chapter 10: deserter
A/N: Oh god what.
Super-super-super late chapter, not sure if any others are forthcoming. Maybe there will be? It all depends how crazy my senior year ends up becoming.
Sorry I'm kind of a jerk who leaves everyone hanging all the time. :[
The occupants of the city had discussed for many months the wedding that was supposed to take place that day. As soon as people began to stir in anticipation, a few choice grumblers voiced their doubt that it would go as planned. The weather had been miserable for days, and the day was chilly and overcast. The streets were muddied from the rain—this was unacceptable; who would have a wedding in the mud? Savages, that's who—people who have lost their pride, their common sense, their connection with the old way.
But true to their nature, the couple had insisted that the celebration continue unabated. After all, young love rarely allows itself to be straddled by elders' obsessions with dignity and tradition.
It was for this reason that Ganondorf was not greeted so kindly in the lobby that morning. The gaggle of frustrated old men had spent hours already complaining about this state of affairs, and the presence of a stranger only seemed to aggravate the mood. They stared at him, pondered what on earth more strangers had come into town for... Things were strained already, with so many people crowded into the city in the last few months, and the thought of more people moving in was unsettling.
The only relief they found came in the realization that Ganondorf and Link were anomalies, not evidence of another wave of immigrants, and were not staying long.
Ganondorf knew he was not welcome. He stared into the kitchen for some time, after the smell of food had finally roused him from his sleep, and watched as the woman of the house served a number of hungry tenants. A cool, silverly light shone through the solitary window of the room, evidence of the overcast weather outside.
The men seemed intent on not acknowledging him, but the woman spoke up. "You're up at last."
"Is that breakfast?" he finally asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. It had been days since his last real meal.
"Lunch, actually," she corrected, filling another bowl. "There was no getting you up this morning."
He ignored the derisive snorts and changed the subject. "Where's your husband?"
The woman took to brief confusion, as did the others, but she quickly discerned what he meant. "You must mean my brother... He is not here, but he should be back soon."
Having ascertained what he wanted, he was ready to turn away. He could read her body language, and knew she wanted him to join them for a meal, but hungry though he was, he decided that his fast could continue for a little longer. If nothing else, he would control with whom he kept company and dined... He nodded as politely as he could muster, and retreated into the hallway once more.
He could hear faint complaints follow him, all-too-familiar murmurs of longing for a time that never existed save for in their nostalgic imaginations. "What's the matter with that one?"
"--Leave him be, his friend--"
"--Damned visitors come through here and stare at us as though we were--"
"Animals, that's what they are, dancing in the streets like that."
As it turned out, Ganondorf was not the only one who was impatient to leave. He stopped by Link's room, intending only to take an impulsive, brief glance at what he assumed would be a body at rest. But true to his character, Link had refused to stay still. He found him sitting up on the floor, restlessly kneading his leg in a strangely frustrated manner.
"You're up."
Link stopped what he was doing and sighed. "My leg's gone numb—it's been that way since last night. It wouldn't be so bad, if only it would hurt..."
Ganondorf was still uncertain that their banter was going to become a conversation, so he edged back toward the doorway. "As tempting as it is, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help."
"Ganondorf."
"Yes?"
Link's head tilted slightly, and he spoke with soft deliberation. "I would like to know what you are doing today."
"There is supposed to be someone who 'knows' me, somewhere in this city. Samuk is intent on reintroducing us..."
Link seemed to ponder on it, and made an incredulous noise. Ganon snorted in amusement. "Yes, my thoughts exactly."
"Well, when it's over, don't come crying to me."
Ganondorf did not know what he meant.
"Please; I know you well enough by now. The moment things go wrong, you're going to come to me in hopes of whining about it. So I'm asking now that you refrain from dragging me into it—whatever 'it' is."
Ganondorf weakly retorted, "I hardly think it will come to that."
"...Of course not," Link murmured knowingly. He turned on his side, as if to end the conversation, though he did call out to him as he left. "Do have a good time. I'd hate to see you in a bad mood."
Ganondorf had privately hoped Samuk might forget about the ordeal, but his lofty hope was dashed upon Samuk's return. The man intercepted him at the doorway to his room, and apparently assumed Ganondorf was about to take up his things in preparation for their trip.
"Do you wish to eat something before we go?"
Ganondorf's hand fell still on the doorknob and he said nothing. Samuk fidgeted with concern.
"My sister said you would not eat."
"I will eat later," Ganondorf replied curtly.
"It does not matter. No doubt we will eat there..."
The door swung open; Ganondorf entered the room and attempted to shut the door behind him, but Samuk swiftly held it ajar. "Um... Sir, is this a matter of nerves?"
Ganondorf huffed and grabbed his cloak, again refusing to answer.
"If this is so distressing for you, then by all means you should stay here. I don't want you under the impression that this is somehow required of you."
"Oh, but isn't it?" he snidely growled, albeit under his breath.
Samuk, of course, did not understand the deeply-rooted suspicions at work, so he could only scratch his head and wonder if there wasn't a secret to making sense of foreigners like this one. Samuk thought, briefly, that this was the stranger's means of dealing with the stress of bearing the illness of his partner, but the two did not share the sort of warmth that would merit one of them acting so bizarrely.
Ganondorf himself was not so sure. His night had been spent futilely trying to piece together a plan for getting both of them out of the city, and as a result his mind was a bleary mess and his decisions all followed impulse.
He just needed to know who this 'person' was; it felt crucial to him, as though he were about to put a piece of himself back into place.
"You don't need to bring much—we're not traveling far."
With a final grunt of resignation, he threw his things down and declared without a hint of trepidation, "Then let's go."
Ganondorf was not prepared for the level of noise and passion that littered the town's muddied streets. The somber and ceremonial stage of the marriage had finished some hours ago, leaving only the matter of celebration, and the people of this town had apparently waited long for a chance to celebrate something.
People were steep in dirt, alcohol, and cheer. Dirty limericks and cynical love songs had become the larger theme of the parade, as they usually did once the guests yield to the effects of their drinking.
Oh love, love,
wayward, gluttonous thing!
It drinks our wine
and eats our rice
like an unwelcome guest.
Yet Ganondorf was not curious about any of the details of the wedding, despite Samuk's frequent prodding. It baffled him why Samuk thought he would be interested about the couple, the wedding plans, or how many people showed up; at best, he took it as a sign of how desperate things had become. To attend a stranger's reception seemed to him odd, yet most of the people drinking in the streets didn't know who was getting married, or the circumstances of the arrangement.
Any excuse to get drunk, he supposed.
Samuk moved with swiftness, a trait Ganondorf did not share. So while the nimbler man darted and dodged through the crowds, Ganon had to bicker and push aside those who stood in his way, frequently rejecting offers of food and drink. He nearly lost track of Samuk several times, and once his frustration compounded with his overall mental state, he found himself grabbing at random passersby, often mistaking the backs of their heads for his elusive partner.
