Chapter Text
“Do you believe tea leaves can tell the future?”
Often in the plateau between customers, Beedle asks the strangest questions. They’re sitting back against the worktop, swirling a near empty mug. One eye is closed as they peer as close as possible with the other.
Link puts clean plates back in the cupboard, “Is this like the fortune telling cucco again?”
That had been a weird week.
“No. Seriously-” They protest, “It’s a thing in Gerudo Town called tasseo… Something. You’re meant to drink it fast then swirl a certain way . The shape the leaves end up are meant to be a premonition to something: Luck, horror, finances, love- ”
“Do me!” Aryll exclaims.
Link pivots. He boops her nose. “You’re eight. You’re not having caffeine.”
Lips pout, “Dad would let me.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“But you’re having some!”
Link’s just finished off a Midna mint mocha. So needed . Thursdays are the longest and there are still two hours to go. He looks at the photo of mum on the wall asking help me.
“I’m not eight,” He states.
“You’re short enough,” Comments Beedle.
Glaring playfully, Link leaves the counter to clean a table waving bye to a pair of Zora. The familiar steps soothe tired limbs, lulling him into calm. He needs this today; The low chatter of people relaxing after work, the deep woods and warm accents that mark every piece of furniture, the orange fairy lights that wind around the bookshelf and bay window. Coffee, chocolate and Akkala leaf spice wraps his body in a hug the training grounds can not.
The Hasty Bean coffee shop, to Link, is home.
Link puts pots onto a tray, and- Oough. Stretches! He’s been training with claymores today. Monstrous things. Though he loves how badass it feels to wield something Gorons do, he’s sure his shoulders will be burning tomorrow-
“Oh?”
Something brushes his shoulder- He-
A korok plush lays on the floorboards. It’s been thrown at him.
“Ya-Ha-Ha!”
The mischievous mastermind is a fledgeling scrambling on their father’s knee. They wriggle, cawing in delight- Purple feathers fly-
The parent despairs, “Oh, Gods. I’m so sorry. She’s moulting- Sella, watch your talons- ”
“Hey,” Link grins, picking up the toy. So cute . “No worries. Here you go, kiddo.”
The fledgeling grabs it.
“Ya-Ha-Ha!” She trills.
The second table he clears is warm from sunlight passing through the window. The weather has been funny today, raining incessantly with small breaks allowing for brief but cosy warmth. Hyrule Field must be sporting a rainbow or two. Early autumn is a chaotic, playful thing. Outside tourists and locals alike squeal as they chase past old buildings, ushering children towards the bus stops on non-pedestrianised streets. Others sigh of relief as they come inside. He’d made the exact one when he’d burst in earlier with a very flustered Aryll, having rushed from training to collect her from school to then rush to the cafe.
Thursdays are exceptionally long since Dad started working late.
It sucks that Aryll has to hang out here until dark, but at least it’s just once a week. At least he’s remembered his Switch to keep her occupied.
“Hey, look!” Beedle says, as Link comes back, “Your coffee cup. What does that look like? Tell me that’s not creepy.”
Link squints.
“There’s a long thing- No, don’t smirk. You’re the worst. It’s a sword.”
Huh. It is.
The assistance bell chimes. Link’s cue. There’s a Goron at the counter. They have that weary look that tells of a long day of labour. Link wonders if they’ve been working on the restoration of the Old Castle Town wall. A bunch have travelled down for a few weeks according to Dad.
‘Evening, brother,’ He signs, ‘ What can I do for you?’
‘I’d kill for an igneous cortado, Goro.’
‘Spicy! Great! Right… Let me use my hands to prepare this for you.’
It’s exciting. No one’s ordered this specific blend in a few weeks and it’s such a shame. If Link were Goron, he’d down them in abundance.
"I appreciate the accessibility you have here, Goro," he says, ‘It’s tricky finding places in Old Castle Town that accommodate the hard of hearing!’
Link puts down the carving knife and rock.
‘Yeah, it’s tricky. Believe it or not it’s actually gotten a lot better these past couple of years.’
‘You’re a good little guy! …Hey, would you look at that? Beautiful, right?’
He’s looking at the small monitor hanging in the corner. It’s streaming the Royal Guard’s parade down the sacred mile of the Great Plateau. Devotionals finished over an hour ago, but the march still has a while to go. Link isn’t a fan of it being played. It sacrifices the chill vibe. But mum had always insisted it’s good for tourists, so once a week it comes on muted and subtitled. And she was totally right about it, because every week there’s a tourist or two who watches the whole thing with a coffee going cold, awestruck.
