"The brighter the object, the darker the shadow."
Where: Aboard Ajax, prior to Sheik going off in search of people.
What: Having accepted the fact he is alive and entirely out of his depth, Sheik reflects upon the last life he knew.
Rating: PG, maybe?
Warnings: Shameless backstory elaboration 8D basically an extension of his intro. Also, some liberties taken to fill in spaces in the plot. And rambling. Lots of rambling. And LENGTH. SRSLY, you have been warned.
The first thing that struck him, as he lay blinking at the ceiling, was that he was not wearing what he had last remembered, not wearing the tight blue garb bearing the crimson Eye. No, he was wrapped in layers and layers of cloth, rough and stiff with embroidery. Sheikah death shrouds, he realised, and the thought sent an uncomfortable crawling sensation through the nerves in his spine.
Sitting up, he shed each layer, one by one, and it was then, amidst the wrapping, that he realised what had been digging into his back; the lyre. Fingers, bandaged in black - not white, Zelda used white - freed it from the straps that held it at the small of his back and ran over it, golden in the dim light. The Sheikah sat in silence, shifting in the black cotton layers he was now dressed in, and then those fingers ghosted over strings, and the strain of a melody seemed to shimmer in the shadow.
Sheik lay back then, eyes open and unseeing, lyre gripped against his chest. It was a comforting weight, his breathing sounding much too loud for his liking and feeling harsh and dry in his throat. He could not bring himself to control it. Willing himself to relax somewhat, his eyelashes fluttered closed.
What had been...
What was now...
His first life was one he could scarcely remember, after all, he was bred for it, and it passed as little more than - moments, he supposed, but when you have been walking the earth for centuries, what does a moment of your time mean?
The remnants of that time were pieces of a puzzle in his mind, and he sought to piece them together.
By your time, the Sheikah were already dwindling, weren't they?
The Betrayal. The reason that the Eye of Truth wept. Sheikah, the shadows sworn to serve the Hylians, the light. One in the same. One unable to exist without the other. The Royal Guard, their Elite - all Sheikah warriors and killers, born and bred in the name of the monarchy, in the name of the Sacred Relic. Slain. Sent into a suicide mission with the promise of help from the King's own mouth, help that never came. Slain, hundreds slain, all in the name of the monarchy, in the name of the Sacred Relic. And still the Sheikah served them, for that was their purpose.
Sheik's finger traced the red outline on his chest, the tear that symbolised all that had been endured. The Eye of Truth... Something all Sheikah have from birth... The ability to see the truth, to see it amongt lies. See that which other eyes could not. See illusions for what they were, past masks and through the mist.
See into the hearts and minds of those around you... See into their very soul...
It was weaker here; he knew, perhaps because this was his third time walking amongst the living, perhaps because this place sapped him of something. It was there, in the artificial air and pulse of... Movement?
Once again, bandaged fingers glided over lyre strings, and they shuddered into music, and it was then he considered his second life, though it was nothing more than half a life. Once again, the Sheikah utilised by the Royal Family for the greater good. His body raised, his spirit given some semblance of awakening. And then, the Princess, part of the land's only hope, hidden within him, her conciousness put to sleep as she hid from the Black King, waiting for the young Hero to appear.
The Black King... They hated you using such a term... He was the Dark One to them, the Gerudo tyrant... But you served him, didn't you?
The best place to hide had been under Ganondorf's thumb. Claiming to be - simply claiming? Are you quite sure? - a Sheikah left bitter from the Betrayal, he had risen amongst the ranks until Ganondorf even valued him. He was a spy, searching for the Princess.
And the price to pay?
The end must justify the means.
Hands that had shed so much blood Sheik was vaguely amazed they weren't stained in it. Oh, he'd been a spy, and sneaking was all well and good. But when it came to proving his loyalty to the Black King, it had taken murder, and it had taken torture, and it had taken life.
The end must justify the means.
