Chapter 47: Fearful Past Causes a Fearful Future
Coroto twisted in uncomfortable looking fits. His hardened skin scratched against the slab of stone he called a bed. Shuddering and clutching his hands together, his cheeks still glistened from his tears. At least he was asleep, though whatever dreams he had offered him no peace. She'd known the poor man's torment before, it would remain with him for all his days. The thought of losing Nabooru or Ganondorf as well? And somehow hearing of all three at the same time? Some pain you never recover from, not entirely. She hoped the stoneman proved stronger than she had ever been.
Bulira placed her hand on the stone-giant's head and stroked his temple. Her arm stung from when he clutched her. It would bruise, though the voe meant no harm. Still, she did not heal as she used to, she'd pay the price of her kindness for some days.
The two that helped her bring the Goron to his chambers stood quietly a step behind her. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she and the princess both helped Sir Jora Penrest. After all, the knight did most the work of leading the ambassador through the castle. And thank the ancestors for that, if it depended on her, they never would have made it out of the council chamber.
Bulira rubbed the poor man's forehead one more time before she stood. She placed the scroll that brought the news of Coroto's families' deaths on a small table as far from his bed as she could find. Taking a moment to arrange the other items on the surface in such a way that Coroto would not see it when he awoke.
Once the initial sorrow was gone, Coroto would want to keep the letter. Most of those who lose family do. And if he didn't he at least had the opportunity to throw the letter out himself. But it should not be the first thing he sees when he awakens, nor the second, or third, or hundredth.
Coroto's bedchamber only had one stone chair for the Goron, but they passed several others in the adjoining room when they brought the ambassador to bed. Several of which were in the Hylian fashion and had rather comfortable looking cushions. She could spend the night here and make certain that Coroto did not wake up alone.
Everyone needed a friend at a time like this. When she had been a child, no more than fifteen or sixteen, her brave older sister, Nabooru the Elder, left to fight in the war. Her mother had already passed. Not a month after she left, a message came bearing the news. Nabooru died, not in a glorious battle, but an accident. A siege weapon, overused and ill made, tore itself apart instead of hurling its stone. A shard from the catapult's arm found Nabooru's neck.
When Bulira heard the news, she had no one left. It almost broke her. She would not let someone else bear that pain alone. She stepped toward the door to fetch one of the chairs before she stopped. A chill crawled up her spine and made her tighten her shawl around her shoulders.
No. It couldn't be her. Not tonight.
"Someone should stay with him," Bulira whispered. "I have known many who have faced this loss. When Coroto awakens, that will be near as cruel a time as when he opened the letter. For some, even worse. I'd do it myself, but... I can't." If my presence would cause further harm to this poor man, I'd never forgive myself.
"You can't?" The princess' wide perceptive eyes looked to her. Every moment with her Highness reminded Bulira more and more of Gan at about that age. The intelligence, the drive to understand everything around them. But more, the vai reminded Bulira of what she knew all those years ago.
Children were never meant to have kingdoms placed upon their shoulders. They should learn of the responsibilities of their future, but not have the fate of states and their peoples thrust upon them. The witches stole Gan's childhood, and though she lived in a glistening palace and not a shattered temple in the desert, the little Princess Zelda had the same bags under her eyes and serious turn about her.
It was a cruel world that placed such burdens on a child. But then, Bulira knew as well as anyone how cruel the world could be.
"There are… " What could Bulira tell her? What could she get away with saying? What would her punishment be if she spoke too freely? "I have… people coming to see me tonight. I cannot keep them waiting."
"No matter," Sir Jora nodded and took her hand. "I only have letters I wish to write. One of them to your daughter, as it happens. I can stay with our friend."
Jora was such a good man. They broke bread together almost daily since Bulira came to Hyrule. He wanted to know everything about her daughter. Then after she told him all the best stories, he simply wanted to know Bulira. He brought her the best cloth to sew with and took her to musical performances the likes of which she had never experienced before.
