He never asked to be the hero of someone else's life. He wasn't even much of a hero in his own. He walked through life a man who would never have a date with destiny, because he couldn't be bothered to give her his number. In a polite universe, destiny would take the hint.
But destiny hands him her instead. She, marching ahead and barking orders. He sighs, watches the chaos unfold around her, a mess he'll doubtless be cleaning up shortly.
It's so absurd that he can't help wondering: if he's the hero, is she the princess or the sorceror?