#i think in a real knighting ceremony its supposed to be with both knees on the ground and like bowing your head??

[ameriel]

au week 7 | faye/quinn x princess/knight

[fatefulfaerie]

#thirsty-and-in-denial-zelda

@snidgetwidgeon @intangiblyyourswrites I did another one.

The real reason Zelda initially shows such an abhorrence to Link is because she’s secretly head-over-heels for him and refuses to show it. Her pride is on the line, after all.

The rules were:

-must be set in the Botw timeline

-when it’s set is up to you (e.g. Pre-Calamity or post, pre-Blades of the Calamity or post)

-no chronology enforced, but I’m interested to see if we can get a somewhat coherent story out of this!

-you may do however many posts/drabbles you’d like

-tag #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda so we can find your story!

A Night To Forget

Eight feet apart. Don’t speak out of turn and you won’t get spoken to. Eight feet apart. Always keep her in your sight. Eight feet apart. She dies and so do you.

His duty was drilled in his mind, cycling through his thoughts and running rapid with continuous steps. Don’t speak out of turn and you won’t get spoken to. Always keep her in your sight. She dies and so do you.

And thus his stoic, unmoving eyes were fixed on her in her royal blue dress, the way her long, blonde hair fell down to her lower back, the way it moved slightly as she walked. Link seemed to show no reaction to her figure, her tense shoulders, her balled fists, the frustrated green eyes he couldn’t see. Link trudged on behind the Princess with no expression to betray his mysterious, unknown thoughts. Princess Zelda hated her shadow, loathed its stare upon her in this echoing castle corridor.

Eight feet apart. It was no rule he was told, but Link was a sensible young man.

A Lynel is a ferocious creature, with the strength of an army and the resilience of a hot summer. Yet, the first time Link saw one in the wild, he saw it sleeping. Link’s father warned him not to wake it, to keep his distance and not incur the Lynel’s anger. They stayed a good distance away until the threat passed.

It seemed Link copied the lesson when interacting with his charge. Whether he was being ceremoniously blessed by her highness or journeying with her to Goron City, it seemed best to stay eight feet away from her anger.

And she seemed to prefer it that way, too.

She entered the large ballroom without a word to her knight attendant. Link stopped to stand guard at the entryway and Zelda tried to forget that by order, his eyes would be on her the entire night.

It was absolutely boring, and his feet ached in his brown leather boots like he never thought they could. And, although he had already eaten before escorting the princess to the royal banquet, watching the royals and court members and racial representatives eat made Link hungry.

It was two whole hours until something remarkable happened past conversations out of earshot and speeches dull with monotony, Link almost longing for a Yiga attack just to have something to do.

Yet Urbosa was walking toward him with her arm around Zelda and Link prepared himself for a different kind of battle, standing straighter up. Had the Princess recruited the Gerudo chieftain to hurl her anger for her? Urbosa had a much sharper and stronger tongue and Link knew from stories that the Gerudo language was laced with profanities Link couldn’t even begin to rebuke.

Instead, Urbosa came much closer than expected and Zelda’s eyes were filled with more fatigue than hate. Urbosa looked from her right to her left before she leaned in more.

“I need you to take Zelda to her chambers,” Urbosa whispered. To Link’s surprise, Zelda voiced no objection.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I didn’t notice until now but one of the Gerudo mistook her age and gave her a Noble Pursuit to drink.” Link’s eyes widened.

“She’s drunk?” Link half-mouthed, half-whispered.

“She didn’t know the difference and with her tiny frame, the one she drank was enough. I should have been paying better attention.”

“You and me both.”

“I’ll go make an excuse to the King,” Urbosa said as she practically forced her into Link’s arms. “You get her to her bedroom safe. The King cannot see her like this.”

So much for eight feet. Link was practically hugging her and vice versa. His cheeks warmed and his heart pounded. Had he ever before been this close to danger?

Link nodded and turned to leave, unable to forget who of all people was clinging to his tunic as he left the ballroom.

“Where are we going?” She asked, slowly and slurred.

“I’m taking you to your chambers, Your Highness.”

“Mm,” she hummed before slowly pushing herself to stand up on her own. She was still close to Link but now only had a hand on his shoulder. Zelda took her other hand and drew circles on his shoulder as she focused on it.

“You’re wearing Link’s shirt,” she said. “You...you’re Link.”

“Yes I am.”

Her hand gripped his shoulder and she stopped.

“Wait,” she said.

Link barely got a chance to turn around on his own before Zelda turned him around herself, with both hands on either of his shoulders.

