More Fancic!
The Legend of Zelda
Heroes’ Fate
Prologue
Legend holds that in each Age of the world, the avarice of an evil heart will divide the sacred Triforce. When the Triforce is divided, it is said that destiny will choose a Hero and a Seer to restore the Balance. They shall be known by their deeds, and by the Mark of the Triforce they shall bear. So it is written.
~~~~~~~~~~
For the umpteenth time, he ground a hand across his tired eyes and wiped fat beads of sweat from his brow. No matter how many times he studied the map, he couldn’t tease forth what he really needed. His forces were outnumbered and hemmed in on all sides, and all they had left to them was the advantage of the high ground. With a resigned sigh, he shifted the tokens that represented battalions of troops. He groaned a moment later as his opponent deftly captured each piece, saving the Hero token for last.
“Aww,” whined the green-clad child, “why do I always lose?”
The girl sitting across from him settled back into her seat and giggled. “It’s because you try to meet every problem head-on, silly.”
“Well, yeah,” he replied, still studying the array of game pieces and trying to deduce how exactly he’d been beaten. “What else am I supposed to do?”
The girl opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she had been about to say was cut off by the tolling of bells nearby. With a gasp, she jumped to her feet and smoothed down her skirts. “I’m sorry, Link, I have to go. Good luck at practice!” And with that, she snatched up her diadem and hurried off, the white-haired woman who followed her everywhere and never spoke trailing after.
Link sighed. She’d meant sword practice, though so many of the things the weaponmaster put him through had nothing to do with swords that he could see. He didn’t see how running obstacle courses, shooting arrows, and riding (or in his case, failing to ride) horses was supposed to make him better with a sword.
A month ago, he wouldn’t have been spending most of every day in grueling lessons, exhausting his body only to retreat for the heat of the day into the castle to study musty old legends and endless dry scrolls about strategy. An orphan, he had been taken in at Lon Lon Ranch, and had been given those chores an eight-year-old could handle in order to earn his keep. Then one day, a strange mark had appeared on the back of his hand. The village healer had taken one look at the mark and bustled him off with a soldier to the Palace City. He had been taken into the palace and told that he was the great hero of legend, and had a duty to his country.
Since then, his life had been one sort of training after another, all intended to “prepare him.” Prepare him for what, he wasn’t quite sure, but his teachers seemed determined to prepare him for a whole lot of aches and bruises, and riddles he couldn’t understand. With a resigned sigh, he put away the game pieces and headed out to the salle.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Can he really be the one?” she asked, looking out a window into the courtyard below, where the armsmaster had once again knocked Link prone with the flat of his practice-blade.
“There is no question, princess,” her teacher replied, a reed-thin man in fine red-and-gold robes. “He bears the mark of the Triforce he carries, just as you yourself.” The reply caused the girl to glance self-consciously at the back of her left hand-though both hands were covered by pale pink gloves embroidered with the symbol of the Triforce, she knew that beneath the left glove laid a mark upon her skin. Like a tattoo, it had appeared one day to the great consternation of her father and his advisors-two dark triangles, and one inexplicably golden, the prophesied mark of a bearer of the Triforce.
“He is the destined Hero of Legend,” her teacher continued, “just as you have been chosen as the Seer who will guide him. The Triforce of Courage will guide him, princess, have faith.”
She watched Link’s practice a moment longer before her teacher cleared his throat sternly, reminding her to return her attention to her studies.
The sound of a door opening behind her did not alarm the girl-after all, there was only one person her bodyguard, Impa, would let enter her rooms without warning: the king. Smiling happily, she nonetheless carefully rolled up the scroll in her hands before bouncing from her seat and running to the king’s arms. “Father!”
“Zelda, my dear!” The king, a tall man whose slender frame nonetheless held an evident strength to match his potent personality, lifted his daughter and spun her once around before returning to her feet. “How are you, my daughter? I’ve heard such good things from your teachers.” Kneeling beside his daughter, the king drew her into a fond embrace that took nothing from his regal grace. He was a handsome man by nearly any standard, blond hair shading to gray around his temples, with his beard trimmed into a silver goatee. There were lines of his eyes that spoke of the weight of ruling responsibly, but there were smile-lines there, as well. The weight of the heavy gold crown resting on his brow seemed not to trouble him in the least, and his eyes were kindly and clear.
