Star Wars/House Targaryen / Botw Lover

His eyes followed her pointing finger (as well as possible considering its bouncing owner) to a fleeting glimpse of streaking stripes. A small laugh escaped him.

"You see, you see?!"

"I saw." He saw a chipmunk, but he wouldn't spoil it for her. He'd been four once, too. Besides—one of these days, she might be right, and who was he to say no? He no longer possessed a child's sight. "Now, Zelda…"

She gasped, her legs snapping together under her (already disheveled) skirt, her back straightening, her smile tempering, and the splendid bouquet she held centered and upright once more. If not for the wrinkled state of her clothing, he'd have thought her quite regal indeed. "You read my mind, my dear."

"One must show proper respect to all the citizens of Hyrule, especially upon first meeting them." Her smile crept wider across her face. "Right?"

"That's right… and what else?"

Her smile turned less comfortable, shrunk til only one side remained at all lifted, then became a grimace. "This time I have to stay- stay soll emm?"

"Solemn, that's right."

"Because your friend's son and daughter died."

"…Daughter-in law, but yes."

The bouquet shifted in her hands.

Daltus smiled at her and bent to place a kiss on the crown of her golden-haired head. "Let's go, my dear."

They scaled the earthen steps up the rise and past the fence. Zelda's hand sought his, and he took it. He doubted he'd have many more chances to. She was the sort of child who preferred to run free, even at this age, rather than shelter in his shadow. A tug on his hand slowed him, and he turned to see Zelda craning her neck at the bushes on their right.

"Zelda?"

"I'm sorry, father. I thought there might be another Picori."

A smile touched his lips at her hushed—and certainly more soll emm—tone. She fell in at his side as he took the final steps to the door and knocked before any more hesitation could clutch at his heart.

Boots scuffed, the handle turned, and there he was, and though his skin had wrinkled, his beard had grown, and his hair had turned nearly white (as had Daltus'), his friend's bloodshot eyes struck him more than any of the changes wrought by time alone. All the greetings he might have chosen seemed suddenly not only inadequate, but grossly insensitive. How could one have a 'good morning' this day?

He nodded with a smile he couldn't keep the second-hand-sadness from. "Smith."

"Sire. I-"

"Please... it's me. Daltus is just as fine as it was before."

Zelda's eyes followed his hand, outstretching to reach his friend's. Smith hesitated only briefly. Zelda would be too young to understand the bonds that youthful friendship bring, but he knew Smith saw it in his eyes, just as he did in his as they clasped forearms.

He wondered if Zelda could see those small movements in the set of his friend's jaw.

"I…" he tried to begin. "I'm here to offer my condolences, but more than that. It's been too long, my old friend. I…" his eyes flickered toward Zelda. "I became absorbed, and I allowed time to pass too carelessly. I am—truly—sorry for my neglect… and for what has happened."

Smith shook his head. "If you're guilty of that, Daltus, so am I." He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "It's easy to do when there's work and family and children."

Daltus tried to smile. "Speaking of children- this is my Zelda."

Smith turned a real smile on her, full of deep wrinkles beside his eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess."

Zelda made a deep, respectful curtsy. "The pleasure is mine, Sir Smith."

Daltus couldn't help the quiet laugh that shook his stomach.

Apparently, neither could Smith. "Ahh, I regret to inform you, Princess, that I am no knight."

She blinked. "Oh." She eyed Daltus suspiciously. "I thought you said men were sirs?"

"Ah. I may have confused you. It's polite to call men 'sir' if you aren't using their name regardless of whether they're knighted. But only knights are 'Sir' followed by their name."

"…Why?"

His mouth opened, but he had no answer. "…Perhaps that's a question for your history tutor."

She narrowed her eyes at him again, but gave a sudden jump, remembering herself and straightening once more. The child in her seeped out from her fledgling poise despite her determination—the way she side-eyed Smith with no subtlety whatsoever had him quietly chuckling again.

