Author's Note: Chapter has been revised as of July 19, 2012. I addressed my comma abuse and other minor grammatical problems. I also removed all references to a certain blond hero who really should not be floating around this early in the fic. Thanks for reading!

oOo

III

COURTSHIP

It was midmorning, and the sunshine was bright enough to blind. The king had finally returned from four days of hunting, and his daughter was hurrying to meet him.

The Princess Zelda darted down the western ramparts of Hyrule Castle, her petticoats and morning gown a froth of white cotton and blue silk around her legs. The air was wet and crisp, kissed by a gently whispering breeze; it was still early enough in the season to raise gooseflesh along the princess's arms. She raced the shadows of the clouds that glided along the walkway, clouds that wandered to the south and toward Faron, the province from which the king now arrived.

She had glimpsed his company from the window of her bedchamber, before the maids had come to open the curtains and even before her lady Impa had awoken. The gates were open, and in the distance, she had spotted a procession. They had not been flying the king's colours, but the princess was certain that the king had returned. He had been absent four days, after all. Four days was far too long for a king to be gone. The court had grown restless.

She had dressed, fast and clumsily, holding her breath and clenching her morning gown in her fists, lest the rustle of fabric waken her lady. But Impa had slept on, on a cot at the side of the princess's bed.

Zelda had not bothered trying to reach the courtyard by way of the castle. She did not want to be noticed, and so she took an outer route along the ramparts. There was a little door that lead, down a narrow staircase, to the courtyard. She had found it on her twelfth birthday, and used it often. She liked to see the king when he returned home from his hunting, though she had never once presumed to leave the shadow of the rampart, and make herself known to him. She only watched him from the doorway, until the servants had borne away the prizes of his excursions, and he himself had vanished inside the castle.

She had only ever tried to make herself known to him once, when she was very small. She had been standing with Impa, watching the king from the steps of the castle, and Impa had pointed to him and said, "There is your father."

He had looked splendid, among the banners of the new-returned company, and he was striding toward them, ringed by knight who did not look half as majestic as him. Impa had bowed her head and murmured, "My lord," as he passed by, and Zelda had reached out a hand, clutched at the Hylian motif stitched upon the hem of his tunic. He had not checked the relentless power of his stride, and jerked her after him, so hard that her heart thudded into her throat, and she let him go. She fell, and hit her mouth against the steps. Two teeth were knocked loose; her mouth began to fill with blood and when she screamed, blood dribbled down her chin and stained her dress.

The king had not looked once at her. But she had been very small, and the clutch of her hand on his tunic not very noticeable. Impa had scolded her, as much as she soothed, as she had washed the blood from the princess's mouth, and sponged her scraped arms and legs clean. "You must not ever bother the king, Zelda," she said. "He might send you away, if you are too much in the way. Let him be."

Zelda still liked to look at him, even from the distance. For even in his hunting dress—careless and windswept, rank with his exertions—he was still splendid in a way only kings of legend could be.

And he was, indeed, her king.

The battlements skimmed away to either side of the princess, and she darted for the curve around which her destination lay, skirting the west wing door that stood directly before her. The door opened abruptly. It brought her staggering to a halt, gasping with her run. Two men stepped onto the walkway, too close for her to pretend that she did not see them. She combed her hair from her mouth and slapped at her disordered skirts, drew a deep, fortifying breath in an attempt to calm her drumming heart. They caught sight of her and hailed her with their respects. They were courtiers, dressed in starched collars and doublets of crushed, mulberry-red velvet. They bowed to her, the younger one with a fluid grace and brilliant smile, his companion with some stiffness, as if her presence had caught him unawares.

"My lady." The younger straightened, and considered her with soft, bright eyes. "It is a fine morning for a stroll."

"Yes." She met his smile, for all that the interruption rankled. "Thank you."

"I trust her Ladyship has not been left to wander without the attendance of friends?"

"Never." Zelda glanced at the battlements. She thought of Impa, sleeping in the east wing.

"I hope her Ladyship does not have far to walk?"

"I am going to chapel." Her eyes flitted to the curve in the ramparts, and the little door leading down to the courtyard. Her stomach ached with the nearness of it.