‘It’s cool to see real Knights,’ The Goron says, ‘ Ones without guns and stuff. Their uniforms are so extra, Goro.’
It’s the first time Link’s seen a Goron sign that slang. He smiles.
Whiiiiiiir, the rock crusher goes.
‘I heard their main focus is swords due to the Ancient Legend that Calamity Ganon will return, if it’s even true.’
It’s a common occurrence that non-locals make idle chit chat explaining things Link already knows. It’s not their fault, he doesn’t exactly look like a training Knight of the Realm in green apron, Hateno Cheese Festival jumper and half-up ponytail right now. He doesn’t explain he’s studied the legends for exams and passed with flying colours. Nor does he explain how it’s known amongst world governments that the Calamity is very real. Just because it’s a legend doesn’t make it a fairy tale.
Link’s job as a Knight is far more than ceremonial. It’s to upkeep specific traditions and training to pass onto future generations so that when the Calamity does come again in many generations time, Hyrule stands a chance.
The igneous cortado is orange, fizzing, and smells like rust.
‘Oh, brother!’ The Goron beams, ‘Cheers!’
They exchange rupees, and the Goron is on their way. Link hears a groan of satisfaction as they reach the door.
Task Complete.
“Pssssst!”
Aryll is beckoning. Beedle is bobbing.
“Yeees? Omph !”
They’re hunched over the bar. Smiles glitter with scheming.
“Three o’clock,” Beedle says-
Link turns- “Hey!”
“Not yet.”
Oh, no.
Who is it? His ex? His General? The vai who saw him trip walking down a level path last week?
“Pretty girl,” Aryll whispers, “ Really pretty girl.”
An eyebrow raises, nonplussed, “Right?”
Beedle comes close. Hands articulate every word with a rare excitement Link’s only seen around bug talk .
“ Imagine,” They begin, “The epitome of everything you told me your type for Hylian girls were, and then imagine her spectacular. Think dark academia meets wilderness explorer with a touch of queer energy… I think.”
Eyes widen, “...Am I going to fart in shock?”
Aryll snorts, “Like always.”
“Children!” Beedle sighs, “Listen. I just took an order from another woman they’re with. She says the others will come up to make theirs soon. I liked her. Quirky. Said ‘check it’ a lot.”
Vintage. The only person who’s quipped that recently is Dad.
“This is our action plan. You are going to go and offer table service, flash them the Beedle Bargain grin, and-”
“But- wait. We don’t do table service for making orders?”
The click of Beedle’s notebook being hooked off their belt strikes Link’s nerves like a drum. They hold it out.
“We do today. Use your sales face.”
“I don’t have a-”
“Copy mine, then!”
Their face assumes a look.
Link wishes to laugh this off, debates hiding in the store room to spare this social interaction and-
Hands land on his shoulders.
“Turn around.”
Love at first sight is a lie, Link tells himself, as he wills every ounce of training into existence so this tray doesn’t fall over.
Link doesn’t lift it, not yet. It’s an arch nemesis. The path ahead is treacherous terrain.
…He’s become a lizalfos on ice because of peer pressure, that’s all. It’s certainly not because of the girl sat adjacent to the stained glass lampshade that’s kissing blonde hair in the shades of autumn golden hour-
Not at all.
She’s gorgeous, but that isn’t the point. Yes, her cheeks are soft and eyes so iridescent they’re scarcely worldly. Yes, he loves the fact she’s wearing a dark green pinafore over a brown high neck top making her the colour of a forest. And yes… The way her chin tilts back as she laughs is earth shattering but it doesn’t matter.
It also doesn’t matter that he’s spent the past three minutes in the loo putting his hair up only for it to still look like a bokoblin horn. And obviously it doesn’t matter that his eyeliner - just subtle flicks today - isn’t entirely symmetrical. Of course, not. This is so silly.
She’s just beautiful. He’s just Link.
Link stares at the tray. The tray stares back.
Ugh. Ho w does Aryll know his type so well? For women, no less? Sisters are weird. This situation is weird.
Link refuses to think about how when he laid eyes on her the earth had beat with the word important… And can still hear it ringing.
It’s been a long day- A long week, even. The approach of mum’s death anniversary has made him a bit weird. That's all.
Courage.
Link takes the tray.
The pretty woman is sat in the booth beside the long window. Low orange lights are contrasted by the blues of her and friends’ slates. They’re chatting, gesturing to the bookshelf and its contents with interest-
Her smile is sweeter than the coffee in the air; mesmerising, intelligent, and yet subdued… Like there is potential to be explored-
Love at first sight is a lie, he repeats, as the liquid wibble wobbles towards the rim-
Four paces away, the friends- All Sheikah - notice. In total silence, slates lock. Three clicks snap through the air.
