It was difficult not to feel the weight of humiliation on her shoulders. Only one of her Champion’s had arrived for her father’s banquet— the others, according to a servant’s fervent whisper, were delayed. By what, precisely, she didn’t know, but their sly glances told her that it was somehow Zelda’s fault.
She cast her eyes down to the plate of food before her and wished more than anything that it was sitting upon the edge of her desk, where she so often took meals these days. To her left and to her right, members of court ignored her with impeccable poise, topics of conversation with their other, superior neighbor seemingly endless. That was all well and good, for in truth the discussion hardly held much interest for the tiny princess, all talk of new cloths brought in by merchants from which the Royal tailor would craft dresses and suits.
Zelda hadn’t realized that she had, indeed, been “playing with her food,” as the Zora Princess pointed out with a mischievous glint to her golden eyes. Her thoughts had been far away, up a winding set of stairs and buried between the pages of her notebook. She blinked at the Champion seated across from her, cheeks warming into a glowing pink as she thought to apologize, but then noticed that Mipha’s own plate had clearly been toyed with as well, lumps of potato and chicken pushed together in unusual forms.
“Not always,” she admitted quietly, a small, soft smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Sometimes I stack them, instead.”
The bit of humor tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, and Zelda immediately felt a sense of anxious regret, shortly followed by, “I apologize. I’m certain that this must not be…” Fun? Enjoyable? Even mildly comfortable? “…what you expected upon my father’s invitation.”
odd were hylians who dared whisper beyond earshot of royals, though mipha couldn't blame them. it was only a confiscation of rights due to being born into power, both princesses knew from personal experience. fingers drum upon their fold, keep to her lap as she watches zelda fumble with her words. patience ; a virtue not lost on the fishfolk. zora cants her head, like a puppy lost on its command, listening to verbose action that dares to speak out amongst a crowd of beckoned servants.
mipha is unsurprised, mildly amused by how zelda finds her gumption not from family, but friends. a hand raises to hide her coy smile behind fingers, zora nails grazing shark hide as she reminisces of the good times they've shared. humor was often found in inconvenience, a lesson mipha had learned well from her younger brother. “ this is surely not what i had expected, princess. . . but it is a familiar sight, &&. i for one treasure this opportunity. ”
“ however, i must ask. . . if you were to stack your portions, how might it look? ” a fickle tease of encouragement, a sparse flicker of chaotic curiosity from the well established royal from lanayru. she leans in just a tad, browline raising if at all, albeit certainly implied. “ a princess of your virtue should know her towers like the back of her hand. ”
perhaps that was going too far, but mipha truly meant well. she could see the dying light in the chosen's eyes. seeing her wilt to be led so far astray from her readings &&. research findings. ballad choir chimes in her mind's eye, graceful ambiguity leading her gaze to scour the table-side for ammunition. a spoon is lifted, politely beginning the makings of a tower defense on her own plating.
a food war shall be waged yet.
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