A/N: I apologise for the delay for those of you who have been keeping up with this fic. Thank you for your patience while I figured out how to write this. Expect to see a more regular posting schedule from now on. This chapter is dedicated to my partner, who insisted that it would be extremely disappointing if Ganondorf could just run away from his problems.

Before

It was a peaceful, clear night, and from his spot in the lee of a rocky outcrop, he could see the stars and their constellations peppering the endless sky. An aurora painted the sky delicate rivers of yellow and blue. There was a blanketing silence that felt surreal, almost as if he were in a place of dreams. The fire snapped and flickered behind him, more for light than anything else as the night as comfortably warm.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" This was Kotake, who was watching him from under her hood with large, dragonfly eyes.

He remained silent, waiting.

"Come closer," she said, and he let out a sigh, dragging himself away from the sky and moving to sit by the fire. When he was face to face with her, she nodded towards a little pathway between two rock faces. "Do you know what lies in the grove at the end of that path?"

"No," he said, eyeing her with curiosity.

"Eons ago, it is said that there were seven sages," she said, her voice low like the rustling of leaves, "that protected all the aspects of the land of Hyrule. The spirits of these sages are eternal, and the Sheikah say that they still walk among us in one form or another. Some sleep in the inner hearts of the Divine Beasts, ready to awaken and protect their lands. Some breathe in the wind, and live in the clouds to make the rains fall. There is one that sometimes comes to that grove, the spirit of the sage of the forest. He is powerfully magical, and only chooses to take physical form so often. When a light comes from that grove, we will go to him. And you will kill him."

He stiffened, his jaw clenched. "Why?"

"You cannot rule over a broken Hyrule. The Princess Zelda still lives within the castle and keeps Calamity Ganon at bay. This, you already know. If he is to give up his power to you, you must prove yourself to him."

"But I can already manipulate his magic."

Creatures who were possessed by the spirits of Calamity did not attack him, and if he took their lives, he could channel the mysterious essence they produced. He could move and shape the Malice that coated the ruins, shifting it out of his way, or forming it into structures and even weapons. The power of Calamity Ganon had spread through the world like veins from a heart and he could sometimes feel it pulsing in the earth. He could store it in his body, calling on it when he needed it to kill or poison. He had even experimented, injecting Malice into animals, though this had given him mixed results. The horrors he could create had to be disposed of, their flesh corrupt and ruined, made weak by the assault on their health and sanity.

"What you can control is merely a fraction of his complete power. You cannot imagine the sheer destructive force of Ganon. You are yet too young to inherit it. But you are coming of age, and it's time for you to go to the castle and offer yourself as an apostle to his control."

He looked away, feeling uneasy. She had told him this before. It was his destiny to forfeit his body so that Ganon could become incarnate in him. He had no idea what lurked at the centre of Hyrule, but he imagined a terrible formless darkness that consumed and withered, bound to the very stone of the castle walls. His very birth was caused by and in service of Ganon, designed to give the darkness a vessel and escape the prison in which the Goddess Hylia held him. He liked the idea of holding the power of Calamity in his hands, but what would become of him? When he became Ganon, would he gain more than he lost? He looked at his hands, equally built to wield a sword and run his fingers through the hair of his beloved. With that power, he hoped to protect her, to elevate her to Queenship. But then, was it not the nature of power that it must not be divided or by definition become weakness?

"So, if I were to bring him the head of this sage, I would gain his favour?"

"It would be more like a signature on a contract. You would be proving your commitment, your right to his power and your loyalty to him."

"I understand," he said. "How is it to be done?"

"He takes the form of the Lord of the Mountain. I will trap him, and you will behead him. There is a magic that I will imbue in your blade that will cause the head of the sage to become a mask, like those used by trickster gods and heroes. It is in this that the sage's power will be captured."

He processed this, picturing it in his head and shuddering. There was nothing more to be said. The night no longer felt warm, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him, shivering with what could have been the chill, what could have been nervous anticipation. Hours passed.

As the darkness deepened and the moon was shrouded in cloud, an ethereal glow cast itself against the rock walls of the valley.

"Are you ready, Ganondorf?"

He stood.

xxx

He was panting, his hand and forearms burning with blood that glowed iridescent blue. The body in front of him didn't collapse so much as it shrivelled, dissolving. What had been muscle, flesh and hair sank before his eyes to become something black and smoking. Kotake had turned the surface into a mirror of ice, cuffing the cloven feet of the Lord of the Mountain, and the creature was now heaped on the ice like a gossamer cloak. He didn't feel powerful.

