Yes. Me again. :P
I started this fic. a week or two ago, but didn't get to actually devoting myself to it until now. Lazy, lazy, Reyser. BAD.
This is an AU Ocarina of Time fic, by the way...
Warning: Character death, violence, minor blood-and-gore, slight OOC-ness and the overused comparison to chess. Am I claiming originality? No. :P Minor OoT spoilers - bosses, sages and stuff like that. This also might be boring in the sense that it drags on, but I think it's READABLE...
And I don't know how but this ended up having one-sided Zelda/Ganondorf. Why? Sure, it adds to the plot, but...I don't know, okay? The ages are slightly altered for them - Gannie is younger - but aside from that I think it's okay.
Also has barely there, but implied Zelda/Link. But you knew that already, right? I mean: it's ME.
This is my longest one-shot to date! WHOO-HOO! Go me! ...But what's with all this dark stuff? Worry not - more is not coming (I lied, more IS coming. I think I'm sick).
Another note: YES, the circumstances are supposed to be vague. ;A; And I know this sentence in the summary is grammatically incorrect: Down Falls The King. I did that for effect, okay? ;A;
They sit.
The table is made of sycamore wood, fine lines and scratches littered across. The color is tan and rich, like the deepest edges of sunset.
They stare. Her eyes are blue - so blue - and seemingly empty. No, empty is the wrong word. They hold far too much to be empty. They are blank. They are thinking. They simply are. He stares back, eyes golden and ruthless, like swirling tongues of searing fire.
The chess board sits before them in red on white, purest and deepest, cleanly cut squares. It's almost a joke. He almost laughs.
She leans forward, and the silken sleeves of her dress dance as she reaches for a piece in one smooth movement. With a graceful flick of the wrist, she picks up a chess piece and places it down.
The sound, though not nearly as loud as he imagines it to be, echoes in the empty room. He leans forward on his metal gloves and stares at the piece.
How queer. How ironic. It's a little knight, dancing through the squares of the chessboard to attack him from behind. She thinks this game will work. Does she—the one claiming Wisdom—really think that a mere knight can defeat the King?
The knight is pure, so pure, and he feels a sudden hatred for it even though it's just a piece. He feels the hatred even though it's just a piece of marble, a simple ivory piece.
But something spins, whirls, the twisted cogs in his mind, and he sees the knight before him. Not as a chess piece, not as a simple plaything, but rather- real. He sees the knight in the faded green hat and the blade that flashes once—only once.
He sees the eyes, blue like hers. He sees the movement, the mouth opening and closing in front of him, the movement so real he could grasp it and kill it and crush it within his hand. He hates this knight. He hates it, piece and all.
Her gloved fingers drum the table idly and he looks up from the chess piece. Slowly, she gestures to the blood red pieces on his side of the board, scattered apart like rusted, old toy soldiers.
"Your move."
His hands, sweaty underneath the leather gloves, tense as he swings the blade forward. The edges, silver like the leering moon, slice cleanly into flesh and bone and the creature disappears into black dust with an agonizing cry.
Blonde hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, and he hears gasping, despairing breaths, only later realizing that they're his. He staggers forward - barely, and catches himself. The world spins before him, the dry grass reaches out to him with naked limbs, threatening to drag him under -
"Are you okay?" His fairy companion is there, a floating orb of glowing blue. He nods; once, only, and the spinning slows. The vibrant colors of red and orange sun set blur together and he grins, completely ignoring the fairy's question.
"Hey, Navi?" he asks, suddenly falling onto the ground, just sitting. His legs cross and he tries to relax, but he can't let go of the sword. "Where do you think they go?" The hero gestures wildly to the air where the creature had once been.
The fairy pauses for a moment, as if contemplating his words. Then: "I don't think they go anywhere, Link. I don't even think they ever were."
To his (and her) surprise, he laughs, and stands up, sliding the magnificent blade back into its sheath. "I don't think so, either." He looks back at the fairy, who hides back underneath his hat. "Let's go. We can't keep Zelda waiting forever, can we?"
The Desert King pauses, staring at the board. The blood-red pieces are waiting, waiting, always waiting for their king. The princess remains silent, but he knows she grows impatient with every passing moment.
