At least combat training in a cell with a squishy floor has its perks, Link seethed as he sprang back onto his feet. Less bruising. Stitches flared across his shoulders. His back must be washed with blue stains, but there would have been more of it on hard stone. He let his body fall backwards without resistance, palms and forearms slapping the ground and absorbing the shock of the hard stop.
"Alright, now I dispell the floor enchantment, and give you boys a taste of falling for real!"
Of course. Link decided that the four segments of fighting Impa were proving worse than any torture Dakor Nohansen lined up for them. He performed the exercise again and the new jolt of unforgiving flagstone seared through him. This was only the first segment.
"Four more, and you may rest and eat." Standing in the doorway, she was all the prison he could handle.
Link had no will to cut Impa with his daggered eyes, and instead, threw himself on the stones, harder each time, kind of going numb. He could feel Navi's disapproval, even without their mental channel. Damn enchantments, damn the King, and damn this woman! At his final rep, he jerked backwards so quickly he forgot to keep his chin tucked, and the cell resounded with a sharp crack from his occipital bun. He cradled his skull as he sucked his breath through his teeth.
"Another lesson learned, then?" Impa deadpanned. Opening an eye to a slit, he grimaced his response.
"...I shouldn't be a brat," he growled.
"Haven't I been saying that?" Navi circled him. "You're fine. Go eat your lunch."
Link rolled over on his side, up to his knees and accepted the hot-spelled bowl from their instructor. .
"What is...that?"
"By consistency, I'd say gruel. And it has goat and pumpkin!" Gerrard pitched.
Link stirred the three chunks of meat and two cubes of gourd into the glue-like wheat porridge. "Did the other prisoners get this too?"
Impa regarded him. "No. They receive hard tack and a mug of water once a day." She saw the indignation before Link could express it. "Before you accuse the King, and me, of imprisoning people like you, innocent of true crime, I must assure you that some are innocent, and wrongly incarcerated. But that is not an issue for you to pursue. Your concerns and mission far outweigh any mortal wrongdoing and political gain."
"But what if they could help us?" Link hadn't taken a bite. He felt the inklings of a plan.
"And what would I do with a hundred starved souls, barely clothed and embittered?"
"They could be a distraction in the ambush, or be a part of it. Every hand helps."
Impa's smile was feline. "Perhaps they will be, then. How would you do this?"
Suspicion unfurled in his chest at once. "Well, if you explain what's happening, and that we need to get out of the castle, we could arm them, and break out of the dungeons."
"And they will all be killed," Impa saguinously approved. "I didn't realize you were so bloodthirsty."
"That's not what I said!" Link yelled.
"But it is," Gerrard butted in sadly. "Any palace guard near the dungeon wouldn't hesitate to kill an armed prisoner." When the blond did not respond, he continued. "You saw them, half the geezers wouldn't be able to lift a sword anymore, even if they wanted to. There really isn't anything we can do for them right now."
"If we could just explain-"
"Ugh," Navi scoffed and descended from the air above them. "The only explanation you want to give is to the King. You're still hung up on his disbelief, and the injustice of being imprisoned. At this moment, we are in the safest place from him. Impa told you this morning, he is not part of the plot anymore, not in a way that is going to require you making up to him. No amount of pleading and explanation is going to change his mind. Not from us, anyway." To hear her words with only his ears made his belly burn.
"Your friends are correct," the warrior told him. "It is admirable, and you must not let the concern for others slip from you. You must also learn when and how to use that impulse in the most efficient way. You need the wisdom to know when power is appropriate. My entire existence, and our survival hinges on my use of the resources available to me."
Link stared into his bowl, toying with the spoon. "What if he hadn't imprisoned me?" A funny look spasmed across Gerrard's face. "Us, I mean."
"Well, we would have been put in a state room with two eastern facing bay windows, emerald encrusted nightstands, a solid gold 'Welcome' mat-"
"That's enough," Impa chided the curly haired one. "The room would have been serviceable, but then, your schedule would have included twelve meals, a brief trip to the art gallery and no more than four hours of sleep. And during that sleep is when I would train you. I would have needed an entire network of lookouts to prevent assassins and eavesdroppers and willful young knights and ladies from popping in on us.
