I Have Never Seen Like This Before
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A/N: ::hides from all the Malinkers::
A/N: I blame this one on pseudo Celtic music, particularly the Rowan Tree Trilogy, the movie Ever After, possibly the greatest Cinderella story ever told, and the existence of "handwriting" fonts.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ganondorf. I don't own Zelda. I don't own The Hero of Time. I do own this piece of fiction, and if you take it, I will strike at you in whatever way I can.
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A tiny insect flitted past all the guard of Hyrule Castle. It rose, laboring on paper wings, to see the highest balconies and windows, flitting through crenellation and machicolations. The keesebats and guaybirds, insectivores all, which dwelt under eaves and about towers, moved not from their perches or on the wing to this helpless thing.
I knew they would not, for even though I am weak and frail and still mostly trapped in the Sacred Realm, they, dark creatures that they are, recognized their King.
And that insect, loath as I am to admit it, is me.
Entropy being what it is, and, most importantly, I being what I am, my seal, my cage, would not hold forever. So I was patient, so I waited. Ten years.
Then, I found-no, better-I comprehended this hole, this erosion in the seal.
I must admit, I had thought that the return to my once and future kingdom would be grand and terrifying, with fire and thunder. Instead, here I flit, a dusky moth, impotent and slow, at the mercy of even the slightest of breezes.
Yet the creatures, my brethren of discord, see my face and recognize it.
And the darkness gives me strength. I flit ever higher, to where I can smell the odor of the Princess of Destiny.
I remember from the days when I bore flesh and walked the land, that moths were blind and deaf creatures of night. Yet now I can see very clearly, and hear very well the rustling guay and keese and the groans made by Luna as she watches me in dismay, watches with one single pallid eye.
My presence has obviously improved the bastard little bug. To be expected, naturally, in servitude to his King.
Ah, there.
So, after so long, we meet again, Princess of Destiny.
For there she is, on the balcony, gathering moaning Luna's eye. She stands there, on the balcony, pallid like Luna. She watches Luna, unaware of the King fluttering to a perch on the stone of the balcony barely a pace from her.
It's only then it occurs to me that I do not know why I came here.
I knew I was going to the Princess, knew from first sundown when I found these moth's eyes, that I would go to the Princess in the castle, but I do not know why.
Yet here I am, inexorably buffeted and blown, to see the Princess, to do...nothing.
I have no strength in these paper wings to strike at her, no magic in this hairy body to torment her, not even the power of speech in this mouthless thing.
Yet I came to the Princess.
I comprehend this not, nor do I like this. Where was my will as I floated on night breezes? Where was my sense as I searched balcony and window? Was I not Power? Do I not, therefore, have the sovereign Power first and foremost of self mastery? So whence came this beckoning of the Princess?
It must be force of habit. Seventeen years beforehand, I had sought the elusive wench to no avail, and when I had her at last, she and the Hero of time conspired to kill my flesh and trap my spirit. Looking for her must have become as second nature to me.
So, I have found her. And I can do nothing but watch.
...In a time which she, the Princess of Destiny, had erased from worldly record, I dwelt in her castle and lived with her day to day. She was but a child then. I did not even see her much, as she basked in Sol that I had come to hate in the desert. I knew she would be destroyed, as bearer of a Triforce piece that I must possess. Therefore, I saw no reason to force myself in her company unless it was with a slippery knife.
Then later, even as I sought her throughout my kingdom, I never saw her until her final capture and my following, less-than-final defeat. Even then, I saw not the Princess of Destiny but rather the Bearer of the Triforce of Courage.
So now, I finally meet the creature I know so very well, the Princess of Destiny.
I am meeting Zelda.
The dark of the night is not absolute, as Luna's cyclopean gaze is as wide as it can be, and it casts light over everything, and it is reflected by the white stone of the castle, until shadows are dark and sharp edged, and I might as well be standing where Luna and Sol both gaze for the brightness I am in, my little duskwinged shadow.
My little pinpoint eyes have failed in this horrid light. Everything is bright, nowhere is the dusk and dusty true night so that we creatures of shadow may see. There is only this pale brightness and unfeatured, uninteresting shadow.
A curse on Luna; may her horrid eye go blind , and a curse on this stone, may it turn as black as my dusky wings.
Then, my ears-unaffected by the light, naturally-pick up the sound of a faint cry coming from a pallid throat, barely a pace from me, and then, I can see again as something has happened-as a black cloud has veiled Luna's bright eye.