Sheikah philosophy at its core. It had served him well, and the Black King - my lord - had been taken in by it.
"Why do you serve me?" He'd asked once, sounding curious and thoughtful and far more intelligent than people credited him for, Sheik noted with a grimace.
"We are a tribe of 'shadows'. Without 'substance', we cannot exist. When I had no master you appeared before me. That's all." Sheik had answered, and even now he couldn't tell how much of a lie it had been.
He'd heard ocarina music. Zelda's Lullaby. And he'd known then, the Hero had awoken. Sheik had become the Hero's shadow, guiding him through each obstacle. Keeping guard over him from afar. Just as the Sheikah should.
The boy had been foolish, reckless. It was always so exasperating, Sheik had thought, and then they had met. And he had looked into Link's eyes. And although it was a man's body before him, taller and broader than he, the eyes he looked into were those of a boy.
It diminished over time. Sheik watched as the boy in the man's body grew, all too quickly.
You weren't the only one used by Zelda, were you...
"What in the world are you?" Link had asked him, sounding desperate and pleading and lost, beneath the burdens he carried for everyone else.
"I am simply a minstrel. I hear things as I travel." Had been Sheik's answer, and although it was almost the truth he couldn't help but feel it had been more of a lie than that told to the Black King.
They met as Link journeyed to the temple in the desert. It was Sheik who led him to the Gerudo Fortress, to where he needed to go to move on. But the price to be paid... You betrayed his trust to get him there.
Once again, Sheik reminded himself, the end must justify the means.
Link hadn't looked at him the same way then, even as Sheik revealed himself to be working against Ganondorf, even as their combined efforts were needed to escape. Link had depended on you, because even though he barely knew you... You were there. You were a constant. The only one he had.
Sheik remembered feeling fire engulf him. He remembered falling to the ground, and he remembered hearing one frantic cry of his name, and then hands were pulling him into a sitting position and he knew then that Link had forgiven him. He'd had to.
And then the Triforce of Wisdom was burning upon his hand, and the spell was breaking in his weakness, and Zelda was being freed...
And you betrayed the Hero once more.
They were reunited, Zelda and Link, two pieces of the Triforce, Wisdom and Courage, Princess and Hero. Zelda and Link. It was not something Sheik was a part of. It was not something he'd had to be. He'd only ever been 'Hero' to Sheik.
Link. The Hero of Time. The one they had all prayed for.
"Though it's a little sad, not being able to see Sheik anymore."
Link accepted it as he did everything else, though Sheik often wondered how he'd reacted to finding out about the price paid for Ganondorf's trust. Link was too altruistic, too noble, too utterly pure - it was a flaw, and one you found irresistibly new and fresh and impossible to comprehend. The name 'Link' that died before it reached Sheik's lips, and briefly he was convinced he could smell forest leaves and hear the ocarina music, and the eyes that met his were so blue and clear and honest, and had grown up much too quickly.
It was over. Ganondorf - the Black King, my lord - was cast down, Hyrule purged.
And Sheik, his purpose filled, was left to roam. Abandoned, used, betrayed. It was the Sheikah way. You accepted it too.
Briefly, he'd been in the void, if the void is something you can be in. Part of the void, part of the threads that wove the nothingness into existence. A sacrifice in the name of the Sacred Relic, just as each Sheikah was bred to be.
But it wasn't death. It wasn't peace.
The threads of the void... Are woven among the threads of 'reality', are they not?
You weren't dead. But you weren't alive. You weren't even undead. You weren't even existing. You were simply... There.
And for how long?
Sheik didn't know. He couldn't tell. Making himself sit up, he clasped the lyre once more at his back, idly fingering the ornate hem of a death shroud. They were almost sacred artifacts, and he would do his people, and himself, a dishonour by leaving them here.
But they were bulky, and impractical to carry and to wear.
Pulling himself to his feet, Sheik left the bed covered in the wrappings of a corpse, and stumbled to the door.
