Chapter 70: My Deepest Sorrow
His sword crashed through steel as though it wasn't there. All those times the royal knights faced him in the training yard, not one realized he had been holding back. Toying with them. But the time for games was long past. No one could touch him now. No sword swung nor spear thrust. Even his armor remained unscratched. The moment he stepped foot in the castle it became his.
THIS IS OUR HOUR!
"I yield!" shouted old Sir Mesihoff, as Ganondorf's parry wrenched the librarian-knight's sword from his fingers. The sad old man's knees hit the ground almost before the blade did.
But the boy that stood beside him kept fighting on. Swinging his blade with wild abandon. There was fear in his eyes, but the kind of fear that drove someone to lash out rather than cower. He was trained, clearly, but far from skilled. Though in his wild swings he managed to scratch Makeela's arm.
HE DEFIES US.
"Durrell," the librarian said. "Stop it, boy. Please, King Dragmire, he doesn't understand-"
Ganondorf's blade cut Sir Medihoff near in half.
"Coward," he grumbled as he stepped over the corpse to this Durrell. The boy's hand quivered as he raised his sword. But he kept it pointed at Ganondorf. "But you're not, are you? Tell me boy, you willing to die tonight?"
"For the princess!" He shouted as he thrust his blade toward Ganondorf's chest. Impressive, even though his voice cracked, and his attack was slow and obvious.
Gan batted the sword aside with his own and lunged forward. His elbow slammed into the kid's face and down he went.
Makeela wiped the blood that dripped down her arm. "Little whelp," she sneered as she raised her sword high over the fallen boy.
"No," Gan stopped her blade. "Put this one in chains." He fought until he couldn't. He deserves to survive.
Gan looked at the mess of the corridor. Empty, except for the dead and unconscious. Two of the Royal Knights among them. Disappointing. The so called greatest knights in the realm, the warriors he had been told to fear his entire life crumbled before his assault. Scattered, disorganized, they tried to find their king, their princess, the most important aristocrats staying within the castle grounds. But this simply made them easier to hunt down and slaughter in pieces. He looked over the dead and wondered which these two had spent their lives trying to protect.
Not much else remained to be done here, except the capture and execution of the princess. Bethe where are you?
He made his way back to the entrance. The castle defeated, Dessi and Matron Rijya out in the city slowing down the city garrison. There was only the boy to deal with. A pity he'd gotten too close to the city walls to risk attacking him and forewarn the city guards. Things would have been easier if they could have snatched him and the stones before the assault on the castle. But, no battle is ever perfect.
As he approached the throne room, he heard the vicious cackle of Matron Ashdin. She stood just before the massive doors to the throne. "Get them! Break them! Burn them out!" She called as her guards hacked at the doors. With each blow came shouts in Hylian and the slamming of heavy objects from within.
"Matron Ashdin," Gan said as he reached her. "Report."
The massive woman leaned on her staff and smiled; blood splattered along her clothes. "The king is secured. And the remnants of the castle guard and royal knights barricaded themselves inside. If you can listen you can hear the screams of those with them." She laughed and wheezed. "We're going to carve them all to pieces. Every soldier, every servant, every noble. And those screams I'll get to hear up close."
The dark part of him laughed with her. But Gan only nodded. "Is the princess with them?"
"No," her leering grin faltered. "She escaped through some tunnels. I have people following her now. But there are apparently many paths within the walls. Filthy cowards. Hiding like Sheikah rats. Oh it will be fun to skin that one alive and writhing in pain. Thinking she's so clever, looking down on all of us. Hard to be clever without a tongue. Hard to look down without eyes."
Gan's lip curled. "Carry on with your work," he said before turning away. He found himself hoping for Bethe's success even more. The child needed to die, but as annoying as the princess had been, she deserved a quick death. A merciful one. Not to be used for the Most-Feared's pleasures.
"Gan!" Nabooru called to him from the main entrance. For a moment a wave of relief came over him to see his dearest friend, but the feeling died when he saw who she held. Her arm around the warrior's waist, doing her best to carry the massive woman, though her feet dragged on the ground over the debris of the shattered door and fallen weapons.
"Bethe!" Gan raced to the two. He took hold of her, lifting her off Nabs.
"Caetli's dead. And I don't know if Bethe will last."
The Dread Spear groaned; blood dripped from her broken jaw. Her eyes found him for a moment before her head rolled down.