Oh, a curse that came to pass! Ah, but I can feel more of what was mine return…
I can see the depth of night-and with Luna's gaze averted, there is much darkness-yet here a pace before me is something to behold, listen, O my brothers.
The Princess-Zelda-has…has gathered Luna's gaze, gathered the light, like she has been shrouded in a solitary moonbeam, even though Luna has been fully blocked by the stormhelm.
She glows, the pale thing. Surrounded by all the darkness, she carries moonlight with her, or so my dusky eyes can tell me.
What light she carries, though, only makes the newfound darkness around her even blacker, until, despite the fact that she is so bright to my dustmote eyes, I can see her, very clearly.
And I can see…again, how white and how innocent she is, I know I must sound senile, but it was truly amazing how innocently ivory she was.
After all, she did send her Hero of Time (a thousand curses on that title) to do all her dirty work, didn't she?
But moving on.
She has pellucid eyes, the clearest blue diamond. Not deep and ocean mighty, but something like a liquid bright February morning. Thin limpid color. But they do stretch wide and big, like the eyes of that ancient Owlsage, though much more appealing to my eyes.
Much more.
Where in a Gerudo arm I would see tautness and a stringy sort of might, here I see just flesh, riveting in its simplicity; slender…pure…arms of white. Simple. Any and all self respecting Gerudo of her age would be ashamed to wear a slip of a frame, like she has. Sloping shoulders, flat soft stomach, legs that are not lithe but simply thin and barely curved all this under a diaphanous dressing-gown no Gerudo would be caught dead in.
And her hair is like so much flax, so much wheat, so much fields of shimmery diluted gold. It curls slightly. And now, I can see that she shakes that magnificent head, and the cold light from Luna scatters into a thousand reflections into the night, a thousand different bits of Triforce gold diluted that tangle and braid in her hair.
And as she, fair of form and face, stands on the balcony and waits for the stormcloud to pass from over the moon, I cannot help but think that she might look very much the same if the darkness surrounding her were not darkness of night but the darkness of underground, of graveyards, of high stone and dark brick, hidden from the eyes of Sol and Luna.
And I cannot help but think that in this dark, this single, solitary star might be even lovelier to look upon were some fine flaw to be expressed upon her-a tear, perhaps.
And it occurred to me, then, that nothing in the arcane arts I studied expressly stated that to obtain the Triforce of Wisdom, one must kill the current bearer.
And, then, O my brothers of the shadows, I could not help but think that what was so nice to see might be just as nice-or better!-to the touch.
Or…
(Oh, but I should not tremble!)
Or what…to the other senses?
I trembled.
My little wings and legs scraped the stone. The noise they made was slight, but still: Zelda-the princess-heard it. She sought the source of the noise and I felt, just as much as I saw, the exact moment when her eyes found the black moth with the dusky eyes, lying, trembling, upon the marble of the balcony.
And I was remembering with sudden, vivid clarity how I used to pull the wings off of butterflies or dragonflies or other bugs when I was a child.
Her hand, her massive hand moved to me, and my mastery of my wings was gone, and I, I Ganondorf, the King of those famously masterless Gerudo, once and future king of Hyrule, I trembled again with fear.
I was jostled, and then I was resting on her palm, as big as a rug to the tiny blackwinged flyer. She lifted me up to peer at me, and, since her face was now in shadow, I decided to peer at her as well.
I was right. She is a flawless, innocent, ivory beauty. There is no evil in her face, no malice in those eyes, no suspicion, not. A. flaw. None.
I should like to put one or two in there, ah, yes…
She makes sounds, but my moth ears do not understand, hearing only faint rumbles and feeling the vibrations rumbling though my antennae and up my legs. But the tone, the nature of the sounds she makes is still comprehensible.
I believe she is cooing at me.
She believes me to be a lost wispy insect, a frightened thing. An innocent. Ah, but if I had a voice to laugh with…
I believe I understand how these earless dusty insects hear. At least, the vibrations are beginning to translate into words.
She is comforting what she obviously believes to be a frail creature, aligned against shadow rather than with it, and she reassures this helpless moppet (me) that the stormclouds, no matter how sudden they rise, will dissipate and the moon shall shine down on us again soon.
So incredibly ludicrous. Does this creature, who has stood against me in war-in WAR!-does she really mean such a load of manure? The bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom? Impossible. I was not defeated by a naïve child.
And yet…she…she, in her unshakable innocence, is sincere. Her cooing continues, my understanding grows keener, and yes, it is more of the same vein.
Impossible. She cannot really be giving such attention, such sympathy, to a mere insect. It defies sense. Comforting a moth.
