As Zelda and Ganondorf arrived at Hyrule Castle, the Hylian monarch felt a fleeting sense of relief, quickly overshadowed by the sight of five Gerudo dignitaries assembled before the castle gates. Each of them radiated an air of authority and strength, their desert-hued robes adorned with intricate embroidery in deep reds and golds, accompanied by gleaming golden jewelry that shimmered in the sunlight. Some wore headscarves draped elegantly over their shoulders, while others had golden circlets on their foreheads, embodying the harsh desert culture from which they hailed.
The contrast between the Gerudo and the Hylian nobles was stark. The very few Hylian guards scattered about, clad in their neat blue and white uniforms, stood in rigid rows, their expressions were a mix of fear and contempt. In comparison, the Gerudo dignitaries wore clothing designed for desert survival—loose-fitting for ease and comfort, yet with vibrant patterns reflecting the land they hailed from.
The princess' gaze lingered on them as she approached, feeling the weight of their piercing gazes. Skepticism, curiosity, and thinly veiled disdain lingered in their eyes. As the dignitaries began speaking among themselves in their native tongue, the sharp, musical cadence of their language cut through the air like an invisible sword. The soon-to-be queen felt a pang of exclusion as the foreign words swirled around her, a reminder of the cultural chasm between their peoples. The conversation, paired with their sidelong glances, left her acutely aware of the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
Though she harbored guilt over the atrocities committed against the Gerudo years ago, a darker, unresolved resentment flared within her. These dignitaries stood for a tribe whose leader, Ganondorf, had not only invaded her kingdom but caused untold destruction, killed her father, and her lover, her dear Link. Yet despite this bitter history, the vessel of wisdom steeled herself. She refused to be seen as weak or naïve, her hatred toward the demon king was burning cold inside her, fueling her resolve. She would meet the Gerudo dignitaries on her terms, not as an apology or a plea for forgiveness, but as an equal. Learning their language and respecting their customs would be a way to demonstrate her strength, not submission. She would not be dismissed as a fragile Hylian princess.
A delicious idea blossomed within her mind; if she played her cards right, she could even amass some supporters among the Gerudo, they could help her orchestrate a coup and overthrow the evil tyrant plaguing her.
"Welcome to Hyrule Castle," the blond haired monarch said, her voice steady, even under the weight of their judgment. "We are honored to have you as our guests."
A tall, stern Gerudo woman with piercing amber eyes stepped forward, her gold-embroidered robe denoting her high status. She met her soon-to-be queen's gaze and responded in a thickly accented Hylian tongue, each word carefully chosen. "We come in peace, princess. But do not mistake our presence for forgiveness or trust."
the Hylian throne's heiress nodded, acknowledging the unspoken challenge in the woman's voice without flinching. "Trust must be earned, not given freely," she replied, her words measured but firm. "I hope to begin that journey with you." Her eyes briefly flicked to Ganondorf, who remained silent beside her, his expression unreadable.
The dignitaries exchanged glances, continuing their conversation in the Gerudo language. Zelda caught their subtle shifts in body language—raised brows, a few frowns, other slight nods. They were assessing her, debating her sincerity. The exclusion from their conversation only strengthened her resolve; if she were to bridge this divide, she would first need to arm herself with understanding.
"I would like to learn more about your traditions and history" The princess spoke suddenly, her tone earnest as she addressed the Gerudo woman. "I realize there is much I do not know, and I wish to understand your people better."
The woman studied the blond haired maiden, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing. "Understanding is not gained easily, Princess," she replied. "It requires time, effort, and an open heart. We shall see if you are capable of it."
The soon-to-be queen met the woman's gaze unflinchingly. "Then I will make the effort, starting with your language," she promised. "I hope that, in time, we can speak not as strangers but as allies."
A flicker of surprise crossed the woman's face, and for the first time, a hint of a smile touched her lips. "Very well," she said, stepping back in line with the others. "We shall see, Princess Zelda. We shall see."
As they entered the castle, the vessel of wisdom's mind was already racing. Learning the Gerudo language was now a personal challenge, more than just a diplomatic necessity. It was about proving her worth, not as a Hylian princess, but as someone capable of bridging the divide between their people and use that to her advantage. There would be no apologies, no submission—only a consistent commitment to understand and confront the darkness of their shared past head-on and finding a way towards freedom.
The grand hall of Hyrule Castle opened before the royal duo and their followers as they stepped inside, the rich scarlet carpet beneath their feet muffling their approach. Majestic stone columns rose like sentinels, reaching to meet the elegantly vaulted ceiling, each one etched with ancient stories of Hyrule's legacy and triumphs, all overshadowed by subtle deep cracks, a dark remnant of the war waged.
Sunlight streamed in through high arched windows, bathing the chamber in a soft, amber glow that danced upon the polished marble floors, lending them an almost ethereal sheen. Between the columns, opulent banners of crimson and gold hung proudly, their ornate embroidery shimmering in the warm light.