"She's not going to die." Gan laid her down, clearing the ground and cradling her head in his hands. "You hear me, Bethmasse? You're too tough and too stubborn for that."
"That's not a bet I'd take," Matron Ashdin's unwanted voice said over her shoulder. "Look at her arm. No way to save that. And her head. Looks like she's been bashed with a club. Folk tend to go strange in the mind after a wound like that. She won't be of use to anyone anymore."
"Shut up," Nabooru growled at the matron so Gan wouldn't have to.
"Ki-ngch," Bethe groaned. "Gahh, Gahhgn."
"Save your strength, Bethe. I'm here."
"She's already speaking nonsense. Best to end her quick."
Gan glared at the Matron. "Make yourself useful and find a healer. You must have brought one with you when you arrived. Send her to me. Now."
Ashdin turned to one of her guards. "You heard the king, fetch Manuzir."
"Gahhg. Pinzs." The battered warrior waved her good arm at him.
"Bethe I am ordering you as your king to be silent. Save your strength."
A tear rolled down her cheek, but she seemed to grow bolder by it. Angry at him, at her condition, at everything. Her good arm rose and rubbed at her mouth until her fingers were covered in her own blood.
"What are you doing?" Nabooru tried to stop her, but Bethe pulled her hand free. It splatted against the floor leaving a great red splotch. From the puddle she pressed her fingers and swiped them over the chiseled grey stones of the castle floor. Leaving long wet strikes that grew fainter as she moved. But it was clear enough.
princess
"Bethe, she's not important now."
She groaned, turning her bloodied lips brushed against the ground as she continued her work.
temple
market
She rolled back to look at Gan. Her eyes begging for him to understanding. "Ia cooent-"
"I understand Bethe." He clutched her good hand, letting the remaining blood coat his own hands. "No king, be they Gerudo, Hylian, Zora, or Goron, has ever known a more loyal warrior."
His words calmed her. A groan left her, as she shut her eyes. Her body rattled, as she lay back. She averted her eyes from him, clearly trying to keep her pain hidden as best she could. But she did not need to, Gan understood how much she sacrificed. How she fought to give him this information. He put his hand on her forehead, hoping she would understand a fraction of how much respect and admiration he held for her.
An old Gerudo woman ran toward him. A few steps behind her followed the soldier Matron Ashdin sent, carrying a bag that looked to contain various bottles and plants.
"Here, healer," Gan found some torn cushion from a broken footrest and placed it beneath Bethe's neck, and rose. "This one is now your priority for the night. When I return, she will be alive. Do you understand me?"
The old woman looked down at Bethmasse, and her expression left no doubt what she was thinking. "I will try, my king, but I am not a miracle worker. I-"
Ganondorf grabbed around the old woman's throat and pulled her close. She let out a fearful gasp. "You will keep her alive."
"Alive," the healer squeaked. "Of course."
Gan released her, and the woman immediately dropped to her knees beside Bethe and began her work. Probing Bethe's head and arm, shaking her head as she pressed into the wounds.
"You two," the Most-Feared pointed to two of her warriors. "Prepare my cart. And be quick about it."
"Where are you going?" Nabooru asked.
"The temple. This is the greatest moment in Gerudo history. And I will be there when the last of Hyrule's hopes are shattered."
"Nabs," Gan looked to his friend. "Get Honeyhoof and we can-" She had been crying. He hadn't noticed, not when he had focused on Bethmasse. Nabooru didn't look thrilled at the battle or propelled by her anger. She looked drained, with no fight left in her. He'd never seen her like that. Before battle? After? It did not matter. She always was ready for another fight. Even when she had been brought to the brink of death at Sotari Pass, she tore her stitches twice trying to get back into the action. He had needed to give her a direct order for her to relax until she fully healed. Now she just looked empty, on the brink of collapse.
"We can what?" She asked.
"Look after Bethmasse. Make certain this one," he nodded to the healer fervently working on her, "doesn't do her any harm."
Nabooru nodded. "If that's your wish."
Gan reached out and pulled her into an embrace, but she just hung limp in his arms. "It's almost over, Nabs. Come sunrise, it will all be worth it."
"No Gan," Nabooru pulled away from him. "It won't be."
