Wistfully Yours - Part 4

IX.

Our marriage was blissfully perfect.  Just as snow continued to cover the ground as it had during our wedding-day, it seemed as if nothing at all had changed in the early weeks soon thereafter.  Yes, they were differences; most of the village had proven helpful in moving my limited possessions from my father's home to Link's, a task that had been no marginal feat given that the entrance to his abode was a good many feet above solid ground (for the purpose of keeping would-be intruders from gaining entry, I was told, given its position outside the inner gate).  And granted, Link and I were finally allowed the privileges of the marriage-bed, and I already found familiarity in having his body next to mine during the night-time.  Yet the early months of the year was not the busy season for the ranch as the weather forced all indoors.  Each succeeding day simply promised more of the same activities:  knitting new garments, chopping more firewood, and cleaning after the flock.  I had to admit that I adored the simple monotony of the season.

Yet just a month of marriage began to bring unwelcome changes in my husband.  Each day as he would return to our cottage, he would always be in such a restless state.  As nightfall approached, he would finally return from the woods covered with fluffy snow.  However, as I finished the preparations for our supper, no matter the dish, he would pace eccentrically in front of the fireplace, wordless and barely acknowledging my presence until it was complete.  Many a time I would tear myself away from my diligent housekeeping in an attempt to calm him, yet my efforts would only succeed for precious few seconds before he would entertain some other agitated habit.

"After dinner, let's retreat into the woods," he once suggested as I began setting the table.  "You know, just like all the times we did after we got back to Ordon."

I looked at him curiously yet without understanding.  "Link, the pond is frozen solid.  In case you hadn't realized, it's not autumn any longer."

He chuckled, laughing off my concerned protest.  "I'll build a nice, big fire for you.  We'll be fine."

I looked at him with an earnest effort to divine his intents.  His face was, finally, once again animated and eager, perfectly mimicking Pergie's puppy after being given a new bone.  My eyes flicked to the window to see the air full of falling white, but one more look at my husband caused me to finally relent.  I could not pass this moment up.  "It had better be a big fire," I replied with mock-scolding.

Nevertheless, despite my promise, I could barely manage to walk but a half-mile before my body was entirely numb from nose to toe.  I begged Link to return home, pleaded that I wouldn't make it to our campsite, much less last the entire night.  For a few paces he persisted upon continuing, but soon the chattering of my teeth caused him to reconsider.  He humbly apologized for forcing the trek upon me and graciously escorted me back home.

I had expected him to come in with me and warm himself by the fire next to me.  But as I looked back to the doorway, I saw a glazed look in his eyes, and I knew that, for the first time since Midwinter, I would be in a bed without my lover's body to keep me warm.

Since then his agitation seemed to grow daily without any cure.  My presence seemed to provide him temporary reprieve, yet it was hardly within my capability to be with him in every hour of the day.  And despite the comfort I could offer him, my inquiries regarding the cause of his troubles repeatedly went unanswered.  All I would get in response would be a shrug and a frustrating "I don't know."   We would go to bed, and though he lay next to me, his heart felt miles apart.  And as if to match his heart, often by morn I would find his body missing as well when I would wake, and I knew yet again he would be aimlessly roaming the forest, seeking for something he could not find.

For almost a month it continued, until one day, as I began the trek home from Uli's, Fado quickly ran towards and caught up to me, his heavy breathing producing a stream of wispy clouds.  "Ilia, gal, wait up!  You ain't seen your other half 'round?"

"Link?  Wasn't he supposed to be with you exercising the flock today?"

"Well yeah, he was supposed t'be there.  Thing is, he ne'er showed up this afternoon, and I can't find 'im anywhere.  I'm tempted to herd the goats up myself, but I don't know if that'd be wise, y'know?  They like 'im better than me, y'know.  But the sun's comin' down awful quick; may not have much choice."

My brow creased first with worry, yet soon it was replaced with outright panic.  Despite how oddly my love had been acting of late, still he had been diligent in his chores and his service to the ranch.  This was the first time in all my memory I could recall him doing such a thing.  Had something happened to him?  Had he not found his way back after leaving in the middle of the night?

"Don't worry," I told him, though I was telling myself the lie more than him.  "I'm sure he's around; I'll scour the village for you."

"Thank ya, Ilia.  Hope he's alright."

"I as well."

I quickly rushed home so I could deposit some of my things before going in search for him, yet to my absolute shock, lo and behold, all along my love had been here, sitting at our dining room table.