At the far end, a regal staircase ascended leading to a deeper part of the castle. The golden daylight highlighted every surface, casting long, dramatic shadows that shifted as the Gerudo delegation moved forward, their eyes quietly reflecting the grandeur surrounding them.
The soon-to-be queen strode ahead, leading her guests and their terrible leader to the reception room. Even under the burning and heavy weight of her current circumstances, her posture was steady, embodying both the grace and burden of her role, while her evil fiancé followed, casting an ominous shadow upon his forced fiancée. Yet, despite the serenity of the hall, the ache of her stay at Gerudo town clung to her like a dark cloud. The stinging memories of the harsh desert air, dry and unforgiving against her skin, felt like it still clutched at her, suffocating her. She could almost taste the grit of the Gerudo sands on her tongue, despite the cool, fragrant air of home surrounding her now. The warmth of the autumn sunlight filtering through the windows was a welcome balm compared to the blistering heat of the desert, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest.
The scent of the castle stirred bittersweet memories—beeswax, old stone, and the faint incense that used to calm her—but now it felt like a cruel mockery of the home she no longer recognized. As she approached the grand flight of stairs, her fingers brushed against the carved railing, the cool marble grounding her. But the weight of the throne at the top of the stairs loomed over her, it was a reminder of all she had lost. Her father, her kingdom, the man she had once loved—all of them gone. And now, standing beside her was the man responsible for it all.
Her stomach churned, not from the splendor before her but from the presence trailing her every step. The subtle shift in the air as the Gerudo leader moved behind her, the nearly imperceptible sound of his boots against the marble—each reminder of his closeness made her heart pound with both rage and unease. Yet, she held her head high, her eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply his very presence unsettled her.
While they climbed the ornate staircase, Ganondorf remained quietly behind Zelda, his gaze occasionally drifting from the opulent architecture to the princess. He was acutely aware of the rigid tension in her shoulders, the subtle signs of unease that seemed to follow her every move. He could almost taste her bitterness, the raw anger that lay just below the surface of her poised demeanor.
The Gerudo dignitaries' eyes continued to dart around, taking in the castle's lavish design with a mix of admiration and envy. Their gazes lingered on the paintings and the polished weapons mounted along the walls, each display telling a tale of Hyrule's Hero history.
As they approached the doors to the reception room, Zelda gripped the heavy handles and pushed them open with an air of forced composure. The subtle tremor in her fingers belied her inner turmoil, a testament to the many trials she had endured in the desert. Her steps were measured, yet her heart raced beneath the layers of her formal attire as the cool air of the castle enveloped her, offering fleeting comfort. The Gerudo group followed in silence, their eyes sweeping the room, the soft echo of their sandaled feet on the polished stone floor blending with the rhythmic thud of her boots.
The area presented itself in quiet elegance, its high, vaulted ceilings reminiscent of grand gothic buildings, with dark stone columns arching gracefully upward, giving the space a solemn, almost reverent atmosphere. At the far end of the room, an enormous pipe organ stood, its polished silver pipes catching the dim light filtering through the arched windows. Beneath the towering architecture, tables draped in pristine white linens were arranged in careful symmetry, each adorned with tall candelabras and vases filled with pale flowers. The burgundy colored wood-paneled walls added a sense of warmth to the otherwise somber room, while the polished wooden floor gleamed under the soft, diffused sunlight.
The air inside the room was cool, carrying a faint scent of wood polish and old stone, mingling with the delicate fragrance of the fresh flowers. Zelda held her head high, her bearing noble and graceful, but every step felt heavier, her limbs still weary from the arduous journey. As she crossed the room, the quiet tension in the air made her acutely aware of every sound—her own breathing, the shifting of fabric, and the distant chirping of birds outside the windows. The soft clinks of the Gerudo's metal adornments seemed to grow louder, grating against her heightened senses. Her pulse quickened, her instincts screaming that something was about to shift.
Suddenly, multiple voices echoed from behind, slicing through the stillness like a blade.
"Well, well, well," the voices sneered, dripping with condescension. "If it isn't our little Hyrulean princess, back at last."
The vessel of wisdom froze, her pulse quickening. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as she turned slowly, her hands clenching into fists. Standing in the doorway were two small elderly Gerudo women, their presence commanding despite their age and height. The twin mothers of Ganondorf—Kotake and Koume—stood side by side, their identical hawkish faces framed by silvery hair. Huge, glinting gems plastered on their foreheads only made their green-skinned features more menacing as they locked their cold, calculating eyes on the fallen princess.
"Hylian," Zelda growled under her breath, gritting her teeth, fighting the urge to lash out, the word slipping from her lips like a curse. The disdain in her voice was barely restrained, the weight of her resentment bubbling to the surface.
The twin witches exchanged a knowing glance, their cruel smiles widening. They swept into the room swiftly, their robes rustling as they took their seats at a nearby table, gesturing dismissively for the rest of the Gerudo to join them.
