Chapter Text
It’s a hectic afternoon in Hateno when Link is born to Arn and Root, a few days earlier than estimated— perhaps a testament to her eagerness to jump into action. She’s named Linkle.
Her parents waste no time before nicknaming her Link. A strong, sturdy name for a spirited baby girl; the name fits like a glove.
Link is very energetic and lively from the start, with curious eyes eager to take everything in. Yet, Link’s birth comes with problems of its own.
Arn is ecstatic to have a child, but the disappointment is clear. A girl cannot continue his legacy, the legacy of his father and so-on. A chain at risk of ending with him. He loves his child, but Link is not a boy.
It doesn’t mean he might not have a son someday, Root assures him, but she knows it's not something she can truly promise.
The baby Princess is born in the middle of the night, a week later than her due date to King Rhoam and Queen Imelda. Per tradition, she is named Zelda.
The whole kingdom celebrates her birth. With the prophecy that looks over head, it was more important than ever for a Princess to be born. Princess Zelda was born destined to save them from Calamity Ganon, and everyone knew it.
Born into a world she must save, a world that won’t give her the chance to love it before asking so much of her. A heavy weight for a child, a child that Imelda loves so, so much.
There’s only one person that Queen Imelda wants to celebrate the joyous occasion with. The person she feels the most comfortable with in the whole world, who sometimes she wants more than she should.
So what else can she do other than take her newborn daughter on a trip to the desert?
She arrives at nightfall, the stars lighting up the sky and everyone settling for bed. It’s quiet and private. Her dear friend awaits, though not expecting her sudden visit.
Urbosa is her safe space, so she confides in her that all she truly wishes for Zelda is for her to find happiness. To not be chained down by responsibility, but to fly. Her little bird.
Imelda has that happiness within reach, almost. On nights like these, when she hands her daughter to her dear friend. Zelda has green eyes the same shade as her father, but when she sees the sight, she likes to pretend Zelda got them from Urbosa.
(It’s a silly, silly fantasy. But in the privacy of Gerudo town, of Urbosa’s bedroom, they are more than dear friends.
Imelda falls asleep on Urbosa’s shoulder, and wakes up tucked in her bed as she hears Urbosa humming to her baby daughter, rocking her gently.)
Root has never liked the vast majority of Arn’s so-called work friends. The men he fights side-by-side with. They fight for themselves, for the glory of it— but her husband fights for others. A softie at heart, despite his tough exterior.
But Arn has forged a bond with them through fierce battles, through having each other’s backs even when things looked dire. In a way, he owes his life to them, and vice versa.
They aren’t nice men, though.
Cautiously, Root approaches her husband. He’s training again, swords scattered here and there. Arn is upset again, and he’s left his swords carelessly within Link’s reach.
Which is why she holds her almost but not quite yet 2-year-old daughter as she struggles in her arms. Even with the sun almost set, Link never seems to tire. An abundance of energy with nowhere to put it.
“Arn, you’ve left your swords out again,” Root said, chastising. She understands today has been rough for him, but it’s no excuse to endanger Link.
“I’ve been busy,” He replied, never looking away from the training dummy and talking only in-between swings.
“Clearly,” She said, glancing around, “But we’ve got a toddler running around, and these are all in her reach,”
“Root, she’s not gonna be interested in those,” Arn said, “They’re not that shiny. I haven’t even polished them in forever. They’re getting rusty,” Under his breath, he muttered, “Maybe I am, too.”
“Arn, she’s curious about everything. I don’t know how long I can keep her away from them,” Root said, so immersed in the conversation that she hardly noticed Link slipping out of her grasp.
Root stretched her arm, sore from holding— where is her daughter? Root blinked, looking around.
“Link!” Root moved faster than she thought she was capable of, and at the commotion Arn turned around to find his wife trying to wrestle a sword out of their toddler’s hands.
“Why are… you… so… strong?” Root struggled, trying to pry baby fingers off the blade while Link protested.
Arn rushed to her aide, lifting the sword and by extension, Link, who doesn’t yet have the upper body strength to hang on. Root swoops underneath to catch her daughter, and gives Arn a look.
“See?”
