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redisaid · 1 year ago

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The World Will Only Darken Without Candlelight - Chapter 1

The Fox and the Bird

Zelda thinks she’s in for a disappointing summer after she learns that she’s failed to get the highly competitive internship she wanted. That means she has to come back home…back to her father’s renaissance faire to be Princess Zelda for yet another year in a row. Only this year isn’t like all the rest, especially not with this weird new knight who's always following her around.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s a Hallmark Channel movie. It’s an episode of Scooby Doo. It’s a modern retelling of Breath of the Wild, but one where everyone works at a kinda shitty renaissance faire.

AKA, in which I fuck up again and start writing a new longfic for a fandom I don't normally write for. Oh, and it's another crackpot modern AU. This will also eventually be Zelink, because I can’t help myself after ToTK.

7040 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Shall we stay inside our shells, As the reaper takes his prey? The world will only darken without candlelight. With you I think I’ll try to get to the other side.

“Purah please. If you’re going to ask me all these questions, can you at least turn the music down?”

Red eyes peered at Zelda over the red rims of her ridiculous glasses. And not at the road. Definitely not at the road.

“Please?” she continued to plead. “And watch the road?”

“University made you so boring,” Purah sighed as she relented, fulfilling both requests by turning down the throbbing bass of her beloved EDM down and looking back to the road just in time to honk at the car in front of her that she’d almost rear-ended.

“I’ve always been rather boring, thank you,” Zelda said in her defense. “And while I appreciate you coming to pick me up, I was hoping to make it home alive.”

“Uh, bad news about that,” Purah said, biting her lip hard enough that Zelda could see it beyond the red streak in her otherwise snow white hair.

“Don’t tell me--”

“--Too late for that,” Purah conceded. “Daddy dearest wants me to bring you straight to rehearsal.”

Zelda groaned, then immediately let out a yelp of surprise as she held onto the handle above Purah’s passenger seat for dear life. Purah was swerving across three lanes of the highway to make the correct exit to get to the castle, and she was making it everyone’s problem.

The castle where Zelda’s father played King over his renaissance festival every summer, and she had been his little Princess Zelda for as long as she could remember. The ruined castle he’d somehow managed to purchase from the historical society decades ago, and had made it his life’s goal to turn into a venue for the ultimate renaissance faire. The best in Central Hyrule, so the newspaper ads always claimed. Really, it was always a sort of thrown together thing, with far more dramatics than polish.

Still, it was good fun, but definitely not how she planned to spend this summer in particular. Not how she had planned to spend any more of her summers ever again, if she could help it.

“He can’t just give me one afternoon?” she asked, even as Purah and her erratic driving had already made the decision for her.

Purah responded to that with as much of a shrug as she could manage while driving. “Apparently not. You know how he gets during the week before.”

“You know he told me he was going to pick me up from the airport? I bet he never had any intention of doing so,” Zelda noted, hugging the backpack that there wasn’t any room for in the trunk close to her chest.

“I, well, uh, I can’t say for certain,” Purah offered to that with a shrug. “He seemed in a hurry when he asked me, so at least I don’t think he planned that. He’s all in a tizzy about this new version of the Champions’ Tournament they’re doing.”

“Urbosa told me about that,” Zelda chimed in. “She said dad hired some new kid who’s really good. But that’s odd Purah, don’t you think? He doesn’t hire new people, especially not to be knights.”

“I mean, he is really good, that new guy,” Purah confirmed and began swinging an invisible sword across the dashboard. “Weird, but good.”

“Purah, no offense meant, but anyone who wants to work at a renaissance faire is weird.”

Purah, with her red-streak in her white hair, obnoxious glasses, little red hatchback that had more bumper stickers than bumper and a trunk so full of cables and costume parts that there was barely room for Zelda’s suitcases in it, just shrugged off this offense.

She’d worked for the faire since before she probably legally should have. This year would no doubt be the same as any other, with her taking charge of getting all the technology up and running--from speakers and lights down to the registers up at the ticket stands and food stalls--but also somehow finding time to create and manage an inventory of increasingly elaborate costumes for the cast. In fact, there had been no room in the backseat for Zelda’s suitcases either, because there was an entire Lynel costume in various states of completion stored there.