A good choice from her daughter. But that was no surprise, she had named the girl well. As passionate and intelligent as her namesake, and four times the warrior.
"Thank you, Sir Jora," she managed to smile.
"Yes," Zelda said. "Thank you, Sir Jora. If Coroto needs anything feel free to call for me or my father."
"I will, your highness." The knight bowed his head to both of them in sincere respect.
Bulira and the princess left the ambassadors quarters together. Bulira was sweating, she could feel some of it rolling down the back of her neck. How much longer did she have?
"You have visitors coming to the castle?" the princess asked as they walked.
Bulira brushed her forehead before she answered. "Yes, from home." Her stomach tightened as it always did when she lied.
"Anyone important? Another Matron, perhaps?"
Possibly the most terrible people in all the world. "No, no one you'd have heard of your Highness."
"And I see you have grown close to Sir Jora."
"He is a true knight. He holds up the stories of their honor I used to hear in the desert."
"You heard stories of knightly honor? One would think that any tales told would cast them as villains. You were at war with them for the last hundred years."
"They often were, but occasionally I'd hear tell of the truly great among them. When a knight's skill at arms and ... I don't know the word you Hylians have for it, but ... goodness in their behavior, I suppose. Among the Gerudo we are taught few things are as cherished as an honorable enemy."
The little vai nodded, as she worked through Bulira's words. One could almost see her analyzing each one for their meaning, plain or hidden. "Which knights have your people considered honorable?"
"A fair few. The Duke Arlan is one, there was one tale told of his capture of Matron Konoru's daughter, and the respect he gave both her and her mother. When I was little, even younger than you, there was a knight called Sir Fressi Latisseur of the Golden Spear."
"I've heard of him, but only in passing. Was he considered truly honorable?"
"He broke the Great Gate of Kah'Noh, once the mightiest fortress in the desert. And he made certain every Gerudo who did not take up arms against him was given sanctuary and food and water before he sent them away. And those who did try and fight him, he offered a quick end with their dignity intact."
"Is that all? Knights are supposed to behave like that."
"And yet, so few do. Even Duke Arlan has overseen the destruction caused by great armies. Villages burned with no chance for any to flee with enough water to survive. It is the way of war."
That made the princess pause and make a face of some distaste. "Who else?"
"Oh?" One name came to Bulira's mind, a face she knew well. She spoke his name before she thought to stop herself. "There was Sir Godwyn, of course."
"Sir Godwyn the Faithless?" Zelda spat out the words like venom. "Godwyn the Traitor? The one sworn to protect my mother and father and chose to break his oaths and abandon them? Of course your people would like him! He joined your side, didn't he?"
Bulira faced the girl and shook her head. "No, that's not what happened. He never betrayed you. He never broke his vows."
"But he fled Hyrule and joined your people. My father told me was the one who trained Ganondorf in swordsmanship."
"And more besides. He taught them spear and horse and every other weapon under the sun. Your father has the right of it. He was the greatest warrior of his age, and the Twinrova wished for only the best."
"So, he was a traitor."
Bulira grimaced, that uncomfortable pit in her stomach growing all the worse. "Some things are not under your control, your highness. Do not think ill of poor Sir Godwyn. He would have returned to your mother's service if he could."
The princess crossed her arms in disbelief. "There had to be something he could have done, if that were true."
What more could she say to that? What would the girl believe? And would she condemn Bulira if she knew all of it? Wouldn't anyone?
A shadow passed over them, and Bulira froze. The dark reminder of the Hylian's own evil approached. When she was young, and full of anger she believed whatever horrors the Gerudo performed upon their enemy were justified by the actions these red-eyed demons. And though she now knew those thoughts wrong, it did not cleanse their evil. Monsters. How had she been surrounded by them half her life?
"Your Highness," the vai's guardian said with a bow. "Matron Bulira."
"Lady Impa," Bulira squeaked.