The written word does not convey adequately, it does not speak, of all the contempt and ridicule and sheer incomprehension there is packed into the word "ludicrous."
Ludicrous.
But, in a way, I suppose…
Since the moth in question happens to be myself…
She is perfectly innocent, perfectly flawless. I suppose this could be…"charming."
That is, foolish, pointless, and ultimately the source of a lot of pain for her-my personal guarantee on that-but I find it appealing from ivory innocence.
…Except.
Except for something I should have seen all along.
From behind me come more vibrations, and I can see the silhouette of a man coming out onto the balcony-this balcony, that is attached to the Princess' bedchambers.
The Princess has a lover.
And just before he steps out into her gathered and castabout light, his face is in the shadow of the curtains, and I can see him.
His skin is golden from Sol's approving gaze, his hair is straw blond, and his eyes perched atop that long nose are just as crystalline as those of Zelda's.
I know-I know-I know!-that face!
The Hero of Time. The Bearer of the Triforce of Courage. The Hylian Elf.
The man that Zelda calls "Link."
Yes, probably several times a night.
He came closer now, and placed his hand upon her shoulder. He spoke, and I felt the vibrations rumble through me, shaking up my legs and quivering down my antennae.
I hear, but I do not listen, because I am trembling again.
But this time, in rage.
HIM! It is HIM! That foul, horrid, conniving vile thing! The beast, the wretch, the slug, the filthy plebian creature! The written word fails me again, like its' custom when dealing with these…these…people!
O my brothers, do not assume that jealousy-pah! Jealousy, of all things!-would promote such fury. She could play the harlot under every tree with every man in Hyrule; I would bat not an eyelid.
But this….
With that man…
Ah, if there was a way to write the wordless scream…
When I rule again, I shall reinvent the written word, and it shall be sufficient to proclaim the hatred that I feel for this puissant yet soon to be pusillanimous creature.
Post-humously, for him, naturally.
Just as I, in impotent fantasy, was poring over the many ways there were to strike this man dead when I once more bore flesh and walked with the living, the voice of the Princess-the voice of Zelda-stirs me from self-absorption.
She tells Link that he should leave, because-and this is the part that makes me writhe in glee, my dark brethren-someone might see him.
Intrigue within the royal house of Hyrule. Oh, I could never dare to wish for better circumstances of return. Noncorporeal? Weak? Why, yes, I am…for now. Even so, I do not need the vast powers I once held to bring them all down. Humans are fickle and jealous; they are rash, suspicious, and can be easily…swayed.
I require not the power of Hela-beasts or witchfire. I require but the power of a whisper…of a doubt, of a thread of rumor or a baseless accusation…and the high house of Hyrule will fall.
And weak as I am, the power of a whisper I do possess.
And then, I shall wreak my vengeance upon them! With Hyrule broken, so my seal shall fall as well, and then I will speak not in sibilant whispers but in a proud roar, for then, who can challenge me with hero's blood on my lips?
I shall return, and conquer, and rule!
And when I rule, the head of the Hero of Time shall be affixed to my throne. And I should make my lone star in the blackness, the silvery ornament-Zelda-I should make her kiss its bloodless lips once every morning...
I would, after all, see that precious flaw.
Then, I am jostled once more, as the Princess is "gently" sliding me off her palm and onto the balcony below. I crawl away, once on solid marble again.
As I crawl, I can hear the Hero of Fools speaking to Zelda again.
"There's a storm coming, you really shouldn't be outside in this weather."
No, she really shouldn't.
Neither should I, so I crawl into the cracks between the stone, completely hidden from prying eyes. I close my dusty eyes here, and I open them once more in the Sacred Realm.
Ah, much to do, much to do: The downfall of Hyrule to arrange, the possession of people, the swaying of judges, the killing of horses, the exclusion of the sages, the death of the king, and the Hero of Sorrow to blame for it. I'm absolutely swamped, for the first time in ten years.
But tonight, I shall have to find the time to see through moth's eyes, to see what no one ever has.
The GirlieGyarados
(And I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles)
A/N: The last companion piece in my sad little threesome of fics should be out soon. Look for "What Is When Seeing Is Not." Also, the previous piece in this threesome is called "If I Never Looked," if anyone is interested.
Preview of Next Chapter: There is no next chapter.
Last Words: "Me, me, me. How about me? Where do I come into all this? Am I just like some animal or dog? Am I just to be like a Clockwork Orange?" ...Anthony Burgess, "A Clockwork Orange."