Purah shrugged, then offered a biting response, “Not as weird as people born into renaissance faire royalty.”

“Like I’d choose this,” Zelda sighed.

“Speaking of choices, I don’t get it,” Purah said as she turned onto one of Castle Town’s main thoroughfares, honking through her pause at the unfortunate soul who was going too slow in front of her. “I’m assuming you’re here because you didn’t get that internship. Besides me, of course, and maybe Robbie, you’re literally the smartest person I know. Why didn’t they give it to you?”

“I…don’t really know.”

It was an honest statement, maybe the most honest Zelda had been with both Purah and herself since getting into this car.

The director of the internship program had all but assured her that this last round of reviews was a formality. She was a shoe-in, what with her impressive academic credentials and the fact that she aced both rounds of interviews. But the email had come a week before the end of this last semester, saying she had been rejected in favor of more qualified candidates.

Who in all of Hyrule was more qualified than her? She’d worked her entire life to get into this field, with the goal of working for this very program. She’d studied and studied, filled her first three years at Hateno University with an insane course load that would make just about any other student break down into tears. Nevermind that she’d let those tears get the best of her sometimes, but never where anyone could see.

Though she certainly wasn’t proud to admit it, more than a few of those tears were shed that day she got the email. Zelda honestly didn’t remember much of that afternoon. She didn’t want to. She only knew that she managed to call her father in the evening, and he’d booked her a flight home.

Home. Was Castle Town really home anymore? Did she want it to be?

She shook her head to herself, lest she start spiraling in Purah’s car. The passenger’s seat of a cluttered hybrid, with still thrumming bass vibrating her bones, was not exactly the best place for a mental breakdown.

Plus, Zelda had promised herself she wasn’t going to do this. She was just going to have a normal summer. Well, as normal a summer as she could have, working at the renaissance faire yet again.

“You not having anything else to say about it speaks volumes, chatterbox,” Purah noted. “I’m sure your dad didn’t tell you this, so someone’s gotta. You know that you not getting this internship isn’t the end of the world, right? You’re still here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

She reached out to squeeze Zelda’s arm, mostly missing and squeezing her backpack instead, with only two fingers making actual contact with the skin just beneath the sleeve of her blue and white blouse.

“I appreciate it Purah, but I’m fine,” Zelda assured her, back to lying again.

“You’re not fine. You’re almost as quiet as the new guy. And he doesn’t talk,” Purah told her.

“At all?”

Purah shook her head. “Nope. Or at least I’ve never heard him talk. Presumably he can. I know your dad interviewed him somehow. But that’s the whole schtick they’re using for him: The Silent Knight. He either just isn’t chatty to an extreme degree or very committed to the character.”

Zelda sighed, finding herself looking out the window as the city made way, buildings and busy streets alike seeming to step aside, opening up to a view of the ruined castle on the hill.

“It sounds like he fits right in with the rest of the Champions.”

“Revali hates him,” Purah stated.

“Revali hates everyone,” was Zelda’s immediate response.

“That’s very true. But Revali especially hates him because he’s this year’s winner,” Purah pointed out.

“You’re telling me that my father hired some new guy for the Champions’ Tournament, and that he’s making him the winner this year? Purah, you’ve got to be joking,” Zelda said, finally letting go of her vice grip on her backpack to turn fully toward Purah, or as much her seatbelt would allow.

While there had always been a bit of a revolving door of cast members in the Champions’ Tournament--the nightly knight show of jousting and stage combat that had been both the centerpiece and grand finale of every faire day--the honor of “winning” the scripted tournament was passed between her father’s four long-time knights. Mipha would win on feats of grace and compassion or from her deft skills with the spear. Cocky Revali would be handed a scenario where only his superior aim and archery knowledge could pull ahead of the other competitors. Daruk would impress the crowds with his raw strength. Urbosa arguably had the most skill with one on one sword and shield combat of all of them, and would get to show off for her win with a dramatic duel.

But never in the history of the faire had anyone else been allowed to win the scripted tournament.

“Look, I’m as surprised as you are, but I think it’ll be a fun change of pace. Maybe that old coot realized he’s gotta make some changes to keep people coming back year after year,” Purah offered with a shrug.

