Chapter Text
Princess Zelda didn’t sleep. Link couldn’t remember if she had before (he was certain she had, everyone slept, even him), but in none of his recovered memories was the princess ever even tired, so he had no frame of reference as to whether this was standard for her.
Of course it wasn’t standard. No healthy young woman stayed up all night staring at the sky full of stars, yawning desperately, yet refusing sleep. She was always radiant, but the heaviness under her eyes was dark, and the slump in her shoulders could not be missed. Link wasn’t sure if her smile was still like the sun because she didn’t smile anymore.
Link had tried everything he could think of to get her to rest. Sleep-inducing teas or elixirs, extra soft beds, extra firm beds, sleeping outside under the night sky, in a crowded inn, alone in his cottage, out by the sea with the calming sound of waves. But it appeared that the type of insomnia the princess suffered from was divinely stubborn. No matter what he did, it went the same every night. He would beg her to get some rest. She would smile easily, like she was going to comply, and let him take her back to wherever he had set up a place for her to sleep, likely with some gimmick. She would lie down. He would take his place in his own sleeping quarters, never too far, and he would fight off some shut eye and she would wait. When she finally thought he was asleep, she would sit up, put on her cloak if needed, and clamber outside, sitting cross-legged, leaning back on her arms, staring up at the sky until sunrise.
Rain or shine, cloudy or clear, she would always get up to sit cross-legged outside. Sometimes she got up before he was even asleep. She would press a hand on his shoulder, lean down to speak softly to him, telling him to get some rest, to enjoy a good night’s sleep, and then she would leave.
Link didn’t know how she did it. Everyone needed sleep, even Goddesses incarnate. She may have had Hylia’s blood in her veins, but she had her father’s, too, and Link had it on good authority that the late king had always slept like the dead.
Perhaps Zelda took after her mother. Perhaps it was her divinity that kept her awake.
Zelda was ready to play her game again that night like she always did. Link hadn’t been able to think up any special tactic to tempt her give in to her weariness, so he had fixed up the bed for her in his cottage (he no longer called it his bed, because he never slept in it anymore, but she wouldn’t let him call it her bed, because she did not want to take it from him, and she never slept in it, either). They finished their dinner of meat pies, and Zelda yawned almost violently.
“Will you please try to sleep tonight?” Link asked her. He was begging her, really. Her eyes wouldn’t open all the way, dull underneath her heavy lids. She was ashy, her skin sunken. She looked ill. She was ill; sleep deprivation was a serious ailment.
“I try every night, Link,” she said quietly.
“I’m worried about you,” he said.
One of her hands caressed his cheek, and her skin was almost cold. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but his heart fluttered in his chest anyway. “I know,” she said, letting her hand fall again. Link leaned into her touch as it fell, eyes following her hand until it was limp at her side. Then he looked back at her face again. “I’m fine.”
It was an awful lie. Link saw in her own eyes that she did not believe it, and that she didn’t think he did, either. “I’ll stay up with you,” Link offered. He had before, on multiple occasions. He could always make it through at least one night before he grew too tired.
She shook her head, standing up from the table to go to the bed upstairs. “It does neither of us any good for you to be denied your rest.”
Link frowned. It would appear nothing did the princess any good, certainly not him, rested or not.
He followed her up. She sat on the bed, crossing her legs the way she did outside, poking her head out the window, not even crawling under the covers. He stood at the foot of the bed, frowning still. She didn’t move for a good long while, perhaps an hour or so, and eventually Link grew tired.
“You won’t fall asleep sitting up like that,” he reprimanded.
“I won’t fall asleep at all, Link,” she hummed, leaning her elbows on the windowsill.
Link grumbled incoherently. Though he would not rest tonight until she did, he was still plenty tired, and did not much care for being denied his beauty sleep.
“You are welcome to rest yourself,” Zelda offered, gesturing to the bed. She had left more than half of it untouched (really, the bed could comfortably fit two if needed—Bolson had simply not believed Link when he had initially told him he would only need a single).
Link didn’t move. It was like she wasn’t even trying.
“Or you may join me,” she said, finally crawling off the bed to make her way outside.