“Alright, alright, I get it. Sheesh,” Arn shrugged, picking up and sheathing each sword before placing them on a bale of hay just too tall for Link to reach. It was a short-term solution, something temporary.
Arn sighed, and leaned down to the pouting toddler, ruffling her hair, “How about we get you a new doll, or something? Think that’d keep ya busy?”
“I want a swoooord,” Link said, eyes wide. Arn shook his head.
“You can’t have a sword, Linkle. They’re not for… we’ll, they’re… You’re uh, too little for a sword,” Arn said.
“Aren’t there practice swords?” Root asked in a whisper, “You know, for kids? I mean she’s a little small for them now, but maybe when she’s a bit older—“
“What, like a toy?”
“No, like for training,” Root replied.
“Root, she’s a girl,” Arn said, eyes widening in disbelief.
“Uh. I’m aware,” Root said, like it’s obvious, “Look, I’m not sayin’ to make her a knight or anything, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you taught her how to defend herself, huh?”
“Why? Am I not doing a good enough job of defending her? Of defending you?”
“You know that’s not what I mean. But you can’t always be there for her.”
“She’ll marry someday,” Arn shrugged, turning back towards the training dummy and unsheathing his sword.
“Oh yeah? What if she marries a total wimp?”
Arn is silent for a moment, and then sighed, “You don’t want to have a son, do you?”
Root is taken aback, “What do you mean?”
“You got your daughter, so you don’t want a son. You just want to appease me, have me train Link instead— force her to do something she surely won't even want to do, even,” Arn said, “I understand, alright? I know, I mean. I’m not always here. I married you, and I promised my life to you, but I spend so much time away. If you had a son, and he followed my path, then…”
“Arn, that’s not it, at all. I’d love to have another child,” Root said, “Boy or girl, I never cared. I just… The world is tough. I want our daughter— maybe someday our children— to be prepared to face it. And I think it’d be nice for you to spend more time with her, y’know?”
“I know you aren’t sure how to raise a daughter, or how to bond with one,” Root continued, “But I don’t want you to miss out.”
“…Root, it’s not just that I don’t want to teach her. You know I’d be the laughing stock of the army again if I was teaching her to fight. They think it’s funny enough that I have a first-born daughter.”
Root pursed her lips, “Arn. You know that… it’s not really a coincidence that none of them had first-born daughters, right?”
“What is it? Am I just not meant to have a son? Am I not good enough?” Arn wondered, “I thought I spent my life doing the right thing, continuing our family tradition of fighting for Hyrule. But I’m the only one with a daughter instead of a son. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they have sons because they are more honourable, braver…”
A lesser man would’ve blamed her. It’s something Root is aware, has been painfully aware of since Link was born. She’s heard it from men and women alike, she’s even heard it from children.
You should’ve given him a son, they say. It echoes inside her head.
But he’s never blamed her— no, it seems instead, he blames himself.
“That’s not it! Arn, they’re not honourable, and they’re not braver. You have a daughter because you’re better than them,” Root said, her voice getting louder than she intended.
She doesn’t want to say the full truth. She’s talked to the wives of his colleagues, his men-in-arms. The men he’s fought side-by-side with, the men she owes his life to. She knows the real reason, and coincidence or fate have nothing to do with it.
(She held them, she cried with them, and selfishly felt beyond grateful that she wasn’t in their situation. A friend of a friend told her that there were some who did not even speak about it, and some who stood by their husbands in agreement.
Those women— they were all braver and stronger than their husbands, she knew for sure.)
But the words catch in her throat. She doesn’t want to destroy his illusion of these men or, perhaps worse, test which bond is stronger. The bond between husband and wife, or that of which forged on the battlefield?
So she doesn’t say. Besides, Link is nearby and has likely overheard more than enough. She only hopes that Link doesn’t quite understand what they’re talking about, or better yet ignores it.
Her husband grunts in lieu of a reply, and resumes swinging his sword at the air. Just at the air, he insists. The goal is to miss the training dummy, just barely. He says it’s about control, but she mostly thinks he just doesn’t want to have to replace the dummy.
“Hiyah!”
With the heated conversation, Root had hardly had time to think about where her daughter was, now that the threat of swords was out of the way, having last noticed her digging around in the grass.