"Link!  There you are!  Fado has been—why haven't you—what are you doing?"

"Writing a letter, dear."

The reply was all but an understatement as well; his letter was quite the correspondence as his scrawling already filled an entire page with a second being filled as I watched.

"But Link, to whom could you be writing?  And all when Fado needs you!  You know as well as I the postman doesn't journey this far into the mountains until the first of Germinal at the earliest.  The path is far too treacherous until spring."

"Ashei's here," he explained hastily with an intonation of exasperation.  "Meeting with Rusl right now; I promised I'd finish this letter for Zel before she left."

"Zel?"

He stopped and turned to me; his face was unfriendly, clearly becoming increasingly irked with each of my interferences.  "Zelda?  Princess Zelda?"

Hearing Link say her name—and so informally at that!—was like him plunging a dagger into my abdomen.  My lungs refused to inhale.  My mind couldn't handle the slight!  Yes, I had known that he knew of the princess, was acquainted with her to boot.  But the scene from the wedding of their dance flashed before my eyes, and suddenly it all appeared in a tragically different light.

There was something there, hidden all this time.

I watched him with a simmering—soon seething—anger that quickly was becoming uncontrollable.  As he turned back to his letter, continuing to write as if I had never interrupted him, my ire had peaked.

"You will write to her, pour your heart out to her, but yet you will not speak to me!?  I have held you close every night you deemed me worthy to return to; I have done everything I know to provide for you and console you!  But now this!?  The... that woman!  You will write to Her Royal Highness about... goddesses even know what you're writing about since you refuse to tell me anything at all!"

"Ilia," he tried to say calmly, abandoning his efforts to write as if to give a feeble peace offering, "you wouldn't understand."

It wasn't enough.  "You're right!  I don't understand!  Because you haven't given me the opportunity!  But please, please.  Don't let me interrupt you as you proffer your heart to another woman."

"It's not like that!"

I couldn't withhold a snort as the cynicism within me escalated.  "I'm sure.  I'm sure it's exactly as you say.  Given how well acquainted you were with her at our wedding, I'm so very sure."

With haste, I turned on my heel and stormed from the house in a rage.  Link chased me to the porch, yet I pulled free from his effort to grab my arm before glaring at him to leave me be lest he be truly sorry.  I descended the ladder and proceeded into the heart of the village, my legs unthinkingly carrying me straight to Rusl's house.  Without knocking, I threw open the door, and Link had been true; Ashei was there, leaning nonchalantly against the wall as she spoke to Rusl beside her.

As they turned to me, I rose a finger threateningly to the cavalier.  I felt an onslaught of words rising to my tongue with vicious alacrity.

Yet in the periphery of my vision, I found Uli holding and rocking her little Jesell, shushing her softly that she might sleep.

The words that I had been ready to speak were now a mess of incoherent syllables, lacking substance to properly express myself.  I refocused on Ashei once again, and I knew.  She had done me no ill; it was unjust to see offence from her.

Yet my temper wasn't muted in the slightest.  I had to speak lest I explode from fury unabated.  I breathed heavily and tried to straighten my stance in an effort to appear calm.  I turned to Rusl and said, "You need to have a long talk with my husband."

I turned and left.

I stole entry into my father's manor, scaled the stairs two at a time, and crawled beneath the covers of my old bed, my anger ebbing gradually through the constant wash of tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Letter for you, Your Highness."

I quickly arose from my reading nook that overlooked the Castle Town streets and made as if to catch a letter that I had expected would have been casually tossed my direction.  Yet my automatic gesture received no letter, and only after a moment of silence did I discover that Ashei had instead placed it eloquently upon my desk.  She grinned at me with a joking yet devious defiance.

"You've learned," I replied in jest.  "You could be a proper courtier yet."

"Please."

"From whom is the letter?"

She raised an eyebrow, and her grin grew.  "Who else, yeah?"

I shot her a spiteful glance, knowing precisely the bent upon which her thoughts lay.  I had received nothing but torment from the cavalier since Midwinter's Eve.  Nevertheless I had indeed earned the dishonourable mark for my lack of restraint at the wedding festival—not to dare mention that the hero's and my lengthy correspondence helped not the accusation.  Still, the lesson I was supposed to have gained from my experience did not prevent me from reaching for the letter to open it without delay.

"I hope you won't mind if I demand to know what he wrote you, Princess."

"Pardon?"