"Master Smith would be a perfectly appropriate way to refer to him."

She gave her most princessly nod. "Master Smith, I am pleased to meet you and very sorry for your loss." She raised the bouquet in offering, standing on her tip-toes, her expression sincere.

It could have been far worse.

Smith accepted the flowers, smiling kindly at her. "I thank you, Princess. Would you like to come in?"

"If our presence is welcome at this time, Smith, then yes. I've no wish to intrude."

Smith huffed. "I'd be glad of some company. And Link-" he paused halfway toward leading them to a rustic wooden table to crane his neck, peering through the front windowpanes. "He might be as well. Leastways, for some company that isn't his old grandfather."

Daltus followed his gaze to the patch of berry bushes outside the window. He could just make out a tuft of bright blond hair, nearly identical to his daughter's, peeking between the leaves.

"I told him to stay where I could see him, but I had to let him out at least. It's not good for him to be cooped up in here with me."

Daltus avoided asking why Smith himself hadn't gone out to enjoy the glorious day. He didn't truly need to, anyway. He could feel the answer in his chest.

He turned to see Zelda standing on tiptoe, trying to look, too. "There you have it, my dear. Your Picori is a Hylian child. Small, but not quite small enough to qualify."

"Can I go see him?"

Daltus met Smith's eyes and knew the answer. With the children out of earshot, they could truly speak. "Of course. Please remember, Zelda- he will be feeling unhappy."

"I will, father."

—

Zelda tiptoed toward the cluster of bushes, trying to keep an eye on the yellow peeking between the twigs, canes, leaves, and stems. She tried not to be excited by all the different kinds. She liked plants, and she liked that these were all different ones huddled together, parts of them bobbing happily in the wind, reaching out as though trying to escape the rest. Nothing in the castle gardens was like this—not even in the town. Everything together was all either the same kind or in neat rows like soldiers.

"Hello?" she called. She tried not to be loud. She didn't want to scare him.

"Hi?"

Zelda smiled a little. The boy's voice was kind of raspy. "Can I come in?"

"I guess."

Zelda dropped to hands and knees at once, shuffling along the patchy grass (she thought father would be glad she kept her hair out of the branches). She crawled beneath the boughs of a blueberry bush and one that seemed to have blackberries, but different from the ones in Hyrule Town (no thorns, with extra-tiny little round fruit-bubbles).

The boy was sitting cross-legged in a clearer space half-beneath the blueberry bush and a raspberry one (Zelda loved their white stems). His hair was almost as merry as those bobbing bush-branches, sticking out at odd angles and kind of curly but in a big, swoopy way. His eyebrows were a little funny. They looked too big for him.

She crawled until she was in a spot just like his, but could face him. He didn't look as sad as she thought he would, but he didn't seem happy at all. He was holding a few leaves like playing cards, except down in his lap where anyone could've seen them.

"Are you playing a game?" she asked.

He shrugged.

One side of her mouth twisted in. "You can play with me if you want to."

The boy's eyes blinked a little bigger. He looked down at his leaves, then back up at her. "What do you want to play?"

"We can play whatever you want!" She smiled at him, then remembered to be soll emm. She folded her hands in her lap.

"I don't know what to play," he said.

It suddenly seemed very silly that she hadn't brought anything for him to play with. That would have been nice. She was a princess, after all, and she was supposed to be kind to the people of Hyrule. She looked at the leaves in his hand. "Maybe we could play cards."

He balked.

She turned around to see if something else surprised him.

"We can't play cards."

"Why not?"

"That's how grownups lose all their money."

It was Zelda's turn to balk. "It is?!"

He nodded.

Zelda had no idea cards were so expensive. "We don't have to spend any money, though. I thought we could turn the leaves into cards."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Well." She snagged a not-quite-blackberry leaf from a thornless stem to her left. "The different leaves can be the different kinds. This one's pretty big. Maybe this should be the queen."

