[ It's hard to listen to his story, and harder still not to look away as he tells it, but she forces herself to. Because yes, she does want to know who he is. He's told her bits and pieces of his story here and there, and she recognizes those pieces when he reaches them. But this time, he lays them all out for her, in a line from start to finish, as if his life is a spectacle for her to judge.
It's not pity that fills her gaze as she listens, but sorrow. Sorrow to hear all the injustices he suffered as a child, only seven years old. Zelda knew loss at that age too, the untimely death of her mother, but at least she still had her father and Urbosa. Darin had no one. No one to care for him as he grieved the loss of his family. No one to tell him that their deaths were not his fault. How horrible, how cruel, to fear a child for reasons beyond his control.
Zelda remains silent, even as Darin challenges her to weigh the worth of his life. There are a thousand things she wants to say, a thousand ways she wants tell him that he did not deserve the cruelties he suffered as a child-- nor the stigmas he suffers yet today, all because of his unique power and the possibility that his heritage is less than completely human. He was right to run; he was a child. They were both children. His strength does not make him a monster; it is how he uses that strength that would. His brother proved that at Eruyeka.
But a handful of kind words will not undo years upon years of suffering. Worse, she doesn't want to make him think that she is trying to brush away his suffering with her words. He clearly carries far more scars than just the one across his back. Wounds like those take many years to heal. Hers have. Link's have.
So she chooses her words carefully, and when she finds them, they're small. Because she is small. She's only one person.
But so is he. Not a monster. Not a curse. Just a person. ]
no subject
It's not pity that fills her gaze as she listens, but sorrow. Sorrow to hear all the injustices he suffered as a child, only seven years old. Zelda knew loss at that age too, the untimely death of her mother, but at least she still had her father and Urbosa. Darin had no one. No one to care for him as he grieved the loss of his family. No one to tell him that their deaths were not his fault. How horrible, how cruel, to fear a child for reasons beyond his control.
Zelda remains silent, even as Darin challenges her to weigh the worth of his life. There are a thousand things she wants to say, a thousand ways she wants tell him that he did not deserve the cruelties he suffered as a child-- nor the stigmas he suffers yet today, all because of his unique power and the possibility that his heritage is less than completely human. He was right to run; he was a child. They were both children. His strength does not make him a monster; it is how he uses that strength that would. His brother proved that at Eruyeka.
But a handful of kind words will not undo years upon years of suffering. Worse, she doesn't want to make him think that she is trying to brush away his suffering with her words. He clearly carries far more scars than just the one across his back. Wounds like those take many years to heal. Hers have. Link's have.
So she chooses her words carefully, and when she finds them, they're small. Because she is small. She's only one person.
But so is he. Not a monster. Not a curse. Just a person. ]
I would.