Yet finally Samuk seemed to have accomplished this task, and Ganondorf could see his nowhere. Throngs of people shoved past him--he realized that he had stumbled into a bazaar of sorts, and without Samuk to guide him, he found himself casually browsing the stands. It wasn't as if he had the money to purchase anything, but slowly it became a better alternative to him than chasing after a man he barely knew.
Shops hummed with activity, though money rarely exchanged hands in this place. Most of the dwellers were counting on shopkeepers to give gifts in honor of the reception, and with the wine flowing as it was, the shopkeepers were strangely willing.
Ganondorf was not terribly interested in this aspect, though it didn't escape him--he preferred to eye merchandise and ponder its true value. Most of it was, unsurprisingly, overpriced junk, and wouldn't even be worth slipping into his pocket. Fake gemstones, lead coated with silver being passed off as jewelry, charms created out of poorly-chiseled wood, and of course a variety of flimsy blankets and rugs were all normal fare and covered the stands in a sad attempt at imitating the decadence of wealth. If the products were actually worth anything, the displays might have been impressive--but all in all, they were merely colorful and glitzy, easily drawing in the untrained eye, but striking anyone with taste as gaudy and useless.
He moved on to the food-stands, realizing just how hungry he was after passing up breakfast. He approached the stacks of fruit and bread without fully understanding his own intentions; he might steal something, though at this point it didn't seem desirable. It felt miserable, thinking about stealing out of desperation. To steal out of talent was something to be celebrated, surely--but thieving only because of an empty wallet felt disgusting somehow. As if he were a beggar, clawing bread crumbs from the ground...
His hungry thoughts turned suddenly, however, when he noticed something to his right. He looked, thought his eyes must be deceiving him, then furiously realized that they were not. Before him, not ten yards away, a merchant was proudly standing alongside several horses, presumably selling them, and among that number, he saw, quite distinctly, the two horses that had vanished the night before. Suddenly his thoughts of thievery turned indignant.
He stormed over, ignored the merchant's calm, innocent demeanor. "Where did you get those horses?" he demanded, pointing at the two.
The merchant looked puzzled. "Where did I get them? Where do you think I got them?"
"Don't play dumb with me," he seethed. "When did you find them?"
"'Find' them? They were sold to me," the merchant responded flatly, sensing an oncoming accusation.
"That's interesting, because they're mine."
The merchant scoffed, and motioned his hand as if to shoo him away.
"Look at them! Isn't it strange that last night, two horses of mine--horses that look exactly like those--would disappear, and today they are being sold back to me here?"
"It's not my concern that you can't keep track of your property. People come here all the time, telling me 'this is mine' and 'that was stolen from me'--some other man tried to pull this trick on me earlier--don't bother me with your nonsense."
Ganon snorted in frank disbelief, and ignoring the merchant's increasing anger, he pushed himself past the stand, marched over to the two horses, and began to untie them. The merchant began to screech of being robbed, hurling insults at him and calling for guards. But instead of authorities, a crowd of gawking onlookers, interested in what they thought must be a rising fight, gathered and wondered aloud what the commotion was about.
"You cheap bastard!" the merchant howled, assaulting Ganon with kicks and spitting, a remarkably brave feat for the small man. "You think you can rip me off? Why should you get my merchandise for free, eh?"
Ganondorf effortlessly pushed the man to the ground, but the man's ego did not easily bruise; the man leaped back onto his feet to continue the defense of his property.
Yet the noble and misguided effort was interrupted, though not by Ganon's hands.
"What the devil is going on here?"
The merchant scrambled for composure and Ganon turned nonchalantly to the intruder.
The man was grizzled and stout in appearance, though at first glance these characteristics seemed to be compensation for short stature. He was shorter and leaner than most of the people in the crowd, but he still carried an influence over others that was obviously one of reputation. His hair and complexion were dark and oily, and he covered one eye with a patch, contributing to what Ganondorf increasingly suspected was a theatrical, but untrue, toughness.
He stalked over to them, thinking he was about to dispel a conflict, when with one look at Ganondorf, his expression turned to suspicion and nervousness. Ganondorf assumed it was his own standing at work—the man wouldn't have stood a chance in a fight—but he soon realized that this peculiar character was looking at him as if he vaguely recognized him.
The merchant was quick to cut in with his complaint. "L-lord Rais, this man is trying to rob me!"
'Lord Rais,' for a moment, didn't seem to have heard him. He muttered something under his breath, and still stared at Ganondorf.
"He is taking those two horses from me, all on account of some story--"
Rais finally broke his glance and regarded the horses. He spoke immediately, and with a naturally penetrating accent that Ganondorf could not place. "Where did you get them?"
"--Sir?"
"I want to know who you bought them from," Rais repeated a bit impatiently.
"I don't know the man's name."
"Ya kalb—so you buy from strangers who come to you with obviously stolen property--? If a beggar came to you offering golden plates with my name on them you would still buy them in hopes of selling them back to me. And probably at twice the price. Swindling baboon."
Ganondorf had ceased paying any attention to the fight, instead continuing to recover his property. He had untied the two and was checked the saddles and pouches, to see if everything was in check. To his genuine shock, nothing instead the pouches had been disturbed.
"These are your horses, right?" Rais queried somewhat jokingly. "I'd hate to have done that without reason."
Ganondorf, unnerved by the man's friendliness, did not turn to thank him. "I must be going."
"You're a no-nonsense type, I understand." Though Ganon didn't see it, Rais was thinkingly deeply, smoothing his fingers across his stubbled chin. "--Say, that's uncanny."
'Uncanny'? Hadn't Samuk used that same word the other night? What on earth was going on here? His teeth clenched. "What's uncanny?"
Rais laughed nervously. "Ah—hmm—Nothing, but, say, where are you from?"
Ganondorf pulled the horses forward and was ready to leave, so he gave a noncommittal answer. "Far away."
"Ha! That's where everyone's from around here. What did you say your name was?"
Ganondorf decided it was then he ought to pull away and look for Samuk. He did not need a strange little man pestering him about his background. He regarded the man with a swift, uninterested grunt, and began to push aside the onlookers in his way.
"My lady--"
"Madam!"
Suddenly a chorus of voices rose in the midst of gossip. Even Lord Rais had his attention redirected, and before Ganondorf knew it, all eyes had moved.
"Molly!" Rais chided suddenly. "I told you, you shouldn't be--"
Ganondorf hadn't meant to turn his head. Upon thinking about it, he was certain it had been a mistake, triggered by a change in the wind, or a sudden noise—but in the end he turned, and his eyes fell on someone he would never imagined he would see.