“I need...to tell you something,” she said lethargically. She looked as if she were about to pass out and Link continued to study her with concern.

She took a hand and pointed a finger at him.

“What do you think of that?” She asked.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” Link said contrastingly soberly.

Zelda blinked her eyes a couple times.

“Was I supposed to?” she asked.

Link let out a sigh and placed his hand on her shoulders instead, leading her to her chambers.

“Come on,” he said, Zelda stumbling a bit. “You’ve gotta sleep this off.”

“Mm,” She said with a soft exhale. “You’re nice...and you’re so sweet, all the time you’re just so sweet. You’re perfect, perfect eyes, perfect hair, perfect teeth. How are you so perfect?”

“I’m not perfect,” Link argued.

“Yes you are,” she said, nodding. “The kingdom loves you.”

She took a pause as Link continued to lead her along.

“I wish I was perfect,” she said. Link readjusted his grip. They were nearing her chambers.

“You are,” Link argued.

Zelda’s lungs erupted in a laugh Link had never heard before. He had to keep himself from getting lost in it, remembering she was laughing at her own inadequacy, seemingly uncontrollable wheezing as they finally reached her chamber. Link closed the door behind them.

“Your Highness,” he prompted to stop her, moving to her to face him as her laughter faded. “It’s time to go to bed now.”

“So soon?” She asked.

“Yes,” Link said with nods.

“Link,” she practically interrupted. She touched the left side of his face with a hand that didn’t try to be gentle. “I still haven’t told you...how perfect you are.”

“Yes you have,” Link said slowly, trying to make her understand, pulling her hand from his face before holding her hands in his. “You can go to sleep now.”

She nodded as she grabbed the cloths of his blue tunic, the ones closest to his collarbone. He was pulled to her and could smell the sweet and yet bitter Noble Pursuit on her breath.

Their noses brushed against each other and Link felt his stoicism melt away. She kissed him quickly, impatiently and impulsively and for a lingering second Link too, thought himself drunk. He could taste the Noble Pursuit and yet he was drunk with love, intoxicated by her perfection. Their lips played with each other like a new toy, like someone picking up a new instrument and simply wanting to make noise, to see what it would sound like.

Zelda rescinded from him quickly, covering her mouth and starting to retch. Link thought quickly, grabbing a nearby basin and bringing her knees before it.

Puke spewed from her mouth just after she thought to move her hand, Zelda’s hands gripping the handles of the basin.

“That’s a bit more accurate,” Link said as he made sure every strand of hair was behind her shoulders. Zelda panted as she stared at the bucket, obviously expecting more. “It’ll be good to get that out of your system.”

A second strain escaped her mouth, Link wincing at the sight and yet thinking she likely had it worse.

Zelda panted as she sat back on her heels and looked at Link, who already had a rag ready and was wiping her face clean.

“This isn’t in your line of duty,” she said as he did. “You are meant to make me look less perfect.”

Link blinked his eyes as they swam in sadness, rescinding the rag. So that is what it was. He was perfect, he pulled the sword and was ready to face Calamity Ganon with no expressed hesitation. She was imperfect, inadequate to rule the kingdom and unable to access the sealing power meant to save it.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “The kingdom did that on their own.”

Zelda stared at him and her green eyes pierced straight to his heart.

“Link…” she said breathlessly. Her eyelids were flitted closed. “Am I drunk?”

Link nodded.

“And it’s time to sleep off the rest,” he said as he led her to standing, gently prompting her until, in her tight, corseted royal dress, she lay down on her bed. Link didn’t think that was the most comfortable thing to sleep in but there was absolutely no way he was changing her into anything else. He pushed the thought from his mind as Zelda curled up and made herself comfortable.

Link turned to leave her to her much needed slumber, picking up the sullied basin on his way.

“Thank you,” he heard a small voice pipe. It was almost recognizable and thus Link turned back around to Zelda in surprise. She had thanked him, not only that, she had tolerated him, she had depended on him, she had talked to him and not at him.

She had touched him, leaned on him, clutched him. She had kissed him.

She was drunk.

Link forced that truth to the forefront of his mind as he left Zelda in her chambers.

The morning after, the princess’ knight attendant was at her door. Zelda gave Link a look of resentment and hatred before walking a distance in front of him. Link waited eight feet until he started walking too, ensuring she ran into no danger on her way to breakfast with her father.

Eight feet apart. Did she have a headache? Don’t speak out of turn and you won’t get spoken to. Was she feeling groggy? Eight feet apart. Does she need more time to rest? Always keep her in your sight. Did she remember anything? Eight feet apart. Do I want her to? She dies and so do you.