"It would be our honour to escort her Ladyship there," said the young courtier, eagerly, "if she would permit us."

The proposal caught Zelda up short, and in her astonishment, she looked the courtier full in the face. He was smiling, and looking down at her with bright, earnest curiosity.

"My lady." This was the second courtier, with a reedy voice and a raw bite of impatience to his tone. His slippered toe tapped insistently. "We do not wish to impose ourselves upon you."

"But if my lady requests!" exclaimed the first courtier, looking aghast as his companion. He seemed scandalized by the thought of abandoning her to walk the ten feet between herself and the west wing door alone, and she realized that there would be no escaping him unless she accepted his offer. He was one of those young men whose youth afforded him too vast a sense of chivalry; it imposed itself upon everyone and everything, and it stood ready to crush him if she did not yield to its satisfaction.

She said, "I would be happy for your attendance, good sirs."

The young courtier looked transported by her assent. He bowed and said, "My lady," with a relish that discomfited Zelda as thoroughly as his anxiety had. She wished, now, that she had not left Impa sleeping. He fell into step beside her, and she laid her hand upon his proffered arm. His companion followed with rigid reluctance.

They passed through the west wing door, and down the corridor, along flagstones that gleamed with recent washing, among knots of bustling servants. They paused, as the princess passed, and bowed their heads. Zelda had never noticed so many servants at once, and felt that she intruded upon their work. She looked away from them, toward the windows, and her companion, noticing the movement of her head, guided her toward one.

"Has her Ladyship marked that our capital entertains visitors this day?" He gestured to the courtyard. Zelda's eyes widened.

The cavalcade of horsemen that she had noticed earlier were now streaming through the gates, on steeds she realized that she did not recognize. Their riders were dressed in vests and trousers that were narrow at the ankle and hip, wide at the leg, and their iron red hair spilled, to a man, down their half-bared shoulders, past their waists. The princess squinted, bewildered that men could wear their hair so long and in so violent a shade of red, and realized, with a start, that there were no men among the company: they were made up entirely of women. She caught her breath.

Gerudo horsewomen.

The vastness of her error struck her, then.

Impa had told her that a company of Gerudo were to arrive somewhere within a fortnight, and she had forgotten this in the morning light, as she peered at the distant procession and thought it the king returned. She remembered how Impa had worn upon her face a remote and troubled expression, and when Zelda had asked her, "Why do the Gerudo come?", Impa had replied, "I do not know," in a voice of slow hesitation.

Zelda took what Impa had chosen to tell her. She knew that her lady did not care to be a bearer of hearsay; if the castle gossip had attributed a reason to the company's visit—and Zelda, kept too close, by her own desire, to her private living quarters, with her books and her tutors and with Impa for her company, had not heard if they had—Impa would put no store by the theory until it had been proven.

The prospect of Gerudo had interested the princess, when she had first had the news. They rarely left their desert, and Zelda had only ever seen one Gerudo before: a woman no taller than Zelda's knees, with a face all tramped over by age and hair the colour of old blood. She had haunted the outer gates one winter, when Zelda was thirteen, with a basket on her arm and her deep, syrupy voice lifted in a plea for charity. The court had called her 'the Old Bublin', and the Old Bublin had come to stand for the Gerudo people in Zelda's mind, their flesh-and-blood representative where Zelda had once only envisioned paper cut-outs of burly women clutching spears, or sometimes giantesses with grass-green skin and flesh made lumpy by yawning, weeping scars.

"There are so few of them," said Zelda, now. Her voice was low, and her breath fogged a spot of glass. She found her error did not pain her as much as she had feared.

The courtier was silent, and she looked up at him. He was looking at her with a strange expression, caught between pity and an intrusive kind of curiosity. She did not like how he looked at her, and so she turned from the window, and from the rapacity of his glance.

"My lady." The older courtier spoke, his tone was urgent. "May we now escort you to chapel?"

"Yes." She shuddered, as the thirst to run burned suddenly in her belly, and began to seep down to her feet. "Thank you."

Her voice drew the young courtier from his scrutiny. He offered his arm again, and they continued.

There were a pair of double doors at the end of the hall, and it was here that the chapel stood. The young courtier opened a door and saw her through; she turned to thank him, but he slipped in after her, and she surrendered to his persistence.

