Chapter Text
rumor one: Princess Zelda is many things, among them she has been described as prudish and exacting, uncaring and unfeeling for her people, and solely motivated by the affairs of herself and her family. Or, as Midna put it once, “kinda prissy.”
Link stumbled forward, his feet barely catching underneath him as he leaned against a tall oak tree. When he finally gathered the strength to push away from the bark with a rough shove, he grimaced. There was a smear of red he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. He was sure that without Midna, there would have been a similar trail behind him.
“It’s just a little farther.”
Her voice was warm, encouraging in his ear. Her rare kindness inspired an unwitting kind of fear in him. He must have been in worse shape than he thought.
He set his mouth into a thin line and urged his exhausted body further, even as every step felt impossible. Dusk was giving way to night, and it was harder to see with each movement. His feet were worn stubs, aching under his weight. His thighs burned from effort, sweat dripped down every part of his body, intermingling with the soot and blood on his skin, gathering in horrific globules on the torn threads of his tunic. He just wanted to take his clothes off. To bandage himself. To sit.
“Oh, stop whining,” Midna hissed. Link looked up in time to see her rolling her eyes, impish hand on her hip, jutted out in careless attitude. It was rude, annoying, and comforting, somehow. Perhaps he has simply been exaggerating his injuries, getting lost in the distraction of pain.
“I haven’t even said anything,” Link grumbled, shooting her a heatless glare as he winced, grasping his thigh when he stumbled. The unexpected jolt sent nauseating waves of pain up from his middle through his entire chest and to the very tip of his ears. Link could feel his heartbeat in the tips of his ears.
Thump, thump. Reminding him that he needed to pay more careful attention to his feet, watch where he was going before an errant root sent him tumbling; it would be the final saddlebag on the horse’s back, and if he fell, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand again.
“I can hear you complaining from over here,” she groused. “You’ll only be able to think about the pain with the way you’re carrying on. And it is a little bit, but we’ve still a ways to go before we’re fully safe to rest.”
She was right. Link knew she was right. Still, he couldn’t help the hiss that escaped from between his teeth as he stepped into a hidden foxhole, aggravating the wicked cut along his thigh.
“Din’s fire,” he muttered before righting himself. When he saw Midna’s expression, his irritation grew. She was acting like he was doing it on purpose!
“What do you want me to say?” Link asked. “Want me to apologize? Say ‘I’m sorry’?”
“Well, why would I want you to say it when you clearly don’t mean it? You certainly don’t sound very sorry,” she said sardonically, floating around his head to peer at him from a new angle.
Midna was always doing that, inspecting him in an entirely privacy-dismissing fashion. She had no problem just staring. It was eerie, how he felt she could read him, understand him in a way no one else could.
Link pressed his lips tightly together as he stumbled forward. She wouldn’t understand, would she? How could one blessed with the gift of flight begin to understand the sharp feeling that came with walking while injured, each step as if a blade was scraping lengthwise across his bone.
“You need to focus on the mission.”
Link stopped in his surprise, blinking twice as he looked at her. And, yes, she was serious. He could hardly believe it.
“I am focused,” he replied, a note of disbelief in his voice.
“Yes, of course you are, Link,” Midna said, that annoying bit of sarcasm not leaving her words for a second. “That’s why you took a blade to the hip.” She floated behind him. “And the back. And your thighs. And–”
He twisted around to glare at her, eyes blazing. For a moment, neither of them spoke. His hands were shaking. His entire body was thrumming with the absence of whatever fuel the goddess had given him for battle. Link always felt terrible after, like he did before he caught a cold, but the sniffles never came. The shakes, however, never left.
He wasn’t sure if he had fallen or just decided to sit down quickly, but his body began to fall, and any attempts to recover from the move failed as Link landed in a huff. If Midna noticed – and Link was sure she had – she didn’t say anything. Link watched in awe as she inspected the grove before she settled in quietly, mumbling how it wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now.
Link ignored her in favor of doing something to stanch the long jagged lines of red down his left thigh and lessen the burning that stretched around his middle and up his back. The first order was to remove his tunic and pants, a horrifically painful task that Link grimaced and groaned through. Midna, thankfully, said nothing.
