The castle had not held for very long. Perhaps it could have, against most forces, but the body of its troops were gone and only the royal guard remained as truly competent soldiery. They were the best of the best, but they had not proven enough for what slammed up against the walls that day.
Moblins were supposed to have been monsters from fairy tales, a relic of a less civilized age, but the brutes had managed to get inside the walls without being seen, and Ganondorf had been among them. So much of the death that day could be attributed to him alone. More Moblins had come in through the sewers, flanked by Octoroks that moved at the behest of Ganondorf. They had not known he wielded that kind of power over the minds of beasts. If they had, maybe things could have gone differently. It did not matter now, though.
Bodies littered the castle, tracing his path of destruction through its heart. Most of his Moblins were scattered on the ground with the Hylian defenders, but it didn't matter; for this last part, his power alone would be more than enough.
Ganondorf looked up, surveying the tower that he now stood on the outside of. There would be a few dozen guards here, posted at different levels, and then at the very top there would be the throne room. There he would face the best – Impa and her personal staff – and after that? Ah, that was the long of it.
The Moblins grunted and snorted, jostled each other in their eagerness to be near him, but he paid them no mind. They were little more than beasts, tools that served the purpose of bringing him this far. The last of them would die before he reached Zelda and he would not mourn for them.
He had felt Koume and Kotake die a few minutes prior. Now, with a moment of quiet where he had only to contend with the sound of death, he sighed: those two he would miss. They were not good mothers and he had no real love for them, but they had taught him much about magic and that was worth being remembered for. The thought of the General killing them made his blood boil, and he hoped that the pest was already dead, but then he didn't: the thought of that fool's reaction when he learned of this ruse gladdened him immensely. Yes, let the General be alive now. He would crush the fool with his own hands in due time.
He faced the massive door to the tower, raised one hand, and began to gather his power. The air warped around him, darkness flowing out from his palm like a living thing, and he felt the heady rush that magic always gave him.
Then an arrow seemed to sprout from the skull of one of the Moblins, and it yelped before falling down and bursting into flames.
Another arrow struck as he turned, and another Moblin fell. Then another, and another, and as he saw the man who was firing the shots emerge from the shadows of an archway the last Moblin died with an arrow in its throat.
He laughed. "So, you anticipated my trick, eh?" He thought about it, and shook his head. "But no. I don't think you did. Maybe you have your own magic for these occasions, eh? That's surprising." He gestured at the Moblins even as their bodies disappeared. "You have killed my shock troops." The General prepared another arrow, and Ganondorf chuckled. "Me too, then. You will find I'm not as easy to-"
The arrow struck his chest and exploded into corrosive light that covered his entire body. He roared in agony and fury as every cell was suddenly lanced with burning needles of pain, and when the light subsided he collapsed to his knees before struggling back to his feet.
"Good magic," he said, and then spit. "I underestimated you. It won't happen again." Another arrow of light shrieked at him, and he lashed out with his hand, knocking it aside so that it exploded harmlessly behind him. "Prepare yourself, boy! This is the end of Hyrule, and you will bear witness from beyond the grave!"
He gathered and threw a bolt of power that should have reduced the man to a smoking ruin – but with terrifying ease the General deflected the bolt with his sword, sending it careening back at him. Ganondorf spun around it, drawing his colossal Gerudo sword in the same movement, and charged across the outer courtyard. The General met him halfway. The ringing of steel on steel echoed throughout the castle.
Ganondorf's elimination of the castle guards had been thorough but not absolute; a few stragglers on patrol had not been encountered, and one was now watching from the shadows, wondering if he should try to interfere, deciding that there was no point to it. It was something of a cliche, but it was also true: he would only get in the way. Ganondorf was a terrifying swordsman, both fast and hideously strong, wielding his greastsword with one hand and appalling finesse, but the General fought like a field surgeon, every motion calculated to counter the Gerudo style perfectly. The two were a whirlwind of steel, with Ganondorf's armor absorbing some small blows while his sword turned aside others, and the General's shield showed the scores of turning aside those tremendous chops that the King of the Desert kept bringing down. It was difficult to keep track of them, but one thing kept presenting itself over and over: the General knew how Ganondorf fought, and was using it against him.
The king swung at the knight with a horizontal slash, and when it was deflected in the same direction as the swing he was overbalanced. The General bashed him in the face with his shield, sending him staggering – and then leaped over him, chopping at his face as he flipped in midair. Ganondorf roared and staggered forward, face covered with blood from a blow that should have cloven his skull in half. No, he wasn't human anymore, the soldier decided. Not even close.
Another turn, another wild swing, this time barely deflected with a grunt. He kicked out with his foot, connecting solidly with the General's chest, sending the smaller man careening backwards. He landed on his ass, got up with a hiss as Ganondorf wiped the blood from his eyes, and then the two were in each other's face again.
The sound of steel on steel increased in tempo until it was like rain falling, their bodies becoming blurs surrounded by the orbit of metal that roared out of control. It was amazing to watch, a thing of almost surreal beauty, and when the soldier looked up he noted that the guards at the windows of the tower were looking down at the spectacle, too. He thought they might have been shouting orders to one another, but he could not hear it over the din of the fight.
