Prologue- The Birth of Ganondorf

This chapter story will chronicle the events leading up to Ocarina of Time and will serve as my interpretation of a chapter of Hyrule's history. As you will soon see, this is almost an AU if not entirely so, but most of it is technically canon. Because this story was so vaguely described in the game's flashbacks, rather than portrayed, there is a lot of room for interpretation. Some of the events in this story, however, are part of my 'creative license' and probably did not happen at all in canon (though some are more likely to have maybe occurred than others).

It will also become apparent that I'm focusing, mostly, on the Gerudo tribe at this point in history. This is because the Gerudos fascinate me (and always have) and I was dying to explore their culture a bit more. It's clear from the earlier written parts of this prologue that I intended to use the Gerudo language (devised at . by a Linguistic Anthropology major/Zelda fan) but because I'm, admittedly, too lazy to actually learn the language and I am afraid of butchering it, I've decided to abandon the idea for the time being (note: I started this story about a year ago and have since remembered it and decided to pick up where I left off).

Here is a rough translation of the 'Gerudo' I used in this chapter-

Har- It

Aš- Is

("It is Kasima!" as in, "It's Kasima who's currently going into labor!" obviously, I did not know enough gerudo to form a sentence that complex.)

"Opril Zitmoosu!"

(I honestly don't even know. Again, this is from when I first began writing this and since I've picked the project back up, I don't remember what this was supposed to mean. I can't even find this on the website. I think 'zitmus' has something to do with giving birth, so I assume this is just a continuation of the 'she's giving birth' thing.)

"Chooka Koume, Koutake!"

("Get Koume, Koutake!" I assume?)

The wind refused to blow that night.

Despite being the middle of autumn, the air remained as still and stagnant as if holding its breath in anticipation. The inhabitants of the land could hardly question the strange weather, as they were responding to the current situation in much the same way.

Deep within the stone confines of his castle, the King sat in a tired slump upon his throne. He found himself unable to recognize the particularly ungraceful way he held his posture that evening, as his mind was too immersed in miserable worry. He kept his forefinger and thumb clasped atop his brow as he rested his head against the support of his fist and elbow. His royal blue eyes maintained a perplexed gaze in the farthest direction north, staring fixedly at nothing of physical form.

He debated furiously with himself about the wisdom in alerting his people of what might come to pass that very night. He knew too well that the fate of far too many things rested upon the outcome of the current situation and, perhaps, if he had been the only one to know, matters would not have been as dire as they were now. But for better or worse, he had done what he had done and there was no other option open to him now but to sit and wait for his messenger.

A gasping shriek pierced the dense silence of the evening like a knife through butter.

The woman that had created the sound felt herself falling. Potatoes from the sack she carried rolled out and onto the sandy ground, thudding rhythmically as they hit the earth, one after the other.

The sound of her produce escaping her grasp dulled in the wake of her pain and the feeling of her body revolting against her. She clutched her swollen womb in desperation, unable, for the time being, to release another cry for help.

This set-back became irrelevant, however, as voices began to echo commands around her, hands pulling at every square inch of her body in an effort to stabilize her.

"Har ash Kasima! Oprilzitmoosu!"

"Chooka Koume, Kotake!"

She realized that at some point within the blurred chaos, she had been shifted from the hard earth to a canvas stretcher. She had now been hoisted from the ground and was en route to the soft glow of the nearby adobe buildings. Someone was stabilizing her back with a firm palm. Someone else maintained a tight grasp on her upper arm.

Beads of sweat were beginning to form on her forehead and lightly dampen the roots of her hair. Frantically, she attempted to remember the breathing patterns as were taught to her months before. She had practiced again and again for a birth she knew would determine the fate of her tribe, yet when the time came to use what she had learned, all she could focus on was the unrelenting pain and rebellion her body now forced upon her.

Accompanied by the rhythmic beats of heavy wings, the long, familiar shadow gradually cast itself across the marble floor. The King wasted no time in rushing to the windowsill, whereupon rested the owner.

"What have you seen, my friend?" he asked the great-horned owl desperately.

The animal, in turn, lifted his large azure eyes to meet the King's, and the monarch soon saw the grave remorse swimming within the creature's pupils. His face immediately fell.

"The Gerudo tribe has been given a king," The Owl stated.

The King froze as if caught in a sudden trance. He slowly began a backwards retreat into the darkness of his throne room, one palm pressed firmly against his forehead.

"No…no…" he whispered. "This cannot be…it simply cannot be…"

The Owl could do nothing but deliver his friend gazes of hopeless sympathy from his perch on the stone.

A distant horn bellow abruptly shattered the still silence of the night. However surprising in its timing, it was not unexpected. The jarring of a million a spines and the sinking of as many hearts would respond to the horn's cry this night, as with one fell note it stole any hope for future peace.

The sound alone caused the King to suddenly collapse on the marble floor.

She had heard the babe's cry as it had finally emerged from her womb. The sound lingered for a few moments, and in the time frame when her vision was blurry and she was somewhere between her former energy and succumbing to exhaustion, she held on desperately to the sound of the child's cries. In that moment, those screams were her child's and no one else's.

She allowed herself to live within the dream for those blissful few seconds, but when the cries were eventually carried far beyond where she could hear them, she knew it had ended.

She had given her tribe a son, and that was all that mattered. He belonged not solely to her, but to all of her sisters. Her son would be their first King in a hundred years and as was the tradition going back for centuries, he would have to be raised by the sole surviving members of the Dragmire family- the twin sorceresses, Koume and Kotake. They were his mothers now, and the only they could raise him to be a proper leader.

Instead of weeping for the loss of a child, she would allow her tears to express happiness for the gift that had been granted. As long as King was on their throne, hope remained for the Gerudo tribe and their dream of one day conquering Hyrule.

Kasima could now allow herself to fall asleep and dream of the King her son would grow to be.