We are the only two who understand how close we came.

Close to death, that is.

I remember him mostly as a boy, so young and open to the world. He approached me on my courtyard dais so frightened, his clothes and skin dusty from being caught sneaking in several times. He tried to look brave as I spoke to him, explaining things we as children shouldn't have had to worry about.

As children.

We were so very young then, only seven years old. It is hard to believe the things I put him through. He went off swinging that little sword to slay monsters many times larger than he with no complaint. What bravery I saw in him! What intelligence, what stamina! Yes, I watched him from a distance as he retrieved the sapphire and ruby for me. And then, when he brought them to the castle, I watched from the back of Impa's frantic horse as he readied that little sword and shield to defend us against the great dark Gerudo, even though there was little chance of him doing more than scratching the man's thigh.

I fell in love, then.

I wanted to turn back and save that curious little boy, but Impa told me that he had bought us time. Because of him, we would live to see tomorrow.

But would he?

Of course he would. He was destined to enter the Temple of Time and grow up far too fast. He became a strapping young lad of seventeen and went on to save the world. And then, with my heart aching for all that he had seen, I sent him back to be a boy again. I hoped that he would remember me, and he did. We grew up together as great friends, though it was hard to explain to my father how we met. Eventually, he warmed up to the boy and gave him a room within our palace.

Twenty years hence, Link is no longer living at the castle. He moved to his very own house a year ago and accepted a guard's position at the castle gates. He rarely ever comes around any more, preferring to spend his off-days visiting his many friends in Kakariko and Hyrule Castle Town. I remember clearly the day he came to me with the request.

"Your highness...," he began, and I stopped him.

"Forgive me.... Zelda, I would like to request permission to leave the castle." Even as an adult, he was fidgeting and would not meet my eyes.

"You're free to come and go as you please, Link. I cannot hold you back," I told him. And then he told me the truth.

"I want to move out of the castle."

He was silent while the color drained from my face. "W...why?"

"I feel trapped here. I'm not free." His words were biting, but I knew how he felt. I felt the same.

"I.…." I started to speak but did not have the strength and instead sank into my chair, weakly holding my head.

"I'm sorry, Zelda.…." His voice trailed off, and I hid my face, not wanting him to see my tears.

"Leave if you want to, then," I said, my words tinged with a frost I neither meant nor expected. I think it shocked and hurt him. What I wanted to do was wrap myself around him and beg him to stay, and to tell him the secret I had guarded across time and back, through two lifetimes. I could never love anyone but that child who tried so valiantly to fight Ganondorf with that little wooden shield and sword.

But I did not tell him, and I let him go.

Now I am standing in the ballroom, watching my people pirouette and dip, happiness on their faces. Link and his wife are among them, I know, but I am hoping I'll miss them tonight.

"Zelda.…." I hear his voice and my heart stops for a breathless moment. "I would like you to meet.…."

I wake up lying in my bed. My handmaiden tells me I fainted, and I am surprised -- surprised that I did not perish there, for I felt as if I should have. I lost my little brave boy, and in his place found a proud married man with land of his own. He found his freedom, I suppose.

From my bed I watch the sun rise, and I wonder if it is a sign. I also rise and follow the light to my balcony, which looks out to the courtyard below.

He is there, seated on a bench in my garden, looking pensive and sad. She is there, consoling him.

I wonder why he is crying….

Part 2 :: Resuscitation
Link's Story

There are days when I rise swiftly from my bed to greet the dawn, and then there are days when I am loathe to leave its warm confines. As my feet touch the cold floor today, I confirm it is the latter. Rain is falling steadily outside the window, and I realize as the damp air slaps me in the face that it was left open the night before. I perturbedly stomp to the window and slam it shut. My wife is already awake, thank goodness.

Through the sheets of rain I see the spires and turrets of the great castle defined. I used to live there, in a room that wasn't drafty like this one. Every morning was a slugabed morning, every day a lazy man's dream. I didn't have to get up and feed the livestock or ready the equipment for a day of farming. I didn't have responsibility or resistance. I could waste away the days.

There was you, too. You with your carefree laughter and vivacity, telling the most bizarre of stories while lounging beside me on the grass in your garden, tempting me relentlessly.

Ah, there I go again. My mind wanders from my "here and now" to your "there and then." I can't keep living this way! I can't torture myself with memories of old when I am trying so desperately to persist in the new.

"Link, dear.…." It is my gentle wife's voice, snatching me from my self-deprecation. "Breakfast is on the stove. Are you alright?"

"Fine. I'm fine. I'll be down in a moment, honey." The words are alien to me, but they flow from my lips easily. She places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, and I place a kiss upon her selfless fingers as she turns to leave. She understands my melancholy.

So did you.

You, you, you.… It is always you. This blood, this soul, this life...they were yours. I bled for you, I risked my soul for you, I would die for you in a heartbeat. I love you. It is that simple. So why, then, am I calling another woman "honey?" Why, then, do I sleep next to her, tell her I love her... and why did I make her my wife?

