Chapter 70: My Deepest Sorrow
His sword crashed through steel and cleaved through the flesh beneath. Might and magic together rendered the greatest of knights weak before him. All those mornings in the training yard had taught him everything these warriors knew, and he had been sure to reveal nothing of himself. They thought themselves his equal, but those bouts had been games and now the games were done. No sword swung nor spear thrust could touch him. Even his armor remained unblemished. The moment he stepped foot in the castle it became his. This city was his. This kingdom was 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 before the blade did.
But the boy who 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 Mesihoff 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 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 to the end."
Makeela spat before nodding. "Sorry, my king. I forgot myself."
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, and disorganized, instead of mounting a defense they searched for their king, their princess, or any of those useless aristocrats that made their home in the castle grounds. This was the result of the honor they upheld as so precious.
With the tower secured, he made his way to the main entrance. Only a few pockets of resistance remained in the castle, they would not hold for long. Dessi and Matron Rijya had taken their force out into the city to slow the garrison. Only two figures remained between himself and his eternal victory, the boy and the princess. As to the child of the forest, it was a pity he'd gotten too close to the north gate to risk attacking him directly and forewarning the city guard. Things would have been easier if he'd been an hour earlier. But no battle is ever perfect, and the child had nowhere to run. Gan could search for and capture him at his leisure. But the princess? Bethe, where are you?
As he neared 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 fat fool is secured. The one called Sir Bennison rallied the remnant of the Castle Guard and Royal Knights. They've barricaded themselves inside. If you listen, you can hear the screams of those within." She laughed and wheezed. "We're going to carve them all to pieces. Every soldier, every servant, every knight, every noble. And those screams I'll 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 and told Commander Bethmasse when she asked. But there are 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 princess posed a threat and that needed to be ended. But as aggravating as the little vai had been, no one deserved to become one of the Most-Feared's pleasures. Let Bethe bring her mercy.
"Gan!" Nabooru called 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 arms 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 the wounded warrior from Nabs.
"Caeiti'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 cleared the ground before he lowered her to the polished stones, cradling her head in his hands. "You hear me, Commander? You're too tough and too stubborn for that."
"That's not a bet I'd take," came Matron Ashdin's unwanted voice. "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 before Gan had the chance to command the same.
"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 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; her head slumped to the ground as she continued her work. The blood from her mouth and forehead spread around her face.
temple
market
She rolled back to look at Gan. Her eyes begged for him to understand. "Ia cooent-"
"Thank you, Bethe." He held her good hand, hoping his touch would convey his respect and admiration. "No king, be they Gerudo, Hylian, Zora, or Goron, has ever known a more loyal soldier."
His words calmed her. She gave a soft groan before she shut her eyes. Her body rattled as she lay back. Gan would have thought her dead, were it not for the sucking heaves of breath she made through her shattered jaw.
"Rest now. You've done more than anyone else could."
An elder Gerudo ran to his side. A few steps behind her followed the soldier Matron Ashdin sent, carrying a heavy-looking box.
"You must be Manuzir," Gan said as the soldier set the box down and revealed various bottles, clean clothes, and plants.
"Aye, my king. Careful with her head."
Gan pointed toward some torn cushion from a broken footrest, Nabs grabbed it and helped place it beneath Bethe's neck. "This one is now your priority for the night. When I return, she will be alive. Do you understand me?"
The old vai looked down at Bethmasse, her frown left no doubt what she was thinking. "I will try, my king, but I am not a miracle worker. I-"
Ganondorf grabbed her around the throat and pulled her close. "You will keep her alive."
"Alive," the healer squeaked. "Of course. I only meant- 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 return to the action. He had needed to give her a direct order to obey the healers and rest. 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 tying up the mangled arm, "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 as fast as the old voe could, racing through the city. The black thoughts coursed through Gan's 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 self-control, of suppressing this part of him, what had it accomplished? It was these black thoughts that shouted for the assault on Castle Town. Brutal, heartless, violence brought him further than he ever had been before. 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. Where does honor lead you? Wasted, spent, blind, and dead, just like the knights of Hyrule.
Had he been any better? The Gerudo had their honor as well, and all those wasted years following it had brought him nothing. Just as his mothers and his thoughts always warned. But he was free now, and he'd never let those shackles bind him again.
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 tear-filled eyes haunted him, all the while the voice would not stop laughing.
Five followed him to the temple. Makeela had not left his side even as the rest of his guard secured the castle or aided Dessi. With them came the Most-Feared and three of her Star Singers. Ashdin's daughters or nieces if Gan was to guess, judging by frames. Though none had yet gone to fat, they all stood near as tall as Bethe.
Once they reached the stairs leading to the temple, Gan slid off Storm. Leaving his destrier behind for one of the others to secure, he marched to the doors and threw them open. They slammed against the stone walls with a sharp crack. All inside turned to look upon him and they trembled before his might.
Some screamed, others seemed too terrified to do even that. So many people, all pressed together tighter than an army camp in winter. Vai and voe all clutched each other and cried. A Goron stood beneath the statue of the Golden Three and held onto Hylians beneath him as though his stone arms could protect the little people. Even the few Gerudo mixed among the crowd pulled away from Gan and his warriors.