Storm ran fast as the old boy could, racing through the city. The black thoughts coursed through his mind, almost too loud to hear anything else. Laughing as they passed the dead and dying. Urging him to slaughter everyone he finds within the temple. Too much, and far too loud. He needed to focus. Ignore it as best he could. And yet, this was his moment of triumph. All those years of controlling it, suppressing himself, and what had they accomplished? It was this dark part of him that shouted for the assault on Castle Town. Brutal, heartless, violence brought him to this point. Not being clever, not outthinking his opponents, not playing the general and plotting a war.
Just striking, killing, when the moment was right. As his mothers told him so many times. Just as the voice always urged him.
He clutched Storm's reins tight, and thought of Bethe bleeding on the floor, Mulli charred to the bone, Saevus disappearing into the fog, Boszura and Tressa slaughtered like sandseals. All for him. "It has to be worth it," he whispered. "It has to be." But Nabooru's tearfilled eyes haunted him, and all the voice would do was laugh until he reached the temple.
Five others came with him, Makeela stayed by his side, along with the Most-Feared and three of the Star Singers she brought with her. Gan walked ahead of them and wrenched open the temple doors. So hard, it slammed against the stone walls with a crack. And all inside turned to look upon them. Many screamed, some seemed too terrified to do even that as Gan and his warriors entered.
So many people, all of them pressed together tighter than an army camp. Vai, voe, all of them clutching each other crying. Many huddling beneath the statues of the Golden Three. Most of them Hylians, though he saw a couple Gorons and even a few Gerudo mixed among the crowd. All of them pulled away from him in fear.
All except two. Young voe in priestly robes. One with drying blood on his sleeves and hands wiped almost clean, the other drenched in sweat. Both had been working through the night it seemed. They raised their hands as a show of harmlessness, as they approached. "King Dragmire," the sweaty one said. "This is a holy place. All are welcome here, but it is a temple of peace."
"We can give blessings, perhaps look to your injured. But there will be no violence in the halls of the Three," said the bloody one.
"Peace?" Ashdin laughed. "When in the last hundred years has there ever been peace?"
"This isn't a battlefield," the sweating priest's eyes did not leave Ganondorf. "There are only people, scared people, looking for a place to survive the night."
Gan towered over the pair. He did not look at them, not at first. Let them know that they are beneath his notice. Instead he gazed out among the terrified crowd. "We are looking for the princess. We have been informed that she came here. Help me find her, and you will be rewarded, oppose me and…" he lifted his arm and called his sword to him. As it formed, the people shrieked.
But no one came forward. Disappointing.
"You there," Gan pointed to one of the Gerudo, hiding among the crowd and spoke in Gerudo. "Sister of the desert, come here."
The vai looked as if she was walking to her death as she approached. "My king?"
"The Princess Zelda came here. Tell me where she went, where she is hiding. You're a fellow Gerudo. You know how the royal family have always despised us. Do what's right."
"I-" she looked to Gan and the priests and Ashdin. Begging for something to save her, like a wanderer through the sands searching for water. But she found nothing. Her eyes found his for a moment before she bowed her head. "I never saw the princess. I only arrived a moment before you."
"Liar!" Ashdin screamed. Her staff smashed the vai across the face and sent her sprawling to the ground. "Traitor!" She raised her staff again to strike at the cowering vai's head.
The two priests came forward, clenching their hands, whispering to themselves. Clearly the start of some spell. They knew magic. Interesting. Gan raised his hand and stopped Ashdin's next strike.
"Enough," he stepped to the two priests. This time looking only at them. "I'd calm down if I were you two. For their sake." He nodded to the crowd.
BURN THEM. TOPPLE THE STATUES. LAUGH IN THE RUINS.
The priests lowered their heads, already the fight cowed from them. Pathetic.
"Sisters, spread out, and look to the walls. If you notice anything change, call for me. Now priests, this temple has a pipe organ, does it not?"
"Yes?" The one in blood said, not understanding why he asked.
"One of you, take me to it."
"I'll do it," the sweaty one said. "Jakob, see to her wounds. You were always better at healing than me."
"Helmin," The one in blood whispered. Then he sighed and straightened up. "I'll do my best. Be careful."
"I'll be fine." The two priests nodded to each other, before the one knelt down to the wounded Gerudo and the other beckoned Gan to follow him as he headed to the back of the temple. The crowd fell away. Scrambling to put as much distance between themselves and him. Children cried. Men cowered. Hylians, powerless before him, just as they always should be. All their years living high, even in war, they behaved as if it would not touch them, as if their vapid unimportant lives would always carry on, no matter what he did. No matter the Gerudo that died to the elements every day.
