The King of Light and Shadow

She looked to Aveil, who nodded slightly, jutting out her chin in a gesture to move closer. After all, the young witch was there to gauge the situation.

Sadeen stepped closer, putting her hands behind her back in an attempt to make her look more professional— more of an authority. She narrowed her eyes a bit in an attempt to think of what to say, although it may have easily came off as disdain.

"Do you want to die?" She asked slowly, studying the man closely to see the reaction. "For a final time, I mean." Her voice sounded odd in the quiet of the cell, and she resisted the urge to turn back to Aveil to see if she was doing alright.

He watched her shadow flicker on the wall. As imposing as it was, the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her. He could picture in his mind a little girl eagerly stepping into the much bigger shoes of her older sister. Was he to be some sort of test for this girl? How foolish.

"Do you?" He growled, too tired to make the effort of a witty retort. Ganondorf rolled over to look his visitor in the eyes, unamused.

She was more underwhelming than he had anticipated.

Though he knew her to be of his people, she did not look the part. The sisters of his memory were powerful, proud, and most importantly imposing. A true testament to the Gerudo's ability to survive in even the harshest circumstances. What stood before him was a mere fragment of that creed.

Aveil entered first, walking in with confidence. If she held any fear of the man chained to the wall she didn’t show it. Sadeen followed after, wiping any curiosity off her face. Her face took a neutral expression that she’d often used during training to hide her emotions.

There was a time and place for gawking, and this was neither. A thought wormed its way into her head— he was chained up after all, would he be a threat to them? The thought was squashed quickly by the energy she felt in the room. It was weak, but it made her feel like she was in the room with a chained animal rather than the man.

She waited for Aveil to speak, not entirely sure what amount of respect she was supposed to give a king-turned-traitor(?). Especially since they were their to bring him to his execution site, if the Hyrulean kingdom allowed them to take custody of him.

"My name is Aveil, leader of one of the three tribes of the east. Behind me is Sadeen. We’ve come to see and speak to you, if you’re willing." She said calmly, yellow eyes boring into the man against the wall.

As if on cue, the massive door to his cell creaked open, letting in a flood of unwelcome light. His eyelids instinctively held shut as he turned his head away. Their footsteps were small and few. What unfortunate little pests had taken it upon themselves to address the great beast?

He would hear none of it.

Ganondorf did not stand, he merely shifted his body away from his undesired guests. He supposed they had come on some foolhardy mission to bring him to whatever they deemed as justice, to punish him. How many times had he heard that before? He didn't have enough fingers to count. 

Et Novem Regnorum will be open for auditions from June 11th to June 25th. Both OC’s and Canon characters from the Legend of Zelda series will be accepted.

And so it was on that day, with the sun beating cruelly down upon him, that the Gerudo King fell for a second time. Once before the fell blade of the Hero, and another for the mark that he had left upon him.

The meager shelter lay just before him, but he was too weak. He felt his vision fade again, and he cursed with what little breath he had. Ganondorf was a pitiful heap amidst the ocean of sand.

Don’t be an idiot.  You’ll only put yourself in danger, and he’s hardly going to last very long.  Even from a distance, Azrael could tell the man was in poor condition.  And yet, he found himself pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, wincing as the sun beat down against his bare left arm as he jogged over to the unmoving form ahead.

"Easy there, laddie," he said to no one in particular, shifting the man’s massive form.  This wouldn’t be easy; the man was easily bigger than Azrael, and he was reminded of this as he grabbed under the man’s arms to drag him back towards the tent.  He could feel the skin of his left arm burning as he did so, beads of sweat dampening his dark hair.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cool shade of the tent welcomed Azrael back into its thick semi-darkness.  He sighed with relief, giving the unconscious man one final tug until his feet were clear of the tent flaps.  His arm ached; closing his eyes, Azrael focused briefly on mending the damaged skin.  Opening them, he regarded the man who lay before him - and his newly beating heart stopped as he realized who it was.

The sand goddess herself could not have been as merciful as the shade of that shelter was. He began to breathe a comforted sigh before a sharp pain led him into a bout of coughing. He groaned, making a feeble attempt to sit up. Ganondorf forced his eyes open, taking in his new surroundings.

Just who had come to retrieve him?

And then the voice came.

I hadn’t thought to see you again.