He felt sick.

But then, it was over. His sword quivered, the force of his swing causing it to break the ice and embed itself in the soft earth at the bottom of the pool. Wrenching his weapon free, he knelt and picked up the mask that had been made, an almost perfect render of the many eyed creature he had slain, delicate and impossibly soft, the fur flowing through his fingers like feathers. It was beautiful and awful all at once.

He heard a voice. It was Kotake, gleeful, voice slick with cruel laughter.

"Did I do well, sister?"

He straightened up, looking at her. She was not looking at him, but at a spot above his head. Dread spread through his limbs like poison. Turning, he saw who the witch spoke to.

Koume floated in the air, positioned as if perched on an invisible ledge. Her smile was terrible, her eyes narrowed in twisted mirth. "Oh, Kotake, I could not have done it better myself."

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice shook.

"Consider it the ultimate test," Koume sneered. "I knew that if you stayed in that Goddess forsaken mountain, you would die like your witless mother." His hand was still on the hilt of his sword and he raised it, almost out of instinct. Her words were pierced his heart and suddenly that bitter feeling of helplessness came over him, as if everything he had become in her absence was being ripped away. "We needed to build you up, arm you for this moment, nurture the darkness inside you. And you have risen to the occasion admirably." There was a razor edge to her tone that turned her praise to condemnation.

Kotake had joined her sister in the air and they embraced. His eyes darted to her. He wasn't going to call her traitor, wouldn't give her the satisfaction. For her to have turned traitor, she would have to have been on his side. Telling himself that she hadn't taken him in, that he had not been hungry for an ally, was easier than admitting the truth. "So all this," he spat, holding out his sword, the heavy claymore that had been another gift from Kotake, "was just preparation for what?". His clothes, his armour and bow; all had been presented to him as gifts, proof that he was worthy to take ownership of Hyrule.

"Not just your sword, boy," Kotake slipped back into berating him as easily as if she had taken off a cloak. "Did you really think your Hylian father had the guts or the brains to try and kill you on his own? Where would a priest of Hylia procure deadly poison? Who do you think convinced him he would succeed?" She covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide with mock horror as if she had said something she shouldn't have. "Fool that you are, even now you don't understand what we've done for you, what we've made you into. Poor, hard done by little child, see the power that was always inside you. Bow to the darkness that should have ruled you from the start."

He snarled. His hands were shaking. "So what? You played your parts and I've acted out every scene in your theatre. The hero kills his father, buries his mother and is rewarded with infinite power?" He thrust the mask of the Lord of the Mountain in the air. "I don't need this – I am not two parts of a whole. How do you think Ganon will welcome me if I bring him the heads of the great Gerudo witches, Twinrova?"

They cackled in unison, but he stood firm. "It doesn't matter what you do. Kill, or die – either way we will have our end of the prophecy fulfilled. If you prove wanting against our final test, the shadow that you have summoned will finish what you failed to."

He wasn't listening, didn't care what they had to say. He let the mask fall onto the ice and stepped forward, drawing on all the strength within him. There was already an inherent magic here, lingering despite the execution he had performed moments earlier, and while it was unfamiliar to him, it inspired him. They underestimated him, unaware of the power he had accumulated since he left Hebra, and had a taste of freedom. They were not there when he trained in the Gerudo canyons, waiting for night to fall and Sun to come to him. Fury coursed through him and it was easy to channel that energy into his hands. It was their turn to fight.

In his left hand he formed a spear of fire, which he hurled at Kotake, looking to kill her first. It found its mark, pinning the witch to the rock wall behind her. She had lifting her hands to form a shield of ice, but either she hadn't been quick enough, or the shield wasn't strong enough, because the burning spear had pierced it cleanly in two and she hung from her throat like an old coat, twitching. Koume screeched hatefully and he rounded on her. A thousand different methods of destroying her flashed through his mind, but he knew better than to deliberate. Seething, teeth bared, she lashed out with her own fire lances, but he was too quick for her. Every test, every forced lesson, had prepared him for this moment and his face was twisted in a vicious grin as he impaled her on his sword, lifting it skyward so that her body slipped down and black blood spattered on the ground at his feet. With a cry, he swung the sword in an arch, causing the writhing creature to fly away from him, tumbling grotesquely until it came to a stop, and lay still.

There was silence.

He was breathing heavily, his hair clinging to his damp forehead. For a moment, he didn't dare move. It seemed impossible that they would actually be dead. The magical lance that he had created snuffed out, causing the first corpse to hit the earth with a thud that set his teeth on edge. Nothing moved.

