Chapter Text
When Ganondorf regained consciousness, every bone in his body ached, and he moaned.
He was lying on a hard stone ground, and he was having trouble remembering how he had gotten there. The Demon King had possessed him; he remembered that much. He could remember his mothers, arguing about something. Zelda had been there. And there had been a brilliant light. Everything now was dark. He realized that his eyes were closed, and forced them open. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw Zelda leaning over him, eyes filled with tears.
He hated the sight of her looking so distraught. “Zelda,” he said, the words sounding scratchy coming out of his sore throat, “Are you alright?”
She let out a gasp, almost like a sob, and touched a hand to his chest.
What…?
“Ganondorf,” she whispered. “Are you… you again?”
Was he? He forced himself to sit up, though his muscles ached in protest. He seemed to have regained control over his body, at least. “I think so,” he grunted. He realized that despite the pain he was in, there was a lightness in his chest and in his head that had not been there before. “Yes,” he added. “He is gone.”
Zelda let out another sob, and before he could tell what was happening, he was in her arms, and her lips were on his.
Oh, he thought dully. I have died. The Demon King must have successfully destroyed him. How kind of the Goddess of the Sand to give him this fantasy while his existence faded.
As quickly as she kissed him, Zelda pulled away, but she continued to touch him (he hoped she would never stop), running her hands over his arms and his chest. If this was his afterlife, then he supposed he was alright with that. Zelda touched her hand to his cheek, tears filling her eyes once again. “Your ears,” she said. “They’re round again.”
This seemed a strange thing for his dream Zelda to remark on. And now that his mind was starting to clear, he saw that she had a trail of dried blood running down her chin. And his body still ached, though he had always assumed death would be painless. He stared at her, searching his memories. That light… that had been the Triforce, as magnificent as he had ever imagined. In his mind, he saw Zelda holding a bow, arrow pointed towards him, glowing so radiantly he almost could believe she was a goddess. Had that been real? She ran a finger along the edge of his ear, and he shivered.
Maybe he was not dead.
And if he was not dead, then Zelda had kissed him. And he had just stared brainlessly in response. How embarrassing.
Before he could second guess himself, he reached for her and pulled her to him. Immediately she grabbed hold of him, gripping his shoulder as he kissed her. He felt her other hand tugging on his hair, pulling it out of its tie, and he felt a glimmer of amusem*nt. He could tell that Zelda liked his hair, especially when it was down. He guessed she had not met many men with long hair; from what he could tell Hylian men tended to keep their hair short.
He was distracted by his thoughts when she flinched away from him. He quickly let go of her, and saw that she was bleeding from her lower lip. Because I bit her. He felt a stab of horror at the thought.
“Zelda,” he said, “I hurt you.”
“It wasn’t you,” she said. “The Demon King –”
“I should have stopped him,” Ganondorf said, cutting her off. “I should have been stronger.” And it had been him. It had been his body. He could remember it all now.
Zelda shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered. She shifted closer to him, and then her arms were around him again, and her forehead was resting against his. She was looking at him with such affection in her eyes that he momentarily wondered if this was a dream after all. “Ganondorf,” she said softly. “I am so happy that you are alive.”
Alive, he thought. Because of the Triforce. Because of her. “Zelda, you…” he started, cupping her cheek. You are brilliant. You are perfect. “You saved me,” he said finally.
She did not say anything more, but continued to gaze into his eyes as she clutched at him, a sweet smile on her lips.
I love her.
Where had that come from?
Ganondorf was not one to lie to himself. He knew that he had become fond of Zelda, and any lingering attempts at hatred had been fully extinguished that night in Faron Woods, when she had held him in her arms and called him her friend. But love? He waited for some prickling of disgust in him at the thought of loving Hyrule’s Princess.
None came.
Instead came the thought that she was wise, and brave, and beautiful, and when he was around her, he felt like he was human again.
Yes, he thought. I love her. He wondered if he should tell her.
He was not able to act on this, for someone cleared their throat from above where he and Zelda still sat on the ground. He looked up, and any remaining doubts that this was not real evaporated as he saw Link standing there, his face slightly pink. Surely – surely – his goddess would not send him visions of the hero in his death.
“Sorry,” Link said sheepishly. “But the Gerudo will be here soon.”
Ganondorf squinted at him, registering his words. “What?” he said.
Zelda pulled back. Her lips rose into the start of a grin, then she flinched again and her smile slipped. Ganondorf felt again a sickness in his stomach.
“We made some new friends,” Zelda said brightly, fully pulling herself off of him. She stood, and he followed. As he forced himself to his feet, he immediately wanted to sit again. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so exhausted in his life. Zelda herself also looked rather dazed, and grabbed hold of his arm. Ganondorf blinked, looking around the room – they were in a ruin in the old Gerudo capital; the same place where he had been captured – and his eyes lingered upon the body laying in the corner of the room.
Kotake. His mother.
He could remember her flying in the ruin, screaming to the Demon King something about her sister. He narrowed his eyes.
“Koume is also dead?” he asked. “I thought Kotake said that but… it is all kind of hazy.”
“Yes,” said Link. “The Gerudo under their enchantment have been freed.”
“Good,” Ganondorf said. He looked again to Kotake’s body. Even with their advanced age, he had never thought of his mothers as weak, but in death Kotake looked frail. He remembered the words of disgust Koume and Kotake had spat at him when he and Zelda had met them by the bridge in Eldin, and again at their camp on the desert’s edge. So then we knew, you are not our King. Your association with this Princess has rotted you. You have lost sight of your goals. You are weak. He saw in his mind the delighted look on Kotake’s face as she had implanted the Zonai Stone into him, fully intent on erasing him.
He remembered himself as a child. They had doted on him, held him when he cried, and told him to be strong, to fight for what he wanted. And as he had grown, they had taught him everything he knew about magic, had reassured him that he was not wrong for taking offense to the King of Hyrule’s treatment of him and his people, had guided him when he was a young and inexperienced king thrust into a conflict with a Kingdom far larger and stronger than his own. Were it not for them, he imagined his people would have become like the Zora or Gorons after the unification war, forced into subservience to Hyrule. He swallowed.
“Koume’s body is being taken back to the camp, to be buried,” Link said. “I’m sure you could see her, before, if you wanted.”
Did he want to see her? If he was a good son, he would say yes. He should be at his mothers’ burials, say his final goodbye to them. The last link to his past, gone. He was fully alone now. When his sanity had returned to him in the Twilight Realm, and he had started to grasp just how long he had been trapped there, it had occurred to him that his mothers were likely dead. He had been filled with a deep sadness, then.
He felt Zelda’s grip tighten on his arm and looked down at her. She took a step closer to him. Not alone, something seemed to whisper to him. Not anymore. He glanced to Link, who was watching him with a solemn look on his face. He held Ganondorf’s gaze until Ganondorf looked away, returning his eyes to Kotake.
“No,” he said to Link. “I don’t.”
I mourned her long ago.