His eyes fix on one of the red pieces, a pawn. He shrugs: barely. They're expendable, he can afford to throw them around. He sees the knight, too, threatening to kill him. It reaches, with endless limbs of pale, white ivory, for the blood-red king. He scoffs at the notion and one word remains in the back of his mind: never.
With a solid, powerful movement that contrasts with her vivid grace, he reaches out and moves the pawn. They're expendable, remember? Just things to throw the little knight off. Throw it off, throw it off until he kills it and the ivory king is crushed at last.
She raises a thin brow and clasps her hands together underneath her chin. He stares at her and wonders: who is she, really? Is she the graceful, beautiful princess she pretends to be? Or is their something beneath, something far more dangerous than he could ever be?
She's fascinating: this princess, this ruler, this girl. He almost laughs again: her confused expression is priceless. Good. That's what he wants: confusion, haze, spinning. She can't anticipate anything, can she?
What happens next tears his plan to tiny shreds of blood-red pieces.
She reaches out, still as graceful as a poisonous butterfly, and moves the knight forward with ease. It sits, almost proudly, where the pawn once was. She takes the pawn and crushes it within her hand, magic destroying it. Only dust remains.
Then, she looks up in a sweet, seemingly innocent movement, and meets his gaze. Dreaming eyes against lion eyes. He realizes, then, that she's not even just a girl. She is something more, something -
Enraged, he pounds his fists on the table and rises, the abrupt movement seeming to slice through the thick air. The chess pieces quiver, the knight more than anything, but they don't fall. Not now, never not ever. Her eyes never leave his, and he realizes: she's enjoying this.
The Desert King realizes he can't win this game unless he plays it her way. Reining in his flaring temper, he picks up a bishop and moves it. The bishops are stronger: they move in diagonal, tempting paths. They will outsmart the knight. This, he promises. The bishop moves cleanly, precisely and kills the nearby pawn. It vanishes in his grip.
He looks up to see her indifferent expression change: only slightly, as her blue eyes widen. He smirks, a powerful smile that (he's sure) unnerves her.
"Your move," he says mockingly, and to his surprise, she smiles and laughs, a light, tinkling sound that reminds him of little sparrows. She does not grieve for the loss of her pieces - instead, he realizes she looks ahead.
"Good move," she observes, and so the game continues. He does not tear his gaze away from the little knight that slowly advances on his scarlet pieces.
The Goron rolls a little further before stopping and looking around with alert, dark eyes. Link pauses, his boots making queer, echoing noises on the rock floor.
"I think you're ready," the Goron whispers, but his sentence is cut off by the rushing, roaring sound of a dragon. The Goron screams and tries to escape, runrunrun - but it's a futile attempt, Link knows.
The knight only watches, sweaty hands gripping the blade as the fairy screams and the Goron screams and everything is a burning mess of -
The wild, endless chaos on the haze of screams devour him as Link covers his ears, shaking. No more death, the hero pleads, no more, no more -
He opens one eye to see the Goron disappear in the dragon's mouth, a lump of burning, bleeding rock and bone. The sound of fear claws into his throat, emerging as a sole cry.
The great dragon, a flurry of red scales and eternal flame, moves towards him in a fluid, graceful movement. And then, with eyes burning like shattered rubies, the dragon lets out a rain of fire as it roars, swimming in the air towards the other end of the room.
He screams - only once - as fire sears his skin. The stench of burning flesh overpowers him and the fairy buzzes around him, worried. The past does not matter, only now. Although the loss of the Goron burns in his mind like the pain, he does not linger on it.
What's gone is gone: even more frightening than the loss of the Goron is the realization that he could do nothing, only watch and run.
"Are you okay?" she asks, and he rolls forward, wincing as the singed arm makes contact with the floor. "Guess the tunic isn't completely fire-proof..."
"No," he agrees, and reaches for the heavy hammer. He feels comfortable with the hammer in his grip: he feels its power surging through his veins. And though he can't describe it, it feels...right. His heart thumps wildly, thumpthumpthump in his chest.
"Eek! Link!" The fairy screeches in his ear and he turns just in time to see the jaws of the dragon coming closer, the mane of fire rolling towards him like a storm. Barely - just barely - he avoids the fire with a quick jump the side, breathing heavily.