Sitting in his shorts, he winced, getting a better look at himself. Torn skin, deep, painful cuts, bruises, and welts deeper and darker than he’d ever experienced from his time recklessly running about on the farm. Tears burst into his eyes and he sniffled, suddenly desperate for pumpkin soup, Uli’s hugs, the smell of Rusl’s pipe, Colin’s little…
Link used his elbow to wipe his face and sniffed, steeling himself for what came next. He was getting used to doing what he had to do, and that was all there was to do. He used a bit of water to clean the worst spots and bandaged the rest, cutting up his oldest shirt when he ran out of bandages. Link told himself Uli would understand, and he made sure to save the collar and return it to his pack, running a reverent finger over the embroidered “L” before he tucked it away for safekeeping.
When he was finished, he adjusted himself with shaky hands, propping himself against the base of a tree. He felt weak. Exhausted and sick. It smelled like rain. His eyes burned as he leaned back against the bark, nestled securely between two large roots, and stared up at the leaf-laden boughs.
He faintly noted that this particular tree was an ash-barked maple.
The edges of the leaves were just starting to dip into a luminous gold. It was the season of change, and everything was. Even Link. And he was beginning to worry that nothing would be the same again. Not even him. But then again, how could it? How could any of them return to the people they were before?
A cold wind picked up, and he hurried to fish his cloak from his pack, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling it tight. Midna was finally finished pretending to ignore him, as if she were wholly focused on scouting the nearby area for their safety. Link was sure her concern was genuine, and in truth, he was grateful for the charade. She was leaving him alone, and he had no desire to further revisit the source of his terror and stress.
She was looking at him now, staring again; he could feel her eyes on his wrappings, could sense she could see them even beneath his cloak. Probably judging how poorly constructed they were. Or how ill-fitting. Or how slow he’d been. But she said nothing when she came closer. He raised a brow when she pushed some jerky and nuts from his pack at him.
His stomach soured, nausea rose in his throat, and he pushed the offering away. She pushed it back. Insisting. Stubborn. Like always. He sighed, with a huff, and took it.
“You’ll need your strength,” she said kindly. “If you’re going to make it through this upcoming battle.”
“Fine,” Link grumbled, ripping a chunk of venison jerky with his teeth. “But can we just… talk about anything else?” He could see her immediately open her mouth, so he interjected again. “Just for tonight.”
She sighed. Then, miraculously, she nodded.
“Fine. I suppose I can… try and distract you. What do you want to talk about? Ordon? Missing the pumpkins, are you, country boy?”
Link winced. “Not Ordon.”
Silence overtook their camp, the only noise the cries of insects greeting the night and the crackle and pop of a distant thunderhead, warning of its impending arrival.
“You know,” Midna said coyly, and Link could tell she was about to tease him. He steeled himself. “You’re about as whiny as I hear the Hylian princess is.”
“Don’t talk about her like that,” Link snapped. Then he blinked. They both seemed equally surprised, but Midna recovered first.
“Why?” She asked, floating closer as she rolled her eyes. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’ll stop helping you.”
They both knew it wasn’t true.
Still, it was the first time he’d threatened that. It was always her who wasn’t allowed to care. About Hyrule, about Princess Zelda, about any of it. Link had to. She didn’t. It was their dynamic, for better or worse. Midna raised a brow, inspecting him closer. Again, Link got that feeling that she could read him more easily than anyone else. He shifted and ignored her gaze.
“You take it too sensitively, boy,” she said finally, shaking her head, and she tutted. “You should learn I don’t mean anything by it.”
Link grunted once, moving to pull his less-injured leg up to his chest. After a moment, the curiosity picking at the back of his mind won out.
“What else have you heard about the princess?”
Midna’s wide eyes watched him. Link looked at the mud beneath his toes. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks.
“What have you heard?”
He hated it when she turned his questions back on him.
“Nothing much interesting,” he said, finally. He’d answer her, just to get one of his own. “They say she’s beautiful enough to make grown men cry.”
“Is that what they say?”
