“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about this. You’ve got the perfect measurements. It’s not something to be ashamed of. It really isn’t.”

I grumble, but put on my new ivory business suit anyway. Of course it looks great on me, as they all told me it would. But still. Tetra obviously doesn’t realise that I don’t like people knowing everything about me. What happened to good old mystery? There’s no way I can be the perfect femme fatale without that metaphorical cloak.

Obviously, they’re not trying to make me a femme fatale. They’re trying to make me a queen candidate.

Or, in this case, a nurse.

“So,” I ask from inside my immense bathroom, in which I’ve taken a couple of bubble baths over the past few days ―they were delightful, by the way, “What am I supposed to be doing at this thing?”

Tetra, though I can’t see her, is probably doing something productive, like managing press events or something equally smart that I don’t know how to do.

Her voice answers me through the door. “The asylum is a hospital of sorts. So you do as you’d do in a hospital. You remember what Link told you about hospitals?” She asks.

I adjust the cream jacket of my suit and observe myself in my large mirror. “Yeah.”

“Good. So, technically, this is a publicized event for you to show that you’re compassionate and that you care about crazy old loons.”

“Hey,” I exclaim, stepping outside of the bathroom in a fuss and feeling indignant. “Just because they don’t fit into our definition of sane doesn’t mean they’re crazy old loons.”

Tetra looks up from her current task ―she was filing her nails. So much for productivity― and smiles. “I was just teasing you. Apparently, you won’t have to do much pretending to show you care.”

I roll my eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed. I wish I could be coolly detached from everything. Instead, anything derogatory gets me upset.

Aryll Forester is laying on her stomach on one of my couches and it observing me with a furrowed brow and an elfish smile. Her blonde hair is all split into tiny braids ―my work, from two days ago. I’m proud of how it turned out. She looks great, with her soft bronze Waker Islands tan under those sun-bleached-platinum braids.

I twirl for her, showing off my outfit. I love my cream coloured suit. When she smiles in approval, I know that she does too.

“Ivory suits you,” she says, with a grin.

Aryll Forester is one of those perky teens with a love of anything new and different. As I learned upon first meeting her, she’d voted for the Royalty Party and had been giddy with excitement at the idea of meeting me ever since Link had mentioned that he’d be working with the one she is certain will become queen.

In her words, I was way niftier than she’d expected. It was a real confidence booster. That girl totally knows how to make people feel like they’re good at life. That’s why I’ve taken to keeping her around as often as possible. She and Tetra get along pretty well, though their definition of work differs slightly: Aryll believes in going easy, Tetra believes in deadlines.

Still, there are no tough feelings between any of us.

“Ivory does suit you,” Tetra confirms. “Pastels are really perfect for your type of beauty. They fit your complexion. Plus,” she adds with a smile, “they’re regal-looking.”

“I thought dark red and purple was regal looking,” I say, but she knows I’m teasing her.

“Please,” Tetra comments, rolling her eyes and putting her nail file away. “That is so middle-ages.”

I refrain from smiling and Aryll and I exchange winks.

I got my new wardrobe yesterday. I probably have like, twenty ensembles, a dozen hats, ten pairs of shoes, sandals and boots, socks, gloves, coats, scarves, and one ball gown which ―need I really mention this? ― is absolutely gorgeous. Get this: Tetra says that it’s an emergency ball gown. An emergency gown. That means that I’m not going to wear it unless an unexpected event comes up that I can’t avoid and for which there’s not enough time to sow a new gown.

I could get used to this.

“Who pays for all this?” I ask, indicating my open closet and the room in general.

“Taxpayers,” Link says, and I notice for the first time that he was leaning in my doorway. He’s looking as handsome as ever ―which is a given― with a light green work shirt and black lined slacks. The creases down the front of those slacks are perfect and crisp. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and reveal his sinewy forearms. Bugger.

“Taxpayers?” I repeat. “You mean that their money doesn’t go to managing the country?”

I’m a bit frustrated by this. As a former taxpayer myself, I can freely say that it sucks to lose a third of your pay to the government. And for what? I just found out the third of my pay, which I could have used to buy decent locks for my previous home, goes to another person’s wardrobe. Well, now it’s mine, but I’m putting myself in the place of others, here.

“Actually,” Link says, coming forward, all the while evaluating how I look ―and I can’t decide what he thinks, his face being unreadable, “the amount of money brought in by imposition borders on the five billion rupees. Your wardrobe is hardly a drop in the bucket.”

