#omg i forgot the read more after post hfhd

[syilcawrites]

a/n: hi I’m alive and I wrote this bc of a prompt that @zelink-prompts​ put out!! I thought it’d be a fun little exercise for tonight! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so I’ve been wanting to get something out ehe. Here’s to posting at 2 AM (I apologize in advance for any typos)! Hope you enjoy!

summary: [Pre-Calamity] It’s Zelda’s 16th birthday and King Rhoam decides to throw a lavish masquerade ball in celebration. Zelda is not happy (when is she ever happy pre-calamity ;-;)

ao3

a party of floating eyes

“I just simply—” Zelda grunts and winces as Impa tightens the corset around her waist, “—simply do not understand why this is such a necessary tradition!” Her fingers dig into the fabric of her vanity chair with enough force to chip her nails.

“Your Highness,” Impa starts, tying the lace, “if we start straying from such traditions, the people will begin to worry.”

Her frown deepens—she knows Impa is right, but every second she spends lolling around with trivial palace affairs, she can feel her precious time slipping away from her.

“Besides,” Impa continues, pulling Zelda’s hair back and smoothing it out, “you’ll be turning sixteen—your birthday has always been a big celebration.” 

Zelda straightens her back out, squirming uncomfortably under the tightness constricting her waist. “Well, if people cared so much about me, I wish they’d let me spend my birthday as I please,” Zelda grumbles, picking up the black, lacy mask that sits on her chair before plopping down onto the cushion. She crosses her arms, staring at her reflection with tinged annoyance.

“I know, I know.” Impa laughs softly. “Just try to focus on all the possibilities that will open up to you once you do hit sixteen though,” she encourages. “Besides, doing this will let the people know that we have everything under control. The less worried they are, the less chaotic the future will be.”

“But everything’s not okay,” Zelda sighs out, rubbing her temples. “I have yet to unlock—”

“You still have the Spring of Wisdom to go to next year. Don’t jump to conclusions, Your Highness,” Impa rebukes quickly. Her fingers work quickly through Zelda’s hair as she begins braiding down her back. “And we shouldn’t give up on the Shrine of Power and Courage, no?”

 Zelda remains quiet.

Of all the things she could be doing to prevent a catastrophe, she has to attend another cursed ball. A celebration for her birthday is far from something she wants.

“Only one night,” Zelda mutters, lightly slapping her cheeks. If she dutifully plays along with her father’s antics, perhaps he will ease his expressions of disappointment toward her.

“A little bit of hair here…” Impa tugs out strands of Zelda’s hair to frame her face. “There! You look lovely,” she says with satisfaction as she places her hands on her hips. Zelda flits her gaze away from her reflection against the mirror to her ajar bedroom window. She can already hear the sound of carriages bumping along the roads and the neighs of the horses resounding through the dark night.

“He’ll be there, won’t he?” The corset feels even more constricting when she thinks about him. That boy . She has to keep up—she cannot afford to fall behind any further than she already has.

“The young knight?” Impa inquires, squinting her eyes in thought as she maneuvers around Zelda to look inside her jewelry box. “I believe he’ll be patrolling the castle grounds.” Zelda relaxes her shoulders as she stares at Impa’s back. “Zelda. You shouldn’t avoid him. You know that you will have to cooperate with him in the future.”

“I’m not.” The lie feels sharper against her tongue than Impa’s gaze. “I’m not avoiding him. I was just… curious.” A half-truth is better than none. Zelda toys with the black ribbon straps of her mask, picking at an unraveling thread. She lifts the mask up to her eyes and tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Zelda has many masks, and adding another one is harmless.

  ——————————————————————

Be graceful. Be elegant. Be poised.

-

Don’t blink too often. Don’t eat too much. Don’t laugh too loudly and never laugh without a hand over your mouth.

 -

Zelda sneakily picks at the piece of bread that Impa had snuck to her earlier, nibbling on it in between greetings and returning plastic smiles—but the music. The music is irritating Zelda. There’s an instrument out of tune—a violin, maybe—and every time the bow strokes the A string it lets out a glaringly out-of-tune high-pitched squeal.

The only good it does is mask the growls of her stomach. She is starving, but starving is something that she has grown familiar with. Starving for food, starving for affection, starving for power, starving for—

“Your Highness?”

Zelda immediately hides the piece of bread behind her back and glances up at the soft voice. A Zoran who resembles that of a Fuschia flower—Princess Mipha, wasn’t it? If she recalls correctly, Mipha is one of the candidates for the Divine Beasts.

“A-A gift,” she continues, her cheeks tinted pink. “For your 16th birthday.” She holds a palm-sized box out to Zelda—baby blue with a white ribbon.

