Chapter Text
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Zelda watched in bafflement as the glowing doorway faded into the night. Had the spell or its caster sensed her presence? She’d never seen anything like it, and she couldn’t understand why she felt an ache behind her sternum, as though she’d just lost something.
Maybe Nabooru would have answers. Zelda crept along the ridge and climbed down to the western side of the fortress, ducking into the shadows to let the guards pass until she found the chamber she sought.
The Gerudo always left their windows open to drive away the day’s heat. She was grateful for that practice now as she pulled herself into Nabooru’s bedroom, letting her eyes adjust until she could make out the sleeping figure on the bed, surrounded by gaudy displays of stolen treasure. Zelda pulled down her cowl and removed the spell that glamoured her eyes before she stepped forward to shake Nabooru’s shoulder.
Nabooru stirred at once, reaching for her scimitar. Zelda—raised by war veterans and best friends with a hero—had expected nothing less. She backed away, waving her hand to light the candle on Nabooru’s nightstand. “I’m sorry for the surprise. I mean you no harm.”
“Princess?” Nabooru squinted at her incredulously, kicking the covers away. “What on Din’s red earth…?”
“I’m here to prevent a war. Tell me—when did your people learn of Ganondorf’s plans?”
“When he waltzed up to our door last night. Princess, sit down. You look like a ghost dressed up as Impa.”
Zelda couldn’t argue with that—she wasn’t sure when she’d last eaten, and there was a throbbing pain in her head that wouldn’t let her forget about her father, or about the frightening mess her life had become in the last twenty-four hours. She sank down at Nabooru’s small table, mumbling her thanks when the other woman poured her a cup of water.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Nabooru said. “I will not pretend I had any love for him, given our history, but I know you did.”
“Thank you. Time is short—if my people listened to me, we have until dawn to point our blades at the true enemy, but I cannot guarantee anything. Do you know what Kotake and Koume are planning? I heard them tell Ganondorf they’d return by daybreak.”
“Those damn witches wouldn’t explain anything. Neither would Ganondorf. They came here without warning to force our support. Not that all my people need to be forced.” Nabooru shook her head bitterly. “Even after he failed and landed himself in your prison, some still see him as king. No matter how angry we are that he’s put us in this position, that remains the case.”
“Let me fight him, then,” Zelda declared. “Let me prove that he’s not a god to be revered—just a man who bleeds like any other. Let me show the Gerudo that I’ll risk my life to preserve peace between our peoples.”
Nabooru looked her up and down, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think that can be arranged. If there’s one thing my people respect, it’s spirit. You should probably stay here—we don’t want you running into Ganondorf before I can speak with my people. I’ll bring you something to eat. In the meantime, get some rest.”
“Thank you.” Zelda rubbed her aching temples. She’d barely slept last night. Again, she remembered the broken glass, the smell of blood, the hunger on Ganondorf’s face. “Nabooru, what does he want?”
She hadn’t thought about it much as a child. The dreams told her to beware the man with the evil eyes, and then Link came along to explain exactly what Ganondorf would do with the power he sought. She just didn’t understand why.
Nabooru sighed. “How old were you when you ate your first apple?”
“I…don’t remember.”
“I do. I was fourteen, and the war was nearing its end. My squad’s first mission was to raid some Hylian caravan. We’d never seen anything like that food, so much and so fresh. It made us giddier than any treasure—well, most of us. I’ll never forget Ganondorf’s face. He ate that apple like it tasted of ashes, staring towards your castle all the while. Everyone suffered during the war, but your people never lacked the way mine did.”
There was no denying that. With supply routes compromised and the kingdom tearing itself apart, hunger had been widespread—but while Hyrule had enough arable land for each faction to prevent outright famine, Gerudo Valley had none at all.
“Combine that with our idiotic tradition of putting a crown on every boy’s head and telling him he owns the world,” Nabooru continued, “and maybe then you’ll understand. Ganondorf sees himself as the revenge of the Gerudo. The problem is that he would throw anyone and anything into the fire—including us—rather than settle for less.”