"I apologize for the intrusion, your Highness," the Sheikah continued. "But some unfortunate obstacles prevented me from accomplishing that task you gave me. Perhaps we can speak more about it in private."
"Very well, take care, Matron Bulira."
"Yes, thank you, your Highness. It was a pleasure, as always." Bulira bowed. She watched as the two moved away, wrapping her arms around herself in some slight comfort. If only she could return to the Boar-Head clan. Live in some small corner of the desert, where she could help raise the children and teach how to survive beneath the sun. Leave the world of witches, assassins, magic, and lies behind her completely.
But they would never let her go.
Bulira walked alone the rest of the way to her rooms. Only stopping to greet her guards.
"Matron," they saluted her.
"Shatain, Pretani," Bulira frowned. "Weren't both of you guarding the door when I left? Don't tell me you've been stuck here all day."
"Sheviath's put us all on double watch," Shatain said. "She's in a mood."
"When ain't she?" Pretani muttered.
"Anyways, we should be about done."
"Good, I don't mean to impose, but could the both of you do me a favor?"
"Anything you need," Pretani leaned closer. Looking as though she hoped it would be some grand quest Bulira would be giving her. To be young and impetuous with dreams of heroes.
"I have a headache, would you make certain no one disturbs me tonight? And tell whoever relieves you the same."
"Of course," Shatain said.
Pretani looked disappointed, but still managed to ask. "You want us to bring you your supper? If you aren't planning on leaving your room, I mean."
"No." What would happen if they came in at the wrong time? She could not risk it. "Thank you though, you are very kind."
They opened her chamber doors for her, and as always it amazed her. Far grander than any place she'd ever lived. With a comfortable bed and furniture thick with padding. She could sit in one of those chairs for hours at a time with no ache in her back or legs. There was not a chair like that in all the desert, and this room held three.
If anyone had told her that this was how royalty lived in Hyrule she would not have believed them. It felt wrong, almost as if she was committing a heinous sin by living here. When she knew her sisters in the desert lived with so little.
But what good would all the comfortable chairs, thick walls, or even the many guards that roamed the halls do, when the Twinrova arrived? They had to be close now. They told her in her dreams they would be coming, and no matter where she was in all the wide world they would find her.
She locked her door, and sank into one of those chairs. But today it offered her no comfort at all.
What could they possibly want? She had done everything they asked. Everything. She had cooked for them, cleaned for them. When their training went too far and they hurt Gan, she had tended his wounds. And when he was old enough to rule, they released her. Wasn't she done?
Why must they haunt her, even now?
They arrived at the Hall of Matrons and ordered the council on who to send to Hyrule. Why? She could think of reasons why the Twinrova would want Ashdin and Rijya, they knew war. Ashdin was vicious enough to strain the alliance between Hyrule and Gerudo, and Rijya was clever enough to keep the Most-Feared in check.
But why her? Why had the witches found it necessary to send her here as well? They never did anything without a reason. A cruel and twisted reason, but reason just the same.
Time moved slow as she waited and thought on the mistakes of her life. The light through the windows climbed up the wall, growing dimmer as the Sun fell. And still Bulira sat in silence, waiting for her unwanted guests. Every moment the dreadful pit in her stomach growing more painful. She felt she was going to throw up, to shake so violently with fear that her body would be ground down to ash.
She watched the light grow fainter and fainter until it was gone. And Bulira was no longer alone.
"There she is, sister," came a cackling voice from the deepest darkness in the corner.
"I see her, I see her. Yes. Yes. Yes."
Two lights flickered into being, one red and one blue. The crest-gems glowed with unnatural splendor, revealing the shriveled faces of those they were affixed to.
"Slave, why do you sit before us?" Kotake hissed.
"Have you forgotten your place?" Koume snarled.
"No, my mistresses," Bulira's knees creaked as she fell forward out of her chair and onto the floor. "I am sorry, I did not mean-"
"Has she grown proud?" Koume asked.
