Retreat!

Zelda stalked about her study restlessly. After days in a carriage and horseback, she was tired but aching to act. But simply relieving her physical anxiety was no answer to her problems.

We will meet with the 2nd Mage Corps and regroup! Quickly!

Her own words burrowed into her mind: ear-worms among the chaotic memory of black powder shot, the smoke, the snap of slivered breaking wood. Shouts. Fleeing men, her men. The failed fortifications. Evacuating Kakariko. The Gorons' fruitless aid.

Do not look back!

She had lost the Eldin province. Kakariko and the surrounding villages and farms had been evacuated, and the Gorons sealed safely in their mountain. Holodrum had struck quickly, with the help of several defecting units of the Hyrule Royal Army, and crippled any sort of weak border security that was still maintained. War was unheard of; Holodrum had been a peaceful, if reclusive ally for many years. Their land was a very different one from Hyrule: once, it had harbored the Goddesses' magic but no longer. The inhabitants were humans, and kept to themselves.

The High Prince of Holodrum had sent her a formal marriage proposal not long ago, expressing concern at the time Hyrule had been blanketed by Twilight, suggesting that she accept their strength. But Zelda was no weak ruler: she saw even through the text that Holodrum's prince meant to take advantage of her position as a young, unmarried woman at the head of a prosperous country.

Zelda might have accepted, but she did not humor people who did not bother to honor her with their presence when they asked to wed. Though clearly, to Holodrum, that would not do.

And Zelda had to face the facts. Her country was growing weak, stagnant. The times of peace had taken the strength from Hyrule's army. Her knights were glorified noblemen, left over from her father's reign. Her soldiers were unused to anything more than border patrol and guard duty. She had faced this fact once before, when Zant and his whirlwind coup had swept her halls. Now she was forced to face it again.

Not only that, but Hyrule suffered. The Twilight Occupation had taken more out of her lands than she would have liked to admit. The river's levels were still low, and the Zora were in turmoil. The harvests would be poor this year. Many monsters still roamed, master-less and unchecked. Oh, how she wished the Hero were still around! No sign of him had turned up since his departure. Link had truly vanished.

And the whispers. Any commander would have lost Eldin, she knew. Taken by surprise, by the previously-unknown war-machines of Holodrum. Mages could fight them easily, but there simply weren't enough well-trained spell-casters to go around at the time of invasion. But still the fingers pointed, the rumors spread. Zelda was an unfit commander. No young woman should lead an army, they criticized. She could not do it. She was no king.

The unrest was dangerous. Her country couldn't afford to lose faith at such an important time. She would do all she could to protect her people, but she could not do that if they made it difficult for her to do so. She could fight the enemy, she knew. But she couldn't fight both the enemy and her own people at once.

Zelda's feet ached. She almost laughed at the irony-- she was pacing. As Ganondorf had done, trapped in his cage. She had nowhere to go, so she simply went around in circles like a dog in a kennel. There was no way out.

She felt the strong ambient hum of presence far below, sealed below the castle. He was oblivious; he didn't know. He couldn't have. An army was marching on Hyrule and the King of Evil was still down below, ignorant to it.

Or...?

No, that was a horrible idea, she reprimanded herself. That was worse than the army. Mortal soldiers were as nothing compared to unleashing that kind of darkness on the world again. It would be like burning a house to rid it of bugs. In the end, she would come out much, much worse.

But there is no other way, she thought. There really is no other way to drive them back. Nobody in a hundred years has the sort of knowledge we need to defeat a marching army, aside from perhaps myself. But I'm only one woman, and all the theory in the world won't save us if we need experience. We have not warred in over a century. We have no more tacticians, no more leaders, no more mighty battle-magic coming from the schools, and we haven't had any over all our years of peace. That was the Hero's burden, to uncover the magic left behind over centuries. And now the Hero is gone.

Ganondorf predates this trouble. He was erased from common knowledge at his execution, his people lost to obscurity once they were all gone. We stamped him and his kind out completely, out of memory, in hopes that he would never be born again, be bred. Not even historians remember the details of the Fierce War, other than that it was dark and terrible.

But I do. And in those times, before he was condemned to die, he was a legend. A true god of war.

We need him. If not, our darkest hour will come not from the workings of black magic or demon deities. It will be by simple soldiers and mechanical weapons. After all this country has faced lately, that would be an embarrassment to the gods.

It was a horrid idea, she knew. But it was the best one that she could think of. She moved herself to the dungeons before she could dissuade herself. Walking there would just allow time to rethink the decision. She popped back into existence right outside Ganondorf's cell. He was leaning against a corner, working through one of the many books she had left for him. Through trial and error, based on the books he liked and ones he had not cared for, she had figured out what his taste was.

It coincided with hers a little more than she thought was entirely comfortable.

"You," he said, not looking up from his page, "have been gone for ten days."