Kotake spoke first, her voice sharp and dripping with contempt and disdain: "The journey from that cursed desert to this forsaken land was awfully tiring!" Her eyes flashed dangerously as she continued, "Are you intending to starve us, Hylian?"
Koume,chimed in with equal malice: "Hurry up and bring us food and drink, or have you forgotten how to host proper guests?"
The captive fiancée felt the heat of anger rise in her chest, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to maintain her composure. The air in the room felt stifling again, the pressure of the situation closing in around her. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood, were they treating her like a mere servant inside of her own castle, now? Zelda felt the heat of anger rise in her chest, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to maintain her composure. The air in the room felt stifling again, the pressure of the situation closing in around her. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood. The insolence of the Gerudo witches was almost more than she could bear, but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. However, the sight of Kotake and Koume smugly lounging in the chairs, their eyes glittering with malevolence, set her blood boiling all over again.
She forced herself to remain calm, her voice cold and measured when she replied, "I assure you, ladies, the kitchens have been informed of your... arrival. Food will be served shortly."
"Mothers, this is not the time or the place for such bickering and petty fights" Ganondorf spoke, his tone soft, yet his gaze was threatening.
The Hylian princess's eyes flicked to Ganondorf, taking note of his intervention. His words, though gentle, were laced with a tone of admonishment that seemed to carry weight with the Gerudo elders, who then nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Very well," Kotake replied, her voice still heavy with displeasure. "We'll let the Hylian play the gracious host for now, but don't forget who we are, Ganondorf."
Koume nodded in agreement, shooting a venomous look at her soon-to-be daughter in law.
The soon-to be queen gave the twin witches one last withering glare before turning on her heel and striding out of the room, her head held high. The grand doors closed behind her with a soft thud, but the relief she sought didn't come. Instead, a deep ringing began to hum in her ears—sharp, high-pitched, and relentless.
Her pulse thundered in her temples, echoing the anger that burned hot in her chest. The nerve of those women! How dare they waltz into her home, her sanctuary, and treat her like a mere peasant! And yet, a bitter realization clawed at her, one she desperately tried to silence. Ganondorf had intervened. His measured words, his quiet authority, had diffused the tension in a way that stung her pride, but still—it worked. She couldn't deny that.
A flicker of shame mixed with her anger, the idea of feeling anything close to gratitude for him unsettling. 'No. I owe him nothing!' She told herself fiercely, biting her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood. 'None of this would have happened if he didn't exist!' The thought blazed in her mind, furious and bitter. Each step she took echoed in the empty corridor, her footsteps louder than usual, almost unbearable, but the ringing in her ears drowned out everything else. Her vision blurred as her head buzzed, Her temples throbbed, and suddenly, a piercing ring began to hum in her ears—a high, shrill sound that grew louder with each beat of her heart. The corridor around her felt as though it was narrowing, the air thickening, nearly suffocating her. The voices of Kotake and Koume seemed to reverberate inside her head, twisting her thoughts, and drowning out everything else. She staggered for a moment, her vision blurring as the relentless ringing merged with her own rapid pulse.
With trembling fingers, she reached out and steadied herself against the cold stone wall, resting her forehead against its surface. The icy chill of the stone seeped through her skin, grounding her, though only just. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the ringing in her ears, trying to quell the whirlwind of thoughts that spun in her mind. The coolness of the wall offered a strange sense of comfort, a sharp contrast to the fire raging inside her.
And yet... a strange thought crept in, unbidden and unwanted. She could not ignore the slight, morbid satisfaction she'd felt when Ganondorf had shut down the witches. They, who had tormented her with such cruelty, had been silenced by their own son—if she could even call him that. But that dark, fleeting satisfaction only added to her guilt. She hated that she had felt any relief at all. This isn't right, her mind whispered, but it felt like a fleeting voice, drowned out by the relentless screech in her ears.
Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as she pressed her forehead harder against the stone. The coldness helped. It dulled the heat, the confusion, and the resentment. But it didn't quell the loneliness that had wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. How had it come to this? Her kingdom, her home, now felt like a cage, trapping her in a spiral of anger, sadness and despair.
The ringing in her ears intensified, a sharp, keening sound that made her wince. She pressed her head harder against the stone, the cold a welcome relief against the storm raging in her mind. The castle, once her home, now felt like a prison—a place where even her title as princess seemed to mean little in the face of the Gerudo's brazen arrogance. She clenched her jaw, eyes still closed, as a wave of loneliness washed over her, threatening to pull her under.
The world felt far away, distant. She was utterly alone, sitting here in the shadows, trying to steady her breath and quiet the chaos inside her. No one would come for her. And the one person who had shown any semblance of control in that room... was the man she despised most.
She couldn't afford to break—not now. Not in front of them. Not with everything at stake. But sitting here, alone in the darkened alcove, with only the cold stone for comfort, Zelda allowed herself one moment of weakness. Just one. And then, she would rise again. She always did.