“That doesn’t sound like my father,” Zelda said, turning back to the view of the castle as the colorful banners and bunting that decorated the ruins joined the picture.

They always dressed the place up nice. She had to admit that. Nevermind that it should have remained in the hands of the historical society to be studied, and not made a spectacle of. But Zelda couldn’t really blame her father, or any of the others who made this faire possible every year. She supposed that was a good enough use of the ruins anyway--celebrating the past, when they were once grand and glorious and not crumbling away brick by brick, year by year.

“I guess he knew this kid’s dad?” Purah continued on. “That probably has something to do with it. He apparently was a knight way back. Maybe you’d remember him?”

“We’ve had so many knights, or at least so many strangers I’ve found passed out on my living room couch one morning and had dad explain to me that they were working for him now,” Zelda told her. “I doubt I’d remember which one of those he was.”

“You should write a book about it. Or get therapy. One or the other,” Purah offered.

“Believe me, I’ve thought about both.”

“There she is. I’ve been missing old sassy Princess Zelda,” Purah said with a grin.

Zelda didn’t bother to stifle the groan that followed. “Please don’t start with the princess stuff. I’m not ready for it.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Purah told her as she pointed to the road, and the fact that they were about to turn into the staff parking lot. “Because we’re here.”

“Shit.”

Zelda was really hoping for at least a day or two of some sort of reprieve. Some time to rot in her childhood bedroom. Well, that was still full of princess-themed decorations and accessories as well, so perhaps it wouldn’t have helped. Maybe she should have just stayed in Hateno--found a summer sublease or something, gotten a shitty summer job that didn’t involve wearing a tiara every day.

But Purah was right. It was too late. She was already here.

“Time to put on your crown, princess,” Purah said with far too much excitement as she turned off into the gravel parking lot at the back of the ruined castle.

---

“Oh good, you’re here.”

These were the first words the man known as “King” Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule had to say to his daughter. His daughter, who had just faced the biggest disappointment in her twenty-one years of life. His one and only daughter, who had come home in hopes of finding some comfort.

“You were going to pick me up,” Zelda reminded him.

“Sorry, princess. Things are very busy here,” Rhoam said as he gestured to the dusty tournament grounds. “I don’t know if Purah told you, but your old man had the bright idea to change the Champions’ Tournament around, so we’ve been stuck in rehearsal for the last week. But things are looking better. Even better now that you’re here to learn your part.”

“Don’t tell me you changed that too?” Zelda wondered.

She’d been doing the same bit since she was a teenager. She could probably recite it verbatim right there and now. In fact, she thought about texting her roommate back at Hateno University to ask if she did the entire scene in her sleep. There was a decent chance she did.

“Just a little,” Rhoam assured her with a wave of his massive hands. Zelda wasn’t sure how she turned out as small as she was, with this giant of a man being her father. “You still do the whole giving them the blessing thing, presenting them with their cloth. We made Link’s a tunic, so I don’t know how we’re gonna have him put it on without there being a big awkward pause for him to do so, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Who is Link?” Zelda asked, though she could already guess it was the new knight, she still wanted her father’s version of the answer.

“Oh right, you haven’t met Link. Well, I don’t know if you remember, but you did when you were little. His dad was one of our knights back in--”

“Father, there were so many of them. I can guarantee you that I don’t remember,” Zelda cut him off, lest he go on an entire journey through the last twenty years of the faire’s history.

“Eh, you were little,” Rhoam offered as an excuse. He scanned the tournament grounds over Zelda’s head, looking for something. “As was he. But he remembers you. Where is that boy anyway? Daruk! Where is Link? We’re starting up again in a minute!”

The massive boulder of a Goron on the field shrugged his answer and kept hammering at an actual boulder, no doubt practicing the same old trick he always did, where he’d break the rock to the raucous cheers of the crowd.

“He’ll turn up,” Rhoam said, turning back to his daughter. “He’s a good lad. Very responsible, at least when he isn’t wandering off to Hylia knows where.”