"I hope not, dear sister. What has she to be proud of?"
"Strutting as she is with royalty, with people of actual importance? Did she think herself one of them?"
"She could not be so foolish, dear sister, could she? Has she has forgotten what she truly is? How little she matters?"
"No," Bulira bowed her head. "No, I am sorry, dread Twinrova. I was merely surprised by your presence. I am at your command. I am always at your command."
"Good," the witches surrounded her.
"We plucked you from a dying tribe."
"Pregnant and starving."
"You had not had anything to drink in near two days."
"We saved you."
"We saved your unborn daughter."
"Have you forgotten?"
"No, sweet Koume and wise Kotake. I never could forget the mercy you showed me."
"Then have you forgotten with what price you bought that mercy?" Kotake hissed into Bulira's ear.
"No. My life is yours. I remember. I remember." Please believe me.
"Then why do I smell resistance upon you?" Koume's pointed nails dug into Bulira's shoulder, sending tremors down her back.
"We should punish her."
"Stomp out this spirit of arrogance before it spreads. Yes."
"I have no such spirit!" Bulira sobbed. "I will do anything you ask. Please, don't hurt me again."
"Why, she does remember where she belongs."
Kotake's finger snaked under Bulira's chin and forced her head up until their eyes met. "And we will reward you, for your service."
"As we always do."
"We are not so cruel of masters, are we?"
"Look where you live? Such comfort, such splendor!" Koume waved across the room. As her arm moved a light shown across the comfortable chairs and elegant art on the walls, before once more the darkness returned.
"No, kind Twinrova. No, you are… you are just."
The twins smiled and Kotake removed her hand. Bulira immediately ducked her head back down.
"How may I serve you, great and powerful Twinrova?"
"The boy defies our will," Koume said, releasing Bulira from her grasp.
"He is so close," Kotake continued. "Closer than all others who came before him."
"But now on the precipice of greatness."
"Of true power!"
"He is being tempted to put it all away."
"To stop his war."
"To end his chance at godhood!"
"To give up, coward that he is."
Bulira dared to glanced up. They seemed troubled, truly troubled. Was it true? Was Gan putting his dangerous plans behind him?
"There, I smell it again." Koume pressed her large nose close and sniffed.
"That filthy stink of defiance."
"No," Bulira pressed her head back against the floor. "No, I wouldn't."
"I have my doubts, sister."
"So many and well justified, I thinks."
Kotake clucked in mirth before her voice rose to a higher pitch. "I should have stolen you both away. Ohhh booohooo."
Bulira's eyes went wide and her heart pounded in her chest so loud she knew the witches heard it. "I didn't mean it. It was idle talk. I swear, I didn't mean it."
"She must prove herself, dear sister."
"How?" Bulira said. "I will do whatever you wish."
"The craven boy listens to you."
"Like a mewling babe, begging for approval."
"You make him weak."
"You twist him against our will."
The two stepped before her and spoke in unison. "You must put an end to it."
"But, how?" Bulira said. "He is far away. How can I help? He does not listen to me on matters of war."
"But he does," Koume laughed, "not that he knows it."
"Your weakness spread to him."
"Deep enough he does not realize."
"But we do, don't we sister?"
"Yes, yes, yes. And you are going to correct the affliction you gave your king."
Four thin clawlike hands grabbed onto Bulira's head, she squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could. Pain shot through her mind.
She was falling. Falling.
No.
She flew.
Bulira knew her eyes were clenched tight, yet she saw all around her. Her knees and forearms pressed into the wooden floor of the castle, and yet she soared across vast plains of grass and rivers. Rivers filled with more water than Bulira had ever seen in her life. She flew up the side of the mountain passing over stone and ice until she reached the war camp.
She fell through the top of a tent, but it did not tear beneath her.
The voe she considered her son, lay within. Sleeping between sheets too small for him, half his legs poking out from the blankets. He looked cold.