Then, the moon broke free of the clouds. The grove was illuminated in cold white light and he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. It was the size and shape of a Gerudo warrior, but male and clothed in liquid darkness that swirled and rippled as if under water. Where the body of the Lord of the Mountain had fallen, the darkness there had taken form. He stared at it, peering across the distance between them. It was as if his eyes didn't want to look at it, slipping over the place where it stood and refusing to bring it into focus, but its very presence sent a shock of terror through him as if he had been struck by lightning. He was paralysed, caught between heartbeats. The figure took a step towards him, the outline of a heavy boot crunching on the broken ice, body consuming light and air so that he felt pulled towards it. Regaining the use of his limbs, he staggered back, raising his sword in front of him.

The shadow – his shadow – took another step.

Panic flooding him, he reached down and picked up the discarded mask, holding it out for the shadow. It took every last bit of his nerve not to crumple in front of this thing. It was six feet away from him, and it raised its own sword, each movement appearing to distort and slice the reality around it.

… See the power that was always inside you. Bow to the darkness that should have ruled you from the start…

… The shadow that you have summoned will finish what you failed to…

… Our final test…

He fled.

xxx

Weeks later.

"Are you sure this will work?"

His fingers brushed her cheek and he bent to kiss her forehead, shutting his eyes so that she wouldn't see the pain in them. "The ritual was a success. The shadow doesn't follow me when I sleep. Switching over ownership of the mask, and therefore ownership of the crime committed to obtain it, will mean that the shadow will pursue you instead." He felt her shudder and wrapped his arms around her, hands on her soft hair. "But… while you are asleep, it will be weak, stationary. I can fight it then. I can – I will – defeated it. Listen to me, Sun." He took her face in his hands and lifted it so that she had to look him in the eye. "It will be like taking an afternoon nap. You'll wake up and seconds will have passed for you. We'll be together again before you know I'm gone."

She buried her face in his shoulder. She was scared, he could tell, and trying to hide it. His heart contracted. There was a significant part of him, the part that held her and loved her with all the ferocity he had, that believed he could do it. That part scowled at the fear inside him, snapped its teeth and demanded an end to the whole thing. He was so close. Just one last fight, one last risk, and he could be with her forever. They could block out the rest of the world and simply tangle themselves in each other. They would wander the land, beholden to no one but themselves. Or they could buy a boat and just sail off the Necluda coast, and leave everything behind. The future would be spread ahead of them, infinite and filled with nothing but peace.

He had stored everything he owned, every gift, clothes and armour, weapons and trinkets, in the cavern with her. He told himself this was to keep everything safe until he returned. He would only need his horse, one set of armour, his sword and his wits for this fight. This wasn't going to take him more than a night. He had felt the shadow closing in on them as they traversed the Hebras. It was close to them. A few hours travelling, and he would come back to her a free man.

It wasn't because looking at those things made him feel sick with anxiety. It wasn't because it had been Kotake who had procured these treasures for him, and to continue to carry and use them felt like admitting he still owed her something.

Leaving Sun here would keep her safe. It was a key part of his plan to destroy the shadow.

It wasn't because he couldn't face the possibility that she might see through his lie and realise that it had been him who had killed the Lord of the Mountain, and not the witches. It wasn't because he was too ashamed to look at her for longer than a moment, or because he was sure that time would erode his strength of will and he would blurt out a confession to her. He was certainly not afraid that she would reject and abandon him upon finding out the truth. After all, he would be coming back to wake her up. She would be overjoyed to see him triumphant and that would overshadow everything that led up to this. There would be no need to tell her whose fault it had been.

He used his command of the strange energy that powered the Sheikah technology to set everything up. He had spent many nights altering its inner workings, reversing and resetting its power source in order to turn the resurrection chamber into a sarcophagus. It would not heal her body, but maintain it in a deep sleep. He wondered if she would dream.

"I'll see you soon, Sun," he said, and bent to kiss her, breathing in the smell of citrus and lotus flowers, lingering despite himself.

She talked to him while he helped her into the glowing pool, and he wished that she wouldn't. Words of encouragement, blithely making plans for when she woke up.

"We should go to the Gorons, you know," she said. "They have this powder – I think it's made out of the lizards that live there – but anyway, it makes the most fiery curry, you wouldn't believe. I'd like to try making it."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

He was glad that he wouldn't have to go for too long without her cooking. He could imagine the sparse joyless meals he would have to endure if he did end up never coming back.

But he would come back.

He would.