Chapter Text
On a hill in Akkala sits a house overlooking the ocean. In this house lives a princess and a swordsman. The princess is recovering from an ancient draconification, her body once broken and stretched and her mind shattered for ten thousand years is slowly being put back together again. The swordsman cooks for her and holds her during the nightmares and keeps the few remaining monsters at bay. They love each other very much.
The dirt was wet beneath Zelda’s hands, and the muddy ground of her garden stained the fabric stretched over her knees. Now that she lived in Akkala, where it rained for at least five hours a day, she didn’t have to water her plants, just weed and fertilize and harvest her herbs, tomatoes, and radishes. It was…convenient, she supposed, but she quite liked watering her garden. It had been a calming act before, filling up the water can, resting by the river and letting it wash over her hand, the controlled downfall of rain splattering on the dirt. But in her condition, she would take convenience as she could get it.
When she wasn't in the garden, she spent most days down at the dig site beneath Tarry Town, investigating and documenting the artifacts; it takes a toll on her body, but it is worth it. The first time she saw the sheer quantity of Zonai tech all in one place on the surface, she nearly passed out from excitement. They were no ring ruins of Kakariko, but it was incredible, nonetheless.
Somehow, rumor got out that the princess found a new passion in the Zonai civilization, and every so often a treasure hunter or loyalist will venture out to the far region of Akkala to bring her an offering of Zonai technology they had found. The treasure hunters were looking for rupees while the loyalists were looking for praise, to know that their princess knew they existed and they could do her a favor.
It was an odd feeling being worshipped. She had never quite gotten used to it, though she let her people project whatever they needed to project onto her. She always thought of herself as their helper rather than an idol, than a savior.
The tomatoes were finally ready to be picked, plump, vibrant red and ripe. She ran her gloved hand over the smooth and dewy surface, plucking it from the stem and placing it in her basket. It’d be perfect for Link’s return.
As much as Link liked cooking them into a pizza or stew, he also enjoyed biting into them raw. Letting the scarlet juice ooze down his chin and run in rivulets over his hand. His throat hollowing as he swallowed the fruit, neck covered in stickiness.
Zelda liked watching him eat very much.
Link had gone on an expedition in the Depths to gather dark clumps. A few years ago, when Josha stumbled into teenagedom, she discovered the clumps excellently froze the womb to keep out any unwanted child. One had to take the elixir daily at the same exact time, so Link went out every few months to bring back a bounty. Normally, Zelda went with him (despite his silent objections), conducting her own personal investigations beneath the surface, but today she wanted time to think alone.
The evening before, Link had been teaching little Hunnie how to shield surf down the long stretch of road before one turns into Tarrey Town. Without her parents’ permission, but Zelda wasn’t going to say anything. She sat on the porch, trying and failing to read her book to the delighted shrieks of the little one and the giggles that escaped from her man. The girl struggled to actually get on the shield because Link insisted the only way was some elaborate jump to get momentum, but he held her arms as she stood on a traveler’s shield (Link had initially given her a Zonaite shield, but Zelda nearly threw a fit at damaging such an ancient artifact) and he pushed the shield to give her a start. She held the perfect stance and was speeding down the hill. Link had to sprint to keep up with her. He wore the widest grin she thinks she’s ever seen on him.
It was hot. It was adorable. It was…promising.
In the late hours of night as the torpor of sleep came upon them or in the foggy haze of lust, Link would whisper of his desire to have children. Have children with her specifically, although he spoke as though he wasn’t sure she would want to be with him forever, have kids with him. Laughable, honestly.
Link would make an excellent father.
Zelda likes to think she’d be a good mother. She loves kids and they seem to be drawn to her. In the quieter nights, she hears her mother’s soft voice, the lullabies she would sing, and she often imagines singing to a baby of her own. She very much wants a child; it was her favorite daydream during her hundred-years-long fight.
When her hands shook and Ganon’s power and rage got caught in her nose and her throat, she took her mind to the main castle, ten years in the future. The library has grown ten times the size, the famine has ceased and the banquet hall is overflowing with food, and two little girls are running over the red carpet. The older one is a scholar, loves reading and meeting emissaries from all over Hyrule and the color pink. The younger is a menace, loves play fighting and climbing the turrets and the color purple.
They didn’t have Link’s eyes or nose yet, but he was there, running after them. Their little feet were too fast for him, and as they turned a corner, they barreled right into their grandfather’s arms. On the desperate days, it was their grandmother.
