Hah, [the sound that breaks free of his throat is sharp and wretched, laced with the bitter sting that has been his companion for far too long, the taste of defeat still raw in his mouth; like sawdust, like sand. It is a jagged knife cutting through his own silence, grinding into the very air, and maybe it's uncharacteristic, that laugh, but Link feels himself shattering into a thousand different thoughts and facets, all his wants, desires, vying and fighting for recognition. He has shut himself away for years, in a prison that felt unbreakable. Right now, it feels more like a glass cage.
Sheik is right, of course. If he is to defeat the Demon King, he'll need more than a broken sword and a broken heart. His lost companion awaits him, after all, and isn't that just the last of the thousand cuts? The Master Sword, the one true blade that will help him banish this vast evil--
again--
But there is something he notes in the Sheikah's words, something as heavy as the burden he bears himself, something that feels so devastatingly like the burdens Zelda placed upon her own shoulders, the responsibility she assigned herself over the Calamity and her struggle with her powers. Sheik comes from a past so ancient he has only heard about it in legends, and yet, here he blames himself in just the same way.
He doesn't say it, that comparison. He's not sure he could; his voice is too shaky in his throat.
But he wonders if Sheik knows, nonetheless.
The sound of that bitter laugh has long since faded, leaving only the echo of sharpness ringing in his own mind, and Link realizes mirthlessly that he doesn't know how else to respond but to admit,] You're right.
[There will be no quarter with the Demon King, no draw, no fair rules.]
But this isn't the same.
[Because the Master Sword remains out of reach, because the Demon King is not here, because Sheik occupies a place in his heart and thoughts that is as close to a friend as he can get without having to say the word. It's different. It will always be different.]
no subject
Sheik is right, of course. If he is to defeat the Demon King, he'll need more than a broken sword and a broken heart. His lost companion awaits him, after all, and isn't that just the last of the thousand cuts? The Master Sword, the one true blade that will help him banish this vast evil--
again--
But there is something he notes in the Sheikah's words, something as heavy as the burden he bears himself, something that feels so devastatingly like the burdens Zelda placed upon her own shoulders, the responsibility she assigned herself over the Calamity and her struggle with her powers. Sheik comes from a past so ancient he has only heard about it in legends, and yet, here he blames himself in just the same way.
He doesn't say it, that comparison. He's not sure he could; his voice is too shaky in his throat.
But he wonders if Sheik knows, nonetheless.
The sound of that bitter laugh has long since faded, leaving only the echo of sharpness ringing in his own mind, and Link realizes mirthlessly that he doesn't know how else to respond but to admit,] You're right.
[There will be no quarter with the Demon King, no draw, no fair rules.]
But this isn't the same.
[Because the Master Sword remains out of reach, because the Demon King is not here, because Sheik occupies a place in his heart and thoughts that is as close to a friend as he can get without having to say the word. It's different. It will always be different.]