The never-ending movement is hurting him and he feels his heart burning in his throat, threatening to jump out and hit the floor with a bloody thud. But still, he grips the hammer and feels the blade jolt on his back. The feeling of power of valiance returns and he grips it with bloody, sweaty hands.
The dragon, snarling, flies into a hole, golden tale flickering like fire. His heart goes thumpthumpthump and he knows the dragon will rise again. So he moves, running, awayaway.
Another rush of movement, another rush of air and the dragon rises above. His instincts push him and grunting, he swings the hammer forward. Link feels something - shame at being proud as the hammer crushes hollow bones.
Navi still screeches at him, and so he reaches for his blade, fingers fumbling. He screams at himself - hurry, hurry, hurry! - and before he knows it the blade is flying, silver burning lashes into the great dragons flesh. It screams, though he knows it can't move and he feels satisfaction at knowing he has this power in his hands.
So he continues slashing, and in one mighty swing, the head of the once-proud dragon rolls lifelessly on the floor like marbles. Yet still, he keeps slashing and doesn't realize it until the red leaks on the floor and the fairy inches away from him ever so slightly before whispering to him.
"Link. It's dead." Navi shivers, and returns to her hiding spot under his hat. He pauses, staring at the detached head and the lifeless, burned-out ruby eyes. The various slashes in long, diagonal, jagged lines remind him of shattered glass and almost guiltily, he slides the sword back into place.
She's thinking: he sees it. Her brow furrows and her blue eyes narrow, scrutinizing the board. Use your Wisdom, Princess, he longs to say tauntingly, see if it aids you now.
His eyes settle on the little knight, dancing around the red-and-white squares, getting closer and closer to his king. His golden eyes narrow for just a moment and he clenches his fists. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Princess glance at him for but a moment, blue eyes curious. And almost sub-consciously, she tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear. She smells like sea-water and wind, and it's such a light scent that he almost doesn't notice it -
- but at the same time, he does. Ganondorf supposes he could consider it a bad scent, but that would be a lie.
He crosses his arms and rests them on the table. The wood creaks underneath the weight of his heavy, silver armor and she looks up in annoyance before turning her attention back to the chess board.
"Having trouble, Princess?" His deep voice echoes in the room and she ignores him, silently watching. She reminds him of a cat, prowling through the empty streets at night, looking for a clue. The way she brushes him aside bothers him. The Desert King growls. "Are you?" He hopes she can feel the intensity of his lion eyes.
She looks up - once - before looking back down to the lifeless pieces. "No," she states, and her eyes glitter like sharp diamonds - sharp, so sharp they could cut his hands and glitter afterwards.
She reaches out and grips a piece - the knight, he notes with scorn. Her movement is no longer soft like a dream or caged like a bird's or even graceful like a butterfly. It's a prowling, dark movement that reminds him of a cat. The eyes glitter again: not dream-like, but dangerous.
Who is this girl? He asks himself this, over and over, though he knows he will not receive an answer. Is she a Princess? He wonders: is she even Wisdom or does she hold Power? They're useless questions - he knows the answer to them - but he can't help but ask.
The knight dances over the pieces and his eyes widen with shock as she takes the bishop in her hand. He curses himself - how could he have not seen the mistake? No, he tells himself. It's not his fault. It's the knight. Tension settles over them like a fog. His vision blurs with shock and rage.
Gently, almost tauntingly, she crushes the bishop. It burns. She opens her gloved fist and the ashes fall, blowing across the board to his side of the table and settling near his hands.
Her eyes glitter again, with feline beauty.
Wordlessly, Ganondorf stares at the board which slowly grows empty. He stares at the he knight, still alive - but at the same time, not quite. He's long since given up trying to decipher it.
He vows to crush it. He vows to kill it. He vows to see her watch in horror as he causes the knight to writhe and scream. These thoughts console him - barely - and her eyes glitter again.
The water recedes and Link collapses, sword clattering as it hits the ground. Navi buzzes around him, watching as the water levels sink lower, lower, lower -
He wonders if he's weakening. He wonders if one day, he'll just fall and die and burn. But he doesn't, because he's a hero - nay, a knight - and knights don't ever die. He's certain.
Awkward spats of rusting blood stain his sword and he sighs, a long, heavy sigh. Why does he do all this? - he wonders. Why does he do it when all he need to do is throw his sword to the ground and just...run away? But the knight - hero - knows the question is useless, because the answer is right there.
