Don't own Zelda
He stares at the sword before him. It will never know his grip, yet he and it have fought more battles together than he can ever count. He turns and walks out of the sacred room, the Door of Time shutting silently behind
He slumps against the stone of the pedestal. The Spirit Stones are back where they belong, no they never left. It dawns now, that the life, sweet yet tainted, yesterday and seven years from now, he led will never happen.
His quest will never happen now. He will never swim in Zora's Domain, never climb Death Mountain, never regain the innocence of the Korkiri, never traverse shifting desert sands. He will never know solid Darunia, fierce Nabooru, shifty Impa, spirited Ruto, or sweet Malon, not like he knew them when he was the Hero of Time.
Link of the Korkiri, a boy far from home. No more is he the Hero of Time, for there is nothing to save, nothing to fight, nothing that threatens Hyrule as the King of Evil did.
And the greatest loss of all is the one he cannot bear to name. His beautiful princess, his love. He hauls himself to his feet and leaves the temple.
He slips past the guards with the ease born only of long practice. He has done this before, after all. None of the guards stop or notice him as he makes his way through the garden.
Finally he stands in the courtyard where he met her. She stands as she was, peering through the window into the room beyond. Not spying on Ganondorf, for he will never rise more than leader of the Gerudo, simply watching with a child's innocent curiosity.
He studies her for a moment, remembering the times they had, both while he was in the Sacred Realm and after.
As if his presence alerts her, Zelda turns around and spots him. He stares into her blank eyes. There is nothing there, merely a curiosity, no recognition, no fire, no love.
Finally, she breaks the silence. "Do I know you?"
He wants to tell her yes. That she knows him, loves him, fought with him, but he holds his tongue, for that was tomorrow and seven years ago and she knows him no longer. So he smiles sadly, weighted eyes shining in a child's face, and says simply "not yet."