"Even with the scrying charms of surveillance, we won't be bothered. My men are the ones doing the scrying, and won't report me to the King. Prison is really the best place for our purposes."
"Oh yes, so convenient. And I love the decor! Have you guys considered bringing in more racks and chains to hang from the walls?" Gerrard's bowl was licked clean and discarded, and he eyed the untouched food in Link's hands.
"Not until the rat population has doubled," Link finally took a mouthful of gruel. He nearly let go of the tight mass of emotion tangled beneath his breastbone as the hot food soothed his hunger. The flavors were better than he expected, too, and the young herbal analyst was trying to define the profile in his mouth. Sage, mustard, and thyme..something warm too, like nutmeg or cacia. If only there were more, but his keepers made that decision for him. Stubbornly, he took another spoonful of the unassuming gruel, then another, and one more before he asked, "What's the next move?"
"We talk for ten minutes, and then I leave. You'll practice falling until one of you is satisfied with the other," Impa told him. "I want your spring back to be flawless when I return. The hunter and the streetwise urchin should be able to accomplish that, I would hope.
"Now, I will tell you about fighting, and how it is unfair."
Link cocked his head. Fighting Lore was forbidden among the Kokiri. Violence and bloodshed were markers of Skullkids. He set his nearly clean bowl on the ground. Gerrard grabbed it and licked it clean, as well.
For the first time since he'd met her, Link could plainly see the reservation veiled behind iron. She didn't like fighting, he realized. But like hunting to survive, it was necessary.
"So are you gonna spawn monsters so we can test our reactions? Or do you have those wooden-bar-dummy things that we bash our forearms against? Logs on ropes?" Gerrard interjected.
Impa gave no response.
Gerrard plowed ahead. "I mean, theory is fine, but this guy doesn't know what a fair fight looks like. After all, he faced off against the Last of the Shadows."
"There is no such thing as a fair fight," said the red-eyed woman.
"Well, yeah, but-"
"Even a scheduled, regulated and matched duel can't be fair. You or your opponents will have advantages and disadvantages, and you only know yours. Never assume anything about your battles or enemies, or yourself. Take note of everything you see and feel, and find a way to make it work for you. The conditions around you, your surroundings, the enemy's physical cues, all must be utilized to the maximum. You're either smart enough to win, or not strong enough to retreat and regroup."
Now that he understood she wasn't going to enact the practical portion of dueling, Gerrard settled in to listen.
"Be unpredictable. If you stand there with your sword drawn, and swing your blade first, you may have already lost. Fighting should be the last resort. React first, but do not reveal all your strengths. If they do not know everything in your offense, they might not have a ready defense. Your best opening move is amiability. If this fails, then politeness. If they refuse this, and challenge you, then assess the threat, and neutralize it." She held a hand up in significance.
"This does not mean death by sword edge. Sometimes, words can be enough to foul an opponent. Even throwing hard or bulky things will give them something to think about. This covers words, and objects. However, as the Agent of Courage, the challengers you'll be facing might not understand speech, and thick skulls are ever disappointing."
Gerrard laughed vacantly, on cue.
"Farore has never been fond of embroiling political intrigues, though none of us are immune." The swan hissed a warning to the wolf. "You are not untouchable. You are not immortal, nor important to a great deal of the world. You will not be spared misery, you will be tested to the limits of your durability, and you will not finish your journey the same person as when you began."
What, he was leaving behind the boy who was ostracised, berated and kicked out of the only home he'd known? Dumped into a world of destiny and unforgiving stone and women, Link uttered, "Yeah. I know-"
"You have heard the words, but I am the proof of them." Impa entered their cell, an arms' length from Link. She told him to stand before her. They faced each other implacably, and without warning, shot a fist into Link's jaw. He heard it snap, and stars were pulsing under his eyelids. He didn't feel himself fall to the floor.