"He is asleep," one of the Twinrova hissed. Bulira tried to look about her. But she had no neck to turn, nor eyes to glance about. She was stuck looking where the witches wished for her to look.
Bulira stared at him. "I do not know what to do."
"Think slave."
"We were not there."
"That is why we need you."
And then there was darkness.
Her eyes opened.
Her eyes, her true eyes. Not the witches' trick, as far as she could tell. Only she no longer knelt in the castle. She stood in the old temple where she had lived for over a decade. Half ruined from the winds and disuse that wore away several walls, leaving only a few rooms safe and undisturbed.
There was the broken window Bulira used to sit behind as she worked. Light from the sun would strike the stained glass just right and send glittering rays of color around the dusty old ruin. The sole remaining hint of the beauty the building must have once had. Before the sandstorms shredded it. Before the witches made it their home.
"Why?" piped a small voice.
Her daughter. Nabooru, she could not be more than ten. "They aren't here, they can't make us."
And beside her, Gan already as tall as Bulira, with ears that were too big for him, and pimples that dotted his face. "Can't we take a day off?" He asked.
They were both so young, Bulira wanted to grab them both and hold them tight. 'Then let us go, while they're gone. Let us flee and never return.'
But instead she said. "They will be back tomorrow. Go, do your chores. We do not want to make them angry, do we?"
"No," Gan sighed. "I guess not."
But Nabooru harrumphed as only the willful young vai could.
"Fetch the water from the well, Nabooru. Don't be difficult."
"I'm going," she groaned as though this was the greatest challenge that any child could ever face. Stomping her feet as she walked. An infuriating sight that Bulira did not even realize she missed. When was the last time she had seen her daughter act like a little girl? A decade? More?
Strange how the things that annoyed you so long ago can be the dearest things you miss.
As they left, Gan tussled the top of Nabooru's hair.
"Stop that!" Nabooru said as she elbowed him in the side. "Stop touching me!"
"Then stop acting churlish," Gan laughed. "If you hurry, we can finish early and have some fun."
Why were the witches showing this to her? To Ganondorf? How could the reminder that they were happier without the Twinrova be an important message?
"That vai," her body sighed before turning around and revealed who stood behind her.
'Wait,' Bulira tried to call, but she did speak. 'No. Not again. Please, Koume, Kotake. I beg you, please!'
Could they hear her? How could they when she could not even hear herself?
The knight stood in a corner, as he always did. His unfocused eyes stared out in front of him. Drool dripped down his chin, dribbling over his beard that had grown long and unkempt. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he'd look a corpse.
He had been handsome when the witches first brought Sir Godwyn to the temple. Other than a broken nose that had healed crooked his life of battles had not left a mark on him. Older than Bulira, with just a touch of grey at his temples of his close-cropped hair that made him look dignified.
But his years with the witches had left him far worse.
"Close your mouth," Bulira's memory said as she pushed his jaw up. "You'll dry yourself out even quicker like that."
She used to speak to him, though he never could answer. It had been her game, a way to keep her wits in this lonely place. Or perhaps because she knew no other way to deal with him. Part of her duties were to clean him, feed him. Make certain that he survived the days.
And she had tried, she told herself. She wanted to make his life as comfortable as it could be, given the circumstances. But over the years of monotony things slipped past her. She had two children to take care of, and all the other tasks the witches gave her. Something needed to be left behind.
'But it shouldn't have been you. You were still a person.'
As her body wiped the drool from the man's lips his hand twitched. The fingernails that had grown far too long rattled against each other.
On that day Bulira had thought a small gust had moved him.
'I should have done more for you,' Bulira tried to say to Sir Godwyn. But she could not change the dream any more than she could change the past.
Bulira left the knight and headed to the kitchen. With the witches gone, and the children off to the well, they had more water than usual. Enough to make a stew, a thick soup filled with vegetables. She could even thicken it with the stale bread and the remaining camel meat would add some rich flavor.