But Link has abandoned digging around in the grass in favour of a stick, grasped in her tiny hand with such might you’d think she’d break it. It’s hard to tell with the little dress Link is wearing, but she almost seems to be copying the movements her husband is making.
“Arn,” Root said, “Arn, look.”
Arn turned his head and did a double take, before turning around fully. It was clear, Link was trying to copy what he was doing. Upon noticing he had stopped to look at her, she giggled excitedly.
“Sword!” Link exclaimed, raising her stick up for him to see.
“Uh, yeah. Good job, buddy,” He said, a little unsure, “You know, ‘side from the dress, she’s actually doing pretty well with that stance.”
“Guess she looks up to you,” Root smiled, “We all do, you know. Everyone in Hateno feels safer because you’re here.”
“Yeah, yea— what’s that noise?” Arn looked around wildly. There was a distinct, fluttery noise in the distance. He moved to the edge of their yard to get a better view, and sure enough, there it was.
A flock of keese over the woods.
“Keese don’t normally flock so close to towns,” Arn growled, “This might mean trouble.”
“How bad is it? I mean, it’s just keese,” Root said, but to call her bluff, she heard a squeaking behind her. She and Arn turned around lightning-fast just in time to see a keese fly directly at her toddler.
She didn’t have time to react, but Link did. She’d never wondered what it’d sound like if a keese was hit with a stick from a tree, and she’d never, ever have to.
A thwack noise, as it turned out, the sheer force Link hit it with not only breaking the stick, but sending the keese flying backwards. It was possible the keese was already gone from impact or hitting the ground, but to be safe Arn sliced his sword through it.
“My stick broke,” Link said, looking up at him sadly.
“Eh, we can get’cha a new one,” Arn said, “That was a good swing, buddy.”
“I got the monster. Did ya see?” Link asked, jumping up and down, “I saved yooou.”
“Yeah, you did,” Arn agreed, ruffling her hair and causing a slew of giggles to erupt. Root rushed over to embrace her daughter, quietly apologizing in advance to the fact she’d be in her arms the rest of the night.
“Must’ve been a stray,” Arn mused, “I’m going to get my bow. Get Link inside— I’m gettin’ rid of those punks.”
“Okay,” Root agreed, nodding. Link seemed completely unfazed— typical childlike ignorance, or does bravery run in the blood?
“And, uh, Rootie?” He paused in the doorway, “I will teach her. She should be able to defend herself.”
Root smiled, and nodded in agreement.
“Her stance is almost perfect, anyway. We’ll need to get her something other than a dress, though,” Arn said.
“She’d probably trip less,” Root mused, bringing her daughter inside for the night. You’d think a young child who just faced down a monster would be scared, clinging to their mother— but Link is not, and it doesn’t seem to have burnt off any excess energy.
A sleepless toddler and a mother fraught with anxiety from moments before, so Root sits with her and tells her stories for hours. Legends of heroes, of princesses and bravery, of good and evil and somewhere in the middle.
Zelda is so, so small. Her greatest treasure.
Imelda is not royal by blood, but by marriage. But as a born nobility, she understands the role she is to play all too well. Her whole life has been a performance in a theatre for the throne, all her choices haven’t been hers.
She was never certain she wanted to marry Rhoam, and most days she isn’t sure how she feels about him. Not when her eyes wander to another.
But she was planned to be his wife before she met her, long before. When Rhoam’s mother was around to teach her the lessons she’s supposed to pass to her daughter, to train her like she was trained.
(Did her parents know, she wondered? Did they know where her eyes lingered for too long, where they shouldn’t? Is that why they promised her heart to someone?)
Zelda is the best thing to come out of it. A curious, inquisitive mind, quiet and polite but not opinionated. There is passion behind her eyes, passion that Imelda has to gently remind her to stifle, to keep hidden in her heart.
She is a toddler but walks like a Princess.
But the light in her eyes is all her. It’s all Zelda, her little bird, and she makes a silent promise to herself. Though royal life and responsibility will take many things away from her daughter, she won’t allow it to take Zelda’s heart.
No, that will be her own.
She sings her daughter a lullaby, lulling her to sleep while she dreams of her future.
Two baby girls, born the same year, mere months apart.
Two baby girls, and they will save the world.