#khafia

All of Hilda’s energy the past few years has gone into any and  ALL  potential methods for saving her kingdom. It’s her duty, so she thinks, as its (now) sole leader -- the princess regent who much do her best to unify this damaged land. It’s not her fault its state is so awful, of course; she was not there when the decision to destroy the Triforce was made, though now responsibility weighs her down. It makes her feel like the decision had been hers, too.

                                                            There’s been a  BREAKTHROUGH,  recently.

      Finding herself able to open portals through to a neighbouring world (a mirror world, they’re learning gradually through sneaky reconnaissance missions), the cogs always turning in Hilda’s mind have begun to work on overdrive. There could be a solution in this.

If he knew what he was doing, he doubts he’d be doing it.

A walking staff is plunged into the crest of a dune, shifting sands underfoot making the idea of leaning his full weight against it less than appealing. The cinnabar at its neck is a warm headlight in the cold desert night, casting hard shadows that melt away even in the clarity he’d asked the wind to grant him. He faces north, cupped by a mountain range whose name he can’t place on one side and exposed to frigid open air on the other.

He won’t admit that he’s lost because he isn’t, of course. He has his (vague) goals and his (impulsive) plans and he could very easily abandon them, should he choose to. Inching his scarf a little farther up his nose, he closes his eyes against another blast of chilly air and focuses until it’s blowing away from him. Not yet. Surrendering would waste time that he doesn’t have.

He follows what little movement he can sense, hoping that the vague shapes turn out to be something other than another sand seal taking its evening stroll. When he’s close, close enough to almost see, he taps his staff against the ground—it flashes—and calls out.

         ― There❜s a hum of thought as the Twili woman looks the man before her up and down. She was a q u e e n once, now just a s p i r i t lost to the ages – as is her hero, her beloved beast, who has now begun to undertake a journey beside another Hero. She watches over him, sometimes.

✧ ☀ ☪✧         No...surely not...

          She had lived in the desert her whole life (and now, apparently, she would dwell here for a second time). The desert heat often conjured up mirages, but as she traipsed across the sands, reacquainting herself with the land she had adored, a gargantuan figure in the distance with a shock of red hair like her own.

meme | yeah idk which category this is | @khafia​

It’s so rare a night goes by uninterrupted, that the princess can barely remember the last time she slept well. But does that matter? Perhaps it’s her  PUNISHMENT,  a sentence resting on her for her family line’s past misdemeanours. It feels like she’s being let off lightly… even as she sits bolt upright in large regal bed, panting and coated in sweat, night after night. Heart pounding and limbs trembling, she swings her legs over the side of her mattress, and pauses to rest her head in her hands. No more. Not right now.

      She pulls a silk robe on over her night clothes, and pushes long hair back over her shoulders before leaving the bedroom. Guards wait outside as usual, and they follow her silently down the corridor – ROUTINE,  almost, whenever her highness awakes in the early hours.

      The routine breaks when she heads past the bedroom of Hyrule’s hero… and sees it ajar. Hilda’s steps slow, just as she passes it – and guards come to a halt behind her. They’re instructed to wait outside, as she knocks twice, then slips through into the dimly candlelit room.

      Perhaps he’ll be able to tell something’s wrong from her slightly reddened eyes, the way she stands so vulnerably (without her usual ruler’s attire, she seems smaller, weaker, like she needs the clothes to act as armour against the world). Needing his protective aura just to feel safe, to block out  MEMORIES  of tonight’s terror, and nightmares passed, she sweeps across the room and takes a seat beside him on his bed. Has he been training late? Worrying about something else? Even praying..?

                  She can’t tell for sure, and it doesn’t seem the time to ask.

      For a few moments she sits quietly with hands in her lap, staring down at them and willing tears back; they’re tears of relief, really, now that she feels safer in his presence. Supposedly they’re also tears of frustration, of tiredness, of the overwhelming stress about the horrors roaming her once-peaceful kingdom.

      Hilda is a princess, yet what is a princess without  CONTROL?  Looking up as a strong arm slips around her, the tears have nowhere to hide and they career freely down her cheeks. There is a little control she can find, here, with (currently) her hero. He’s a loyal subject to her, right now… maybe even more than that?

      Reaching up, elegant fingers reach Ganon’s face, caressing over the side of it; with that motion, her intentions are made more clear. The guards outside may judge all they like about their princess entering this man’s room tonight, but that unavoidable judgement is one of the few things she doesn’t care about, and she feels she’s earned that right.

      Brimming eyes seek permission in the golden gaze opposite, moments stretching on… before she leans up towards him, and he, thankfully, leans down. Her lips press to his, for reasons both known and unknown to both of them. It isn’t the first time these budding feelings have been hinted at over the past few weeks, while working so closely together against the evils in Lorule, but now this is  FULL  confirmation. Into the gradual embrace (timid, then growing more firm) Hilda finds herself pouring everything – her anger, grief, fear. So much loneliness has haunted her recently, so much responsibility she’s been desperate to shake off.

a  stare  of  vacancy.   an  expression  of  SERENITY.   how  the  memories  flow   !                ❛     but  i  know  you’re  nothing  like  him.  i  can  see  it  in  your  eyes   ....   they  lack  their  lust  for  GREED.      ❜     a  soothing  melody  of  a  giggle.               ❛     no     ....     now  that  i  mention  it  ,   you  kind  of  remind  of  someone  else.  he  was  a  HERO  like  you.        ❜  

of monsters & men || starters

He hums. There are no words of comfort to offer, regardless of whether or not doing so is in his nature. There are no words to gloss centuries of running, hiding, battling dead-end against rumor and stigma. There are no words to waylay the panic of living in the shadow of old deeds. No words to describe the loss that follows.