Impa scooped his face into her hands and healed his jaw at once, flooding him with adrenaline and ceased the pain.
Shocked, horrified and betrayed, he roared. He swung at Impa even as she held him, and he actually saw her smile as his fist travelled towards her face. She stopped it, and slapped him on his uninjured cheek.
"What the hell!" he shouted, twisting, rolling from her grasp. He did not let the burning of tears overcome him. Somehow. Navi hovering close to his left ear was a great comfort, though. Gerrard had his hand half-extended and mouth hanging open.
"I told you," she said softly as a nursemaid cooing to a babe. "Fighting is not fair. Be unpredictable. These two tenets should be foremost in your battles. Your most important priority is yourself. If a trusted figure is offering counsel, yet can break a bone at arms' length, you will be sure to keep a further distance next time." The plummeting words accentuated the gulf between their bodies.
"How do I trust you?" His throat was ironbound.
"Why would you trust any stranger?" Impa stepped back to her spot at the door. "Because you like them? Because they are royalty and demand respect? Because they offer secrets of the Golden Powers? Every person you meet is a battle of sorts, and none of them are fair. They will have advantages and disadvantages, and motivations behind their actions that you will never comprehend. You only know your own. Spoken words hardly reveal more than what they want you to hear."
Link could only gaze in despair. "Is this some riddle?"
"No. It is all you need to know. Fighting is not fair, and every step you take must be your conscious decision. Not because the princess told you to. Farore put you here with me for honing. Will you submit to my methods, or will you challenge my words? Both are equally valid options, and entirely your choice. I have but one more question for you, before I leave:
"What is a Kokiri without courage? And would you be that rock or the one throwing it?"
Impa's face was a tired mask of sorrow and resignation. If the Kokiri hadn't known any better, he would have thought she looked vulnerable. "I apologize, Link. Lessons are rarely painless. But you know this, too:
"Lessons are also repeated, time and time again until our reactions are soul deep, and we have truly taken a teaching to heart. You brave boys, you fearless hunter, and you, shadow of the streets, and shining fairy, you are all of our hope. You three are going to save us all, and I will ensure that you are ready for it!" With a salute so sharp it whistled in the air, Impa turned on her heel and left her charges to their practice and recovery.
King Dakor ascended his throne that morning to hear again from the Western Emissary. The panel behind his resting place was the counterpart to the Altar of the Temple of Time. Crimson carpet ran through the center of the hall, like a streak of blood, spreading to a congealed pool before a huge Triforce effigy. He seated himself in the center of the triple triangles directly in front of the enameled doors of the receiving room.
While he was in court, the King of Hyrule had not deigned to address Ganondorf as a King of the West, but instead as a vassal, making reparations. His Chamberlain was not allowed to announce the man from Dragmire Dunes as anything more than a representative. The early convocation of court was unusual, but the people of the desert preferred dawn for their business. The Hylian King conceded to the hours after sunrise. His nobles were hiding yawns and grouchiness for this unorthodox summons, but dutifully fanned out on either side of the throne in accordance with succession. As usual, they were a rainbow of appropriate hues, as every tunic and shade were significant to their loyalties.
Ganondorf entered the ostentatious room with slow, purposeful strides. He was attired in Gerudo suede and dark dyed silk, and the headband that tamed his fiery hair was rich with amber and smoky topaz and silver filigree. A single ruby was nestled at his breast. His escort was a band of tall, handsome women in ballooning white silk and curious, soundless black shoes. Most of them were redheaded, some trending towards auburn or pale blond, and all were obviously muscled.
To royal Hylian propriety, there was far too little fabric in the right places, but after all, the short-eared people lived in a desert. Dakor's personal victory over the Forest Emissary last night had him satisfied. He allowed himself to picture the token from the Guardian of the East, secure in his vault beneath his bedchamber. Once this Western upstart was through with his pledges, Dakor would travel himself to the Big Brother of Cor Darun and to see Icthyllion in the Zora's Domain to collect their stones. And then…
He brought his wandering thoughts back to the throne room, peering at Ganondorf's darkly guarded face. They locked eyes for a moment, and he saw delight creeping into a smile that had no joy.
