[When she calls him, he's finally sat back on the floor, pulling his knees close and resting his forehead against them. The adrenaline has never hit this hard before, the reaction never so visceral, but he has a feeling it's the nature of being blindsided by a glimpse of a memory of the one thing he's tried so hard to not think about.
Zelda calls him, and he peeks his eyes up, almost surprised to hear her on the other side of the door. Link burrows his head back against the arms resting on his knees and hides his face, choking on a sob.]
Door's open. [He's not sure if he was loud enough, nor was he sure his words were understandable as opposed to shaking with tears. He's not sure he wants company now, but he knows her enough to know she'd worry endlessly. And that, in spite of his earlier attempt to find any escape he could, he would never be able to say no to her. Not for any length of time.
So he hedges his bets, tries to swallow back the tears, and waits.]
[It's muffled, but she hears him all the same. Despite her worry there's still hesitation--something in his voice suggests that maybe space is best. But space never really was a reliable thing for her, for them.
It's another moment or two before she eases the door open, the creaking of the hinges slow and droning. She doesn't think a thing of shutting it behind her. Link may be willing to let her in, but this isn't something to be shared nor is it something he is likely to want others to witness.
It's the sight of him that breaks her heart, body curled tight and the evidence of tears visible. There's an ache that resonates around the urge to try and do something to comfort him, to help in some way. She moves to sit close, crowding what little space there was to be had on the floor.
And then she reaches out, fingers gently carding through his hair. She swallows, unsure of what more to say besides a soft--]
I'm here... [However he needs her to be, she will be.]
[He leans in to the contact, as desperate to be soothed as she is to soothe, and swallows a shaking sob before it undoes everything he's trying to contain. Zelda may be curled next to him, but he doesn't look up, doesn't move so his face might be visible. Not so she can see the tears.]
Usually I remember things about you. Or the other Champions. [His voice is muffled, face still burrowed into his arms. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten where they wrap around his arms.] And I'm looking. For a place, or a picture...
[Link swallows. Zelda had essentially set up the scavenger hunt that triggered most of his memories: it was the photographs on the Sheikah slate that guided him to the places where he could access forgotten memory. For a long while he's thought that would be all of it: a photo album of memories, a mere snapshot of the life he'd lived before.
His shoulders shake as he chokes down another wave of tears. He won't cry. If he cries, then he has to admit that he can mourn them, the family he doesn't know. And he can't. He can't let that happen. His right hand knots in his hair, the discomfort an anchor in time and space.] This time...
[He dares to peek up, azure blue eyes only just meeting hers. The abject horror is just as clear as the tears that threaten to spill. He's whispering when he speaks again.] I had a younger sister, didn't I?
[I had a younger sister, didn't I? It's a question that makes her heart drop. She's sure he can read the answer on her face long before she can think to school her expression--a dizzying mix of heartbreak, worry, and sympathy.
Even if he knows what the answer will be, she doesn't want to say a word. Speaking, putting it out into the air and the universe only solidifies it as fact in their reality. And she doesn't want to do that to him, doesn't want to add to the pain. How much would it hurt knowing that and not being able to truly remember the family that those memories belonged to?
But Link. Link deserved an answer, the truth. So she takes a shallow, shaking breath and whispers back.]
[He isn't sure what he'd been hoping for. She could have told him that there was no family to speak of, not beyond the knight she'd mentioned under the tree during a torrential downpour, and Link would have believed her. Believed her even when the truth was plain as day in her expression when his question caught her off guard. Believed her, because the gaping expanse that was where his memory should have been is punishment for the failures of a century ago, and he doesn't deserve better.
And believed her, even if Zelda lied point blank, to his face, because if he couldn't believe her then who could he?
But she doesn't lie. She swallows an expression of pity and worry and admits quietly that there was a younger sister to mourn. The fingers tangled in his hair pull taut as he wracks his empty head for anything: a smile, a face, a figure, a name. Anything.
Nothing comes.