YOU ARE THEIR JUST PUNISHMENT.
From the back rooms, up some stairs into a gallery overlooking the main hall of the temple. Gan stepped past the priest and sat before the instrument. He grunted as he squeezed his legs into position. Always some little problem to overcome, the organ was designed for someone much shorter than him. His knees pressed against it as he tried to put his feet on the pedals. This would never be his best performance, but he'd suffer through this little discomfort. It was nothing compared to what he'd already gone through.
No two pipe organs were ever made the same. Like a battle, each needed to be planned and adjusted accordingly. This one was not as large as the one he learned from back home. For all the ancient history of this temple, it was all told a rather minor one within the city. And its dingy old organ fit that disguise well. He made some minor adjustments to the knobs before he pressed on the pedals to open all the stops. He needed the music to sound throughout the entire temple, loud enough for the Goddesses themselves to hear.
"King Dragmire," the priest said. "I do not mean to interrupt, but the people downstairs, they-"
"They have nothing to fear, Helmin, unless you interrupt me again."
That made the voe quiet down. Gan took a breath and pressed the keys and played the song he had discovered in the library of Hyrule Castle. A song that stuck deep in his mind, a song written to honor the Three and their mastery of the universe. The song of time was meant to be played soft, slow, melodic. To Gan its lingering notes exemplified both the enduring beauty and the fragility of time itself.
But this was not the moment for beauty. The song reverberated through the building. Through every corridor and every room. Filling it completely. Drowning out whatever words the unimportant people spoke. Gan closed his eyes and let the music spread from him to the ivory keys, everything perfect. Just as his mothers told him, music was its own kind of magic. And like all the others he would bend it to his will.
The blaring noise of the organ dropped low. For a moment Gan pressed on the pedals trying to bring the volume higher, but he couldn't. Then a voice joined his song, followed by another, and another. They were beautiful. And not just the voices, a harp, and some kind of flute or perhaps a reedpipe? Something he had never heard before joined the song. The notes tumbled from his fingers. And for a moment he touched the mind of the divine.
"So you have come," one of the voices broke off from the others, "my deepest sorrow." A stern voice, but one full of mournful memories and regret. It reminded him most of Bulira, or no, a vai he had not thought of in many years. When he first rode to war, when he was only a boy. Konoru sent a wise warrior named Faeruoda to be his aid. She guided him through his first victories, taught him how to treat captive, how to dance with his fellow warriors, to sing and cry over the dead. She stayed with him for most of a year, before she fell to arrows, and he sang over her grave. A harsh but fair vai. Was she the first person he truly lost in the wars?
The song ended. Gan found himself sitting at the organ, his hands off the keys. When he opened his eyes the priest stared at him.
"My king!" came a Gerudo voice from below. "We've found it! A wall opened up! It's down here!"
"Good! I'll be down."
"I don't understand," Helmin said. His hands were raised with the faint touch of magic glowed around his fingers. As though this one was ready to fight. "It's not supposed to be you. It can't be you."
"Of course it is," Gan rose from the organ and towered over the priest. "Have you not realized? It's the prophecies of your religion. One raised in glory with the wisdom to find the proper path. The moment I was born I became king, and I have the wit to discover this place and its secrets alone. One raised apart with the courage to do what is right. My mothers carried me to an abandoned temple away from all the world to train me to face down all the evils of war and never show fear. One raised in ruin with the power to demand change. My home is dying and I am demanding that changes now! I am the one your Goddesses have been waiting for. Who are you to deny them?"
The Hylian's eyes went wide. The light dimmed from his hands before they dropped to his sides. "My king," he whispered before he went to his knees.
GOOD.
Gan left the priest alone in the upper gallery, returning to the main level before he saw one of Ashdin's Star Singers signally from a door that led to the priest's living quarters. As Gan crossed the temple grounds to the back room, some of the people tried to step in front of him. As fearful as they were, some few tried to get in his way. The first among them, the bloodied priest.
"You cannot pass," he said. "I- I won't let you."
"As if you can stop us," Ashdin laughed as she approached him. "Do you think those statues will save you?"
The priest drew power into himself. His hands glowed with light. But before he could speak again, Ashdin lunged forward. A knife in her hand. She slashed at the priests throat, and his own fresh blood mixed on his robes with those he had tried to heal. He clutched at his throat, opened his red mouth and tried to speak, only for more blood and squelching noises to come.