"I believe I've earned the right this time, yeah?  I personally hand-carried the letter all the way from Ordona; not even the postman risks himself during this season.  I should also mention that Link was in quite a pitiable state when he handed it to me.  I'm concerned, yeah."

"You managed to travel to Ordon Village in such weather?  I—well, I suppose you would be acclimated to such climates."

She smirked.  "Read it to me."

I looked at her reproachfully.  "Allow me some semblance of privacy first, Ashei.  Trust me; if all is as you say, then I shall not keep any secrets, this despite how I fear I may regret so."

Her mirth remained opaque, even as it was strained by my effort to force patience upon her while I leisurely read every last paragraph.

The words that Link had written to me matched precisely that which Ashei had mentioned; I had not expected to see Link in such a state on paper barely two months into his newfound happiness.  His penmanship was at times nigh illegible in his haste to scribe his letter, and Link's written thoughts were quite erratic and full of tension.  He gave me apologies, confessions, and appeals.  I could see that the emotional burden that he carried
was great, a weight that exceeded his will to bear it.

And yet, his entreaties for sympathy did not fall gently upon my eyes; instead, by the time I had finished, I was clenching the sheets of parchment with an intensity I could not have predicted.

"Here," I ultimately said to Ashei, my voice rising slightly as I fought to contain it.  I quickly made an effort to subdue my voice within a façade of calm as I proffered the document to her.  "Were the circumstances otherwise," I cautioned, "I would not dare to consider permitting you to read this.  Yet despite my apprehension, you do have a right to be concerned.  You should be aware."

Ashei was quick to all but snatch the letter from me and read with rapturous intent.  I retreated once more to my alcove as she did so, glancing idly out the window as I tried to process Link's words.  I fought with the letter's syntax and semantics alike in an endeavour to divine some alternative meaning by which I should feel less offended and more compassionate towards Link's poor state.  Yet no matter how I parsed the appeal, it always led to the same grim conclusion.

"So, Princess, care to educate me as to how this is bad news, yeah?"

"What?"

"Well, maybe I'm mistaken, but isn't this what you've been waiting to hear for months, yeah?"

I blinked.  I swallowed.

Had I truly been that obvious?

Of course it had been.  Nothing ever seemed to pass beneath her consideration.

Not that any of this mattered now.

"What is done cannot be undone," I countered.  "The sands of time have already been set in motion."

"So that means you're giving up on him?"

"I've no choice!  Don't you understand what it is that he's asking, Ashei?"

"He's asking for another chance, yeah."

"He's asking me for an annulment!"

"And?"

"And!?" I shrieked in disbelief.  Remaining where I was, I turned from Ashei and covered my eyes with both hands, trying to blot out the world and my building frustration.  "It's folly!  I simply cannot."

"And why can't you?"

"It would be beyond improper.  The stain it would leave on—"

"Well to hell with impropriety, yeah?"  I quickly turned to Ashei, stunned with her outburst, yet even then she continued.  "The way I see it, the facts are pretty simple.  First, Link likes you, and you like him, even if you won't admit it.  Second, I've known from the start that you'd be much more a solid match for Link.  Just from the look of him, I knew he'd feel trapped in Ordon, and I can't say I blame him, yeah?  And third, fond as I am of Ilia, she looked like she was ready to claw me a good one after she burst into Rusl's, I guess to confront me over the letter; she deserves happiness, don't you think?  She ain't going to get it from Link, not now, yeah?"

"Stop!  Stop this insolence this instant!"

I looked dangerously at Ashei, my eyes incensed with a fury that could not simply be dismissed.  Ashei almost continued subjecting me to her nonsense, but one look at my condition caused her to reconsider.  Her mouth closed, and I could see the dawning realization that I was not unwilling this time, unlike my ordinary concessions I permitted, to remind her of her inferior status.

"I will hear none of that, Lady Ashei!  None of that was by my choice or done by my hand!"  My voice was filled with clear and icy undertones as I strode about the room, glaring at Ashei and her audacity.  "Yea, I will admit to you that... that... that I did and do feel a strong affection for the man.  I will admit that!  There, art thou happy?  But he has made his choice.  He chose Ilia for himself, and he gave a vow to her too, Ashei, a vow that does not cease to be just because he has somehow realized all too tragically late what his heart has secretly wanted and with whom he might find that."  I huffed slightly even as I envisioned the scene.  "Even despite what he thinks he yearns for in a bride, frankly, Ashei, I am exceedingly doubtful that he would find such freedom and adventure in a union with me, dare I even speak the possibility now.