Whoa. Five billion rupees? That’s a lot of rupees. In fact, I couldn’t spend that many blinks in a lifetime.

“Speaking of your wardrobe,” Link continues, a light smile curving the corner of his lips, “Nice job.” He says this to Tetra, who doesn’t seem to care much for his opinion.

Aryll rolls over on my couch and says, a bit slyly, “We were thinking of cream for today. What do you think of that ivory, big brother?”

Link gives me an appraising look. No mistaking it: he’s liking this. Glee! “As I said, it’s a nice job.”

“Oh,” Aryll looks a bit disappointed, “that’s it? Come on, say what’s on your mind.” Her smile is back.

Link notices this, and he points a warning finger in her direction, “You should be careful how you probe. You’re not near becoming a talented information gatherer like that.”

Aryll shrugs, grinning. “Oh, but there’s enough of one in the family. I’m just curious.”

Link rolls his eyes. Then, he turns to me and says, “I’m here to say that the car is ready. We’re just waiting for you.”

Okay. No stress. This is my first real dealing with the press. But that’s alright, because Link drilled everything into my mind and I look great and okay, whom am I kidding?

Link must have seen my pale face, because he reaches out to put a warm hand onto my shoulder and ask, in apparently genuine concern, “Hey. Are you alright?”

“You go without me,” I say, without thinking much. “I think I’ll stay here.”

Link adopts a no-nonsense look, the kind that says, ‘Come now, you’ll be fine.’ He has a wide range of these confidence-boosting expressions. I can somehow guess that he’s made use of these faces before, with other politicians.

“Zelda,” he says ―I really appreciate that nobody in this palace calls me Your Highness, since that would suck― and gently takes my arm, “This is your press event. Not mine. It’s going to be okay. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Nothing can go wrong,” I repeat, a bit tonelessly and with some incredulity.

I’m not made for shows and pretending to be on top of things. That was Ruto’s department. And I’m not good at smoothing things over. That was Malon’s department.

Link drags me to the exit of the room, Tetra heading out before us. Her pumps tap on the carpet and out of sight. I’m feeling dizzy beyond belief and I haven’t even left my room yet!

Aryll, who until then hadn’t moved from my couch, rolls over and says, “Hey, big brother. Wait up.”

Link turns to look at her, and so I do too. He’s still holding me up, after all.

Aryll is stepping up to us, still looking as perky as before. She’s wearing a bright pink skirt with an orange ripped tee, and sporting a white skull type of decoration. Her necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and her silk scarf all bear big, stylized white skulls. On her, even skulls look perky. “Can I have a word with Zelda? I promise it won’t be long.”

Link looks at me. I stare back. Then, he looks at Aryll in mild suspicion. “Why?”

Aryll twirls one of her braids around her finger and says, with innocence, “Girl things. It’s urgent,” she dares to add with a little cute look, her lips curled at the corners.

Link sighs. I detach myself from his arm. Surprisingly, this doesn’t make me collapse. Once he’s sure that I’m steady enough, he says, sternly, “I’ll be waiting at the stairs.” To Aryll, he warns, “Not more than five minutes. Timed.”

He gives me one last unreadable once-over then walks out. Green is very much his colour, I decide. It makes him look gentle but solid all at once. Hm…

Aryll waits for him to be out of hearing range, then her little fey smile turns into a conspiratorial grin. “I know you’re really worried about this mental ward thing. If you ever freak out, just remember that we’ve all got some form of lunacy, but that theirs is visible.”

I stare at her, wondering how that’s supposed to make me feel better. “Um…”

“More importantly,” she says, in the same secretive tone, “this is what I wanted to give you.” I look down at the folded piece of paper that she just handed me. With a slight smile, she says, “Use this only as a last resort, alright?”

I frown. “What is it?”

“A secret, for now,” she says, folding it again for me and slipping it into my pocket. “But it might actually help you today if Link’s knowledge fails you.”

I don’t know what to think, really, but something about Aryll’s confidence transfers into me and makes me grin back. “I trust you. Thanks.”

Aryll cringes comically. “Ah. No. What did Link tell you about that?”

Whoops. “I mean, thank you,” I correct myself.

“You’re welcome. Now go before my brother comes after you. Not that I’d ever stop him if he did, of course.”

The way she says it makes me pause in my tracks and look at her quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”

Aryll looks suitably guileless then. “What?”

