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A year had passed since the Calamity had fallen.
Hyrule had survived.
That alone was worth celebrating.
Zelda knew that. She truly did.
The people filling the castle courtyard deserved laughter after so much grief. They deserved music, dancing, warm food, and children chasing one another beneath strings of lanterns. They deserved, if only for a night, to know that the worst was behind them.
So she smiled when she was expected to smile.
She accepted congratulations with practiced grace.
She thanked nobles, merchants, soldiers, and villagers alike for their kindness, though she could scarcely remember half the conversations she’d had that evening.
She tried.
But every cheerful toast was shadowed by memories of those who should have been there to hear them.
All of the villages that hadn't survived. All the people who were just... gone.
It could have been worse, she knew it could have been worse.
They had won. She and Link had lived. Thousands more had been spared because they had.
That was something to be grateful for.
Even so, gratitude and grief proved uneasy companions.
Beside her, Link stood as composed as ever.
To anyone else, he was the picture of the legendary hero- back straight, expression calm, politely accepting every word of praise directed his way.
Only Zelda noticed the little things.
The way applause made one ear flick back before he caught himself.
The stiffness in his shoulders that had never quite eased all afternoon.
The fraction of a second it took him to answer when someone addressed him.
The careful way he held himself, as though enduring rather than attending.
She felt a pang of guilt.
He had never cared for large gatherings. Loud banquets exhausted him. Crowded markets often sent him searching for quieter streets. She had assumed today’s festivities would be tiring in the extreme for him.
She glanced at him again.
His polite smile never quite reached his eyes.
Just a little longer, she thought.
When Father’s speech is over, we’ll finally be able to leave, she reassured herself. They were getting close to the end.
As though summoned by the thought, King Rhoam stepped forward onto the raised dais overlooking the courtyard.
The conversations quieted.
He spoke well, as he always had.
Of the courage of Hyrule’s people.
Of rebuilding what had been lost.
Of hope.
Zelda listened with half an ear, offering the occasional nod while counting the moments until it was over.
“…and today,” her father said, his voice carrying across the courtyard, “we honor not only our survival, but the brighter future that lies before us.”
Applause rippled through the crowd.
Almost finished.
“…Let this day stand as proof that no darkness can endure forever.”
More applause.
Zelda allowed herself the smallest breath of relief.
Then her father smiled.
“And now, to conclude our celebration…”
She straightened automatically.
“…let the fireworks begin.”
Her head snapped toward him.
Fireworks?
She leaned closer before she could stop herself.
“Father,” she hissed beneath the renewed applause. “Fireworks?”
He glanced toward her, looking almost amused.
“Yes?”
“We never discussed fireworks.”
“They seemed a fitting end to the evening.”
“A fitting-”
The first whistle split the air before she could finish.
A burst of brilliant light blossomed high above the castle.
The crowd erupted into delighted cheers.
Zelda bit back every unprincesslike thought threatening to escape.
Really, Father?
She turned toward Link with an apologetic look already forming.
As she looked at him, he flinched.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that she noticed.
Of course.
She edged a little closer until their sleeves brushed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know.”
He gave the barest shake of his head, as if to say it wasn’t her fault.
Another firework climbed into the sky.
Another sharp crack echoed over the courtyard.
This time his ears flattened for a heartbeat before lifting again.
His jaw tightened.
Zelda reached for his hand beneath the folds of her gown where no one would see.
He took it immediately.
A third firework screamed skyward.
The explosion was louder than the others.
Link recoiled.
Not merely startled.
For the briefest instant, his carefully composed expression disappeared entirely.
There was something in his eyes Zelda had never expected to see.
Not annoyance.
Not discomfort.
Terror.
The mask returned almost as quickly as it had fallen.
But she had seen it.
Her stomach dropped.
She stepped closer until their shoulders touched.
“Link?”
He didn’t answer.
Another whistle rose into the night.
Zelda didn’t wait for the explosion.
She tightened her grip around Link’s hand and turned sharply away from the dais.
“Father.”
Her voice cut through the noise, low and urgent.
King Rhoam glanced down at her, still half-focused on the crowd’s celebration. “Yes, Zelda?”
“We’re leaving.”
A pause.
The next firework burst overhead, lighting the courtyard in white-gold.
Rhoam’s brow furrowed. “Leaving? The celebration has only just begun.”
Zelda’s jaw tightened.
Behind her, she felt Link shift- small, controlled, but unmistakably strained. Another crack split the sky, and his hand tensed around hers.
“We’ve done more than enough,” she said.
Rhoam let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Enough? Zelda, this is a victory celebration. The people have waited a year for this.”
Another explosion. Louder this time.
Zelda’s patience snapped.
“Father,” she hissed, stepping closer to the dais, “I said we’re leaving.”
Rhoam finally looked at her properly.
“Zelda. You cannot simply walk out.”
Her grip on Link’s hand tightened.
“I can,” she said, each word controlled, “and I am.”
Rhoam’s eyes narrowed. “Zelda-”
Another firework detonated overhead.
This time, Link flinched hard enough that she felt it through their joined hands.
Something in her went cold.
She didn’t argue again.
Instead, she stepped back down from the dais.
“Link,” she said softly.
He turned toward her immediately.
No hesitation.
That, more than anything, decided it.
She threaded her fingers more firmly through his and turned away from the celebration.
