Chapter Text
The morning sun gleams brightly, high high in the open blue sky. Princess Zelda stands on the balcony of her tower, gossamer-light nightgown soft on her skin, and watches the city come to life with hungry eyes. My city, she thinks, fingers biting into the balustrade; her city, her people, her kingdom, stretching before her eyes, miles and miles of rich green fields and rushing rivers. A sparrow flies by, gliding upon the gentle wind, and her gaze follows it until it disappears beyond the horizon.
“Your Radiance,” one of her maid calls, “please, come inside. It's not safe for you to stay in the cold.”
It is decidedly not cold; were she braver, she might’ve opposed them. Can they not see how the sun shines so brightly, how the winds of Spring sing as they roam her land? Can they not hear the call of the sky?
Zelda shakes her head and calls for the madness in her heart to quieten as she turns around and returns to the soft, soothing shade of her rooms, bare feet dancing over stone and carpet all the same. The nightsky curtains are halfway drawn, the light that manages to permeate them caressing her skin like she imagines a lover would. Cold hands move to touch her, pulling her away from the open air and the sun, and all she can do is smile and nod as they draw soft linens and snowy silks over her body. Cold hands, but Zelda is not afraid of the cold; she does her best to not shudder as they push her back and forth, for a Princess of her breed does not shudder. It's beneath her.
Mother arrives just in time to brush her hair, chasing off her maids with a single flick of her wrist.
“Did you sleep well, my heart?” she asks in lieu of a greeting, taking the ivory comb in her skilled hands and drawing it through the soft fall of brown curls. “Any dreams?”
“Yes, Mother. No dreams, Mother,” Zelda chirps, a practiced answer, and smiles at the image she can see reflected in a nearby window. The golden eagle across Mother’s chest glimmers in the sunlight, suspended on slim golden chains around her neck
It is perhaps a lie, yes, but what Mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Zelda sings softly as she has been taught, melting at the gentle card of the comb through her hair. She did dream last night; the black beast had come once more to lay its head on her lap and purr for her, had once again pleaded for her song and her hands, and once again had she complied, for her heart is soft and open for all those in need. Even with the sun bright in the sky she remembers it, the soft rumble of its chest, the flame that burns across its back, the stead warmth of scaled flesh against her own. It makes her smile a little touch wider, her voice a touch lighter.
Lying is a sin and keeping a secret is as good as lying, but telling Mother of the kind, kingly beast in her dreams feels wrong—so she doesn’t. It’s her little secret; her only secret, because Zelda is a good girl, and she keeps no secrets.
“When are the guests set to begin arriving?” she asks, wincing when the first braid begins, so close to her scalp it almost hurts.
“The Zora will be here by the end of today; the rest are expected soon.” Mother’s hands move swiftly, one twist after the other. Two symmetrical braids woven tight and firm to her scalp so that no loose curls will escape. “The Holodrumi and the Gerudo will likely arrive last, for their mountain passes take time to cross. I can still hardly believe you want to have those… people attend. You know what they are like, dear…”
Zelda does not know, but once again doesn’t speak, because talking back to Mother had not once ended well for her. She is yet to meet a Gerudo in her life, for the relations between her Hyrule and the Kingdom of Gintu have been tense since long before her birth. All she knows of them is pictures and hearsay. The mere fact they agreed to her invitation—the fact the King himself replied to her earnest letter, had given his word that he and his will attend—fills her with as much pride now as it did when she first received the bird. Perhaps her first steps into womanhood will give her enough wisdom to heal the rift between East and West, to mend that which was broken. All she can do is pray.
“Whatever they might be like they are our neighbors, and you have taught me to love all that the Mothers have made. How can I be holy if I go against Their very will, and on the same day They have given me life?” She smiles and touches one of her braids, the weave tight and firm. “Thank you, Mother.”
A smile touches the corner of her mouth, Mother's gaze fond as she squeezes her shoulder. Once upon a time, still a budding flower, Zelda thought her mother the most beautiful woman to walk the lands; to this day she is to change her mind. Despite her many centuries High Priestess Laurea has a way to carry herself, and the Light becomes her so well. She kisses her mother’s hand, always the dutiful daughter, and closes her eyes while she draws a white veil to cover her hair.
Ganondorf, King of Gintu and almost God, draws his horse Amhusa to a stop as they approach the first bridge of the Stepping Stones, the border between his Gintu and Hyrule. On the other side he can see the fertile lands of Hyrule, and feels something like envy twist itself in his heart. Nabooru draws up beside him, eyes narrowing as she follows his gaze to the rich green fields across the fridge.
“It’s a trap,” his cousin tells him plainly; the same complaint she’s been giving since they set out from Parapa a week ago. “Nothing in Hyrule can be worth it.”
Soft laughter leaves him. “Hylia is.” She’d been so real in the dream, like it was another memory. But no memory he’d recalled of Demise’s had had her wingless and caged, eyes begging to be freed.
“If you start on that dream again I will smack you," Nabs threatens, making him laugh louder.
“Children,” Uncle Sooga’s deep voice is endlessly patient as he stops next to them, horse nickering softly. “Dreams are messages from the Great Mothers, Nabooru, even if we do not always understand what they mean to tell us. And do not antagonize your cousin, my King.” He looks shockingly plain, Kohga's magics warping his features and hiding his blinded eye, but it’s for good reason; it won't do for anyone in Hyrule to know who his uncle is.
Gan and Nabs share a look. “Yes, uncle,” they chorus, making him sigh.
Smiling Gan looks back towards Hyrule, kicking Amhusa into a gallop, earning him shouts as the rest of their caravan tries to catch up. “I am coming, my Goddess,” he says to the wind, perhaps hoping Farore brings those words to her. Hoping that she can feel him, like he almost thinks he can feel her. A golden presence draws him in, promising him what he has been without for thousands of years.
They will be reunited—nothing, not even their Mothers coming down from the high heavens, will stop him.
