Chapter Seven: King of Thieves
It had been only a short time since Link had departed from the castle. The princess happily sighed, a small smile still adorning her face. She was back in the courtyard again, having left only to secure a book for her reading, but it lay open in her hands on her lap, hardly being read.
She was still reveling in the joy of being believed, and now something was being done! Her own father didn't believe her, and while she did in part understand his reasons, it was still a blow to her. As happy as she was to have it, Impa's support was only natural. She had never questioned or doubted the princess' dreams ever. But now she had a friend, a true friend, who she had only met yesterday, who believed her. And now he was gone from the castle, off on his self-imposed quest to find and hold the remaining two spiritual stones. All for her, to try to stop the man she knew would bring destruction to Hyrule: Ganondorf.
She frowned at the memory of him. She had only met him at a passing glance once before, a year ago for a meeting concerning trade negotiations. It had been a big deal; the Gerudo had not sent any kind of representative or ambassador since the Hylian civil war more than a decade ago. Not a peep from them, and out of the blue their king arrived, with words of peace, an alliance, and friendship. Everyone had been skeptical at first, but they had welcomed it.
She had met him then, he and the other members on the way to the first session, she on her way to the library with Impa. Upon seeing him she had flinched, and had grabbed the fabric of Impa's shirt sleeve, frightened. He had noticed, and took interest, engaging in polite small talk. She was able to chalk it up to having never seen a Gerudo in the flesh before – perfectly true and understandable, particularly with her age – but had afterwards confided to Impa the truth.
The man had frightened her; able to sense his dark heart from the very first moment she had clapped eyes on him.
She shook her head, abandoning the memories. It was a good day, today, and she didn't want it to be sullied by dark hearts and unpleasant memories. Smiling again, she picked up her book and tried to concentrate on it.
~0~
The lone Gerudo male stared down into the courtyard from one of the castle quarters' windows, scowling. She was so close to him, it would be painfully easy to take the object he desired from her: the legendary key to the Door of Time, the Ocarina of Time.
He turned away, staring aimlessly about his darkened room. So close, but impossible in current standards. No doubt she was well protected. He had read the stories of the fabled Sheikah tribe, sworn to protect the royal family. They were the shadows of Hyrule, carrying out their duty in ways those who walked in the light could not. No, here it was nigh on impossible. His scowl deepened as he thought of last night. His servants had returned empty-handed, thwarted by the actions of a young boy, it seemed. Oh how furious he had been! These Gerudo assassins, like none other in the land, held at bay by a boy?! He had dismissed them from his service for their failure, sent back to the harsh desert that was their home.
In the end, it was no matter. It had merely been an opportunity that had presented itself. A plan had already been carefully devised before ever arriving here. The plan was simple enough, only its execution was the matter of utmost care. Sighing, he seated himself in front of the desk, various tomes and papers covering its surface. The one book open was Hyrule's history. He frowned slightly, glancing over the words across the pages. The history of Hyrule was here, including the recent civil war that had ended only a decade ago. It had lasted only a couple of years, give or take a few months, but it had in that short time caused great suffering.
He had been a part of it, as well. At the time, he had been a young adult, the prince of the Gerudo peoples. He had planned the campaign and had personally led several charges. The memories still haunted him, in his dreams and in the shadows. So many had died in the senseless violence. The Hylians had started it, their fear and contempt of the Gerudo had twisted into a unanimous belief that the Gerudo were a pagan tribal people who practiced dark magics for the ill of others. Somewhere along the way, someone had even preached that the Gerudo were fallen from the eyes of the goddesses, which ultimately led to a religious, zealous crusade to purge them.
Obviously, they had failed in that aspect. They had, however, won their war. The Gerudo, originally a nomadic Hylian people, had been driven into the desert wastelands to the west, where they were forced to rely on what little the earth could produce for food, and thievery for all else. Many had died in the war, where they had struggled to even hold their own, but many more had died from sickness and starvation, especially in the beginning.
His hand resting on the desk clenched into a fist, anger welling up in him. All those people, his people! They had perished in that desert graveyard, and it was the Hylians to blame! They were foolish and cruel, believing themselves to be virtuous and favored by the goddesses. He had watched his friends one by one fall, by the sword or by the scorpion, the halberd or the heat. He had vowed to exact his revenge on the Hylians, for every one of their deaths.