"I'm sorry," a female voice interjected, although her tone did not seem apologetic. "But it gets a bit boring in the carriage, watching you carry on like this."
"I wasn't—"
Ganondorf's head pounded. What should he do? He could only think of trying to press through the crowd as quickly as possible, but being of his stature and appearance guaranteed he would be spotted. He numbly searched his collar for the hood of his cloak, so he could at least cover his hair, but his fingers slipped and it was already too late.
"Oh my goddesses."
His back turned, he could only listen to her come to grips with the very realization he faced. Rais was panicking. "What is it? Molly?"
The crowd was beginning to dissipate; their interests were no longer involved. All that remained as they moved away were these three, and with regrettable swiftness, the matter fell into place. Rais had his fears confirmed, and Molly approached Ganondorf, mouth agape.
"You—You know him?"
Ganondorf struggled to compose himself, but inwardly mocked the question. 'As if it were mystery by now!' He finally let himself turn to her and take everything in. His face remained rigid and uncompromising, but he was clearly dazed.
She didn't look much different to him, aside from the pompous dress and the swollen belly. Her hair still glinted with bronze tint, and she still had those eyes filled with frivolous dreams.
Her brow furrowed; she looked torn between relief and fear. "It's really you."
It was then that the dark face of Samuk emerged from the crowd, and against nearly all of his instincts, Ganondorf was glad for it. Anything to cut the tension, distract the senses.
It was clear that this was the encounter Samuk had arranged, and he seemed tickled that it had happened without him.
"Was I right?"
Ganondorf turned his back on them once more, and muttered somewhat unhappily, "Were you right?"
"You had to have—"
"--It was uncanny."
The walk to the couple's home was a nervous one, but thankfully they had gone ahead, leaving him with the simple matter of keeping Samuk entertained. Samuk was so high-strung by now that he need only answer the questions he rattled off one at a time.
"And so, how did you know her?"
Ganondorf squinted. The early afternoon light plastered across the crowds, glinting off pottery, glass, bright robes, jewels. Yet all he had to do was follow the small flicker of mahogany, swimming against a current of people. The colors hurt his head, made him think of days that had passed decades ago, mere faint memories. "I was never meant to have friends. It was not how things were done. But she was allowed, not as a friend, but... A few years older than me, she took part in raising me."
He was amazed by how comfortable he was in speaking, but when he saw Samuk's expression, he was reminded of the fact that this man was a total stranger, and hardly a liability.
"Oh, a nanny?"
A nanny.A part of him shuddered, but it couldn't be helped. "No, she was more--" More what? To be honest, he did not have any concept of what she was. Their relationship, as far as he could remember, was an emotionally removed one, with, at times, bitterness and grudges. "--Meant to keep me out of trouble."
Even Samuk could hear in Ganondorf's voice that it had not worked. He laughed, no doubt recalling his own youthful rebellions, but asked nothing more.
"What was it you called her?"
Samuk was puzzled. "What, Molly? That's her name, isn't it?"
"Mmnh." He watched as the streets thinned, and pondered on the meaning of this revelation. He couldn't say he was surprised...
The road made a sharp turn, and before his eyes the buildings flourished. The muck and mire of the market disappeared, and the dress of those who passed them by dramatically improved. They were moving up in the world.
They gathered briefly at a fence that encircled a small garden, and once the couple open the gate and passed through, Samuk went on ahead. Rais lingered in the garden; he could see Molly go through the front door of the cottage. Samuk and Rais were clearly acquainted—they made small talk, joked briefly about the wedding procession going on.
"Well, here it is," Rais announced, an arm clapping against the broad side of a barrel. "The gift for the couple. They should make good use of it."
"What, a barrel?"
Rais snorted a laugh. "I was referring to the wine inside of it, but if you think the barrel's enough, we can empty it between the two of us."
Ganondorf stared, petrified, at the doorway. The horses had been whisked away by a servant before he could he even object.
"Are you coming in?"
He would have liked the chance to sit down and think on it for a good while. He went over it as many times as he could, but it all arrived at once, and he found himself completely blanking. There were too many factors to consider—too many reasons that this could go badly, and he would be better off leaving.
But he couldn't begin to explain it. He opted for the path of least resistance. "In a moment."
The others went inside. He stood alone for a moment, the gate closed behind him, a humble array of potted flowers on the ground. His foot nudged against one of them; it rattled, shook as if in silent protest, then went still. His mind went numb.
He could tell that Rais did not approve of his presence, and it didn't surprise him. By this time he was pretty sure Rais was Molly's husband, and no husband would be calm upon discovering a man from his wife's past. Rais's single eye glazed with suspicion, obviously trying to figure out exactly how they knew each other—a love interest? A relative?
But Molly and Samuk did their part in keeping him calm and eventually coaxing him from the living room, where Ganondorf was absorbed in a painting that hung on the wall, his last desperate attempt at sanity. He could tell it was a cheap piece, typical of a middle-class person hoping to show off their taste.
"My goddess," he heard to his right, and, startled, he turned to see that he, too, was being studied. Molly stood stoic, almost pained, in the doorway, finger smoothing along her lower lip. "Samuk didn't tell me—he only said he had a visitor we should meet. He couldn't have known..."
Ganondorf smoothed his hair back with his fingers, an unconscious reflex to his thoughts on their similar features. It was no wonder they seemed so incensed by his appearance.
"...Where have you... I thought you were dead."
"That must have been a comforting thought."
Those were his first words to her after nearly a decade.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice shaking.
"I could ask you the same thing." He grew uncomfortable with her expression and her various nervous twitches, so he looked back to the painting and queried boredly, "He's your husband, then?"
It was a safe, easy question; the sort of question he already knew the answer to. "Rais? Yes." He could hear her hesitate and then murmur to herself, "The poor thing."
"You feel sorry for him? Whatever for?"
She didn't seem prepared to defend her sentiments. "You don't know him, but—he was a drifter before I met him, and..."
"And you coddled him and got yourself into a pity marriage. I understand--Molly."
She turned away.
"That's what you call yourself now."
"It's really the same thing," she retorted. "There's hardly any difference--"
/There's every difference. But I'm not surprised; you of anyone would bastardize your own name./
When she did not reply, he thought she was stunned and ashamed of the truths with which he had derided her, but when he saw her face, he found an emotion that disturbed him even more. She was completely uncomprehending.
He had spoken in Gerudo, and she didn't understand him. She had forgotten her mother language. If he thought himself relatively calm before, this was the incitement of his rage. The men entered the room again, so he kept his disapproval quiet; she gave him a glance that implied she knew now how distant they were from one another, and then offered him some tea.
"Mahli, stop that now."
Her nails, frayed from the work of her teeth, were quickly removed from her lips. Her mouth moved and puckered in an expression of tense boredom. Her wide eyes circled the long wall, which to the young girl seemed immense and intimidating. It would not be long now; her fate was to be decided in the next room.