Finally, he's answering her without thinking, voice hoarse and hesitant:] I can't... [He swallows and the air feels somehow heavier. Harder to breathe. Weighs him down and presses him into the floor and just dares him to try and move. It feels like drowning.] I don't really remember her.
Edited (omg so many typos sorry (omg SO MANY ugh)) Date: 2020-09-15 09:15 am (UTC)
You may not remember her name, face...but you remember her, Link. [The smaller, fine details of what makes a person are the hardest to recall, to hold on to. Even she struggled to recall the faces of people now long gone. But she still had the memories and the emotions tied to them, and to her, that was just as important.]
We cannot hold on to every detail of those we care about, but they leave us with the bonds we have. The emotions, and experiences...I know you do not remember much, but you remembered this because she was and is important to you.
[She isn't sure if this is helping or only making it ache worse. This was not a situation she had prepared herself for in the least--and she should have, given all she knew in comparison.]
[It isn't helping, but listening to Zelda talk is a memory he does have, and it's calming even if her words themselves are not. Link sinks against her, curled tightly against her side.
This? He can do this for hours. And if he does, he doesn't have to think on the fact that he has almost no memory whatsoever of the family he'd left behind a century before.]
What do you remember?
[He's quiet as he asks, right hand tracing the grout of tiles as his left digs tightly into his leg in an attempt to be still. It hurts but it's grounding, and he needs that more. And regardless, he is in no way bold enough to grab for her hand, so this will have to do.]
[Honesty is best here. She can't hide the reality of their situation, even if she would wish to. While he had slept and recovered, she had been aware and fighting--even if she is from a time before that, she knows that is the inevitability of her choices.
She sighs as he settles against her. There's a moment of hesitation, but she reaches to gently comb her fingers through his hair. There, in her vaguest of memories, is that thought that this was always something that helped to comfort her and maybe it could do the same for him.]
There are some things I would wish to forget if I could, forgive me for such a thought. I...If you remember anything and need to know more, I can do my best to answer you.
[Would that hinder his progress? Or would it be a kindness to help him know more without trying to force memories that may never come?]
[She brushes fingers through his hair, and he dips his head, a knot twisting deep within him. Allura had asked him once, if he'd wanted her to try and help him remember, too. To use her magic to pull his latent past to the surface.
He had told her no, for some innocuous reason. Avoiding the fact that he's sure the goddesses have taken his memories as punishment for his failure, that he deserved only the barest information to allow him to complete his divine mission.
But there's always been more to it, too.
Fear.]
Sometimes I'm... [His voice is quiet and worn, with no hint of malice at her mention of sometimes wanting to forget. Missing the bulk of his memories hasn't changed that he can relate to a desire to not remember.
He swallows, and hesitates. When he finishes his thought, his voice is small and ashamed.] Sometimes I'm scared to remember more, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 02:31 am (UTC)Zelda calls him, and he peeks his eyes up, almost surprised to hear her on the other side of the door. Link burrows his head back against the arms resting on his knees and hides his face, choking on a sob.]
Door's open. [He's not sure if he was loud enough, nor was he sure his words were understandable as opposed to shaking with tears. He's not sure he wants company now, but he knows her enough to know she'd worry endlessly. And that, in spite of his earlier attempt to find any escape he could, he would never be able to say no to her. Not for any length of time.
So he hedges his bets, tries to swallow back the tears, and waits.]
no subject
Date: 2020-08-25 12:15 am (UTC)It's another moment or two before she eases the door open, the creaking of the hinges slow and droning. She doesn't think a thing of shutting it behind her. Link may be willing to let her in, but this isn't something to be shared nor is it something he is likely to want others to witness.
It's the sight of him that breaks her heart, body curled tight and the evidence of tears visible. There's an ache that resonates around the urge to try and do something to comfort him, to help in some way. She moves to sit close, crowding what little space there was to be had on the floor.
And then she reaches out, fingers gently carding through his hair. She swallows, unsure of what more to say besides a soft--]
I'm here... [However he needs her to be, she will be.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-02 06:33 am (UTC)Usually I remember things about you. Or the other Champions. [His voice is muffled, face still burrowed into his arms. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten where they wrap around his arms.] And I'm looking. For a place, or a picture...