The boy blushed, and his shoulders drooped a little.

"Oh. It doesn't have to be, though. Do you want to pick the queen?"

"I don't know how to play."

"It's okay. I can teach you."

The right half of his mouth pulled into a funny little shape that wasn't a smile, but at least looked a little better than no shape at all. "I know there are numbers."

"Yes, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. And there's the jack, the queen, and the king. And the ace."

"That's a lot."

"There should be four of each, too." Zelda looked around at all the different bushes. "I don't know if we can do it with just the berry bushes. We might need other leaves to have enough different cards."

"We can use the mulberry bush. It has all different kinds of leaves."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. Come see." He stacked his now-useful leaves and tucked them carefully into a small pocket in his green tunic, then crawled through the next pair of bushes. Zelda followed him. She took extra care to stay low, avoiding the thorny white raspberry and regular blackberry canes.

The boy flopped onto one haunch in front of a very wild, broad bush with long, thornless branches. To her delight, Zelda saw what he meant immediately. Every row of leaves on each long limb was a different shape. "Oh my goodness!"

The boy breathed a little laugh.

"What?"

"That's what Anju's mom says when the cuccos get out."

"Oh."

They spent a few minutes choosing a branch that wasn't getting much sunlight anyway to pilfer leaves from.

"Sorry, bush. You have lots more, though."

Zelda thought it was funny that some of the leaves looked like mittens.

She realized the first flaw in her plan when the draw pile nearly disappeared in a gust of wind.

"Oh no!" she squeaked, but the boy 's hands had already slapped the pile down. Zelda's squeak turned to a squeal of delight. "You saved it! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he said, with something suspiciously like a smile on his face.

Zelda realized the second flaw in her plan when they drew their first hand of cards. She began to fan them out in her hands like he had earlier. Each intentionally-different leaf jutted out from the next, easily recognizable.

"Oops," she said.

"What?"

"We're not supposed to know what kind of cards the other one has."

"Oh. That's okay, we can just close our eyes."

Zelda smiled brightly. "Of course!"

The ensuing game of 'Go Fish' (which Zelda thought best for a beginner) was by far the most fun she'd ever played. She had to figure out what cards she had by feel (and a little peeking, but only at her own cards at first—she couldn't resist more peeks once she realized how funny the boy's scrunched up, closed-eyed face looked, especially with his eyebrows practically plastered together in the middle, but she refused to peek while drawing her cards or at the boy's hand). A few times, Link got confused and fished for a card when she was supposed to be the one fishing.

"Heeey, shoo!"

He laughed.

He handed her the wrong leaves a few times, too, and she had to hand them back. "Oops."

"Oof."

"I dropped one."

"Where'd it go?"

The giggling as they patted the ground (and each other's hands) blindly in search for rogue leaves floated into the house. Conversation there paused, and when it resumed, it lifted a bit.

One of these leaf-hunts ended with a gasp from Zelda.

"What is it?!" said the boy.

He sounded scared. Zelda opened her eyes to see his also open, searching for whatever had startled her. "It's okay!" she said. "I felt something. I thought it might be a Picori."

His eyes grew a size wider. "A Picori? Really?"

She nodded sagely. Then she leaned in, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "I keep seeing them lately."

"Wow," he breathed.

"I know."

He scoured the ground where her hand had been. "I don't see anything now. Should we look around?"

"Yes, let's! Oh…" she looked around, wondering where to put her leaves.

"Here." He held out his hand.

She gave him her leaves and he stacked them as carefully as his little hands could, slipping them in his pocket along with his own, then the draw pile. His pocket bulged.

Zelda giggled. "It's like you have a large lump."

He looked down at himself and laughed. "Lumpy Link."

Zelda suddenly clasped her hands together. "I didn't tell you my name!"

"What is it?"

"Zelda."

"Oh, you have the same name as the Princess!"