The blond haired maiden lifted her head from the cold stone, her thoughts still a chaotic tangle of frustration, anger, and pain. Her head throbbed, and her body ached with the weight of the emotional battle she had been waging, but there was no time to be idle. She had to act. The banquet, the coronation and the wedding were looming over her, each event a reminder of the impossible reality she was now trapped in.
Her mind drifted to her best friend, the one person who could still offer some semblance of comfort in this wretched castle, the one person she could still trust: Malon, who had remained by her side through all the chaos, offering solace and support when it seemed the world was falling apart.
With the resolve hardening inside her, the fallen princess made her way through the empty, echoing halls toward the maids' headquarters.
The castle felt emptier than it ever had. The staff, once plentiful and bustling, had dwindled to a pitiful handful, and the sight only added to the bitter taste in the soon-to-be queen's mouth. As she made her way to the maids' quarters, her heart thudded with a strange mix of desperation and dread. The thought of hosting the upcoming events with such a lacking team made her stomach twist in knots.
'How am I supposed to do this?' she thought, anguish and despair made her feel suffocated. The idea of marrying him—the Demon king—gnawed at her insides like poison. Her heart rebelled at the thought, screaming that it was wrong, that it shouldn't have to be this way. But she swallowed the bitterness, pushing it down deep. There was no choice, not yet. She would endure this farce, for now.
As she approached the maids' headquarters, the sound of muffled voices reached her ears. The staff was clearly agitated, and the tension in the air was palpable. Zelda pushed open the heavy wooden door and found Malon speaking to a small group of maids and servants. Her fiery red hair caught the low light of the room, making her stand out like a flame amidst the otherwise somber scene.
"Malon," Zelda called, her voice calm but commanding. The chatter ceased immediately, and Malon turned, offering a warm smile as she approached her.
"Zelda," her lady-in-waiting greeted gently, "I was just going to find you. Everything's been taken care of. The cooks know about the banquet and are already preparing the food."
The vessel of wisom's shoulders relaxed slightly at the news, but she noticed a subtle shift in Malon's expression. Her friend's face darkened as she mentioned the cooks, her mouth tightening into a thin line.
"Zelda," Malon spoke softly, stepping aside to let her in. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I feel like I have," the royal lady muttered, stepping into the room and casting a glance around. The maids' quarters were sparsely populated, a few young women busied themselves with chores, but it was clear that the castle was running on a skeleton crew. The weight of everything pressed down on her, suffocating. She turned back to her friend, her voice low. "We have to arrange the banquet, and the staff... they're nowhere near enough for something of this scale."
Malon's brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms, her expression darkening. "I've already spoken to the cooks, and they're taking care of everything. They know about the Gerudo's arrival." Her voice dropped, almost a growl. "The cooks are Gerudo, after all."
Zelda caught the subtle venom in her fmaid's tone. Malon's lips were pressed into a thin line, her fingers tapping impatiently against her arm.
The Hylian princess stiffened, her own sense of unease deepening. She could see the resentment bubbling beneath Malon's usually calm demeanor. "And that's a problem?" the monarch asked carefully, though she already knew the answer.
the red haired girl's lips thinned further, her frustration barely concealed. "It's not right," she whispered harshly. "This castle—our castle—shouldn't be run by those… disgustion, savage brutes. After everything they've done."
The poor princess closed her eyes, her anger flaring again. It wasn't that she disagreed—far from it. But she couldn't afford to let those feelings take hold right now. The Gerudo might be enemies, but they were in control. And for now, she had to maintain a façade of strength, no matter how much it sickened her.
"I need more than just the cooks," the soon-to-be queen continued, changing the subject before her anger got the better of her. "We need everyone to help cater to the guests. The maids, the servants—"
the red haired girl cast a glance behind her, where a few of the maids and servants sat, their expressions hard and unreadable. They were clearly listening, but none of them moved. Zelda's heart sank.
"Malon," the soon-to-be queen said quietly, "tell them to assist me in preparing for the banquet. We don't have time to waste," she swallowed hard before adding: "I really need your help, Malon. We have to cater to the guests. Ganondorf will expect everything to be flawless, and if we fail... well... you know what he's capable of."
the former ranch girl hesitated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "They don't want to serve the people they see as enemies," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And can you blame them?"
the royal lady's chest tightened. She understood their reluctance, their pain, their anger—she shared it. But this was bigger than any of them. They couldn't afford to act out of spite. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.
Zelda took a deep breath, stepping forward and addressing the room with a firmness that belied the turmoil inside her. "Everyon listen to me," she called out, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I understand why you're angry. I feel the same. The Gerudo have taken so much from us, from Hyrule... But right now, we need to be careful. We need to be strong."
The maids shifted uncomfortably, some casting nervous glances at the red haired lady-in-waiting, who stood silently beside her master, her own expression was unreadable.
"If you don't help," the princess continued, her tone sharpening, "Ganondorf will punish you. He will punish us all. And we all know what kind of man he is. He doesn't show mercy. If we fail today, he could take our lives."
