Enjoyer Of Tri Force Heroes and Twilight Princess

Queen Adeline remains cheerful as always, even with her wracking cough and climbing fever. Impa is one of few allowed to visit her, and she keeps the Queen company during the long hours of rest and medicines. When she isn’t doing that, she does her job as Zelda’s bodyguard, following the young princess, keeping her company while her father gets more and more worried, and her mother’s cough gets thicker and thicker.

But Impa doesn’t spend all her time with the royals.

News catches her ears one day, gossip flung around. About how the sickness is creeping its way through the barracks, pulling valuable soldiers and knights from their duties. Unease twists sharply in her gut, and Impa slips her way to where the knights tend to congregate, looking for one in particular.

When she doesn’t see him, the unease grows, and she sticks to the shadows, watching, listening.

It takes a while, but finally two knights walk by, recently off duty based on the way they’re rubbing the feeling back into their fingers, brushing snow from their shoulders.

“...Heard about Ulysses yet?” the one remarks, and Impa pricks her ears. “His boy caught the sickness, he’s going to be out a few days.”

The other sighs. “Means more shifts for us, I suppose. Hope the little mite is okay. Always seemed like a nice kid.”

“Yeah, if weird. Say, you heard anything about dinner later? I heard there was a chance there’d be...”

Their voices fade, but Impa is already gone.

She’s smart enough to wait until it’s dark, and really, she has to wait until the princess no longer needs her anyway. But she remains ready, her stomach beyond unsettled every time she thinks of it, and when it’s finally late enough that most of the castle is sleeping and the princess is under the watch of the overnight guard, she slips away, following a path she often takes at night.

The familiar house comes into view, and Impa sticks to the shadows, the lights in the windows dim. She peeks in, and sees Sir Ulysses talking to his wife, her face pale and drawn.

“...doctor has already looked him over, and he says it’s not too severe. It won’t be like Calie, dear. I know many children who have come out of this just fine,” Impa hears him say as she presses an ear to the door. “There’s no need to worry.”

“He’ll die just like she did,” his wife says in her whispery voice, so soft Impa has to strain to hear it. “There’s no point in trying. He’ll die Ulysses, he’ll die...”

She says something else, but it’s lost to Impa, and she knows she’s heard enough.

It had been years now, but Sir Ulysses’s wife had never been the same after the death of her only child, a baby only a few months old. They’d agreed to take Link in shortly afterwards since he’d needed a wet nurse, though Impa had long suspected Ulysses had agreed to it mostly for his wife’s sake. But even with Link under their care, she’d remained quiet and grieved, and rarely left the house.

But Link wouldn’t die. He was strong, and Ulysses was correct in his observation that many children had recovered from the sickness.

He would be fine.

Impa makes her way to the other side of the house where she knows Link’s room lays. Slipping into a window with ease, she opens Link’s door, and brushes inside.

Raspy breathing meets her first, loud and creaking. Link is bundled up under multiple blankets, but still shivering, and his face shines with sweat as Impa draws closer. A lump wells in her throat, and she finds herself frozen as she watches Link shake and sweat.

She’s never seen him laid low like this— Link may not speak much, but he’s a rambunctious child, and from what she’s observed he spends a lot of time running around. But now...

Now he just looks small.

Link whimpers as his head turns, and Impa steps closer, then pulls his blankets back up to his chin where they’ve loosened. She gently draws a hand over his brow, wiping some of the sweat away, and Link chases her hand, whimpering again.

“Shh, go back to sleep, child,” she whispers when his eyes flicker, and for some reason he obeys, relaxing somewhat into his sheets. He nuzzles into her hand, then stills, letting out a thick exhale.

His face is hot against her palm, sticky with sweat, but Impa doesn’t move, afraid of waking him. And... maybe a little afraid to break such a peaceful moment.

She’s spent many an hour checking on Link like this, slipping carefully into his room while he’s asleep, fixing blankets, snuffing candles. She never stays long, only long enough to quiet the fear that sometimes flickers to life in her chest, a silent shadow in the corner of his room. Never has she spoken directly to Link, but her worry got the better of her tonight.

He’s so warm, she thinks, looking at him in concern. He’s always warm, but this is... a lot. Is that normal?

She blows out a breath. She’ll just have to keep an eye on him, moreso than usual. Maybe she can send someone to check in on Ulysses, and also Link? She certainly can’t be seen here. Unless she found an excuse. Maybe...