He collapsed, and with him fell what little resistance the crowd had left. They fled out of Gan's way.
"You two, stand guard." Ashdin's laugh echoed the one in Gan's head. "Let us go, my king. Your ascension awaits."
Together they traveled through an opened door, down a twisting flight of stairs. All the while the song of the goddesses beckoned him further. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. His head screamed in rage and joy and bliss and hatred.
"Link!" came a voice, fraught with anguish. "I can't get in. It won't let me follow! Link!"
The bottom of the stairs revealed an entire layer of a temple, far older than the upper level. Sunken deep into the earth, with magic light and a large door at the back. Opened and revealing the splendor of the Sacred Realm. It almost made Gan stop to marvel at the swirling lights of gold and silver and white.
A dainty blue light flew at the entrance to the door. Continuously she hurtled herself at the lights only to freeze, back away, and try again. Her fluttering growing more frantic with each attempt. Behind her, the princess stood with the Sheikah dressed as a nun clutching onto her arm, with the head priest in the back of the little group.
The priest spotted him first. "How?" Was all he said.
"No!" The princess howled, before she tore her arm away from her guardian and ran toward the door.
Gan threw his hand forward and a wave of witch-fire fanned out. It would have struck the princess in the back had her pet Sheikah not grabbed her around the waist and dived out of the way. Instead it struck the ground just before the Door of Time and created a deathly barrier for any who approached.
"Back! This is holy ground!" the priest stepped toward him. Golden light swirled about his hands, condensed, and formed bright chains. They flew toward Ganondorf wrapping around his hands, legs, and throat before they latched onto the walls and floor. A desperate attempt to hold him back.
The old man was skilled. There was no doubt about it. Gan himself didn't know that spell, and glancing at the intricacies of the chains was enough to reveal a master of his craft. But this priest was just a man. He was Chosen by the Goddesses, and no man would best him. Not tonight. Not ever again.
Roaring, Gan let his witch-fire flow around him. Chains would not stop him, not even ones of gold. The priest had talent, the priest had skill. But that was nothing when compared to power. Black flame conquered gold and the chains shattered. The priest tried to gather his energy again, but Makeela tackled him to the ground.
Ganondorf passed the withered old man, and the princess cowering in the arms of her Needle. He crossed over his own witch-fire until there was nothing left but him and the Sacred Realm.
"No!" Shouted the blue light. The fae flung herself at him. Screaming.
The back of his hand smashed into her, and she hurtled to the floor. The cry of pain and loss that came from the little glowing insect almost gave Gan pause. Almost.
INSIGNIFICANT
He stepped into the light. And the singing rose to a fever pitch.
Light surrounded him. So intense it allowed nothing but blindness. The world disappeared with all its small petty people and their pointless lives. He felt the embrace of the Goddesses, and how could anything else compare?
"I'm here," he whispered. "I've followed your signs. I made it."
The threads of light passed over him. One after another. And with each of them came a glimpse at the flow of time. Was this what it meant to touch the mind of the gods? To see all the realms of possibility. All the times and decisions that made up the world. All happening all at once. Always and continuously forever.
Two figures stood opposed to each other, one a voe of dark stone with hair of flame, the other a matronly vai with a crown of light and wings that came from her shoulders. They stood in a realm of the sky, with a world full of people far below them.
"Do you not hear how they curse me?" The giant of stone and flame said. "How they blame me for all their ills?"
"They are still young," the angel tried to soothe him with a gentle word. "They will learn to appreciate how you challenge them to be better. How you reveal why they must improve."
"And I must live in the dark until then? Until they are ready? I must bare their hatred? I should be satisfied with nothing?"
"Not nothing. You have me, dearest brother. You have my respect, my gratitude, no, more than that. You have my love."
"I wish that was enough."
Gan did not understand why, but he felt the deepest sorrow he ever felt. A grief born of actions that could never be taken back. Of anger that only propelled an endless cycle of misery and wrath.
As his eyes passed from one beam to the next the vision split in two. Both depicted the same scene but from two different perspectives. One a tall red-haired voe holding a vai protectively while shouting encouragement to a swordsman. At the same time he viewed the demon the three figures faced. The King Below raised a sword of darkness and prepared to kill those before him.
He flew from one light to the next. All of them split in two. In one he saw a small rodent with a shadow whispering in his ear about his greatness. At the same time he saw a master craftsman reshaping a weakened sword.