It would have been such a treat.
Bulira wished to close her eyes, knowing what would come. But she remained locked as she had been on that day.
The deep scream tore through the temple. A man's scream. The ladle dropped out of Bulira's hands as she stood up, spilling half the soup as she moved.
"Gan?"
The scream came again. Louder and long. An anguished cry that tore at the throat, a sound of horror and pain.
"Gan!" Bulira ran toward the noise. "Nabooru! Ganondorf! What is wrong?"
But Gan was not the one screaming.
'Please, don't make me see this again.'
What could she do? The Twinrova did not let her look away or shut her eyes. She could not even blink. Her body rounded the corner and found Sir Godwyn howling, trembling on the ground. Vomit spread about him. Bulira stopped at the door. She froze when she saw him. Ever the coward.
The knight screamed and cursed again. His voice a jumble of half-formed words and bellows of rage that went beyond word or thought. The sound punctuated by cracks and gasps for air. The witches only allowed him to speak when instructing the young king on the arts of war. It had been years since he had spoken more than a handful of words at a time, and never such a scream.
But the airy weakness of the voice made the gasping howls seem all the more terrifying.
Then the knight looked at her.
Open wounds lined his face where he had torn himself with the nails that Bulira had forgotten to trim. Clear tears and red dripped down from his eyes. Eyes that no longer stared blankly into the air. They saw her, for perhaps the first time in all the years they had lived in the same temple. And they shown with such hate.
"You!" The doomed man had cried, pointing an accusing finger at her. A thin chunk of his flesh still stuck beneath the fingernail. "Where are they?"
He was less than half the man he had been when he first arrived, his muscles gone to waste. Even hidden beneath the befouled rags the witches gave him to wear, she could see his ribs and thin weak arms. Yet the desiccated living corpse sprang to his feet with an agility that Bulira could hardly follow.
Then came the flash as a sword left its scabbard.
"Where are they?" The knight screamed again, and slashed at her.
The tip of the blade went into her shoulder. It would have cut her in half, had she not toppled backwards. Her screams mixing with the knight's own.
"Filth! Vile! Monsters!" The knight raised his sword again, but his hand stopped. He convulsed. The blade waving in the air as more foul liquid spewed from between his lips and splattered against Bulira's legs. He gasped and wiped at his mouth, though it still clung to his beard.
"Bulira!"
"Mother!"
Two figures ran at the knight. The voe went high and the vai low. They tackled him, all falling in a tangle of screams and flailing limbs.
"Where are they?" the knight's voice echoed through the room. "Where are they? Where are they?" His sword whipped about, it looked as if it would take Nabooru's head.
That was when Bulira finally shut her eyes as if that would hide her from what was happening.
'Get up! Do something! Help them!'
But all she had done was cower in fear as her children saved her. Even when her eyes opened again, and she could see the three fighting. The sword clattered to the ground as Ganondorf wrenched it from his hands. The impacts of the three hitting each other. She did not help them. She had not done anything worth mentioning at all.
The two wrestled the knight to the ground.
"I am Sir Godwyn," the man screamed as he thrashed about. Even outnumbered, and weakened, he seemed to have the better of them. Ganondorf was stronger, Nabooru faster, but the knight lashed out with elbow and knee and nail, slipping around them. Somehow, almost breaking free. "First shield of the Queen. I am Sir Godwyn Bellfor. I am… I am Sir Godwyn."
The shouts turned to hoarse whispers and the words died into a long moan as the energy left his limbs.
"I am Sir Godwyn," he seemed to be begging. Nabooru grabbed onto the back of his neck and forced him to the ground. His head bouncing on the wooden floor, but he did not stop speaking. "I am Sir…" His eyes no longer looked at Ganondorf or Nabooru. At first they glanced toward Bulira, but then they went unfocused. Drifting past her shoulder to an empty spot of the wall behind her. "They can't take that from me. Not again."
