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Moonlight glistens on the waters of the Spring of Power, rippling in silver-blue fractals as Zelda wades towards the edge. Frustration makes her movements erratic, hampered by the soaked lower half of her dress and by the stiff cold that's settled into her skin, and she nearly stumbles on the slippery stone that encircles the spring.
But Link is there, as he always is, sure-footed and steady and sword now strapped firmly to his back, though it had been in his hands moments ago. Those hands find her arm, supporting.
She gracelessly accepts his help, heat burning in her eyes and cheeks, as Link guides her up onto the stone. She can hardly bear to look at him, but she knows that his brows are furrowed and his face is uncharacteristically troubled.
Another failure. She can't even climb out of this spring without assistance.
"You must think I'm useless." The mumbled words slip out before Zelda can stop them, and she cringes, furiously blinking back her tears. Why, why does she keep doing that? Why does she keep dumping her fears and insecurities on him, when he's finally admitted to her that his own anxieties often overwhelm him? Why does she keep laying out the worst parts of herself for him, when she is a princess and a future queen, a supposed agent of the gods, and she should know better than to break composure and display weakness like that?
She blabbers so much to him, he must think she's-
No, Link signs with his right hand, waved open before his face as he mouths it at the same time. I do not.
Zelda stills. She focuses on him as intently as he always does on her, causing him to shift uncomfortably, and the sincerity of the words hits her.
"Link, I..." Zelda sighs, faltering, as the knot of shame in her chest relents of its insistence on tears. Of course he doesn't. It’s unfair of her go fishing for validation, whether for her insecurities or for a negation of them. "I don't-"
Link squeezes her arm, a brief but meaningful gesture, and once again, surprise steals the words out of Zelda's throat. For all that he's been her shadow for a while now, he's kept a respectful distance, coming close only to protect or assist and never lingering too long. But this time, he hasn't let go of her yet. He's lingering for the first time – attempting to provide comfort, she realizes, and he only lets go to sign.
You are trying, he says, carving the words out with fingers and fists and the silent movement of his mouth, with signs that Zelda has worked hard to deepen her understanding of. His face, usually carefully impassive, is soft, sad. He hesitates, as if choosing his words carefully, but there is something firm lurking underneath. That is enough for me.
For the third time in as many minutes, words flee Zelda. Her breath catches in her chest, and tears threaten to resurge. She opens her mouth and closes it, swallowing with difficulty, at a loss.
They stand there for a moment as if frozen by the cold moonlight, and only the silver murmuring of the spring fills the air. Link's eyes are fixed on Zelda, and it's not exactly pity there, but she can feel his sorrow for her. There's something else in his gaze, too, that takes her words and her breath. Faith.
He's never looked at her with disappointment, she realizes. His troubled expression earlier had not been because of her failure to awaken the dormant power within her.
Presently, it occurs to Zelda that she should respond. "Link..." she says, his name a breathy exhale. Not so long ago, she could never have imagined saying it with such warmth. She goes to speak aloud again, then changes her mind and brings a hand up to her chin, sweeping it out. Thank you.
Link dips his head in a nod, and for a moment, the Hero's facade that he'd admitted to deliberately constructing disappears with a smile, bright and encouraging enough to remind Zelda that he's almost as young as she is. Then he retreats a few steps towards the spring's entrance, giving Zelda a moment to compose herself.
She takes several breaths, and with each one, she pulls the reluctant mantle of Princess closer around her shoulders. "We can set up camp just outside," she says, brisk and hollow. "The proximity of the spring should provide protection, and perhaps we can both get some sleep." Morning light is only a few hours away, but Zelda is exhausted, her strength sapped by cold water and the weight of failure.
Something in her insists that she not stop regardless, that she press on to the final spring as soon as possible. But she imagines the look that she'd get from Link if she suggested it, the disapproval at pushing herself too much that he's begun to show more and more as of late. Hypocrite that he is, she thinks warmly; she knows that Link won't agree to taking turns at sleep even if she orders it. She does not voice the suggestion.
Link nods again and waits for her to pass, falling into regular step at her shoulder a few paces behind. Zelda has almost reached the tunnel when she feels his hand on her arm again, entreating. Surprised by the contact, she turns to find him staring at her hesitantly. It's as if he is searching for words again, and she waits.
There is nothing wrong with you, Link signs at last, and the flourish on 'nothing' is rather aggressive. Though the concern on his face is soft, there is once again that firmness underneath, a kind that doesn't invite a contrary opinion.
Zelda gazes back at him, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile. She can see that he believes it, and once again, his faith in her strikes at something in her chest, igniting a warmth that eases some of the sting of failure. "I'm glad you think so," she says, knowing better than to protest.
She cannot believe that. But he does, and as they leave the Spring of Power, the presence of her steadfast knight makes thinking forward to the final spring a little easier.