Chapter 13: Amelioration

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amelioration
n. the process of making bad or unpleasant circumstances better
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"The key to fighting is a solid foundation. Let's start by testing your core. How many push-ups you got in you, Princess?"

The sun was just peaking above the horizon, painting the sky lavender and tangerine. They had moved away from the trees after a modest breakfast of granola to start her training. In the morning light, Zelda watched as Link pulled his hair back into its usual half-ponytail. It was, to her relief, still sandy.

She'd tried running her fingers through her own hair, but the tangles were impenetrable. What she wouldn't give for a long soak in her clawfoot tub. Iridescent bubbles of rosemary and eucalyptus up to her chin; warm, buttery oils and soaps against her skin; favorite ivory hairbrush waiting...

Alas, here she was in the middle of Hyrule field, lying belly down in the grass, trying pathetically to get through her third push-up.

Link was fighting a grin.

"What are you smirking for?" she snapped, surrendering her pelvis to gravity.

His sandy eyebrows shot up. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Three push-ups is good!"

"Oh, don't patronize me," she grumbled, flipping onto her back.

He folded his arms across his chest. "I mean it. I wasn't expecting more than one to be completely honest with you."

Zelda groaned irritably. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Er, that didn't come out right." He scratched the back of his ear. "What I mean is, as the princess, you had no reason to be doing push-ups. I really don't mean it as an insult when I say I wasn't expecting much. Three is impressive to pull out of nowhere."

The cloudless morning sky glared down at the princess. "They're not easy," she muttered.

"They're not," he agreed.

"I just said don't patronize me, didn't I?"

"Well," he announced, ignoring her bitterness, "ideally we'd take more time strengthening your muscles before handling any actual weapons, but considering our circumstances, we'll hafta skip some steps. Let's move on to footwork."

Footwork came much easier. Formal dance, like cross-stitch and horseback riding, was once a mandatory part of Zelda's princess lessons. Although she didn't like dance, she was good at it, and when she was no longer allowed to participate she wound up missing it.

Link commended her for her quick mastery of the movements, and she felt an strangely indignant sort of pride at his praise. It came as second nature to her, so the longer she repeated his same steps, the more ridiculous the looping started to feel.

"So this is what the Knight Commander has you do all day," she commented dryly.

Link gave an amused huff. "Oh yeah, on Fridays he has us pair up and do the Salsa."

Zelda snorted, nearly losing her footwork, but she recovered quickly. "What is he like?" she then asked rather seriously. "Mido, I mean. When I'm not around." She wasn't sure she wanted the answer until Link clearly wasn't giving it to her.

"Uhh," he stalled, "he's like you said. Injected and magnetic."

The princess loathed the smile that split her lips and fought her face back to neutrality. "First off, it was intrepid and magnanimous. Secondly, those are my words. I want yours."

"Mine were injected and magnetic. Weren't you listening?"

"Link." Zelda glued her feet in place and crossed her arms. "You're prevaricating."

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