Link followed. She sat cross-legged, leaned back, and propped up on her hands to look up at the brilliant starry sky. A sliver of a waning crescent gave the stars little competition to shine, and not a single cloud rolled anywhere above the horizon line.
He sat beside her and mirrored her posture, looking up, wondering if his eyes would see what she saw, if her tired eyes saw anything at all.
The silence was more calming than he anticipated. There was the soft rustle of the wind on the leaves, the occasional whooshing of a bird flying above them. There was a peace in it all, watching the world sleep. It offered the kind of privacy Link must have had before he drew the sword, the kind he wouldn’t have remembered. It was not too different from the anonymity he had upon waking, except that the peaceful night had no hideous emptiness where memories were supposed to be. It was quiet, serene, secluded, but in a way that amplified the loneliness he had felt ever since waking up. He was intruding upon a world that did not belong to him, by observing the kingdom as it slept. He, too, should be sleeping, but he wasn’t. He was a hundred years ahead of his own time, breaching the contract of a sleepy night by gazing upon it with his waking eyes. Was that what held the princess's attentions each night? Did she feel as adrift as he did?
“They aren’t out there, are they?” Her voice was so quiet Link wasn’t even sure he heard her.
Though her question startled him, he knew what she meant: the other Champions, and perhaps her father, too. He hadn’t felt them after they defeated Ganon. He couldn’t use their gifts anymore. He had already told her as much, not realizing the impact it would have on her at the time. He hadn’t brought it up again after that. He didn’t like making her cry. “Probably not,” Link replied after a long pause.
“And yet they won’t leave me alone.” Link heard a bitterness in her voice that he hadn’t expected. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what she meant, but he wanted her to say more. He didn’t know how.
“Is that why you can’t sleep?” He asked.
She sighed deeply, ignoring his question. “How did you forgive me so easily?” She asked, scrunching her eyes closed.
Link wasn’t looking at the stars anymore. “For what?” He asked.
Her eyes stayed scrunched. “For failing everybody. Not just you, but them, too.” She didn’t open her eyes, refusing to look back at him.
Link frowned deeply. “How could I hold a grudge against you when I failed too?”
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked the most alert she’d been in well over a week. “You never failed me, Link, not once,” she hissed.
“I died,” he argued. “I died trying to protect you. I failed you first.”
She glared at him. “No, you failed me the one time after I failed you every single day.”
Link didn’t want to argue with her. “If that’s how you see it, then fine. But that’s not how I see it. The way I see it, we failed each other.”
The anger melted out of Zelda’s glare until all that was left was defeat. She was too tired to be angry, Link figured, and yet she did not lie back to rest.
“Is that why you can’t sleep?” Link asked again.
She didn’t answer, turning back to stare stubbornly at the stars
“You’ve suffered enough, Zelda,” he said. “No more punishment is needed.”
She blinked slowly at the sky, the weight of her eyelids pulling them down. “That’s not up to you,” she mumbled.
“It’s not up to you, either,” he continued.
She just shook her head. “You’re right. It’s up to them.”
Link didn’t know how to argue, so he scoffed loudly, but she didn’t react. It appeared she was done chatting with him for the night, and she would not move again until the sun peeked up over the horizon.
Link’s eyelids were heavy by the next sunset. Hers had to be heavier, he knew, and yet her eyes refused to close any longer than a blink, staring up into the sky like she wanted nothing more than to gaze upon it forever. She had not even sat that evening, perhaps because Link hadn’t let her reach her usual spot before running in front of her and cutting her off.
He was desperate. Perhaps the new peace after Ganon’s defeat had made Link soft (he had done many days without a wink of sleep upon first waking up), but he didn’t want another night awake under the stars.
“I could speak to Impa,” Link said. “Or Purah. Even Robbie.”
“Link—” Zelda started.
“I bet the Zora would have something. Or maybe the Gorons, perhaps it would be strong enough.”
“Link!” Zelda interrupted. Her voice was stronger than it should have been for how frail she looked. Link was worried a strong gust of wind would knock her over. Or that she would try to stand up, lose her footing, and fall. He was worried that the longer she stayed awake, the more likely it was that she would not wake after finally falling asleep.