She saw his eyes flicker to a place but somewhere above her, and she followed his gaze, found it fixed upon a painting of the goddesses. The sisters had been arranged in a half circle: Nayru presiding, Farore upon her right, Din upon her left. Below them stood the Triforce, a vision of gold against the peach-pale stone. Zelda gazed at the Triad, and felt her heart grow light. For a moment, she forgot her discomfort.

"Nayru preserve us all," the young courtier whispered.

He seated himself in a pew, as if to devotion, but his eyes had wandered down again, and were upon the princess. He had spoken in her direction. "Yes," Zelda said. She turned her back on him and stepping into the aisle, began to walk toward the altar.

The chapel was a lofty room, made close by the pews and the tapestries draped across the walls. Upon the altar was a block of stone with three carved tiers. Within the first three bowls, cut in the shape of jewels, had been hollowed. Upon the second was the carved image of an ocarina. Upon a third was a small likeness of a pedestal, that held no sword.

Impa had once told her the story of the altar: a hundred, hundred years ago, a temple had once stood, and within it there lay a silver sword men called Evil's Bane. The goddesses blessed the hero that they meant to wield the blade. The chamber in which it was kept could only be opened by three magical jewels and an Ocarina. But the temple fell into ruin, and the jewels, the Ocarina, and the sword had vanished. Now no man knew where the broken temple lay. If, of course, it had ever existed.

A hand closed upon the princess's shoulder.

"Zelda." Impa's voice checked the startled leap Zelda's heart had given. The princess turned, and found her lady standing behind her. "What are you doing?"

Zelda smiled, and felt loose with relief. "I had meant to watch the king ride in from the courtyard," she began. "I thought it was him, I saw a procession from my window—"

"That was the Gerudo."

"Yes! I realized—"

"Zelda, we must go. You're wanted in the king's study."

Zelda's eyes widened. "Has he returned?"

"No." Impa's eyes were grim, her mouth wound up tightly with some feeling that Zelda could not name. "You have been summoned by his council. Come. You've laced your dress up wrong. We must dress you to meet a king."

oOo

There were three Gerudo women standing outside of King Harkinian's study, whispering among themselves, dressed still in their riding habits. The Hylian soldiers flanking the door were watching them with such rude intensity that Impa had to snap at them to gain entrance into the room.

There were two more women seated in the antechamber; they had changed out of their riding vests and trousers. Zelda thought at first that one was the Old Bublin: her skin was the colour of liver and so withered that she seemed to be wearing a borrowed body. But this woman was more richly dressed than the Old Bublin: her robe was a smalt blue, the fabric of it heavy and hemmed in gold. She wore a torque about her neck, studded with a single crystal that rested above the hollow of her throat. She peered down the length of a great, hooked nose at Zelda. Her eyes were russet red, her face without expression.

"Thank you for coming so promptly," said the second woman. "My name is Nabooru. Regent of Gerudo Valley. And this is Dame Kotake, advisor to the king."

Lady Nabooru was younger, much younger, than the Dame, and she was beautiful in a hard, brilliant way: her lashes and eyelids were painted marigold, her lips ocher, and her hair was long and loose, red as wild cherries, brilliant against the caramel flush of her skin. She too was robed, in damson purple that made her hands look as slender as reeds. She rose, as she spoke, and nodded at Impa, but her eyes were riveted upon Zelda: gray eyes, clear as sunlit water. Zelda nodded to her, to keep from staring back.

"I apologize that we come alone, my lady," Impa said.

The woman flapped her wrist, impatient. "We descended upon you unexpectedly. My Lord Harkinian, perhaps, did not anticipate us for some days. But we were a small company. We traveled quickly. My Lord Dragmire was eager to come to this place."

"My Lord Dragmire is waiting within," broke in Dame Kotake, suddenly. The scrutiny of her expression had not changed.

"Of course." Impa bowed.

"My apologies; I keep you. Come." Nabooru stepped toward the door of the study and knocked upon it, hard.

The door flew open, and a man wearing the colours and crest of the Hylian council beckoned Zelda forward. Zelda faltered, and Impa urged her into the room.

