[Will he, whose very nature is duplicity, pick up on the double meaning of her words?
He hears them, and recalls a princess who had only just grown tall enough to comfortably see over the top of her father's desk as she spoke to him of her vision foretelling their kingdom's ruination at the hands of the man they had been entreating. A prophetess who thought that by seeing the strings of fate, she could become their master, but only to save the country she cherished so much, despite seeing little more of it than what she could view from her bedroom window. Why else would the Goddesses have blessed her so, if not to protect their creation from evil?
The results of that girl's folly rests in Zelda's hand, cradled so delicately within her fingers. A shard of the divine, splintered off from her sisters, carried into the present moment by one who threw away their name to protect it. She could take it, if she wanted to, if she knew it was there. He might even let her, if she did. There are surely worse ingots to reforge a sacred blade with.
Does Sheik pick up on the double meaning of her words? Of course he does. And that is why his expression is drawn ever tighter with each syllable that passes her lips, teeth grinding, stomach churning, his entire being a taut rope pulled to the point of fraying until—]
... that doesn't mean they are not capable of making mistakes—!
[His voice erupts out of him, raw and unbidden, the force of it pulling him up from his seat and rattling the silverware as his hand clenches firmly around hers. The fury he simply did not bother to hide before, he wears openly now, but she will find, that as their teacups settle back in their saucers, the prevailing emotion writ upon his oft inscrutable expression is grief.
The silence of the next moment is deafening, the echoes of his outburst in the quiet cafe ringing in his ears as though it's the only sound he'll hear for the rest of time. Regret, as he predicted, slips easily into the emptiness left behind, and as he falls back into his seat, Zelda will see all that emotion once again absorbed into the shadows from whence it came as he affixes the stoic mask he wears back into place. He'll release her hand, unless she stops him, to cross his arms over himself once more, though he looks more like he's trying to keep himself contained than guard against anything external for the effort.]
I... Forgive me. I've overstepped.
[He is a Sheikah, a servant. Nothing else. No one else. He must remember that.]
Your time here is yours to do with as you see fit. Duty - and destiny - will both wait regardless. That... that is all I mean to say.
[She was frustrated that her plans were foiled once again by Songerein's pull, but... she should know now that they wait for her, just as his own do for him. If he can allow himself a modicum of appreciation for the time that has been stolen for him, then, as one whose destiny he mirrors, can she not do the same?]
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He hears them, and recalls a princess who had only just grown tall enough to comfortably see over the top of her father's desk as she spoke to him of her vision foretelling their kingdom's ruination at the hands of the man they had been entreating. A prophetess who thought that by seeing the strings of fate, she could become their master, but only to save the country she cherished so much, despite seeing little more of it than what she could view from her bedroom window. Why else would the Goddesses have blessed her so, if not to protect their creation from evil?
The results of that girl's folly rests in Zelda's hand, cradled so delicately within her fingers. A shard of the divine, splintered off from her sisters, carried into the present moment by one who threw away their name to protect it. She could take it, if she wanted to, if she knew it was there. He might even let her, if she did. There are surely worse ingots to reforge a sacred blade with.
Does Sheik pick up on the double meaning of her words? Of course he does. And that is why his expression is drawn ever tighter with each syllable that passes her lips, teeth grinding, stomach churning, his entire being a taut rope pulled to the point of fraying until—]
... that doesn't mean they are not capable of making mistakes—!
[His voice erupts out of him, raw and unbidden, the force of it pulling him up from his seat and rattling the silverware as his hand clenches firmly around hers. The fury he simply did not bother to hide before, he wears openly now, but she will find, that as their teacups settle back in their saucers, the prevailing emotion writ upon his oft inscrutable expression is grief.
The silence of the next moment is deafening, the echoes of his outburst in the quiet cafe ringing in his ears as though it's the only sound he'll hear for the rest of time. Regret, as he predicted, slips easily into the emptiness left behind, and as he falls back into his seat, Zelda will see all that emotion once again absorbed into the shadows from whence it came as he affixes the stoic mask he wears back into place. He'll release her hand, unless she stops him, to cross his arms over himself once more, though he looks more like he's trying to keep himself contained than guard against anything external for the effort.]
I... Forgive me. I've overstepped.
[He is a Sheikah, a servant. Nothing else. No one else. He must remember that.]
Your time here is yours to do with as you see fit. Duty - and destiny - will both wait regardless. That... that is all I mean to say.
[She was frustrated that her plans were foiled once again by Songerein's pull, but... she should know now that they wait for her, just as his own do for him. If he can allow himself a modicum of appreciation for the time that has been stolen for him, then, as one whose destiny he mirrors, can she not do the same?]