He does it for her, for her her her. For the princess he can barely remember. He tries to grasp her, the fleeting memory. He does, and she's there, a wisp of a time lost long ago. He can see wisps of golden hair and blue eyes. He tries to keep the memory selfishly for himself - tries to keep her - but it fades away before he can use it to warm himself.
The cold water clings to his tunic and he shivers faintly. He does it all for her, anyway, the Princess who he's certain is watching from far, far away. You're stupid, Link, he tells himself. You don't even know her. But at the same time, he does.
He can't help but feel he's met her before, somewhere - not here, oh no - but where? Times ago - no, not time, lifetimes. The thought of previous lifetimes makes his throat tighten. Navi's small voice interrupts his thoughts and he looks up.
"Shouldn't we be getting the Sage of Water now, Link?" her tiny voice trembles and echoes, and he nods slowly. His body tells him to rise but his thoughts linger on the princess, on the fading wisp of a memory. "Where's Ruto?"
"Somewhere," he answers vaguely, and he wonders if the world in front of him is still tangible. Link reaches out, grabs the blade, and swings at the remains of a tentacle. It quivers, like jelly. It refuses to release any blood. This unnerves him and he frowns.
"Link? C'mon!" The fairy is uncertain now, buzzing around him like a fly. Navi freezes and looks at the tentacle. The slashes are painstakingly obvious. "Are you...okay?" He can taste the hesitance in her voice.
"Yeah," he dismisses it and slides his sword back into his sheath. Once, and only once - he wonders what it'd be like to see Navi, his closest friend, shiver under the pressure of the blade, bleeding. But he shoves those thoughts aside.
Before leaving, he turns back to stare at the tentacle, not sure what to expect. It writhes, as if in pain - no, as if it feels the mindless slashes he inflicted minutes before. But it does not bleed, and before he knows it, it's as lifeless as before, as if it had never happened.
He doesn't know what to feel - no, he doesn't know what he's feeling for this girl, this Princess. He doesn't know what kind of intense anger he feels towards the board, towards the knight.
He hates the knight in all its glory, he hates its danger. He hates the thought - that grows more and more possible with every move - that the knight could defeat him. That the knight could defeat his king. So he grows restless and more protective, surrounding his king.
The Princess watches - she always does - with those eyes. Sometimes they're dreamy. Other times, they hold the feline grace of a prowling, preying cat. And occasionally, they're cold, like ice and snow and storm and blizzards. He wonders - often - who is she? He's certain she's a Princess. But her and the knight are also dangerous. He brushes her aside. She's just a girl. It's the knight.
The board slowly grows empty. His proud pieces - rooks, bishops, knights - are slowly diminishing. Only a few remain. He fears even the proud queen will become vulnerable. Only a few remain. Only pawns remain. Only.
But he vows - never the king. He vows to show the knight no mercy, no, none at all. The pieces are slowly melting away. The knight claims them and she crushes them. Sometimes, she drops the pieces to the ground and looks to see his reaction. Other times, they're tiny mounds of ash. She blows them to him sometimes, a sardonic kiss (or so he likes to believe).
He tries not to rush her - he knows she's thinking, waiting. Her next move will devastate him - he knows, he just knows. But he can't hate her. He can't find within him the burning fire he feels for the knight - the hatred. It frustrates him. He doesn't know what this feeling is.
All he does know is that eventually will destroy him because he promised, promised, PROMISED -
- no mercy.
She looks up from the board and smiles. But he knows the smile is as fake as her calm facade - the blue eyes are frozen. She's tense, he realizes. He looks down at the scarlet-white painted board and notices his mistake -
- minutes late.
She realizes this, too, and the smile grows wider. She's infuriating, frustrating, and a part of him loathes to admit - somehow beautiful. The dangerous edges of her smile, the dark imagination lurking behind the pretty blue eyes - it all fascinates him. He doesn't know how. He doesn't even know why.
But he vows he'll figure her out, this girl, this dangerous girl. He tries to tell himself - over and over - that she's harmless. Weak. He'd break her pretty bones and watch her bleed easily. But his eyes narrow when she reaches out and a part of him tells him to watch her. He tries to brush it aside. It's the knight, he says.