Zelda found herself scanning the grounds for anyone unfamiliar, but she knew most of the faces scurrying around the arena. Mipha was over watering the horses. Revali was very loudly explaining how great he was to some poor stagehand who also looked vaguely familiar. Urbosa was absent at the moment, and honestly had been the first person Zelda looked for. Purah had joined her sister, the slightly more serious Impa, who acted as the stage manager for most of the faire’s various performances.

“I’m sure he’s great,” Zelda offered. “I was hoping to talk to you before we went straight into the faire, though.”

“About the internship?” Rhoam questioned.

“I don’t know, dad. Maybe you could tell me that it’s going to be fine? That I’ll have another chance in the fall? That just doing my best is good enough?” Zelda asked of him, finding her hands balling into fists she went on.

Truth be told, he’d only offered her his disappointment so far. Just general displeasure and a plane ticket home.

His exact words on that fateful phone call had been, “Well, at least I can have you work the faire again.”

“I…I thought for sure you were getting it,” Rhoam offered. “Your mother was in the same program. Did you tell them that?”

“I’m not her!” Zelda nearly shouted, only holding back due to the openness of the royal box on the grandstand where they stood and the fact that there were at least a dozen people and five horses on the grounds. Zelda swallowed the last word like a bitter pill. This was the same battle she’d been fighting since she was six years old. Since her mother died. “Even if I was, I doubt that would change anything. I didn’t make it. I did everything I could and it wasn’t enough.”

“Well, you’ll just have to apply again in the fall,” Rhoam said, sticking to his guns. “I know you have it in you, princess. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to miss a regular semester for it, but hey, shit happens.”

“Shit does indeed happen,” Zelda told him, knuckles so tight now they were going numb. “I don’t know why I bothered asking what you thought. You’ve already made yourself clear.”

“I’m just worried about your career options, not to mention medical school,” Rhoam told her. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, Zelda. You need to be good scholarship material.”

“Money grows on trees when it’s for the--”

“--Now don’t start with that.”

A shout from the field stopped them from fully getting into it, thankfully.

“Hey little guy! The King wants you!” Daruk yelled at someone.

Zelda turned to find that who she presumed to be this Link character, was indeed a little guy. A Hylian like her, as small as her, maybe even a bit shorter, waved back at Daruk and started jogging up the grandstand stairs. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a wolf tail, and his mud-stained blue t-shirt and ripped jeans spoke of a morning spent practicing. He looked the part of a knight, and certainly of someone who worked at a renaissance faire, but in a very much bite-sized package.

“That’s Link,” Rhoam offered instead of an apology.

“He’s…short,” Zelda noted.

“He makes up for it,” Rhoam assured her. “Link, over here!”

Upon closer inspection, once he reached them, Zelda confirmed that Link was indeed a few inches shorter than her. Not absolutely miniscule, but still not exactly the picture of a tall, handsome knight. He had a certain curiosity sparkling in his blue eyes, and overall wasn’t bad to look at. Just…short.

And, just as Purah had warned her, he greeted them with only a wave.

“Link, this is Zelda. You probably don’t recognize her. You had to be, oh, maybe five? Six? I don’t know. It was a long ass time ago,” Rhoam said as his introduction. “But you said you remembered her.”

Zelda didn’t remember him. Her summers were so full of people. Long time employees acting as surrogate parents, guests fawning over the cute little princess, random vendors giving her ice cream and lemonade just to try to get her to smile again.

The tiniest of smiles lifted the corner of Link’s lips before he seemed to suppress it. His face turned to a stony neutral expression again before he turned to Rhoam and nodded.

“You’ll have to forgive the lad, Zelda. He isn’t much of a talker. But we’re playing that up in the show. He’s going to be the Silent Knight. Good stage name, right?” Rhoam went on.

“Fantastic,” Zelda responded, with purposeful flatness that she hoped her father understood to be a complete lack of enthusiasm for this entire thing.

And for the fact that he thought it was a good idea to have Purah bring her straight to a fucking rehearsal.

“Well, since you’re both here, and I see Urbosa over there, I think we have everyone we need to start again,” Rhoam said as he looked over the tournament grounds again before leaning over the railing to shout, his deep voice echoing over the dusty summer afternoon. “Impa! Get me a script for Zelda. Also say hi to her. And everybody else, places for the Champion’s Blessing scene! We’re doing this again from the top.”