There’s a moment where I sense that she knows something I don’t ―big surprise. But she doesn’t do anything except smile quizzically. Eventually, I shake my head and say, “Never mind.”

By the time I reach the car, Tetra is buckled in the rear seat, punching a phone number into her cell. Link is waiting, leaning against the hood of the black, nondescript car, looking a bit nervous. To my astonishment, I feel more levelheaded than he looks.

If you don’t count the horde of butterflies raving in my gut, that is.

When he notices me coming down the steps, he straightens up. The chauffeur opens the door in the back seat, on the other side of Tetra, and smiles at me. I smile back at his politeness, which seems to surprise him a bit.

Oops. Maybe I’m not supposed to smile at the chauffeur? Maybe I’m supposed to be aloof and detached from earthly concerns?

Oh, come on. That’s stupid.

Link, on his part, steps toward me and asks, “Are you going to be alright?”

I look at him, and almost grin broadly. He’s concerned for me! Instead, I just smile sweetly and say, “I’m fine, Link. Thank you.”

Even though I’m not. But he doesn’t have to know that. He looks a bit unsure then. I myself don’t understand how I could seem this calm. It’s unearthly.

Let’s just hope it stays that way until I’m safely cuddled in my bed tonight.

Link looks at me from outside the car, scrutinizing my face, and I try to look as competent as Tetra ―who is calling the asylum to say that we’re about to get there and looking very efficient as she does so― but manage only a toothy smile.

Finally, Link’s thoughts seem to clear, and he looks more focused. He shuts the door as I reach for my belt buckle. He seats himself in the front passenger seat, and the chauffeur also enters the car.

I expected a limo, at least, but I’m not going to spit on leather seats and air conditioning. This car is sleek.

“What did Aryll want?” Link asks, as the car leaves the palace grounds.

I shrug. I hardly know myself, so I’m not going to share my ignorance with him. “Girl stuff.”

“Oh.” Link seems a bit put out, but he doesn’t inquire more than that. I have to remember that ‘girl stuff’ excuse. Nobody ever questions it.

The rest of the ride toward the asylum is silent. Almost like we’re going to put one of us in ward there. In all likelihood, it’d have been me.

Except it’s not like that at all. I’m supposed to pose and show compassion. What kind of joke is this?

“Um,” I ask as the car pulls up in front of the asylum and I notice at least twenty journalists, “When I face a patient, how should I act? Like they’re crazy? Or should I acknowledge their illness and play along like they’re normal?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Tetra says, after she and Link exchange looks.

Meanwhile, the chauffeur came around the car and pushed aside a couple of journalists who are enthusiastically trying to take a picture of me through the tinted window.

To me, Link says, “Just put on your brightest smile and ignore them if they ask you questions. Tetra and I will deal with them.”

I take a deep breath and think to myself, ‘Well, this should be interesting.’

Then, the door opens, and I’m blinded. I blink a couple of times, and still smile a bit dumbly. I can’t see anything. I can just hear a thousand clicks, people shouting, people getting excited, and questions ending with ‘tell us what do you think of that!’

Crud.

Suddenly, in the impossible array of white flashes, I feel a warm, familiar hand in mine. I blink and see Link’s face, smiling at me encouragingly. His body and shoulders also block out the excess flashes. With absurd gratitude, I smile back as radiantly as possible. He helps me out of the car, and puts his arm protectively around my shoulders as we hurry past the many journalists who try to follow us and get a front view.

All I can think is, ‘Link is touching me!’

Tetra is supposed to deal with the press. Link’s presence at my side is enough for now.

We rush up the front steps of the big white building. It would be peaceful if there weren’t all these journalists. There’s even a big park where all these people in white coats are walking around with patients in wheelchairs.

I turn my head, still smiling, and look around a bit. Link doesn’t correct me. He even slows down so that I can look at the place a bit better. Journalists keep taking pictures, but I ignore them, like Tetra and Link told me to.

They even stopped yelling questions in my ear, for which I’m extremely grateful.

Suddenly, a man dressed in white accosts me. He’s immense, and reminds me vaguely of a whale. I smile at him pleasantly ―because so far it’s the only thing I’ve mastered. He looks breathless, like he’s been cut off of precious oxygen.

“Miss Harkinian,” he says, engulfing my hand in his large, cold wet one, “Jabun Jabu, at your humble service.” He inclines his thick neck, and I’m surprised that with a big, blubbery neck like that, he actually manages the feat. “I’m the head of this institution.”