But he follows the advice anyway.
The smile, still wide with its dangerous, sharp edges, stays. It stays as she reaches out - the knight again, his insides heat and he nearly explodes - and slides it forward. The movement is sensual - he doesn't know how. He doesn't know, doesn't know, DOESN'T KNOW, and it kills him.
The rook - a once strong piece, but he won't linger on its loss like she didn't moves before - is within her grip and she crushes it. This time, it shatters cleanly into three pieces. They slide, fall onto another and she flicks them delicately with her gloved hand. They fall.
He laughs, hollowly, because it's only a guise to hide his growing desperation, frustration and worries. He fears he'll never figure her out. He fears the knight will catch him, tip the king over like she tips the rook. How is it always the knight? He takes a closer look, vows it won't get past his defenses next time.
But how many promises has he already broken, anyway? A part of him lets go of the slippery rope and he glares at her with the golden eyes like fire. She looks up from the broken pieces of the rook.
"Who are you, girl?" he asks. It's not a rhetorical question - but he does not expect her to answer. She hasn't answered any of his questions so far, and he doesn't think she has the intention of doing so.
"A Princess," she says vaguely, and he watches as her eyes flicker over the pieces. He almost berates himself. While she watches for the next move, he stays and watches her. He's curious. He longs to - no, needs to - know.
He laughs again, and it's a hearty sound that reminds her of flesh baking under the desert sun. He can still smell her - the scent of sea water and wind. It's not her scent but the scent of lifetimes she's lived - and the ones she has yet to live.
She looks up, surprised at the sound of his laughter.
"That is not who you are, Zelda," the Desert King says accusingly. It's the first time he's used her name. "That is what you are. But if you were to describe yourself in one word, it would not be Princess. That's not who you consider yourself to be."
He pauses, looking for a change in her indifferent expression. There is none.
"'Princess'," - he says her title mockingly - "is just a title that has been thrust upon you. You take it. But titles fade. Titles are not who you are."
She looks up sharply. The eyes aren't cold anymore. They're like blades - the knight's blades - that whirl, dance, eventually cut him. But he doesn't mind.
"Is that so?" Her eyes flare. He decides anger - useless anger - does not suit her. "So you say you are not the Desert King? It is just a title to you?"
He chuckles darkly. "That is correct. I am not a Desert King. I am a man called Ganondorf. Desert King is just a title. I have been more than the Desert King throughout the lifetimes. Remember, princess - titles fade." He glances at her. The anger has died down to bitterly glowing embers. "You haven't answered my question."
She sighs, a sigh far too heavy for her age. It's a sigh that holds the burden of her lifetimes, of the many titles she's worn and shed. "Who am I, you ask? Fine." Her eyes seem to darken. "I am a pawn." She points to one of her tiny ivory pieces. Although she's taken and never given, he's taken as well. Most of her pawns have been captured.
Her answer surprises him and he raises a crimson eyebrow. "A pawn, you say?"
"I live only for the sake of the player." Her words are soft-spoken and sharp like cracked glass all at once. "I exist to fit the plan of the Goddesses." She holds up a pawn and he stares at it.
"Do you see this, Desert King? It does not move on its own." She lets it go. It falls and rolls. "It needs something to control it. It fits my plan and my plan only."
He doesn't know what controls him, but he reaches out and tucks a piece of golden-stained hair behind her ear. She doesn't flinch. "Do not lie to me." His voice matches her soft-spoken tone. "You are not the pawn. You are the player."
She smiles faintly, a tiny ghost of a smile, because she knows his words are true.
The Sages look to him, and Link decides they're like chess pieces. They're like rooks and bishops - and perhaps even queens - living to guard a sole piece: the King. He decides the King is Zelda, the Princess who he's never met but somehow, knows.
Navi flits around him. "We're almost there, Link!" He knows the fairy is excited, but at the same time: frightened. "Zelda's waiting. You've done it." He doesn't know why, but the fairy and him have drifted farther apart. She is still his closest friend, but not as close as before.
"Go on, Hero of Time," the Sage of Light commands him with a voice that slowly withers like a flower, "the Princess and the Gerudo await."