"Mahli, you must remember to be respectful."
She knew this already, but adults could not help but lecture her. At the shy age of thirteen, she had already developed a reputation as a finicky girl without much hope as a warrior. She cried at the sight of blood and stiffened at the slightest danger, and was a favorite topic among the Gerudo—they were fascinated by the anomalies in their bloodline, and everyone had their own theory.
She was a soft, and somewhat stupid, heart.
The sounds of deliberation carried through the passageway; an older woman was speaking in a careful tone, and a male voice replied. Mahli could not bear the mystery of it and leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the exchange. Before she could manage it, the steely woman sitting beside her stood to her feet, and Mahli scrambled to follow.
She recognized the Gerudo who stood proudly before the tabernacle inside; she was known to all of the Gerudo as the chief-in-command—the effective Queen. Mahli's legs buckled beneath her, and if it were not for the guards heckling her, she may not have succeeded in crossing the room on foot.
"M-madam Malati!" Years of training forced her to her knees, ready to grovel.
However, the stern complexion of the Queen faded once Mahli's presence was realized. "Ah, so you have arrived. Please, stand." Mahli, with great trepidation, obeyed, but her eyes remained on the floor. "Dearest child, you must have felt great anxiety as you were brought here today. I have been told much about you."
Mahli's eyes strayed to her right, where she could see from the corner of her eye another figure standing close by. She peeked and found herself, to her horror, in the presence of the Prince. What was he doing here?
"All races—indeed, even creatures—have children that do not seem, at first, to have a place. We cannot expect to have a culture as we do and not come across some who are frustrated by it. You are something of a black sheep, but I cannot ask you to change anymore than I can ask the Sun to stand still. Do you understand?"
The Prince looked much smaller than she had imagined him. He was still very young—not even twelve—and he was lanky and awkward. He focused on the wall opposite to him, not even giving Mahli a moment's glance. There were no emotions betrayed; if she had to guess from his demeanor, it would seem nothing of significance was about to happen.
"As you know, the Prince has to undergo intense training before he can become King. He is isolated from his people and has little time to mingle with others. You have shown that you possess some nurturing qualities, and so I hope that will excel in this favor I ask of you.
"I have seen it in many societies: the eccentric ones, if treated properly, can be the visionaries. Be our Prince's vision; work with him so that he may, someday, possess the strange wisdom and sympathy you carry. You will be responsible for keeping our Prince, our someday King, soft in heart..."
Ganondorf had already removed himself from the table where the men amiably chatted. He excused himself in favor of checking on Molly as she worked in the kitchen.
He approached the agape doorway and heard the busy clatter of knives and steam. When he looked inside, his heart went cold—for there she stood, hair tied back in knots, sleeves rolled back, an apron caked with flour draped over her swollen belly. Her hands worked steadily with each tool, employing serious skill and giving him the impression that she accepted this as a demanding occupation. She cut fat from a slab of meat while a pot of water boiled behind her on a stove, and the heat and grease rose in the room until her arms and forehead alike were slick with oils.
He had no words to express how terrible it felt to see a woman of his tribe worked like a commoner.
Molly finally noticed him there, but only gave him a quick look before returning to her cutting. "Are you staying for dinner?"
He made no answer.
"It won't be ready for a while" she deadpanned.
"Don't you have a servant to do this for you?" he asked suddenly.
She wiped her hands on her apron, smiled half-heartedly. "I like to cook. It makes me feel more at home." She pointed over her shoulder at something against a wall. Ganondorf turned to look, and found, to his surprise, baskets teeming with peppers, vegetables, and spices, all native to the Gerudo desert and very familiar to him. The tension in Molly's voice finally lifted. "Aren't they heartbreaking? I have to ship them in to get my hands on them. My husband used to complain how expensive it was, but he's fallen in love with it, too. I can't blame him. Hylian food is so desperately bland."
He only heard a part of what she said, for he, too, was entranced by the ingredients' familiarity. He realized he hadn't seen any of it in almost a decade. Her talk of feeling at home rang true.
Ganondorf watched silently as she gathered the spices together. She slit open a pepper, the soft pulp inside tinting the air with a caustic smell. The men in the parlor smoked. Their eyes watered.
Mahli had searched for Ganondorf all morning and just now began to tire of it. Why couldn't she ever find that boy? Whenever she thought she had figured out his pattern of movement, he would (perhaps in an attempt to escape her pestering) find someplace else. He wasn't in his room, or the throne-room, or the dining hall—she was stalking along the outer corridor, prepared to head to the library.
"--Are you looking for me?" a very unimpressed voice questioned, startling her terribly.
Mahli gasped and spun around. Sure enough, the Prince sat callously at a windowsill, draped in his books. "D-don't do that!" she whined, knowing well that he would never listen to her. "Why can't I ever find you?"
He snorted. "You don't pay any attention."
"Have you reported to Malati yet?"
"No."
"Well, shouldn't you get going?"
He carefully placed his book at his side and looked at her as if she were a stranger. "I don't care what that witch has to say. She can wait."
Mahli expected this attitude, and it no longer surprised her, but the way he expressed even his deepest loathing still unnerved her. His expression was always tense and cold, and his hatred seemed precise and steady, untouched by real emotion. It had taken years for the boy to finally start speaking—before then, he had been too ill to do so—but Mahli decided she would have preferred him mute. He never said anything cute or heartwarming. He spoke in short, brief sentences punctuated by hints of hostility and impatience.
Ganondorf finally accepted Mahli's presence for the time being and returned to another book. Mahli knew he would not be moved, so she took a seat across from him and stared out the window.
"Ganon?"
"What?"
"Do you ever wonder what the rest of the world is like?"
"I already know," he responded flatly, not even looking up from his reading. "I've read all about it."
"But the other races—aren't you eager to meet them?"
Ganondorf, now appalled, put down his book. "Why would I be? They're either lazy, stupid, or fiendish."
Mahli's eyes wandered the long landscape, dipped along the sand dunes, traced the borders of her personal world. She couldn't resist her prickling imagination, nor could she push away the desire to leave behind a land so woefully unsuited for her. "I should think it exciting."
"Silly girl. Even outsiders wouldn't like you."
She blushed hotly and retorted, "Shut up!"
He ignored her, but her fantastic thoughts remained, circling her brow and weighing her down.
Dinner was served, but it was an awkwardly quiet meal. Rais and Samuk had exhausted topics of interest, and Ganondorf was nowhere near chatty.
"Food's good," Samuk volunteered. Ganondorf had noticed this, too—the dish was a culinary hybrid, a mix of Gerudo spice with a normally dull Hylian recipe.
Molly thanked him politely and poured their drinks.