Still smiling, I say, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Doctor Jabu. I was looking forward to meeting with a great mind such as yours.” As we shake hands, the endless clicks continue and increase a bit.

I’m not lying either. I really was looking forward to meeting this guy. Sure, he’s not exactly the most seductive man in Hyrule or anything, but Ruto, back in Lakeside, owned every one of his theoretical books.

Ruto’s a bit shallow when it comes to fashion, but for the rest, she’s a real sucker for science. It’s weird, and not many people know it. She cares too much for her fashion victim image. Still, I read a couple of those books, when she insisted I try them. Well, I read and tried to understand them, to be more precise. I can’t say I know enough basics to get everything he says about brains and the psyche, but the parts I did get were still interesting.

Jabun Jabu looks more anxious about meeting me than I am about meeting him. It’s really weird.

With a big, a bit wobbly smile at the cameras, he leads me inside the building, Link following closely and camera men hurrying ahead of us to get a good picture of me talking with Jabun Jabu.

Link looks impressed that I actually have read ‘Functions and Dysfunctions of the Nervous Centre’, Jabu’s best work. There’s no way he could have known about it, actually. I know he was impressed because I glanced at him as Jabun Jabu was walking me down the hallway.

Jabu, on his part, looks exhilarated that I actually deigned to read some of his ‘humble work’. I don’t make the mistake of mentioning that I read his books when I was but a humble worker myself with a mere college diploma, and that in consequence I had no clue what he was talking about most of the time.

“I must say I’m not a specialist in the field,” I say instead, to him. “But I found your approach very clear.”

This is a lie. As I said, I hardly understood everything. More like ten per cent of what he wrote. But he doesn’t have to be insulted by the possible future queen. Who knows? He may come in handy if I have to lock someone up. Hm. The dark side is taking me. I should stop that.

Jabu’s answer to me was ‘Did you really think so?’ and he’s been blubbering since. We’re walking down a couple of hallways. And suddenly he shifts the conversation to the place’s history. I know about everything he’s telling me because Link drilled me. But I pretend to look interested and smile at the places I judge appropriate. In a glance, I see Link smiling approvingly at me, softly. Let’s just say it’s hard to focus back on what Jabu is saying.

Suddenly, I hear a shriek.

I nearly jump out of my skin I’m so startled. Jabun Jabu looks nervous then, a bit apologetic, a bit worried. We all turn to the source of the noise. I see a middle-aged man, with a big red nose, small eyes and a keen expression. I glance at Link, and he just looks serious, as in ‘stay in character’. I’m not about to disappoint him, so I look back at the middle-aged man and try a smile.

A male nurse looks at me apologetically, and says, to the patient who screamed in glee, “Now, Tingle, screaming like that is―”

I notice that ‘Tingle’ ―what kind of name is that? ― is wearing all green, with a bright green hood, and, amusingly, red briefs over his green leggings. Kind of like a messed up holiday elf. Also, he’s not looking at me. He’s looking straight at Link.

The nurse turns and observes Link, then Link’s shirt, and shows some form of despair. “Oh no. Not green.”

Tingle escapes from his nurse’s grip and leaps at Link. He’s tiny and frail, with only a beer belly. Link looks a bit out of place with this patient clinging to him saying stuff like, “Mr. Fairy!”

“Mr. Fairy?” I repeat, looking at the inevitably funny picture.

Jabun Jabu looks extremely embarrassed. “Tingle believes he is a fairy, and judges anyone wearing green to be one of his kind. He’s thirty-five.”

I raise my brows and smile patiently. “His name is Tingle?” Because if so, it’s no wonder he thinks he’s a fairy.

“No,” the nurse supplies helpfully when Jabu is helpless to provide a proper answer. “He has another name, but we all took to calling him Tingle, because he doesn’t respond to any other name. We have his name on record, but I don’t remember it.”

I don’t really know what to say. I notice that Link is trying to gently pry Tingle off him. The nurse rushes to help him.

“Tingle, Tingle, Kooloo Limpah!” The man is squealing. Their efforts to get him off Link seem futile.

I’m not one to get involved with nutcases. But I’ve seen enough drunkards in my time to know that the best way to get them out of your bar is hardly to force them into obeying you.

“Hey, there, Tingle,” I say, as gently as possible. He turns his face to look at me. He still hasn’t let go of Link’s shirt. “How are you?”