He smirks and runs a finger down the surface of his blade. He knows - knows - knows - that the Gerudo will be no match for him. And he feels, somehow - that the Gerudo King knows as well. He imagines the screaming and the blood, and before he notices, he grins. It's a wide grin that resembles a wolf - no, a beast.
"You watch, Navi," he says to the fairy, "I'll make him beg for life. He'll writhe on the floor at my mercy. His blood will stain my sword. Then I'll rip his head off with my bare hands and -"
"Link, stop!" The fairy's shrill cry interrupts him and he turns to her. Her wings flutter nervously and her flight path is crooked. "You're scaring me," she says in a small voice, "you just need to kill him-"
"Oh, I will, Navi. I will." He tastes the promise on his lips. It tastes like blood.
The board grows emptier. It nearly matches the blank emptiness of the room that only consists of him, her, the board, and the chairs. It infuriates him, angers him. The knight comes closer. It always does. It drives him mad.
They're all dead. All gone. Even the queen - powerful - has fallen to the knight. He wonders: how does such a knight persist/ He wonders what kind of power is held in such a small piece. He wonders and wonders and wonders, but the answer evades him.
The only thing that remains are a few pawns and his King. Her side is wrought with pieces still alive. Even if he were to kill the knight...
No. If he were to kill the knight than everything else would come crashing down. He smirks, and is unaware of it until she raises a golden brow. With an expression cold and empty like gravestones, he reaches out and moves a pawn. They surround the knight. He laughs.
The Princess stares. He thinks of her like a painting - beautiful, yet she is made of many layers and nothing else. First, the black and grey hues for the foundation. Underneath all the bold and vibrant colors remain the black and grey, the emptiness and the sin. She isn't so innocent.
But innocent or not, she's not a threat. He gazes at her with fiery eyes and dares her to move her knight. It's a silent battle of raging pieces. Dead pieces, he tells himself.
She reaches out to slide a piece.
The knight stands at the base of the stairs. His hands itch for movement and he longs to swing his sword, to kill. He's so close to her - to the Princess - that he can feel her. He can feel the shuddering power of the Desert King, too, and it sends fire pulsing through his veins. He's excited.
Navi remains silent, and he wonders what's wrong with his fairy companion. But he brushes it aside. For now, all that matters is the Princess and the heat of the battle.
He rises to one step and continues to climb. His muscles tense around the forest tunic as a whirl of movement flies down the stairs. Cursing, he grips his blade. It's a bunch of monsters and a Stalfos, made of bone and hatred. He smirks.
"Easy, eh, Navi?" he asks, more to himself than to the fairy. The fairy ignores him. He swings the blade and it's such a beautiful dance. The monsters die and he licks the blood off of his blade. It tastes bitter. He decides he likes it.
They were no match for him, after all. He rises and climbs up, up, up, up the whirling stairs of marble and the blood-red carpeting. He thinks he would like this castle - and the girl - for himself.
The board diminishes. Nothing remains. The pawns are dead - crushed - gone. She shattered them - no, not her. The knight. Blood-red squares remain empty. Only one remains - the proud King.
The knight gets closer with every move. Occasionally, she glances up and smiles. Her smiles is still sharp and he realizes that maybe - just maybe, she's more powerful than the knight.
He moves the king. The knight comes closer. His heart leaps against his body, clangs against the metal of his armor. It feels heavy, now, almost bothersome. If it won't protect him, why does he wear it? He growls. It's unfair, unfair, SO UNFAIR.
The powerful king runs from a tiny knight. He looks up from her and glares, eyes flaring and powerful muscles rippling underneath all of his scarlet clothes. The knight comes closer. He panics. The king has nowhere to hide. He shifts it over.
The knight follows. Ganondorf reasons it's a macabre ballet, a dance that the public die to watch. He runs again. The knight follows. He looks at the girl. Golden hair falls over her pale skin and her empty eyes, but he knows she enjoys this. He moves again.
The knight follows. The king runs. Follow. Run. Follow. RUN.
He shifts again. And then, moments too late, Ganondorf realizes his final mistake. It's not the boy who's a threat - not the knight, not the lifeless little piece. It's the girl, the player.
He looks at her and she smiles. She knew all along.
Link tenses: once only, and it's out of habit. He swings his magnificent blade and continues forward. Nothing can stop him now. He'll cut it down. Nothing can stop him ever ever ever.