Zelda blinks at it for a moment, a bit dazed. No one has ever really handed her a gift-wrapped present before. Most of the guests have been handing them to her father—extravagant gifts that were mostly catered to him anyway—and now there is a gift for her here, directly being handed to her. They’ve only spoken to each other once, during Zelda’s mother’s funeral. Aside from that, whenever they had the pleasure of being in one another’s company, they acknowledged each other.

“Thank you,” Zelda says stiffly, accepting it with her free hand as she stares down at it. She brushes a thumb over the smooth surface of the box. Zelda sneaks a glance at her father, who is busy talking to another guest. She stuffs the bread in her mouth—earning a wide-eyed look from Mipha. “Pardon me, I haven’t eaten all day,” she admits sheepishly, gulping it down quickly. 

“Oh dear, you haven’t eaten at all?” Mipha almost gasps, her expression strung up in worry. Zelda waves her hand at her and shakes her head.

“I’m sure the last guests will arrive soon.” She holds the box with both hands now. “Is it alright if I open it up now?” Zelda asks, lowering her voice a little. A warm smile spreads across her face. She nods.

Zelda tugs the ends of the ribbon—it slips out of the knot easily—and lifts the lid. The object sits comfortably against a red velvet cushion: a stained glass flower. Zelda lifts it up slightly up in the air—an array of colors dance across Mipha’s face as she views her through the glass.

“I’ve recently taken up glass welding,” Mipha says quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’ve heard that you’re currently researching an endangered species of flora. Although this won’t particularly aid in your research… I apologize…” she trails off, sounding faint.

“It’s beautiful!” Zelda clasps her hands over Mipha’s. “This is the best gift I’ve received today, there’s no need to apologize.” A smile breaks across Zelda’s face. A handmade gift? For her? A recreation of the Silent Princess at that! She tries her best to keep the excitement from brimming out of her voice. “It’s lovely, Princess Mipha. Thank you.” She clears her throat as she catches her father staring at her from the corner of her eyes.

“I’m grateful that you like it, Princess Zelda.” Mipha beams happiness, with a look of relief. She glances at the entrance—and does a double-take.

“Oh, please, enjoy the celebration and the food.” Zelda gestures to the ballroom, sitting back down. “We’ve cooked our finest dishes.” Food that she wishes she could eat herself, but she has to stand at the entrance with her father because he won’t let her get up until everyone has come through the door.

Mipha curtseys—she has always been so elegant—as she wishes Zelda a year of happiness, before quickly hurrying to the door. 

Zelda follows her trail, and watches her happily clasp the hands of—Zelda involuntarily scrunches her nose at the sight that she sees before her. Impa had told her he was patrolling outside on the castle grounds. Why in Hylia’s name is he inside the ballroom?

“Zelda, I would advise against raising your voice like that. People are watching.” Her father’s voice isn’t unkind, but chastising. She hates it.

She looks down at her dress, to straighten out the wrinkles of the dark blue ballgown. The sheer fabric has been irritating her the entire night, and she’s almost positive that she’s lost a diamond droplet or two that had been sewn onto the dress. “Father,” Zelda whispers, glancing at him. “This feels like a waste—”

“It is important to remain friendly with our diplomats. You know this. Especially with the prophecy—we must remain united with the others.”

Well, it wouldn’t matter if they were united or not if she couldn’t unlock her sacred power. She’d rather spend her birthday standing in the water of a Spring than next to her father.

“Just do as I say tonight for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

She balls her hands into a fist, scrunching up the skirt of her dress as she does so. “All I ever do—”

“Your Majesty!”

Her voice gets drowned out by the incoming guests, and she is soon tossed into the shadow of her father once more.

  ——————————————————————

Zelda makes sure to stay across the ballroom from Link—it’s easy to do so, considering how much he sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s easy enough to avoid a stranger—the lack of familiarity makes the task simple.

“A drink, Your Highness?” a passing maid asks, lowering the metal tray for her.

“So much for a masquerade, you can recognize me from a mile away can’t you?” Zelda murmurs lightly, grabbing a strawberry pink drink.

“Your beauty is unmatched. It’s hard not to notice you,” the maid says kindly as she bows her head.

Zelda lets out an uneasy laugh—compliments never sit comfortably with her. “Well, thank—”

“His Majesty would like to formally introduce a faithful knight of the Hyrule Kingdom, who has proven his worth and skill at the young age of ten,” the Court Poet announces, ceasing side conversations down to a murmur.