She was working her long red hair into a ponytail, her face far away. She’d spent years as a lone thief rather than follow Ganondorf. Yet there was something in her voice when she spoke of him—something deeper than anger.
“You didn’t always hate him, did you?” Zelda asked softly.
Sadness drifted across Nabooru’s face like a firefly’s glow—there, and then gone. “No. A long time ago, I called him friend.”
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Zelda was used to seeing Ganondorf in the shadows. He looked different out here in the rising sunlight that poured into Gerudo Valley: older, thinner, more resigned than enraged. Yet his black-and-gold armor and crownlike headpiece made his intentions clear.
A Gerudo scout had just reported movement in Hyrule Field. Zelda’s people had waited until dawn, just as she’d requested—probably thanks to Owen and Impa. Ganondorf stood impassively before the fortress, his hands folded over the hilt of a claymore that rested point-down in the dry earth.
“They have the numbers,” he said at last. “But not by much; that fool king never rebuilt the army. And we have advantages of our own.”
“That we do,” Nabooru agreed with an amused glance towards where Zelda crouched on the roof of the building behind them.
So Ganondorf was still expecting Kotake and Koume. Did he know that strange doorway had disappeared, with no sign of its return this morning? Zelda had a feeling that wasn’t part of his plan.
She’d dreamed of Link last night—and not some fantasy of him being tall and handsome and smiling at her with those old shadows wiped clean from beneath his eyes. He’d been in pain, and far beyond her reach. That was all she remembered.
She missed him more than ever right now, gazing down at the enemy they were supposed to face together. But he and the other Zelda had done enough. It was her turn to defend what they’d given her.
At Ganondorf’s command, the Gerudo were flowing out of the fortress to hear him speak. These straight-backed women with no uniforms or military salutes were just as fearsome as the Castle Town guard—yet there couldn’t be more than fifty altogether. Such a small tribe to warrant so much fear from Zelda’s people.
“We wait,” Ganondorf was saying. “If they’re stupid enough to approach, we destroy the bridge and trap them here with no supplies. If not—”
Zelda vaulted over the parapet and landed behind him on silent feet. Some of the Gerudo snickered—not at her, but at Ganondorf’s shock as she stepped into his field of vision, a masked stranger with eyes as red as the weeping crest on her tunic.
He snatched up his claymore. “Who are you? Some Sheikah?”
She slid her fingers under the cowl and pulled, letting the cloth unspool from her face in white rivulets. Ganondorf’s shock bled into fury. Then he barked out a hoarse, derisive laugh.
“If you think so little of me, you have nothing to lose,” Zelda said, drawing the twin daggers Impa had trained her with.
“What do you think you’re doing here, girl? Do you realize how much leverage you’ve just given me?” Ganondorf laughed again, gesturing vaguely at his people. “Someone escort the princess to a cell.”
Zelda held her breath, waiting for betrayal, but not a single Gerudo moved to obey. The snickers were growing louder.
“She won’t be your hostage,” Nabooru cut in. “We won’t fight for you if that’s the case. Look around—is anyone else surprised to see the princess?”
Ganondorf’s gaze raked through the crowd. He stepped forward until he was glaring down into Nabooru’s defiant eyes. “Back-alley dealings with the Hylians? You’re the one I should have thrown in a cell.”
“Unfortunately for you, people like me too much. And all we promised her was a chance to prove herself. The same chance we’re giving to you.”
“I have nothing to prove. I am your king. Tradition dictates—”
“f*ck tradition!” Nabooru declared, drawing outright laughter from the crowd. “Gerudo take what they want. We’ve earned this peace. You want to lead us down a different path? Show us you’re worthy, not just entitled by birth.”
Ganondorf glared at Zelda. “And why would you want to fight me, Princess?”
Meeting his eyes, she remembered what Nabooru had said about the hatred that stretched all the way back to his youth. Maybe even further. Link had warned her about the beast dwelling within this man—the reason he still posed a cataclysmic threat even without the Triforce of Power. Zelda could see it if she looked closely enough: fog and fury, choking miasma, the tusks of a great boar that loathed her with all its ancient being.