A little more than a decade later, here he was, the great Ganondorf Dragmire, no longer the powerless prince, but a king, even if a king of thieves, and with power. He had studied the arcane arts, immersed himself in the ancient texts and histories of Hyrule to learn all he could. And he was strong too, standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders and heavy with muscle. He had trained every day in the arts of melee combat as well as in magic, and the desert heat as well as his exertions had stripped him of unnecessary fat. Yes, he had power, both great and terrible. And he would use it to repay the Hylians tenfold what they had given the Gerudo, his people. He smiled at the thought. Yes, they would suffer.
Glancing back towards the window, his thoughts unbidden turned to another matter. Only days ago, he had felt a disturbance from the great forest to the east. His curse he had laid on the Great Deku Tree, that foolish plant, had been severed. Surely that old spirit had not the power to break it, especially after so long with it. Someone else had to have done it. And moments later, he felt an incredible power before the forest had been silenced. Even outside the forest, the world had sensed the loss. That day, at that time, a great many people had confessed a weight on their hearts that they could not explain.
The Deku Tree had died, but something had happened before that, and it worried him. He had visited the forest secretly about three months ago, having read of the Spiritual Stones and their significance; they also were keys into the Sacred Realm. That spirit had indeed possessed it, but refused to give it to him, even as he had been cursed. The spirit had proved too powerful even for his skills to even do any great harm, amazingly, but his curse had slowly done the trick. But, he hadn't gotten the stone. The source of power he had felt had surely been that stone, as there was virtually nothing else of value there. Had someone taken it, the same person that had severed his curse? He did not know. Not yet anyway.
He had found the other Spiritual Stones far more easily. The Goron and Zora races held them as treasures, and it was no great secret. He had sent envoys to both demanding the stones, being careful to avoid hinting at his own involvement for the sake of this gathering; should any demand an explanation, he would plead ignorance and vow to find and properly punish these rogue Gerudo.
They, just as the Great Deku Tree had done, refused to give up their treasure, and he had repaid in kind. The Gorons' food supply of bomb flowers largely came from Dodongo's Cavern, set in the side of Death Mountain. It seemed only appropriate to seal off that cave, and for good measure, keeping to the cavern's name, he had summoned Dodongos to infest the hollows. As such, well, the Goron representative he had seen earlier had looked a little thinner than usual for their kind. The aquatic Zora had also mentioned that their god, Lord Jabu-Jabu, had been experiencing an illness that greatly troubled them. That had also been his doing, having summoned various parasites to feed off the great fish. He had no intention of killing it, only pressuring the Zora to give in.
Would this mystery person try to get the other Spiritual Stones too? He pondered the circumstances, weighing the options in his mind. Either he could secure the stone from this mystery person, or perhaps he would let the individual retrieve them all for him before going after him. He smiled. He liked that idea. The poor soul would be doing what he wanted without even being the wiser. It would be one less part of the plan to worry about. If he had broken his curse, surely he would aid the other races as well, and having gained their trust, they would surely be willing to even impart to him their sacred treasures.
Either way, it had been good for him to give the races trouble. It could almost be seen as an act of fate. How could he have known that through his mischief a heroic being would surface?
His thoughts halted, taking in a sharp breath at the epiphanic word that had run through his mind. Heroic. A hero.
Rising suddenly, causing his chair for a moment to precariously teeter before landing on all four legs again, he rushed over to the trunk at the foot of his bed, snatching a book from the desk corner just before it was out of reach. Opening it, he ruffled hurriedly through the contents until he found the object of his search. An opaque glass ball, of a peculiar dark greenish-grey hue, set in a tetragonal black marble base, with strange flowing silver script engraved upon it. It was one of the few magical artifacts he possessed, and by far one of the most valuable. Cheap fortune tellers professed to telling the future with such items. In reality, most of such spheres were fakes, and so were their tellings. For those who did have such items, they understood as he did that such artifacts could never tell the future. However, they could show the individual what they wished to see at the present time. Even the future could be made foreseeable by knowing the present.