“Why have you all-” The pretty girl says, confused, then - “Oh. Hello.”
It’s strange how nothing happens. It’s not normal. With everyone he meets, there’s something that attaches to him; their energy, their appearance, their intelligence. But this blankness isn’t empty. It’s… It’s like this important canvas is awaiting drops of colour, texture and life. A piece in a gallery of things that’s happened before. It waits. Everything is awaiting this.
So weird.
“Can we help you?”
Her central accent is soft and antiquated. Pretty.
Link almost panic farts.
“Table service,” Hylia dammit he sounds half hinox! “...Can I fetch you anything? Oh! Here. Sorry.”
He puts the pot of Akkala red leaf tea down. It’s joined by a saucer with two shock lemon slices, in case they want it to sizzle.
Ever so slowly, one of the Sheikah reaches out. There’s a tattoo of a guardian across her forearm. Her lips are red as her eyes. Link likes the glasses she pushes up her nose with small eyelash-like adornments.
“We came here for the lack of table service, y’know?” She says, “Privacy? We heard this is the best place in Old Castle Town to grab a drink without fuss. I told your friend the others would go up themselves. We’re working on whacky secret projects here.”
As much as whacky secret projects sound cool, he probably should retreat-
“Purah!” Another Shiekah scolds. She’s taller. Sat beside the pretty woman. Dressed in monochrome also looking amazing, like one of those folks on street fashion videos. “Pardon us. My older sister gets rude when excited, body of a twenty-four year old patience of a six year old-”
A middle finger flips, “Piss off, Impa.”
Link wants to chuckle.
A male Sheikah slides further into their seat with a languid grin that says this happens a lot. Why is he wearing sunglasses inside? “Want to take a gander at what we’re building?”
Link blinks, “I… I just came to take your order-”
“Nooo!” He complains, “That’s no fun. C’mon. It’s spooky season and you’ve approached The Table of the Unhinged. Name’s Robbie, by the way. Rob B. Take a guess. What horror filled wonder are we brewing?”
They’re teasing him. The guy’s grin is a little sardonic. The whacky secret project woman is practically bouncing. The other Sheikah has quirked a brow. It’s only the super pretty girl who looks like she wishes to dissolve into the teapot. Link wonders what she’d do if he took her hand and whispered run. That little canvas would gain the colours of the sun they’d sprint towards.
He doesn’t make direct eye contact. He risks becoming part wildberry.
“Uh…” Words. Words. Okay. “How about… A weird life revival machine thing? Like Frankenstein. That’s both spooky and miraculous.”
The pretty girl’s cheek dimples.
By the three.
“Like…” The hyper Sheikah- Purah? - ponders- “A shrine of resurrection?”
Link shrugs, “Maybe?”
“Hell, yeah!” The guy exclaims, with a rock-star-esque point to the sky, “We could rea- Yow! Impa!”
“So sorry for my friends,” The pretty girl groans, “They’ve had a really boring afternoon and apparently are as excitable as keese. There’s no secret whacky cool projects, just…”
She unlocks her slate.
It’s maths stuff. Equations and algebra. There’s a chart that looks like sound waves. But it’s all in Sheikah script, and Link isn’t familiar with their numeric system. It’s almost as complex as the Zora’s. All the Sheikah he knows is from combat arts. This girl’s smart. Maths smart. It’s dangerous. Intelligence is an atom bomb.
If she knows about plants, he may have to propose.
Link nods like he gets it.
She brushes long hair over her ear. Her earrings are tiny poes.
“Can we give Link here our orders, please?”
“I- uh-” Malfunction. Error! “How…”
There’s a beat of silence. Her other cheek gains a dimple. A gloved hand raises and mimes a little circle on her chest.
Oh.
Nayru swallow him alive.
His name tag. Right there besides the two pins of his pronouns and a bisexuality flag. Just above the third pin of a korok holding a coffee cup. Its nickname is Hespresso.
It’s awkward.
The pretty girl beams fondly like it isn’t awkward at all.
“Check it!” Purah exclaims, “Zelda and Link! You two! Linky and Zellie!”
“Din,” The pretty girl curses-
Zelda, Link corrects, her name is Zelda. It suits her. She looks just like one.
He… Chuckles, “Do you get loads of comments about being a ‘fated being’ too?”
“Relentlessly,” She laughs.
Link can’t believe he asked a question without falling over.
Impa’s lips purse, “I don’t know if this is fate, coincidence, or a humongous ick.”