Sometimes, the end must justify the means, mustn't it? That is the Sheikah way.
What: Having accepted the fact he is alive and entirely out of his depth, Sheik reflects upon the last life he knew.
Rating: PG, maybe?
Warnings: Shameless backstory elaboration 8D basically an extension of his intro. Also, some liberties taken to fill in spaces in the plot. And rambling. Lots of rambling. And LENGTH. SRSLY, you have been warned.
The first thing that struck him, as he lay blinking at the ceiling, was that he was not wearing what he had last remembered, not wearing the tight blue garb bearing the crimson Eye. No, he was wrapped in layers and layers of cloth, rough and stiff with embroidery. Sheikah death shrouds, he realised, and the thought sent an uncomfortable crawling sensation through the nerves in his spine.
Sitting up, he shed each layer, one by one, and it was then, amidst the wrapping, that he realised what had been digging into his back; the lyre. Fingers, bandaged in black - not white, Zelda used white - freed it from the straps that held it at the small of his back and ran over it, golden in the dim light. The Sheikah sat in silence, shifting in the black cotton layers he was now dressed in, and then those fingers ghosted over strings, and the strain of a melody seemed to shimmer in the shadow.
Sheik lay back then, eyes open and unseeing, lyre gripped against his chest. It was a comforting weight, his breathing sounding much too loud for his liking and feeling harsh and dry in his throat. He could not bring himself to control it. Willing himself to relax somewhat, his eyelashes fluttered closed.
What had been...
What was now...
His first life was one he could scarcely remember, after all, he was bred for it, and it passed as little more than - moments, he supposed, but when you have been walking the earth for centuries, what does a moment of your time mean?
The remnants of that time were pieces of a puzzle in his mind, and he sought to piece them together.
By your time, the Sheikah were already dwindling, weren't they?
The Betrayal. The reason that the Eye of Truth wept. Sheikah, the shadows sworn to serve the Hylians, the light. One in the same. One unable to exist without the other. The Royal Guard, their Elite - all Sheikah warriors and killers, born and bred in the name of the monarchy, in the name of the Sacred Relic. Slain. Sent into a suicide mission with the promise of help from the King's own mouth, help that never came. Slain, hundreds slain, all in the name of the monarchy, in the name of the Sacred Relic. And still the Sheikah served them, for that was their purpose.
Sheik's finger traced the red outline on his chest, the tear that symbolised all that had been endured. The Eye of Truth... Something all Sheikah have from birth... The ability to see the truth, to see it amongt lies. See that which other eyes could not. See illusions for what they were, past masks and through the mist.
See into the hearts and minds of those around you... See into their very soul...
It was weaker here; he knew, perhaps because this was his third time walking amongst the living, perhaps because this place sapped him of something. It was there, in the artificial air and pulse of... Movement?
Once again, bandaged fingers glided over lyre strings, and they shuddered into music, and it was then he considered his second life, though it was nothing more than half a life. Once again, the Sheikah utilised by the Royal Family for the greater good. His body raised, his spirit given some semblance of awakening. And then, the Princess, part of the land's only hope, hidden within him, her conciousness put to sleep as she hid from the Black King, waiting for the young Hero to appear.
The Black King... They hated you using such a term... He was the Dark One to them, the Gerudo tyrant... But you served him, didn't you?
The best place to hide had been under Ganondorf's thumb. Claiming to be - simply claiming? Are you quite sure? - a Sheikah left bitter from the Betrayal, he had risen amongst the ranks until Ganondorf even valued him. He was a spy, searching for the Princess.
And the price to pay?
The end must justify the means.
Hands that had shed so much blood Sheik was vaguely amazed they weren't stained in it. Oh, he'd been a spy, and sneaking was all well and good. But when it came to proving his loyalty to the Black King, it had taken murder, and it had taken torture, and it had taken life.
The end must justify the means.
Sheikah philosophy at its core. It had served him well, and the Black King - my lord - had been taken in by it.
