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Link's suite [Action]

[notremembered]

[It's really quite a miracle that their roommates tolerate them, considering how often he and Zelda are occupying one of their suites' kitchens. The tradeoff is probably that there's often leftovers of Link's cooking around and free for the taking, and this is probably a large component of why they've been tolerated at all.

Link is currently folded up on the sofa, lost in a book he'd borrowed from the library as he bakes bread (banana bread, to be specific. The dishes have already been washed, and the suite is warm and pleasant.) He doesn't spend too much time reading usually, but something had drawn him to the book of fairytales.

By the time Zelda arrives he'll be lost in his reading...or maybe he'll have nodded off. Thankfully he's set a timer.]

[inmemoriae]

[With the two of them constantly in one another's spaces, it's no wonder that Zelda is more than comfortable with simply making her way into Link's suite. There's little point in pretending she's not going to simply waltz into the space, just as much as she's certain her own roommates don't question when he simply appears in their suite as well.

She isn't surprised to be welcomed by the smell of something wafting from the kitchen--sweet, which meant baking. She spares a glance around, finding Link on the sofa with some book or another.

She can't remember the last time she saw him engrossed in a book. Had she ever?]

May I ask what has captured so much of your attention?

[notremembered]

[The likelihood that she's seen him reading is probably slim to none, considering he didn't have time for much before the Calamity.

He shifts when he hears her come in, sitting up and flipping the book closed. The cover reads Grimm's Fairytales, a book not from their world but the premise is similar enough. As she walks over, he moves over so there's space for her to sit.]

This seemed familiar. I don't know why.

[inmemoriae]

Fairytales? [She easily caught sight of the title, either from him blatantly displaying it or from her curiosity making her more intent on looking for it.

She settles on to the sofa next to him, pulling her legs up in a criss-cross.]

Stories and tales seem to be a similar thread--even if the stories themselves aren't the same. You seemed rather invested...

[notremembered]

[She sits next to him, and he slides closer, till his side is pressed against hers. Thoughtful, he leans his head against hers. It's an absent-minded act, so much he doesn't notice he's done it.]

It's about a princess who was trapped in a tower. Someone climbed up her hair. [Link turns slightly, confused. There's something more than confusion in his eyes; a hint of uncertainty. Of nerves.] Do we have any story like that?

I haven't been able to read much of anything. [At all, to be specific.] But I feel like I've seen something like this before...

[inmemoriae]

[It's all too easy too let him settle next to her, to lean back into his space as much as he leans into hers. It's a casual, easy intimacy they normally aren't afforded--and one she takes advantage of without much thinking.]

A story like this? I'm not sure...Many of our stories are about the goddesses, our heroes, the fairies and spirits of the forest. But--you said someone climbed her hair?

[notremembered]

[He hums thoughtfully. Stories about the goddesses, the fairies, the heroes of the past. He thinks of Kass, recounting the calamity of 10,000 years ago.

The book is shifted off his lap, set gently on the floor nearby.]

Do you have a favorite?

[inmemoriae]

Mm.

[She hums thoughtfully, trying to think of the tales she was told when she was young. Before her mother passed, before the Calamity began to rise. Before tales and stories became lessons and rites.]

I was always drawn to the creation stories. The golden goddesses, the start of the world...even the creation of your sword. There is something powerful in the idea of how all we know came to be...

[notremembered]

Creation of the sword?

[He parrots, thoughtful. Admittedly, even having retrieved the sword he knows only the barest amount of the story behind it.

'Tell me the story about the sword made by the Goddess again.'

He doesn't know when they'd gotten the book. It's old, and worn, and looks much like it belonged in a storybook itself. But she loved it just the same, and asked him to read it to her again and again. By now he doesn't even need the book to keep the details straight.

His father was off at the castle, leaving him responsible for his younger sister.

His wry smile only riles her up, little brows furrowed and puffing her cheeks out. She already knows what he's going to say: 'You could probably tell it yourself by now.'

'Please, Link!'

He smiles, genuine this time. 'Okay, okay. Come here.'