"I am the Princess!"

"…Oh!"

Link looked truly astonished, but he wasn't looking at her at all. Again, she turned to find his eyes on nothing in particular. Maybe a still-green-berry. When she turned back toward him, he had leaned conspiratorially toward her.

"Maybe that's why you keep seeing Picori!"

"I thought all children could see them."

"But maybe they're trying to tell you something important, because you're the Princess! They could be following you!"

"I didn't think of that!" she breathed. "I'd better be very careful."

"Why?"

"They're teeny tiny. Only this big." She held up one of the smallest three-pronged mulberry leaves. "At their very largest! I don't want to squish them if they're trying to talk to me."

"You wouldn't want to squish them anyway though, right?" Link asked.

Something in his eyes suddenly made her feel sorry. She wasn't sure for what. "Of course not." She took one of his hands in hers and patted the back of it. "Please don't worry. But I thought they were trying to get away from me, not get close! What if one of them tries to climb right up my leg?"

"Do you think they'd do that?"

"I don't know. I've never talked to one of them before."

"If we see one, let's ask!"

"Yes, let's!"

Zelda led the way this time, returning to her hands and knees, flattening herself as close to the ground as she could and still move. Link mimicked her. Side by side, they wiggled their way out from the little hideaway toward the tufts of wildflowers outside the nearest window.

("What do you suppose they're up to?")

("Hah. Knowing my Zelda? Picori-spotting.")

("Ahhh.")

"Do you see any?" Link whispered.

"Not yet. Sometimes it's easier to see them if I'm not trying."

"Oh. How do you not try if you're already looking?"

"We can just stay here a minute and not look too hard."

"Okay."

Zelda found it difficult not to look, though. She started rolling a few blades of grass between her fingerpads. Green grass-juice stained them.

After as much of that as Zelda could stand, she tried to sneak a look everywhere around her without giving away that she was looking. When she turned toward Link, she found his eyes on her.

"Did you see any?" Zelda asked.

He shook his head.

"Did you look?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I thought if they're trying to talk to you, maybe I'd see one if I watched you."

Zelda's face lit up. "Oh, that's so smart!"

A bashful smile dimpled his cheeks.

They spent a good deal of the late morning laying flat on their stomachs, Zelda watching various blades of grass at the tip of her nose, and Link watching Zelda. They were oh-so-quiet, so as not to scare the Picori—except, of course, when they had to ask each other if they'd seen anything, and when they had to decide where to crawl next, and when Link had to warn Zelda about the thistle that had bopped its way into her hair from the wind, and when he had to untangle it for her because she couldn't see, and then when he had to try and pick out all the little sharp pieces still stuck in her hair after he pulled it out, and then when he had little pieces of thistle stuck under his skin on his fingers, and Zelda pulled those out.

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt that much."

"No hurting is better than not that much."

The sun had definitely crossed its midday spot in the sky more than an hour ago when Link's stomach gave a plaintive squeal.

"Oh, you're hungry."

An odd little wrinkle appeared and disappeared between his silly eyebrows. "I'm okay."

His stomach made more and more noise until Zelda twisted to lean on one elbow, taking her most studious look at him.

He looked kind of like when she first saw him: not at all happy.

Zelda wasn't supposed to pout. Pouts were selfish, and she wasn't supposed to be selfish. A princess was supposed to think about the people living in her kingdom, not make faces at them when she felt sullen. This pout was different, though. She didn't understand it exactly, but it wasn't for her. "Why don't you eat? You'll feel better."

He shook his head.

"There were some ripe berries," she pointed out.

He shrugged.

She then remembered he wasn't eating them when she arrived, either. "They're all okay to eat, right?"

"Uh huh but you have to wait for the mulberries, they'll be bad if you pick them now."

"Oh." She sat up, fidgeting with her skirt. He wasn't looking at her anymore. "I can pick some of the others for you."

