Link leaned into the touch - her hand was cool and dry, not overly warm anymore, except from holding the bowl. Her fingers feel good, comforting, on his face, and he's able to breathe a bit easier, at least for a time.

Yes, he had accepted the armor, hadn't he? And he'd known before accepting it what it meant - at least vaguely again, anyways. "I have your trident," he says, quietly, face still leaned in close to hers. "At home, on my wall. I couldn't stand to use it... It's yours, not mine." He smiles at her quietly.