The Gerudo man spread his hands. "Your Majesty." He bowed to one knee, a fist resting over his heart. "I appear again before you-"
"I have not addressed you, Westerner," Dakor rumbled, sitting squarely in his seat. "How dare you show this impertinence to the throne."
Deep golden eyes flashed. "Please, your Majesty, I too, have been insulted. I am a King of the Western Wastes, and yet, you deny my claim on those unwanted lands."
Dakor's chest tightened. "I have not authorized a Western King, nor do I intend to. That was a tenet of your father's truce, and your release from prison." Nobles were nodding, murmuring racist agreement from the wings.
"Then my copy of the accords is mistaken," Ganondorf produced a sheet of vellum from his breast. "Released upon the nature of reparation, the ruler of the Western Wastes shall answer to only the highest power in the continents. And the blood paid by the men of the desert behold the terms of surrender and not sundering. No further payment will be accepted, if the party of the west does not claim more Hylian life with his magic or trust with Din."
"That does not name you king, merely ruler. Only yesterday, seven valets of the Carpenter's Guild were cut down by your people," Dakor broached. "And you bring seven servants."
"I assure you, tales are being told," Ganondorf replied. "They were rogues under mob contract. They were your people. We cast them out last decade."
"Outcasts, spies...I see no difference. And there is still no proof of your supposed royalty. I am the highest power in the continents!"
"Heh... Are you? Do you claim the call of Din?" Dakor had no words. Ganondorf continued. "My very blood and birthright are proof enough of my kingship. I would greet you as a brother, and instead you treat me like a hound."
"I keep only loyal hounds, Ganondorf. You have come with a vengeful spies, and your rotten heart-"
"And you know all men's hearts, do you? That is rich, Hylian entitlement. Your long ears hear the gods too, I imagine."
"Since the day you were released, they have whispered of your treachery, and now, you have shown your hand. But I am the King of Hyrule! I will not allow you to breathe one more evil lungful in my throne room!" He felt the wave of static magic pulse. He resisted it, but his antsy nobles were immobile.
Ganondorf smirked. He took a step forward. "Power is seductive, isn't it? Once you taste it, once you have taken a drop, you will always need more. Addictions are dangerous, though. Do you have the power to destroy me where I stand? Do you have the will and stomach to diminish one human life?" The Hylian king narrowed his eyes. "Would your wisdom include how to erase my soul from this plane?"
"I am the master of this land, and custodian to it's magic! I have heard enough!"
Willing the flow of energy beneath his feet into his body, Dakor concentrated the magic into a spear, and flung it at Ganondorf with his mind alone. The unerring path to his heart should have ended the Gerudo's life, but the King was dismayed to see his pure light scattered like a child's soap bubble.
Dakor's stomach burned with pain and nausea, his lower back screaming at the woman with a knife behind him. The blade twisted into his kidneys, slicing his intestines into chitlins. Blood poured from his mouth, and he drew in his will again. He must heal, he must-
The flow of the world was shifting. He was dying. The ley lines of the Sages and the King's own brand of magic were leaving him to flow to Zelda. He could feel the loyalty of Hyrule slipping through his icy fingers like streamers in the wind. So soon...Even though he hated and resented the daughter that changed everything, his heart ached for the responsibility just dumped into her lap. But Impa would help her. That steel blade under the cover of darkness, the iron swan, a true warrior and champion of Hyrule...Dakor had been jealous. She was the maestro. He was only the king. Death rips away all illusion, he joked to himself. Look at him now. He had used the holy power of Nayru against the Agent of Din, and a low, human woman with a simple knife was his ender. He glared at Ganondorf.
With his last surge of consciousness, Dakor let his magic entwine itself to Zelda in a semblance of protection. He had not learned to care for her, but she was now the ruler of enchantments beyond her knowledge, and he would shield her from the brunt until she could bear the weight of the world on her own. Even the Goddess of Wisdom allowed this blessing to stand against Din's player for now, as a concession for taking the capital city of Hyrule.