Moving away the history text and placing the seeing stone upon the desk surface, he opened the book in his hand to where the incantation could be found to activate it. He had to know who it was. Having read almost all there was to know of the histories, he had several times seen mentioned a hero that had risen in dark times to vanquish evil, always having been foretold of in some prophesy or legend. As it turned out, the latest prophesy was of a certain someone being called the Hero of Time. Such a name could only imply a connection to the Sacred Realm, as everything else around it in their respective titles held the word time: the Door of Time, the Ocarina of Time, the Hero of Time, the Temple of Time, time, time, time, and more time. Why time seemed to be the common factor was a mystery to him, on the contrary, it seemed it would be more appropriate to observe the lack of time. The Sacred Realm was the realm of the gods, eternal. There would not be time to shackle them.
Shrugging the pointless thoughts away, he found the incantation and spoke it, adding in his own words where required. He desired to see who it was that possessed the stone, to see his worth. Layering the incantation, he wished to also know the location and destination of the individual. From this he would be able to discern if this person was going after the other stones. As he spoke, the stone began to glimmer, faintly at first, but quickly building to a bright light that bathed the room in a green light. As he finished speaking, the runes on the base shimmered, then suddenly flashed brilliantly, overtaking the green light so much so that he was forced to shut his eyes for a moment. The light faded just as quickly, and as he opened his eyes, he now saw the orb before him displaying a moving scene, the murky green surface almost completely transparent.
The scene before him was not shown as an image on a surface, but rather a three-dimensional work that one could observe from all angles, as if the scene was happening inside the orb, not upon it. This was especially useful if one desired to be very particular and exact with details, as he was right now.
Even so, nothing could have prepared him for this surprise. He stood there wide-eyed, gazing down upon the green-clad child, with a fairy floating beside him. As young as he was, he bore a sword and shield bearing the Kokiri crest upon its field on his back. What was a Kokirian child doing in Hyrule Proper? To leave the Forest for their kind was death, yet here one was, alive and healthy as one could expect a child.
He has the stone?! He could hardly believe it. Had this child, a child, broken the death curse he, the great Ganondorf, had placed on the Great Deku Tree? Surely this was mistake! But, the seeing stone did not change, and the stone did not lie. This was he, impossibly so.
And now the surroundings came into view. He was on a cart, beside a pretty girl about the same age, with flaming red hair. He couldn't help release a chuckle; red hair was a defining trait of the Gerudo, not Hylians. He wondered who the child's mother was, as she must have been Gerudo. The almost exclusively female race prompted them to have affairs with the Hylians, to continue their way of life. He was an exception, as few others before him were; only once every one hundred years was a Gerudo male born, and they were to be made king by tradition. For the girl to be a resident of Hyrule, and according to the cart's contents, of Lon Lon Ranch, her mother must have died before returning back with her to the desert.
The scene shifted now though, now taking the second part of his request into consideration. The cart sped away, the grassy plains flashing by. A river was crossed, and Ganondorf understood before even the image came into view where he was going. With a word, the orb's activity died, fading back to its dull inactive form. The river crossing only could mean the kid was ultimately heading to either the Gorons or the Zoras, both holding a Spiritual Stone. He smiled. Child he may be, but if he broke his curse, he either had skill, luck, or a combination of both. Either way, he had guts too. Perhaps he could gather the other two successfully. It would be easy to take them from the child. Even if he knew their purpose, if he didn't have the Ocarina of Time, it was a useless endeavor.
The Ocarina of Time. Walking back to the window, he watched as the princess' nanny, Impa, appeared, and Zelda rushed over to her side. What a mysterious artifact, holding a great magical power within, and even more magical potential. With it, he could gain entrance to the Sacred Realm, and claim the mystical legendary Triforce as his own, shaping the world as he saw fit. With such power, surely he could exact his revenge, with no one to stop him.
From behind him, he heard a crinkling sound, and sighed. It was about that time, wasn't it? Turning towards the mirror, whose edges were forking with a magical purple lightning, he contemplated what he would choose to hide or tell his surrogate mothers, the old hags that they were. He decided to keep the boy to himself; he wanted to have fun with him, and his mothers would be liable to disapprove should they be made known of him. Touching the mirror, he waited for the connection to be made, eager to get it over with so he could enjoy dinner at a reasonable time. If he had to pick something he liked about the Hylians, he enjoyed the food immensely.