A Gerudo king stood before only five matrons vowing to grow their number. All while two twin vai dying beneath the blazing sun, with their last dying breaths made vows of their own to a god that only appeared before them.
A child handed over to four wrinkled old hands. A shadow lurking ever closer.
A matron Gan had never seen died in his arms, the being alone defeated and haunted in the dark.
Two blond Hylian children stood before him. In one with weapons ready to fight him, in another with instruments ready for their music to reset the world.
He saw his defeat. Again and again and again. In far off lands and dark realms. With sword and chain and arrow. Always dying but never truly dead. All while his wrath grew so pronounced. Until one he saw himself twisted until rage was all he felt.
He saw his victories. Mountains of corpses lay before him. Blackened skies and falling stars. Rain so deep it drowned the world. Hyrule turning to dust, or its people changing to shadowy monstrosities. In all his victories he still ended alone.
The thousand shattered times flew before him, until he approached one chain of light so brilliant and white, that stretched all the way to the beginning. As he entered he caught a glimpse of himself in a room. Looking older, bearded, less lean but stronger than he had ever been. At his side a young knight, and before them both a princess.
ENOUGH!
Darkness erupted from him. Wherever it touched the lights blotted out. Severing streams of a thousand separate times curled and shrank away from him like a wounded snake. Fleeing from him. No more could he see the disjointed confusing visions. But still he descended through the realm alone with only one pervading thought etched into his mind.
There are so many worlds where I lose. This cannot be one of them. I won't let it.
Eventually even the darkness ended and he landed on the polished stones of a temple. The true Temple of Time. Not that mockery left behind in a long corrupted world, riddled with the imperfections of ungodly life.
Long had he wondered what lay behind the great seal. Since he first found the Songs and Prophecies of Nayru a decade past, everything he had done pushed him toward this goal. Every death. Every lie. Every battle fought. All of it, to bring him here. To let him stand before the Three and beg – no – demand that they grant him the power to fix all the wrongs of the world.
But even after all his work. He was not the first one to reach the end.
The child in green gripped the Sword of Evil's Bane, heaving with all his might. He pulled and gasped, and sobbed, as he pried at the sword. "But I still have to try!"
Poor child. To come so far and still not be worthy. Ganondorf called his sword to his hand. Grateful that even in this realm so far outside his own, his weapon still came to him. He approached the boy's back. What is one more death, after all the others?
Before he reached him, the boy's arm rose and with it came the First Blade, She Who Seals the Darkness, the Divine Burden, the Master Sword. He lifted the sword high, and around him poured a light so intense that Gan had to look away. Even then the intensity of it burned at his eyes. When he looked again, at the far side of the room the Last Gift of the Three hung in the air. The Triforce his for the taking. With only one last obstacle between him and all he desired.
"Thank you." Said the child.
If the voe runs for the Triforce now, that would be the end.
KILL HIM NOW.
But child was young and foolhardy, and that made him weak. Gan announced his presence with a deep laugh. Link whirled about, pointing the sword much too long for him forward. "I should be thanking you. Well done, squire."
"Stay back," Link said. "I have the sword."
"I see that," Gan took another step forward. "Shall we match blades then? Once more to prove the end of this once and for all? What do you say, squire?"
The boy didn't answer, but he looked over his shoulder at the golden idol and all the power it held.
"Isn't this what you wanted since I killed your father?"
His head turned right back to look at Gan. The child sneered, but as Gan advanced he retreated. Step by step approaching the Triforce.
"I hope you'll put up more of a fight than those pathetic creatures you left to slow me down." Still he stepped away. But Gan could see the hatred burning in his eyes. "Especially that ridiculous little sprite. The blue fairy. She was the weakest of them all. You should have heard her screaming."
"What did you do to Navi?" The boy stopped. His jaw clenched and hand trembling.
Gan raised his blade and smiled. "I cut her in two."
Link screamed. And Gan knew he had won. The voe charged at him, attempt to fight with a sword much too large, and a shield much too heavy. And yet Gan could do nothing but admire the child's skill. Even in the midst of rage he approached with the shield high, angled perfectly to defend himself. His stance vastly improved since they first fought. His grip more secure, confident.
Gan swung his blade, but the boy stepped off the center, and angled his shield to catch it at the swing's weakest point. Even so, it knocked the child a step back. But he lunged forward with his long blade, forcing Ganondorf to step aside himself. "A strong blow," Gan congratulated. "And well controlled."
