Reede offers one day, giving the younger man a paternal pat on the back. "I don't know that anyone does – illnesses of the mind aren't like illnesses of the body. There's not a map or a guide that one can follow that shows the correct answers. I think just letting her know you're always there for her and that you care is enough."

"You're allowed to feel frustrated, Link," grandmotherly Uma chides on yet another occasion, reproving yet gentle as was her way. "Nobody expects you to handle this with perfect patience. You're going to get angry, you're going to get upset, you're going to make mistakes, and it's ok. What matters is that you keep trying and you don't take it out on her."

He's grateful for their support, but at the same time, their advice serves only to frustrates him further.

Just be there for her? Keep trying? Their advice was hardly advice at all, and the worst part was that it was no different than the paltry words of comfort he'd been offering Zelda all this time. The knowledge that the best he could do for her likely left her feeling as frustrated and annoyed as he felt now left him sick to his stomach and angrier than ever.

He was used to problems with quick, direct solutions. Problems he could tackle with his bare hands. Problems he could wager his life against to see fixed.

The best his hands could do for Zelda now was to hold her. And it didn't seem like that was helping. Not at all.

The night of the festival finally arrives, and Link is on guard.

Though she's remained quiet at home, he can tell that the festival has Zelda more anxious than usual.

On the one hand, she's made promises to the village children and her newfound friends that she would be there, so she feels she has no choice but to go despite how difficult it will be for her to be somewhere so noisy and crowded.

On the other hand, he can tell that part of her truly does wish to attend. She is frustrated with her condition and how little progress she feels she's made, and he worries that she'll push herself past her limits tonight.

So it's with no little anxiety of his own that together, the hero and princess arrive at the village center, arm and arm. They're met with an already bubbling crowd and a series of tables lined with food, all set around an enormous bonfire. At the edge of the crowd, Zelda takes a minute to mentally prepare herself before they head in. The smile on her face is strained, but she places one foot in front of the other and forces herself to continue.

He's so concerned for her, he nearly forgets to enjoy the festival himself.

The food is unbelievable. Link hasn't had a feast this good since their arrival in Kakariko what feels like a lifetime ago. Zelda stays close to him. During the feast, the noise in the village is louder than usual as the villagers talk and laugh and shout and sing and revel in the passing of yet another harvest. The first harvest in a century without the threat of the Calamity looming over the horizon.

Link takes no small comfort in knowing that he's been able to help his kindly neighbors in Hateno in at least some fashion, even if none of them know that he and Zelda are directly responsible for the Calamity's demise. In the few weeks he's been here, they've done so much for him, for Zelda. Somehow, despite all he's done for Hyrule, he still feels like he owes these people a debt he cannot possibly repay.

Zelda's silence during dinner keeps him on edge, searching for any sign that the pressing of the crowd and the volume of their celebrations might be too much for her, but to his relief the tension in her shoulders and the guarded expression on her face begin to ease as soon as the children notice her sitting beside him and rush over.

They're loud and boisterous and as unrestrained as always, but they also provide something of a buffer; with them clustered around, the adults can't really draw any closer, which prevents Zelda from entering into any conversations with them. For a time, she merely sits and enjoys the company of the kids, never really more than nibbling at her food, but even that is an improvement over some of her worst days, so Link decides to take it as a good sign.

When the meal portion of the evening begins to die down and the adults begin moving tables to prepare for the dancing, the children finally scamper off to play their games, leaving Zelda vulnerable again. Thankfully, it's Sophie and Ivee who show up next, and Link pretends not to listen while they chatter to Zelda about the food and what kind of music will be played.

She doesn't really participate in the conversation, which isn't unusual, but it does make Link begin to worry. She may not be having one of her bad days, but that doesn't mean that all of the noise and attention from the kids hasn't already pushed her to her limit.

What he wanted more than anything from this evening was for Zelda to have a good time, but he knows full well that he needs to be realistic and put her needs before his wants. If what she needs is to escape back to the quiet of their cottage, then he needs to prepare himself to help her do just that, even if they miss the rest of the festival.

