Never Leave

never leave

on ao3

word count: 1k

link and marin dance; link dreams about marin post-link's awakening

i listened to these while writing

This time, it is a hall. A ballroom, vaguely like Hyrule Castle’s, violet curtains lining the windows, tinting the setting sunlight. It’s quiet, ethereal. Link feels this place is familiar, like Zelda will drag him here to sit in a corner as people shake his hands and thank him for what he’s done. He stands, alone, in the empty hall. He breathes in the air, stale yet whimsical. There are no windows open.

It feels vivid, but everything is vivid to him. A byproduct of the Wind Fish’s magic, the inability to tell dream from reality, the two one in the same. Link smoothes his dress shirt. He fumbles with the tag, his name written on it, until it stops scratching his neck. He reaches his hand out, in offering to dance.

She takes it.

Marin stands in front of him. Her dress reaches her ankles in the back, her knees in the front. A red gem sits on her chest, attached to the dress instead of a chain. Her hair is tied back elegantly, braids connected by a hibiscus, laying behind her.. She looks like a noble, a princess, someone Link would meet in this ballroom. Her hand lingers on his, gentle and fragile. Her eyelashes are only shorter than his own.

“Dance with me?” She asks. Her voice dings like a bell. Link nods.

Marin takes the first steps, leading Link in a gentle waltz. He can recognize the tune that begins around them, but the orchestra is nowhere to be seen. Marin’s voice takes up a hum, continuing the ballad. A cello plays a solo, sound powerful as the moon. The sirens join in with it.

She reaches up their hands, holding up her skirt as she guides Link into twirling her. Link stares into her eyes. She looks back, and giggles.

“I never learned how to dance,” she admits, continuing to effortlessly lead the two. “Somehow, it feels natural with you.”

“I have,” Link murmurs. His voice, usually barren and scarred, sounds young in a way it hasn’t been in years. “You dance beautifully.”

Marin giggles again, and lets go to wave her hand at him. “Oh, you!”

Link smiles. He takes Marin’s hands again, this time leading her as they move. With this amount of space, Link feels free to spin her about. Her laughs are chimes, songs of seagulls, the waves. It feels perfect.

Eventually, Link’s hand slides around her waist, holding up her right with his left. They’re closer now, still gazing into each other’s eyes, and Marin’s cheeks are red. Link’s sure his are, too, but he can’t bring himself to care.

They continue the waltz. Marin has the elegance of someone who has done this all her life.

She spins away from Link, and he catches her hand. They stay. She breathes, huffing a bit, leg and arm still outwards. He breathes too, but he doesn’t feel tired. When he was younger, he wouldn’t have been able to dance this much without taking a break, but over the years he’s learned that breaks are a luxury he can’t always have.

Link pulls Marin back in, then pulls her into a dip, catching her. She looks at him, bats her eyes, and laughs again, charming as always. She reaches up a hand, pulls a stray hair out of his face. She leans into his touch.

“Who taught you how to dance?” She asks.

“My sister,” Link replies. “She didn’t want me to embarrass myself when I went to castle events.”

“Well look at how fancy and royal you are, hero-prince Link!” Marin smiles, lightly teasing him. “I don’t remember you having a sister when you came to Koholint.”

“We didn’t know, then,” Link admits. “We had suspicions, but didn’t talk about it until I arrived home.”

“After I died?” Marin’s voice is innocent, kind. Link doesn’t register his subconscious sounding the alarm, trying to tell him something.

“After you died,” he confirms. She isn’t dead now, she’s in front of him. Why does he feel pain when she talks about it?

Marin leans forward, and Link lets her stand back up. She moves the hair out of his face again.

“I miss your pink hair,” she says. “It was cute.”

Link scoffs, not unkind, and his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I don’t miss it.”

“Oh, you’ve become such a grump!” Marin’s laughter is like a songbird.

Link rolls his eyes. “It’s been years, Marin, we’ve both changed.”

“You know I haven’t.” Marin flashes her perfect smile.

Link takes Marin back into a dance, and she sings her ballad. It’s in Hylian; Koholint never had a language of its own. They always spoke Hylian, even though they never knew what Hyrule was. He knows the lyrics by heart.

Link is suddenly taken out of the trance Marin’s voice puts him in when she cuts herself off, looking outside. Her face turns worried. She lets go of him, walks to the windows, and peeks outside. A full moon.

“The night is rising,” Marin’s tone is tinged with sadness. “Our time will be up soon.”

“What do you mean?” Link walks to Marin. He places a hand on her shoulder, tries to comfort her. She looks up at him.

“I’ll see you again, Link,” Marin says, a shaky smile forming on her lips. She looks close to tears. “I always wanted to learn how to dance. Thank you.”

Link pulls her close. “Always,” he murmurs.

“Kiss me?” The moon rises further into the sky. The whisps of the room start to break off, the curtains blown away by the suddenly open windows. It’s windy. Marin’s hair flies to Link’s right. He feels the urgency in her voice, wishes this isn’t real.

Link softly, so softly, takes Marin’s cheeks into his calloused hands. He presses his chapped lips to her perfect ones, feels the sea in her breath. Her hands rise to his face, cradling him like he is her.

He isn’t the one to pull away. Marin’s lips suddenly become a ghost’s, and he opens his eyes, and she is gone. All that is left of the ballroom is this window and the place he is standing on. He looks out the window. An echo of her voice sounds throughout the outside nighttime, singing that haunted song. It rings in his ears like how it did when he first opened his eyes.

White feathers fly through the air. He reaches out, and though they’re far away, he catches one. A seagull’s.

Link wakes up.

He’s alone. The room is dark. His back aches from sleeping on his old, hard mattress, the one he hasn’t thrown out yet because it was his uncle’s.

He sits up. He pats his side, checking to make sure his knife is still there, and he checks for the one under his mattress, and the one in his bedside table. Nobody’s been here through the night, or if they were, he’s still armed.

Link moves out of his bed, wiping his eyes and trying not to scowl as hard as he usually does. That one was particularly cruel, even giving him a kiss before taking her away again. He opens the curtains, but only by a crack so he’s not blinded and nobody sees him.

Link moves back to his bed, in the drawer underneath the one holding his knife. A dream journal, half its pages damaged with tears or ripping or spilled ink. He moves it to where the light shines through the house, and he picks up his quill.

Tonight, he begins, it was in a ballroom…

Never Leave

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