The boy lashed out twice more, precise, measures strikes always aiming for points where Gan's armor was weakest: near the joints or by his thigh. Gan parried both strikes before he returned a riposte, and Link backed away. "Focused. Precise. Bethe taught you well."
Gan raised his sword and struck down. A killing blow if it hit, but the voe raised his sword to match. A weak guard from a weak arm. Gan's blade should have smashed through it. But as his sword touched the gleaming white blade of the goddesses it ignited in holy light. The child stood firm.
Link grunted and thrust his blade, plunging it into the gap in Gan's armor around his hip.
The sword did not go deep. A scratch at most. Gan had suffered hundreds of such wounds over the years. But it stung. As if his skin froze and burned at the same time.
He hit me. The child actually hit me.
Gan smashed the holy blade aside. It tore more of his flesh as it left him. Making Gan wince at the pain. But this game must reach its end. No more playing with the brave little voe. His sword swung down, battering aside Link's shield and sliced into the boy's shoulder. And this cut went deep. The boy's mouth opened to scream, but no sound came from it. His eyes wide in shock and pain as he stumbled.
Gan lifted his blade and saw the deep red line that went from the boy's shoulder to across his chest. Depending on how deep the strike it would kill a full-grown knight in an instant should it pierce the heart, or perhaps in an hour from loss of blood and shattered bones. But no matter what, the boy would die.
And yet he still stood. Trying hard to push himself forward. But his first uneasy step proved his last.
The child stumbled to the ground. A shattered broken figure. Gan stepped to him, he still breathed for however long that would last. Brave little Hylian, if only things could have gone different. Gan placed a gentle hand on the child's shoulder a moment. "It will all be worth it."
He stepped over the broken child and reached for everything he ever wanted.
He touched the golden light.
Darkness and silence. For the first time he could ever remember, his mind was at peace. No pressures of kingship, no dying civilization all resting on his shoulders. And no boundless rage. Silence. True silence. The dark thoughts were gone. Leaving only him with blessed peace.
He opened his eyes. The Temple of Time no longer surrounded him. Instead, he stood in a large room that almost looked familiar. The Temple of the Desert, no longer in ruins. The statue of Hylia no longer lay in shattered pieces but stood tall. Windows once boarded up to keep out burning sand whipping through the winds were fixed with glass and opened, letting in a pleasant warm air. Gan moved to the nearest window and looked out. Green fields as far as the eye could see over gently rolling hills.
"Do you like it?"
Gan whirled back around to see who spoke. A Gerudo stood before him, dressed as a dancer with a red-gold collar. A friendly smile to her lips, and yet the most noticeable feature of her was her eyes. Sad eyes, ones that had seen far more than anyone ever could. He blinked, trying to figure out where he had seen her before. And for a moment she looked far grander. So large she could never be contained within the temple. Or perhaps it was he who was small? No more than a child when compared to her. Around her neck sat not jewelry, but a thin dragon, head raised and ready to strike. Fire surrounded them both, a flame that lit all who saw her, but never burned.
Then she returned to the dancer with the sad eyes.
"It is beautiful. Everything I ever hoped for. Everything I dreamed."
"I am glad. Come, my deepest sorrow," she beckoned to him. "It will matter less than you will like, but, let us talk."
"Are you who I think you are?"
"Yes."
He approached her, tentatively at first. Waiting to sense some form of danger, to hear the howl of rage, the demand to kill. But still, there was nothing, but the beautiful silence. When he reached the dancer she embraced him and it took all his will to remain strong. To not embarrass himself before her. And become a puddle of tears and regret. Somehow he found the strength to ask a question, the most important question, the one he had asked himself so many times, and when he answered he always lied. "Am I the one who is worthy?"
"No."
A single word, but it wiped away his entire world.
"No one is. No Hylian was ever meant to hold the entire power of a god alone."
"I'm not Hylian."
"Do you truly think the gods care about the color of your skin?" She sighed. "Hylia was meant to be your guide, as she guided all of your kind. But she broke the rules that bind even gods. And in so doing, allowed her brother to do the same."
"Am I cursed?"
"Yes."
"It's not me." He touched his head. "All this time. Every moment of my life, I hear it. Every problem in the world. Every injustice. Every reason to burn everything down."