What haunting familiarity that voice had. It resonated throughout him, his eyes wide with shock. A voice that he had known not in this lifetime, but another, long ago. He kept his back turned to his savior.

Death was sweet somehow. Truthfully, anything would have been better than the dry taste in his mouth at that moment. He knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. The certain familiarity of it blanketed him, threatening to smother him before he rose shakily to his feet.

The king of the Gerudo, back to his promised homeland. His ancient birthright. He growled, fangs bared to an absent hand. His hands balled into great fists, he was ready to strike the air. But what was that he felt…pain? The sharp sting within his chest caused him to double over.

With wild eyes he looked down to find his chest wounded, light seeping from the tear. His vision swam, but within it, he could still see those eyes, the gleam of a resolve perhaps more primal than his own. The final blow had been delivered, and the hero had triumphed. His chest was in agony.

Yet, even after his defeat, he remained. But what cruelty to be restored in such a state. The once proud king could barely stand on his own two feet.

The runes were difficult to decipher… or perhaps he’d merely had too much rum to process them correctly.  Ever since he had discovered his ability to ingest food had changed, Azrael had noticed his tolerance for the stuff had improved significantly.  Even so, it wasn’t impossible that’d he’d had too much.

And so it was on that day, with the sun beating cruelly down upon him, that the Gerudo King fell for a second time. Once before the fell blade of the Hero, and another for the mark that he had left upon him.

The meager shelter lay just before him, but he was too weak. He felt his vision fade again, and he cursed with what little breath he had. Ganondorf was a pitiful heap amidst the ocean of sand.

I’m speakin’ Hylian. Considering you answered me, I’m assuming you speak it too.

Ah, that’s what you’re speaking. Your….accent threw me off.

You dare speak to the king of the Gerudo with such disrespect and then further have the audacity to insult him? You should count your lucky stars that I don't end you right here and now.

It had been stupid of course— a childish mistake. She had used a telescope to see as far as she could beyond the fortress, hunched over where none of the patrolling guards above could see her. It had appeared like there were no guards beyond the closed gate to the desert, so the young Oracle figured it would be safe to teleport to the other side in order to start her journey towards the temple in the desert.

She had already teleported past one set of guards after they had turned her away, telling her to ‘get lost’ once it was clear that she wasn’t one of them. Now she had had one more teleportation and she could travel through the desert.

Of course it would have been far more complex than that, but her plans were barely multi-step as it was. When she had teleported to the area she assumed there were no guards, she was met with four very shocked Gerudo. Glaives lowered to her neck as she raised her arms to show she was unarmed. One whistled an alarm and before she could even register how badly she had messed up they had ripped off her bag and were leading her to a cell. While her arms weren’t bound, the presence of the glaive at her back demonstrated that escape or any magic doing wouldn’t be tolerated.

She was walked by a cell, and almost slowed down, thinking that this was where she was taking her but the point in her back forced her to keep walking. They went further in until stopping at a room with a hole in the floor.

Dins’ eyes widened and she turned to ask them to “Wait— stop!” before one pushed her into the hole.

It was a longer fall than she was used to, and hitting the ground knocked the wind out of her. It had taken all she could to keep her skull from bouncing off the rock, and her neck strained from it. She grimaced in pain, turning to curl up in on herself.

She felt so, so stupid and the throbbing in her back seem to echo her thoughts.

He was alive by her will alone. He gritted his teeth, as he gazed out the window and onto the silent plains of the desert wasteland. Though his eyes were looking upon his homeland, they saw only the eyes of the Hylian nobles, the people who had sneered so condescendingly to him mere days ago at his harrowing trial. He, his people, were nothing to them, and he had failed to do anything about it.

A knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts.

Upon his invitation, a Gerudo guard swiftly walked into the room, alerting him to the presence of a stranger being held prisoner in what they called  "the trench".

An interesting diversion, perhaps.

He bid the guard to leave before setting off himself. The trench was but a brisk walk away, and he could use the time away from his dilemma. What unfortunate soul had found themselves imprisoned within his fortress?

Ganondorf untied the key from his belt loop, using it to unlock the door to the trench that so many were oblivious to. He supposed it was due to the minimal light shed within the hole, either that or the feeling of hopelessness that accompanied being shut in such a place.

The door creaked open slowly, his silhouette looming in the doorway. He spoke in a voice so resonant that even the stones at his feet seemed to tremble in his presence.