I know I promised a few people that my next zelink story would be a happy one, but my hand slipped and I totally blame the fanfic I read yesterday; it had me crying for the rest of the day and it fucked me up, just like Instinct by heteroceric-heart.

Just another drabble/one-shot collection but set/based in/on Ocarina of Time instead - whooray!

Reviews are appreciated and I hope you enjoy this one! Hopefully your heart won't get broken.

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i. superhero

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Her fingers, clean, entwine with his, scarred and rough, tainted with blood that will never disappear no matter how many times he washes his hands. The room is plain. The bright light casts long shadows on the white floor; they stretch across the room and touch the legs of his bed and the hem of her long fine dress. He is silent, immobile, the air he breathes comes out in ragged breaths through chapped lips, his blond hair lays sprawled on the pillow. One eye is closed; the other, bandaged.

What can she do in a time like this? Only sit and wait, and hold his hands when he wakes from his deep restless sleep, and fights the delirium and the pain. His voice is hoarse when he screams incoherent words into the quiet room, startling medics, nurses and whoever is nearby. Her grip is strong, but his is stronger, and she fights back tears of pain, for him and for her, as he trashes in bed and bleeds before her eyes, but she is powerless to do anything and deeply blames herself for the way it all happened.

He no longer fights death. They have his condition established, all wounds treated and closed, except for one. He could have died, she tells herself; he could have died out there, out in the open field when he got separated from the army he was leading and was caught by surprise by the enemy. It must have hurt so much, and must have taken a lot of courage, which he has, a lot of it, filling his soul to the brim, to take out the arrow that pierced his right eye.

They had to remove it, else he would die of infection. It was a mystery how he didn't die of blood loss, or how he managed to find a stray horse and return to Hyrule Castle.

The people ask for him. They had seen his condition when he arrived by himself on top of an unfamiliar horse, barely balancing himself on its back as a hand clutched his face and the other his sides. There were broken and cracked ribs, fingers, cuts and a concussion; and then there was the eye. They see him as a superhero, feared by death and the mortal; but he is only human, and he bleeds and he is broken, he struggles just like everyone else.

Zelda brushes away his fringe with her fingertips, afraid that he will break under her touch. He is the one who says that, who uses only the gentlest motions on her. He is ruthless when he needs to protect, and tender when he needs to love, and oh does he love her.

He stirs under her touch, his breath hitches in a sharp intake of air when his mind accesses the throbbing pain in his eye socket. One tired blue iris peek at her through the gap of his eyelids, and she tries so hard to smile but it feels like a grimace. But he smiles, softly and lovingly, at her, and she cries before his eye.

He chooses to ignore it, and tightens his fingers around hers as much as he can. "Good morning." She can't contain the sob that flees her mouth and turns her head away, but he has already seen it all; the tears, the worry, the dark circles under her eyes, the hollow in her cheeks and her reddening nose. Her hands, he notices, are thin and fragile in his; her fingers almost bony now.

"You haven't been eating," he says, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. Her head shakes, her waterfall of blonde hair swaying and glinting under the light that is slowly reaching them. "You need to take care of yourself." Zelda wants to scream at him, and say that he should be worrying about his health, but she always comes first and he won't change it now, she knows it.

The hero of many wars holds her hand between his palms; they are warm and his fingers are still bandaged. She tries to compose herself and glue her pieces together; she can't afford to be weak now of all times. Digits trace the back on her hand and the inner side of her wrist, trailing the veins under her pale skin, and the princess shivers, shudders, and wants to pull away out of guilt, but he is strong, and she isn't. "You need to go out more." He says as a fingertip taps the center of her palm; he never liked it that she didn't take enough walks to sunbathe and usually forced her to go to the courtyard for at least five minutes whenever he could. The same finger is pressed to her pulse, her fingers curl around empty air.

He is pretending, she realizes. Pretending that this is just another injury that will heal over time, pretending that one day he will see the world with both eyes again. Her fingers dig into the skin of her palm; he sees it, but doesn't say anything. Light reaches her left hand, touches the golden band around her ring finger and it shines gloriously, just like his that lay on the bedside table over his gauntlets. It makes her think if he will ever love her like he did before she sent him to the war, sent him to a near death experience.

The sun sinks lower, casts red hues over the white walls of the infirmary. Link glances out the window, only now noticing that it is close to nightfall. The sun glares at him, his hair turns bright orange, and his grip tightens around her hand, almost painfully, as he blinks. against the light.

Blinks only the right eye.