So he's surprised when, as the sound of tuning violins and practice flourishes from flutes begin to sound out across the clearing, Bolson saunters forward out of the crowd and extends a hand towards her, inviting her to dance.

He's even more surprised when she accepts.

She takes his hand and stands, leaving Link alone and dumbstruck on the edge of the crowd. The last thing he hears before she's swept up in the din is her nervously mumbling, "I must confess, I don't know the steps," to which Bolson replies with a hushed whisper of, "Never you worry; neither do I."

Link isn't left alone for long, however; just before the dance starts, a figure bursts from the crowd, pushed by her friends, only to come to a stop right in front of him, red-faced and embarrassed.

It's Koyin, offering him her hand. With a grateful smile, he takes it and joins the crowd.

Bolson is true to his word. He doesn't know the steps any better than Zelda, and together, as the two join the circle around the bonfire and the dance begins, they trip and stumble and make complete fools of themselves, and the sound of her laughter over the babble of voices and up-tempo music is like a soothing balm on his soul.

He isn't much better, but Koyin doesn't seem to mind. She keeps her eyes locked on their feet as they move, her reddened earls glowing in the firelight, and he has to remind her when it's time for her to twirl.

As the dance goes on, the partners begin to switch, and Link watches from across the circle as Bolson becomes Karson, who becomes Reede, then Pruce, then Sayge, then Thadd, and even little Nebb. Even Manny gets a turn dancing with Zelda, and to Link's great surprise, he seems to be the best dancer of the lot.

Koyin is eventually replaced by Clavia, then Ivee, then Uma, then Prima, then Nikki, and on and on, but he hardly notices. His eyes are locked on Zelda, who, in the light of the bonfire, seems more alive than ever.

Eventually, the partners shift, and it's her in his arms. Her face is flushed, her breathing short, her hair in disarray. But as he smiles and leads her forward in the dance, she meets his gaze and beams. It's the first real smile he's seen her give in over a century. He forgets how to breathe.

The first dance ends, and the second begins. He expects to see Zelda leave the circle and is once again caught off-guard when she elects to stay. Not just for the second, but the third, and the fourth. Sometimes dancing with Link, other times with Reede or Bolson or Sophie or Clavia or one (or more) of the children. Every now and then she steps out to take a breather and catch a drink, and Link finds himself worrying about her constitution, but it's like she's possessed by the need to make up for every festival she'd missed over the last century.

Link knows this won't last forever. It's too much to think she's miraculously overcome the trauma inflicted by the Calamity. Even so, he finds himself thanking every Goddess he can think of as he twirls her around in his arms that she's been allowed at least this night to smile and be happy. He prays it will last at least a little longer. She deserves it.

Later on in the evening, when the music has slowed and the fire has dimmed, mothers begin shuffling their sleepy children off to bed and the musicians switch over to slower, sweeter songs.

He's got her in his arms again as they slowly spin on the spot. Her hair glows like molten metal in the firelight, and under the cover of darkness, her eyes sparkle like the stars.

In an odd way, he almost feels like they're back at those balls in the palace, one-hundred years gone. Everyone in their feast day finest, and though he knows that no one around him would ever have been allowed to attend such an event save for her, he feels more natural here than ever he did in the castle.

Zelda's expression seems calm and peaceful. She's staring at his collar bone, her arms around his shoulders, fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck. He can tell she's exhausted, both from all of the dancing she's done as well as the psychological strain of enduring the crowd, but he can also tell that she's alright. For the first time since bringing her out of the castle, he can feel the sweet taste of the peace he fought so hard for.

In a murmur so soft he almost misses it, she whispers, "I know this has been hard for you."

He takes his time before responding, enjoying the feel of her waist under his hands for one last moment just in case she decides she needs to pull away.

"It's been harder on you, though," he concedes finally. "I wish you'd talk to me more."

For a moment, he thinks he's gone too far again, but the sigh that escapes past her lips doesn't feel stressed or annoyed.

"I'm sorry," she says, and before he can tell her she doesn't need to apologize, she adds, "It's just… It isn't that easy, and I don't… want to burden you any more than I already have."