And there it was again. The faire once again won out over her and her needs. Zelda knew it would happen. It did every summer. But still, it would be nice to hear from someone besides Purah that the world wasn’t ending.

It still felt like it was.

Rhoam walked off without another word to start doing what he did best, both directing and making himself the star of the show. Link, at least, offered her a wave goodbye as he turned to head toward the stairs again.

“Hey you! Catch!” came a call from below Zelda.

Which was followed by the fluttering of paper, as a script-shaped missile began flying from Impa’s hand straight toward Zelda’s head.

Only for a hand to reach out and catch it before it could make impact, reacting much faster than Zelda could ever hope to.

Link had turned back around in time to catch the rolled up script, and was presenting it to Zelda as if it were some sort of sacred artifact. He even had his head bowed a little.

As weird as that was, Zelda was grateful not to be smacked in the face with her father’s terrible writing, at least in the literal sense. No one could save her from the figurative smack now.

“Thank you,” she offered. “Oh…wait, um. Hold on, I think I remember.”

She signed for thank you, as no one had taken the time to explain to her why Link didn’t talk. She was left to assume. So she assumed that maybe he was hard of hearing? It was a decent enough guess.

But wait, her father had spoken to him. Link had responded to that. Was he reading lips or did he hear him? Oh well. Either way, she’d already made the sign. No taking it back now.

He lifted his head and smiled his little almost-smile again, but did not sign back. Instead, he offered the script more insistently.

“Right,” Zelda said, trying to summon all of her years of practicing her princessy grace to not inject any further awkwardness into the act of taking the script from his hand.

“Thanks for not letting me bean her, Link,” Impa said as she came up the rest of the stairs to meet them. “Rhoam would have had a fit if I gave her a black eye, even if it was with his shitty writing.”

Link nodded to that and then promptly jogged down the grandstand again. He was rather fast for as short as he was, Zelda had to admit.

“I promise he’s cool,” Impa offered as she followed Zelda’s eyes to him. “Well, as cool as someone who doesn’t talk can be. Anyway, how are you?”

“I could be better,” Zelda admitted.

Purah’s older sister was far more emotionally in tune than her, and had known Zelda longer. There was no point in attempting to hide anything from her. She’d been working as the faire’s stage manager since she was still in high school, after all. And now she was what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?

Zelda could hardly believe her own age, let alone Impa’s. She still felt like the same little girl she so often saw herself as in her dreams, riding on Urbosa’s hip and dripping her ice cream all over the colorful silk of the Gerudo woman’s belly dancer costume.

“Purah told me all about it. I’m sorry things worked out like that, but I’m glad you’re here. Me and the rest of the crew will make sure you still have an amazing summer, even if it’s not the one you wanted to have,” Impa assured her, reaching out to pull her into a quick hug.

“Thanks, Impa.”

At least that much she knew would be true. Her father couldn’t be counted on for much, but Zelda hadn’t given her faire family enough credit. They would definitely make this fun, even on the hottest, most crowded, and most miserable of days. They always did.

Still, it wasn’t what she wanted. Or what her father wanted for her. And, in a rare moment of honesty with herself, Zelda thought for just that moment, that perhaps it was getting harder and harder to reconcile those two things.

“People! I said places! Where is everyone?” Rhoam shouted from the field, as if on cue.

---

And so Zelda found herself in her usual spot, on the circle of stone tiles that had been arranged into a mosaic portraying the Triforce and the old royal seal of Hyrule’s ancient monarchy within it. Her father was nothing if not a stickler for having at least some historical accuracy at the faire, and had gone to great lengths to research and restore what he could of the original grounds. This mosaic and its imagery were among those projects.

Zelda blamed that for her true passion. As great as studying for medical school was, and wanting to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a research doctor, her medical textbooks didn’t quite hold her attention like archeology could. The history, the artifacts, the ruins like those she’d grown up around--Hyrule was full of these little windows into the past, just waiting to reveal answers to questions long forgotten. It was fascinating.

Fascinating enough that she’d managed to make it her minor, even though very few classes overlapped nicely with her pre-med track.

Fascinating enough that, at times, she could almost forgive her father for getting lost in the fantasy version of it.

