Alright, here is that teaser/ epilogue thing I promised you guys. Since I already did my big sign-off, I'll keep it short, but here's one last thanks for everything you guys have done.

There was that infernal uselessness again. It had been bothering Zelda all day, but now it had come back stronger than ever, because right at the moment, she was hungry. Very hungry. There had been so much to take care of when she finally returned to the castle that they hadn't broken for lunch, or dinner. She couldn't even quite recall when she had last eaten, but her best guess was a few days before. Now, it felt very much as though her stomach was attempting to consume itself for sustenance.

But the worst part was that there was any amount of food less than two stories below her. There were people who would cook it for her and people who would bring it to her. If she demanded it, there would be people who would eat beside her and fill the rest of her day with mindless chitchat solely for her amusement. All she had to do was ask.
But asking was more than she could handle right now. The very thought of seeing people, talking to people, surrounding herself with people right now was sickening. Which was actually quite problematic, seeing as how being alone right now was driving her out of her mind.

She laughed humorlessly to herself. Amazing. All that time that she spent fighting for her life, for her kingdom. All those days spent desperately fighting off death, and now she couldn't even figure out how to find some dinner without breaking down in tears.

And all this waiting. This waiting was driving her insane.

And it had only been a few minutes.

It was easier during the day. One of the side-effects of her disappearing on her mad scheme, one she had been very aware of and yet put so little thought to for the longest time, was that when she returned she would have a lot to clean up. Especially considering that she had been forced to leave right in the middle of possibly the worst disaster that the country had ever seen.

When the Cloud first began growing in the sky, she remembered, it was like the world had gone silent. As she tried her hardest to rule, she could see as the fear spread from the eyes of one person to the next. The streets quieted and everyone walked quickly from place to place. Laughter seemed blasphemous. The blackness just kept growing, until it blocked out the sun and stars.

She could do nothing from where she was. And it just so happened that the only way to get to where she needed to be was to release on of the most dangerous killers in her nation's history and then, more or less, throw herself and her kingdom at his mercy.

It was not a good plan.

Honestly, the fact that it had worked with even a fifty percent success rate was really something she should be pleased with, she reminded herself. After all, there was a time, only a few days before, when she had been sure her kingdom would burn at the very least.

And yet, here she was. In her own room. On the ground. Beneath a blue and sunlit sky. And Vaati was not. He was safely locked away where he had been kept for hundreds of years. The kingdom was largely unburnt. There had been a few unpleasant... incidents that she had heard of since she returned, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with in due time.
Logically, at least percentage wise, this was a success.

If only she had any clue what to do from here.

The day had had been marginally more relaxing than she was expecting, but that wasn't saying much. When she showed up at the door of the palace, with only Link as her escort, naturally there had been an uproar. People threw a fit, demanding explanations. Not that she had been expecting any less, but it had been taxing, moving from one battle to the next. By the time she returned, the story of her disappearance had become so mangled, it would have taken hours to sort it out. Fortunately, someone, she couldn't even remember, had thought to ask if she was injured. That led to a veritable parade of doctors storming the place and insisting on checking every inch of her for potentially life-threatening ailments.
It had been embarrassing, beyond belief. One doctor was more than enough. Having four in the room, at the same time, all performing exams that they didn't bother to explain was mortifying. Still, at least they didn't ask questions that she couldn't answer. It was all quite simple. Where did you get this bruise? Does your head hurt? She could tell they deliberately steered clear of asking the hard questions, the questions that an entire kingdom was asking.

Nonetheless, in a weird way, it was remarkably calming. If nothing else, she could parrot with the best of them. The doctor's questions were easy and, more importantly, time consuming. By the time the exams were declared over and her life decidedly safe, the sun was dipping below the horizon.

Someone made the grand decision that further inquiries would be left to the morning and Zelda was sent to her room in a flurry, leaving her feeling unusually like a child sent to bed without supper. Truthfully, it alarmed her a little, to be ordered around like this, when she couldn't even be sure who exactly was making all of these decisions.

She knew, or at least, most of her knew, that now was the time to come sweeping into the castle, shouting orders as she walked. Now was the time to walk back into her position of power, and forcibly oust anyone who dared object. Now was the time, before anyone had a chance to denounce her or accuse her of abandoning her post.

But she had, hadn't she? Well, not really. Everything she had done, she had done for her people, but how it must look. There was so much to explain. There was so much she couldn't explain, that people could never know about.
After all, not all of her had made it back.

Zelda lowered her head into her hands and waited for tears. They didn't come. Instead, she just let her legs wobble and her weight drop to the ground in a heap.

There was just so much to do. And she was so tired. And so hungry.

The scream that came out of her mouth surprised her. She hadn't meant to, but, if she was honest with herself, it felt wonderful. And with that, all of her emotions came flooding out. She was sure the screaming could be heard down the halls and throughout the whole castle as she grabbed the nearest object and threw it mercilessly against the wall. It was a book, so it landed with a resounding, unsatisfying thump. But that was just the start.

She stood up and raced to her bookcase before yanking the first book she could lay her hands on. In a fit, she grabbed the pages and pulled, feeling the paper rip in half. Without looking, she threw the shreds in the air, letting them drift down around her like snow. She grabbed another book. And another. And a fourth. Once she started, it was impossible to go back.

The floor was soon blanketed with white and yellow fragments, and Zelda's bare feet danced around through them as she raged. The storm in her room was growing. Soon it wasn't just paper fragments drifting softly. Zelda tore the clothes from her dresser, swinging them madly. When was the last time she had worn a dress? The starched collars, the petticoats. All the lace was so damn useless! She turned one inside out and left it on her bed. She ripped the embroidery out of another with her teeth. What in hell did she need it for anyway?