It is just a coincidence. Link and Zelda are incredibly common names. Legends of past Calamity, colossal floods, and mythical sky islands have determined that. There are three Links in his squadron alone. It’s not the first time he’s met a Zelda and had similar jokes dropped.
Linky and Zellie, that’s new though.
“Not too loud,” Robbie jibes, “Tourists may think you’re the Link and Zelda.”
Zelda’s eyes roll.
It’s ridiculous. But if there was a day some rogue person would jump to that wild conclusion, it’s Thursday after weekly Devotionals. So many tourists line the streets, phones braced, hoping to spot the Princess in the Royal convoy. Not that it ever happens.
No one ever sees the Princess of Hyrule.
Some fifty-ish years ago, the day the late Queen Zelda was born, there was the biggest Yiga terror attack on Hyrule seen in at least four hundred years. After the disaster the Royal Family relinquished the majority of their autocracy to the democratic government to lower tension and dedicated themselves to modernising. The Queen scarcely appeared in public her whole life even after crowning, and when she bore a Princess the decision was made to raise her in private until she became ten years old. This wasn’t to be. When the Princess was only six, the Queen was assassinated. The Yiga’s extremism had rocketed to new heights proclaiming the Calamity was imminent. They were hellbent on breaking the bloodline to usher in an age of darkness.
Prince Consort Rhoam Bospheramus was crowned King in mourning clothes.
The King’s spent the majority of his reign in a national effort to dispel the Yiga’s teachings at the root without violence. There has been no major attack since. They remain in the shadows.
Nevertheless, His Majesty resolved that no person should ever see the Princesses face unless Hylia call her against the Calamity. The only people permitted are the castle’s strictest circle. Her face is an omen to a terrible fate, and Hyrule has become a magnet for the macabre.
The internet is rife with speculation that Princess Zelda died with the Queen and King Rhoam is covering it up to covert his own power. Some say she’s secretly grown up in plain sight in Castle Town. Others say she’s forcefully being kept hostage until she harbours the sealing power. There are so many Dinstagram accounts dedicated to analysing Devotional streams for signals for help. Even one soldier getting a form incorrect is twisted into a plea.
Link empathises. It’s sad the Princess remains so isolated especially now she’s twenty, an adult with autonomy. Hyrulean rights organisations should have stepped in years ago.
But nothing changes.
Weekly Devotionals are never shown from the inside. Dad says even the Royal Guards permitted for security only ever see her in a veil… But rumours are her voice is pretty enough to inspire a thousand songs.
“As much fun as this is-” Impa says-
Oh! Working. Right. Pretty Zelda. Okay-
“-We really should give our orders and crack on, don’t you think?”
When Link returns behind the counter, orders scribbled in a notebook, it’s to two pairs of extremely expectant eyes. Link wants to approach again. He wants to know why Zelda’s dimples gave deja vu.
“Sooo,” Beedle slides up, “How’d it go?”
“I didn’t panic fart.”
A hand claps his shoulder, “Proud of you.”
It’s a while later. The evening dusk has almost given into inky jet. Tantalising sun has been long covered by heavy rain. It patters with the quiet clinking of crockery lovingly. He and Beedle work in amiable quiet, serving the last customers. Aryll is perched at the counter playing her switch. Dad should be here soon to collect her. Zelda and friends have stayed the whole evening. It’s been incredibly distracting; hearing her giggle, seeing them posing for silly pictures when they give into procrastination. Link can’t wait to go home, collapse into blankets and breathe.
But that moment isn’t to be just yet, as Zelda has approached the counter.
There’s a wildberry flush to her cheeks. Her scarf is the same chocolate brown as her jumper. Link’s cheeks flush wildberry too.
Nearby, Aryll’s switch pings with the pause sound.
“Hello, again,” She smiles, “We’re heading home. But... Tell me, which sweet treats are the best? I’m going to take a bunch for family. They looked too delectable to leave behind.”
“Depends,” He smiles, food talk is easy talk, “How many are we talking?”
Zelda’s fingers twitch as she thinks. Her fingerless gloves are cool. Her nails are autumnal colours, the many shades of leaves.
“Eight.”
“Big family?”
“Oh. Uh- No.” She chuckles, “Pardon me. They’re… Friends. Found family. Blood family wise it’s a small bunch… Nayru. Forgive me, that sounds so clinical.”
There is a hint of alarm in her eyes. She’s not used to stumbling over words and doesn’t like it. It’s charming. Link’s tongue gets caught by awkwardness’ grasp so often he swears he’s part moblin. Those creatures can never keep their tongues steady.