Her father—looking rosy-cheeked and kind, as he always is in front of guests—ushers the knight out of the crowd, and into the middle of the room with him. “This young man has risen through the ranks and proved his devotion in keeping peace within our lands at a very young age, and even the Goddess Hylia has blessed him—Link, the Knight who has drawn the Sword that Seals Darkness.” Her father’s voice is nothing short of impressive. He’s able to cease conversations within seconds, by the strength of his voice and presence. Zelda quirks an eyebrow up as she stands on her tiptoes to see above the sea of heads—a very stiff-looking boy standing next to a large, bulky man who is taller by half his height is quite a scene to see. “He will fight alongside my dear beloved daughter Zelda, to maintain this peaceful, prosperous time.” 

Eyes shift to her—black and beady behind the masks they adorn. Zelda grits her teeth as she bows into a deep curtsey.

 -

One… two… three…

 -

She straightens her posture and clasps her hands in front of her gingerly. As long as she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, she’ll be fine. Just smile.

Zelda tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Coos of oh’s and ah’s reverberate off the walls of the ballroom, shaking her to her bones as they clap.

“To commemorate, the Hero and the Goddess-blood Princess will offer the first formal dance of the night,” the Court Poet announces loudly, spotting her almost immediately.

Her smile drops from her face, and she methodically shifts her narrowed eyes to Link.

He stands as stiff as a board.

She takes long, brisk steps to the center of the room.

 -

Be graceful, elegant, poised.

 -

Do not look into their restless eyes, because they will worm their way through the black of her irises and find out she is a Goddess-blood Princess who has been abandoned by their savior.

 -

Zelda stares at the creases between his eyebrows as she approaches him—they’re one step away from bumping noses.

He places a hand on her waist, but it mostly hovers over her, like he’s afraid he’ll burn himself if he gets closer. Zelda places one hand on his shoulder. His other hand floats in the air, unsure. She grabs it hesitantly, and settles to look at his lips instead: pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t want to be here, either.

The music starts jarringly, like the morning bell that rings at six in the morning. The violin is still a pitch to high—why hasn’t anyone noticed it yet? Not even the conductor?

Zelda digs her nails into his shoulder as they move—the brush of wind that follows their movements eases the anger that has risen in her.

“Just do as I say tonight, for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

And dancing with the boy who has fulfilled his part of prophecy will help complete hers?

They miss a beat—he steps in at the same time she does, and her forehead almost smacks against his. Zelda almost trips over the skirt of her dress as he accidentally steps on her foot.

She glances up at him—his mask is simple, but it’s as light as starlight and makes her squint a little. Her eyebrows furrow together. It doesn’t last long once she remembers the hundreds of eyes that watch their every movement.

But then he does it again.

Zelda sucks in a sharp breath. “You do know that there is plenty of space for you to step upon aside from my feet, right?” she murmurs between her teeth, making sure her smile is still plastered on her face. The edge of his ears flushes red.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a brief, apologetic smile. There’s a finality to his voice that makes her tilt her head in curiosity.

He steps on her toes again.

Zelda’s mouth twitches—she bites her tongue to distract herself from the pain shooting up her foot. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

His ears turn a shade darker.

A small sigh escapes between her lips. She straightens her back and tightens her grip on his hand. “Keep your eyes down and follow my feet.” She repositions her other hand to rest more securely on his shoulder. She would prefer not to have a mouthful from her father for messing up the first formal dance of the ball.

Their eyes catch—vibrantly blue and innocent. He nods. 

Even though he concentrates on the pattern of her feet lilting across the marble floor, he still brushes against her heels. She glances up at him—beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he concentrates on their feet, with the tip of his tongue sticking out ever so slightly.

Zelda swallows back the giggle bubbling up her throat.

“Hm, think of it as… sword fighting practice, maybe? There’s formation in that is there not?” Zelda inquires. A good knight must be efficient at their footwork, or else they’d stumble over during a fight and fall. “Try to be light on your feet like when you’re fighting.”

“Like fighting,” he echoes, his face lighting up at her suggestion—she feels the tension chip away from his shoulders as they make their rounds, passing by the ambassadors and royalty encircling them. 

Zelda keeps her voice low: “Left, back, right…” she instructs him quietly, as her own shoulders relax at his slight improvement. At least he isn’t stepping on her anymore. The music becomes tolerable, once she decides to focus on their own two pairs of feet sliding across the floor and the sound of his breathing.

The loud, booming round of applause drags her back to reality—she releases her hands from him immediately and takes a step back to do a quick curtsey.

“Thank you.”

The sound of his words catches the tail end of the wind—quiet, almost inaudible. She raises her head, but by the time she does so, the crowd greedily surges toward them to fill the empty space that used to belong to them.