There was a murmur of unease, the maids and servants shifted uncomfortably as her words sank in. Malon remained silent, her expression stony, but Zelda saw the flicker of something in her friend's eyes—something dangerous, rebellious.
"But that's not the only reason why I'm asking for your help," the soon-to-be queen continued, her voice softening with an edge of desperation. "I'm asking because we need to show him that we are not afraid. That we are capable of standing tall, even in the face of darkness. We have to be better than them, stronger than them. We must show them that we can face the enemy without lowering ourselves to their level."
Her eyes swept over the group, searching for any sign of agreement, but they remained hesitant. Malon, however, stood quietly beside her, subtly instigating their reluctance with a tilt of her chin, a dark glint in her eyes.
The vessel of wisdom's heart sank further. She needed to reach them.
"We are not serving them because we are weak, or because we submit to this evil tyrant and his followers' rule," Zelda spoke, her voice growing fierce. "We are doing this because we will not be broken. We will not let them see us falter. We are preparing for the day we can face them—not as their subjects—but as their equals. And when that day comes, we will be ready. But for now… we must play the part. We must survive."
The room fell silent, as her gaze swept over the group. She could see the conflict in their eyes, the reluctance battling with the understanding that she was right.
Finally, one of the younger maids stepped forward, her voice trembling but resolute. "I'll help."
Another followed, and then another, until the murmurs of agreement filled the room.
Zelda let out a sight of relief, feeling like a huge weight has lifted from her her shoulders. "Thank you," she said quietly.
her gaze met her lady-in-waiting's, for a moment, she saw a glimmer of something in her friend's eyes—something dark and unresolved—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. The red haired girl stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Zelda's shoulder. "I'll see to it that the staff is ready," she said softly. "But, Zelda… be careful. The Gerudo cooks—they're watching everything. They're not to be trusted, they need to leave!"
The princess gave a curt nod, knowing full well the truth in her friend's words.
"Malon, I know you are the one who started this, and I don't blame you. I understand your resentment and saddness, but, we need to serve all the Gerudo as our guests tonight," the royal maiden continued in a slightly severe tone, "not because we accept them, but because we are proving that we are worthy of standing against them. This isn't submission—it's defiance. We are playing their game, and we will do it flawlessly. And when the time comes, when we are ready, we will fight back. But we must be strategic. We cannot allow our anger to make us reckless."
the red haired maid averted her gaze and gave her a small, tight nod. "Thank you for your understanding," the princess whispered, her voice heavy with relief.
As her friend moved to rally the others, Zelda took a deep breath. The bitter taste of her impending marriage still lingered and The thought of marrying Ganondorf, of being crowned queen beside the man who had stolen everything from her, made her sick. Yet, her resolve was as strong as ever. She would play her part, for now. One day would come when she will no longer need to play this game. And when that day comes, she would be ready.
The Hylian monarch left the maids' headquarters, making her way back to her unwelcomed guests in the reception room. As she walked, her thoughts lingered on the conversation with her lady-in-waiting and the rest of the castle staff. It was true—she didn't fully trust the Gerudo cooks or dignitaries. Yet, after the few discussions she'd had with Ganondorf regarding his tribe, she couldn't deny that their intelligence and knowledge could be valuable. The Gerudo were advanced in the field of medicine, and their cuisine was diverse and refined, showcasing their mastery of spices and cooking techniques.
'I need to make Malon and the others understand,' she thought. 'The Gerudo people themselves are not the enemy. Ganondorf and his loyal followers are.'
Still, the former ranch girl's behavior was troubling. Her discreet instigation had compromised not only the staff's cooperation but also her own position as the princess' trusted lady-in-waiting. Worse still, Malon had jeopardized Zelda herself, dragging her deeper into the murky tension brewing among the staff, putting her in a precarious position with those she was supposed to lead. A sense of wariness crept into Zelda's mind—she would need to be cautious around her old friend from now on.
The royal lady paused, letting out a heavy sigh, her heart weighed down with loneliness. She felt utterly isolated, sinking into her thoughts. Most of her life had been spent in the familiar comfort of her kingdom, under the watchful gaze of her father and the royal court. But now, she was stepping into an entirely different world—one dominated by the Gerudo language and culture.
If she wanted to survive this ordeal, and perhaps even turn it to her advantage, she would have to learn more about their way of life. Understanding their culture, their language, and their strengths was the key. It was the only way to prepare for the future—her future.
As Zelda pushed open the door to the reception room, she drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for another round of hostility. The tension in the air was palpable, and the twin witches lounged smugly in their chairs, their expressions brimming with malice and condescension.
"Welcome back, princess," sneered the witch with the red jewel, her voice dripping with mockery. "Did you enjoy your little stroll?" The sarcasm in her tone was unmistakable, as if she was daring her daughter in law to react.
The fallen princess fought to keep her voice steady, though a flicker of irritation crept into her words. "I trust you were made comfortable in my absence?"