His tally-marks sprawled over the stone walls. Zelda noticed that a few amid the many were further marked black with ash. Ten of them were in a bunch on the far wall, along with a few scattered singles. Days that she had not shown up to see him. She blinked, counting them at a glance. Had it really been that long he had been down here? Three months? He certainly did not look like a prisoner, thinned and paled. No, in fact he filled his clothes a mite better than when he had been first placed in the cell. His black breeches, cut slightly loose, were beginning to stretch tautly across the definition of his hips.

Zelda snapped back to attention. Stop, she told herself. It hardly matters how well he kept himself when he was being a raving lunatic and smashing the castle. Don't think of him and that damned boulder he lifts to pass the time. You have to pay attention.

"Yes, I have," Zelda admitted. "And you need to know why."

And she told him. At first she felt only able to give the barest summary, but soon he set down his book and inquired more deeply. Soon she was divulging every detail to him, the cause of the war, the unfit state of the army, the marriage proposal. A flash of anger ghosted over him as she spoke about the High Prince and his asking after her dowry. But as she related it all to him, spilling her heart out over it, he said nothing save to ask for clarification. No insults, no sneering, no cruel remarks.

Zelda almost wanted to scream at him for acting so sane.

By the end of the long, complicated story, Ganondorf sprawled back bitterly, scowling at her. It caused his face to break from the nearly-pleasant interest into something ugly again. "And why does this concern me?" he asked, gesturing with a hand at the enclosed cell, at the bars, the tally-marks, his ever-growing boulder, the latrine in the corner.

"I have... I have a proposal for you, Ganondorf."

She nearly clamped her tongue down over the words, and she flinched as a change came over the man within the cell. The sound had been magic; he straightened with interest, hungry anticipation nearly dripping from every pore. Like a caged beast that had heard jangling keys, he stood and placed his hands on the bars longingly, gripping them until his knuckles paled. And he stared at her, waiting...

"Go on," he said impatiently. His words were a demand, overflowing with a violent yearning.

"I've already explained the situation to you, and our difficult position. We have not had to fight a war in over a century. We have no mighty military leaders, or even ones that know even the basics of more than a border dispute," Zelda said, businesslike. "You are Ganondorf. You have fought, mastered the greatest hell in recorded history and lived to tell the tale. My knowledge of warfare is strictly theoretical. Yours isn't."

"Get to the point," he demanded.

Zelda cleared her throat. "I will make a deal with you, Ganondorf," she began. "I will let you free. No tricks, none of that."

"The catch?"

He was no fool.

"You will be my High General, and we will force back Holodrum. No matter your intentions, you can not possibly want to see Hyrule overrun. Or, at least, by anybody not yourself. You will harm only those I tell you to harm. You will help those I will tell you to help. And I will listen to you when it comes to matters of war-- nothing more."

He took a wide pause, as if mulling it over. Then, he laughed: a sweeter laugh than she had ever heard form him before, but still barbed. "Well played, princess. Surely your enemies cannot stand against even your pathetic army with myself at the front." He slid against the bars, grinning. "Though how can you be sure that I will not turn on you after this one meager task is through?

"The Triforce is not able to gather, and you know it."

"What if that is not what I want?"

"You surely don't want Hyrule in this state. It's still ruined from the Twilight Occupation."

He shook his head. "And if that is not what I want, either?"

"If you kill me, Hyrule's province will crumble until the next lifetime. If you imprison me, the people will rise up and your reign will be barren and pointless. What's one disliked ruler over another one?" She raised an eyebrow, unbudging. "You will also have no one to talk to. Act against me, and I will make sure you will be utterly alone."

His dream-speech weeks before clung in her mind. Being alone, he spoke of, among other things. He did not want to be alone anymore. It was why he marked the times when she did not appear in black, why he cared at all if she was here or if she was elsewhere. It was a gamble to make such an assumption, but that risk was one she was willing to take.

He contemplated this until the greed in his eyes was too much for him to restrain. "I accept, Princess. Open this damned cage."

And, heart clawing in her chest, she removed the key from the neckline of her dress, from it's hidden spot that no man would inquire about. Slowly, she fitted it into the lock and turned. An echoing click broke the expectant silence as her strong wards dissipated, the heavy iron door unsecured. She opened it for him, and he tested it before he stepped through, almost expecting the confinement spell to spring back to life and slay him.

But soon he stood before her, closer than he had ever been before while awake. He seemed to expand, grow, freedom washing over him-- no longer constrained but finally unbound. And he clenched his fists, magic and power and pent-up electricity crackling around him, through the air. In his eyes there was a triumph, an unbridled joy--

Zelda swallowed the awful feeling she was getting in the back of her throat. What had she done? And would she regret it later?

"At last," he muttered. "I thought I would go stir-crazy."

He began to laugh, and up close, Zelda fought to stand her ground. He was much bigger than her, comparatively massive.

"There is one problem," she said firmly. "You will need to decide on a face."