Although Ganondorf spoke very little over the entire meal, he was experiencing a number of unprecedented emotions.
The first was worry. A part of him knew it was his mind looking desperately for excuses to think beyond his current state, but as if an alien force had put him up to it, he thought about Link. He imagined the boy alone in some strange home, ill and unsure of his fate. He did not feel pity, at least not in particular, but Link's illness still felt like his own, and should the boy get any worse...
The worst of it, though, came when he returned to Mahli—Molly. He had always sensed in her a restlessness that would lead her to betray her identity, whore herself out to foreigners in an attempt to find a happiness she never deserved. After their exchange in the kitchen, he almost came to forgive her, but the more he thought of her, the more he was enraged. She dressed like a Hylian, acted like one, spoke like one, even smelled like one. And then, to add insult to injury, she was happy.
Ganondorf bitterly considered his own lot. He had fought years to improve the condition of his people. He had obliged in every tradition, even the ones that stifled his own enjoyment. He had progressed his race rapidly and taken revenge for all the wrongs Hylians had cast on them. He spoke Gerudo, knew their history and their lands, could recite Gerudo poetry and stories, and could sing their proud, boastful ballads. He was, just as the King was supposed to be, a pinnacle of their culture.
Yet, if the Gerudo had to choose between Molly and Ganondorf, he knew they would not choose him.
How was that fair? How was that even close to right?
When dinner ended, Ganondorf was more than ready to leave. The experience hadn't lead him to any great personal conclusion, nor taught him any valuable life lesson; thus far, it had only reminded him of the many grudges he held against his own people, his sisters, traitors all like Mahli.
He found himself once again at the painting in the hallway, but his mind proved too scattered to even give it another study. He found book lying on end tables and dully flipped through them as he waited for a proper leave. He nearly considered leaving without word. He didn't owe any of these people, and it wasn't as if...
His fingers came across something different from the other books. His eyes strayed and found a nameless leather-bound journal—it fell open to reveal the inky scribbles of one whose native language was slowly passing from memory, replaced by an elegant Hylian script punctuated by strange accents and exotic tones. It was another mutant of this household; no less a mutant than the child that would soon occupy this home.
Molly finally showed, and did not admonish him for his invasion of her privacy.
"You're no doubt wondering why I left," Molly sighed. "You think I did this because I hate my homeland, but that isn't true. There isn't a day that passes that I don't think... I would rather be there. But there was nothing for me at home. We used to be such a proud race... We prospered, had children without the help of men... But those days are so long ago. No Gerudo has conceived without a Hylian's involvement for years. Our blood runs thin; even you have Hylian in you. Ever since you left, I couldn't help but see how desperate we were. Soon, maybe within a few generations, everything we love will be... gone."
He could almost feel the ink trickling down his palms, a soggy, sorry testament. He was so baffled that he couldn't bring himself to speak against her, even though it was nonsense. Apocalyptic nonsense! Gerudo blood wasn't something to be watered down! What was she prophesying? That their race would soon be nothing but a faint hue swimming in an ocean of Hylian blood? He couldn't imagine anything more alarmist and ridiculous.
"But it doesn't matter... because... Soon we will be a part of everything. I understood that after some time. And if my race must die... Then it will. But I can give my blood to my children, and I plan to teach them some words that I can remember, and Gerudo stories, and songs..."
I laugh at myself sometimes, because I imagine that someday, after many generations, little Hylian children will say Gerudo words to their parents and sing about the beauty of the desert... What will it matter then, if we are there or not?
...Ganondorf, I... When you left, despite everything, I was beside myself. I feel foolish admitting this... That even then, I... Had feelings for you.
Ganondorf couldn't restrain his disgust. To witness the embarrassing condition of the girl was ghastly enough, but now that everything had been revealed, his humiliation was thorough. He could not meet anyone with his eyes; he ducked outside, blindly took hold of his property and horses, and stormed out onto the street.
The fact that he didn't know the way back didn't deter him, though it did slow him down considerably. Nightfall descended quickly, and any turns that he normally would have remembered became dark. The city chilled in both body and soul—his attempts at getting directions proved difficult as the populace was fidgety and nervous. He at last pinned one person who knew Samuk and was willing to direct him.
When he arrived at the house, his heart was heavy. He had spent a day doing not much more than entertaining old, unwanted memories and salvaging a relationship he never cared for, a heap of stressful conversations with little return. A day wasted, not in idleness but in the busyness of futile regrets. In a proper story, he thought, this day would have reaped emotional reward, taught him a tremendous life lesson, allowed him to let go of something he still dragged along with him.
But now he felt burdened and confused. He hadn't yet come to terms with the reality of his situation, but now it lay bare: the world that he knew—indeed, the very time-line of events he had experienced—was not here. That Molly was in this city, speaking longingly of days gone by, believing that Ganondorf had abandoned them... It felt surreal until he reminded himself that he was walking in an alternate reality.
If they were in the other time, the time he knew well, he doubted she would speak so sorrowfully about his disappearance...
Pitter patter pitter patter
The darkness before him swelled with air; as he came to he realized it was the surface of his pillow. He gazed into it a while longer, hoping he would fall asleep again. He wondered, absently, what had stirred him awake.
Pitter patter...
Rain? After listening for a while, the timbre of the sound proved too wooden to be dripping water, and in fact the clamor was happening right outside his door. It eventually forced him to get up in hopes of silencing the perpetrator—he needed his sleep!--and he shambled over to the door, quite optimistic that he could quickly put a stop to it.
The door was opened, and all at once a glint of light passed down the hall, the echoes of footsteps following its path. The person who carried the light seemed no more than a shadow ducking in the dark of the evening, an indistinguishable critter. Ganondorf rubbed his drowsy eyes and stepped out into the hall, startling a woman who stood on the other side of the door. Instead of apologizing or even vocalizing her surprise, she bowed her head and scuttled away.
No one remained for him to scold. His mind still rolled in a stupor, and though he tried to think of a reason why everyone was on edge, nothing came easily. Dark passageways, lanterns, women who did not speak...
Link was not doing well. What might have been a small flicker of hope turned out to be an anomaly, and as suddenly as he seemed to recover, a chill settled in his flesh. His limbs churned as if he were submerged in water, his skin clammy, breath increasingly desperate. He could hear the shuffle of feet as two servants tried to tend to his condition, but they failed to understand what he was ailing from, and so they feared touching him. One left a bowl of water, tepidly pushed to his side; another fixed him some medicines and left them within arm's reach. He could not make use of either—his mind flowed with delusions and nonsense. It had in fact gotten so bad that Ganondorf's sudden arrival was a good omen.
"Link? What's going on?" The man impatiently sent away the nearby servant, cursing her and straining his eyes in the darkness. "Aren't you doing any better, already?"
