Chapter Text
Zelda traded the cold ache of her room for her tutors' fireplace; ashen clouds drifted in on gale, carrying with it downpour, rendering her own fireplace unusable; often she wondered how long it would be before a wandering mold spore found its way to the dampened space — propagating between the hidden crevices of cobblestone. The idea made her skin crawl; it was often as a child she'd fall ill due to her quarters being prone to black mold, she hadn't had the issue since swapping rooms. The two sat opposite of each other, matured hands massaged the lingering cold induced ache out of her legs, their eyes fixated on the dancing flames. They hadn't started any lessons, instead they conversed over tea and a meal; once a month Auru would deliver a parcel of goods at the entrance of the cave for Ganondorf, that would last him a little over thirty days. The dish that night was unsurprisingly ancestral, full of warmth, aromatics and nourishment — Zelda's tongue still tingled from the spice, a sensation that wasn't common with the meals she regularly consumed, unless it contained cinnamon or clove, but even then it wasn't enough to make a difference.
“Master Dragmire?”
Zelda spoke up, softening her voice out of habit as to not disrupt any meditative headspace he may have been in; the druid hummed in response, not bothering to break his gaze from the flame,
“If it's the appropriate time, would you care to tell me now?”
“About my past?”
“Yes..”
The muscle in his jaw tensed, after a deep inhale and exhale he nodded,
“Very well, but I must caution you — it's not for the faint of heart..”
He uttered, giving Zelda an uncertain smile. Ganondorf shifted in his seated position to face her; the brunette took back her legs and cradled them close to her chest, as if she were a child settling in for a long story — although she reckoned this tale would not be one consisting of noble knights and fair ladies. Pushing out a final breath of air, he began:
“284 years ago, all sounds of Gerudo Desert ceased that night, not even a lament of a beast dared, nature had quieted itself, making room for the cries of a laboring woman; a wise-woman many years ago prophesied that my people would give birth to a male. A man who would become their king — and ultimately their downfall. The laboring woman was my blood mother, her birth was remarked as ‘unusual’. After hours upon hours of labor, she died, in order to save me they cut me from her womb — do you still want me to continue?”
Zelda gulped down her nausea, her sheltered upbringing was more evident than ever before; childbirth was one of many things that was hidden, concealed and cleaned up. Her education consisted of nothing more than vague explanations and anatomical depictions found in yellowed paged books; her conclusion to the matter was a definitive, and an absolute no. If only she had a brother to give her parents the grandchildren they've always wanted.
The princess cleared her throat before giving Ganondorf her verbal approval,
“Kotake, the tribes’ mage, was granted guardianship over me. However, she wanted nothing to do with me, not even to bestow a name. Kotake knew what the prophecies foretold, fear and superstition had taken her captive..”
“What would she do?”
Zelda questioned, afraid of the answer he was about to give, searching his face for the severity of it,
“She would attempt to kill me; on the outskirts of our village was a den of beasts who had a taste for Gerudo children, often nabbing them in the night if they wandered off unaccompanied. Kotake would then take me and make the trek out to the den. There she would leave me at the entrance, believing she had saved our people — until thirteen years later..”
Ganondorf rose to his feet to presumably fetch something from another room. After a moment he wandered back with something preserved and wrapped in aged leather that closely resembled cloth, kneeling down next to Zelda he carefully unraveled it — a large pelt of fur, salt and peppered,
“This belonged to the pack's leader, a she-wolf my people referred to as ‘The Crone’..”
“Are you implying that she–”
“Raised me, yes.”
Zelda gingerly stroked the fur, coarse and wiry to the touch. The princess retracted her hand to rub the feeling out against her thigh,
“What happened to her?”
Zelda studied the druid’s expression as he progressively lost himself to the past — nearly three hundred years of tribulation behind golden eyes, far more than she could even begin to comprehend — she understood why now that he chose to tell her instead,
“Old age. Before she passed she began to hunt and eat less. Kōume, Kotake's twin sister, had alerted her one evening that The Crone was seen dead and accompanied by a boy. It was evident that she was unsuccessful in her attempt to kill me — and once again I was motherless..”
Ganondorf trailed off, taking care of wrapping the pelt back up with the piece of leather,
“Kotake and a couple of soldiers rode out to the site to see the claim for themselves. I am not entirely sure why Kotake didn't choose to kill me right then and there, instead she ordered the guards to apprehend me. I put up enough of a fight that she used her magic on me. I was brought back to the village, imprisoned and mistreated. They didn't recognize me as Gerudo, I was just another wild beast who roamed the desert.”
“Forgive me if I come off as insensitive, but I would have never suspected your...upbringing.”
“Kotake eventually gave up on trying to..tame me, in a sense. Kōume took me under her wing. It had taken many, many moons, but she was able to teach me everything I needed to know — and deem me suitable for society.”
“How did the people within your community react to you?”
“Not very well, for months there'd been protests, demanding that I be sent back — or killed. Eventually they quieted. Children were never allowed to play with me, to say it was isolating is an understatement. Nevertheless, as I became a young man they recognized me for my strength, I was shortly enrolled into their militia, trained up to become their ultimate asset. Even after all that time I was still never given a name, just referred to as voevï, or boy; I am not entirely sure why but I believe it was just another way of them concealing my birthright from me..”