So she did her best to put on her most regal Princess Zelda face as she read from the script, adding a new blessing for Link to his new storyline.

“Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness. You have shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity, and have proven yourself worthy of the blessing of the Goddess Hylia. Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight--Dad, really? This is so verbose.”

“We’re well past the review or rewrite stage on this, princess. The faire opens this weekend,” Rhoam shouted down from the royal box, where he’d taken up residence again once the scene started.

Zelda rolled her eyes and continued on, “The sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero. We pray for your protection…and we hope that--that you two will grow stronger together, as one.” She had to look up again from that one, addressing her father in confusion, “Wait, him and the sword or…?”

“Pretty sure it’s the sword?” Daruk answered, scratching his head. “Honestly I was lost when Impa was reading this part for you too, kiddo. You reading it doesn't make it make any more sense to me.”

“Yes, it’s the sword! This is all based on the legends of the Hero and the Master Sword. Come on people, you’re supposed to be acting out history. You should know it!” Rhoam complained from above.

“Ancient legends aren’t exactly historical, Rhoam,” Urbosa reminded him, then nodded toward Zelda. “Continue on anyway. We need to get you some sunscreen after this, little bird. The heat is vicious today, even for me.”

Of course she was worried about sunscreen. The Gerudo woman had been the closest thing Zelda had to a mother after her own mother died, but that didn’t mean she had to act like it.

Though yes, the summer sun was quite hot already. It made her dread sweating in the heavy fabric of her usual princess costume all the more, but thankfully, for today, everyone was still in casual clothes.

“Right,” Zelda said, taking a deep breath and reaching out again to hover her hand over Link’s shoulder.

The Silent Knight, for his part, was dutifully bowed and on one knee before her, and hadn’t so much as flinched for all of the disruptions. He was so still that not even a single new wrinkle had been added to his dirty shirt this entire time. Was he wearing cowboy boots under those jeans? Of course he was. Of course…

Zelda shifted her focus back the script in her hand and continued on with the increasingly flowery speech, but was finding herself losing steam over the words. Honestly, she just wanted to go home. She wanted a shower. She wanted to order a pizza from her favorite place in town, eat too much of it to the point of mild regret, and then pass out. She’d been up since six in the morning to make that flight. All for her father to just throw her back into this world without so much as a hug?

Really, why did she bother to come back here?

“Gee, this is uplifting,” she heard Daruk whisper under his breath as she droned on.

“Wasn’t this your idea?” Revali snapped back at him with far less subtlety, but still quiet enough not to stop the scene again. His deep blue Rito feathers spread wide from his wings as he went on, “You’re the one who told Rhoam to add all this pomp and ceremony and nonsense to this scene! And if you ask me, the whole thing does seem to be overkill. Really, who in our audience is going to care all that much about this boy?”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Urbosa quietly scolded him as she pushed her long red ponytail off of her shoulder. “That boy has been getting more attention from her father than she ever does. Well, at least she’ll find out soon enough.”

Great. Another thing to look forward to dealing with this summer. And for the other knights to be worried about her for it. Zelda really wanted that shower and pizza more than anything else right now.

But when the words on the page ran out, and her name no longer appeared on the script, Zelda couldn’t help but look down at him. At this Link.

He was just a kid. Well, not really. He had to be at least as old as her, if she was supposed to remember him that is. But he was scrawny and small. Honestly barely believable for winning a tournament over the likes of the other Champions. Sure, the audience loves an underdog, she could almost hear her father saying as much now--but really, this kid?

Zelda, of course, knew the legends her father was referencing in that lengthy speech of hers. They were where her name came from, after all. They were her favorite bedtime stories, back when she was young. Back when things were still okay, before her mother died.

But they were just stories. Stories that were mostly the same, but slightly different in each iteration. There was always a Hero, some bright young man with unmatched courage. He always found or was given some sort of magical sword. It talked to him in some of the stories, shot magical beams of light in others, or sometimes just emitted a soft glow in the presence of evil. And he always saved a princess named Zelda from some evil monster or corrupt king. Every time.

Only Zelda was pretty sure she didn’t want or need saving. Much less from some odd young man who didn’t even have the courage to say hello to her.