“S’okay. Soooo…” He slides over to the baked goods, “The mooncakes are top tier. I make them with this dash of wetlands spice that is chef’s kiss. There’s a version here with basalt and scoria if any of your folks are Goron. Um, the wildberry yum yum’s always go down well. Ube buns are packed with monster spice and oh my gods- Beedle championed that one. Oh, that’s Beedle.”
“You’re welcome,” They call from the sink.
“Hello,” Zelda says.
A sponge wielding hand waves back.
“Personally, I could eat these fortified pumpkin spiced cronuts every meal of the day. Mum’s recipe uses Akkala honey specifically that’s more nuanced to the stuff in Central Hyrule. There’s a few vegan and gluten free options here, and these are suitable for Zora…”
He’s rambling. It’s too much. But control has run away in the enjoyment of how Zelda almost mimics his gestures, absorbed in every single detail.
Soon, she makes the order, and the conversation flows. She asks about piping technique, and if he’d been to culinary school. He hasn’t, mum taught him everything, but he holds several food preparation certificates from the council.
“Is this your full time career?”
It's a big question for not a lot of time. He’s already boxing up the last item. He can’t believe she’s interested.
“No. I’m a Knight in training,” He explains, “Currently based at Hyrule Garrison on a scholarship in what folks call the Walking Renaissance Fayre. Short swords, archery, and all that. Um. …I also won the Hateno cheese rolling competition last month?”
Zelda twigs the cheese print poking above the apron, “Cheese rolling?”
“Uh,” He places the box down, scratches his neck, “Yeah. …You run down a hill after a cheese round. Whoever catches it wins. I won both the free falling round and the shield surfing one.”
“...Fascinating. You’re a Knight who makes excellent mochas and risks his life for cheese. I can get behind that. Any other surprises?”
Zelda picks up the box. It’s green like her eyes.
“I can do bird calls?” It comes out a little like a squawk, and he regrets all life choices that led him to that moment, “Uh- Here- Listen.”
Eyes flutter close. He sees rolling hills. Children’s laughter. Butterfly wings and worker bees and imagines he is the bird greeting them on a spring morning and-
Zelda’s jaw drops.
“A rainbow sparrow. Wow! Where- How did you learn to do that?!”
Link’s vaguely aware a couple customers have looked over. He’s very aware Aryll’s gaping in horror .
“Dunno,” He splutters, “Just happens.”
She’s smiling. She thinks it’s cool. Link’s heart pounds so hard conversation nosedives, but he can’t let that happen, so- “…I also see koroks? I think I saw one outside earlier-”
“You did,” She bursts, gobsmacked, “On the windowsill upstairs outside that antiques place, yes?”
No way. That’s- People so rarely see them. Link doesn’t have any friends who can! But Zelda saw the same one. This girl is pretty and smart and a little magical and-
The bell chimes. Impa stands in the doorway, umbrella pin poised on the wood like a spear.
“Zelda. Purah’s becoming part raincloud here!”
Zelda sighs, “Sorry. I could keep going. You’re the most interesting man I’ve laid my eyes on in forever.”
He… He woah-
“Nevermind. It’s been pleasant-”
“Zelda!”
Blonde hair swoops, “I’m coming!”
She’s feisty. Spicy.
“Pardon me. Um. Goodbye!”
She’s winding around the chairs. He aches. He wants to see her smile again. He-
His thumb brushes wool.
“Wait!”
He dashes, winds round, hops over a chair and-
Brushes her hand.
“Oh?”
“Your hat.”
“Oh!” She takes it quickly, “My hero. Thank you.”
It’s a bolt of thunder to the chest.
“I… Er-”
Words are lost as she looks at him. This little extra inch she has on him is wow.
“Just for that,” She smirks, “I may come back next week. Have a good evening, Link. Bye.”
In a swish of yellow, she’s out of the door. Link sees the Sheikah surround around her, hears the bursts of unrestrained laughter. It’s like bells. He’s full of them.
Somehow he makes it back. He doesn’t remember the journey. All eyes see is her smile, all they hear is her laughter. He chimes, chimes, chimes-
It’s like the Temple of Time has rang its ancient bells after thousands of years to celebrate this meeting.
Weird.
“Bird calls?” Beedle gasps, “That’s serious . I know they are cool but, yowzah. Buy her flowers first- ”
Aryll squeals, pointing and pointing because-
On a little napkin is the pumpkin cronut. Beside it lies a little note.
For the table service.
Link slumps against the counter, and can’t wipe the silly smile from his face.
“I’m going to marry that girl.”