Chapter 2

The Demon Lord Girahim sat in his chamber deep within Lanayru Desert, one foot upon the arm of a massive throne-like chair, his back resting against the opposite side. It was hot and he had abandoned his tunic. He lounged lazily instead in loose-fitting white linen trousers with thread of gold embroidery winding up the voluminous legs and around the waist. Muscle stretched impressively across his bare chest, which rose and fell with each deep breath. He gazed, lost in thought, toward the ceiling, his hands folded behind his head. His silken hair hung loosely about his cheeks and his penetrating, cat-like eyes stared hungrily toward the heavens. Link. Not twenty-four hours had passed since their meeting and the Sky-child haunted his thoughts. True, he now had a very important upper hand on the boy after drawing out his feelings in the Forest Temple. He had really been too soft with him. Girahim snorted in disgust as he crossed his other leg over the first one. 'Who let their feelings show first?'...a small voice wheedled in the back of his mind. Girahim roared, launching himself out of his chair at that thought. He came to rest at his writing desk, both hands gripping the sides, knuckles white. Behind the desk stood a magnificent mirror. It was framed in delicate wire of gold and silver, which wove together much like the vines of a plant. Deku Nut sized gemstones crested its peak. Girahim panted as he slowly raised his head to look into the mirror; he was positively shaking. The boy had reduced him to this…an emotional, hopeless, merciful fool. He had never stooped so low to avoid defeat; practically groveling at his filthy, mortal feet. Girahim bared his teeth at his own reflection. 'Were you really groveling?' came the sing-song voice…Girahim growled and swept from the mirror, his frustration mounting as he collapsed onto an enormous king-sized four-poster, his head in his hands as he fought internally with himself. The Demon Lord Girahim did not lust after; he did not yearn for another; he did not…could not…love. His physical body still sought the baseless pleasures of the flesh, there was no denying ones most basic instinct. Lord Girahims desires had always been for power, precision, flawless masculinity, and beautiful things. Perhaps that was all this was, he thought as he raised his head and rested his chin upon his long tented fingers; an instinctual desire to fill a basic need…with a rather beautiful, young Sky-princeling. He gazed out of the barrier-less room, for it was always warm here and there was no need for walls or windows. A vast expanse of arid landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. Would it be so horrible to use the boy? They clearly had a connection however small. This connection could prove to be powerful, useful…in more ways than one, the Demon King thought mercilessly as a smile crept onto his face. He allowed himself an innocent fantasy of him writhing flushed and sweaty on the floor tiles, grasping hungrily at Links shoulders, pulling him closer, roving every curve of his sweet flesh with his tongue…Girahim thought very fondly of this somewhat more inhuman feature, silver lining of the curse that lay upon him…the boy was quite attractive. Perhaps that had unexpectedly thrown him off his guard to begin with. Yes, that would be it. The mortal boy seduced him with his seemingly immortal good looks. Girahim sighed and chuckled lightly as he rose, continuing to survey his soon-to-be kingdom. A knock at the door announced a servant. "Come." He spoke irritably. Girahim did not look around as the door creaked open. An ugly creature wearing nothing but a pale loin cloth sidled into the room; it placed a tray holding a pitcher of iced wine and a goblet onto the writing desk, bowed low, though Girahim was not watching and grunted slightly as it shut the door with a snap. The Demon Lord strolled over, poured himself a celebratory glass of wine and brought the cool liquid to his lips. Returning to the balcony he lifted his glass to the stars…"Until we meet again, Sky-child." His chuckle echoed across the silence of the desert.

Meanwhile…

"C'mon Link, you haven't touched any of your pumpkin soup. You look even worse these days than Groose does…" In unison, Link, Cawlin and Stritch glanced down the long table to where Groose sat. He certainly was in a right state; he had long abandoned his own soup and his elbow rested in a pool of his own tears which leaked silently down his normally cunning face. His pompadour seemed to have lost its springiness and instead drooped sadly over his furrowed brow. Link turned dully back to his own soup and continued to push pieces of pumpkin around his bowl.