Link shot up in response to the familiar voice, but his mood hadn't changed. He moaned and smeared the perspiration from his brow. "I'm not going to get better."
The floor rumbled as Ganondorf approached and leaned in to get a closer look. "What are you talking about?" he asked irritably. "Of course you are."
"I'm being punished."
Ganon momentarily ignored him and begrudgingly touched the boy's forehead. The skin was near scalding, but more alarming was the sudden, unprecedented reaction to the touch; as if possessed, Link's lungs collapsed and his eyes rolled back into his head. "H-hey!" Ganondorf, by sheer reflex, yanked his hand back and swore vehemently. Link, without anything to support him, flopped back onto the floor, shaking as he did. It took a few moments before his eyes corrected and his breathing returned to normal, but those few seconds were enough to shake the certainty out of Ganon.
In the dim light coming from the window, Ganondorf could see adequately, but with this new revelation, he felt a need for more light. He stepped of the room to ask for a candle, and when he returned, he uneasily took a seat. He knew he wasn't playing nurse, but he couldn't leave--not without making a decision. Goddesses--planning was his strong point, why couldn't he think of anything now?
Link was flat on his back, eyes wide and looking blankly at the ceiling. His breathing had quieted, but his chest was fluttering and his nostrils flared.
Maybe if I just talk. "Are you awake?" It seemed like a silly question, but the boy didn't look responsive.
Link closed his eyes. "Yes."
"So..." Ganondorf nudged the candle closer. "You said you're being punished."
"The goddesses are punishing me. That's why I'm going to die."
"For what crime, exactly?"
Link's face contorted in frustration. "There are so many."
Ganondorf highly doubted that, but he decided to play along. "You really think so?"
"I know so. You have no idea what I've done."
The Gerudo sighed heavily. "Link, if there is one thing I know, it is that I am not the person onto whom you should unload a confession." Link didn't seem to have a reply. Ganondorf hesitated before following up his comment. "If the goddesses are starting to smite people, why, do you think, did they not start with me?"
The silence and stillness was so ghastly that Ganondorf nearly thought Link had fallen asleep. He watched Link's expression intently, and in the low light he could see true signs of wear. What sunlight disguised and blended into the boy's toned skin, the candlelight now clarified; all the worn ridges, scars, and disfigurements of war emerged at the surface of his face. He looked twenty years older.
"How's your leg?" Ganondorf suddenly queried, though if presented the chance, he wouldn't have leapt to examine it.
Link's head turned lazily. "I can't feel it."
"What? Still?"
Link answered, "For a while." Ganondorf feebly tried to think of something to say, and Link seemed to mull over something before admitting guiltily, "I don't think I can move it, either."
"Goddesses." It had been some time since he had been released from Link's senses, and he was again reminded precisely how thankful he was for it. They both were thinking the same thing; Ganondorf shuddered mostly from relief that he was safe from the effects of the procedure.
"We shouldn't bother. I'm going to die--removing my leg won't save me," Link instructed patiently, his speech calm to the point of becoming unnerving.
Ganondorf dismissed his worries. "I told you, you're not going to die. Besides, plenty of people get along with one leg."
But even Ganon knew it would not do. Besides the gruesome things an amputation entailed (which he could no doubt endure with ease), he was not about to escort an amputee about, and he was almost certain a person who loses a limb can't be moved within less than a week. This complicated things.
A girl opened the door, and he recognized her as Samuk's sister. He immediately stood to his feet, looking impatiently at what she brought. After a short moment of staring, he began to rage.
"Show me what you've given to him," he snarled. He was feeling uncharacteristically persecuted and paranoid; he was ready to take it out on someone.
The girl was stunned and confused. "Pardon?"
"The medicine! I want to see what you've been giving him!"
"I--"
"--You know, he was just fine before he came here! The past few days he was all right, up and walking, but now all of the sudden he's swooning! What useless junk have you been treating him with?"
His eyes fell to her arms, in which she carried several jars. Without hesitation, he attempted to wrestle them away from her. She yelped in surprise and protested that nothing was wrong.
A jar struck the floor and shattered.
"Is something the matter?" Samuk stepped in through the doorway, and Ganondorf backed away as if nothing had happened.
"You're not giving him the right treatment," he bitterly accused, not knowing himself what the right treatment would be.
"What makes you think that?"
"He's getting worse and you aren't doing anything about it! Do you realize he's going to lose his leg on your watch? Is that what you call a recovery?"
Samuk gave him a peculiar look and shook his head. "He's not going to lose his leg. He is this way because the infection has spread. We have moved past the point when that would have done any good." The man soberly turned to his sister, quietly placing a hand on her shoulder and dismissing her. "Besides," he continued, "if neglect has truly been a factor, then you should look no further than yourself."
"You're going to blame me? That's rich," Ganon snarled.
"Had he gotten help earlier--"
"--Had he told me earlier, then sure. But perhaps you don't understand something. I'm not his father; I'm not his friend; I'm especially not his physician. His problems are not mine."
"That must be convenient for you," Samuk mused, "but it doesn't really explain why you are so upset."
He did not respond with words; instead he roared and shattered the frame of the doorway with one fist. The noise ricocheted through the walls, disturbing everyone--he could hear startled whispers in the hallway as he stalked away, bleeding and stuck with splinters. No one pursued him.
He sat in his room, digging the wood out of his knuckles and pondering his--and Link's--fate.
He must have dozed off and started to dream, because all he could remember of the next hour was another bird scratching the floorboards and cawing impatiently. His arms waved in its general direction, a lame attempt at shooing it away, but like an illusion, it was unshaken by his motions.
It eventually disappeared from sight, dimmed back into the shadows from whence it came. Relieved of the sound and disturbing flutters, he fell asleep for another hour.
After he finished his fitful, restless sleep, he sat up and immediately to think things through. He put all that he knew for certain in one place: Link was ill, and not likely to get any better. He didn't have any resources at hand to fix the problem. And Lethe, for all he knew...
What was Lethe's intent here? Ganondorf had thought on this previously, but it still made no sense. Was this some sort of test? As far as he had been told, Lethe wanted Link alive, but the being had also not offered any help thus far. In his latent frustration, he stood to pace about the room. But his bare feet kicked something inadvertently, sending a small, glassy object skidding across the floorboards. It ricocheted weightlessly off of the distant wall and rolled to a stop at a near corner, right beneath his bed. Normally, he would have disregarded such a thing—it might have been inconsequential shrapnel left over from a previous guest—but he was compelled by some strange feeling, as if he knew it belonged to him, and found himself pawing underneath the bed to find it.
When his fingers at last reached it, he pulled himself up, wheezing from dust, feeling its form in his hand. It was much smaller than he anticipated, and upon examination, he couldn't identify its purpose. It was glass, to be sure—almost like a marble, glistening a dark blue color.
