There's one day a year, Impa had told her once when she was small, where the barriers between the living and the dead were at their lowest. A mirror, hidden in a chamber deep in the foundations, which showed not reflections but those who had been lost.
She had snuck down to it, once, as a child, desperate for a glimpse of her mother. And now she was here again, not a child any more, but a queen, still desperate to see someone.
He doesn't look surprised to see her, and there's a small smile on the face he rarely showed to the world. From behind the mirror - what does he see, she wonders suddenly, where is he now - he presses one hand against the glass.
"Shiklamsinyara," he murmurs, and Zelda shakes her head.
"D-don't. I'm just Zelda." She sighs softly, and presses her palm against his through the mirror. "I have no mastery over you."
A slight smile touches his lips as he nods. "Zelda," he says, and from his lips it's like a song. "I only lived again because of you. For you. That gives you mastery over me, always." His red eyes meet her blue. "I would gladly accept it."
She laughs quietly and softly, tears mixed in. "I couldn't ask you to do it again. Not... not to be dragged back here. Not to die for me again. Sheik, I am so sorry."
His hand moves against the mirror, and her breath catches as she feels skin and not glass, warm and soft and instantly, painfully familiar.
"Ana sadir amah," he tells her, voice low and soft and sad. "Always did. I would live and die a thousand times for you."
She laughs again, soft and sad, and presses her lips to the glass, and is justified when she feels Sheik's mouth against hers.
Shiklamsinyara = 'honoured master', highest term of honour in the Sheikah language.
Ana sadir amah = 'I love you'.