Link soon figured out that Princess Zelda did not remember that night, and that she never would. Although Link kept it in his mind for a spell, in particular unable to forget their kiss and how it made him feel, it wasn’t long before he forgot everything.

[belladxne]

you've got a look in your eyes (i knew you in a past life)

[see notes for AO3 & ff links]

prequel fic | part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,504 Description:

(one glance and the avalanche drops, one look and my heartbeat stops)

One hundred years ago, there was a prince who would come to wield the sacred power inherited from his distant ancestor, the god Bakusatsuo, and a courageous knight chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness who fought at his side.

If only it were that fucking simple. Katsuki has spent his whole life being told he alone holds the sealing power that will repel the impending return of the Calamity. He's royalty, he's descended from the mortal incarnation of a god, he's been assured all his life that he's special for having this ability, and yet he still can't even harness a spark of the power. How could he possibly be blamed for resenting whoever comes to draw the sword, and masters their destiny as simple as that?

Katsuki stalks around his study with an indescribable energy welling up in him, clawing feverishly up his chest and throat. He won’t call it panic because it’s not—it’d be lousy and lazy to describe it that way when it ignores that he’s always dreaded this and has been near-resigned to it for maybe years now. He won’t call it what it’s not, but—but it evokes something similar, some same instinct of fight or fight in his gut.

Deku should be back soon. Should’ve been back at least a day or two ago, realistically, and the extra time spent waiting has been as much an agony as it’s been a relief. Katsuki doesn’t know if no news is good news, or simply a delaying of the inevitable.

He slams his fist on the desk with a force that rockets through his knuckles, up his wrist, a roar of frustration forcing its way from his chest, and then runs his hands through his hair, mindlessly tugging. He isn’t even supposed to be in here right now. If his mother knew he was shirking his training—“training,” she calls the endless prayers and rituals and meditations and recitations and time wasted on his knees doing the same things that never fucking worked—she’d no doubt bite his head off. No matter.

Deku should’ve been back by now. They’d sent him, finally, after years of talking and talking and driving Katsuki insane about it, to see if he was the hero of legend. If he would be the one to draw the Sword that Seals the Darkness. And Katsuki wants, more than anything, to vomit.

It’s all he’s been fucking hearing, for years now. Apparently it doesn’t matter that Deku’s not like him. That he’s not special. He’s not royal. He’s not descended from a god, or a hero, or any legend of note. He’s not even Sheikah by blood, but he’d been raised among them and trained among them and apparently had worked so hard, despite being such a nobody, that out of all the actual Sheikah they’d chosen to send him to the castle under the impression he’d be a suitable companion and protector for Katsuki.

If the assumption that he needed companionship or protection weren’t degrading enough, they had to add insult to injury by encouraging someone as weak and timid as Deku to think he could believe he was on Katsuki’s level and even capable of protecting him. Katsuki had the blood of Hyrule’s patron god in his veins, the legacy of a sealing magic that had been passed down through the entire royal line, but, hey, Deku had a can-do attitude and all the backbone of a welcome mat, so that made them equals, did it?

Somewhere along this line of thought, Katsuki’s hands had started shaking, and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt as he leaned all his weight on the desk. Because if everyone was right about Deku after all—then he wasn’t just equal. If the sword chose him, let him wield it—then he’d have mastered his destiny, and all it’d have taken was plucking a blade from its stand.

This shrinking, trembling little nobody wouldn’t be equal to Katsuki, who’d tried and tried and tried and tried and couldn’t unlock the power that was his birthright.

He’d be above him. For having mastered his destiny in a way Katsuki just—just couldn’t.

Fuck, destiny—that was the real worst part, wasn’t it?

Not just that Katsuki worked harder than anyone else he’d ever fucking met and had nothing to show for it but scathing gossip from his own subjects, not just that the entire court hailed Deku as some sort of prodigy who could ever be mistaken for his peer, not just that the damned nerd might actually even shatter Katsuki’s entire understanding of the world and come back with that sword on his back as indisputable proof that everyone was fucking right and he was better than Katsuki after all and Katsuki really was useless if he couldn’t even measure up to someone so—

It doesn’t matter. It’s not just that. It’s that if Deku comes back wielding that sword, their destinies are tied forever. The hero of Hyrule, and the descendant of Bakusatsuo—they were always bound, by fate, by destiny.