"And who am I to approve of such a dissolution of their marriage?  Who am I to bring shame and humiliation upon a girl who, near as I can objectively see, is innocent from all of Link's foolhardiness?  They've been wed for barely two months before Link decides that he has had his fill of her, and what?  Only to thoughtlessly cast her aside for someone more worthy of his heroic tendencies—to be the prince consort to a princess, soon to be coronated as queen?  And what would the people believe of me?  That I, having not been given away to an esteemed suitor while my father was yet alive, that I, having not even the opportunity or privilege of even playing host to an eligible suitor since Hyrule fell to the Twili, had to resort to petty theft so as to obtain a man for myself?  Never mind if he is daring, heroic, and gallant; 'Lo, have you heard the tale of how Her Highness dirtied herself and despoiled a peasant girl of her true love?'  'Aye, and she had the gall to drive to Ordona herself to sever their ties and drag him to the castle!  I would bet even now she keeps him under lock and key!'"

As I had marched the perimeter of the room, discharging the unexpressed, corrosive emotions that I had nary a confident to which to entrust them, I found that my painful rage was soon spent and extinguished, leaving me only with feeble emptiness, insatiable loneliness, and despair.  Tears had apparently been coursing down my rosy cheeks for some time, my chin already soaked with the ensuing waterfall.  I could not catch hold of my emotions or breath, even as I dropped to the floor.  I leant against the wall, unable to express my anguish further.  My fate had been sealed on Midwinter's Eve by Link's untimely choice, and now I felt the sorrow of that day wash over me as if the scars pockmarked over my whole frame were once again reopened wounds, fresh, raw, and bleeding.

A comforting arm was soon cradling my stomach, and Ashei crouched behind me.  The embrace was awkward, perhaps for the cavalier as well, yet it was enough to find some remote semblance of peace and strength deep inside.  There was still loss and brokenness surrounding me, but I knew I had a comrade sharing my strife.  Even if she did not agree with my prerogative or my fixed course of action, there was sympathy.

Yet even then, my body ached for affirmation, for ardent support of my decision.  I needed to guarantee that Ashei would not betray my confidence, that she might truly understand the temptation I felt to her ploy and the rigid resistance I had to maintain for the sake of all Hyrule lest it fall to ruin in my weakness.  My mind was immediately supplied with an age-old quatrain that had bored itself into my memory in my youth:

"But woe to those who'd come between a man
And bride with pure and blessèd marriage vows.
Ignominy! aye haunt their earthly span!
Let all who witness treat them worse than sows!"

"Is that Oberon?" Ashei asked.

"Yes.  The last stanza of Act IV in The Fall of King Ghalin.  One of the first plays I remember seeing as I was growing up.  Seeing the revenge Lord Normand takes against the king in the final act has remained with me all these years, just as these words he bellows to the crowds in the penultimate act."

There was a long pause, and I was determined not to shatter it.

"I understand," she finally said.

"Thank you."

"He will nonetheless expect a response."

He would.

"Tell him, 'I'm sorry.'"

X.

As the third month of the year had strolled on, the future had seemed to become increasingly more difficult to predict.  Ever since I had been old enough to tell the seasons apart, I had always relished the late days of winter if only because I knew that spring—my favourite of the seasons—was very nigh.  The month of Ventose had always symbolized hope and promises of warmth and soon-to-come brightness while Germinal became the ever joyful deliverer of those promises.  The snow would turn into rain and the white would melt into green... and eventually the pastel vibrancy of flowers.  Before my mother had passed, she would joke with me that she could always tell when spring was coming by the way I perked up in the late winter days.

Yet this year, my world was entirely topsy-turvy and upside-down.  This year, I honestly didn't know what tidings spring would provide.

Despite the uncertainty of the present circumstances, even I had to admit that there were symbols of promise all about.  Rusl had talked with Link—"sternly" as it had been told to me—soon after Ashei's surprise appearance in Ordon a month ago.  As disconcerting and embarrassing as it had been to bring my marital troubles into the public light of the town, doing so had led to some improvement.  Link and I would host and attend dinners together, and he attempted to shower me with grace and charm whenever we were about.  Link no longer disappeared in the middle of the night to places unknown.  And since Ashei's untimely visit, Link had not once breathed the name of the princess in my presence.  And perhaps the greatest respite of all was that, as each day passed, no lengthy response to Link's letter from Hyrule ever arrived.  If there had been some secret relationship taking place behind my back between Link and Her Royal Highness, I had at least convinced myself that it was nothing of which to be ardently jealous.