Some hero he made.

---

The following day--exactly one late night hot shower and an amount of pizza that Zelda wasn’t proud of later--the temperature was even hotter and the sun somehow even brighter. Her father, in all his kingly compassion and good judgment, had decided that this was the perfect day to impose a full dress rehearsal and costume review on the entire staff.

“No different from last year,” Purah informed her as she inspected her from the blessed air conditioning of the ladies’ dressing rooms. “You haven’t changed a bit, and the dress is still in good shape. Thanks for making my job easy.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Zelda noted as she adjusted the flowing bell sleeves of her princess dress, trying to think of any other reason to delay stepping out into the heat in this ridiculous thing.

But it was no use. She’d be wearing this dress all summer, regardless of the temperature. Purah had made her another outfit a few years back with some leggings instead of the heavy skirts. It was a little better, but she could only get away with that one on days where her father was too distracted to disapprove. He didn’t think it was “princessy” enough, and wouldn’t take her insisting that the leggings were historically accurate fashion for Hylian nobility of the time period for an answer.

“I still have the pants version, you know. I don’t see why daddy dearest doesn’t let you at least do walkarounds in that,” Purah noted with a little frown as she looked Zelda up and down one last time.

She herself was in her full Sheikah getup, honoring her people’s heritage with a sort of pale gray robe that covered most of the red leggings and bodysuit she wore underneath. Unlike her older sister, she didn’t opt for the Sheikah eye symbol painted on her face, but she also had less of a chance of being seen “on stage”.

Honestly, it was all so ridiculous. Her father treated the entire faire as a theater production, or a theme park that warranted a much more expensive ticket price than they could ever hope to ask for. Referring to employee only areas as backstage, calling said employees cast or actors, forcing even the third party vendors to dress up in period clothes--it was all just overkill for what amounted to a pretty average regional renaissance festival.

But there was no telling that to the King.

“Remind me in a few weeks and I’ll see if I can get away with it,” Zelda said. She peered in the mirror of a nearby vanity and adjusted her tiara a bit. “For now, I think I’m stuck in this thing.”

“Sure thing,” Purah nodded, but then moved to step in front of her before she could leave. “Check it there a second. I’m putting us on TikTok this year, and I want to show the people your fit.”

“Purah, I understood about half of the words that left your mouth just now,” Zelda informed her.

Purah, however, was too busy pulling out her phone and grinning at the screen. “Look princessy.”

“That’s been my job since I was six years old.”

“Okay good, so do it.”

Zelda let out a brief sigh, but did her best to pose for whatever Purah was asking of her.

“Now turn or spin or something,” Purah said. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what TikTok is. You’re my age.”

“I’m usually too busy studying to mess around with social media,” Zelda said, repeating an excuse she told her fellow students so often that it was nearly as ingrained into her head as her speech for the Champions’ Tournament.

“That’s a lie. I follow you on Insta, you know. You take really pretty pictures. Boring, but pretty. Now spin,” Purah demanded.

Zelda knew she wasn’t getting out of here without a spin, so she spun. The action made her smile, remembering how she’d spin around with all the little girls who would come to the faire in their princess dresses. They were so excited to see her year after year, even after they grew out of those little dress-up princess costumes themselves.

Still, Zelda could always make guests like them smile. And maybe that was worth sweating in royal blue velvet all day.

“I still have the faire’s Instagram account,” Zelda realized as she finished her spin. “I should probably start posting on it.”

“I’m surprised you dad didn’t ask you to,” Purah noted, tapping on her phone with a little grin that told Zelda she must be satisfied with the footage.

“He still thinks the key to success is advertising in the newspapers, so I don’t think he knows enough to ask. Better it stays that way,” Zelda concluded. “Now, do I have permission to leave?”

Purah was still too busy smirking at her phone. “I’m gonna add so many sparkles to you.”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Zelda responded and walked around Purah with no further resistance.

She gathered her own phone from her locker on the way out. Of course, there were no phones allowed on stage when there were guests at the faire, but the rule would not be enforced for the next few dress rehearsal days. It would be a great time for getting enough shots to fill up all the social media accounts for the rest of the summer. That meant a lot of pictures to be taken on top of all of the other wrangling her father expected her to do. But luckily for her, photography was Zelda’s second passion after archeology.