If everyone’s right about Deku, Katsuki will never be rid of him—will never have hope of being free of this constant reminder that there’s nothing special about him. That the blood of Bakusatsuo in his veins, the royal position of his birth, the sealing power supposedly lying dormant within, the favor of each of the three Goddesses granted to him by his bloodline and status as Hyrule’s crown prince—it’s not enough. He had every head start in the world, and he can’t fucking measure up.

And this nobody, with no significant blood, no amazing history, no special boon—he could achieve what Katsuki never will, with ease, it seems, and Katsuki will be tied to him for the rest of their lives. He’ll never escape it.

He really does want to vomit.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when Deku gets back—because it feels like an inevitability, at this point, how everyone talks about this. Maybe that’ll finally be it—maybe he’ll just fucking snap and the power will come flooding out of him and raze this kingdom to the fucking ground in an uncontrolled rage- and anguish-fueled haze.

That thought doesn’t bring him any sort of bitter relief, either.

Manifesting his power, being able to carry the fate of this kingdom on his shoulders—it was the one and only goal he’d worked for his entire life. Not even resentful misery at a merciless fate can erase that—can take away the need to have others see him, to have them know that he’s competent enough, strong enough, powerful enough to carry that weight. No petty destruction could bring him the same—the same—not even satisfaction, but relief.

Katsuki doesn’t just want the gossip mongers to say he’s good enough. He needs it.

Just as he’s preparing to slump into the chair beside his desk—to hell with training and prayer; he’s more than shown his devotion and dedication, and even if one of the three Goddesses or Bakusatsuo himself were to see fit to come back to this realm to personally unlock his power for him, it’s going to take something he hasn’t been doing nonstop for ten years already—he hears footsteps on the stone signaling someone’s approach, and he tenses.

“Your Highness?” The attendant who stands in the doorway might spark apprehension at the best of times—but right now Katsuki’s nerves are frayed and he’s solidly at his wit’s end, and there’s something he can’t place in the young man’s tone and expression that grates at him like nails on a chalkboard. He knows, before the attendant even opens his mouth once more, what will come out. “Midoriya Izuku has returned from the Great Hyrule Forest. Her Majesty the Queen expects your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Katsuki barely registers anything past the word returned, not once his ears have begun ringing, and it wasn’t panic before but it feels like it now, and he really can’t fucking stand this. He nods dully and thinks there’s probably a scowl on his face, but he doubts it has its usual ferocity even as he grits his teeth to bite out, voice hollow, “Thanks. I’ll be there. You’re dismissed.”

The man doesn’t so much as twitch at Katsuki’s lack of formality. Obviously the castle staff all know to expect it by now. Less expected is the way he doesn’t so much as budge at Katsuki’s dismissal, even when Katsuki moves to get past him. He has to change; he’s not going to the throne room in his ceremonial prayer garb, but the attendant opens his mouth and seems to brace himself for backlash.

“Her Majesty was insistent that you come immediately—”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Of course the old hag had been insistent, had been up the attendant’s ass about making sure the man would be up his ass about getting there. Well, they can both fuck off.

“I’ll be there,” he interrupts, halting just in front of the attendant to glare up at him. “Now fuck off already.”

The attendant hesitates only a few moments longer, likely less than enthusiastic at being caught in the middle of a battle of wills between the infamous queen regent and crown prince, but the conflict at least serves as a catalyst to pull Katsuki back into his own body, enough so that he knows the severity of his glare is back in full force. Predictably, the attendant caves.

“Your Highness,” the young man acknowledges with a nod of his head, before he beats a hasty retreat. Katsuki’s satisfaction is less than fleeting—gone in such a flash he can’t be sure it was actually there. It doesn’t matter. With something heavy and leaden in the back of his throat, he stomps out of his study and across the walkway to his room. He waits only for the door closing behind the unwanted messenger before he begins to tug off his ceremonial clothes, a process that takes hardly a couple moments.

It’s not so quick a process to don his usual attire. Still, it’s not so slow as he’d like, either, as he mindlessly and efficiently dresses with all the numb haste of a man determined not to be late to his own funeral.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this news. He doesn’t want to face the nightmare scenario that’s going to be realized right before his eyes, but there’s no avoiding the inevitable—and at least there might, might be some avoiding of his mother’s temper if he doesn’t piss the old hag off by holding everything up. Despite every instinct in his body screaming for him to linger and hold off on what’s coming, he makes his way out of his own room, through the brief passageways to the sanctum.

He can’t say what it is that’s roiling under his skin, mostly because he doesn’t even feel like he’s inhabiting his own skin right now. His body’s moving itself, his mind is—it’s somewhere, but it feels miles away. There’s a grievous swooping in his gut and an uneasy tremble through all his limbs but it feels… muted, like he’s somehow disconnected.