"May I present to you, my lord, her Ladyship the Princess Zelda?" said the councilor, to the back of a tall man who stood before the study's single window. He reached out and clasped Zelda gently by the shoulders, guided her to stand before him. She felt his hands trembling.

The man turned, and Zelda's breath caught.

She had not noted him earlier, when the courtier had showed her the Gerudo cavalcade, and she wondered, for a wild, fleeting second, why she had not. He was too tall and broadly built to mistake for one of his escort. His hair and eyes were the colour of cranberries, his skin a rich mixture of auburn and olive. He was robed, like Nabooru and the Dame, but there was a stiffness to the fabric that did not sit easily upon the grace and nonchalant poise of his body; the Gerudo motifs upon the hems of his sleeves had the angular sharpness of fresh ironing. His expression looked faintly amused.

She found she could not speak for a moment, that she had forgotten the formal greeting. The councilor's hand grew tight upon her shoulder, and she said, "Hullo sir." She recalled the proper salutation in the next instant, and amended, "Hyrule welcomes you," as she dropped into a curtsey. She held it for somewhat longer than was correct, trying to gather her self-possession. When she straightened, she found Lord Ganondorf considering her, a soft smile upon his mouth.

"Thank you," he said. His tone deep and ceremonious. She was struck by the richness of it. His eyes were a deeper red than she'd realized, the colour of garnets, or perhaps of wine. She realized she was staring, and looked away.

"Had our king but known when to expect you…" the councilor began, faltering.

"But he did not." Ganondorf looked toward the speaker. "But that is no matter. I will wait here for him."

The councilor hesitated. "Yes," he said, voice faint. "But… would you not prefer…? Your rooms. Surely they are morecomfortable—"

"I think I may more comfortably await Harkinian's pleasure in Harkinian's study," Ganondorf interrupted.

"Yes, but… My lord. We are not.. sure… exactly when…" The councilor trailed into silence, and looked away. "As you wish, my lord," he said at last.

Ganondorf returned his gaze to the window; the counselor's convulsive grip upon the princess's shoulder slackened, and he touched her arm, gently. "My lady," His voice was an undertone. "You do not have to stay."

She looked up at him, and for a moment, she was tempted to leave.

But a princess did not abandon guests. Hyrule welcomes you, she had told Lord Ganondorf. It was her duty to see that it did so—even in the absence of its king.

"I will stay, thank you," she said, quietly, and moved away from him.

She took a step toward Ganondorf. "I trust my lord had a pleasant journey?" she asked. Her voice was so frail that she feared he would not hear her. She opened her mouth, meaning to speak again, blushing to think that she could not even command her voice, when the lord turned to her.

"Your trust is well founded." His mouth curved in a slow smile. "It was."

oOo

King Harkinian returned just a little after midday.

A cry went up in the courtyard below, amid a spattering of fanfare, and tidings of the king's return reached the company gathered in Harkinian's study moments before the king himself swept through the antechamber door. His courtiers had not managed to press him into more suitable dress. He strode in still fresh from his ride: his spheral cape flung carelessly and ill-buttoned upon one shoulder, his brown tunic roughened.

"Lord Dragmire!" Harkinian's voice echoed to the rafters, and he clasped Ganondorf's hand with a noise like a thunderclap. "You will forgive me my absence. But I did not expect you so soon!"

"We rode fast," said Ganondorf.

"My lord." The councilor stepped forth. "It is a pleasure to see you again. If it please you, the princess has been amusing our guest." He ushered Zelda forward. She was bewildered by the noise of her father's entrance; she stood before him, trembling a little, overwhelmed by the size of him, the smell of his nearness: pine sap and meadow grass, mixed with the subtle savour of sweat and blood.

King Harkinian looked down at her, and his eyes were a little glazed and uncomprehending. "Yes," he said, "Yes, I imagine she is an amusing creature." He looked up again, toward the councilor. "I am sure she must have her rest before supper."

"Of course, my lord." The councilor bowed.

Zelda did not need his hand upon her elbow to obey the dismissal, but she suffered him to push her along anyway. She was nearly at the door when Lord Ganondorf said, "Princess."

"My lord?" She spun around.

"I would request the honour of escorting you to supper, when you have had your rest."

