Zelda moved to her "true" quarters early into a yet lightless morning. Few remained awake at such an hour, but those who did and spotted the Princess Zelda slipping through the stone hallways of the fortress said nothing, for they had seen such things before.

The quarters provided by her father were, in the plainest language, exorbitant. Spread along the walls and ceiling was painted a legend even her father accepted: that of three goddesses creating the world through a combination of their abilities, before departing, leaving behind the celestial power her father referred to only as, "The Mark."

Zelda disbelieved such tales.

The bed, built on a separate layer of wood flooring to give it rise from the ground, was less for comfort than for display. Impractically large for a single person, intricately carved wooden columns stretched high into the air, ending in a canopy that served no purpose in a lightless room. A crimson cover kept the mattress from coming to any harm, but on its surface was a thin layer of dust.

The rest was typical. On another wall, the mahogany wardrobe built to construct outfits her father knew she would never wear, yet insisted on gifting upon her. To its side, an elaborate nightstand suffering from disuse.

Zelda leaned on it, her touch leaving noticeable amounts of dirt on its surface. Through its mirror, a haggard face looked back at her—one in need of sleep. Shadows crept up to her eyes, visible even in the minimal light provided by the room's unnatural white glow. Clumps of hair clung together and fell in front of her eyes.

She wiped at her eyes, accomplishing little beyond agitating them.

Two curt knocks at the door.

"Enter," said Zelda, her gaze never moving from her reflection.

"Princess," said the voice of Arielle, followed by the soft closing of the door. "A message arrived, addressed to you. I... intercepted it before it could be read by one of the servants."

Zelda curled her hands into fists and continued to stare at her reflection. "Open it."

A moment of silence, interrupted only by the brief breaking of a wax sealed envelope.

"It's... blank," said Arielle.

"Good."

Zelda placed a hand on the back of her neck.

"Princess... have you changed your garb?"

"No." Indeed, her apparel was the same as it had been for some time. The tan of her loose shirt and pants was darkened by the dirt of travel and the grime of unwash.

"Would you like me to fetch something from the wardrobe?"

"No." After a moment's pause: "I need you to see to it that the former settlement of Orren ceases to exist—as we have done before."

A long silence. Arielle stepped further into the room. "...again, princess?"

"Again. The Hero's attempts to reincarnate follow a pattern that coincides with his previous lives." Zelda began a slow walk around her room, all the while maintaining a stony expression. "Each time he has appeared, his origins have been, 'humble.' Always the noble orphan, always hailing from some small village. Stoic. Hardworking. Humble. Each time, he is placed in a scenario that prepares him for his whatever evil he has been called forth to fight."

Next to the bed, Zelda stopped. She wrapped her fingers around one of the wooden columns.

"His appearances as of late are focused in the outskirts of Hylium. Until he reincarnates properly, we must dance his dance." Zelda tightened her grip. Though the wood was strong, even it seemed liable to snap beneath her fingers. "We do not have the time, nor the resources to emulate that origin. And if my father were to discover him in such a vulnerable state, there would be no hope for rebellion."

Zelda stepped down from the rise on which her bed sat, back towards Arielle.

"Until then," she said, "we will continue as we are—and you will see to it that Orren is forgotten."

"...yes, princess." Several steps, then a pause. Zelda knew without looking that the girl gathered her thoughts. "...princess, the letter did not bear the seal of Captain Stiles. ...isn't he still your military liaison."

"No."

Arielle shuffled her feet, eventually bowing and moving towards the exit. "Yes, princess; my apologies, princess," she said, her words drowned out as she hurried through the door, pulling it shut behind her.

"And Arielle," said Zelda, just before the door could close entirely.

The girl peeked her head through the frame.

"Fetch the tub and some water when you've finished."

The girl nodded and disappeared, this time shutting the door tight behind her.

No more than a minute later, another knock at Zelda's door, this one enough to rattle the door at its frame. After no more than three raps, the door opened. A massive figure entered, cloaked in a black robe—Ganondorf.

"Hello, daughter," he said.

Zelda met the curt of his tone. "Father."

He moved about the room, examining anything he found intriguing, treating the area as his own. "You are unchanged. Was the stress of socializing so overwhelming that you'd not the sense to change?"

Zelda was silent, but followed his movements with her gaze.

Ganondorf ran a hand across her wardrobe, briefly admiring the texture. His chin was lifted and his eyes lax. He lingered there for several minutes before saying, "Why?"

Without emotion: "I was working."

Ganondorf's smile was coy—coy and contained. "On what, might I ask?"

In a stiff motion, Zelda swept her arm towards her night stand, across the counter of which were scattered several aged pieces of parchment. On each was a series of conceptual sketches, some accompanied by coded instructions and explanation scribbled to the sides.

Ganondorf did not investigate further. He continued his flight around the room, his robe billowing behind him like a cape. "Why do you fear me, daughter? I remember a time when I would ease you to sleep and read you one of the old tales."

Zelda was silent.

Ganondorf paused. "Is it the boy? He disappeared shortly after you, and one cannot help but wonder. If so, then I am disappointed in your standards. He is a fool."

"Why are you here?"

At the objection, Ganondorf's attitude seemed to shift. His chin was no longer lifted, his shoulders no longer risen. Within a moment, he became a dictator. He approached Zelda like a slow moving buzzard, his expression contorted into one of rage. "You will travel with me to the Kokiri," he said. "Today. I am not content to leave you alone here."

Even on the rise, Zelda came up no higher than her father chest. Even so, her gaze remained locked forward. "The Kokiri have paid their tribute."

"They are paying another." The words required no force. In that way which Ganondorf uttered them, they were acid. "Their last was—" A glance to the side. "—unsatisfying."

Zelda's eyes twinged, narrowing slightly.