The witch with the red jewel only smirked, a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes. "Oh, we've been quite comfortable," she replied, dragging the words out, "though we couldn't help but wonder—are all Hylian hosts this... inattentive? Or is it just... you?"
the second witch, her forehead adorned with a blue gem, leaned forward, her grin wide and cruel. "it's best you hurry," she said in a silky tone. "After all, we wouldn't want to die of boredom in this decaying little castle of yours."
Zelda's jaw clenched, her patience wearing thin. "Food and drink are on their way," she said icily, her tone clipped. "And while you are under my roof, I expect you to refrain from any further unpleasant comments."
The witches exchanged a glance, then burst into cruel laughter. The one with the red jewel sneered, "And who do you think you are, little girl, to silence us? You may be a princess in name, but we are far older and far more powerful than you'll ever be."
The second witch, with the blue gem, let out a haughty chuckle. "Your hospitality is as pathetic as your rule! Look around, princess, your kingdom is in ruins, your people are broken. You hold no power here!"
She could feel the weight of Ganondorf's gaze on her, along with the dignitaries who remained silent but watchful. Her mind raced, searching for a way to diffuse the situation without compromising herself further. "Perhaps," she said, after a pause, "some entertainment would help break the ice. Is there anything that would be to your liking?"
The witches exchanged a sly glance, their eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Entertainment?" they echoed in unison, their voices laden with mockery. "How generous of you, princess! we do have a taste for the finer things, don't we, sister?" koume said with a cruel smile.
Zelda fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "And what, exactly, would you consider entertaining?" she asked,struggling to keep the exasperation from creeping into her voice.
The witch with the blue gem grinned wickedly. "I've heard rumors of your musical talents, princess," she said with a gleeful chuckle. "Perhaps you'd honor us with a tune on that little harp of yours. We wouldn't want you to think we don't appreciate your puny culture!"
The insinuation was unmistakable—beneath their words was a clear intent to humiliate her, to force her into performing like some pitieful minstrel. The captive princess cheeks flushed with indignation, but she refused to let them see her discomfort. With a gracious nod, she excused herself briefly to retrieve her harp, inwardly thankful for the moment of reprieve from the witches' biting remarks.
When she returned, harp in hand, the air felt different. The moment had transformed—this was no longer just a performance, but a contest of wills. the vessel of wisdom let out a quiet sigh, realizing she couldn't afford to lose face in front of them.
Positioning the harp in her lap, she let her fingers glide over the strings. The first few notes rang softly, and as the melody began to unfold, she could feel all eyes on her. Ganondorf watched with sharp interest, his gaze intense, while the Gerudo dignitaries leaned in, whispering among themselves, their curiosity piqued.
But as the Hylian throne's heiress played, something changed within her. The world around her seemed to melt away, as if she was in a trance, forgetting for a brief, precious moment where she was, who she was with, and the unbearable weight of her misery. It was just her and the harp, the colors and sounds unfolding into beautiful patterns in front of her eyes.
Zelda's fingers flew over the strings with precision and intensity, weaving a tapestry of sound that seemed too grand, too intricate, for the delicate harp in her lap. The room swelled with the sharp, bold notes, each one striking like a lightning bolt, filling the chamber with a commanding presence. The melody was complex, weaving from deep, resonant lows to swift, piercing highs, cascading like a torrent. There was an undeniable power in the music, something ancient and dark, yet beautiful, a force that stirred the soul.
Every movement of her fingers was deliberate, yet fluid, as though the instrument were an extension of her body. The notes echoed off the stone walls, reverberating through the room with a haunting clarity, sharp and insistent. Zelda's expression was serene, but there was an undeniable fire in her eyes as she played, as if she had taken all her pain and rage and channeled it into this singular, explosive moment. The room pulsed with the tension she poured into every stroke, the music surging in waves—each one more powerful than the last.
The Gerudo dignitaries sat transfixed, their earlier whispers of curiosity now silenced by pure awe. Their gazes followed every movement of her hands, their admiration growing with each flawless note. A murmur of astonishment swept through the group, some leaning forward in their seats, unable to tear their eyes away from the princess.
Ganondorf, who had been watching her with measured interest, now seemed captivated. His usual calm demeanor slipped for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. This was not the delicate, fragile princess he had once known. This was someone else entirely— there was a rawness to her performance, a talent that exceeded the courtly entertainments of the past. He could see the determination, the strength in every note, and it stirred something within him, something that even he hadn't expected.
The music surged into a powerful crescendo, each note layered and complex, swirling together like a storm. Zelda's fingers danced with impossible speed and precision, creating a symphony of chaos and beauty that filled every corner of the room. It was as though she were commanding the air itself, bending it to her will, weaving sound into something tangible, something alive.
And still, Zelda continued to play, her body swaying slightly in time with the music, her face composed, though every stroke of the strings seemed to carry the weight of her turmoil.
