A note from the Hime no Argh herself—

This chapter was finished surprisingly quickly, though I waited a while to post it so I could get a good head start on Chapter 15. Thanks to those who reviewed! Glad to see people didn't forget this fic exists during the hiatus between chapters 12 and 13. Chapter 15 will be along...eventually. Look for it within a week or two. In the meantime, enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Chapter 14
Sidh

The jostling of a horse beneath his slumped form woke Ganondorf, though it took his muddled head a long time to process why he had woken on a horse with wrists bound tightly in front of him, traveling under a fiercely beating sun that was doing nothing for his headache. He attributed his former state of unconsciousness to the fist-sized lump on the back of his skull but was unable to remember exactly how it had gotten there. There had been a battle, he remembered that much; the pain in his forearm from an unfortunate gash could attest to that. But why was he tied up on a horse?

When Ganondorf looked to the side and saw a haughty-faced Gerudo mounted on a horse beside his, it all fell into place with a disheartening thump.

"Oh no," he groaned.

"Quiet," the Gerudo snapped, jerking on the reins of his horse, which she held in her hand. Ganondorf took a look around. Hylian soldiers were interspersed with the Gerudo, some unconscious, some awake and staring before them in stony silence, their hands tied. Some were on horses led by mounted Gerudo; others walked, tied in a train like animals. A few of them saw Ganondorf looking and exchanged a grimace or accusatory glance.

He examined the Gerudo, heart sinking with every step his horse took. He knew these women. He hadn't spent eleven years in their tents for nothing.

"Spiritwind," he muttered.

"I said quiet," the Gerudo holding his reins snapped again. He knew her, too—her name was Raheb, and she had been thirteen years old when he saw her last. "Prisoners are not allowed to speak, especially blood traitors like you," she said with all the arrogance and contempt of his people. Well, that answered the question of whether the Gerudo recognized him, at least.

"What do you want?" Ganondorf demanded, ignoring her order. "Why have you captured us? Gerudo don't take prisoners."

"Do I hear you correctly?" Raheb growled. "A blood traitor claims to know what my people do and don't?"

"Blood traitor or not, I spent eleven years in this desert," Ganondorf reminded her coolly, refusing to rise to her bait. "I know our people's customs as well as you do."

"Times have changed," Raheb said ominously, and she refused to answer another question.

The sun sank low on the horizon by the time a cluster of tents came into view across the stretch of white sand. Home at last, Ganondorf thought ruefully as their party entered the village of the Spiritwind Tribe—little more than a ragtag collection of dwellings made from patched scarlet, gold, and orange fabric. Once he had vowed he would never return to this place. Now, it seemed, the choice was out of his hands.

The Hylians and Ganondorf were made to dismount, each allotted a ladleful of water, then escorted to one of the larger tents. Their hands were untied, but with Gerudo armed to the teeth stationed around the tent, their chances of escape were ridiculously slim.

The minute his fellow soldiers thought the Gerudo were out of earshot, a storm of talk broke loose.

"What the hell do they want with us!"

"One minute I'm fighting with my squad, the next one of these sand snakes hits me around the head—"

"See to Veldine, he's bleeding through his bandage."

"If we have to die, I'm taking some of these bitches with me!"

Ganondorf snorted. Instantly all talk quieted and all eyes—wary, afraid, hostile—turned to him.

"You have something to say?" a soldier he recognized from another squad demanded roughly.

"Two things, actually," Ganondorf said amiably. "First, don't kid yourselves about taking out some of the sisters. If they mean to kill us—and they probably do—we don't stand a chance without weapons. Second, we're in a felt tent. They can hear everything we're saying."

That got attention. Startled, the soldiers glanced at one another in silence.

Ganondorf shifted with a grimace for his injured arm. The setting sun filtered through the warm fabric of the tent, lighting the inside with an orange glow that seemed to heat the intolerably stuffy air to almost oven-like degrees.

He hadn't expected this. To face his sisters in battle, yes, to see the hatred in their eyes when they realized who he was—to cut them down, kill them, perhaps be killed himself—he'd expected that, in a war with his people. He hadn't expected to be captured and dragged back to the place he'd left so long ago without looking back, his birthplace, his blood tribe. He smiled ironically. Was it his fate to die here, in the place he'd once deserted? He should have known he could never truly leave this place.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" a whispered voice intruded on his thoughts. It belonged to Cormac, a fresh-faced squadmate who was a year younger than Ganondorf. "You are, right?" he asked hopefully when Ganondorf looked at him. "You can talk to them, convince them to let us go, right? My fiancée is waiting for me back home, I don't want to leave her—"

Ganondorf sighed. "I can't."