He moved to the door, crushing the knob within a muscled hand. "My caravan leaves in two hours. If you are late—even in the slightest—I will take your... handmaiden."

The uppermost two fingers of Zelda's left hand twitched, but her expression remained unchanged, as did the rigidity of her stance.

"I expect you to bathe—and dress appropriately. I will not present my daughter to the Kokiri if she insists on dressing like a whore." He spat the final word. An untouched anger slipped briefly into his words. Ganondorf flew out the room, though his presence was felt one final time in the sudden splatter of water against the floor and a high pitched squeal.

"Stupid girl!" Zelda heard Ganondorf say.

And then contact—the distinct sound of flesh meeting flesh and the thud as a body hit the floor.

Zelda moved to the hallway, but arrived in time only to see her father's cape slip out of sight around a dark corner further down. Arielle sat propped against the well, her right cheek bruised and swollen, forcing her right eyes closed. Before her, a wooden bucket on its side, its contents spilled across the floor.

"Princess—" Arielle pushed herself up, though not without effort. "...your father came as I was leaving. I didn't think it was safe to..."

She trailed off.

Zelda gaze lingered at the spot near the end of the hallway, where her father had disappeared from view. "Are you alright?" she said without looking to the girl.

Arielle brought a hand up to her cheek and gingerly prodded it. "...yes, princess."

"Then I need you to fetch water again. It seems I'll be leaving soon."

It was late afternoon before the caravan left.

With the preparation for departure at its climax, the Grand Keep's courtyard was at last displaying signs of life. A legion of three dozen soldiers shuffled about, awaiting their master's arrival. By the design of their armor, they were the King's Hand. Expressionless warriors wearing smooth, form-fitting metal suits of silver that provided no joints to target or weaknesses to exploit. Even the helm was little more than form fit metal, offering only thin slits and holes to see and breathe through.

They surrounded their master's coach, each keeping a hand on their sword. Even Zelda's approach increased their wariness. Members who were previously melancholy became astute soldiers at the princess' appearance.

Zelda neared wearing her suit of black-steel, using reins to guide a dark brown warhorse beside her. As her father requested, she was bathed. Her brown skin was at last free of dirt and her red hair in the final stages of drying. At her approach, the members of The Hand offered Zelda no recognition beyond a cool gaze and the occasional nod.

"Princess," said the one closest to her, still resting a hand on his blade. "You're father wished us to remind you that multiple pairs of clothes are necessary on trips lasting more than a day."

Zelda narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Instead, she hoisted herself onto the seat of her mount's saddle. From above, The Hand's numbers seemed smaller.

"Daughter."

Zelda's gaze moved to the approaching Ganondorf, already mounted atop his black steed—an unnatural beast with blood red eyes. It made no noise and required no commands. At the merest turn of her father's head, it moved as though commanded by his thoughts.

But less impressive than the steed was Ganondorf himself. No longer was he clad in the robes of royalty, but rather, the armor of a warlord. Black platemail laced at its edges with gold embroidery covered his form, leaving only his head exposed. A smile crept across the dark of his flesh, a smile that only complemented the power of his being. "I worried that attending to my orders would be too much for you."

At his appearance, the soldiers fell into rows of three that trailed Ganondorf as he trotted towards the Grand Keeps' portcullis. Several unarmored men directed mules to take their places at the rear, saddles overflowing with clothes and supplies.

Zelda fell in line beside her father.

"And how is your handmaiden? I hope her injuries were not severe." His features momentarily hardened. "I have been known to break jaws on accident."

Zelda maintained her silence as the drawbridge was lowered.

"Speak to me, daughter, or your handmaiden's injuries will not heal."

They passed through the gate of the Grand Keep, setting foot at last on Hylium's barren landscape. A cool white sun hovered overhead. A hundred steps echoed them, providing a cacophony of noise against the wood of the drawbridge over which they passed.

Zelda's gaze remained neutral. "What is it you wish me to speak of?"

Ganondorf smiled and turned his gaze back to the path ahead—satisfied. "What is it the boy came to you for?"

Neutrally: "After his show at your dinner, he came to my room—"

"I surmised."

"—and asked me to make the trip to Catalia."

Ganondorf lifted an eyebrow. "Did he? And you would consent to such a trip?"

"No."

He leaned forward in his saddle, pulling his reins to the left as he did so. The caravan moved in a tight arch, shifting direction to the east. Even so, the land ahead of them seemed identical to the land beneath their feet. "I believe you should."

"I will not accept suitors, father."

A humorless grin. "And why not? Pathos' boy is weak—malleable."

"He would anchor me."

"To what, exactly? What 'duties' have you partaken that could not be relocated to Catalia?"

Zelda was silent. She spared a moment to push aside several strands of hair fallen across her eyes.

"If you do not choose a mate, I will choose one for you." Ganondorf's expression turned an odd mixture of cruel antagonism and melancholy. "Grant me a grandchild. I do not care what you do with the father after birth. Kill him if it pleases you."

At last, Zelda spoke truly: "You do not, father—" The final word was strained. "—have need for grandchildren."

"There is no true immortality, daughter. Surely your experiments have taught you that."

"I have not broached the task of immortality."

A broad grin spawned on her father's face. "Not yet? What possibilities exceed the power granted by immortality? What is it you work on behind closed doors, daughter? Self-propelled flight? Mechanical automatons? Time travel?" Ganondorf followed the final suggestion with a grand laugh.

Her expression stoic, Zelda said, "Yes, father. Time travel."

For a moment, Ganondorf seemed ready to reach over and rest a hand on his daughter's back. Before the motion could begin, however, it ended. Both fists remained tight around the reins of his horse. And at that, the conversation ended.

Their entourage said nothing.