“They didn't want you to know that you were their king..”
The princess added, Ganondorf nodded in acknowledgement,
“I fought well, I carried many battles, orchestrated many strategies. Slowly overtime, it all got to my head; the wine, the women, I craved for something more — nothing ever seemed to be enough. I believe that deep down I knew I was entitled to the throne, my ego and pride told me I was perhaps even worthy of it — but I was far from worthy — I was a slave to self hatred..”
“Hatred?”
“Because I was so different, because I was a voe. I was made to feel like a monster, like I was defective in some way. Many times I prayed for death, and no matter how reckless I would become — self destruction made me all the more invincible. Often I contemplated praying to dogs because they seemed to be the only things that listened..”
After a short pause Ganondorf chortled to himself, finding the irony within his pain. Strangely enough, she found herself empathizing with his certain affliction. Although hers seemed much more benign in comparison to his,
“On one rare occasion Kotake requested my assistance; you see, I always wanted to learn the magic arts, Kotake refused, Kōume on the other hand taught me some — but she was not as powerful as her sister — Kotake delved into subjects that Kōume would never dare to acknowledge. That evening I was waiting for Kotake in her personal library, passing the time glazing over the spines of spell books tucked away in limestone shelves. I happened upon an obscure area of the room, a darkened and dusty corner with ancient texts with frayed leather covers. I am not entirely sure why, but I was drawn to one in particular, it had no insignia of being special in any way, it looked like all the rest. I began to skim through it, and couldn't even begin to assimilate what I was looking at. It felt sinister, yet so powerful, the kind of power that I'd been searching for. Kotake grabbed me by the wrist and ordered me to put the book down, I hadn't heard her presence make an entrance into the library. After a brief scold and a threat she requested me to follow her — not knowing that I had ripped one of the pages out of the book..”
Zelda swallowed down her realization, hitting the pit of her stomach and turning it bitter — the spellbook in the library..
“The page, what was on it?”
The brunette grimaced at the way her voice wavered when asking the question. Ganondorf spun the gold ring on his thumb with his pointer, deep inside the confines of memory,
“Carnage..”
She watched the druid rise to his feet, arms guarded over his solid frame, he slowly paced towards the fireplace — eyes boring deep into glowing embers,
“For years my people had dealt with the Hylians — The Royal Family to be exact. Always wanting to trespass onto our fruitful land, to steal our resources and conquer us. Then one day they waged war, crossing our borders, waving their flags — their troops nearly dwarfed ours. A bloody battle would ensue, for hours we had the upper hand — it would all be for naught. We became outnumbered, our warriors began to dwindle down. I felt like I'd been given no other choice, I retrieved the torn page — in the middle of the battlefield I performed the ritual..”
“What..did it do?”
“It was excruciating, an abominable metamorphosis. Given over to malice — I'd become an unstoppable force. Zelda–”
She nearly flinched when he said her name, eyes dwindling on her feet before meeting his gaze, frightened of what she was going to see — instead she saw a broken man,
“I killed everyone, including my own people.. I only remember bits and pieces, but I remember the fear the most, and — oh gods, the screams..”
Ganondorf wandered in the opposite direction, face cradled in hands, unable to face the brunette.
His fingers parted through crimson waves, stopping to rest at the base of his neck. Zelda's initial instinct was to embrace her mentor, wanting nothing more than to save him from his own memory,
“The next thing I know, I wake up, an arctic chill had swept through the land, carrying the scent of snow. I'm not entirely sure why the spell affected the climate, but it did. I could hardly recognize my surroundings, the only distinguishable thing was the corpses that lay sprawled out over the land. My city was almost completely ravaged. All I knew I could do was to wander, eventually I stumbled upon Kotake, barely alive, nearly unrecognizable. I freed her from the rubble, holding her broken body in my arms — trying to think of any way I could save her. With a bloodied hand, she took hold of my face, forcing our eyes to meet — with a dying breath, she said to me in our mother tongue: ‘Ganondorf, son of misery, I curse you, that you may never know death — you will try and seek it, but it will flee from you. You will pray to your ancestors, but they will not hear you. You have bastardized the Dragmire name — may our blood forever stain your hands..’ —”
The druid enveloped his arms around himself, as if Kotake's cold demeanor had manifested itself through his retelling; Ganondorf turned to face his apprentice, her gaze still fixated on him. He meandered back to seat himself next Zelda on the floor,
“I don't know what to say–”
“Then don't, nothing you could tell me would ever bring me comfort..”
His words lacerated her heart, making her feel vexed and foolish all at once. Denial was something she often endured — but it felt so incredibly different coming from him. Her throat ached, eyes stung with tears that she couldn't withhold; the brunette averted her gaze off to the corner of the room so he wouldn't see her. Even if it hurt she knew he spoke within reason — unintentionally killing your entire nation is something words could never heal — she just wished that her words held that sort of ability.
“Why do I miss a civilization that I was never accepted in, in the first place?”
Ganondorf thought aloud; brows furrowed, lips pulled taut into a frown — fingers picking at the broken skin around his thumbnail. A splinter of bitterness kept Zelda from looking his way, still in search of her composure,
“What a greater example of human nature: that our heart still longs for the ones that hurt us most..”