Alas, however, all of these promising signs could not nor would not relieve my heart from its heavy burden.  I felt no true release from my wearisome melancholy because I could tell that every cause for hope was merely a façade to hide a much deeper and darker truth.  Every effort Link spent upon me seemed to be a feint to fool the other villagers, perhaps even myself.  Though cordial to me in public, every emotion came across as being forced, as if his heart truly wasn't behind his words and deeds.  At home he remained aloof and detached, barely listening to my words lest I raise my voice to elicit a proper reaction.  And even though an eventual reply had come from Her Highness—one I never heard, even if I knew it to be excessively brief—Link hadn't failed in the interim to anxiously gaze in the direction of the village entrance to watch for a courier, as if he expected a substantial missive from the princess as long as his own.

Even worse yet was that Link consistently niggled me about my promise to journey with him to Hyrule once the snow had melted.  I hadn't been entirely convinced to travel when Link had posed the idea even before we'd been married; my resistance to the idea was now considerably greater.

And if the complexities of our marriage weren't considerable enough, the goddesses had been kind enough to make them even more so with the promise of a child.  Little Petra—or Tavion, were it to be boy, though I could hardly keep my preference from being easily discoverable—had made herself known to me with this month's absent moon-flow.  And though I had for years passionately dreamed of the days of raising a family and having children of my own, I had to admit that the prospect—though still exciting—seemed so much more frightening now as the natural worry of scarring my offspring for life through improper parenting began to take shape.  Yet that fear in my chest was only magnified manifold with Link's strange and unpredictable state.  I knew I could trust Link's promise to protect Petra; his word and dependability had always been second to none.  Yet I could tell that his excitement to the news had been forced as well, an attempt to coddle me into security and safety when elsewise I felt everything but.

He would love our child, that was certain.  I just didn't know if he loved me.

And as the equinox arrived, I knew the answer.

"Hey, Ilia," Link said with counterfeit sweetness (though I couldn't deduce it at the time).  "How are you feeling?"

I finally opened my eyes and turned towards him, giving him a severe look.  He surely had known I had been feigning sleep for some time beneath the covers of our bed.  I felt terrible, though it was not Link's fault for once.  I had known from Uli's experience that the earlier months of pregnancy could be difficult, but sympathizing with another's experience and enduring it oneself were two entirely different matters.

"I feel like I have the flu," I finally said before flopping my head unceremoniously upon my pillow and groaning loudly.  "And whatever it is you've just burnt in the kitchen is also not helping that."

"Oh, sorry," he said with an ounce of guilt.  A part of me unfortunately relished his reaction.  "So..."

His last word struck my curiosity.  Knowing Link, I could sense that something was weighing on his mind, something that he desired to say but wasn't sure if it were wise.  I peeked up at him again with a single eye and plucked up the courage to discover it.  "So?"

"So... well... if you're that sick..."  He paused.  He infuriatingly paused.

"Out with it, Link.  What are you thinking?"

"Well, it means you're probably not feeling well enough to go."

"Go?  Go where?"

"You know.  On the trip."

"Ah.  Yes."  To Hyrule.

This was not boding to be a good morning.

"No, no, I'm not," I answered dismissively.  "Sorry, but if Uli was any indication, I'm probably going to miss out on any opportunity to go before the flower season hits.  Right now, all I can dream about is feeling better by then."

"Yeah, I figured," he said tentatively, yet it was evident that he was still tiptoeing around eggshells about something.

I took the bait.  "There's more."

He turned away, looking back into the kitchen so that I couldn't see his face.  It didn't hide anything from me; in fact, it spoke more clearly than his actual words.

"I need to go.  To Hyrule."

"Ugh, goddesses be damned, Link.  How am I not surprised?"

I should have been surprised by my own outburst—quite unlike me to dare say something with such intensity!—but I couldn't be bothered to care.  I could see precisely where it was all headed.  Link said nothing in retort and kept his distance; every moment of silence continued to tear ribbons from my heart.  I had thought the emotional calluses I had earned from enduring his insensitivity had hardened me for the day I for the last month had instinctively feared might come.  I had, to my discredit, told myself time and again that Link was too noble, that I was beyond irrational to believe that he might simply abandon me like refuse.  I had become convicted enough to believed that, if nothing else, he would at least abide by his vows, even if his love for me had already died.  Yet all those fears that I had quelled and bottled returned to the fore as my heart raced in panic and apprehension.