[Link swallows. Zelda had essentially set up the scavenger hunt that triggered most of his memories: it was the photographs on the Sheikah slate that guided him to the places where he could access forgotten memory. For a long while he's thought that would be all of it: a photo album of memories, a mere snapshot of the life he'd lived before.
His shoulders shake as he chokes down another wave of tears. He won't cry. If he cries, then he has to admit that he can mourn them, the family he doesn't know. And he can't. He can't let that happen. His right hand knots in his hair, the discomfort an anchor in time and space.] This time...
[He dares to peek up, azure blue eyes only just meeting hers. The abject horror is just as clear as the tears that threaten to spill. He's whispering when he speaks again.] I had a younger sister, didn't I?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-15 12:56 am (UTC)Even if he knows what the answer will be, she doesn't want to say a word. Speaking, putting it out into the air and the universe only solidifies it as fact in their reality. And she doesn't want to do that to him, doesn't want to add to the pain. How much would it hurt knowing that and not being able to truly remember the family that those memories belonged to?
But Link. Link deserved an answer, the truth. So she takes a shallow, shaking breath and whispers back.]
Yes. You did.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-15 09:10 am (UTC)And believed her, even if Zelda lied point blank, to his face, because if he couldn't believe her then who could he?
But she doesn't lie. She swallows an expression of pity and worry and admits quietly that there was a younger sister to mourn. The fingers tangled in his hair pull taut as he wracks his empty head for anything: a smile, a face, a figure, a name. Anything.
Nothing comes.
Finally, he's answering her without thinking, voice hoarse and hesitant:] I can't... [He swallows and the air feels somehow heavier. Harder to breathe. Weighs him down and presses him into the floor and just dares him to try and move. It feels like drowning.] I don't really remember her.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-30 02:01 am (UTC)We cannot hold on to every detail of those we care about, but they leave us with the bonds we have. The emotions, and experiences...I know you do not remember much, but you remembered this because she was and is important to you.
[She isn't sure if this is helping or only making it ache worse. This was not a situation she had prepared herself for in the least--and she should have, given all she knew in comparison.]
no subject
Date: 2020-10-07 03:09 pm (UTC)This? He can do this for hours. And if he does, he doesn't have to think on the fact that he has almost no memory whatsoever of the family he'd left behind a century before.]
What do you remember?
[He's quiet as he asks, right hand tracing the grout of tiles as his left digs tightly into his leg in an attempt to be still. It hurts but it's grounding, and he needs that more. And regardless, he is in no way bold enough to grab for her hand, so this will have to do.]
no subject
Date: 2020-10-18 05:14 pm (UTC)[Honesty is best here. She can't hide the reality of their situation, even if she would wish to. While he had slept and recovered, she had been aware and fighting--even if she is from a time before that, she knows that is the inevitability of her choices.
She sighs as he settles against her. There's a moment of hesitation, but she reaches to gently comb her fingers through his hair. There, in her vaguest of memories, is that thought that this was always something that helped to comfort her and maybe it could do the same for him.]
There are some things I would wish to forget if I could, forgive me for such a thought. I...If you remember anything and need to know more, I can do my best to answer you.
[Would that hinder his progress? Or would it be a kindness to help him know more without trying to force memories that may never come?]
no subject
Date: 2020-10-19 02:17 pm (UTC)He had told her no, for some innocuous reason. Avoiding the fact that he's sure the goddesses have taken his memories as punishment for his failure, that he deserved only the barest information to allow him to complete his divine mission.
But there's always been more to it, too.
Fear.]
Sometimes I'm... [His voice is quiet and worn, with no hint of malice at her mention of sometimes wanting to forget. Missing the bulk of his memories hasn't changed that he can relate to a desire to not remember.
He swallows, and hesitates. When he finishes his thought, his voice is small and ashamed.] Sometimes I'm scared to remember more, too.