Zelda's fingers danced over the strings with breathtaking precision, each pluck resonating through the room like a haunting call. The harp's deep, resonant tones swelled into the space, rising and falling in intricate, weaving patterns. The opening notes were sharp, almost aggressive, but masterfully controlled, as if the instrument itself held a power that Zelda had long since mastered. Her hands moved swiftly, each flick of her wrist pulling darker, more intense sounds from the strings. The music surged like a great wave crashing against the walls, filling every corner of the room with its bold and commanding presence.
The melody twisted and turned, with fast, intricate runs spiraling upward, only to dive into deep, rumbling chords that seemed to vibrate in the very air. The tension between light and shadow, beauty and sorrow, wove itself into the piece, and it was as though the instrument were speaking directly to their souls, telling a story beyond words. The music felt alive, almost defiant, roaring with life and emotion.
Ganondorf's expression softened in wonder, his sharp eyes following the fluid movement of Zelda's hands, clearly astonished by the sheer power and grace she exuded. His rigid posture eased, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed mesmerized, almost as though he was witnessing a side of her he had never imagined. The Gerudo dignitaries, who had been whispering among themselves, fell silent, their eyes widening in awe as the music unfolded in unexpected complexity. They exchanged glances, marveling at the princess's skill, as if they hadn't expected such mastery from a fragile pitieful princess.
The room itself seemed to pulse with the energy of the music, the harp's deep, rolling notes echoing like thunder before lifting into delicate, fluttering passages that hung in the air like fragile, shimmering threads. Zelda's entire body moved with the rhythm, her focus unwavering, her expression serene yet fierce—she was no longer just playing; she was commanding the very sound itself, bending it to her will. The melody built into a crescendo, climbing higher and higher, filling the room with a vibrating tension that gripped everyone present, before releasing into a cascading, rapid descent of notes, like a torrent breaking free.
Gasps of astonishment slipped from the lips of several dignitaries. They were witnessing something remarkable, something far beyond what they had anticipated. Zelda, the princess they thought they could mock, had revealed a talent so immense, so powerful, that it left them in stunned silence. Even Ganondorf, who was rarely caught off guard, seemed taken aback. His gaze lingered on her, his eyes narrowing as if reassessing the woman before him.
Meanwhile, the twin witches, who had intended to humiliate her, now looked on in shock. Their sneering faces twisted in silent fury as they realized their attempt to belittle Zelda had backfired spectacularly. Instead of crumbling under their demand, the Hylian princess had shone even brighter, turning their mockery into a testament to her strength.
And then, without warning, the storm passed. The last notes rang out, hanging in the air, vibrating in the sudden stillness. the princess' hands rested on the harp, her breathing steady, her gaze distant as if she had been transported somewhere else entirely. The room was silent, stunned into stillness by the sheer magnitude of what they had just witnessed.
To Zelda's relief, the servants finally arrived, carrying trays laden with food and drink. She stood to join the guests at the banquet table, but before she could move, Ganondorf was already beside her, offering his hand. She hesitated, wanting to reject the gesture out of instinct. However, exhaustion won over, and she accepted his hand, allowing him to guide her to a seat beside him.
As she looked at the food spread before her, her stomach churned with anxiety. She could hardly bring herself to take a bite. Ganondorf's imposing presence seemed to dominate the space, his arrogance palpable as he sat at the head of the table, towering over everyone else. He exuded a sense of control, as if daring anyone to challenge him. Zelda forced herself to ignore him, pretending to be engrossed in the plate of food in front of her.
"I must admit, Princess," Ganondorf began, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "I didn't expect such talent from you." His tone carried a hint of mockery that made his fiancée's skin prickle. "But it was an impressive performance nonetheless."
Zelda's grip on her fork tightened as she forced a polite smile. "I'm glad to have exceeded your expectations," she replied, her voice steady, though her eyes remained fixed on the uneaten food.
She could feel the piercing stares of the twin witches, as if they were assessing her, waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce. One of them finally broke the silence, her voice dripping with malice. "A wonderful little entertainer you are," the witch with the red jewel sneered. "You seem better suited to performing tricks than leading a kingdom. Like a docile circus monkey—"
Before the insult could fully land, Ganondorf shot a sharp glare at the witch, silencing her instantly. For a brief moment, Zelda felt a begrudging sense of gratitude. In her current state of exhaustion, she wasn't sure she could have endured more of their venomous taunts without breaking.
The banquet officially began, but the tension in the room hung thick in the air. Despite her earlier display of skill, Zelda felt the weight of her uncomfortable position among the Gerudo dignitaries and Ganondorf pressing down on her. Her appetite had completely abandoned her, and her thoughts were spinning, consumed by the mounting pressures of the upcoming ceremonies. In just five days, the coronation and wedding were set to take place, and with the castle staff in disarray, she had no idea how to make everything run smoothly.
Ganondorf's voice broke into her thoughts. "What's the matter, princess? Not hungry?" His tone was deceptively gentle.
Zelda blinked, refocusing on the man beside her. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice tight. "I was lost in thought."