He almost stops the dance right there.

"Zelda," he says, gentle but firm, "I want you to burden me."

The smile she gives him is crooked and sad.

"But that's just it, Link. I don't want to have to be a burden anymore."

It's his turn to sigh, letting his thumbs slide over the edges of her hips in a way that's both soothing and distracting. There are a million ways he can respond to her, but just as always, he doesn't know which course is right.

"It's more stressful when you're silent, you know."

She turns away, and that silence he was just speaking of crops up between them.

He's screwed up, he just knows it.

Not wanting the night to end so fast, he pulls her in closer and continues their slow, circular dance.

There's barely anyone else left, now. Reede and Clavia are dancing together just across the way, as well as Ralera and Rhodes, and Leop and Uma of all people. Thadd is smoking his pipe up against the side of a building, Meddo and Dantz playing their instruments for the final few couples, and Bolson sits with a cup of mead in his hands, observing them across the bonfire, Karson asleep on the ground beside him.

The crickets are loud tonight. The wind is gentle yet cool, but the bonfire staves off most of the chill.

Link stiffens in surprise when he feels Zelda rest her head against his chest, but his nervousness vanishes the moment he hears her speak.

"How much longer will this last?"

Her voice is faint and weak. He has to angle his head down to hear her properly.

"What do you mean?"

"The people cannot wait forever," she explains, pulling back to look at him directly once again, only this time, the fear and anxiety is back in her eyes. "Impa and King Dorephan are being so kind in giving me space, but all of their people… as well as the Goron, and the Gerudo, and the Rito, and these – these people around us right now who have taken me in and cared for me… How long will I be allowed to make them wait for me to set things to rights?"

They've stopped dancing, finally, and it takes Link a moment to realize that she's doing it. She's actually talking to him.

"Zelda, look around you." The party is practically over now. Even the violins have stopped. Ralera and Rhodes are stumbling off together up the hill, arm and arm. Thadd is helping Karson to his feet while Bolson offers to stay and make sure the fire is out before heading off to bed. "Do any of these people look like they're waiting?"

She frowns, and he pulls her back in, hands on her waist, and they continue to spin as if the music was still playing.

"Zelda, after I fell, after you went to face the Calamity alone… the world burned. And then it stopped burning, and life kept moving forward. These people, they have no idea of the woman you used to be. We just danced the night away with them. Do any of them look like they're waiting for things to be 'put to rights'?"

"But the Sheikah-"

"Have Impa." Link cuts in firmly. "The Zora have King Dorephan. The Gerudo, Riju, and the Rito, Komali, and so on, and so on. They have leaders, and they have their neighbors, and they have the other peoples scattered all across Hyrule, and they will continue surviving just as they have for the last one-hundred years. I hate to tell you this, Zelda, but… with or without you, Hyrule is going to press on."

He does hate to say it – he really does. The last thing he wants her to feel is that she isn't needed. But there's a beauty in that realization, too, a potential that he's been dying for her to see.

"I'm not going to tell you what to do," he continues, conscious of the fact that her eyes are boring into his own, hanging on his every word. "If what you truly want is to return as the princess, to gather the remnants of your nation together and lead them into a bright new future, then know that I will be right here, beside you, every step of the way.

"But if maybe you feel like you've done enough, like you've given more than anybody could have ever asked of you… then Zelda, maybe you've earned your rest. And if that's the future you want for yourself, then know that I will be right here, beside you, every step of the way.

"Whatever your future holds, let it be what you want. But first, take the time to get better."

There's moisture in her eyes. Was that a good sign? Had he finally managed to say something right, or had he messed things up again?

"And what about you?" she asks, her voice hoarse. "How long will you wait?"

He doesn't understand at first, but then something seems to tip him off. Whether it's the look in her eyes or familiar note of fear in her voice or the atmosphere by the slowly dwindling bonfire, he can't say, but with a sudden rush of conviction, for the first time, he knows exactly what she needs to hear.

"You waited a hundred years for me," he whispers softly, and then, with a wry twist to his lips and all of the love and affection he can muster, he adds, "I think I owe you at least that many."