"Don't let them." His gaze found her. Sad, terrified, lonely eyes. Eyes begging for freedom. "Don't let…"
The knight went still. His mouth agape, drool, blood, and tears all a mix in the tangle of hair around his face. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he'd look a corpse.
"Bulira!" Ganondorf was the first to let the knight go and ran toward her, helping her to her feet. "Did he hurt you?"
Nabooru was only a moment behind him, getting one last punch to the man's gut before she was satisfied. "We heard screaming. How'd this happen?"
It was over. It had to be. Nothing further of importance happened. The three spent the rest of the day and night huddled together, watching Sir Godwyn. When the witches returned, they strengthened the enchantments placed upon him. Sir Godwyn never again new freedom until he died. Looking out unseeing across the desert, not even noticing when the sword took him.
But this time Bulira did not pull the children close.
She did not sit terrified for hours before she felt strong enough to tell them how much she loved them, how brave they had been.
Instead, she ignored her daughter and put her hands on Ganondorf's shoulders, holding him at a distance.
'This is not what happened. What's going on?'
"You see?" The witches' words came out of Bulira's lips. "The Hylians will always seek to destroy us."
Then the boy Gan became the man, Ganondorf. Dressed in armor, standing tall and proud. Grown to be the man that Bulira always hoped he would become. And they were no longer in that broken temple from so long ago.
They stood in a room of pure light, Sir Godwyn remained at their feet. But not as he had been, the ruined desperate man. He wore his old armor, his beard gone, his strength returned. And in him was all the power and majesty of Hyrule.
"Remember what the Hylians would do to me, if they had a chance." Bulira continued to speak.
"I would never let them hurt you," Gan took her hands. "Not anyone. Not again."
"Then you know what you must do."
Ganondorf looked down, avoiding her eyes. His jaw clenched and brow furrowed. He was in pain, angry and defeated.
'Gan do not listen to them. It is not me. You have to know this. It isn't me!'
But all she could do was watch. Watch and pray that the boy she thought of as a son would do the right thing. And he would. She knew he would.
When Ganondorf looked back up, a shadow covered his eyes before it spilled out from beneath and around him. The great room of light grew dim, or perhaps the shadow grew stronger. It was Gan's shadow, but larger, more monstrous.
Please Ancestors and Goddesses, let him do the right thing.
Gan walked behind Sir Godwyn and raised his sword.
She awoke, alone, curled up on the floor. Her arm and back aching with every movement, as she tried to right herself. But even stretched out as best she could, her body was still sore. A woman her age was not meant to sleep on the ground.
With the arm that hurt a little less, she pushed herself to her feet. There was no time to worry about the pain. She needed to tell Ganondorf what was happening.
Struggling to her desk, she found parchment and ink.
My dear Gan,
I have a grave warning I must tell you. The Twinrova have invaded your dreams through me. I do not know what you have done, but they are trying to stop you. Stay strong. Do what you know is right. I love you, and I will
She stopped writing and squinted down at the letter. The words did not look right.
My dear Gan.
I have a grave warning I must tell you. The King has betrayed us! He has told me of the money he has placed into the aqueduct. But I have uncovered his true plans. It was all lies, from the beginning. He has directed the money to the
She crumpled up the letter and started again. But no matter what she intended, only accusations against the royal family came out of her quill.
"Nabs," she whispered.
Nabooru, my love,
The witches have betrayed us. They are trying to corrupt Gan's mind. They have invaded his dreams. Whatever path he is going down now he must try to maintain it. You must help him.
But as soon as she refilled her quill with ink and looked back at her message it too was changed.
Nabooru, my love,
I am so sorry, but I must tell you. Sir Jora has decided to abandon you for another. A woman of the court. He has torn your token to him and
Wailing, Bulira slammed the quill onto the letter, shattering it in her hand. "Let me go! Let me be free of you!"
From the shadows two voices cackled.