It was distinct, small, misshapen slightly... He rolled it along his palm, watching as the color at its core seemed to warp in the moonlight, flicker with hidden life...
His dreams became familiar to him all at once, and he could remember that the crow had brought this here as a gift. Had he simply forgotten? Was he imagining things? Yet he couldn't push away the instinctual knowledge that this was his, and not only that, but it was something he had once misplaced.
He loved it, but he did not know what it was, or what it was for.
It was an abyss clutched between his fingers, but a comforting one—an emptiness that kept him company. That night when he slept with it tucked in a pocket against his chest, he dreamed of a cold, glossy field of grass, a still autumn night without a cloud obscuring the glittering night sky. He was freezing; his entire body convulsed from the wet chill passing over the ground. Yet the cold was his friend in this place... He swallowed it and it numbed his throat and stomach—he breathed it and his lungs felt like they were flooded with water—and he felt so alive.
Wake up.
Still drowsy, he opened a single eyes.
Do as I say. Take the boy out of his room. You will bring him to Mahli.
When he realized who was speaking to him, he roused himself. "...What? Now?"
It was strange, how casually he spoke to it now.
Yes. There is no time to lose. She has the resources you need. If you want him to live, for now, that is what you will do.
His dreams had been so intense that night that he almost mistook this exchange for one, so even when he pushed himself out of bed, he was disoriented and dizzy.
--hurry---sluggish old man--
"Shut up," he mumbled, rubbing his brow and nearly walking into a wall. Where was that candle? His hand swooped through the dark, knocking a number of things over in the process. He started to curse. It was only after he stood still and allowed his mind to catch up that he realized what corner of the room he was in.
Feeling a bit senile, he found the candle, lit it, and carried it as he shuffled out the door.
The women of the house thought he was drunk or deluded. He gave no reason for entering Link's room and, rather forcefully, prying him out of bed. Link himself, awakened by the extremely unwelcome sensation of being grabbed, was so startled that he socked the man in the jaw; Ganondorf didn't seem to have any particular response to this other than backing off and mumbling something under his breath.
"What the hell?" Link sputtered, not even sure who he just struck.
"Relax. We're going to a real doctor."
Link didn't seem reassured, and his eyes darted about the room. "Is that you, Ganon? What are you doing?"
Ganon didn't want to have to repeat himself, so instead of answering, he pondered on ways to knock the boy out, making the matter of transport simpler. A knock on the head might work, he acknowledged, though at this point it wouldn't help his condition.
He looked Link over and found him in dire straits, mostly suffering from a fever. This gave him an idea. It wouldn't knock him out, but it might keep him still. "You look a little flushed," he observed, his fingers searching his front pocket. "Hold this."
"What..." The jewel rolled to a stop in Link's shaking palm, and his fingers clutched to it in a sudden, unexplained protectiveness. Ganondorf, after a moment, regretted handing it over. Goddesses, was he really feeling jealous all of the sudden? Link started to murmur as his hand examined it. "...What's this? A pebble?"
Ganondorf thought perhaps it wouldn't have the same effect on Link as it had on him; he was eager--perhaps a little too eager--to take it back. But it proved to be a false impression, and Link's reaction changed.
His eyes grew, and his breathing tensed. "Wh... Is this magic? Where did you get it?"
Not wanting to give the answer 'I found it on the ground,' Ganondorf ignored him and instructed a nearby servant to prepare their horse.
"Really, where did you..."
"Just don't lose it," Ganon retorted crankily, stooping down to finish what he started.
Mahli was only mildly surprised to have someone knocking on her door at this peculiar hour. When she recognized Ganondorf, she held her composure and politely asked what he needed.
"You wouldn't happen to be able to do some healing, would you?"
Mahli's face glowed from the fire inside her home, making her appear more severe and wrathful than she really was. He was prepared to be disappointed. "What sort of healing?"
Ganondorf started to edge in through the door, encouraged by the admittedly vague response. "Well, you see..." Realizing he had forgotten something, he turned around and opened the front gate. A horse and a very sickly rider approached.
Ganon could tell that Mahli was conflicted. He could only imagine why. Inside the house, Rais heaved and asked who was at the door.
"No one," Mahli said. Her expression didn't even flicker. "Can they come in?"
Link had been resettled in a vacant room, and Ganondorf couldn't leave fast enough. Mahli understood his disgust, though she didn't sympathize with it--she could remember how even very early on he was unsettled by the dying. He preferred the sight and touch of living or dead, rather than those poor critters that lingered in between. She used to think he was afraid that he might catch it, as if he perceived it as a disease, but sometimes she had thought he was just a man who couldn't deal with the realities of common life. Kings do not deal with the dying; they do not mingle with them as if they were somehow vulnerable to the human state.
Kings die, but they do not rot like the rest of them.
The boy was only barely awake. She knelt next to his slumbering body and pulled toward her whatever herbs she could gather at this hour--she would brew a potion later. The news that the potion may take several hours had unnecessarily irritated Ganon, who was now pressed beyond reason to push onward. He was satisfied when she informed him that Link would be healthy by the next day, but as usual, he started to poke holes in her time-line and challenging her ability to accomplish such a thing. She tired of it and informed him she was not a god, and he snapped that he had merely expected to work with a healer who wasn't horrible at their job.
That was when he left. She did not hide her relief.
Her distracting thoughts were broken by Link's shifting body. He shivered deeply, fell still, then opened his eyes in startling clarity. "Am I at a doctor?"
"Oh...? I suppose that's close enough," Mahli answered. She suddenly wondered what Ganon had told this boy. "What's your name?"
"Link."
She said nothing; Link could hear her shock permeate through the silence.
"You know who I am?"
"Well, that can't..." Mahli wiped his forehead and murmured in frustration. "...You're saying, you're the..."
"What's your name?" Link interrupted.
She nearly contradicted him, but decided against it. "It's Molly. Don't worry about a thing. We'll have you on your feet soon."
Link didn't appear particularly interested. His head swayed, disrupted by a sudden barrage of thoughts. He whispered something, something she had to ask him to repeat. "I can hear your accent," he was saying, a few loose words in Gerudo floating past his lips.
"I don't... I'm sorry."
I know your people, and their magic, but I know so little about artifacts... Please...
Mahli only comprehended a few of the words, and tried to make him slow down, but he was too ill to heed her pleas. His left hand, clenched in a fist, nudged against her leg, then against her arm. He kept repeating a slurred phrase in Gerudo over and over, until at last Mahli grabbed his hand and he dropped a small stone into hers.
Is this magic? Is this magic?
She thought it was a gift at first, and she cradled it in the cusp of her hands, a little confused.
When I held it, just now, I had an amazing dream--It was as if I lived a moment of someone's life, as if the memory were my own...