He realized he’d knelt before her. He hadn’t done anything else stupid, like grabbed her hand (although perhaps a moment longer, he would have), but he was still begging her. Perhaps it was stupid, but he was tired, so he could only imagine how tired she must be, and his brain was operating on half its normal horsepower.
Zelda stared at him, tired eyes twisted into a suspicious glare. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“You’re going to kill yourself,” Link pleaded. “Please, Princess—” She grabbed his hands off his knees, obviously meaning to pull him to his feet, but her pull was too weak, and instead she nearly toppled onto him. He rose as she wished, grasping onto her hands.
“Don’t I deserve it?” She whispered, her lip quivering.
Link shook his head violently, squeezing her hands in his. “No, no, not at all—”
“Then why don’t they leave me alone?” She hissed, tears pooling in her eyes. “If I’m not supposed to join them.”
“What do they show you?” Link breathed.
She shook her head, eyes on the ground. “It’s what—Ganon showed me.” Her voice broke on his name. “He showed me their deaths, over and over again, he showed me how he killed them, how he ambushed them, how it was my fault.” Her whole body began to shiver violently, so much so that holding her hands so tightly made Link shiver, too.
Link shook his head again, wishing she would look up to see it. “It wasn’t your fault, Zeld—”
“Then why do I still see them die every time I close my eyes?” She shrieked.
He couldn’t stop shaking his head, and for a moment, that was all he did. But he was tired and scared, so he released her hands to reach up and cup her face gently, to hold her gaze to his. He studied every inch of it, as if he could look deep enough into her to pull the images out from behind her eyelids. She let him, perhaps only because she did not have the strength to protest.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Two moments. Three. Link’s heart stopped. Her breathing slowed and steadied. And then she opened her eyes, sending his heart through his ribcage. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but she blinked slowly at him, like an affable cat.
He waited for her to say something, to tell him to release her, that they hadn’t left her alone just because he wanted them to. Perhaps she was too tired, but she just kept blinking lazily, almost as if sleep finally called out to her, as if they had left her alone.
Sleep called out to him, too, but he would not give in. What kind of knight would he be if he rested while his princess suffered? So he waited another moment, his own eyelids so heavy they threatened to stay closed after each blink, before leaning in to press his lips to her forehead.
It was the most selfish thing he’d ever done. The moment before, he hadn’t expected himself to do it. But then her eyes were closed, and she almost looked peaceful, almost like she was finally going to sleep right there standing up, and he was so overcome by the sight that he kissed her.
Without asking. Without her permission. When she was too weak to protest, to tell him no. His stomach twisted at his greediness, but when he pulled away, she leaned into him. It hurt to keep pulling, to leave her, but he had taken enough advantage of her in her state. Her eyes were still closed, until she opened them to look at him again.
Glowing green, reflecting the dim moonlight. Dull with exhaustion, still half-lidded with weight, and still glowing green.
His hands were still holding her cheeks, supporting the weight of her head, because even though he was ashamed of how easily his will has been broken, how pathetically he had exploited her weakness, he could not pull his hands off her. “Will they ever forgive me?” She breathed.
His heart broke, and his hands finally dropped from her cheeks to wrap around her, to pull her into a fierce embrace. How conceited of him to believe that he could protect her from her doubt when he couldn’t even protect her against himself, but by Nayru he wanted to. She fell into his hold, her weight on him. She would have collapsed if he did not hold her so tightly.
So he held her firmly, weakened only by his own weariness, waiting for her to inevitably protest. Weak or not, she would not let him hold her like this, surely. She would tell him to let go, and he would comply, like he always did. Even though she had long since stopped running away, he had not stopped chasing her, not completely.
The princess did not say anything at all. She just continued to lean on him, until her breathing evened out, and Link realized she had finally, finally fallen asleep.
He froze with shock at first, terrified that so much as blinking would disturb her, before realizing that he would need to put her to bed somewhere because he wouldn’t be able to hold her all night like this, not as exhausted as he was himself.