And doubly-lucky, her dress had pockets.

She loved a dress with pockets.

“I’ll head for Goron City first,” she announced to herself as she exited the dressing rooms. “Daruk will no doubt need some help getting his booth in order.”

She had a bad habit of talking to herself. She liked talking. It helped her organize her thoughts. And it wasn’t problematic if no one was around to hear her.

It was only when she’d rambled her way through the end of that second sentence that she noticed her footsteps were echoing. But that wasn’t possible? The crunch of the gravel was definitely bouncing off something. But there were only cloth tents, the gravel pathway, and the trailer that made up the dressing room behind her. Nothing to echo off of, unless…

Zelda stopped and turned, only to find that Link had stopped with her, and remained about five steps back from her.

He was decked out in his Champion’s garb. Her father had decided to scrap the gifting of the cloth to the Champions from the main show and just have them wear the tokens of Princess Zelda’s favor with their regular Champion costumes. Pretty much the entirety of Link’s costume was that token--a tunic of a slightly brighter shade of her royal blue, embroidered in white with his symbol, which was that of the legendary sword.

All very extra, as Purah might say.

The causal knightley look was completed with various belts and pouches. Of course, attached to one that was slung from shoulder to waist on him was a massive purple and gold scabbard, in which his prop sword sat--peace-knotted of course.

It would only come out of that scabbard for the tournament, of course. Zelda had yet to see what he could do with, as the previous afternoon’s rehearsal focused entirely on the opening ceremonies and not on any of the actual stage combat, but apparently even Urbosa was impressed with him, so he had to be decent.

“Hello Link,” she said as she looked him over. “Your costume fits you well. I see Purah’s been hard at work.”

He nodded to this, blue eyes earnest and expression neutral. Not even offering a hint of his opinion on the matter.

Well, that was going to take some getting used to. Especially if he kept just…staring at her like that.

“I suppose I’ll see you at show rehearsal in a bit. I’m going to check on some things and take some pictures for the faire’s Instagram,” Zelda explained, pulling her phone out of her pocket to wiggle it in evidence and waiting for him to give her some sort of sign that she could politely exit this one-sided conversation.

Link nodded again.

The awkwardness of his silence might kill her, if the summer heat and her own anxieties didn’t beat him to it.

Zelda decided that was enough and she could leave, only to hear the dual crunching of gravel yet again.

She stopped.

Link stopped with her.

“Are you…following me?” she asked, barely turning her head enough to be able to see him from the corner of her eye.

Link’s expression changed, only for the briefest of moments again. A look of concern passed his face for half a second, bending his eyebrows slightly downward and scrunching his nose, but it all smoothed back to neutral again.

He nodded.

Zelda turned to face him, not bothering to conceal her annoyance this time. “Let me guess, my father asked you to keep an eye on me? To make sure that I was doing what he asked?”

Link seemed to think about this one for a moment before he nodded again.

Zelda sighed. She wasn’t getting paid enough for this. Actually she wasn’t really getting paid at all. Her father had decided that instead of giving her wages for her work at the faire, that he’d put them into a bank account he would use to help with her tuition. And while she appreciated that, and had been able to save herself from taking much in the way of student loans for it, it wasn’t all that satisfying to have nothing in her own bank account to show for all this work.

She found herself pinching the bridge of her nose. This wouldn’t be the first time her father had assigned one of his employees to keep tabs on her. That had actually been Impa’s first job, but she’d been reassigned to stage management after Zelda became too good at evading her.

But Link. Link didn’t talk. Link couldn’t be distracted with a conversation. Link was new to the faire and didn’t have a friend she could foist him off on.

She was quite possibly stuck with him for at least the rest of rehearsal week.

“Well, come on then,” Zelda said, turning back to head for Daruk’s blacksmith shop. It was set up on the northeastern side of the grounds.

She didn’t look back.

Link, as he would continue to do without fail for the rest of the day, followed without complaint.

#zelda #breath of the wild #zelink #fanfic #the world will only darken without candlelight #i will come to regret how long that title is for sure #are we going to retell every single memory and then have link speedrun botw at the end?#you betcha

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