He leaned in slightly, his voice soft yet probing. "You seem troubled, little princess. Is there something on your mind?"
There was an unusual quality to his demeanor—a faint echo of concern. The soon-to-be queen sighed, setting down her fork. "My lord," she began carefully, "I would like to excuse myself. The upcoming ceremonies require my attention, and I need to ensure everything is flawless. May I be excused to oversee the preparations?"
The Gerudo king's expression shifted, softening. He nodded in understanding. "Of course, princess. The preparations are important. Go ahead."
Relief washed over the Hylian throne's heiress as she rose from her seat, finally free to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the banquet. But just as she turned to leave, the dark fiancé's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
She paused, turning back to face him, a mix of curiosity and wariness in her eyes. "What is it?"
The demon king leaned in slightly, his voice low. "I have a gift for you, princess," he said, his tone unexpectedly sincere. From within his cloak, he produced a bouquet of pink roses and white freesia, along with a large book.
He extended the flowers to her. "This is to show my appreciation for your immense musical talent," he explained. His sincerity caught her off guard.
"And this," he continued, holding out the book, "is the first step in understanding the Gerudo culture, our customs, and traditions." It was a Gerudo language book.
Zelda stared at the items in his hands, feeling the weight of the gesture and the subtle message behind it.
Zelda stared at the bouquet Ganondorf held out to her, taken aback by the gesture. Pink roses and white freesias. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the meaning behind them—pink roses symbolized gratitude and admiration, while freesias spoke of fascination. Floriography, the art of flower language, was a delicate skill, one that very few in Hyrule truly mastered. That Ganondorf knew about it at all, let alone enough to craft such a thoughtful bouquet, left her astonished.
How could he—of all people—possess such knowledge? The man she had always considered brutish and uncultured was now revealing a side of himself she hadn't anticipated.
She couldn't stop the surge of conflicting emotions that welled up inside her. Each feeling pulled her in a different direction. And yet, beneath it all, her indignation was boiling. How dare he make her feel this way? How dare the only thoughtful gift she had ever received, something she would have truly cherished, come from the very person she despised most? The man who had taken everything from her—the one who sat arrogantly on her father's throne.
And yet, she felt an unexpected warmth at receiving such a gift that spoke to her so deeply, that very warmth ignited her resentment. The one person she loathed and detested the most was the only one who had given her a gift she would truly appreciate. The realization struck her with a cruel irony that made her heart ache.
Anger and contempt simmered just beneath the surface. Ganondorf had murdered her father and the love of her life, torn her kingdom apart, and caused unimaginable pain, yet here he stood—offering flowers that spoke of admiration, offering a book to help her understand his culture. It was as though he expected her to forget all the suffering he'd inflicted with one thoughtful gesture.
And then there was guilt. Guilt for even feeling this small flicker of appreciation and enjoyment of theses bestowed gifts, for even momentarily allowing herself to be impressed by the man she should only ever hate. How could she accept something from him without betraying everything she stood for? Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the bouquet, battling the rising tide of emotions within her.
Zelda's lips curved into a smile, though it was strained, never reaching her eyes. "Thank you for the flowers and the book, lord Ganondorf. I'm... grateful," she said, forcing the words out with measured calm. Her voice was steady, but her mind was a storm. She couldn't afford to show him any of the turmoil she felt.
"But I hope you understand that this doesn't change the past or our current circumstances. We still have a long way to go before we can build any sort of lasting trust. For now, let's focus on fulfilling our roles during this wedding and coronation." Her tone was diplomatic, even cold.
'And I simply do NOT wish to build any kind of relationship with you!' She thought bitterly to herself, the smile on her face never wavering. 'Make yourself comfortable on my father's throne, while you still can!'
She clutched the flowers and the book, feeling the weight of what they symbolized. Even as she accepted his gifts, a part of her recoiled. This was the evil king—the man responsible for all her pain, the man who had shattered her world. Yet here she was, holding the only gift that had touched her heart in ways she hadn't expected. And it made her resent him all the more. After slight curtsy, she left the reception room.
As Zelda turned to leave after their exchange, Ganondorf let out a measured sigh, a slight curve at the corner of his lips. He sensed her wariness, her gratitude laced with hesitation. Yet, beneath her carefully crafted demeanor, he glimpsed something deeper—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or even an unspoken challenge. The act of accepting the flowers and the book lingered in his thoughts, a thread of significance woven into their brief interaction.
He had long believed her to be a willing participant in her family's atrocities and mistreatment of the Gerudo, but now a sliver of doubt crept in. What if she were to uncover the darker truths that laid hidden beneath the layers of loyalty and deception? Would that change how she viewed him, the villain she had always painted him to be?
The Gerudo warlord shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. Why did he even care? His ambitions were clearer than ever; he needed her to legitimize his rule before the Gerudo and Hylians. He had cast aside fleeting emotions long ago—love was a liability, a chink in the armor of power. He was not weak, rather, he was determined to bend her to his will.
