Bug

The cold, blunt edge of the ceremonial sword hits his shoulder heavily, and as the music of the harmonic ceremonial orchestra plays, Link can’t help but close his eyes and zone in on the way he can hear the Princess’ breathing ever so slightly. Despite her regal demeanour and the graceful way she seems to perfectly exist, it is her breathing that Link hones his attention on. She’s anxious. He supposes it makes sense; he, too, had been full of jitters when he had first geared up in his formal knight garb- the royal crest and the fabric clashing against the familiar metal felt heavy with a responsibility he’s not entirely sure he’s ready to claim. He’s the only one who seems to be privy to this understanding of her- after countless days and nights being on watch beside her, he’s been attuned to the micro expressions that roll off her tall, reserved form. This ceremony is purely to reassure the kingdom that, as her designated protector, he is forever loyal to the generosity of the royal family and to the peace of Hyrule. Not that it was ever in question. In his mind, though, he distinctly swears an accompanying private oath to the girl who is dictating these words. He’s not quite sure where the lines of obligations and wants begin to blur. 

Later, when he is silently nodding along to her discussion with a diplomat, Link is absently thinking about how her hair seems to catch the light so ethereally; the way the maids have styled it has it cascade like a gentle waterfall against her back. It’s nothing like the frenzied strands that occur when she’s running outside, and he’s forced to trail behind- not like the way it usually looks when it’s just the two of them. When he thinks more of it, he is transported through recent memories of being alongside a young maiden named  Zelda and not the Princess of Hyrule; of a different version of this prim and well-managed figurehead. He is deep in this thought when she waves off the other man, a stiff and formal wave that is paired with a polite and overly proper lull in each vowel. He follows diligently, as a shadow stuck to her form as they walk out of the busy event. Zelda seems intent on settling herself furthest away from her people. it’s been a long morning of pleasantries, and Link watches the way she glides through the opening crowds. She picks one of the balconies, and Link tries not to bite the inside of his cheek as he quickly goes to check down below and the sides for any disturbances to her attempt at securing a bit of peace and quiet.

“I don’t think anyone would be risking an attack right now, Link.” she huffs with a slight amusement reserved only for when they are alone. The air drops the tension as Zelda perches herself to lean against the marble railing, her arms and hands smoothing against the chilly material as she stares out into the distance. The fields roll into the distance, and she can see the procession and banners waving like blurry bits as Hyrule celebrates another near-meaningless achievement. Link does not reply. He just keeps a hand firmly on the pommel of his regulation sword, the sheath knocking his leg a little as he adjusts and goes to stand beside her. 

“It feels a bit silly giving you another title, you were already my knight before this- the ribbons and glimmer don’t add anything new to this arrangement,” she rambles aloud, half talking to him and mostly talking to herself. Yet Link gets caught on the phrasing:

“My knight”

It had him feel things that were much too complicated for a soldier of his position- to feel more than just needed. Instead, he is kept, like a beloved treasure rather than another piece of security she was given out of monarchal privilege. It felt affectionate, tasted like a weakness he could not afford, despite how easily he could swallow it down. She does not notice the way his body shifts at the words ever so slightly. She’s humming to herself, and as Link continues to keep on guard, he tries to bury the want to place his hand on her waist or to beg her to sing more- let her drown him in her sweet voice rather than the distant silence of their ranks.

She’s not wrong. He had been stationed to her side for a few months now; a duty given to him as a reward for being the most dedicated and skilled of his batch despite his young age. The pomp and pageantry of today had not changed the comfortable yet restrained leash she has on him.  She’s no more than 2 years older than him, and when they had met, he was passed over to her like a pawn; she had scoffed a little at the idea of him being responsible for keeping the heir apparent safe. Now she tugs on that metaphorical leash happily, some days even seemingly unclipping it when she tells him stories of her isolated, lonely childhood or secrets that even the maids are kept from. Despite how meticulously beautiful she is in her brightly coloured dress, he prefers the blouses and tunics, the garb that has her able to twirl and sway- it makes it easier for her to move when she lets out a genuine laugh and giggle when he’s made himself look like an ass. 

He aches as he watches the Princess sinks down exhaustedly against the railing even more, head bowed slightly as one of her delicate fingers traces the speckles in the marble, bored and understimulated. He’d do anything to have her perk up, to see the way she lights up like when she’s found a new type of gemstone or when she quirks her lips and furrows her brow when she’s investigating some random specimen. Those moments are rare- rules and regulations forbade Zelda from going off and doing her own research for most of her existence. Her studies only allow her to do so much when her exasperated tutor relents. Those precious moments are when Link gets called from outside her private study and is hastily told to accompany her on her indulgent self-designated missions. 

Those days always feel like he’s stuck between orders; the voice droning in his mind that reminds him that, of course, she’s requested his presence and the honeyed fantasies of being seen for the boy he is and not the uniform he wears. Having to choose between another one of the guards who might be much older and more cruel in their looks towards her actions, and him, who would do much more than give a plaintive smile when she shows him something, it’s easy to understand her ease with his beck and call.  It makes it clear his role, He’s there to protect, to serve and to entertain. But Hylia preserve him. He cannot push back the immense longing that seeps into his bones when he sees Zelda’s gentle expression as he paces over to her. He cannot push back the way she lets her touch linger when he helps her get atop her white steed, and they ride out far away from a world of doctrine and duty. 

He’s always been a creature of habit. He trains. He listens. He obeys. Day in and day out, for as long as he’s remembered. Being a soldier is built into his soul. His father, who too had been a soldier and knight for the monarch, had laid out his life in front of him so very early; had positioned every aspect of him to understand the sheer importance bestowed upon him when he chose this role. A simple homestead and retirement comfort promised to be the long-awaited reward he could only dare touch when he is of no valiant use. And he could do it. He has to do it- Has to be this thing moulded for the sake of others. He supposes it's why it's so much easier to be quiet; his words have no bearing over him and his decisions anymore, for how could he ever voice such thoughts or act on any of it when he is shackled by the responsibility of listening to everyone else's? No. It’s much easier to play his role like it's meant to be. Especially when Zelda’s mercy to treat him with such kindness and familial affection makes it easy to pretend it’s only for the sake of his job.