2
GANONDORF
"Where is she."
His voice rumbles across the destroyed halls of the castle.
The immense figure says this without it truly being a question. Had he expected Her Highness to...simply give herself up? No. He expected a fight.
His spies have no answers, the two guards that had defected to his side in recent days, scouts that had returned with exaggerated voices of the distance between Ganondorf's army and Castletown.
They'd told him about the boy.
He knew the stories, stories passed down from old memories and voices that whisper to him through the ages. A fell wind that blows. And it blows hot and dry now across the land of Hyrule.
The storm has let up finally, rain that had seeped into the ground and buried the world with water and turned all earth to mud.
But the princess is not all that matters.
The boy in green had been sent to fetch something.
The guards were not paying close enough attention, those that were not defectors [and executed on the spot for their sealed lips] spoke naught a word. They would not speak again for their insolence.
Ganondorf had respect for men who did not let loose their tongues- those defectors were less in his eyes. They were traitors to their princess and people, selling themselves to keep their lives. Once they'd lived out their use, they'd join the others in their ranks. He would send them all to the goddesses with spears lodged firmly between both legs.
"And the boy. The one in green."
His stern countenance does not shift. Instead he lifts his head to look down at them, yellow eyes locked on their faces. He would not tolerate misgiven information, or 'I don't know's from these soldiers. Their lives were already forfeit. Surely they knew more than to say little on a matter that was this great of importance.
"We are certain that he did not survive the blast. The catacombs beneath the courtyard are old and have not been maintained in more than a century."
The soldier clicks his heels, shielding his eyes as he looks up.
"So I see. And you are for certain?"
"Yes."
The Gerudo king folds both arms behind his back, and starts away in stride. "Do you know that the goddess' dog is not easy to put down? No mere explosion or cave in will keep him from his duty."
The soldier grows pallid, face drawing like ash under his helm.
"...But he is just a boy, sir."
"Yes. But it is ALWAYS just a boy."
The word is heavily emphasized, and his hawk's eyes lock on the soldier beneath him. The Gerudo King will not tolerate anyone underestimating that child.
"Sir…. I…"
"You do not understand."
The man with devil's eyes scans the near-vacant throne room. Moblins can be seen through those fogged, rain-tinted windows, and he watches them with a distant thought. They are moving chests of rupees, and emptying them into a pile. It seems we've stumbled upon a treasure grove.
The great man strides up toward the throne, old and scarred with ages of war. Ages of fighting for a land that was given to them. A land that the king did not believe they deserved. No. It was HIS. His divine right, given to him by the goddesses. A right passed down by others of his name, of his stature. He, a king of thieves, will take what is rightfully his. Because all is rightfully his.
"No. None of you ever do understand."
He turns, great cloak sweeping behind him. He draws the face mask down, revealing his scowl in full.
If it is at all possible, the cloak makes the man only seem MORE immense than he already is. If he were not so frightening it would be cartoonish.
"The goddesses send their dog when no other man has the spine to bend his back and fight. And he is hardly ever a man. He is always. Always. A boy."
The Gerudo King seats himself on the throne, a throne that he has always claimed as his. "He is just a boy. But that is why they choose him, isn't it? Because children are innocent. They fight for what they believe is good."
His mouth moves from that firm, almost angry line, to a long scowl, lips chapped from dry-desert heat. Weathered palms grasp the edge of a throne he had rightly won, some form of satisfaction in his being.
"Boys are small, they slip through a large man's grasp like water. And monsters have a hard time keeping their vision on such a lithe form. He is always just a boy, but it is a boy they need."
Golden eyes linger on that soldier, unamused now. He has his throne, his seat at Zelda's table [though he is missing the guest of honor.]
There is answering silence, no one challenges the might of a man who carries his full weight with pride. And in particular, they do not challenge this great king of demons. That is a challenge for gods and their chosen, a task not for mortal men.
The Gerudo King makes himself comfortable on the throne, cupping his chin in one hand while he watches those that mill about the throne room, sweeping it of debris, removing corpses…
"Sire."
Ganondorf lifts his head. "You may approach."
He keeps his words brief, pulling himself up tall. He is comfortable in this throne, he knows that it is his. Others might do well to know this too. A guard stops in front of him, giving a salute.
"We have begun to sift through the wreckage. There is no sign of the boy or her highness."
This news is both welcome and unwelcome. No sign of he boy. He could have been killed by the cave in. We cannot know for certain."
The Gerudo King's eyebrows shoot up, eyes staring through the defected soldier's visor, burning a hole through him. The man hesitates. "There is no sign of Princess Zelda. No horses are missing from the stables."
"So she fled on foot, or she is somewhere on grounds."
He pulls himself upright. "Turn every stone in this palace over. Leave no place untouched."
"Yes sire. However, there is good news."
The Gerudo King's expression does not shift, but his face reads impatience. Speak, spit it out, we do not have time to dally. "We have found the final piece."
There is no change in the man, no visible glee or amusement in his face. There is no relief, there is nothing but a cold understanding. "Bring it to me."
The great man settles once again on his claimed throne, eyes wandering the hall as he waits. The soldier has vanished into the background, to retrieve that which they had sought since the beginning of his campaign. It had been difficult to track down all of its pieces, as there were none alive who knew its origins, nor its fate. He'd communed with he who had created him as he was now, an instinct, a voice, or an apparition [he knew not which it was, he had never seen him fully, but heard his voice, and some days he could not even claim that.] that had guided him through determined meditation.
And it had guided him to a blade of the blackest steel, forged in hell. Rather, that is what he had learned. But it was also in pieces. It would take a master sword-smith to repair it, to bring it back to a whole, strong form.