There’s only each step his feet take, and the dread that continues to flood his system.

It turns out, his mother being such a bitch about him coming immediately was completely fucking unnecessary—not a shock, but he’s too numb to get irritated about it—because in the brief, near-unseeing gaze he flashes around the vast room as he enters it’s obvious that Deku’s not even here yet, that hardly anyone is, apart from the queen.

He bows the way he always has to whenever one of them enters the room with another, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for his blood to boil at the requirement like it normally does. He can’t focus on anything long enough for that.

Stiffly approaching where she stands in front of her throne to stand at her right side, Katsuki’s barely conscious of his posture or propriety. It’s all he can do to take his place, face forward, and play his part through the jumbled way his thoughts crash restlessly around his head in waves.

“Katsuki.” He doesn’t turn to see her face, but he can hear the disappointment dripping from her tone, and it makes him feel—feel—disgusting, somehow, a mental sensation like something slimy washing over his skin. “It took you long enough.”

As dazed as he is, he’s perfectly divided between the overbearing urge to snap back at her or simply not respond at all in his hazy state. Decorum, however, would mark both as unforgivable, a matter he’s grappled with all his life, moreso now that his own kingdom has started to loathe him. It takes more effort than it ever has in the past to strain for a response suitable enough to fit him through the situation, his thoughts disjointed as they are.

“I came as fast as I was able, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t call her mother when he grits the words out—he never does. He hasn’t in years, maybe a decade. If they were alone, he’d have called her hag instead, and likely have gotten a smack to the head for it—but they’re almost never alone, almost always surrounded by an unremarkable backdrop of servants and guards and courtiers, all always listening for Katsuki to find some new way to disgrace himself.

The queen makes a scolding, derisive noise, and his hands twitch as somewhere faded and distant he feels the flare of indignation she always brings out in him, but he can’t maintain a hold on this conversation any more than anything else right now. He merely clenches his fists and, in effort to keep his gaze from flashing around the room wildly as if in search of escape, he finds a spot to the left of the main entrance, where the wall meets the floor, and levels his gaze there, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Trying to calm himself has never come easy in the past and it doesn’t now, and he loses himself in the attempt—he couldn’t say how long it is before the massive double doors finally swing open, a servant announcing, “Your Majesty, Midoriya Izuku and his companion have come, just as you requested, ma’am.”

As simple as that, any attempt at composure is gone—once again, Katsuki’s ears ring, and it feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him as he swallows roughly, nearly dizzy for how quickly he pales. Fuck, it’s here, it’s finally happening, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it—for the first time in years he almost actually feels religious, enough so to want to drop to his knees and beg Bakusatsuo or the three Goddesses or—or fucking someone to just—to stop this before it happens, to save him from this.

He doesn’t. As it is, it takes all his strength not to sway to his knees anyways, but he keeps standing, faking steadiness with all he has in him.

His gaze doesn’t move from the spot he’d affixed it, still so inattentive he can barely register as Deku and another body move further into the room, each dropping to a knee before him and his mother, heads bowed low in deference. Fucking hell, he doesn’t know how to get through this.

“Izuku,” his mother greets, and Katsuki clenches his teeth, shuts his eyes, tries and fails to take a steadying breath. The level of familiarity is, of course, far from common, but the relationship between the Sheikah clan and the royal family has always been closer than most.

Even so, Katsuki knows she only goes as far as Deku’s given name because she knows Katsuki thinks he’s above needing Deku around as a companion, or protector, or gods forbid an equal, and she wants him to know he isn’t above shit. An awful lot of what she does is centered around trying to send him that message.

“If my understanding is correct, the day we’ve all been anticipating has come, and the Sword that Seals the Darkness has finally been drawn. This is so?”

Against his will, Katsuki’s eyes pry themselves open, and for all his reluctance his eyes flick unbidden to Deku. There’s something different about him, something beyond description—he seems… more confident, more vivid. He seems steady and unyielding, the green of his hair even seems fucking brighter somehow, and the way the light shines off of it almost creates an illusion of lightning crackling through it until Katsuki blinks. Lightning, a symbol of Farore. Fuck. Even with his head still somewhat downturned, Katsuki can see there’s a new light in his eyes, and it really sinks in.

The churning in his stomach is back, moreso than before, and Katsuki doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to move an inch before his nerves make him empty the contents of his stomach all over the throne room’s floor. He’s never felt this fucking helpless or hopeless, despair taking over at the blatant change in Deku that must have come from—

The thought stops cold as Katsuki starts to tear his eyes away, and he finally realizes something crucial.

