a/n: submission to Legend and Adventure's summer fanfic contest.

The Stairwell ; PG13 - romance/drama - Link x Zelda

They step into the courtyard, he is a pace ahead of her, and while others would see this an insult to sovereignty- Zelda knows that he is just walking as he usually does, and truthfully, she is lagging behind, because it is much less painful to face his back than allow him to face hers. The enclave of night catches not upon them as cloudy midday shines through, dapples of sunlight hitting places here and there. Ever since he defeated Gannondorf, the insistent rain around the castle had ceased. However, it starts up again, and she would have called it a sun shower had the clouds not been in the way, she holds a hand up over her eyes as she peeks into a ray of light that has escaped, it becomes a little lighter each minute but the rain continues.

Soon it is her only, clipped walk she hears on the stone tile, his having halted a ways from the steps that led through the main doors into the castle, his silence has never surprised her, but because it is as abrupt as his turning to her. She gives a small start in surprise- before, checking herself, and composed once again, hands folded about her, a lock of golden hair glided over a shoulder and back from defeated inertia- "What is the matter?" she tries to ask, but he speaks ahead of her, a hand extended in faulty genteelly he has never been accustomed to, though he moves with it fluidly.

"Zelda," though they have traveled through the desert, though she had felt the ebbing loss of companionship through his head turning away at that time (from the sight, of that vanished mirror and light), though all of that has been done should have dampened the slight smile he wears, he offers it to her anyway, and it is slight in that it is not over boasted and cocky but a shade of kind and endearing- "-will you dance with me?"

Sincere, she feels her insides halt though the exterior shows no signs of indifference, without fail, and gracefully distinct her gloved hand slips upon and over his own, fingertips gliding across the palm (now his smile widens)- as does hers.

"What kind of dance?" she asks, not knowing what he knows and only knowing what she herself knows. His fingers enclose over hers, and as if expecting her answer, answers without hesitation "The most universal one among humans."

Before she may ask, which is so, the hand is taken up, and his positioning feet, her lips desire to speak her skeptic words, but instead of the waltz? Echoing out freely it comes out instead, "You know the waltz?"

She places a hand at his shoulder, his already at her hip. Feet already shifting backward, why was it always raining- but it is warm downing lightly and slick against their faces, through their hair, shoulders, clothes, this close their height looks similar, but she is still inches taller, she ducks her head in accordance, his laugh rings lightly upon her ears. "Know? Though I am a farmer, every one in my village knows this dance. It is custom, though we of course have different sort of dances of our own."

The kind she would not ever know, her smile is embarrassed, as the vaguely crumpled brow, you cannot grasp summer in the spring she thinks, while he may think otherwise. "Excuse me then, for my words."

A turn, a round, her skirts glide through the waltz in gentle wrung creasing. Their step is slow as they get used to the tempered feeling (as he had, when in practice realised that among his fellow villagers he was the only one left handed), and this is how it is, just their steps, the light drizzle of rain, a tilt of lips, declined in concentration. Zelda wants to ask, will he always miss her, does he miss her now (what was he going to do from now on without her.) But withholds it, she doesn't need to bring up, "Does it feel wrong?" he asks, she looks upon him sharply in the way startled cats do.

She knows exactly whom he is speaking of, they had after all, been one even if it was just a moment. She wonders- the bond that she held between Midna and the bond that Midna held between Link, the likeliness of the two- was that what made up the bond between Link and she?

It is she who misses a step, and twists a way, that her body curves to him slightly; he steps back in surprise and desire of not catching her mistaken feet, "Zelda?"

Did it come easily to him, her name? This was just how he was, formalities for the elder, but no formalities for his enemies, his family, his friends. (His friends are-) is she among them, though they are more like comrades, and not what is taken from a fairytale book, not your classic, and timed trial of over and over, a princess, a legend. To Link she thought, (through Midna's eyes she had seen him, how he fought and persevered over and over for Hyrule, for its people, for realms elsewhere, but had it been through Midna's heart that Zelda found herself-)

"The truth is-" she turns to his words, having turned away in fancy of her thoughts, he must think her peculiar, the Princess (the soon be queen). "-the people in Ordon village, we..."

Fading fast, the slight sun shower, the sun taking over the atmosphere again. All tangents of moisture caught in its ray and cast away. Instead of looking worried, sympathetic, remorseful, he- "...only learn this dance so we may dance it at our wedding."

She must have made a surprised sound, expression because he carries on, the most words she's ever heard (through her own ears and not) to have come out of his mouth all at once and as quickly, as slowly, "Though, this sort of fancy dance is normal to you, it must be?" it is not so much an attack or insult, or a degrading comment to his own person, but is drawn into the circle of humor, and he says it jokingly. Laughingly, as if he were teasing her (to cheer her up) and all she can reply is with- "Yes."