He considered his other options. Obviously standing here like this until she woke up was not an option. He could gently lie her down right here in the grass outside. Perhaps a good last resort. He could try to carry her inside his cottage like this, holding her tightly and then lifting and leaning back to get her legs off the ground. It could take more strength than he had left. He could give her a quick boost to toss her over his shoulder, a position which would be much easier to carry her in but had a high risk of jostling and potentially waking her. Not to mention it was a little brutish to throw the Princess of Hyrule over his shoulder, even if she was asleep and no one was around to see. He could try to wind one arm behind her knees, leaving one arm behind her back, and carry her indoors bridal style. While still a touch overstepping, it was certainly less scandalous than the over the shoulder carry, but it would probably jostle her even more.
He worried the longer he took to decide, the more likely it was that she would wake up, or perhaps even fall over. So he weighed his options once more, dissatisfied with all but eventually deciding the boost over his shoulder would be the least physically disturbing (no one would have to know, there were no witnesses), so he crouched down a tad, gripped her around the middle, and then lifted her just enough to balance her on his shoulder over her middle.
Her body swung back like a ragdoll, which concerned him terribly at first, until he realized her slumber must be deeper than he expected. Surely after so many days awake, her eventual sleep would be overpowering.
He hurried inside, not wanting to take chances on anyone witnessing what looked very much like a royal kidnapping. Tiptoeing up the stairs, he realized his next dilemma when he arrived at the bed. Sure, her sleep may be powerful, but he would have to completely flip her over backwards to get her on the bed, and he wasn’t so confident in the deepness of her sleep to feel that he could do so without waking her.
The weight of her body on his shoulder was starting to wear on his own sleep-deprived muscles, however, so he was once again forced to act more quickly than he wanted. He tipped forward a bit, to slide her down his shoulder, before cradling her head with one hand (it really was quite alarming how limp she was, Link thought) and laying her down across the bed with her legs hanging off. He’d still have to orient her the right way across, with her head on the pillow, and pull her legs onto the bed, but he was quite proud of himself when he finally released her.
He took only a moment to rest before frowning, trying to figure out the most appropriate way to shift her, before deciding he was much too tired. He grabbed her around the middle again, half pushing, half pulling until her head was where a pillow should be, and then he grabbed her ankles to swing the rest of her legs up. Finally, he cradled her head as he slid a pillow underneath, and then he stepped back to admire the fruits of his labor.
Well, he tried to step back, but an ironclad grip on his wrist stopped him. His eyes snapped down to see Zelda’s hand gripping his wrist tightly, and then back up at her face to see her bloodshot eyes wide open on his. He froze, sure his whole face must be red now in shame.
“Will you stay?” She asked, her voice rough and dry. “Please?”
Link nodded before thinking about any of the repercussions of his actions, because if staying would help her sleep then he would lay in that bed beside her for days. She was close to the edge but wiggled until there was enough room for him to slide beside her. She was on top of the covers, no doubt cold, but something about her staring at him after asking him to get in bed with her had jumbled up all the rational thoughts in his head and left only silly, lofty ones behind.
He quickly unbuckled the belts for his scabbard, pulling off the rest of his fighting gear before climbing into the bed, laying stiff as a board next to her.
She scooted close, rolling over until she was half-laying on top of him. Link felt the front of her body press against his side, and he stopped breathing. She wrapped her arms around his, her head resting on his shoulder. Link wondered if he was dreaming until she slid one leg between his and hooked her knee underneath his. Then he’d never felt more awake. His entire body was on fire, from the heat of her body and heat generating within himself from some source he could not identify. He was grateful they were not under the covers.
“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and he was too frozen to speak before she added a very sleepy, “and I’m sorry,” on the end of her sentence.
Then she went totally still again, save her slow and even breathing, and Link knew she was asleep.
Her words turned over in his mind for a few moments, jumbling as he tried to make sense of them, but ultimately, the warm press of the princess’s body against his and the aching in his own body for sleep won out, and he cautiously tipped his head to the side until it rested against hers, and then he, too, finally fell into a much-needed dreamless sleep.