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Embers floated upwards, splitting off from the flames to flicker overhead. Link watched as they twirled and danced to their own beat; tiny, temporary stars joining the night sky, until they’d ventured too far from the bonfire and faded into nothing.
His head spun. His cheeks were too warm. He really shouldn’t have let Karson talk him into that last cup.
That morning, Reede had marched down from his home; a lit torch held in one hand, Karin grasping the other. Together, they placed the torch in the centre of the prepared woodpile, and Hateno’s Harvest Festival officially kicked off. Food and drink were shared around, children and adults alike were pulled into games and dances and, for those in the mood, a good helping of mischief was dished up—all to celebrate a year of good crops, and welcome in the approaching winter.
Personally, Link had actually hoped to avoid the brunt of the overwhelming revelry, sticking to Zelda’s shadow as much as he could while she made her rounds through the busy street. However, that plan found itself nipped in the bud early into the festivities. Three conversations in, and the two of them found themselves separated by tiny bodies with loud voices. Zelda’s students wanted to make a little competition out of the kids’ games that had been set up, and of course, they couldn’t start without her offering her professional judgement on the results.
So Link, left alone, had ended up in the clutches of Worten and Karson; a third member for their team in the more difficult, more competitive adult activities. Dragged to the opposite side of the street, he had to settle for watching Zelda through an aura of smoke between rounds on rounds of tug-o-war and flour tossing.
And, rounds on rounds of drinks. Because apparently, it wouldn’t be fair for the Hero of Hyrule to take part in the games without some form of disadvantage. And being, at minimum, half a foot shorter than everyone else didn’t count. Seldon placed a tankard in Link’s hands, and Tokk ensured it remained healthily full throughout the games.
The day passed quickly, with Link’s sense of time disappearing at the same rate as his coordination. The sun was beginning to dip behind the hills when someone—Link couldn’t remember who—announced it was time for the “main” event of the day: jumping over the flames and coals of the bonfire for luck. With a chuckle, Worten had pushed him forward as the first to try, and by that point, Link was drunk enough to go ahead and do it.
He was also drunk enough to do it a second time, and a third, just to show off. Would’ve gone for a fourth too, if he hadn’t been bodily picked up and carried away so others could have a go.
And so, he lay back on the grass, dampness soaking into his shirt and through to his back, and watched as embers danced through the air.
Most of the festivities had settled down by now; all the kids and most of their parents heading inside to be tucked into bed. Only a few people remained. Uma, with her collection of cucco eggs, sat on a chair that was flanked by Prima and Ralera. She cracked one of the eggs on the side of a bowl of water and dropped the yolk in, and Prima leant close for whatever divination the golden shape would form out for her. Link had gotten his own from Uma earlier. She’d sworn to him that the shape he’d gotten was that of a dragon, but Link was convinced it could’ve just as easily been a lizard.
Behind Uma’s soothsaying, Koyin and Karson were gently encouraging Sophie into a game of bob apple. Behind them, Ivee was trying to coax a jug out of her father’s hands. And, on the other side of the bonfire’s blaze, Worten was gearing himself up for his own attempt at a jump, egged on by the older men of the village. Link lifted his head, vaguely interested in what the result of that would be, but stopped short as the edge of a skirt brushed his cheek.
Zelda stood by his head, bent over, looking down at him. The light from the bonfire danced over her cheeks, and the ends of her hair, having grown windblown and dishevelled over the day, framed her face in a halo of golden threads. Link could only stare as the embers passing behind her were smothered by her glow. She was luminous. Did she know how luminous she was? How luminous she always was? Chatting and laughing with the other villagers, dancing with the kids by the bonfire, stuffing her face with sweet pastries—her glow was blinding, no matter what.
She grinned at him, and it felt like she’d just offered him a gift. “Are you comfy down there?”
Not really. There was a rock digging into his shoulder. But what did that matter? “Hi,” Link whispered.
“Hi.”
“I missed you.”
Zelda giggled. “I missed you, too.” She crouched and danced her fingers over his forehead. “Are you alright?”
“I jumped over the bonfire.”
“I saw.”
“I’m lucky.”
“I’d say you’re a little more than lucky.” She stood and reached her hand out to him. Link considered it—his limbs felt awfully heavy—but, after a moment, he lifted his own to take it.
However, instead of letting Zelda lever him up, he pulled.
Zelda squealed, falling forward and knocking all the air from Link’s chest as she landed on top of him. She laughed and righted herself to lean forward. Her elbows dug into his ribs; her face came intoxicatingly close. If he hadn’t been dizzy before, he sure was now.
Her hands moved to cup his cheeks. “You are so flushed,” she told him in a breathy chuckle.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s cute.”
There was powdered sugar on her cheek; a smear in the shape of a child’s fingers. Firelight rimmed her hair, the shape of her arms resting on his chest. The scent of cinnamon floated down from her breath, and Link was suddenly finding it difficult to catch his own. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered.
Zelda grinned. “So are you.” Her face dropped even closer, the tip of her nose brushing against his, and Link let his eyelids flutter shut.
A cheer had them snapping back open, and Zelda lifting her head. As she rolled off him and sat up, Link once again had a view of the bonfire. The bonfire, and Worten—red-cheeked and beaming as he brushed cinders from his shirt. Whoops and cheers had erupted from the group that’d been watching, but Worten, now blessed with the bonfire’s luck, ignored them and marched straight to Prima. He dropped to his knees in front of her, clasped her hands, and after an exchange that no one but them could hear, Prima squealed, nodded, and pulled her beau to his feet for a kiss.
Zelda’s hand had come up by Link’s, and she twined their fingers together as she turned to smile at him. “Looks like Hateno will have a wedding to look forward to, come Spring.” Link had no reply. His head felt like it was spinning again, watching as the other villagers congregated to offer their congratulations to the newly engaged couple.
Damnit. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
He left the chagrin at himself behind however, when Zelda pulled on his hand; first to sit, then to stand. “Come on,” she said. “While everyone’s distracted. I haven’t had a chance to dance with you, yet.”
The change in gravity had him stumbling forward, his head resting against Zelda’s chest as he reminded his feet how to walk. “There’s no music.”
“We don’t need it,” Zelda said, moving them closer to the fire. The flames once again illuminated her in their glow and Link, standing before her, found himself wishing for the drunken confidence that’d led him over the bonfire three times to grace him again. She brought him close, arms wrapping around his waist as she whispered in his ear: “If it makes you uncomfortable though, we can go home and dance there instead.”
Link peeked over her shoulder; at those who’d remained celebrating into the night. Most still gathered around Prima and Worten, or had split off to retreat into their homes. No one left was paying attention to the fire. No one was paying attention to them.
“Here is fine,” he mumbled against Zelda’s collarbone.
The dance was a wobbly, clumsy one. Link had to keep ducking his head to check he wasn’t about to step on Zelda’s toes, and if there had been any music, they would’ve no doubt been off-beat. They tripped and stumbled through the steps; they swayed and laughed over their mistakes. The cool, autumn wind picked up, and more embers leapt out from the flames, pirouetting around them and joining in on the dance.