The two clashed together, sword locking against sword, and the wizard and the knight pushed against each other with all of their strength. Their faces were so close they nearly touched, both grimacing with effort and fury, eyes of fire meeting eyes the color of ice. Ganondorf was bleeding, but the General was breathing so hard, now. He was getting tired. Soon he would slow while Ganondorf remained inexhaustible, and that would be the end of him. It would be the end of all of them.
At the very extremity of his strength, when his arms were about to give out against the force of the evil king, the General reared back his head and smashed his helmet into Ganondorf's nose. The king roared, staggered, and the General pushed hard enough to send him stumbling. He stepped back too, creating a space between them, trying to use the distance to his advantage.
There was a terrible silence as Ganondorf wiped his face with one massive hand, slung the blood away onto the grass. His eyes were calculating, eager, interested; he could see the General's exhaustion, could smell the end of this fight.
"You are good, boy. Maybe the best. But it won't be enough." He hefted the sword carefully in his hand, rested his free palm against the pommel. "Are you ready to die?"
The General said nothing, his face betrayed nothing. After a moment he sheathed his sword.
The guard's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Ganondorf's laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.
"So be it! Die with dignity: you will still DIE!" He charged.
He did not see the General's arm rise, his fingers wrapped carefully around the hilt of his sword. The guard's breath caught in his throat, and he did not notice the tears streaming down his own face. Ganondorf's footsteps were thunder, the massive Gerudo blade raised for a stroke that would rend the world in twain. The distance between him and the General disappeared.
The blade came down as the General drew his sword and cut in the same motion, Ganondorf's eyes were wide with realization and terror, and that look of war in the General's face was gone: in that moment he was at peace.
Steel bit into flesh, and steel bit into flesh. The sound was solid, meaty, and simultaneous.
Ganondorf staggered backward, a crimson gash laid open across his torso. He breathed in huge, ragged gasps, and fell back. He landed with a thud, his breathing loud and labored, but he was alive.
The General stepped forward, the Gerudo sword buried in his shoulder, having nearly cloven down to his heart. He dropped his sword onto the grass. Blood ran freely from between his teeth, which were bared in a grimace of pain as he turned away from Ganondorf, walked to the stone steps of the tower, and sat on them. The guard came running out of the shadows as the General lay back, his eyes falling closed.
"General! General!" The door to the tower burst open, but he reached the General first. He knelt next to the greatest man in the kingdom, took one gauntleted hand in his own. "General, please!"
The General opened his eyes as the palace guard swarmed around them and past them, rushing over to Ganondorf. They heard cries of "He's still alive! Bind him!" and other things, but the words didn't pierce the silence between this one guard and his Hero.
"General, you have to hold on. The healers will be here soon. It's going to be okay."
Those cold blue eyes locked with his – and how did he ever think they were cold in the first place? There were warm and soft, the gentlest eyes he had ever seen in his entire life. There was compassion in them, compassion for the loss that must have been written all over his face, but there was something else, too: courage, and duty.
"The..." The General coughed. Oh gods, how much blood could one man have? "The... Princess..."
"Alive, sir. She's safe and sound. You did it. She's all right. There's no more danger."
The General nodded.
"Please... my helmet..."
The guard was as gentle as he could be, unclasping the helmet with one hand and lifting it off with more care than he had used in handling his own children. The General's eyes were closed.
"General! Please, sir, you have to stay awake!"
Those blue eyes opened again, and there were tears in them.
"I am ... sorry."
"Sir?"
"Tell them... tell them all... I tried so hard. It was too ... too much." He coughed again, swallowed blood, looked at the guard with steel in his expression. "You must tell them. Everything I did... any of them... can do. Only need ... the courage."
He nodded, because he could not speak without weeping.
"My daughter... tell her... be a good, strong girl..." He squeezed the guard's hand so hard it hurt. "Tell her."
"Yes... yes, sir."
The General nodded, and his eyes looked at nothing. "Good. Now... rest. Just need... to rest." He leaned his head back, closed his eyes. His breathing was so shallow that the guard could feel the thread of his life pulled taut.
"Make way!" A voice said, and the guard looked up, and there she was in the doorway: the Princess Zelda, sword in hand, flanked by her attendant. The Sheikah woman averted her eyes from the sight of the General as the Princess's sword slipped from her fingers, clattering heavily on the stone.
The guard rose, stepped back, knelt to her – as the rest of the guards did. She paid no mind to any of them, walked to the General, knelt on the blood-slicked steps, cradled his head in her arms. She leaned down to him, whispered something that none of them could hear. The General's eyes opened, and whatever he said was so weak that she had to put her ear to his bloodied lips to hear it. Then his eyes closed – for the last time – and he was still. For a long moment there was silence, and she pulled off one of her gloves with her teeth, and held her hand before his nostrils, felt at his throat for a pulse.
She leaned her head down, kissed his mouth, and began to weep.
She held his head against her and wept, and wept, and wept.
None of the men and women present would ever admit to seeing their future Queen weep; they would never admit to the extremity of her sorrow, would never speak of how she spoke the General's name over and over, but it would be burned in their memories for the rest of their lives. No voice had ever been so anguished, speaking one name:
"Link..."