She curtsied, a sharp dip that was almost impolite in its haste, but she suddenly could not trust herself to remain upright. "My lord is very kind."

He acknowledged her words with a tilt of his head, and then returned his attention to the king.

She stumbled out to Impa. Her mind was swimming, and she could barely bring herself to wish the Lady Nabooru and Dame Kotake a good afternoon.

oOo

The evening came, and with it came a note from the king. It was only a line, a summons to the king's study following supper. Impa read it out loud, while a maid laced up the princess's gown.

"What do you think he wants?" Zelda asked, when Impa had laid the note aside.

Impa had been restless the entire afternoon, and the note put her in no better humour. She rose now from her chair and paced to Zelda's side. She took the brush from the maid's hands, and began to brush Zelda's hair with slow, distracted strokes.

"I could not say," she murmured.

"Have you learned… why Lord Ganondorf has come here?"

"I have not," she admitted. She glared, suddenly, at the maid, who pretended to busy herself with the princess's sleeves, but moved too slowly to complete her ruse. "Wait outside the door," she snapped. "I will put her Ladyship in order."

"Does he come for me?" Zelda asked, when the maid had gone.

Impa's hand faltered. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't know." Zelda blinked at the vision of herself in the ribbed glass of the mirror: the lank, watered-down gold of her hair against Impa's hand, the small, straight body on which her clothes hung as if she had shriveled up since donning them. Her face was thin, her features pinched, her icy blue eyes far too widely spaced. She glanced away and said again, "I don't know."

They went down to supper, and found Lord Ganondorf awaiting Zelda before the cavernous mouth of the Great Hall.

He opened his hand to her, as she drew level with him. She hesitated in some confusion; the Hylian custom was a proffered arm, upon which the lady laid her hand. But after a moment she took his hand, and he closed his fingers. His skin was warm, the palm callused hard like shell.

They walked down the centre aisle, as slowly as if in ceremony, and it felt to the princess that the eyes of the entire kingdom were turned upon them. She clutched, desperately, at the remnants of her composure. She felt, for a blinding, sickening moment, like a foreign queen, exposed in all her alien barbarity. She was something else, walking with her hand cradled by a Gerudo king, less than a Hylian princess—less than a Hylian.

The terror of her thoughts made her catch her breath, made her mind go light and sick.

"You are shaking," said Ganondorf, very low.

"I apologize, my lord." She could not think of what else to say.

"What do you fear, princess?"

The shock of the question struck her like a blow. She forgot all decorum, swiveled her head around to look up at him. She said, "Fear? My lord? I—I do not understand you."

They had reached the high table. Ganondorf guided her toward a chair that a servant indicated and left her to seat herself. He did not answer her.

Her mind whirled, as she sank into her chair. She could not understand Ganondorf's question, or why he had asked it. What had she said to provoke it? What had she done?

Supper began when the king arrived, and seated himself between Zelda and the Gerudo king. The food was far more lavish than usual: a greater selection of meats were brought to the tables, and the wine flowed in profusion. The cooks seemed more piqued than usual, and more than one kitchen boy, serving as an instrument to his masters' ill humour, came flying out of the kitchen juggling some garnished head of a boar or a roasted swan, still in its feathers, with the foot of a cook planted firmly to his backside. Squires were rushing back and forth, bearing in their hands bowls of rosewater for the fingers of the gentry, and a slew of jugglers, bards, and fools stood along the walls, jostling each other, preparing their routines. During the intervals in which a course was cleared away in preparation for the next, the entertainment left their stations, and diverted the company.

The length of the dinner, and the variety of the amusements, wore gradually away at Zelda's uneasiness until she began to wonder if she had not imagined Ganondorf's question, and the way in which they had walked down the aisle, her hand in his, in strange, exotic custom. She was enchanted by the bantering of the jesters, the songs of the minstrels, and by the fifth course she found herself looking about her: at the knights and courtiers seated below the salt, at the councilmen and favoured nobles seated at the high table. The Dame Kotake and Lady Nabooru sat upon Lord Ganondorf's right; Zelda had only now noticed them, and supposed her thoughts had been too full, outside the Great Hall, for her to realize that they had followed her and the Gerudo King inside. The Dame seemed wary of the food; she ate only enough for the sake of civility. The Lady Nabooru ate with hard, snapping bites. But she kept looking at Zelda and treated her meal as if it were an unwelcome distraction. Zelda soon stopped looking in Nabooru's direction. She found the woman's unwavering stare discomfiting.