There’s no sword at Deku’s back.

No grand, enchanted blade, no magnificent work of craftsmanship bearing the familiar Hyrulean Royal Family’s symbol. Not at his back, not in a parcel in his hands, nowhere. Even the shortsword at his waist is the same shitty eight-fold blade he’s always had, definitely not something new. There’s a hiccup in Katsuki’s thoughts, mind simply stumbling to a stop in its tracks as he fails to process for a moment. There’s… no way this can be the case. He’s heard the kingdom talk for years. He’d known the futility of hoping against the predicted outcome. He’d heard his mother just now.

How can Deku not have the sword?

His mind still hasn’t caught up, but some part of him must have, because his eyes finally register the other person in the room, the one who’d entered with Deku. His gaze shifts over unthinkingly, taking in hair that’s an absolutely atrocious shade of red, styled into the stupidest fucking spikes Katsuki has ever seen. He looks over the unfamiliar new face with the same lack of comprehension, seeing but not exactly perceiving the strong jawline paired with soft features; the pointed nose paired with rounded cheeks; the large, cat-like crimson eyes paired with small, furrowed red brows. He’s dressed in the typical armor of a Hylian soldier, though there’s no helmet to be seen to cover his absurd hair.

A feeling washes over Katsuki, one he has no idea how to name or place, one unfamiliar but that he knows, knows is somehow caused by the sight of this boy he doesn’t recognize at all. He can’t look away, except to briefly stare behind him.

To stare at a point, just over his left shoulder, where a masterpiece of a sword is strapped to his back. The hilt is elaborate; a deep, royal blue, with a green pattern woven around the hilt, and golden accents embedded in the wing-shaped guard. Katsuki’s never seen it before, but he knows, feels it somewhere deep and undeniable, that this is the Blade of Evil’s Bane.

Katsuki stops breathing. His eyes snap back to the boy’s face and slowly, finally, understanding dawns, seeps through him with a dizzying sense of relief so intense he almost—he almost fucking starts crying. Deku’s not the chosen of the Master Sword. Deku’s not the Hero of Hyrule. Deku’s not—he’s not suddenly and out of the blue a master of everything Katsuki’s a failure at, he’s not tethered to Katsuki’s side for the rest of his life—Katsuki can—can escape this, can actually fucking breathe—

And he does, lets out a breath so painfully shaky with overwhelming gratitude towards fucking any one of the gods out there who had a hand in this, who saw fit to grant him this reprieve, because there’s no outcome he can imagine worse than being some fated pair with Deku. He hopes the exhale isn’t too audible, too obvious to those in the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty, ma’am.”

Deku’s answer startles Katsuki, makes him realize—fucking—this entire winding, tumultuous journey his thoughts and emotions have trekked through has somehow taken no more than a handful of seconds. And only now, secondarily, does Katsuki’s understanding that this newcomer is the sword’s chosen shift from what it means for him and Deku, to what it means for them.

His first thought, taking in the sight of this other boy with his new understanding that this is the prophesied hero of legend he’s to save the entirety of the kingdom with is—just who in the hell is this clown?

“This marks a day of grave importance, then—and prodigious news for the kingdom, as well,” Katsuki hears his mother say beside him with the voice she uses to seem important and respectable in front of people who matter. (Katsuki clearly isn’t one of those people, in her mind.) “This makes the forewarned return of the Calamity seem all the more real—but it also gives us another weapon required to bring about its downfall. Nearly all of the pieces are in place to secure our victory.”

Katsuki doesn’t miss how pointedly she says the word nearly, and it brings him back into his own head, if only slightly.

“You understand, it is a shock to many of us in the castle that Izuku is not the hero foretold—I doubt there’s a soul in the room who isn’t surprised to discover it—but it is an honor to meet the champion with the spirit of the hero, chosen by the sacred blade. Is it true that you are a knight?”

A knight? So he’s not merely a run of the mill soldier, the way his armor suggests. Katsuki’s gaze is analytical now, and as the rush that accompanied his worst fears being alleviated finally ebbs, he finds new, subdued unease and dread taking their old place. What kind of person is this, the hero he’s destined to face the return of the Calamity beside? And—and what does it mean, that he’s drawn the sword when Katsuki can’t even manage a mere spark of the power that he’s supposed to master?

The boy nods, the very image of approval-seeking, meek respect. Katsuki feels his nose wrinkle.

