Those eyes, was Rhoam's first thought when the tiny twelve-year-old was brought before him carrying the Master Sword.
Staring at him from the ground were the exact copy of his late wife's eyes, blown wide with fear and uncertainty. From his side, he felt Zelda shift, too sharp for her own good. A faint memory bubbled up but he pushed it down as he ordered the young boy to start training, he was their salvation after all.
After, he retired to his chambers. Sitting heavily in a chair, he rested his face in his hands amidst the papers. Tears sprang up. Zelda looked the most like him which made losing the Queen harder on them both. But that boy....
"Rhoam," she had called quietly, resting among the bedding and holding a just-born child against her bosom, "A son. Isn't he beautiful?"
As soon as she had fallen asleep, he had ordered the child dead in secret. Sons were dangerous. Sons didn't exist. But there he was, clearly the child he had ordered dead. Anger flared high and dangerous. If he had to kill the boy himself, he would. But after he did the sacred duty thrust upon him to spite Rhoam specifically.