This was the legacy she had inherited: a rusted past, a bleeding present, and a dark future prevented only by Link’s sacrifices. His was the path she would follow, then. No matter how deeply fate had wronged him, he’d never watered his grief with blood, never lost sight of compassion or reason. He rained hope upon every patch of bitter earth he encountered.
Ganondorf was the opposite—and rain could not change unyielding stone.
“I want to keep us out of the hell you would create,” Zelda said quietly. “I want my people to lay down their swords and leave yours in peace. They won’t do that as long as you lead the Gerudo. Fight me, and we’ll see what your people think of you when we’re through.”
“Fine,” he growled. “There’s time to kill before the real fight starts.”
Nabooru gave her an encouraging nod as she stepped out onto the sunny stretch of earth before the fortress. Ganondorf followed, abandoning his scabbard in the dust. This wasn’t like sparring with Impa—there were no rules, no expectation of mercy. The outcome was a clean cut between life or death.
They faced each other. Zelda raised her chin and cleared the glamour from her eyes, leaving them blue as the sky. Be like Link, she reminded herself.
Ganondorf took the claymore in both hands and charged. Not wanting to test her strength against that avalanche, Zelda sidestepped at the last minute, sweeping out with her righthand blade. He pivoted in anticipation, and she wove in and out of his blows, studying each movement the way Impa had taught her. His armor protected him well, and he clearly hadn’t shirked his push-ups while imprisoned—yet with his old leg injury, she felt certain she could outlast him.
Perhaps coming to the same realization, he began lobbing spells at her, one crackling sphere of magic after another. Zelda reduced them to sparks easily—he stood no chance against the amplifying effect the Triforce of Wisdom granted her own magic—but that wasn’t the point. Between the spells and that deadly charge he’d opened with, Ganondorf wasn’t going to let her stay at long range.
But he had no idea how fast she could be. Shrouding herself in the blue light of Nayru’s Love, she darted forward, letting his magic crash harmlessly against the shield as she closed in to attack him with quick, ruthless jabs. When she dodged his every attempt to counter, Ganondorf grew angry—then crafty.
Magic arced towards her legs. Zelda skittered back, panicking briefly when his incoming strike left her no choice but to parry. Knowing the force of the blow would send her reeling, she sent a bright current of electricity crackling up his blade to buy herself a moment to recover.
Ganondorf jerked away, singed and surprised, his eyes flashing to her face. For a heartbeat they were back in her father’s bedroom, the storm raging through the broken window—or back even further, to the day he’d knelt before the throne, dripping with duplicity, while she watched helplessly from the garden.
There was no window separating them now. And this wasn’t just about Hyrule. It was about making him pay.
One lunge forward, one feint towards his center; then Zelda’s dagger drew the fight’s first blood from just below his false crown. Ganondorf snarled, lashing out blindly, but she’d already leapt back. He paused to wipe the crimson trail from his face, grinning down at her with a touch of madness. “You’re still no Hylia.”
“I don’t need to be,” Zelda spat. “Thief. Assassin. Betrayed by your people. Where are your witch-mothers? Have they forsaken you too?”
“Ha! Where’s that brat of yours? Did he tire of being your dog and choose a different mistress? Or did he flee at the first whisper of my return, like he coward he—”
A blast of heat and furious light made him stagger back. She launched herself after it—Ganondorf’s claymore was too slow to meet her, but she’d underestimated his magic. Stupid, stupid mistake; she knew it immediately, and felt it when the lightning caught her side.
The world bleached white. Zelda crumpled to her knees, and only the thundering mockery of his laughter made her roll to her feet, backing away and casting Nayru’s Love while her vision cleared.
She was terrified to look down at the blazing agony in her side, so she glared at Ganondorf instead, the breath hissing out of her like steam from a cookpot. The Triforce hummed under her skin. She knew what it was saying, the same advice Impa would offer: Anger’s no good in your head. Put it into the blade instead.
Link must have learned that lesson much earlier in life. Ten when he first left the forest, seventeen when he defeated the same man Zelda fought now. She steadied herself, feeling the earth under her feet, the sky overhead, the people watching her decide their kingdom’s fate. Grief and fear and pain faded against the path that glittered in her mind.
