Chapter 9: Long Live the King
The many times Ganon envisioned his triumphant return to the Hylian throne room, he had always imagined he’d see the last vestiges of the Farorian Knights desperately defending their cowering monarch. He had never once doubted this vision.
The doors were immense, golden slabs covered with striking imagery of Hylian mythology. Pressing his gray, dirty fingers against them, they lurched and choked before moving back.
Upon entering the room he stopped, immediately taking note of how much the room had changed since he had last been in it. It was an empty, broken thing, and the air felt sticky and heavy.
Standing by his throne, a beautifully decorated sword in his hand, stood King Agerthorn.
Ganon paced carefully, smiling like a snake about to strike. The King remained ahead of him, staring straight into his eyes without any fear.
“You are not welcome within these walls Ganondorf Dragmire,” the King said sternly, “you have betrayed the kingdom and wage war against us without provocation.”
Ganon stopped, his mouth closing and his lips curling upward to grin.
“Without provocation. Interesting,” Ganon replied. “Do you remember, great King, when I had ascended the throne so many years ago?” he asked calmly.
The King simply nodded.
“So then you recall that I was 18 at the time, just made a man amongst the largely female members of the Gerudo people,” Ganon went on. “My father had died unexpectedly. He had been poisoned in the night. Our people were starving, the summer had devastated our crops and tore apart our livestock like a child shredding parchment.”
“I recall this,” the King said, “you sent an envoy to request aid. We sent him back with a cart full of fresh fruit and vegetables, and three of our finest cows.”
“You do recall it,” Ganon said, his eyes widening, “then you must recall how quickly these supplies ran out. You must recall the letters I sent to you requesting more aid.”
The King nodded, “we were unable to assist you. We could not spare anymore.”
Ganon smiled again. “Yet later that year you held a harvest festival, where there was food and drink for everyone. Then again in the summer you had a festival and a tournament, where food and drink was given out by the barrel full.”
“We weren’t going to risk your dependence on us,” the King responded, “our resources, though plentiful, are finite and meant primarily for Hylian benefit.”
“You greedy old fool!” Ganon roared, his anger explosive and tearing through his smile, “your people were never without the benefit of the lands before you, or lacking in a belly full of meats and wine! You are the weaker people and yet you were gifted in ways the Gerudo could only dream of. Yet when we, when I, came to you for help you turned your back to our faces and smiled in the rain as we burnt under the unrelenting sun.”
“I’m not responsible for your lack of ability as a King, Ganon, nor do I feel guilty for what transpired,” the King said with a lion’s roar that shook the room, “If you have come here to tell me of your sad time spent ruling over that kingdom of sand and dirt, then you will speak words that will fall upon unsympathetic ears. The Gerudo have always had a shaky alliance with the Hylians, and we are far from brothers. You have attacked our kingdom in the past, and have failed each time to breach our walls. It is only through your perfectly executed deception now that you were able to draw out our secrets and invade this castle. Now you have succeeded in shaming us, in killing our people and bringing ruin to our city. Now you have shown your might, your cunning, and your prowess. The point is proven, you are the stronger, more powerful, more deceptive race. Now be gone. I have no more time for this arrogance, this show of power. Be gone!”
There was only silence in reply as the two Kings stood across from each other, both with swords in their hands and fire in their eyes.
“You know what I come for,” Ganon said softly, “I will only be content when you are dead and she is mine.”
“Then you shall leave here disappointed,” the King said, raising his sword. “Zelda is far from your reach now, and you will never have her or the secret she keeps.”
Ganon slowly paced back and forth, his eyes digging daggers into the King. The two men rivaled each other in size, although Ganon was the bigger of the two and his body covered in armor. In contrast to the King’s elegant, jewel encrusted sword, Ganon’s blade was an immense, black thing that ended in a half moon at the tip, with two razor sharp edges stemming from either side. Along the blade were written ancient Gerudo runes, and they seemed to glow red when his anger flared. Although it seemed he should not be able to even lift it without extending a great effort, he carried it now as if it were a butter knife.
“Why would you even try to resist death at my hands?” Ganon asked slowly, “I have been in many wars when other Gerudo tribes have tried to take my crown. I have battled men the size of Goron chieftains, and traveled to dark lands filled with monsters more terrible than you could imagine. I brought down your best, Riverfeld, with ease, I tore through Feltus as if he were a child, and I have undone twenty of your Farorian Knights with three swipes from my sword. Between us I could bring you to ruin even faster than I did your city. Fighting is meaningless.”
The King kept the sword raised, never wavering in his intensity. “Fighting is never meaningless, regardless of who will win and who will fall. I am not a coward, or a weakling, despite what you may think. In my youth I was known as the King of Red Lions, a moniker I earned when I hunted the blood-furred lions that live under the shadow of Death Mountain. It was a trial I did to earn the throne as a prince, to claim it from my seven brothers who I knew did not deserve it. I tracked those lions in the heat and in the dust, without any aid, and killed them with only my knife. They’re immense, vicious creatures with the strength of ten men. Regardless of your skill, Ganondorf Dragmire, you will never scare me.”
At this Ganon began to laugh. The quaking boom that rose from his mouth filled the desolate throne room and seemed to shake the very earth. He held his sides and wiped away tears as his laughter waned and slowly ebbed. He looked back at the King, still smiling with his teeth bared.
“I had always heard rumors the Prince had tackled a single, sickly lion when it had interrupted his picnic,” Ganon said as he chuckled again, “but perhaps this is how the desert wind pollutes the sound of Hylian words to our ears.”
”Enough talk,” the King said firmly, “either leave or strike, I will waste no more time to bandy words and insults with a jealous tyrant.”
At this Ganon dropped his sword, and raised his hands in the air. The torches went out quickly and a gray mist fell across the floor. His eyes turned black and howling winds ran through the castle that were like the gusts of an approaching hurricane. “I’ve changed my mind, King of Red Lions,” he said in a mocking tone and a terrible voice that echoed as though spoken with many mouths, “what I will do to you now is a punishment worse than death, and will leave you in shame for the rest of time. Now suffer under this spell, and know that it was the jealous tyrant, the King of sand and dirt, who brought you to this ruin!”
There was a flash and screaming unlike there had been since the dawn of time. Ganon seemed to grow to a massive size as the shadow of the King shook and bent before fading in the dark. A great boom shook the palace and a solid wave of resonating air flew out from where the King once stood.
The sword, in all of its Hylian splendor and jeweled glory, fell hard against the ground as the air returned to normal and the wind ceased its roaring. Ganon stood across the room, looking at what his spell had done.
He stood in silence before a grin danced over his face for a minute, then quickly faded. Ganon turned his back on the throne, and the sword, and headed to the throne doors.
“King of Red Lions,” he said softly, smiling to himself before exiting the empty space behind him.
In the throne room any sign of the King was gone. The spell had done its work, and only desolation remained.