She seemed amused. And rightfully so. No, it was not all Link had heard about the princess, but the other things seemed too harsh, too mean to repeat. He wasn’t sure they were true anyhow. Just bitter words on bitter tongues, brought on by bitter times. It was all outside their control anyway, wasn’t it? Link couldn’t fault them for their resentment of their fates, not when he was on the edge of cursing the goddesses daily.
Midna snorted, a loud bruttish noise.
Link shook his head. “Never mind,” he grumbled, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as he settled down into the roots.
“Is that what they say or is that what you thought?” she continued, chuckling to herself. “Oh, c’mon. You’ve barely spoken and you’re already in love with her! Even you have to admit that’s… precious.”
“‘m not in love with her,” Link grumbled, picking up a rock that was causing an ache under his thigh and throwing it hard into the distance.
“Sure.” She said simply. “Well. You want to know what I’ve heard about your princess?”
He could tell by her tone that she was amused by him. Still, there was a pregnant pause as he waited.
“I’ve heard lots of things,” she said lightly. So had he. Link watched her amber eyes with interest. “Mostly, people say that she’s a little prissy. Is that what you wanted to know?”
He shook his head and scoffed. “Not particularly.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Fear not, Link. I won’t besmirch the image of your frost princess.”
He kicked a rock away. “You’re annoying tonight.”
“And you’re whiny.”
“I’m in pain.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“After a valiant battle, might I add,” Link grumbled.
“Mhmm.”
“And I haven’t even complained once, so I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Not about the pain, no,” Midna acquiesced. “But I could tell, walking here, that you were ready to give up. And even now, I can hear all your complain-y thoughts.”
Link stared at the mud.
“My legs hurt too much; I’m tired,” she continued, this time in a falsetto. “The jerky is too bland. My home is too far away. All the people I care about are in danger.”
Link stilled as she grew closer to the truth.
“The princess is too beautiful.”
“I never said that,” he barked a laugh, shaking his head.
It seemed to be enough of a win for Midna, her mouth widening into a smirk. “And yet, can you say it’s untrue?”
“You’re in rare form tonight, you know that?”
She shrugged.
Silence reigned again, although this time Link slowly munched at his rations, sipped at his canteen. Eventually, Link’s leg stopped throbbing long enough that he could muster the effort to lie down, although he regretted it with every movement that brought shooting pain that blurred his vision.
He wiped the wetness from his eyes and sighed, smiling a bit when he felt a familiar presence at his back. They never spoke of it, but they were always there for each other. He was never more grateful for it than now, when he felt so lightheaded and weak he was sure he’d pass out any second.
“Midna?”
“Yeah, Link?”
“Why’d you bring up the princess?”
He heard the imp scoff.
“It was the quickest way to get you to stop thinking about yourself and bellyaching about your pain,” she finally said.
“Oh.”
After a moment, he spoke again.
“Did you mean what you said? About her being… prissy?”
He wasn’t even sure if he knew what that meant.
“Of course.” Her tone was too light.
“Midna.”
“Link.”
He sighed.
“What do you want me to say, Link? Princesses are prissy. They are all… entitled, little fools. They can’t help it. That’s just the way they are.”
He sighed again. “I can’t believe that’s true at all.”
“Can’t you?”
He thought for a moment, but he was sure. “No, I can’t.” Sleep was pulling at his eyes, and he let them drift closed. “Everything I know about princesses would suggest they are dedicated. Even to a fault.”
If he was lucky, he could catch an hour or two of sleep before they needed to keep moving. Even a quarter hour would do him good.
“Goodnight, Midna.”
“Sweet dreams, Link.” Her words held a different tenor, one he didn’t recognize, but the gentle hand on his shoulder, tucking his cloak under his chin, was familiar. “Maybe you can kiss her royal prissness in your sleep.”
She didn’t say what they were both thinking: that it would only happen in his dreams.
But still, Link found himself smiling as he pulled the cloak tighter and snuggled into the slight warmth from the imp at his back. He could rest now while Midna took watch. It was all so hard. And he hurt. But at least he had Midna.
At least he’d always have Midna.