A Mother's Love

What is a mother's love? Each of the bearers of the triforce know it differently. It is a lullaby, a memory, or a dream. A mother's love is the most precious and most cruel gift that was bestowed upon them...

A One-shot by L.D.Mire

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A Mother's Love

The Captain of the Hyrulian Guard’s apartment was quiet and still. Nothing disturbing the new family from its rest. The Hyrulian military on guard kept alert outside the chambers. But even as peaceful as it was, the chamber began to echo with a sound becoming all too familiar. The little bit of moonlight let the room be lit enough to see the crying infant’s face. Though he was only a few days old, his voice was like a battle cry to his parents in the night.

“Hush… I’m coming.” The young woman cooed as she left her bed. Her husband groaned, aggravated by the pathetic screaming. The woman’s eyes twinkled as she picked her son up from the cradle.

Though the light was dim her eyes glistened like the blue night outside. The babe whimpered, nestling close to his mother as she began to pace back and forth, gently humming a tune.

“Link, did I ever tell you the story of The Hero Of Time?” She whispered, watching the infant's eyes grow heavy. Link yawned, starting to fuss and fight his sleep away.

“Once, there was a great evil. This evil stormed through Hyrule, causing his hatred to spread like a nasty disease. There seemed to be no hope for Hyrule, as Hyrule’s princess hid in fear. But one day, a young boy came…” Her voice was warm and gentle as she spun her tales from her parents to her son from memory. Her golden hair fell across her face as she grew tired but she continued on, until she knew he was fast asleep.

“You already start to fill his head up with those useless fairytales?” Her husband asked as he let out a muffled sigh. She grinned.

“Arn, legends are histories mixed with fantasy. You could be a descendant from The Hero Of The Skies!” She whispered with a grin. Arn laughed at his wife’s comment, losing his usual unfeeling persona.

“That would be impossible… not even our son could have the courage to do what he did.”

“Maybe that’s just because you don’t believe in magic.” She yawned as she laid down.

“Perhaps…”

oOo

 “Princess, your mother requests your presence. It’s urgent so hurry along.” Impa informed the five year old girl. She grinned, kicking her heels up as she grabbed an assortment of wildflowers and weeds she had collected earlier. Impa shook her head, a worn, wry grin spreading across her lips. Zelda huffed as she struggled to put her shoes on.

“Let’s make you look presentable.” Impa chortled as she bent over, pulling the shoes on with ease. With quick and gentle strokes she was able to pull her tangled hair into a neat crown and ponytail.

“Do you think mommy will like the present?” Zelda asked nervously, clutching the stems so tightly the flowers began to droop. Her deep blue eyes, gleaming with worry.

“I’m sure your mother will love them.” Impa encouraged as they began to walk hand-in-hand through the palace corridor. Zelda’s hands became sweaty as they neared the door. A grim, frightened look came over her face as they neared the door. Impa raised a brow, knowing the girl had something on her mind.

“What is it, child?” Impa asked as she knelt down, noticing the dirt on her cheek.

“Impa… Is mommy going to die?” She asked quietly, her fear swelling in her throat. Impa inhaled deeply.

“Your mother is very sick, but your father is doing everything he can to help her. You must understand though, that life is not in our hands.” Impa rambled softly, rubbing the dirt from the little girl’s cheek.

“But I heard daddy talking to the doctor and the doctor said that mommy won’t get better.” Zelda replied brokenly, her voice desperately trying to hide her sudden urge to cry. Impa tilted her chin.

“There are things in life we can not control. However, we must learn how to cope with what may come. Now hurry along before you worry your mother to death.” Impa replied, her voice stern and calm. Zelda nodded and walked through the double-doored chamber.

“Hello my little Zellie.” The Hylian queen greeted with a tired grin. Zelda beamed as she ran to her mother’s side.

“I picked these for you!” She exclaimed as she handed her the random assortment of wilted flowers and weeds. The queen smiled, holding out her hand to the child.

“Thank you… Did you know we are like flowers?” She asked quietly, her voice dissolving into fierce coughing. Zelda shook her head, eager to listen to her mother’s tale. The woman motioned for the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. Zelda grabbed it, practically throwing it towards her mother.

“Yes, Zelda…” she continued, “Flowers grow through storms and darkness but with just enough sunlight and water they grow beautiful. And eventually, there comes a time when the flowers must wither away.” The princess looked her mother in the eyes with puzzlement.

“Are you going to go away when the flowers do?”

oOo

The boy grabbed another rag, attempting in vain to stop his bleeding cheek. He wasn't one to cry. Those years had left him a long time ago. With a shrill inhale he began to search his cupboards in his room for some sort of balm. Below him, he heard the quarrel of his adoptive mothers. He had listened to their arguments many a time, usually they were his lullaby.

He found his bottle of balm and began to apply it, listening carefully as the voices came closer. His body began to tremble. He hated them. He hated his existence. They had no right to determine what burden he was to carry. They had no right to tear him away from the needs of his people for their own needs. They had no right to punish him. He was above them. He was their king, and the one born to carry the only essence able to bring Demise back into their world. He struggled with it, fighting Demise’s hatred sometimes, but he carried on. It was his holy destiny.

The two hags voices grew louder, shaking the poorly constructed walls of his room. Ganondorf threw the ball under his pillow before preparing to meet their angry faces. He was dead to their bitter hollers and numb to those fingers in his hair. But as they continued something struck him, words they had spat in anger.

“Did you think your mother could have loved you more?”

Did his mother love him? That woman he had only met in his dreams? The one who would hold him close and talk gently? What was a mother's love anyway? Did his mother love him?

No, if she did she wouldn't have died so easily. If she had truly loved him she would be there, beside him, protecting him from the two who continued to scream and shout at him. He would never know a mother's love, but he didn't need too. Their love was enough. Their love was just enough to convince him that there was no such things as love. But he wondered. If his mother was still alive, would she have loved him?