Ganondorf slowly circled the castle grounds, savouring the ubiquitous signs of destruction and, more importantly, what they meant for him. The sky was permanently stained purple-grey and the ring of smoke resting atop Death Mountain like a halo burned a deep red, both providing a constant testimony to his achievements. After years of scheming and cosying up to the right people, his plans to overturn the royal family and create his own monopoly over the kingdom had finally succeeded. Hyrule Town was undeniably his; citizens followed his rule out of fear or greed rather than out of genuine loyalty, but that hardly mattered to him. As long as he had their servitude, they could keep their precious little moral codes and bourgeois ideals.
There was only one person who could even come close to overthrowing his rule, and he was well prepared to nip that little rebellion in the bud should the blighter ever actually catch up to him. Even as an adult, the boy from the forests would be nothing more than a measly sunflower struggling to grow in a field of weeds; he might survive for a time he would be choked out before he ever got the chance to incite hope by towering above the rest. And then the battle would truly be won.
While most of his less successful forbearers had feared rebellion, Ganondorf anticipated it almost as fiercely as he craved victory. It wasn't the skirmish himself that he wanted, although he certainly did enjoy the thrill of winning a conflict. No; it was the knowledge that it would then all be over that held him captive. The people behind the scenes would, he knew, be concentrating their efforts on preparing the unruly boy for the trials of war. After all, why focus on anything else when they had their legends and he had his famed sword? Cutting their chosen champion, their elected hero, off from them and then crushing him before their eyes, letting the torn petals flutter down the dot the ground around them, would shake the very foundation of their crusade. They might plant another flower in the hopes that it would have more luck, but that would require time, giving Ganondorf's weeds a chance to further establish their hold.
All he needed was for the little forest boy to show up and make his oh-so-noble attempts at mutiny so that Ganondorf could kill him.
The arch of the entryway rose up before him. Crumbled and misshapen but still functioning, it sang a melancholic ode about ruined peace and hostile takeovers that sent a rush of pride through him. Sacking the castle and the town hadn't been the most economically prudent course of action, but it had secured him his rightful place as their king, so seeing the evidence of his labours never ceased to please him.
The sound of shuffling feet caught his attention, and he looked around for the offending ReDead in the hopes that he could avoid crossing its path. To the likes of him, they were as easy to catch as one-winged flies, but they made for good protection against the common folk, so there was no real need to dispose of them. Instead of greying flesh, however, his gaze fixated on a patch of bright green fabric, conspicuous in the otherwise destitute area.
The boy from the forest.
He was looking up at the arch in a most peculiar fashion. Ganondorf couldn't fathom why he was so engrossed by that derelict stone structure. There was nothing particularly interesting or unusual about it; it was literally just a damaged arch. Why hadn't he come straight to the castle? Had he been conscious for weeks, or even months, and spent that time wandering around and ruminating on what had been lost? Was he that easily distracted from his righteous little quest?
Distracted or not, he was open game. Ganondorf didn't see a need to worry about niceties like warning the boy of his presence; if he were stupid enough not to notice the man he was supposedly defying, that was his fault.
The older man's hand reached for the hilt of his sword but, before he could unsheathe it, the boy drew his own weapon and leapt towards the arch - and past a Gold Skulltula - and into the nearby pit of lava.
Ganondorf's conscious mind seemed to shutdown as he mechanically walked over to the edge and stared down at his rapidly dissolving adversary. This was the warrior the ancient beings had chosen to send at him? It was almost insulting.
"Well," he said to himself, shrugging off the sting of affront as he remembered that this, really, just played further into his hands, "that sure simplifies things."
A/N: I'm playing through the Ocarina of Time for the first time in over a decade and, well, while I'm much better at it than I was as a kid, I'm apparently still prone to occasional bouts of idiocy. I thought there was ground on the other side of the Skulltula so, instead of just using the hookshot to kill the wretched thing, I tried to use my sword and ended up sailing over the edge. Dumbest way to die ever. After the shock wore off and our laughter died down, my brother suggested writing about it from Ganondorf's POV, so here it is; for you, mon frère.
Speaking of, thank you to my lovely brother for beta reading this.
I'm marking this as complete as I don't have any set plans for continuing it, but I'll add to it if I have any more, um, complete fails at being a hero.
Challenge: One of Every Letter Challenge – prompt: N