Her face crumples, tears finally leaking their way down her cheeks, and with a quiet sob, she buries her face in his chest.

Neither gives voice to what it is he's supposed to be waiting for.

Quietly, as he takes her back to their quiet little home on the edge of the village, he wonders if he hasn't had it all along.

Miraculously, she manages to sleep through the entire night. They both know this isn't over; the weight of her anxieties is too great to be removed so easily. But the next time Zelda wakes in the middle of the night, after she calms down and has allowed herself to lay back in Link's arms, she talks to him. She tells him what it is she sees in her nightmares, what terrible visions and memories keep her from more pleasant dreams.

And though Link doesn't always have the exact right words to take it all away, she feels lighter anyway.

Opening up to Link is hard, even now. It's hard, even though she loves him. Maybe because she loves him.

But she also can't deny that, in spite of everything – in spite of her sleepless nights and her waking nightmares, the crushing weight of anxiety, the fears of a life long past and guilt towards a future not yet set in stone – she's found a form a happiness here in Hateno Village. A happiness the likes of which she's never known.

It rests in the babbling, excitable laughter of its children. In the eccentric jokes of its carpenter. In the shy smiles of its seamstress and the kind, parental understanding in its elder and his wife.

It can be found as the sunlight streams through her open window, in a vase of bedraggled flowers, in hastily scribbled words in a dog-eared notebook, or in the ripples stirred by the wind as they pass over the moon's reflection in her garden pond at night.

It can be found in the arms of her knight as they hold her as she sleeps, comforting and familiar and warm.

And it's in the face of that happiness that she finds hope in the future.

There's a saying in Hyrule, and an old one at that.

Older than the deserts, in whose arid shores more nations have risen and fallen to be buried within their sands than can scarcely be counted. Older than the rivers, from whose pristine waters the peoples of Hyrule have been harbored and nurtured since the beginning. Older even than memory, living or otherwise.

It goes something like this:

'It takes a village to raise a child.'

It's a simple saying, really – but perhaps not so simple under the surface.

What does it mean to raise a child? Is it the merely the act of taking a person in their youth and striving to prepare them to face the future that is to come? Is it there, then, that the responsibilities of the community stop? Or can they be something more?

Can they take within their arms the heart and mind and soul of a young woman who never had a childhood of her own, who's broken down so completely that she's forgotten how to press forward, and meticulously piece the shattered remnants of her heart back together again?

It's funny, the way life turns out sometimes.

The villagers of Hateno may never come to fully realize that they owe their lives, their homes, and their livelihoods all to the selfless actions of two teenagers who risked their lives to spare their lands from the relentless march of the Calamity a hundred years passed. Two teenagers who had already lost everything, still willingly making sacrifices that strangers might be spared the grief and pain that they had already felt, and the age to come when the once-verdant fields of Hyrule burned with hatred and death.

Yet it is these same two teenagers who would one day come to find themselves saved by the descendants of those villagers.

Perhaps, then, the job of safeguarding the future, teaching the young, caring for the sick, easing the burdens of a stranger and piecing back the hearts of the broken and any number of miracles that come after calamity need not always require specific solutions from specific individuals. Perhaps, in this instance, it does not take divine intervention, the bloodline of a goddess, or the tireless courage of a hero to set the wrongs of the world to rights.

Perhaps it merely takes a village.

Yeah, so... I dunno.

This thing has been rewritten multiple times. I kinda feel like it's less one story and more the Frankenstein amalgamation of multiple attempts at a story that have been surgically combined, but... eh. Maybe I'm just being too harsh on myself. I tend to hate everything I write whenever I finish it.

I might have sat on this a bit longer, but I don't have a whole lot of free time these days, and who knows when I'd be able to get around to it again. I haven't posted anything in like a year and I wanted to at least get this finally done while I had a chance. My 'I need to write something' itch was bothering me something fierce.

So yeah, that's it. Leave me a review if you liked it, or didn't like it, or... y'know, whatever. I have a day off today, so I need to take a nap - because that's how you enjoy days off to their fullest.

Keep it Zesty, guys.

ZC