Ganondorf played his gaze over the frozen nobles, and the unmoving king. "You are still alive for now. You are going to protect the princess from me, and keep this action quiet. Use this time to make arrangements for your vassals, as this is only my first act as the King of the World."
"You can't order us to- Augh!" The noble in a bisected, black and white tunic crumpled when Ganondorf touched his mind.
"I can, and I will. You all know I don't have the necessary forces to attack the castle, or lay siege. But I can move behind the scenes. I find it much more efficient to pull strings of puppets, rather than bowstrings. Besides, I need time yet, and the dog at my feet would hardly allow that to happen." He looked up and down the line of dukes, generals and guild owners.
"I don't lie. I prefer the truth to deception, and fancy language," He held the vellum of the accords. They turned to ash. "Escapes my grasp." A woman with a scimitar stepped forward.
"My lord," She knelt. "The shadow woman is moving the Kokiri boy now. They'll escape, unless I take my squad-"
Ganondorf held a hand up in protest. "There's no need to stop them. Let the boy go on his errand, and he will bring the stones to us."
"So why...Why do you need time? Why kill...the king?" the noble in stark colors gurgled.
"Hmm. You've got some endurance to be lucid. I'll humor you, then. I can make it very difficult, or very easy for the Eastern Emissary to retrieve those stones. That was his task, and this is mine. I will soon have direct access to the ley lines of Hyrule, and I am growing more powerful every day. Already, the flow has shifted with a single blade." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Don't underestimate the blessing of a Goddess."
"Go. Now. Shield your families, before I begin my purge of this long-eared land."
Each and every guard, and noble, and servant in the walls who was able to move scrambled from the throne room.
Zelda held back a wince as Fralie brushed her hair. The bristles came far too close to her face. Impa was never so careless, but she was running an errand for Father. An important one, she wondered why it was scheduled so early in the day. Her dreams had told her nothing, which was also strange. She had half an image of two ragged boys in the flowering courtyard. And the vase of blooms on her bedside table was strange, too. Father questioned her about the boys via her mirror, but she was unable to fill the gap in her memories. And then, she felt exhausted and slept more deeply than normal.
The pattern was off. An image flashed, a smell of burning stone tickled her nose, and Fralie dropped her brush.
The princess studied her reflection. Half of her hair was still tousled by sleep and unbraiding. The other half was golden silk. It felt as though time were halted, and she was the only one awake. Deep inside, a tremendous amount of power bubbled, pressing at her lungs, sending the top of her head floating far above her. She was aware of the cushioned chair beneath her, but the rest of her reached out, unconstrained by her body.
The world snapped back into place as Fralie straightened, brush in hand. "Something wrong, dear?" the young nurse affectionately asked.
Bewildered, Zelda calmly replied, "Everything. Send for Impa at once."
Fralie stood gaping. "What-"
"Impa. Now. Or I will have you in chains."
Such threats from the ten year old princess were enough to cause a heart attack, and so out of the ordinary that Fralie burst into tears. She scudded away like a rain cloud.
Zelda picked up the implement from the crimson carpet. Her reflection was unchanged. She brushed her own hair that morning, and knew that everything she held dear was about to go up in flame.
A/N: I know, I know, I make some bold choices. Originally, Ganondorf was going to live cushy in the castle until Link finished his quest, but tension in that throne room was always so thick, I could hardly write past it without at least a couple of nobles or even servants biting the dust. I killed everyone in that room, except Ganon, and finally decided there was no reason to wait. I wanted Ganon's takeover to be merciless, yet tempered with his desire for power over more subjects. He hasn't figured out necromancy, at this point. It's nicer to rule over living people than dead ones. I planned for him to do that "take-over-from-the-inside" so well and so scarily that Hylian nobles will want to pledge loyalty, if only because he's in charge, and they wanna live.
And he won't accept that at all.