I pulled my sheets over my face to hide a tear that began to trickle down my cheek.  Not that he was looking to see it, but I couldn't bear to show him my humiliation.

"So," I began, "when should I expect you back?  Or maybe I should ask if I'm ever going to see you again."  Using poisonous sarcasm against Link didn't actually make me feel better, but it at least would keep me strong enough to face his presence until he walked out the door.

He sighed softly.  "Actually, I wanted your permission to go."

"I'm all but bedridden this morning, and you want my blessing to leave me?  Would it actually make a difference if I told you not to go?"

"Yes."

"Fine.  Then go.  I reckon my father can care for me in your absence if you must."

"I can help you get there if—"

"Don't pretend, Link.  Do what you need to do."

The mysterious silence returned for a moment.  In that space, I dared to think I might have changed his mind.

"I'll bring Uli."  A pause.  "Thanks."

Boots marched to the door.

The door creaked open.

Then it slammed shut.

I had failed.

He didn't love me anymore.  Petra... perhaps.  But me, no.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The arrival of spring always aroused a dithery spirit in me.  My father would always tell me that I was renowned for my aversion to the cold and blustery winter months and that my very emotions mirrored the seasons themselves.  While the second day of spring was by no means the comforting brilliance and scorching warmth of midsummer, it was such a significant improvement from its predecessor that I always seemed to radiate an uncanny joy whenever the season finally came round.

Today was hardly an exception to the norm.  While I had reserved the early hours of my day to once again receive the beseeching and pleas of my people, I had every intent to escape what had felt all season long to be a confinement within this apartment so that I might stroll through the castle market and appear amongst my people as I was wont to occasionally do.  The promise of such activity carried me easily through the procession of Hyruleans, Zora, and Gorons alike without feeling remotely taxed or burdened.

But if I had believed that my anticipation of the lovely day alone would overcome everything that stood between my long-awaited stroll and I, I was terribly mistaken.

I should have anticipated his arrival.

I should have expected that he would soon arrive after the winter thaw.

I should have been foreseen that my simple and curt—though sympathetic—reply would be deficient and leave him wanting.

And even more vitally, I should have prepared better for the occasion when I would have to face him once again.

To Link's credit and my relief, he remained at the end of the queue, always allowing any tardy arrivals before him.  It would simply not have portended well to be compelled to address the nature of our "relationship" with so many onlookers watching in bemusement and, naturally some, with bitter jealousy.  I would barely be able to fault them for such emotions either; I was viewed as my people's arbiter, holding a fair ear to all their plights and a compassionate yet wise tongue to decide upon their matters.  To see me hold Link in so obvious a higher esteem would tarnish their image of their magnanimous ruler.

Yet all the while, I also feared what private discussion my hero would seek to have with me when there was none other to see or overhear.  At least, in the interim, I would have some time to formulate my strategy.

The crowd thinned as the morning waned.  Some recognized Link as the hero from his adventures months ago and either waved or whispered a hello.  Others eyed him with a surprised look and a raised eyebrow, wondering why someone of his distinction would be waiting amongst the poor and the unprivileged.  I knew quite well why, or at least I had a reasonable premonition as such; yet as I occasionally glanced his direction, his expression was entirely and uncannily indecipherable and foreign to me.  Whatever his exact intent was eluded my ability to accurately deduce.

After the remainder of the petitioners had cleared and I had waved my guards away, Link spoke.  "Zelda, I—"

"Tut, tut, Sir Link."  I waved his greeting away with my gloved hand.  "This is still the petitioning hour; I should expect better manners."

A perplexed grimace overtook his face; it was clear he was uncertain whether to take my interruption as mere quip or true censure.

"Very well," he began, assuming the latter.  "Princess, I have—"

"Correction, actually.  Queen Zelda now.  Knowing the nature of the snowy paths leading to the Ordona Mountains in winter, I presume you, Mayor Link, departed the village before word of my recent coronation would have arrived.  My apologies for not provisioning another means of informing you otherwise."

Link seemed taken aback, clearly now shaken and deterred from his offence.  He twitched slightly as he gazed at me, as a dog trying to comprehend a completely unfamiliar command from its master.

"I don't understand," he finally said.  "Why are you—?"