"S-slow down, Link, I can't understand you."
His voice rose and rasped, a harshness inhabiting his words that was not there before. Is this magic? Where did this come from? Could Ganondorf have made it?
She heard Ganondorf's name and looked back at the small jewel. At first she thought it was glowing, but it was a trick of the eye; no, it was merely flickering abstract light. What was it about this innocent object that was causing such a reaction?
Please, I need to know.
"I'm going to be right back," Mahli carefully explained, ignoring his increasingly agitated attempts at communicating.
Her husband was waiting patiently in the living room; she came out looking disheartened. "Is Ganon still here?"
Rais dumbly nodded, pointing in the direction of the kitchen. She readied herself for a conflict and headed straight in. She found the man leaning against the table, staring out the window.
"You haven't left yet?"
Ganondorf turned to acknowledge her. "I want to be sure everything is settled." He then gave her a suspicious look, since he doubted she had come to him for a simple chat.
"Ganon, what's this?" She held the stone up in the air between two fingers.
He gave her a sarcastic look. "It's a rock," he said, over-emphasizing each syllable.
"Did you give this to him?"
"Is there something wrong with giving someone a pebble?"
She wasn't convinced. "I've never seen anything like this. Where did you find it?"
"Good goddesses, Mahli, it's just something I came across. Is there something fantastic about it that I missed?"
"Link was raving about it, like it was disturbing him."
"He is a tad ill and delusional," Ganondorf responded flatly. "Are you quite finished?"
Mahli stood absolutely still, staring at him in as deeply an offended manner as she could muster. He was lying to her, she was certain, but she had no way of prying the truth from him. He would only laugh, scoff at her, make her feel like a fool.
Her eyes burned, though she knew it was foolish, and said at last, "Should I throw it away?"
"Just give it to me," he replied quickly, sounding a little annoyed by her persistence and moving in to snatch it.
She decided against fighting it.
Link's memory of the previous night didn't serve him well; about all he got out of the affair was a pounding headache. At least the bed, wherever he was, was more comfortable than what he remembered having to sleep on before.
He could recall clearly the conclusion he reached last night upon hearing the woman's voice.
"So, you are Gerudo?"
"Yes," she answered. He could tell she told him this before, and was a little embarrassed about it.
He was feeling better. No, he was feeling more than better. His leg sizzled with repressed energy and the wonderful soreness of healing. A patch of sunlight smoothed his cheek.
"Do you know Ganondorf?"
"Of cou--"
"Is he all right?"
Mahli bit her lip and said, a bit puzzled, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing. It's only that he doesn't do well without me around to help."
Mahli sat there dumbfounded for a while, then started to laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She sighed and wiped her eyes. It was just that the man was so serious as he said that...
"So is he?"
"He's fine," she answered only half-honestly. To be honest, she couldn't be sure. Ganondorf's mood was typically a poor indicator of how he was faring.
"And you?"
When she didn't give him a reply, he sighed and shifted his feet, sliding down the bed and preparing to stand. She rebuffed him. "Woah! Are you really sure you want to--"
Link turned his head, blank marble eyes staring into her with more reassurance than she ever before seen. "Ma'am, thank you for everything. But I really need to go. People are waiting for me."
Ganondorf could not be brought from his foul mood, even in hearing the news that they were leaving the town. Link had grown flippant and unwieldy, apparently determined to keep him from following.
"There's really nothing for you out where I'm headed. You'd be better off elsewhere."
But he was no stray dog to be shooed away when his slobbering ceased to be amusing. Where Link moved, so did he. As far as he was concerned, this was how destiny had been determined.
Mahli's last gesture toward them was a gift of food and drink, supplies for the road, and, after considerable upheaval in a tiny drawing room, the recovery of an item she thought could serve them well.
"It's an old Gerudo incantation, as I recall," she explained, handing it to Ganondorf. It was stained in patterns of light and wear, but carefully drawn out from articulated memory. "It's a simple healing spell. It isn't very good for complicated matters, but it should help stop things from getting out of hand."
He grudgingly accepted.
"Healing isn't your specialty, is it?"
He disregarded her sly look and stuffed the paper away. "As you know, I have very specific talents."
Ganondorf wondered if this bothered him. Had it? Would it soon?
Would sleep come easy?
He supposed it would. Hadn't it before?
No, nothing is different. Circumstances have changed, but not my feelings.
The day opened like the gaping mouth of a beggar--vast, humid, and bringing with it a clear and unnerving smell. Link was quick to make the observation that weddings overflowed with wine and beer, and so the stench could be from a number of rather upsetting sources. Ganondorf tried not to think about it. He just remained thankful they were moving on.
To go in the direction they intended, they had to weave back and through more channels of human grime. Men staggered, and women sat on barrels and fanned themselves, puffing relieved breaths. It was a final rejoined sigh, a sentiment that Ganondorf could share with the city, in spite of all the trouble.
The city's walls rolled back like a curtain, and he felt, at last, the beginning of something else. Time mercilessly marched forward in its tyrannical reign, and he joined with animal and Hylian alike, even catching himself humming old Gerudo ballads in the face of what was soon to change.
His lips drew back, little curls of air weaving through his teeth. Then it puffed out his cheeks, swam beneath his tongue, wrestled into his gaping lungs; he felt it overcome him like a spirit, and he and the horse shivered alike. Who could fight this? he thought. Mahli had delusions of grandeur and mastery, as if she could, single-handed, save his people from the whittling hand of fate.
Would the Gerudo be reduced to relics? He doubted it. He had bore witness to all their wideness and scape, and all their passions charged with song. Such strength could not be rubbed out.
But even he did not entertain the fantasy of consistency. Their power ebbed and flowed. There would be times when it all felt doomed. The key is to expect it, accept it.
...Mahli.
All thoughts circled back to her.
That she threw herself at his feet--first between the world and his desires, and now between a race that rejected her and the decay of time--now made all the more sense to him. She had always been that sacrificial lamb, a body shield. With no exceptional qualities to her character, she had no choice but to spend it all on that which was worthy. With no qualms, she handed herself over to dogs.
Sweet, beloved Mahli; she would be welcomed by her sisters in the afterlife, enclosed in their embrace, her noble suffering lifted.
Sweet Mahli; he remembered her, and the one day that he declare he could make the Gerudo nature great, and she stepped out to call him mad, as if she had a right to do so.
He remember how gravity made everything so easy to fall, so easy when the time came.
Oh, he could remember it! That evening was especially sweet, close to his heart... The words were still mealy in his mouth, as if they had always been there, rolling gravelly beneath his tongue.
He remembered that night, and how determined and relieved he felt when it was over. She had brought him such trouble and heartbreak, that he found himself in no position to bargain, and for her, he made his first command as King.
He remembered that glorious, peaceful night when he ordered her execution.