“This is Kirishima Eijiro, Your Majesty,” Deku pipes up, and almost as soon as Katsuki’s irritation flares that he’s speaking for this Kirishima, the redhead shoots Deku a glance that almost looks… grateful? Katsuki wants to roll his eyes. “I—I was passing to the Great Hyrule Forest the way we planned, and when I neared the training camp by Rauru Settlement—Kirishima’s one of their most competent trainers; he trains all of their soldiers in fighting in unconventional styles—he’s familiar with how almost every army in Hyrule fights, and—”

“Izuku,” the queen interrupts, flatly. She can fake familiarity, but she can’t fake care, or patience—and while she makes it clear she must like Deku more than Katsuki, it can’t possibly be by much.

A brief glance reveals that Deku flushes, but he doesn’t startle like a rabbit frightened of its own shadow, anymore. Katsuki’s brow furrows. What in the hell is his deal, now? Even as he wonders at this, he can’t keep his gaze from the shitty-haired asshole that Deku has brought.

“Apologies, Your Majesty! I—he helped me dispatch of a monster camp that had set up too close to Rauru Settlement, that I encountered on the way, and he offered to accompany me to the sword, for safety in numbers. When we finally reached the heart of the Great Hyrule Forest, where the Great Deku Tree watched over the blade...” There’s something in the way Deku says the name, something that—that reeks of awe, and… gratitude? Something like it, at least. “I wasn’t able to draw it—it—trying took a lot out of me. But Kirishima felt drawn to it, and when I suggested he try his luck, he drew it with ease. I’m more than sure of it, he does bear the spirit of the hero, and he’ll serve the kingdom well, ma’am.”

There’s a silence that follows while his mother seems to ponder who the fuck knows what, Katsuki’s eyes still intent on the face he can’t seem to pull his gaze away from, still studying. He feels sick again, but this time the sensation’s not as physical. With ease, Deku had said. This Kirishima had drawn the blade—had mastered his destiny—had bested Katsuki—with ease.

He doesn’t know what to make of him, this boy who’s remained stone-still and stoic through this entire explanation, but he can’t help but wonder—how the fuck is this fair? As if sensing Katsuki’s thoughts, the knight suddenly chances a glance upwards for nearly the first time since entering, his eyes finding Katsuki’s as if magnetized, curious and open.

Something jolts through Katsuki so overpowering and fierce that his heart skips a beat, before galloping ahead at a breakneck pace as his breath hitches, transfixed by a sensation he cannot name. It’s—somehow, red locked with red, Katsuki is overcome by what feels almost like familiarity, but so much more than that, so much weightier. The way the knight’s eyes widen, he thinks it might be mutual.

Katsuki rips his eyes away, feeling unsteady. What the fuck was that? What the hell?

He obstinately refuses to look back, no matter the odd draw he’s felt so far, adamant not to let himself be buried once more by—whatever the hell that phenomenon was. He grits his teeth, fists clenching tighter, and forces himself to glare Deku down instead.

“And this Kirishima cannot explain any of this for himself?” his mother finally asks, and it’s one of the rare, almost nonexistent times she’s ever said something Katsuki would want to ask himself. He still will not allow himself to look back to Kirishima, but Deku shoots the knight a look, and there’s another brief pause while something seems to pass between them.

“He… doesn’t speak much, Your Majesty.” Deku only pulls his own stare away from Kirishima halfway through the sentence, and it rankles at Katsuki to know he can read Deku well enough to tell that the look on his face means he’s reluctant and unsatisfied to be speaking as he is, that he’s not being fully truthful. His expression shifts, though, to absolute faith and certainty as he asserts, “But his skill with a blade speaks for itself, and I know beyond a doubt that you’ll only ever need to see him in battle once to agree, ma’am. He has my complete faith.”

The noise Katsuki’s mother makes in response puts him on edge, if only because he’s on the receiving end of it so often. She makes it when she won’t go so far as to assert her disapproval, but she wants it made clear that she’s withholding any approval as well.

Katsuki chances a glance to his side, to gauge her demeanor in his periphery. She’s eyeing Kirishima appraisingly, a look Katsuki has often associated with a lioness looking for the weakest in the herd to hunt down, for anything she can exploit. She seems, soon enough, to come to a decision, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Then may I once again extend my welcome, and emphasize what an honor it is to meet the wielder of the sacred blade. Rise, both of you.”

Both stand from the knee they had taken, rising with straight postures, hands clasped behind their backs, and heads remaining bowed respectfully.