I allowed a small smile, one not of kindness but out of selfish smugness.  "Because, Sir Link, I am presuming that you are here to petition me for something.  Am I not correct?"  Slowly, he nodded in response.  "Then without regard of what it is you are here to request of me, I need you, Sir, to be duly aware of precisely whom it is you are asking it."  I slowed as I finished, letting my words linger amongst the silence between them.

And yet I hated myself for this charade.  I was still genuinely displeased by Link's last correspondence; the words still burnt freshly in my memory.  Yet simultaneously I knew my weaknesses well, oh so very well.  And Link, my Hero of the Twilight, was such a weakness.  I desired to shower him with compassion, sympathy, and heartfelt kinship, yet to do so would be to lose this key battle of wits.  Were I to yield ever so slightly and dare listen to his plea with kind ears, I would doom myself to defeat in but a minute's time.  He would have me, and I could not afford such a loss.

Nevertheless, my demeanour had effectually given him pause, forcing him to retreat and likely alter his strategy and the exact wording his request.

"Okay," he replied after a long thought, "then here we go.  I wish to become one of your royal knights, to serve and protect... my queen... so long as my life is useful to her."

"Why?" I asked with faux-naïveté.  After all, he had already given a complete explanation for his desires a month ago, but I sought to give him one final chance at redeeming himself in my eyes.  "Why is it you ask for such an honour?"

"Why?  You ask to me why?  Did you not read my letter?  Is that why I barely received an answer?"

"Oh, I read your letter.  To the last word, I read your letter, Sir Link.  Your ennui with the Ordon life, your disconnection with your wife Ilia, your lust for adventure in the fields of Hyrule and beyond, and what I am presuming to be a longing to find passion in my embrace?  Yes, I read your letter."

"Well, there you have it.  My feelings haven't changed.  Not this past month, and I doubt they will any time soon."

I sighed, again with at least half of me in legitimate disgust.  "How dare you!  How dare you say that in such a blasé manner?  How dare you play my heart against your bride's?  How dare you turn your back upon Ilia so soon—no, no, no.  How can you dare to break your marital vow at all?"  My mouth hung open in disbelief as I finally stood up as if to appear more threatening.  "And your responsibility to Ordon, you would abandon it without so much as thinking twice?  Unbelievable!  There are not words fierce enough to describe the sheer audacity of the full weight of this request!

"Dear goddesses, have I failed to see you so erroneously all this time?  I had once believed that you were once a man with bravery, honour, and dignity!  Yet now I see that it was all just a hollow shell all this time:  a pretty exterior with nothing but cowardice, disloyalty, and selfishness festering within!"

"Zelda, I'm not—!"

"No, Link, no.  This is what you are, a shadow of what I believed you to be."

"Zelda."

"And to imagine that there was once a time where I would—"

I froze in mid-sentence, knowing precisely the direction towards which my thoughts had bent.  And though my heart knew my feelings toward Link to be true (and yet, to my chagrin, still were true to some extent), the wound that those words would carve were I to voice them was too severe for comfort.

"But no," I continued, filling in the void.  "No.  The circumstances are different now.  You and I are different now.  Our friendship... our friendship is different now."  My voice faltered a bit as my heart rebelled within me.  "This is over.  Go home."

"Zelda," he said again, "don't send me away like this."

I finally turned toward him again, and for once his eyes weren't gazing imploringly at me.  Now, they were cast downward with sorrow and shame.  I could read in his face a secret shame at being ultimately rejected and being forced to return to a broken life, a life that he had ruined with his own hands.  To his credit, there were no tears, but it would not have taken much to crush what spirit remained intact.

"I think I have no choice but to do so, Sir Link.  I should not... and will not make you a knight.  And moreover, at present, you and I have nothing more to say here to one another."

Saying the words pained me as much as hearing the words pained him.  I kept telling myself that it was for the best for everyone—Link, Ilia, and myself.  He was needed there.  He had to go back to Ordon.  He had to return to his wife.  But I could not get over the fact that, in one fatal stroke, I had slain the only true friendship I had ever known.  I was condemning my friend to an eternally loveless marriage.

And I was sending away the only man I had ever hoped to be with and to love.  Perhaps the only man I could ever love.

Why did it have to be this way?

"Link, go home.  Go home to your wife and your village."

Wordlessly he left.

Epilogue.

The door of my father's house opened.  By the clattering of boots upon the hardwood floor, I knew it was a man.  And since from the sounds it seemed he hadn't dared venture further in than the threshold of the dwelling, I knew it wasn't my father.

It could be only one person to enter as such... and to do so in otherwise so silent a manner.