The door stands before him. His smirk grows wider. The Desert King and the Princess are behind the doors. They're so close. The moment stands before him. He grasps it. He can feel the heat of the battle, the blood, the taste, the victory.
It's all his, and his only.
Zelda giggles, and it's an airy, stupid giggle. It's so unlike her. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and moves the knight again. It's stupid though, anyway, because -
- checkmate is within her grasp. She's just toying with him, now. From the very start, that's all she was ever doing. Ganondorf glares at her. She watches tiny beads of sweat gather at the top of his forehead and the base of his neck.
But it doesn't matter. The game is hers. It always was. It was never his to begin with. It's here, now, she can taste it. See it. It's not the knight that wins, but the player. It's not the knight that holds the power, but the player. The controller. The puppeteer.
Ganondorf panics and looks up once, only once, and for once, his lion-eyes aren't lion-eyes. They're the eyes of a pig about to be slaughtered. She reasons it's beautiful - in a twisted way.
She moves the knight forward in a final moment. His eyes close. The Princess reaches out and with a dainty, gloved finger, she tips the blood-red piece over.
Down Falls The King.
It hits the board of red-and-white squares before rolling forward, stopping in front of him. He remains silent.
"Checkmate."
He wields his blade. The King jumps backward. He's immensely powerful and immensely agile, but the weigh to the armor weighs him down, down, down... The knight smirks. He knows he's winning.
The Princess readies her bow and fires an arrow. The King rolls to the side and draws two large, thin blades from his waist. One goes flying towards Zelda, who raises her gigantic bow at the last minute. The blade embeds itself into the bow like a thorn. Link watches her pull it out.
The other comes whirling towards him like a storm. He jumps the side - but the blade grazes his leg and leaves one jagged line.
"Link," Navi tells him. She's concerned, he knows it, he can almost hear the beating of his friend's heart. "You're bleeding." He brushes aside her concern.
"I know." The blood doesn't bother him even when it stains his tunic because he knows, knows, knew it from the start, that he had already won.
He pulls out the Master Sword and gives it a swing forward. The silver clashes against each other and it's the most beautiful music he's ever heard. He rolls to the side and raises his shield again. The blade grazes his other leg and he lets out a sole cry of agony, but the pain is nothing compared to the victory.
He can feel her smirk as she reaches out and grabs a Golden Arrow. He marvels at how she doesn't fumble. She pulls back the taut string and lets the Light Arrow fly. It sinks into the king's and Ganondorf freezes. His mouth opens and his eyes, once so golden and bright go blank. And then Ganondorf laughs - a wild, wild, laugh.
His turn, now.
He rolls around, fast, fast, so very fast and readies his blade. His arms are ready. The King is laughing, laughing, laughing. The noise unnerves him.
"I knew it all along!" The king snarls, and turns around to point at Zelda. "It was you! It was never the knight! It was never the pieces! It was the person who controlled them!" Link wonders what's going on.
He turns to Zelda and watches her slide her bow back into place. Her eyes lock with his and she smiles. Ganondorf turns back to Link.
"Boy," he rasps, "you're nothing more than a chess piece, a knight -"
He's had enough. Growling like a beast, he swings the Master Sword forward. The victory, the blood-shed, is there. All there. He tastes it now, in his mouth.
Ganondorf is laughing. "So beautiful. So, so beautiful," the Gerudo King is saying, even as the blade comes forward, forward, forward right on the weak flesh of his neck. The head rolls, golden eyes and flaming hair.
Down Falls The King.
Zelda walks forward beside him, and he looks into her eyes. They're blue - like he's always imagined them to be - like he knew they were even though he'd never met here.
"Checkmate," she whispers. He half-expects her to throw her arms around him or smile at him.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she strides to the center of the room, where the scarlet carpet is piled into a heap. She side-steps it easily and walks towards the gigantic, gilded throne at the head of the room. She settles herself on the throne and crosses her legs serenely.
Her eyes glitter. "It's good to be back."
- FIN -
Um. Don't ask me what this was, because honestly: I DON'T KNOW. ;A;. Evil Zelda is so much fun to write. I don't even know.
Wanna know what would really make me smile right now? Reviews. They're golden. So slip me one, if it's not too hard, okay? :P