“Zelda!” Rhoam called after them. “This is unacceptable. You cannot just-”
She didn’t stop walking. Didn’t even dignify him with a response.
His voice faded behind them as they moved through the edge of the courtyard, swallowed almost immediately by the continuing roar of the celebration.
Another firework split the sky behind them, a sharp crack echoing off the castle stone.
Link flinched hard beside her.
Zelda tightened her grip around his hand.
“Keep with me,” she murmured, not unkind, but urgent.
He nodded once.
They moved quickly now, cutting away from the courtyard and into the quieter corridors of the castle. The sound dulled here, but it didn’t disappear- each distant explosion still carried through the stone like a heartbeat that refused to settle.
Too loud.
Still too loud.
Zelda glanced down the hall, searching.
Empty room. Empty room. Anywhere.
Behind them, another burst of cheering rose faintly through the walls, followed by another firework.
Link’s shoulders tensed again.
“Almost there,” she said softly, more to him than anything else.
A side corridor opened to her left. She took it without hesitation.
The castle was half-empty here- staff focused on the celebration, doors left slightly ajar, rooms unoccupied for the night.
She pushed the first door open.
A sitting room.
Empty. Blessedly, empty.
She stepped inside and pulled Link with her, closing the door firmly behind them.
The sound outside dulled immediately, though it did not vanish completely. The fireworks still reached them in muffled cracks through stone and distance.
But here, at least, the room was quieter.
She crossed quickly to the mantle, adjusting the lantern until the light softened the edges of the room instead of sharpening them. Then she grabbed the nearest blanket from the settee and returned to him.
"Come here," she said, grabbing his hand. She carefully guided him to a lying position, half of him on the couch, the other half on her lap.
She lifted the blanket and draped it over his shoulders, smoothing it down with careful hands.
Outside, the barrage continued- dull cracks and booms rolling in through the stone walls like distant thunder. Each one made Link flinch a little harder, made him curl a little tighter against her.
Loud noises had always unsettled him. Crowded markets, bustling banquets, the scrape of chairs across stone, the sudden report of a ceremonial cannon… sometimes he weathered them without much trouble. Other days they left him withdrawn and tense for hours. She had long since accepted it as one of his quieter peculiarities.
Another firework burst overhead, sharp and whistling before it cracked across the sky.
Link jolted in her lap.
"There, there," she soothed. "I know. They're awful. And loud. So, so loud."
Link whimpered into her skirt but nodded his head. She covered the one ear that was facing upright with her hand while the other one stroked his hair, trying everything she could to ground him.
The next blast was louder.
Light flashed through the windows. The glass rattled in its frame.
Link made a strangled sound.
“No…” he whispered.
She tightened her hold around him.
“It’s alright.”
Another explosion rolled across the castle.
“No,” he said again, barely more than a breath. His fingers clenched in the blanket. “I can’t lose you.”
The words stole the air from her lungs.
Lose her?
For one bewildered moment she simply stared down at him.
Then another firework split the night.
The flash.
The concussion that shook the walls.
And suddenly she understood.
The whistle of sound, the flash of light, the resulting crack...
The fireworks sounded unnervingly like Guardians, the very same that had turned against them.
Goddess.
How had she never seen it?
How many times had he been forced to endure this, while she was entirely oblivious?
The Guardians had turned toward her.
She had frozen.
Link hadn’t.
He had thrown himself between her and the gathering light without a moment’s hesitation.
She remembered the scream that had ripped itself from her throat. The certainty that she was going to watch him die.
Had her power awakened a heartbeat later, they both would have.
“Oh, Link…”
The words came out barely louder than a whisper.
She brushed a hand down his cheek.
“You didn’t lose me.”
A tear slipped free, soaking into the fabric of her gown.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “Look at me. I’m right here.”
Her thumb caught another tear before it could fall.
“We’re home. We’re safe.”
Another firework cracked overhead.
Without thinking, she covered his ear again.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t answer. He only turned his face into her palm, leaning into the touch as though he could anchor himself there.
Zelda swallowed hard.
She should have understood sooner.
All this time she had believed his discomfort ended with sensitive ears. She had never imagined that every celebration, every cannon, every firework had the power to carry him back to that battlefield.
He didn’t answer, but he did turn his face in just slightly yet again, pressing his cheek closer to her hand.
"Next year, we're going to travel somewhere else. The celebration is supposed to be for us, so we can do what we want. Maybe we can gather the Champions and go somewhere remote. Somewhere where we can both grieve our losses and commemorate our victory in the way that we want."
She didn't expect a response. But he settled a little more firmly into her. The worst of the fireworks was fading, and his trembling was growing less severe.
"We could climb a mountain," she murmured, just loud enough that he could hear her with his ears still covered. "Or find a valley where no one can follow us. We could go hunting and have a competition to see who can shoot the best."
His breathing was still uneven, but slower now. Less ragged.
"Or maybe we could go near the sea," she added. "You always look so calm near the water."
Link nodded into her skirt.
"But no matter what, I won't let this happen again, I promise you that. I should have pushed against it for this year, but no matter- we'll just make sure it won't recur."
She ran her fingers through his hair again, slower now, more certain.
“We’ll make our own traditions,” she whispered. “Ones that don’t hurt.”
Link didn’t answer, but his hand found hers and held it.