Finally, she ran to the window, struck by an irrepressible urge to throw a fist through it, if only to watch the glass glint in the fading sunlight as it fell. Without a second thought, she raised her fist back, ready to strike, when a hand caught her arm.

"Link," Zelda acknowledged simply. He nodded once, his face blank. "You're back." He nodded again. Even though silence was very much characteristic of him since they were very young, she shied away from the hardness in his face, a recent addition. "And you're angry."

He dropped her arm and took a long moment to survey the damage she had done to her room. It was far more extensive than she had realized. Absently, he kicked at the bits of paper on the ground, watching them leap into the air and flutter down again. Finally, he nodded once more in acknowledgement.

"Is this where I apologize?" she asked hopefully.

"No," he answered and Zelda flinched at the sound of his voice. It was soft, but then again, she had never heard him raise his voice in her life. Still, when he did speak, his words carried a scary amount of power.

"Why not?"

"I know you're sorry."

She nodded, reluctantly accepting his words. "And that means nothing. I understand." A long paused dragged between them. "I'll try to clean some of this up before someone sees."

She made to bend down and grab at the paper shreds, when she felt his hand on her shoulder again. "For the record, it means everything. It's what's kept me from strangling you."

She smiled a little at what she knew was his best attempt at a joke to lighten the mood. But he was far too sincere for humor. And she was far to wise to be distracted by it.

"If there's a way to fix it- to fix me- I'll find it. But there are other things to take care of first. There's a whole kingdom of people to worry about."

Whatever sympathy he had faded from his face and he bent down silently to help clean.

"You know that," she reminded him, but her words sounded pathetically weak to her own ears. "We both know that."
His only response was a gruff grunt that he had heard her.

They cleaned in silence for a while, carefully avoiding bumping into each other or making eye contact. Only when the last bit of paper had been secretly stowed away, did Zelda finally dare to look back at him.

"No more... no more this, I promise," she whispered, gesturing to the remains of what had once been a prized book collection. His shoulders relaxed a little in response. She took that as a cue to continue. "I know you've disagreed with me in the past." She picked her words carefully. "I know you think I'm an idiot for doing some of these things. I can't say I'll stop. But, I promise you, no more crying, no more screaming. I'll be productive, I swear."

He looked over at her face and softened at the way she bit her thumb. She only did that when she was well and truly scared. "I don't mind the tears, or the screaming. It shows that your life means something to you."

His words would have been unkind if she didn't know whole heartedly he didn't mean them that way. Still, she couldn't help the little bit of hurt she felt when he said that. But he was speaking to her, at least, and it wasn't worth it to challenge his words.

"Well, you're here now, so I take it you found it?" He glared a little when she changed the subject, but nonetheless patted his pocket in response. Ever loyal, he had done exactly as she asked, when she asked it. He had gone away only moments after he brought her home, on her word alone. The thought made her want to cry.

Nonetheless, she reached out eagerly for the package and, though he hesitated, he reached into his pocket and handed it to her.

The brass contraption was not much larger than her hand. However, she could tell that it was much beloved. The amount of polish someone had carefully applied to it left the metal shining brightly, even in the dim last vestiges of sunlight. Zelda turned the small telescope over in her hands, inspecting the lenses and the casing, even though she had no idea what she was looking for.

"Thank you," she said at last.

"You want to keep watch his palace," Link answered knowingly, even though she had never told him her plans for the device.

"I do. Just because... just because it seems like it's over, I can't believe it is."

"It's not over," he growled back, with such ferocity that she jumped.

Zelda stared down at the town around the castle, where the few people still outside were quickly preparing for a long, calm night. "It's over for them. I think that's the most important part." He didn't answer, but turned away coldly, so she couldn't see his face. That was alright with her, since her mind was far elsewhere. "I guess that makes it a success. Doesn't it?"

At last she turned away from the window and was surprised to see that he was already over by the door, his hand on the knob.

"Doesn't it?" she asked again.

"You must be tired. Goodnight." He opened the door and prepared to slip outside into the already dark hall.

"Wait!" He froze mid-step. "Could you stay?"

He turned towards her and stepped back into the room, his face disturbingly blank.

"Thank you," she whispered, though he didn't react. Instead, he made his way simply to the corner of the room and sat down on the floor, staring straight ahead. He didn't even acknowledge when she sat beside him, ignoring the rather tempting bed beside her.

In all her years of knowing him, she knew full well that she couldn't elicit a response from him until he wished to give one. He could sit still for hours. When he was younger, she used to tease him about it. He always said he needed the time to think. Not everyone could be as smart as she was.

The memory made her eyes sting and she shut them, leaning against his shoulder, hoping desperately that he would put an arm around her. Honestly, she would have been happy if he had even told her to go away. As long as he acknowledged she was there, really there. The sun had long faded by the time any of them made a move.

It was subtle, but it was enough. Ever so softly, he leaned to the side, lowering his shoulder and letting her head rest more comfortably, and allowing his own head to rest against hers. For a moment, her heart leaped at the gesture, and a soft "thank you" came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She almost cried in relief, until she looked at his face.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was soft and steady. He hadn't meant to move at all. He had fallen asleep. She blinked, unable to quite process what she was feeling. But she didn't move, needing somehow to stay curled against him as he slept. To be alone was too much. To be surrounded by people was impossible. It seemed to her that this unwilling arrangement was the closest thing to kindness she would receive. At the very least, his warmth would be a reminder that she wasn't alone.

And, if she could sleep, then she wouldn't have to worry about it. She could be warm and safe, if only for a few hours when she was unconscious. That, at least, she thought to herself, would be better.

She was wrong.

Sleep was much worse.