"Why do you serve me?" He'd asked once, sounding curious and thoughtful and far more intelligent than people credited him for, Sheik noted with a grimace.
"We are a tribe of 'shadows'. Without 'substance', we cannot exist. When I had no master you appeared before me. That's all." Sheik had answered, and even now he couldn't tell how much of a lie it had been.
He'd heard ocarina music. Zelda's Lullaby. And he'd known then, the Hero had awoken. Sheik had become the Hero's shadow, guiding him through each obstacle. Keeping guard over him from afar. Just as the Sheikah should.
The boy had been foolish, reckless. It was always so exasperating, Sheik had thought, and then they had met. And he had looked into Link's eyes. And although it was a man's body before him, taller and broader than he, the eyes he looked into were those of a boy.
It diminished over time. Sheik watched as the boy in the man's body grew, all too quickly.
You weren't the only one used by Zelda, were you...
"What in the world are you?" Link had asked him, sounding desperate and pleading and lost, beneath the burdens he carried for everyone else.
"I am simply a minstrel. I hear things as I travel." Had been Sheik's answer, and although it was almost the truth he couldn't help but feel it had been more of a lie than that told to the Black King.
They met as Link journeyed to the temple in the desert. It was Sheik who led him to the Gerudo Fortress, to where he needed to go to move on. But the price to be paid... You betrayed his trust to get him there.
Once again, Sheik reminded himself, the end must justify the means.
Link hadn't looked at him the same way then, even as Sheik revealed himself to be working against Ganondorf, even as their combined efforts were needed to escape. Link had depended on you, because even though he barely knew you... You were there. You were a constant. The only one he had.
Sheik remembered feeling fire engulf him. He remembered falling to the ground, and he remembered hearing one frantic cry of his name, and then hands were pulling him into a sitting position and he knew then that Link had forgiven him. He'd had to.
And then the Triforce of Wisdom was burning upon his hand, and the spell was breaking in his weakness, and Zelda was being freed...
And you betrayed the Hero once more.
They were reunited, Zelda and Link, two pieces of the Triforce, Wisdom and Courage, Princess and Hero. Zelda and Link. It was not something Sheik was a part of. It was not something he'd had to be. He'd only ever been 'Hero' to Sheik.
Link. The Hero of Time. The one they had all prayed for.
"Though it's a little sad, not being able to see Sheik anymore."
Link accepted it as he did everything else, though Sheik often wondered how he'd reacted to finding out about the price paid for Ganondorf's trust. Link was too altruistic, too noble, too utterly pure - it was a flaw, and one you found irresistibly new and fresh and impossible to comprehend. The name 'Link' that died before it reached Sheik's lips, and briefly he was convinced he could smell forest leaves and hear the ocarina music, and the eyes that met his were so blue and clear and honest, and had grown up much too quickly.
It was over. Ganondorf - the Black King, my lord - was cast down, Hyrule purged.
And Sheik, his purpose filled, was left to roam. Abandoned, used, betrayed. It was the Sheikah way. You accepted it too.
Briefly, he'd been in the void, if the void is something you can be in. Part of the void, part of the threads that wove the nothingness into existence. A sacrifice in the name of the Sacred Relic, just as each Sheikah was bred to be.
But it wasn't death. It wasn't peace.
The threads of the void... Are woven among the threads of 'reality', are they not?
You weren't dead. But you weren't alive. You weren't even undead. You weren't even existing. You were simply... There.
And for how long?
Sheik didn't know. He couldn't tell. Making himself sit up, he clasped the lyre once more at his back, idly fingering the ornate hem of a death shroud. They were almost sacred artifacts, and he would do his people, and himself, a dishonour by leaving them here.
But they were bulky, and impractical to carry and to wear.
Pulling himself to his feet, Sheik left the bed covered in the wrappings of a corpse, and stumbled to the door.
Sometimes, the end must justify the means, mustn't it? That is the Sheikah way.