Link mumbles again, his brow scrunching, and Impa takes the cloth on his bedside table and sets it on his brow, wiping sweat away. Link stills after a few moments of this, looking more settled, but then his eyes open and land right on Impa.

Impa goes deathly still, and begins silently cursing herself for her sentiment, fear of a different sort suddenly clutching her.

He’s looking he’ll ask questions he’ll tell people he won’t be safe—

“Mama?” Link asks in a small voice, eyes hazy with fever.

Something in Impa shatters.

She stares at her son, Link staring back, and the mix of sudden warmth and grief and emotion inside of her nearly makes her sick.

“Sleep, Link,” she finally manages to whisper, wiping the cloth over his face again. “You’re safe. Get some rest.”

Link looks at her a moment longer, then relaxes into the movement of her wiping his face, his eyes slipping closed. Impa is afraid to move for a moment, and she barely breathes until she’s sure he’s asleep again.

Then she flees from the room as quickly as possible, her hands trembling and breath coming fast.

She makes it outside and nearly back to the castle before she has to stop by a pile of snow, her breath puffing out in rapid clouds. She’d spoken to him. He’d seen her. He... he’d...

He’d called her mama.

Impa curls in on herself where she stands, pressing her knuckles to her mouth as her eyes water. She’s been injured plenty of times in her time as a warrior, knows what all kinds of pain are like and how to resist them, but that— that one word had hurt more than all of them. Combined.

Mama. He said mama.

The fever was addling him. He didn’t recognize things, he would have said that to anyone who walked in there! I'm sure it was just him thinking I was Sir Ulysses’s wife, he was... he was just...

Impa allows one tiny, mournful keen to escape her lips.

Oh Link.

“Lady Impa!”

At the frantic shout that rings out she flinches, but manages to straighten herself into a more normal stance as an out-of-breath soldier runs towards her.

“Thank the goddesses I found you— Lady Impa, it’s the Queen,” he reports before she can say a word, face pale. “She’s taken a turn.”

Impa is gone before he even finishes speaking.

(...)

Foolish foolish foolish.

Impa rushes down the halls to the queen’s room, fear and an odd strangled feeling in her heart. She should have checked on the queen before slipping off to see Link. She knew she should’ve, and yet she’d gone to Link first anyway.

Foolishness. Can’t you do anything right?

She’ll have to stop visiting him. Tonight has proved it. She’s been pushing her luck all this time, and now she’s letting her worry for him distract herself from her duties—

Impa shakes her head, ignoring the crack in her heart.

It’s time to keep her distance. No exceptions.

The castle is mostly quiet this time of night, only an occasional guard or servant nodding at her as she speeds by. She gets some alarmed looks from people, but there’s no time to stop.

Finally she draws close, and Impa takes a calming breath and stills her shaking hands as she reaches the queen’s rooms, bracing herself as she heads in.

Somehow it’s worse than she thought.

The queen is like a ghost in her bed, pale and thinned from sickness, her hair spread out on the pillows around her. Impa can hear her rattling breath the moment she enters the room, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees the royal doctor speaking quietly with the king, shaking his head. Poor Terrance looks devastated, and Impa swallows, and goes to the queen’s bedside.

Zelda hasn’t been roused, not yet at least, so Impa sits beside her best friend with no distractions, looking at her with grief.

How did it come to this? After everything we've been through, a sickness lays her so low?

Impa’s breath shudders when she exhales, and Adeline cracks her eyes open at the sound, twitching her lip as she meets Impa's eyes.

“Impa. Don’t make that face,” she rasps, mouth faintly upturned. “No need to look so dour.”

“I would have thought this would be a prime occasion for it,” Impa says, like Adeline isn’t dying, like this is just another of their silly conversations they always used to have. “Don’t you?”

Adeline hums, though the sound is weak and dry. “Perhaps. But I... hate seeing you sad.”

“Well I hate seeing you like this,” Impa replies quietly, and Adeline wheezes out a sigh, her eyes closing.

“...I see lights,” she whispers after a moment, something longing on her face. “Ones I can’t describe. It won’t... be much longer.”

“You could still recover,” Impa replies, maybe a little desperately, and Adeline smiles faintly at her, giving her hand a weak squeeze.

“Not this time, Impa. You know it,” she whispers, sadness and acceptance in her eyes in equal measure.

“Oh Addy,” Impa says, the words thick, and Adeline clasps her hand.

“Do not find a way to blame yourself for this,” Adeline chides in a croak, then breaks into a series of coughs so weak they're barely more than a series of wheezes. It takes her a long moment before she can speak again. “I see it in... your face. This... isn’t due to any failing of yours.”