“I’ve been well, father,” the princess answered, returning the hug for a long moment before drawing back to stand before him with her hands folded, as was proper. Even at only eight summers, she was a pensive, precocious child given to unusual solemn moments. No few who had met her soulful eyes wondered at the quiet sorrow they found there. “I believe I’ll be able to try some of the greater divinations soon.”
“What? So soon? Ah, my child, you do your father proud. The strongest sorceress in decades, and the youngest, too. You’ll make a wonderful queen, someday.”
“I’ll do my best, father,” Zelda replied, nodding gravely.
~~~~~~~~~~
Somewhere in the trackless reaches of the Great Western Desert, a lone campfire burned between two dunes. It burned without fuel, the flames simply springing into being a handspan above the sand-sand which was slowly turning into a sheet of bubbly black glass beneath it. At the fire sat a rangy man, bare to the waist, his deeply tanned skin stretched taut over a tight swimmer’s physique. His green eyes were wide, sightlessly staring through the flames, his red hair swept back and spiked. Across his back stretched a mark like some unearthly brand: three triangles, their nearest corners touching; dark ones on his left shoulder and in the small of his back, the right an eerie, metallic gold.
Though there was nothing to announce the change, a moment later he was no longer alone. Had there been anyone watching the man, they might have seen a slender figure rise from his fire-cast shadow, a wiry but distinctly feminine shape covered completely in black wrappings. She stood poised behind him for a long moment, slowly drawing a glassy black knife from a sheath at her hip before she leaped at him.
Without looking, the man’s right hand snapped up, catching the woman’s wrist. In a trice, he uncrossed h8is legs and rose, drawing just a taste of the Triforce’s vast power to blast his assailant backward into the side of the dune behind him. Turning, he grinned, the flames deepening in color to a baleful red. His laugh, a nasal sneer, oozed gloating confidence. “Heh, heh, heh. Someone thought they could take on the mighty Ganondorf, did they? And who are you?”
The figure remained silent, gazing mutely at “the mighty Ganondorf” with what he took to be defiance. Raising his right hand, he curled his fingers menacingly, chanting under his breath as a nimbus of purplish light grew around his hand, another enveloping his attacker, heaving her bodily into the air. Slowly curling his fingers, his sneering grin spread as the figure twitched and convulsed in the tightening grip of his power. At last, a gasping sob of pain was torn from her, and with a triumphant sound he relaxed his grip-though not completely. “Well? Who are you?”
“I,” the figure began breathlessly, her voice a sultry purr, “am Nida. And you, Ganondorf, have been found worthy.”
“Worthy?” He uttered a bark of laughter that had no mirth in it. “Of course I am worthy! I am Ganondorf, king of thieves! And soon, I will be the king of the world, as well. What could you find me worthy of that is not mine already?”
“Nothing,” she answers simply.
“Very good. You aren’t quite as foolish as you first seemed.” Dropping his hand, he lowers his captive to the sand. “Now, then. I am going to need an army, to bring this world under my thumb. You’ll do, for a start.”
Nida bowed low, her expression unreadable behind the wrappings that obscured her face. “Of course, my lord.”
“Now, go,” he commanded, pointing to the east. “Find the Hero and the Seer. And do not allow yourself to be noticed.”
Nida bowed her head in acquiescence, and in the time it took Ganondorf to blink she vanished, replaced by a hole in the air where she had been, in her shape, that opened onto darkness. Starting in surprise, the self-proclaimed King of Thieves extended a probe of Power toward the hole, but it shrank in on itself and vanished without a sound. Alone again, Ganondorf frowned slightly-he hated a puzzle.
~~~~~~~~~~
The shadows were deep in the cave, the only light cast by large, faintly glowing blue fungi. A handful of black-clad figures crouched at the foot of a tall stone plinth, as though awaiting some unknown signal. Near the top of the monolith, a triangular hole had been cut through the stone, pointing groundward.
From one of those shadows stepped another figure, prowling through the gloom to join the group. Nodding slightly to the others, Nida spoke. “It is done. He will serve our purposes perfectly.”