He stopped and stared down at her, feeling his jawline with a hand. "Hm, that is a trouble," he scowled. "I can't."

"Well, just pick one and be done with it. It can't be too hard."

Ganondorf did not seem impressed. "If it were that simple," he said. "Tell me, Princess, can you see your own face?"

"In a mirror," Zelda said.

"Exactly." He gritted his teeth. "You cannot see your own face. I rebuilt this body under Zant's power, and it is mine. But I cannot reach the face. I once had a face, but no more. Before fighting the Hero I know my thoughts were static enough to keep a single face. But after months in the damned cell I'm sure my mind has wandered too much."

"You don't remember what it looks like?"

"Of course I do. But that does not matter," he said bitterly. "Faces can only be seen by others. I cannot set my face, for I have no one who has seen it but myself. "

The cold stand-off in the dungeons was somewhat surreal. Although he was out of the cage, they both had ran into a different obstacle entirely. Zelda's mouth was tortuously dry, but she mustered the nerve to speak her mind.

"Would... a new face do?" she asked pointedly. "Details or not, you are still yourself. Or at least I think so."

He looked at her in surprise. "Oh?"

"No one will recognize you. I will introduce you as a new man," she said. "You can't accept my offer if you look like a many-faced monster to the men you're going to lead. Regardless of what you look like, either you follow through with the deal, or go back into the cell."

He scoffed. "I doubt you would be able to get me back in there for all the Light Spirits in creation."

"I can certainly try," she said stubbornly. "You need a face. Would a new one really be so repulsive to you?"

"That depends. But given the circumstances, I don't seem to have a choice." He stared her down. "Hold still."

And he reached out, lifting her chin with an unexpectedly soft touch from rough hands. Zelda made to bat him away, but he snatched her hand.

"Calm yourself," he reprimanded. "You will serve as my mirror."

And he looked. Not at her, but into her. If they had met stares before, this was entirely new. It lasted only for an instant, but in that tiny shred of time she could see herself through him. Or, at least, she thought it was herself. No, too beautiful to be herself, yet appearing exactly the same as she looked in a looking-glass. The image was bright amidst a darkness, was cherished, was valued and greedily hoarded away all for himself. Wanted, coveted... his and his alone...

Ganondorf broke the strange trance, howling. Zelda wondered what he had seen to cause him such pain, or if it was a snarl of pain at all. He had seen himself, she knew, but what exactly? Even she didn't know what sort of face for him dwelled in her mind, or if she could picture one at all. He buried his eyes in his hands as if blinded, fingernails twisting the roots of his hair. And through his cries, Zelda heard a weird acidic sizzling sound, as if he was burned. And cracks, as bone itself shifted under protest. He only hissed and hunched over as the shivering sinew and tightening flesh under his hands slid and reformed. As if he did not want Zelda to see, he doubled over. His hair curtained over him, loose as he had kept it for weeks.

"Are you..." Zelda coughed. "Is it...?"

He vanished and in a moment of panic, Zelda wondered where until she sensed the responding resonance of Power many floors above her. On top of one of the broken deserted towers, the one directly overhead with the stairs still under repair. She followed him in an instant, tugging herself there with her own magic.

She had forgotten it was night. The black, star-splashed sky stretched overhead, less dark than light for the full, bright moon that bathed the dark parapets in a ghostly glow. Not even the watch lights still burning in Castle Town down below muted the sky above, and it lit the round towertop as well as the sun: in muted colors and stark relief.

Ganondorf was shaking, still bent under a sudden weight. But before Zelda could ask, even think, she realized that the movement of his shoulders was not anger, but laughter. The sound eventually escaped his hands, and it was not the crazed mocking she heard more often. He gave the rarer sort of joy, that black pleasure that frightened just as potently as it was flattering to the ear. The laughter that went with the best, most entrancing quality of his voice, reserved for only select moments.

"Yes, I think this will do nicely," he said, exploring his own face by touch, "very nicely, in fact."

And he removed his hands, straightened up tall. His thick hair fell away, over his back. And he turned to see her, characteristic lopsided smile twisting his lips up into a smirk. Zelda tried to process what she was seeing.

"Well?" He laughed. "Do you approve?"

He looked like himself, she thought. Viscerally, he had a presence, an aura he exuded. If it had been refined, concentrated, it could begin to describe what had formed his face. Timeless: ever-young, yet ancient. Strong, well-defined features, all arranged to suck the eye into his piercing golden stare. Smooth, without the creases of rage. And yet, she could imagine it bare into a snarl that would send any man into an uncontrollable terror. Dark, consuming, devouring...

Handsome. Very, very handsome. No matter what greed, what darkness he had the essence she had somehow distilled from him, culminating in the face he had taken from her, was hypnotically charismatic. Alluring. Ravishing.

It scared her that her own mind had concocted it all.

"Good enough," she said.

He smiled, displaying a hint of sharp, predatory humor. "Then all is well. Tomorrow, Princess, you and I have much to accomplish."