“But Adeline...”

“It’s not,” Adeline whispers. “I refuse to let my death guilt anyone. Promise me, Impa.”

Impa nods, suddenly unable to speak, and Adeline briefly closes her eyes before seeming to gather the strength to reopen them.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have... asked for a better guard, all these years,” she whispers. “Impa. My dear friend.”

“It’s been an honor,” Impa replies in a voice she manages to make strong, and hopes her sincerity is clear. Adeline has been her best friend as long as she’s known her, through turmoil and difficulty, through political stress and a son Impa was never supposed to have. Even when rank and duty and their different responsibilities have tangled things, they’ve remained each other’s confidants, and Impa is willing to admit that Adeline truly is the closest friend she's ever had.

But now...

“Impa. Guide Zelda,” Adeline rasps, and the seriousness is evident in her voice despite how faint it is. “Teach her to rule well. Love her in my absence. Support... Terrance, if you can. And... care for Link,” she whispers, so quietly Impa can barely hear her. “Do not forget him.”

“I won’t,” she promises, taking her friend’s hand and ignoring the sense of falling that’s looming over her. “I’ll watch over them.”

She doesn’t promise anything directly about Link. She’ll continue to watch him from a distance, but she can't keep up like she has been, can't keep checking on him so much.

She has to let him go.

“Impa... he’s special,” Adeline rasps, and her eyes catch the light, the brown shimmering. “He m-may save...”

“What do you mean?” Impa asks, and Adeline’s breath makes a strange hitching sound, thick and weary.

“Zelda... darling Zelda...” she breathes, and Impa realizes Adeline must not be entirely speaking sense anymore. “Keep her strong... keep her safe... she will need you. Forgive... him. They all will... he will...”

Adeline trails off, then takes in a rasping breath, one that might have been a cough if she’d had the energy to do so.

"Rest, Adeline," Impa soothes, and fixes the cloth on her friend's brow just like she'd done for Link earlier that night. "Just rest."

Adeline closes her eyes, a bead of sweat trailing down her brow, but right as Impa is about to let go of her hand and speak to the King and the doctor, her eyes reopen, and her hand tightens in Impa’s.

“Impa,” Adeline whispers, eyes meeting hers with a sudden clarity regained. “I love you, my friend.”

“As do I, Addy,” Impa whispers thickly, clasping her hand. “As do I.”

Zelda enters the room then, sleepy but frightened, and Terrance hurries to the bed with her, his eyes already red. Impa steps back, but Adeline doesn’t let go of her hand, even as her eyes close and her breath fades more and more. She’s forced to linger at her side while Zelda whispers a teary goodbye, and Terrance, disobeying doctor’s orders, kisses his wife’s forehead with a tenderness that’s painful to watch.

Queen Adeline Zelinna Hyrule dies just before sunrise, her daughter’s name on her lips, and her husband and best friend’s hands resting in hers.

Impa has never felt more alone.

(...)

The Queen’s funeral is a week later. Adeline was a beloved ruler, even with some of her more controversial decisions, and despite the continuing sickness, the crowds that turn out to watch as her body is taken to the Royal Cemetery are huge.

Impa is part of the procession, both as Zelda’s guard and Adeline’s friend, and she remains stone-faced as she walks behind the casket. Sheikah aren’t meant to be in obvious view, right in the middle of the street like this, but there really isn’t a better place to protect Zelda. And she just knows Adeline would insist on her being here. So here she is.

She scans the crowd again, unusually silent apart from a few quiet cries or mournful prayers as they watch the procession. A flash of blond catches her eye, and she lingers briefly on the sight of her son standing beside Sir Ulysses. Link is back on his feet, his face still pale and a bit thinner than normal, but he seems fine otherwise. Impa turns away from him, putting the image out of her mind.

She has other duties, other concerns more pressing than her son who she knows is safe. Zelda needs her now, more than ever. Her father is utterly crushed by the loss of Adeline, and he struggles to do much of what’s demanded of him, his usual sharp mind dulled by grief. Despite Zelda's young age, she's forced to pick up the slack, and Impa assists her with everything as best as she can.

Her own grief is soon lost in the whirl of everything, pushed to the side in favor of action and helping the kingdom through this current trial.

She sets aside her own grief in favor of helping Zelda with hers, pushes away worries, thoughts of Link, the deep ache of loneliness... and focuses on her duties. Hyrule needs her. She has to be strong for it.

And so she is.