Cormac stared at him, wide-eyed. "You can't?"

"He means he won't," snapped the soldier who had spoken to him earlier.

Ganondorf met his glare unflinchingly. "You heard them call me a blood traitor, didn't you? Do you know what that means?" When the soldier didn't answer, he went on, "It means that I'm the lowest of the low, worse than a Hylian. An animal. All of the women in this tribe are related to me in some way—sisters, cousins, aunts, nieces. You don't betray your blood tribe. Not ever. If you do, you're beyond disgusting." He smiled bitterly. "Don't kid yourselves. They'd make you headsister before they listened to me."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Cormac whispered.

"Maybe our people will try a rescue," another soldier suggested hopefully.

Ganondorf shook his head. "They won't find us. They won't get anywhere near us."

Subdued, the group sank into silence once again. Ganondorf watched as the natural glow dimmed and bursts of light appeared through the walls of the tent as the sisters lit torches. The air rapidly cooled as the sun set completely, a small mercy, but hunger and thirst went unquenched, wounds untended. Luckily none of them were hurt very seriously, but the gash on Ganondorf's forearm was distinctly uncomfortable, and in danger of infection the longer it went untreated.

Despite his discomfort, Ganondorf was so exhausted from the battle that sleep quickly claimed him. In his dream, he was standing in the courtyard of the Hylian palace where he had practiced before the war. Link wasn't there, but Zelda was, her head bent as though in prayer as she bandaged the wound on Ganondorf's arm. When finished, she took his hand between both of hers and smiled up at him, and the war, the Gerudo, the anger and uncertainty of fighting his own people was forgotten. This was where he belonged.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and Ganondorf started awake. Everything was dark, the air stale, and for a moment he didn't know where he was—then a harsh female voice spoke. "Get up. You've been summoned to the headsister's tent."

He jerked away from the clutching hand. "Not a chance."

Silver flashed in the darkness. "You'll come or you'll die."

Ganondorf smiled as a razor sharp blade pressed against his neck. "Go ahead. That's what she wants, isn't it?"

"Not until she's through with you first," the voice said grimly, and Ganondorf was jerked to his feet.

"That's the problem with Gerudo bitches," he grumbled as he followed the sister out of the tent. "You don't know how to take no for an answer."

Outside the tent, the torches were still lit; Gerudo on sentry watch drifted in and out of the flickering light like wraiths. The very air seemed to shimmer as though in a dream as Ganondorf followed the Gerudo to the largest tent in the village; he thought perhaps he was feverish from his wound already, but there was no more time to ponder it as the flap was thrown back and perfumed air rushed into his nostrils. He entered the candle-lit tent and stopped in the center, paralyzed, miserable.

A Gerudo rose gracefully from an array of embroidered pillows. "Sand's blessings, my son."

He knew this woman as well as he knew himself—Sidh, Spiritwind's headsister. "Mother," he whispered.

"So you have returned to us at last. I would like to say it is good to see you." Disgust curled in her voice as her slender fingers brushed over his chest, lingering briefly on the emblem of the Hylian army on his chest. "But instead I find you have returned as the Hylian king's lapdog!"

He pulled away from her touch, the old bitterness and anger welling inside him with almost frightening haste. It was a struggle to keep his voice level. "Undoubtedly you expected me to crawl back on hands and knees as though I were your lapdog."

"I expected you to keep the pride and honor of your blood tribe intact," Sidh snapped. "But you consort with northern demons and fight with them against your own people! You have shamed your tribe, Ganondorf!"

"No more than the tribes shame themselves in their dishonorable actions toward the Hylians."

"The Hylian scum have no honor," Sidh said derisively, "and apparently, neither do you." Her intent yellow eyes stared at him, through him, as though he were beyond disgusting. The twisting in his gut was as familiar as that contemptuous gaze.

"Then kill me, mother, if I cause you such unbearable shame," he growled.

"You were to be the greatest of us," she went on, ignoring him. "When I birthed you, the tribes came as one to see the child born male to a Gerudo sister. Never was there such a gathering! Four tribes beggared themselves for the appropriate offering of gratitude to Our Lady of Sand. The celebrations lasted for weeks. And one by one the tribes came to my tent to offer gifts, to offer their daughters as your consorts, to offer their allegiance to you as k—"

"And you were honored beyond all mothers and revered like a queen for birthing a male," Ganondorf said sardonically. "Funny, isn't it, how much pride you take in it, as though it were any great task to spread your legs like a common whore for those Hylians you call demons!"