“Well?” Ganondorf drawled. “Ready to yield?”
“Not until they put me in the ground,” Zelda replied coldly.
With a slow smile, he charged.
She didn’t dodge this time. She just slid down and into the blow, ducking beneath his blade while her own found his unprotected leg. And then she shoved him away with a burst of magic, letting him come to her once more.
Though she couldn’t keep him at a distance like Impa would suggest, she could operate in little circles around him—always making him follow, always reusing the momentum of his whirling attacks. Ganondorf was a furious boar, barreling mindlessly towards vengeance; all Zelda had to do was flow around him with the wisdom of cool water.
She carved a second cut into his thigh, a third across his collarbone, assailing him with magic all the while. He lost his patience quickly; hers had no end. Hadn’t she constructed it from years of caution, of diplomacy, of watching from the sidelines? The more enraged he grew, the more mistakes he made—and the more of his blood she sent spattering across the stone.
“Yield,” Zelda commanded, driving her dagger between his gauntlet and pauldron.
“Not until they put me in the ground,” Ganondorf wheezed, his bad leg faltering under him as he continued the assault.
For her, the exhaustion seemed distant—in her mind’s eye, a golden thread dangled in the darkness, brighter than the whole world, shining with the same fateful clarity she’d first found in Link’s fierce blue eyes. She’d lost track of the number of wounds she’d dealt when Ganondorf’s leg buckled beneath him.
“Enough,” Zelda said. She was glowing—not just the Triforce, but her, as though the sun itself thrived under her skin. “I won’t fight a defeated man.”
He growled, trying and failing to rise, but anyone could see the fight was over. Murmurs threaded through the crowd of onlookers. Her own legs trembled with exhaustion—but she was still standing, clinging to her daggers for dear life. Ganondorf was completely vulnerable. He’d bled her father like a pig. No one would blame her for doing the same.
But Zelda was a symbol of peace, built from the hope of a war-torn kingdom, and when she looked into his eyes, all she felt was pity.
She turned back towards Nabooru. Behind her, sand scraped against stone; magic shivered through the air.
She whirled, catching the blast of lightning on the blue shield of Nayru’s Love. Ganondorf’s face was a snarling mask of hate. He would never stop. He would throw himself at her until the beast awoke.
Be like Link.
Zelda seized hold of that golden thread and flooded the world with light. Raw magic billowed forth like storm winds, whipping at her clothes and tugging her hair out of its braid. Hylia, she thought, and it was more than a forgotten name this time; it was a truth sheltered in the deepest part of her.
She started by crushing his claymore into dust, but that wasn’t enough. Her true aim was his rotting core of malice and all it had wrought—her father’s death and the gouge it had torn through her heart and future; the other Zelda, alone in the ashes of her ruined kingdom; Link’s screaming nightmares, his attempts to give her the happy childhood he’d lost, his desperate quest for the fairy who understood it all.
“You will take no one else,” Zelda said in a voice that sounded bigger than her body.
Ganondorf fell to his knees beneath a cascade of light as she took that ghastly core in her grasp, feeling her power grow around it with all the might of Hyrule—the deep earth, the rushing rivers, the towering trees that separated her from Link. But she could feel the beating heart of his Courage nonetheless; she could feel the golden thread wrapped around her like an embrace, turning her into a force strong enough to contain the beast.
By the time her vision cleared, Ganondorf was crumpled on the ground, staring down at his hands. Zelda understood—she half-expected her own skin to be changed by the magic, but as the light ebbed and the spell settled, she was herself again. Releasing a shuddering breath of relief, she sheathed her daggers.
Nabooru came to her side, eyeing the shock on Ganondorf’s face. “What did you do?”
“I…sealed away the source of his power,” Zelda answered uncertainly.
“Why not do that from the start? Why drag out the fight?”
“I didn’t know I could.” There were legends of the sealing power passed down through her maternal line, but she’d never tapped into it until she’d found that golden thread winding through her power, leading her to…she touched the mark of the Triforce. Link. It led me to Link.