"Every death needed to make your dreams a reality. Every spiteful idea. Every black thought meant to push you further to ruin." The goddess pulled away to look him in the eyes so he could see the truth of her words. "I would take them all away if I could."
"But you can't."
"No."
"He'll return as soon as this conversation ends?"
"Yes."
"Will I remember you? Will I remember being here?"
"No more than you remember the most fleeting dream. A thought, a feeling, before it is gone forever."
"Then why are we having it? If neither of us can do anything to change what's happening, why tell me? Why show me that everything I've done has been for nothing. Less than nothing. Why?"
"Because you deserve to know. Even if he takes it all away."
"The visions I saw in the strands of time. All where I lose, where I die. Will those happen?"
"Perhaps. There are some where you win. Where you blot out the sky and shake the earth. There are worlds you burn, or freeze, or drown. All of them are equally true. Your future is not yet written in stone. You still have ways to decide the fate of the world."
Gan could not bare to look at her any further. He pulled away, and stalked to the windows. Back to the fields of grass, dotted with trees and flowers. The well he carried water from as a child stood repaired, with a bucket hanging from it, still damp with water. "What of here? Is there any version of time that ends up like this?"
"No, this future was lost to you some time ago."
"All of it," he whispered. "All of it was for nothing. This was all I ever wanted. All I ever strove for. And it will never happen."
"Not for you. Some other time, some other version, perhaps, will get to see this."
"And what of Nabooru? Bulira? What of all my sisters?"
"They live well. You can go out there. You can see them, take my hand and I will show you the extent of your perfect world."
"How long can I stay here?"
"As long as you wish, my deepest sorrow. Walk out among the fields, feel the grass beneath your toes. See the world that might have been. And when you are ready - only when you are ready - then I will take you back."
"But I must return, eventually."
"Yes."
A gentle breeze drifted through the windows, carrying with it the scent of grass and mud, of a whole world teaming with life. A life he would never be able to experience, he would never be able to see again. He shut his eyes and let the wind flow over him. Thinking of all he had done, and how little he deserved to be there.
"I'm done," he turned away from the world, wiping unfallen tears from his eyes. "Take me back. I can't look at this anymore."
Loving arms embraced him, and the soothing wind died.
The Triforce shattered in his hands. That dark part of him howled in rage.
NO IT IS MINE! IT IS MINE! I WON! I DESERVE IT ALL!
But from the three shattered pieces one descended down to him. On his gauntlet an image of the Triforce appeared, but hollow, empty except for the topmost triangle. And yet with only a fraction of the divine power he still felt his strength grow a hundred fold. His arms and legs felt as though they could break stone. He could do anything that he wanted. Anything. Who would ever stop him?
"Ganondorf," came an exhausted, rasping voice. The child pushed himself to his feet. Somehow still holding on to the Master Sword, though his other arm hung limp at his side, and the cut spilled blood. "Murderer." He staggered toward him. "Murderer."
Ganondorf waved his arm, and a wave of raw power smashed into the child. He flew through the air, and struck the hard stones of the temple with a loud crack.
"Do us both a favor and die already, squire." Why am I doing this? For a moment the memory of a sad dancer came to him.
But the child didn't die. Groaning. Crying. Screaming. He pushed himself back to his feet. Dragging the sword he couldn't lift completely anymore. But that didn't deter the child at all. He limped forward. His large eyes bore into him, a rage and anguish that he had only seen in two other children before, when abused by a powerful adult.
KILL HIM!
The child dripped blood as he continued his unstoppable march. Wincing with every step. No child should ever endure this.
"If you have something important to you, truly important," Gan whispered, "you fight for it to the end."
He waved his hand once more. And the Triforce of Power did his bidding. A golden cage surrounded the boy. Link screamed as the walls closed in around him. As the light sealed the boy away completely, he froze. Trapped in an endless wail.
That part of Gan screamed, howling to kill the boy. Over and over. Demanding the utter destruction of a defenseless child. It took every ounce of will to stop himself from giving in. Instead he touched the gilded prison, looking away from the child's hand and the symbol etched upon it. "Rest well, squire. You still have a part to play."
And with that, the memory of a warm embrace disappeared.
King Ganondorf Dragmire stepped away from the child. He clenched his fingers and felt the power that surged through him. He could do anything, he could fix everything. The entire world was his. And he would no longer be delayed. With a thought he left the true Temple of Time and the Sacred Realm, leaving a child locked in time behind him.