Meanwhile in the suite, he's grown quiet and still, pupils dilated and breathing uneven and fast. Link's hands have curled into fists in his lap, tense to the point of shaking. It might not be immediately obvious that something is amiss, at least not in the first few moments, but when the silence lingers Zelda will probably notice.]

[inmemoriae]

Do you know it?

[She asks quietly, not realizing the spiral he was finding himself in. The silence, the lack of response, doesn't concern her at first. But then it stretches on, lingers heavy and tangible.]

Link? [She shifts in her seat, carefully moving to look at him. And her concern grows as she catches his eye--distant, and focused on a point beyond her. She reaches out to him, hands gently taking his face in her hands.]

Link...?

[notremembered]

[It's still another long few seconds before she gets any reaction from him; dilated pupils in blue eyes stare even when he's back out of his own head, adrenaline coursing through him and heart racing so quickly he's starting to feel sick.

At least he has the presence of mind not to jerk away from her despite his every instinct screaming for him to do so. Blindly, his hands find hers and wrap around her wrists. They shake, just slightly, as he tries to fight the panic roiling in his stomach.

Link had never allowed himself to think about the possibility of a family. Of a childhood, before those few memories of the months leading up to the Calamity. One can't mourn what they never lost, and he can't lose what he never had, and it had been a conscious effort to not think about the gravity of what had been Before.

He might have tried to find an excuse to bolt, like he had with Allura: politely say he needs to give her space, or attend to another task, or, or, or, but his conscious mind knows she'd never fall for such a transparent lie. He releases her wrists enough that he can run his hands over his face, can hide the shaky inhale.

She's asked him something, but he doesn't know what. Her expression is curious, and concerned, and he thinks he's going to be sick.]

Sorry. You asked something.

[inmemoriae]

[He's deflecting, she can tell. The way his hands shook, the wild look he had as he came back to himself--its something he wants to run from. She should let it go, but that isn't part of her character. Be it the need to know, or the concern she carried for him.]

I asked if you knew the story of the sword's creation...[She sighs, biting her lip as she hesitates on pressing.]

And then you went somewhere else, you weren't--What happened?

[Her curiosity gives way to that concern, worry evident in her voice and on her face.]

cw: emesis

[notremembered]

[It's taking physical effort not to peel himself away from her, to not slip her hands off his face and skitter back, to not bolt because goddess help him even if it is his suite he needs to be anywhere but here. Lips pressed together, he shakes his head slightly in silent response to her question. He forces himself to pull his hands back, to not run his fingers over his face again and hide what little he can. Link swallows over the bile rising in his throat and glances away.]

I remembered... [He hesitates another second and finally shifts away, jerky and unsteady, freeing his face from between her hands. By now she's likely felt the fine sheen of sweat that's appeared and even if she hasn't she's almost certainly noticed how pale he's gotten.] I need to...

[Stumbling off the couch, still desperate to put space between them.] I just need a minute.

[Yes he is absolutely down the hall in a flash, and yes he's into the bathroom before she can get another word in, and yes he did just slam the door (potentially even in her face), and yes that is her knight definitely getting sick behind said slammed door. Sorry, Zelda.]

Re: cw: emesis

[inmemoriae]

[The separation is almost a physical shock, and she's left staring after him for the barest of moments before she follows. He's pale, shaken--and she's worried. Better judgment tells her to give him space, but she hasn't always been the one to follow that better judgment.

It's the door in her face, and the sounds from behind it, that finally have her stopping short. Her hand is on the door handle, almost ready to follow him in, when she takes a step back. She waits until there's silence to call out to him.]

Link...? [It's a small sound, spoken with hesitation and laced with worry.]

[notremembered]

[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.]

[inmemoriae]

[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.]

[notremembered]

[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?

[inmemoriae]

[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.]

Yes. You did.

[notremembered]

[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.

[inmemoriae]

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.]

[notremembered]

[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.]

[inmemoriae]

I remember...a lot of things, Link.

[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?]

[notremembered]

[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.