Only two kept their courage. Both young voe, dressed in priestly vestments. One with drying blood splattered on his sleeves and streaking his hands where he could not wipe them clean, the other drenched in sweat. They raised their hands as a show of harmlessness, as they approached.
"King Dragmire," said the sweaty one, "this is a holy place. All are welcome, even you. But there will not be bloodshed here."
"Even me?" Gan chuckled.
"We give blessings," said the bloody one. "We can look to your injured. But there is no violence in the Halls of the Three."
"Peace?" Ashdin laughed. "When in the last hundred years has there 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 their shared tongue. "Sister of the desert, come here."
The vai looked as if she was walking to the gallows 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 has 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. Nothing would bring her salvation, except him. 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 some incantation. They knew magic. Interesting.
"Enough," Gan raised his hand and stopped Ashdin's next strike before he looked to the priests. "I'd calm down, were I you two. For their sake." He nodded toward the crowd.
BURN THEM. TOPPLE THE STATUES.
The one covered in blood continued murmuring until the other stopped him. And with that, the fight was cowed out of them. Pathetic.
"Sisters, spread out, and look to the walls in every room. 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, his eyes searching Gan's face for some hint as to what the question meant.
"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 safe."
"Should the Goddesses will it so." The two priests nodded to each other before the one knelt 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 never touch them, as if their vapid unimportant lives would always carry on, no matter how many Gerudo perished to the elements every day. No matter what he had planned.
YOU ARE THEIR JUST PUNISHMENT.
The priest led him to the back rooms, up a flight of stairs into a gallery that overlooked the main hall, where the organ stood. Gan stepped past the priest and sat before the instrument, grunting as he squeezed his legs beneath the keyboards. The organ was not designed for someone as tall as him. He sighed as he wedged his knees up so he could at least press some of the pedals. Always some little problem to overcome. It would not be his best performance, but the quality mattered little.
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 instrument he learned upon back home. For all the ancient history of this temple, it was all told a rather minor place of worship within the city. The castle had a grander temple and several others that dwarfed this one in size dotted the rest of the city. This dingy old organ fit the disguise well. Gan made a few minor adjustments to the knobs before he pressed on the pedals to open all the stops. This music must sound throughout the entire temple, loud enough for the Goddesses 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, 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, and 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. It filled every corridor and every room, drowning out all the words spoken by the unimportant people below. Gan closed his eyes and let the music spread from him to the ivory keys, every note perfect, precisely on time. 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 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 melody and soared high. 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 captives, how to dance with his fellow warriors, and what to sing 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, and Gan's senses returned to the organ. 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," Gan rose from the bench.
"I don't understand," Helmin said. He raised his hands, the faint touch of magic glowed around his fingers. But he did not release the spell he had prepared while Gan played. "It's not supposed to be you. It can't be you."
"Of course it is," Gan towered over the priest. "Have you not realized the truth of the prophecies in your own 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 change 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 as he went to his knees.
GOOD.
Gan left the priest alone in the upper gallery, returning to the main level. One of Ashdin's Star Singers signaled from the door that led to the priest's living quarters. Before he reached them, the bloodied priest stepped in his way.
"You cannot pass," he said. "I - I won't let you."
Behind him, a small crowd formed. Hylians with clenched fists and puffed chests to make themselves feel strong. But they lied to themselves. Gan saw the way they trembled, and the sweat dripping from their foreheads. They reeked of fear.
"As if you can stop us," Ashdin laughed as she approached the priest. "Do you think those empty statues will save you?"
The priest drew power into himself. His hands glowed with light. But before he could speak again, Ashdin lunged forward. The knife in her hand gleamed as she slashed the priest's throat. Flesh blood spilled over his robes and mixed with the stains that remained from those he tried to heal. He clutched at his throat, opened his red mouth, and gurgled. More blood squelched through his lips and tumbled down his chin.
He collapsed, and with him fell what little resistance the crowd had left. They fled rather than face the might of the Gerudo.
"You two, stand guard." Ashdin's laugh echoed the one in Gan's head. "Let us go, my king. Your ascension awaits."
The Star Singer led them through the priest's quarters, to a back hall, opened to reveal a twisting flight of stairs. As they descended 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!"
Another entire temple lay at the bottom of the stairs, one far older than the building above. Sunken deep into the earth, with magic light and a large entrance at the back. The stone doors opened and revealed the splendor of the Sacred Realm. Gan almost stopped to marvel at the swirling lights of gold and silver and white that seeped from the portal.
A dainty blue light flew at the lights. Continuously she hurtled herself forward only to freeze, back away, and try again. Her fluttering grew 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?"
"No!" The princess howled as 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 from his fingers. 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. They tightened, pulling at him in 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. And King Ganondorf Dragmire was no mere voe, wretched and weak. He was Chosen by the Goddesses, and none would best him. Not tonight. Not ever.