"We could go check out my bug collection Link," suggested Stritch, "that always takes my mind off of things."

"Maybe later guys, thanks" Link replied and pushed his chair back. He exited the dining hall and headed toward his room at the end of the hall of Knight Academy. He threw open the door and allowed it to slam shut behind him. He heaved a great sigh as he flopped onto his bed. "What the hell am I doing…" He wondered aloud. He felt dirty and confused. His home, Skyloft, normally so welcoming and homely suddenly felt cold and uncomfortable. He felt like a different person; like a diseased animal that no one seemed to particularly want around. What had happened in the temple? He felt like a failure. He felt like he had failed everyone in Skyloft, and he especially felt like he had failed Zelda. Some Goddess' Hero he was. Perhaps there had been some kind of mistake, and she and Fi had chosen wrong in him. His heart sank; he was really starting to believe he could help Zelda.

They had been connected at the hip since they were small. Links parents had both passed away when he was young and Zeldas father had always looked after them both as children. Link had always considered Zelda his best friend; the one he always got into trouble with; the one who always got him out of trouble; the one he could always tell anything to. Everyone in Skyloft swelled with pride as Link and Zelda strolled down the lane, and were even more ecstatic when the both of them were accepted into the knight training program. As they had gotten older, they had both begun to realize the gravity of their relationship. Link knew that Zeldas father as well as the other elders of the town intended them to marry, and he had noticed the doe eyed looks she had been giving him more often lately. He knew that the real reason she wanted him to win the Wing Ceremony was so that she could ask him if he was ready to be serious. The reason he wanted to win the wing ceremony was to keep Groose's advances at bay. The way he puffed about flaunting his intentions to get her alone were sickening enough in theory; Link didn't think he could've bared it if they had ever come to fruition. Not that Zelda held any romantic feelings for Groose. She knew exactly how he felt about her, and had proven on more than one occasion that she was plenty capable of looking out for herself by socking Groose on the nose.

As for Link, he had always felt like more of a protective older brother than a romantic partner for her, though he had neglected to completely reveal these feelings. He had never really felt romantic towards anyone before; it simply wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to giving any priority to.

But he had kissed Girahim. The Demon Lord Girahim; Zeldas sworn enemy and the enemy of the Goddess and her people. The enemy of everything he held dear.

What did that make him? Why had Girahim initiated it? Was this merely another method of control intended to throw him off? Question after question chased themselves around Links mind, each one remained answerless. What was even worse is that he couldn't get the image of the Demon Lord's flawless pale face out of his head, nor could he banish the feeling of those soft, pearly lips upon his own. He had never felt the urge to kiss anyone before, what had made him start now? Unbidden, Images of Girahim grinding naked and sweaty against his body, caressing his ears with his long tongue flashed behind his closed lids. His eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright. He felt disgusted with himself. With an angry growl he tore off the Goddess sword and hurled it across the room. He unbuckled his shield and flung it at the closed door, leaving a large dent behind as it ricocheted away. He wrenched off his tunic and mail and tossed them at his wardrobe, followed by his breeches and boots. He stood hunched and breathing hard in the center of his room, his head hanging and silent tears streaming down his face. He slowly slumped cross-legged to the floor and let the tears come. He didn't care anymore. Suddenly, a warm sensation cupped his chin, and he lifted his head.

"Zelda….?" He slurred as he gazed into the brilliant gold light materializing before him. Zelda's bright, shining smile swam before him and her warm laughter filled him up. He felt whole. "Zelda, I'm so sorry…" he sobbed. He knew he sounded utterly pathetic, but he seemed unable to stopper the floodgate of emotions that now escaped his tired, broken body.

"Link…" the ethereal, feminine voice crooned, "The Goddess chose rightly Link…you must find the way…take heart, Link…you are my hero…" the voice began to recede, the golden light fading into darkness. Link felt the warmth under his chin disappear as he fell forward onto his carpets and knew no more.

A pair of cat-like eyes peered down into the room from the top of the wardrobe, blinked twice, and disappeared in a flurry of black diamonds.