The demon king stands as something large and heavy is deposited into his hands, wrapped in a red cloth. It had been shattered to keep it from reforming, or from its pieces coming together to summon that which it served.
Great hands unfold the cloth. There is no reverence in this action, after all, all that is belongs to Him, why should this not receive the same treatment?
Unfolded in his hands comes the hilt of a grand and heavy sword, black and shining, the pointed wings on the hilt gleaming. It is old, but untarnished. Shattered, but still, whole. There is a life that beats within it.
He does not feel the need to announce what comes next, discerning eyes moving across the hilt. "Shall we search for a smith?"
The great man does not dignify this question with an answer. He does not feel it requires one. He, instead, considers his words. "No. Not now. We must make a most grievous announcement."
They had all seen the town. It was devastated, of course, but empty. The people will start to draw out of their hiding places, most of them already found. They hold out for a hero, hiding in their holes.
"The boy in green is dead."
If he is not, then he will show himself. If he is, then this statement is not false, and the people cannot call him a liar. Of course, it does not matter what they call him, HE rules their land now. It is he that determines truth from lies and the law from a crime.
The soldiers glance between one another, and give nods. "Aye, sir. When do we deliver this news?"
"...Soon. Perhaps not today."
The sky outside has not cleared, but it is dark. There will be no one to hear his declaration. Or if they hear, no one will respond. There will be frightened sounds, yes, he is sure. Tears too, lost hope… but it is no fun when your quarry is hiding their panic behind closed doors to the dark.
"Before then, however… Lay out the pieces. We must be certain that they are all here."
He gestures to a side table, again taking his seat on his new throne.
LINK
How do I move forward?
The boy, ocarina clutched in both hands, is faced with a dilemma. He'll run out of air eventually, there aren't exactly vents between this place and the upper world, it's a tomb, not a room meant for the living. There is that carving in front of him, and the little blue light that has gone quiet. Eventually, the tiny creature moves, illuminating the room where firelight does not touch. "Look!"
She flits around ancient text that seems to line the walls, an endless pattern of words in repetition.
Link crouches to the section, it's old, and he looks at the little light quizzically, how am I supposed to read that? I'm not educated in old Hylian.
"Open the door of time for a way forward."
The little fairy was always good at reading a confused expression, so there was no doubt that she would pick up on Link's inability to grasp an old tongue. Centuries had passed since the tomb was built, it was old when the Hero of Twilight was young, and every hero since.
The light then flits to the carving opposite the caved in entrance, hovering in front of the great stone wall. She seems to be considering...something?
Link isn't sure what, or how he's supposed to open the door. Door of Time? Will that get him out? Or is it just gonna send him somewhere? Maybe he can go back in time and stop himself from coming down here?
"Play this on your ocarina- Wait, DO you know how to play an ocarina?"
The boy much preferred his fiddle to other instruments- it was important to him, and also, he liked how it'd sounded. But he'd used many different instruments in his life. The ocarina, common for forest folk like himself, was one of them. He'd never lain eyes on a harp before he'd met the princess and that golden instrument. But the ocarina, that is what they taught you first if you wanted to learn music, basics, notes, octaves. He gives a nod, standing straight and holding the instrument to his lips. He touches notes briefly, reacquainting himself with an instrument he had not touched in ages. The instrument itself was old, and held by a dead man no less than ten minutes ago.
The first note comes out a touch awkward, the second less so. By the fourth and fifth, he was playing smoothly, and removes the instrument from his lips, giving the fairy another nod. I can play.
"...Okay, good."
She hovers there in silence, before taking in a deep breath. "Follow me."
The little light bounces in the air, tones echoing off the walls and being swallowed up by the earth behind them. The tune played is old, one used to open the Temple of Time ages ago, and again to call to that selfsame goddess in a time of great need.
Sounds are something Link is accustomed to mimicking sounds and notes, playing by ear rather than from sheet music. Forest people, though not the poorest people in Hyrule, did most of their telling through words or song, and passed history in an auditory note. Sure, there were books, some things you couldn't learn through word of mouth or listening to the elders speak, but music and history…
The boy mimics the tones, each note ringing with an echo that, unlike the fairy's tones, is not swallowed up by the earth. They seem to echo throughout the earth itself, sending sound to its core and echoing back ever stronger. There is serenity in those notes.
Something that soothes the soul.
The endlessly repeated words begin to light up, bright and silvery, a spiral of writing across all carvings, and the ceiling above emits a light that is golden. Link closes his eyes, drawing the ocarina away from his mouth. It's too bright.
Light flickers in lines and fills the room before it converges on the great carving opposite the teenager- it begins to splinter and crack, lights following first the carving, and then cracking into the stone. The sound of splintering stone echoes louder than the notes- and the boy opens his eyes, realising that the stone is about to explode. The minute he is ducked behind the opened sarcophagus is the minute the great mural ruptures, sending shrapnel and stone skittering across the near-pristine floor. The pale blue light has hidden itself, moving from her hiding spot- a niche in the wall- She flits her way over to the boy, fluttering just above his head. "You can go forward now."
Shaking hands slowly uncover his head and he peeks over the edge of the stone coffin. Beyond the wall is now a long, dark hallway. The boy takes his stand, and starts forward, placing the ocarina in his pack. The fairy accompanies him to the edge of the room and stops, "I cannot go with you. You have to go forward by yourself."
Link takes a moment to look forward. Has no light, has no way of seeing in the dark, and in that direction, there could be anything.
"...Thank you."
Speaking these words takes some effort- not because he is not grateful to the little light. Speaking is difficult enough…
She seems to settle upon the ledge of the coffin, wings lowering and light dimming.
"Good luck, hero."