“Kirishima, it sounds as though you are more than dedicated, and notably accomplished. This is something we will need more of in the castle, as we devote ourselves with singleminded focus to our final preparations to thwart the Calamity’s return.” Again, the words are pointed, directed more to Katsuki than the one they’re actually addressed to. Katsuki can feel her eyes on him, oppressive, as she continues, “Starting tomorrow, you are to take over as the head of Prince Katsuki’s personal guard, and you are to become his appointed knight. You must accompany him at all times, to ensure his safety and to prepare for the role the two of you will share when All For One once again rears its head. Is this clear?”

Katsuki can barely even catch how Kirishima bows and nods with prompt obedience as his own head swivels, mouth agape as he stares incredulously at his mother.

“Your Majesty,” he bites out, trying with all his might to hold onto some shred of etiquette despite the red tinting at the edges of his vision, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t need—”

“What you need, Katsuki,” she cuts him off sharply, glare heated and tone caustic, “is to remember your place, and to meet the needs of your kingdom in the coming Calamity. Perhaps the competence of this knight, who has no such hindrances with meeting his own destiny, will rub off on you. This is not negotiable, and you will not treat it as such.”

Hot shame and an angry flush burn at him equally. There has to be something—something he can say—some argument he can make to get himself out of this, but as he struggles desperately to find it, fucking Deku clears his throat.

“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty, but if Kirishima is going to be with Kacchan from now on, I think that makes this a good time to explain that I won’t be able to remain at the castle any longer.”

Katsuki and the queen both snap their gazes to him, Katsuki livid at the interruption as though his time to argue his case was over, and his mother with surprise. No one simply informs the queen something like this, without asking her leave.

“And why might that be?” Her tone is even, but Katsuki’s sure everyone in the room can hear the underlying dangerous note in her voice at the perceived insubordination.

Deku meets her eye, and it strikes Katsuki as wrong. He was never able to do so so steadily before. “Ma’am, in the wake of the prophecy of the Calamity’s return, I know most people in the kingdom have been looking to old legends again—so I’m sure you’re familiar with the legend behind the Great Deku Tree. A hero sacred to the Goddess Farore, gifted with Her blessing and tasked with roaming the land to be a caretaker to Her creations.”

Katsuki is preparing to snap a dismissal, unaware and uncaring where he’s going with this, but Deku presses on, “A hero who fulfills this duty for as many centuries as they are able, before choosing a successor and settling in one place to transform into the next Great Deku Tree, to protect Farore’s creations from up close.”

Choosing a successor.

The purposeful way he says the words, the shift in his demeanor—Katsuki stares at him, agape and disbelieving. There’s no way, it’s—it doesn’t seem possible. And why him, of all people?

“Your Majesty, the Great Deku Tree of our time—the legendary warrior, All Might—he awoke when Kirishima claimed the sword. And after he spoke to us, he chose me as his successor, and passed Farore’s blessing to me. I have to return to the Great Hyrule Forest after this to learn from him, ma’am, and after that… I don’t know.”

A murmur passes through the room, making Katsuki actively aware, for the first time, of its other occupants. Mostly guards, but a small handful of courtiers as well—he’d known they were there, before, but they had faded in the background as they often did for him; seeming little more than an everyday backdrop to his and his mother’s power struggles. He only really registers them all now to share in their shock at having such unexpected turns of events, twice in one day.

He stares at Deku, and it occurs to him—yes, the rest of the kingdom was wrong. Deku wasn’t special. He hadn’t had any grand destiny, or power, or role always living inside him. He wasn’t born with the same greatness that—that the chosen hero and god-blood prince were said to have. Instead, he’d forged his own destiny, made himself into someone special, on his own terms.

Katsuki feels envy like he’s never felt in his life blow through him, grinding his teeth so hard he swears he can hear it. He’s always hated Deku, but this—this is too much, it feels like acid eating away at his insides.

In the stunned silence that captivates the room, Deku seems to understand that no one would dare or see any need to challenge his right to leave. He draws himself to his full height, and adds, “It’s been my honor to serve the royal family, Your Majesty, but I know with Kirishima here that Kacchan will be in good hands. You can trust Kirishima to keep him safe.”

In good hands—as if he needs that—as if he’s still so helpless and useless as they’ve always treated him, like he really needs protecting and constant accompaniment. Deku says it, and Katsuki feels a familiar bitterness welling up as he finally looks once more to Kirishima, a fierce glower taking over his expression.

Kirishima having the sword is better than Deku having it—anything is—but Katsuki doesn’t, can’t find it in himself to feel gracious to the knight for that.

He knows resentment when he feels it. And he’s not going to shake it—not now, maybe not ever.

If this asshole thinks he’s just going to trail behind Katsuki like a good little knight and not deal with the crown prince’s ire, he’s got another thing coming.