--

It's as if something has flown into her eye, but she does not feel it. It's the air as she opens a window in a darkened hallway. One that has not been destroyed; it had been the castle that had absorbed the most damage, and it as the castle that was being repaired. Other places had not been touched. Her old room, where her mother would visit and teach her not to run but to walk. These very halls that had for so long not held her steps as they had when she had been just a small girl.

She wasn't a girl any more though. She was to be Queen, without a mother, without a father. No siblings, no other relatives, but distance, living nobles. She liked to think her kingdom was diverse and peaceful before legend became truth, and that dark king had tried to rule again (he would come again, if not this century again then the next) no defeat has ever been whole, as no victory has either. This reality came to her not in dreams but in daylight, the sunshine would cause sweat to dabble at the back of her neck, but she would not tie her hair up, untiring. The anxiety to not measure up to those before her- she was sure he had felt it too. It was not a gripping, aching, irrevocable sensation. But to have someone else in the world who shared the same footing- was very comforting.

Zelda walks down the stairs. If her thoughts should not linger to that last dance, they should not linger to him.

--

When he had returned home he had been warmly welcomed, though things had changed, though he had changed, the love of his village, his home- that did not change.

Life did not revert back to its normality as he had the nuance of thought that it would.

He accepted that it is not the same.

--

What he doesn't know is Ilia, with light steps had come at the agitation in the wind, hastily tossing on her clothes to run to his home (having been sleeping), only to reach it and find his back. Epona galloping away with him on her, not minding the flickering slick grass heavy with morning dew that every hoof sent into the air behind them.

--

There is a commotion down below.

As Zelda stands amidst the stairwell that she had been so unlikely to return to, heart pounding at what can't be. Armor clinks, men yell, it sounds like someone has been thrown into the bushes, and clamoring steps up and up all through the castle, a castle she knows he is familiar with because he went here through every single nightmare that has already passed.

And when he reaches her he extends his hand.

"What?" comes out disbelieving, every single moment since he's left from what she had for lunch yesterday to planting roses to busy paperwork to that ant on the floor to that new maid with blonde curls to advisors chiding her for not accepting any suitors, how could she? She needs to marry; a kingdom is not kingdom without a King though she is their Queen. Even if it is duty, even if it necessary, a king has never come to save her from the highest tower or from the deepest sea. Only-

"Link."

She says his name like he should leave, but he stays, hair sticking to his face, sweat across his neck, under those leather gloves. He still wears those battle worn green clothes as if knowing he cannot change from them, as if knowing he'd leave his birthplace with them all over again for another journey, a different journey.

His hand curls into a fist, at his name, and he falls to one knee, that hand fisting at his chest. The world is crashing down at their ears and he smiles, asking just one thing that should not be possible, sure of it more than anything- "Zelda. Will you marry me?"

Her hand reaches out, white gloved and soon stock still as it is hovering over him, his very words. What is the wise decision? A farm boy cannot protect a kingdom. But could a hero not? A hero who has slain more dragons, more beasts and more monstrosities they have ever known. A hero who looks up to her and fearlessly asks for her, not the fear of fools, the kind of unwavering fear courage is in one, in one who knows what he can and cannot do. What he is possible of. Love. (But this, it should have been a cannot do. It should have been not thinkable or possible. She is a princess and he is not a prince. Still she thinks... is there nothing he cannot do?)

Isn't it foolish to not marry someone you love?

Maybe, for her, for them. How many regrets have carried into one life after another? The universe is only so fair to not allow them this. She may the Queen, the ruler of her people, thinking for their benefit over her own, their happiness is her happiness yet- being with him will not make them unhappy.

Nevertheless, "I cannot."

That smile melting into a touch of melancholy and it is like dark sweet honey that has come from the mother's hive. "What is there to fear?"

"Judgment, retribution- do you understand the responsibility our union would have?"

That smile is all light again, she feels herself waver, bit by bit like thread unraveling. He replies- "All the responsibilities I'm willing to take."

She gives a small laugh, right? He had thrown himself from one pair of shoes to another, just like that. But this new pair- "It wouldn't be right."

"We'll make it right."

What hasn't he made right? The broken mirror, the repairing town, that which he left behind, changed and all the same. That's how they are. Changed and all the same, and her heart is what's quaking, a fist at it, the other hovered hand uplifted to offer him her palm, her hand.

He takes it.

So she tells him, "Let's then. I'll marry you."

His hand folds over hers deftly, linking the fingers, now both smiling the sort of smiles that mimics the sunlight that streams through the window up and up above them, smiling a smile to and for each other- legs hiking up to be placed on the steps, echoing all over to give way of their presence.

For now they are running up the stairs together.