Roaring, Gan let his witch-fire flow and spread across his body, so it would burn anyone who touched him. 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 barrier of dark flame 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 bear 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 undone, of family sundered. But soon that anguish turned to wrath, a rage so blinding and profound it propelled throughout all the strands of time before him.
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 clawed finger. "I curse you," he said. "My hatred shall ever follow your kind."
He flew from one light to the next, each of them bisected. In one he saw a small rodent with a shadow whispering in his ear, kindling the haughty with lies of 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 burning beneath the desert sun, with their last dying breaths made vows of their own to the shadow of a god that promised revenge.
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. The screams in his head twisted him 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.
A thousand shattered times flew before him, until he approached one chain of unbroken light, so brilliant and white. It stretched 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 he knew to be his friend, 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, making them curl and shrink away from him like a wounded snake. 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 and their song rose in joy and worry. The Triforce was 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. But he was young and foolhardy, and that made him weak.
KILL HIM NOW.
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, the voe 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 his 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, attempting 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. Gone was the frightened child, trembling as he lashed out with everything he had. Now Gan faced a warrior, small though he might be.
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, Gan's strength knocked the child a step back. But Link 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, measured 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 and swung his sword down. The blow battered aside Link's shield and sliced into the voe's shoulder. And this cut bit deep. The squire's eyes went wide in shock and pain as he stumbled. His mouth fell open to scream, but no sound came from it.
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 if it did not. 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. 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. "It will all be worth it."
He stepped over the broken child and reached for everything he ever wanted.
He touched the golden light.
Silence. True silence. For the first time he could ever remember, his mind was at peace. No pressures of kingship, no dying peoples all resting on his shoulders. And no boundless rage, screaming for death and vengeance.
The dark thoughts were gone, leaving him alone with only a blessed peace.
Light peaked through his eyelids and a rustling came to his ears. He opened his eyes. The still polished stones of the Temple of Time no longer surrounded him. This place had windows that let in light and the sound of birds. A statue of Hylia stood at the far end of the room, with her arms outstretched as though she wished to embrace the world.
He had never been to this place before, and yet, it felt so familiar. The length of the room, the angle of the ceiling. Why did it… No. No, he had been here, he'd lived here. Though he remembered this roof had holes, which eternally let in sand. And the statue had been destroyed and left in pieces in an unmarked room. The windows he once helped board up to keep out the burning sand carried on whipping winds were now fixed with glass and opened. Instead of sand, they brought a pleasant warm breeze. Gan moved to the nearest window and saw green fields as far as the eye could see over gently rolling hills.
"Do you like it?"
Gan whirled around to see who spoke. A Gerudo stood before him, dressed as a dancer with a red-gold collar. She wore a wide friendly smile on her lips, and yet her most noticeable feature 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. Her skin turned a radiant gold, or was it crimson, or both? Around her neck sat not jewelry, but a 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 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."
He wanted nothing more than to join her, and yet, he resisted. "Are you who I think you are?"
"Yes."
He approached, tentatively at first, waiting to sense some form of danger. Or 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. It took all his will to remain firm and not embarrass himself before her, turning into 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, or where you were born?" She sighed. "Hylia was meant to be your guide, as she guided all of your kind. But she broke the rules that bind even the greatest of our children. And in so doing, allowed her brother to do the same."
Her brother? Gan touched his head. "Am I the curse?"
"Yes."
His heart pounded, and his skin felt flush. His stomach twisted like it had as a child when his mothers grew angry. But he did not understand what emotion he felt; was it fear, or relief, or his own anger?
"But that is not all you are, and was never all you could become."
"All this time. Every moment of my life, I hear him. Every problem in the world. Every injustice. Every reason to burn everything down."
"Every death you deem necessary. Every spiteful idea. Every black thought meant to push you further to ruin." The goddess pulled away to look him in the eyes and convey the truth of her words. "I would take them all away if I could."
"But you can't."
"No."
"He'll return."
"In time."
"Is there a way to be rid of him?"
"Many, some painful, some as easy as letting go. But you were never good at taking the easy path." She smiled. "That's part of why you're mine. You'd rather change the world than change yourself."
"How? Please tell me how I can be free of him."
"I am sorry, but I cannot. And it would not matter if I could."
"Why won't it matter? 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 did you bring me here? If neither of us can do anything to change what's happening, why tell me? Why show me that I am not even my own master. Why tell me this? Why torment me?"
"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. And in victory, 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 bear 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 drew water from as a child stood repaired. A bucket hung from it, still damp from use. "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 are not shackled to this room; you can go out and see them. Take my hand, and I will show you the extent of your perfect world."
"How long can I stay?"
"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 in full, 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.
"Take me away," he turned from the green Gerudo fields, 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 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 hundredfold. 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 step forward. "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 eyes 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 could no longer lift. But that didn't deter the child at all. He limped toward Gan. His large eyes burned with a rage and anguish that he had only seen in two other children before when abused by powerful adults.
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 as the light sealed the boy away completely. Link froze, suspended in an endless wail.
That part of Gan roared, 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 suffer no further delay. With a thought he left the true Temple of Time and the Sacred Realm, leaving a child locked in time behind him.