I realize that a lot of people are taking pictures. I figure that getting Link free is more important than a good image right now, so I ignore them.

“Tingle is doing just fine, ma’am.”

I smile at him. “That’s great. I see you’ve met Link, my assistant.”

Tingle nods. He’s looking slaphappy. I can’t blame him: I’d be glad to cling to Link like that too. “Mr Fairy will take me back to the forest where I belong!”

Then, I hear a loud, mocking laugh. I turn, and see a little girl in a light blue patients’ dress, looking pale and a bit unreal. She says, “You don’t know anything about fairies, old man.”

Tingle looks very insulted then. He ―thankfully― lets go of Link and goes towards the little girl in blue. He seems extremely upset. “I am a fairy, you little witch!”

The nurse is now trying to keep them from killing each other. Jabun looks from one to the other, and explains, “The girl is Navi. Her illness is a schizophrenic paranoia with hallucinatory tendencies. She keeps imagining that she has to warn an invisible man about monsters that do not exist.”

I look back at the pale, thin girl, feeling my heart swell with sympathy. She doesn’t look older than twelve, and she’s tormented by her own mind already. I step forward, cutting in front of Tingle, who, for all his cruel words, doesn’t seem very threatening. He calms down eventually, and tries to return to Link, only to be held off by a few nurses that have come to help out.

I kneel in front of Navi, smiling as gently as possible. She observes me with a sort of dead look that makes me feel cold. I take her pale, weak hand, and ask, “Navi, who are you trying to protect?”

Navi’s eyes seem to liven up just a bit, and she says, “He’s a hero. He’ll save the world one day. But he needs my help… He needs my help,” she repeats, looking at me a bit pleadingly.

Jabun Jabu comes to stand next to me, and says, as though Navi weren’t even in front of him, “Probably some childhood book that got to her psyche and affected it wrong. We surmised there’s nothing we can do.”

Navi’s look, which, I’m sure, had been alive for a moment, turned back to stone coldness upon hearing this. For some reason, I feel offended, like Jabun personally insulted me.

“But this is her reality,” I say to Jabu. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help her at all?”

Jabu frowns. It’s like he doesn’t acknowledge that Navi exists. He doesn’t even look at her. But she seems so miserable! Tingle, at least, invented his world and lives in it without looking conscious of anything else around him. But Navi? She only has one foot in her world, and the other is anchored to a steady, reassuring reality that is trying to reject her.

Even though we can’t help them find facts, we can make them happy.

To Navi, I say, as confidently as possible, “Why don’t you write down all the dangers that await this hero? I’m Zelda. I’m the queen of this country.” Okay, not exactly true yet, but she doesn’t have to know the specifics. She’s just a child. “I’ll find a way to give him your letter. I promise.”

I take one of the journalists’ paper pads and pen, and write down my coordinates. I give them to Navi then give his belongings back to the journalist. Navi looks a bit surprised, but I’m sure I see hope in her eyes.

“Will you help him too?” She asks, and I nod, with a smile.

“Of course,” I assure her with a smile. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I figure giving her an outlet for her problems is the only solution. I turn to Jabu and say, as seriously as possible, so that he sees that I mean what I’m saying, “I want her to write those messages to me. Please.”

Jabun Jabu, though a bit distant from his patients, clearly judges that I’ve found a good way to help Navi, bows his head and says, playing along, “As you wish, your Majesty.”

There’s a silence, then, and I notice that all the journalists are looking stunned. I don’t dare meet Link’s eye. I think I just made a massive mistake. Clearing my throat, I stand and brush my cream skirt down, putting a hand on Navi’s shoulder. This causes a massive series of clicks and flashes to go on.

The rest of the visit is pretty much uneventful. Navi and Tingle, both calmed down, stayed near their rooms as I moved away. Still, they waved back at me when I said goodbye. Everything seemed to be doing fine for a moment. At least until I hear the most dreaded word in the world.

“Speech!” A journalist at the back of the pack is happily inciting.

Link and I pause, and I feel Link sigh, resigned. He looks at me with a subtle, apologetic look. He’s clearly saying that I can’t get out of this one, and that he can’t help me evade it anymore. We have been ignoring the speech possibility all day. We haven’t gotten to that part in the lessons.

“Speech! Speech!”

I can’t believe Link failed me. I was doing fine, and the one time where I need his know-how…

That’s when I remember about Aryll’s letter.