Besides. She had to have children. She is the princess (she really ought to have that coronation soon to be queen, but that title had too much weight to be comfortable). She has a genetic responsibility.
Logically, this had to be further in the future. Her body could finally bear the weight of itself, but there was no possibility of it bearing a child right now. It was still on the mend, its pieces glued together, and she was picking scales out of the seams. Annoyingly.
The length of recovery had been taking a toll on her mentally, and Zelda had been feeling a weird sense of urgency lately. Which was silly. She was still young and had many childbearing years ahead of her. But there was something pressing against her back, whispering in her ear, Hurry, hurry, it is coming, you are running out of time. Maybe it was Hylia, wanting to secure her divine lineage on earth. Maybe there was something else. This domesticity, this stillness, this perfection, there was something uneasy in the air. Something awful. Something terrible.
She thought of her friends who died tragically and too young. Revali was too young and, how could she say it, obsessed with himself to think of procreating, but Mipha had spoken to her more than once about her want to be a mother, be a mother with Link specifically, but she never said that part aloud. Urbosa and Daruk both had children they left behind; Urbosa said that Zelda reminded her of her daughter and Daruk could never keep quiet about his son’s insatiable appetite and penchant for climbing Death Mountain.
And they all knew for certain of the incoming calamity.
Maybe it was selfish to bring in a child to a world on the cusp of something awful, even if she couldn’t quite delineate what was so bad. But it was most likely just in her head. She had lived a life of pressure and anxiety and this surely was just the stress’ aftermath clinging to her bones. She wanted a baby and she wanted them to look like Link and it would all be fine.
There was a shuffle on the front porch. Link stood, a stuffed bag over his shoulder, looking at her with his soft eyes, head slightly cocked to the side. The sun had started to set while she was lost in thought, and the soft orange and purple cast a soft glow on the side of his face.
“How long were you standing there?”
He shrugged. Sometimes when she was just eating or reading or stirred in the night, he would stare at her for awhile, like he was constantly surprised she was there, right in front of him, and had to make sure she wouldn’t leave again. She never would, of course.
Zelda made a move to stand and Link reached out to grab her arm to help. She swatted it away and stood on her own, wiping her dirt-caked hands on her apron. “Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking inside and holding the front door open for her. She kissed his cheek and he slipped a tomato out of her basket.
“How were the Depths?”
“Boring as usual,” he shrugged. He took a large bite out of the tomato like it was an apple, fruit squelching between his teeth. The juice dribbled down his chin and over his strong hands and he let out a soft yet obscene moan and Zelda lost her train of thought. “This is so good. Do you want tomato stew for dinner?”
“Yeah…yeah, yes that sounds lovely dear.”
They fell into their evening routine, Link at the cooking pot with chopped tomatoes and milk and her curled up near the fire on a tatami mat in the kitchen, pretending to read a book about the geography of Mount Agaat and the chasm beyond it, while she watched him cook. She was glad to have a day by herself, but she missed him desperately. She didn’t like being parted, and neither did he. They spent too long too far apart. It was almost pathetic how much she needed him, how much they needed each other, but they earned this codependency.
She was excited to share him, this loving man, with another Hylian. The smell coming from his pot was heavenly, and she imagined spoon-feeding it into her baby’s mouth.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Zelda started when the steaming tomato stew was placed on the table, “I have a suggestion. If you would be amenable to it.” Link said nothing, just invited her question with his eyes.
“Maybe. Not now, but within the year or perhaps next year, maybe you could stop gathering dark clumps from the Depths.”
His brow furrowed as his lips were wrapped around his spoon. “Well then you’d probably get pregnant,” he mumbled around his stew.
“Yes, Link, I probably would.”
“Oh. Oh!” His smile drew quickly across his face before unsuccessfully trying to smother the glee as he swallowed his food. “Uh, yeah, I mean, if you want. If you would like that. Only if you want that.”
“Yes, I want that. I wouldn’t have suggested anything I wouldn’t want, you know that.”
“Yeah, of course.” His smile overtook his face, an expression that was once so rare, but now she had been seeing it more and more. “Are you feeling okay now?”
“I’m almost better. It wouldn’t be now, you know, but next year.”
“Next year.” He went to take another bite but couldn’t stop giggling enough to put the stew in his mouth. “Next year,” he whispered.
That night, snuggled up and safe with her man nuzzling into her neck, she felt it again. As she feels every night. Something terrible is going to happen.