Her face suffused with a dark rage, Sidh struck him across the face with the flat of her palm. "How dare you," she hissed. "You despicable, shameless—well have you learned from the Hylians!"

Ganondorf laughed bitterly. "Well did I learn from my selfish, power-hungry bitch of a mother—"

Sidh raised her hand to strike him again, but Ganondorf caught her wrist, tightening his grip brutally until his mother gasped in pain. "I am no longer the boy who ran from you in terror," he said coldly, releasing her. "Don't think to treat me as such."

Sidh cradled her wrist, her lips tight with pain. "Now I see what manner of creature I raised," she gasped. "One that would raise his hand against his own mother—"

"No worse than a mother who raises her hand against her defenseless child," Ganondorf said coldly. "As I've told you, I'm not the boy you once knew. My life may be in your hands, but don't expect me to beg for it." He turned to leave, not caring what the Gerudo did to him anymore.

"Wait!" His mother caught his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. "You must listen to me."

He shook her off easily. "Why should I hear words from you?"

Sidh glared at him. "You may hate me, you may hate your blood tribe, but you are still a Gerudo. Your foremost duty should be to your people, who are suffering under the tyranny of the north."

"Why should I care how the Gerudo suffer?" Ganondorf said blithely. "All of Hyrule knows that it was their cowardly and criminal actions that led to this war."

"Cowards in the north's eyes, but not in our goddess's," Sidh snapped. "Our Lady has seen our suffering. One hundred years ago, our mothers labored to sow the lands of the desert, but the sand was barren and unyielding. They turned their eyes toward Hyrule Field, but the first Hylian king had claimed it—as though it was his inalienable right—and our mothers were forced to beg, beg, just for enough food to survive! For a century we have labored to pay the taxes for our scarce allowance of food, we have lived by the word of the king, we have taken his men to our beds simply to ensure that our bloodline is continued. Perhaps we are cursed in the eyes of the golden goddesses, but Our Lady gave us a son to lead us into a new age of prosperity. You must fulfill your duty!"

"Fulfill my duty?" Ganondorf said incredulously. "The twenty tribes have cursed me with all their breath and called me a blood traitor—and you think they'll have me as their king?"

"They will because they must," Sidh said grimly. "Our Lady knows that you are our only hope. The tribes know it, even as they curse your name for your betrayal. We knew that you must return and be made to walk your path, for the sake and survival of the people." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "Why do you believe we went to war with the Hylians?"

For a moment Ganondorf stared at her, uncomprehending. Then it hit him with such force that he rocked back, the blood draining from his face. "Goddesses," he whispered, horrified. "It's not—it can't be true. This war—all the lives lost—"

"You vowed never to return to the desert," Sidh reminded him mercilessly. "How else were we to bring you home?"

"No. NO!"Bile rose in his throat. She was lying, he wanted desperately to believe it, but he knew it had to be the truth. All along he had wondered why the Gerudo would choose to go to war against an undeniably stronger nation and army—now he knew the reason. All the violence, all the lives thrown needlessly away—his fault, his fault!

The fury in him suffused every pore in his body; with a cry of pure anguish, Ganondorf seized his mother by the throat.

"Stop the war or I'll choke the life from you, by the goddesses I swear it!"

Sidh seized his wrist in both her hands. "And will you convince the king to lift the tariffs?" she rasped. "Will you return as a Hylian dog to beg the king's mercy? Or will you take your rightful place as head of the tribes and demand your nation's rights in the name of Our Lady?"

"You won't trap me like this," he whispered, trembling with fury. "I won't remain in this desert. I AM NOT YOUR KING!"

"Then kill me," Sidh whispered. "Kill me, and the war will continue until every last Gerudo lies dead in the desert sand."

For a terrible moment he wanted nothing more than to tighten his fingers until the last breath was wrung from his mother's body. Then his shoulder slumped, the rage draining from him like water through a sieve, leaving him little more than an empty husk. He flung Sidh away from him and collapsed to the floor, holding his face in his hands.

So this was the net the goddesses had woven for him. I would have given anything to be free of this desert forever, he thought, defeated. But the choice is already made for me. How they must laugh, the golden goddesses.

Slowly, heavily, he climbed to his feet. Sidh watched him from where he had flung her to the ground, not bothering to rise as he towered over her.

"You're going to free the soldiers you captured," he told her bleakly. "And you're going to send them north with a message. Spread the word to all the tribes. We're surrendering."

To be continued.