"Welcome home," I called out dryly from upstairs.

"Hey, Ilia," Link replied.  "Um, do you mind if I come up?"

"That depends, love.  Are you leaving Ordon Village?"

"No, I'm going to be staying.  Forever, like I promised."

Some iota of relief flooded into me.  "And have things changed?"

He paused for a minute, seemingly in reflection.

"Yes."

I almost choked on my breath.  The word took me by surprise.

"... and no," he said.

And it was precisely clear which was which.  My temporary elation deflated.

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"I am too."

"Well then.  Husband, no, you may not come up."

I could hear a sigh of lamentation.

"But I will meet you back at the house," I added.

"I can live with that."

"Not before eventide though.  I'm really not in a state to face you."

"I understand."

"And you've got chores to do."

"Yeah, quite a few actually.  I should get on them."

"Alright."

There was a lull in the conversation as we hesitated to say our goodbyes.  It was silly to do so; it wasn't the final farewell that I had been fearing.

"See you this evening if not before, Link."

"Alright.  Likewise."

The door opened and closed.

"I love you," I said to the emptiness.  I didn't know why I still felt that way, just that I did.  And that it hurt—oh so much—not to hear him say it back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"—and yet no one knows what happened to the Rito people; yet odd as it will sound, of all the tribes, only the Zora actually possess actual artefacts of their existence; you know, feathers, jewellery, and clothing.  So the conclusion has always been that the Zora were actually once the Rito themselves."

"And this is proven history?!"

"Well, it would explain the mystery of why the Zora live atop Hyrule's tallest mountain."

I laughed with a bit of incredulous mirth.  "Master Auru, this is quite unlike you!  This sounds like Shad's wanton speculations instead of a history text."

He sighed in humorous defeat.  "I will acknowledge that I am echoing Master Shad a trifle, young Zelda.  Even if the conclusions appear sound."

I could not help but laugh.  "You two make quite the pair of scholars."

"Many thanks.  Now allow me a curiosity of my own, if you please."

"Surely."

"Please pardon my surprise at this, though I cannot help but curiously wonder, out of all the other possibilities within Castle Town, why it is mine whose company you've sought tonight during such an exquisite Spring Festival."

"Cannot a girl enjoy a simple evening with her old teacher?"

"Such is possible, I must admit, though such isn't your intent given how you are otherwise evading giving a direct answer."

"I am, alas, found out."   I paused briefly before confessing.  "I have a personal question."

"Ask away."

"As I remember, Master Auru, you are not married."

"That is correct."

"How have you managed to be content all these years as such?"

He chuckled casually at my inquisitiveness.  "Certainly you are not thinking of dying an old maid, young Zelda?  I highly doubt that such will be your destiny as well."

"Still, illuminate me."

"Ah, you are not the first to ask me such.  But allow me to say that never once have I claimed to be content as a bachelor.  Surprised?  Yes, yes, I have yearned constantly for a companion in my life but to no avail.  My first love, Caroline, she never loved me in equal measure; instead I endured watching her marry another, and in time my jealousy and heartbreak caused our friendship to dissolve.  The first of many tales of tragedy."

"Ah," I said, letting my sadness show.

"Why do you ask such a question though?  Is it that you found someone you wish to marry but tragically cannot?"

I hesitated.

I gritted by teeth.

I looked into Auru's eyes.

And shook my head.  "No."

And yet every time I thought I had convinced myself, still I knew that it was merely a sweet, little lie.

~*~*~*~*~*~

All I ever wanted out of life was to lead a simple yet happy one.  I wanted a life where I could enjoy the comforts of home in a small cottage in Ordon Village.  I had always dreamt of a husband that cared for and loved me unconditionally and the joy of raising children in the traditions that my father had taught me.  It was a quaint dream but one that would have been full of compassion and peace.  For a moment, I thought all was within my grasp, thought that my dreams were within reach.  How did things go so horribly wrong?

~*~*~*~*~*~

All I ever wanted out of life was to selflessly serve my kingdom with honour and dignity.  During the early years of my reign, my people had repeatedly invited me to share their humbler joys—of family and companionship—with me, and through them I experienced a joy all my own, filling myself with their happiness.  Truly, I never had felt the need to personally partake in those experiences firsthand.  For a moment, I had believed that it would have been enough to do so, that my life was indeed made rich through them.  Why then does my life now seem to be falling apart?

Wistfully yours, my love.

Fin.