He shrugged again. "I didn't bring anything to pick them into."

Zelda pushed herself up, scurried to the front door, and knocked. Smith opened it before she'd finished.

"Hello! Pardon me for asking, but could we have something to put berries into?"

"You can, but I was about to call you in for some lunch, Princess."

"Oh."

"If you like, you can pick us a few berries and bring them in with you."

"Yes please, and thank you Master Smith."

When she returned with the wooden bowl, she found Link lying face-down on his forearms. She could only see a bit of his cheeks and ears.

Zelda set the bowl aside and knee-walked right up to Link. "Are you okay?"

He nodded with a sniff.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We don't have to pick any if you don't want to."

He sniffed again. "I don't want to go in."

"Why not?"

"The table'll be too empty."

Zelda fought that pout again. She reached out, her hand moving jerkily toward his back. Her father sometimes rubbed her back when she cried. It helped her feel better. Maybe it would help Link, too.

He sniffed a few more times.

"Maybe we could sit under the table?" she said. "Like we're still in the bushes!"

His reddened eyes found hers, blinking and surprised, and he started nodding.

Zelda smiled at him. "Okay."

"Maybe we'll see a Picori."

"Maybe!"

They picked a few of the ripest-looking raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries, and even a few tiny strawberries from bushes low to the ground. When they crawled out, Link stood, gave a funny little twitch like something had startled him, and turned toward her, offering his hand. Zelda looked at it, then at him.

"You're supposed to help Princesses up, right? It's called shiv-something."

She grinned. "Chiv-al-ry! But you don't have to." He just kept inching his hand closer, though, so she took it. She meant to give him her politest, most princessely thank-you, but she yelped instead as he pulled her far harder than she expected. "Wow. You're strong!"

He picked up the bowl with that dimply smile again and opened the door for her, too.

The children giggled their way through a simple lunch of hearty goat-buttered bread, cheese, berries, and a few fresh greens, unaware they'd captured both men's undivided attention the moment they'd scrabbled their way through the seatlegs rather than joining them above the table. Link was astonished to find the King of the Realm willing and happy to pass them cup after cup of orange-ade, which they both quite liked.

"Zelda, my dear," Daltus said, leaning to peer beneath the table. The children's smiles brought quite a wide one to his own face. "I'm afraid we must take our leave."

Zelda made a tiny 'aw' sound. Link's smile disappeared in silence.

"Ah… Young ones. Have no fear. We'll be back, and I dare say we'll be seeing more of you and your grandfather in Hyrule town from now on."

Zelda made a delighted gasp, clasping her hands just beneath her chin. Link's smile returned as a ghost of its former self. Daltus sighed and stood. "Well, my friend. Let me know what you decide about the school. And are you sure you don't want any of that brown ale I told you about?"

Zelda promptly returned her attention to Link. His face deflated her. "I'm sorry I have to go," she said.

"I'm sorry you do, too. But thanks for playing with me."

"Want to play again soon?"

"Yeah!"

Zelda fell asleep quite early that night.

(Her nursemaid spent quite a while attempting to remove the grass stains from her dress. It proved fruitless).

—

Two weeks later, Link entered a long, low building with a large, fenced-in yard in Hyrule Town, his little hands gripping the straps of his knapsack.

"Oh, hello!" said a young woman with her hair done in a high, fancy bun. "You must be Link."

He nodded.

"Welcome to the Funday School! I'm Miss Tina. I'm one of the teachers here."

"Hi, Miss Tina."

"There's someone very eager to see you," she said, a bit of a twinkle in her eye.

As she guided Link into a room full of child-sized desks on their right, a little girl with bright blonde hair twisted in her seat—and beamed at the sight of him. "Link!!" she cried.

"Zelda!" he said, completely oblivious of the teachers' gasps as his friend hopped up and rushed headlong into him, her arms squeezing his shoulders tight. He squeezed her right back.

----~ ❀ ~----