By the time that the main meal was finished, and a course of sweetmeats presented, Zelda began to grow anxious again. She had caught the king looking sideways at her and remembered the summons.

She excused herself, before the dessert had been cleared away, and retired with Impa through a private door behind the dais.

When they reached the king's study, Zelda seated herself by the window and Impa stood beside her. They waited. At length, the king materialized.

He waved an impatient hand at Impa. "Leave us," he said, as he crossed to his chair and threw himself down.

"My lord." Impa bowed, and with a last look at Zelda, left the room.

"Come here," the king said. Zelda curtsied and obeyed with all haste.

The king's chair was a singular piece within that room, throne-like and too large, with the king now sprawled upon it. Zelda did not remember that it had been so conspicuous earlier that day, not with Ganondorf before her and the room filled with sunlight.

"Now," the king began, after a long moment, "you are sixteen years of age and in the prime of your youth. It would be a pity to waste such gifts. I do not intend to."

His voice was flat, his face unrelentingly expressionless. Zelda's stomach began to hurt. She held her breath.

"It is time you were married," Harkinian said.

The pain was growing ever tighter. Zelda began to waver a little. "My lord—" she whispered.

"They say that marriage is the surest way to make an ally of a man." His tone was musing, and his eyes began to wander around the room. He spoke as if he had not heard her.

"My lord—!"

"You have come to listen, not to speak." Harkinian's eyes snapped back to her face. "It has all been arranged. You are to be married to Lord Ganondorf Dragmire. He has come to collect you."

She stepped back, unconscious that she even moved. The king darted forward, reaching out an arm that seemed impossibly long toward her. He grabbed her wrist. His grip was like iron, and she realized, belatedly, that she was still pulling away. The bones in her wrist seemed to expand and pop, and she gasped with pain.

"I do not care if you do this willingly or not." Harkinan's voice was very soft. "But you will not shame me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

She had breathed the words, had not even moved her lips. He shook her. "Do you understand me?" He had not heard her speak.

"I do, my lord."

He released her. Her hand fell, limp, to her side.

"Go," he said, and turned his face to the window.

She went, and closed the door softly behind her.

oOo

When she was younger—indeed, in the days before she turned twelve—the Princess Zelda had tried to unravel her father, who men said did not rule his kingdom, but rather squandered his days upon the hunt, chasing game with all the desperate rage of a man who himself is chased by inescapable phantoms. She had asked Impa, as her lady had pinned on the sleeves of Zelda's gown one morning, "Did my mother die giving birth to me?" It was gamble, this question; Zelda knew little of her mother, and she sometimes wondered if her father had loved her very much, and if Zelda had killed her, without meaning to, without knowing what she did. Much as it happened in stories.

"No," said Impa, but her hand had shaken so much that she pricked the princess with a pin.

Zelda put store by the whispers in court, even if Impa did not. She had once heard a pair of court women trading their tales, in the humid dusk of the courtyard. The king had returned from hunting, and Zelda had ventured onto the castle steps to watch him from behind a column. She had not then discovered the little door on the ramparts.

She had been near the women, unobserved, and one was speaking of the king, telling the story as she had heard it told: that the queen, quite strong and healthy, had killed herself upon realizing the child scarcely emerged from her womb was a girl and "good for nothing but the marrying off!" "She was old," the woman had said, scandalized. "She couldn't have anymore children. And even if she could?" She snorted. "I doubt he has a seed left in his loins, all that riding he does. He could barely get the princess on her, I'd heard, much less another child. She fell from the eastern tower, and broke herself to pieces just over there—" She pointed. The women had craned their necks. "No one could say why she had been up there to begin with, except that she'd meant to throw herself down."

"Is that true?" the princess had asked her lady, when the evening had become a black and impregnable night and Zelda was dressing for bed. "Is that true?" She would not put on her nightgown; she stood trembling in her underskirts until Impa answered her.

Impa would not lie.