The Gerudo were murmuring amongst themselves, some of them inching closer to take in the sight. “So much for killing time before the real fight,” someone scoffed.
“Where are the advantages you promised?” another demanded. “Where are Kotake and Koume?”
Ganondorf glared at the ridge where he’d last seen his witch-mothers and said nothing.
Nabooru shook her head slowly, her jaw clenched tight. “Is this our king?” she asked her people. “One who’s put us all in danger and can’t deliver on his promises? One who would strike a foe’s back after being shown mercy? If you would still follow him, step forward.”
Not a single person moved.
Nabooru sighed in relief. “Good. We can still salvage this mess if the Hylians know we’ve detained him.”
Ganondorf cursed and struggled as several of the women hauled him upright and led him away, but there was something halfhearted about it. “I must go to my people,” Zelda told Nabooru. “They’ll suspect a trap if—”
“I’ll go myself. Impa trusts me. And she’ll kill me if I let you travel with that injury.”
Zelda took one glance at her burned side and squeezed her eyes shut.
“That was kind of cathartic, watching you kick his ass,” Nabooru chuckled as they retreated towards the cool relief of the fortress. Zelda stumbled on the threshold, adrenaline giving way to searing pain, but Nabooru caught her with steady hands. Her next words were somber and sincere. “Thank you, Princess Zelda. I think you’re exactly what Hyrule needs.”
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She woke in a fountain of sacred blue light. Voices drifted in and out of her hearing. A boy in green stood staring down at his hands in disbelief, not listening to the fairy bouncing around his head or the old man who was handing him the fate of the world.
What— the boy flinched at his own voice and had to try again. What happened to Princess Zelda?
He was older than she’d ever seen him, yet young enough that he was still hopeful, still afraid. I’m right here, Zelda tried to say, struggling to her feet. You’re not alone.
The old man heard her. Link did not, because this had already happened—she couldn’t change it, couldn’t save him, couldn’t tell Navi how badly he needed her to stay. Zelda stumbled forward anyway, but his image blurred and slid through her outstretched fingers, carried away by the river of time.
She rounded on the old man. What was that?
He turned towards her with a sigh. My apologies, Princess. Time is everything and nothing here. You saw what you longed to see, but it was only an echo.
You’re Rauru, aren’t you? Why am I here?
You are always closer to the Sacred Realm than most, Sage of Time. Now more than ever. I sensed it when you sealed away the beast that dwells within Ganondorf. I must warn you that without the backing of the other Six Sages, it will not last.
Does anything? Zelda asked acidly, glaring at the waterfalls of light that flowed from the heavens to the unfathomable depths below. She was right back where she’d started. She would lose Impa. She would take Nabooru, Ruto, and Darunia from the people who loved and needed them. She would steal from Saria the same thing Rauru had stolen from Link.
There may be another way, Rauru said, his forehead creased in thought. Send Ganondorf to the desert prison at Arbiter’s Grounds. In that place of old magic, I shall summon my ancient comrades. We were not enough to end him when he bore the Triforce of Power, but as he is now…we will try to be enough this time.
The world was shimmering around her, fading like ripples across a pond. I’ll hold you to that, Zelda said fiercely, glancing at the spot where Link had stood a lifetime ago before she closed her eyes.
She opened them under the cool sandstone roof of Gerudo Fortress. Impa stirred in a chair beside her bed, reaching for her hand. “Don’t get up,” she ordered. “How do you feel?”
Zelda stirred, wincing at the pain in her bandaged side. “Awful. What happened?”
“You prevented a war, that’s what happened. I sent our troops home. Owen’s talked the Council down beautifully. After they hear what you did today, there will be no more talk of coronating anyone else.”
“It’s over?”
“Yes.” Impa smoothed the hair from her forehead. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
Zelda shut her eyes. There was relief, of course—but what came next? A throne. A fiancé. A funeral.
Tears slipped past her closed lids. Impa slid an awkward arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace as she started to sob. “It’s all right,” murmured the woman who was her mother in all but name. “It’s over, my little bird. We’ll be home before you know it.”
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