Why did I ask to leave all those years ago? It made sense, at the time. Within the walls of the castle I was strangled, cut off from all those freedoms I enjoyed as a child. I have the spirit of an adventurer, a soul destined to roam the plains in search of elusive contentment. I shall never be content, no matter where I am standing, but as long as I am moving, my thirst for resolution is quenched. Certainly I could roam as far as I liked, but I always had to come back to that castle eventually. I always had to return to the structure you enjoyed. I simply cannot live that way.

Or, perhaps, I could. As an impulsive youth, I never considered compromise. I was not mature enough to realize that leaving the castle meant leaving you as well.

It is hard to believe that your letter caused this redux of emotion. Yesterday morning it arrived, inviting my wife and I to the Celebration of Spring at the castle. We will go, of course. But you will be there. You, who I have not seen since that day.

My wife shouts from below and I know she is growing impatient with me. I venture down and enjoy her hearty breakfast, then go out to feed the livestock.

It is still raining. The cold and relentless barrage of wet does not help my mood. It is a long walk from the house to the stable, and the dirt path has already turned to mud. Feeding the animals takes forever, but it is a mundane task that takes you off my mind for a bit. But once the last animal is fed and I am out in the rain again, you reenter my thoughts and I am lost.

I'll never shine the way you shine; it is a fact I have come to terms with. To love you would have only disgraced you. Would a diamond be happy set in dirt? No, it must be set in gold to sparkle. Such is the root of my problem. I am dirt, in many ways: first, because I could never hope to rise to your level, and second, because my wife will always feel deep down inside that she was settled for. To my heart, she is second-best.

The spires loom large in the distance, only slightly obscured by the darkness of angry rainclouds. They remind me that I will see you tonight. It will take every ounce of courage I have just to stand before you and look at your face, because it will be just like the day I left you. I will relive the shock, the hurt, and then the anger you expressed in those few short moments. My mind will reel and my heart will be gripped with guilt. If only I could take back what I said that day! If only I could tell you what I really felt--that dirt can love a diamond, but I could never be your gold!

I am soaked through, caked with mud from the soles of my boots to my knees, and chilled to the bone. I throw my head back and let the rain pelt my cheeks and forehead. I spread my arms and let my sleeves soak up the rain. I consider screaming to release my anger and my sadness, but I refrain.

I need to be washed clean. I need to start anew. I need to simply start, for I feel as if I am at a standstill. My spirit died when I left your side.

I need resuscitation.

Part 3 :: Faithful
Malon's Story

My husband did not come home last night.

After the Celebration of Spring he put me in our buggy and handed me the reins, telling me to go home, and he would return later.

And I believed him.

I had to comfort him at your castle because seeing you troubled him so. Then he left me, saying he wanted to make sure you were okay. I read his motives in his eyes, troubled but so passionate, more so than I have ever seen him. Only you can bring out that passion.

I know he spent the night there. I know he is with you. Is he with you now?

I pull my covers up to my neck and try to chase away the chill, but it is resilient. Sleep will be long in coming tonight. My husband is not sleeping, so why should I be? I am sure he is more favorably engaged at the moment. Yet I am not jealous, I have never been. Though he swore he loves me, I know it is never true. He cannot love me. I know it when he stands at the window and glares at your castle. When he stands there, I know where his heart lies.

When I married him I knew I would never wholly own him. I am content to hold just a little home in his heart, no matter how small. I shall love him with all of mine.

Because I am faithful.

My job is to comfort, to console, to caress. I play the happy home maker, he is my helpful husband. I do not hold him back when he needs to be free, nor do I trouble him when he is moody. In between we run our ranch and he farms the small parcel of farmland we own. I believe the hard labor takes his mind off things for awhile, for when I visit him in the fields he is in good spirits. But then the evening falls and he returns to me a shell of a man, pining for something he let slip through his fingers like sand.

I know he will return, eventually. I am always faithful.

The wait is excruciating as the night is long, and the bed is cold without him. Dawn breaks, and he still has not returned. I cannot help but think of you, and I wonder if you appreciate him. I wonder if you know what you have, and if you even care. You had your choice of the men in this world -- why him? Why my husband?

But then I remember; he was yours before he was mine.

I hear our door open downstairs and I hurriedly jump out of bed. I throw on a robe over my nightgown and scurry down the stairs. The chill has already absorbed what little heat the tiny room could keep. I have gooseflesh from my toes to the top of my head, and my scalp crawls. Perhaps it is not so much the temperature, however, as the mixture of happiness and bitterness I feel.

He stands before the door, regarding me sadly. His cheeks and nose are reddened from the cold and his eyes are filled with guilt. There is something else in his eyes, a little something left over from the night. He cannot hide it.

I silently put some water on the stove to boil for coffee. He removes his coat and hat and hangs them on their peg beside the door. We are back to our old routine.

He sits at the table and watches me as I begin to make breakfast. His eyes are clouded, and I can no longer understand their feelings. I do, however, know what memories lurk behind them. I know.

But I am faithful. Though he is not.