Heroes’ Fate
Prologue
Legend holds that in each Age of the world, the avarice of an evil heart will divide the sacred Triforce. When the Triforce is divided, it is said that destiny will choose a Hero and a Seer to restore the Balance. They shall be known by their deeds, and by the Mark of the Triforce they shall bear. So it is written.
~~~~~~~~~~
For the umpteenth time, he ground a hand across his tired eyes and wiped fat beads of sweat from his brow. No matter how many times he studied the map, he couldn’t tease forth what he really needed. His forces were outnumbered and hemmed in on all sides, and all they had left to them was the advantage of the high ground. With a resigned sigh, he shifted the tokens that represented battalions of troops. He groaned a moment later as his opponent deftly captured each piece, saving the Hero token for last.
“Aww,” whined the green-clad child, “why do I always lose?”
The girl sitting across from him settled back into her seat and giggled. “It’s because you try to meet every problem head-on, silly.”
“Well, yeah,” he replied, still studying the array of game pieces and trying to deduce how exactly he’d been beaten. “What else am I supposed to do?”
The girl opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she had been about to say was cut off by the tolling of bells nearby. With a gasp, she jumped to her feet and smoothed down her skirts. “I’m sorry, Link, I have to go. Good luck at practice!” And with that, she snatched up her diadem and hurried off, the white-haired woman who followed her everywhere and never spoke trailing after.
Link sighed. She’d meant sword practice, though so many of the things the weaponmaster put him through had nothing to do with swords that he could see. He didn’t see how running obstacle courses, shooting arrows, and riding (or in his case, failing to ride) horses was supposed to make him better with a sword.
A month ago, he wouldn’t have been spending most of every day in grueling lessons, exhausting his body only to retreat for the heat of the day into the castle to study musty old legends and endless dry scrolls about strategy. An orphan, he had been taken in at Lon Lon Ranch, and had been given those chores an eight-year-old could handle in order to earn his keep. Then one day, a strange mark had appeared on the back of his hand. The village healer had taken one look at the mark and bustled him off with a soldier to the Palace City. He had been taken into the palace and told that he was the great hero of legend, and had a duty to his country.
Since then, his life had been one sort of training after another, all intended to “prepare him.” Prepare him for what, he wasn’t quite sure, but his teachers seemed determined to prepare him for a whole lot of aches and bruises, and riddles he couldn’t understand. With a resigned sigh, he put away the game pieces and headed out to the salle.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Can he really be the one?” she asked, looking out a window into the courtyard below, where the armsmaster had once again knocked Link prone with the flat of his practice-blade.
“There is no question, princess,” her teacher replied, a reed-thin man in fine red-and-gold robes. “He bears the mark of the Triforce he carries, just as you yourself.” The reply caused the girl to glance self-consciously at the back of her left hand-though both hands were covered by pale pink gloves embroidered with the symbol of the Triforce, she knew that beneath the left glove laid a mark upon her skin. Like a tattoo, it had appeared one day to the great consternation of her father and his advisors-two dark triangles, and one inexplicably golden, the prophesied mark of a bearer of the Triforce.
“He is the destined Hero of Legend,” her teacher continued, “just as you have been chosen as the Seer who will guide him. The Triforce of Courage will guide him, princess, have faith.”
She watched Link’s practice a moment longer before her teacher cleared his throat sternly, reminding her to return her attention to her studies.
The sound of a door opening behind her did not alarm the girl-after all, there was only one person her bodyguard, Impa, would let enter her rooms without warning: the king. Smiling happily, she nonetheless carefully rolled up the scroll in her hands before bouncing from her seat and running to the king’s arms. “Father!”
“Zelda, my dear!” The king, a tall man whose slender frame nonetheless held an evident strength to match his potent personality, lifted his daughter and spun her once around before returning to her feet. “How are you, my daughter? I’ve heard such good things from your teachers.” Kneeling beside his daughter, the king drew her into a fond embrace that took nothing from his regal grace. He was a handsome man by nearly any standard, blond hair shading to gray around his temples, with his beard trimmed into a silver goatee. There were lines of his eyes that spoke of the weight of ruling responsibly, but there were smile-lines there, as well. The weight of the heavy gold crown resting on his brow seemed not to trouble him in the least, and his eyes were kindly and clear.
“I’ve been well, father,” the princess answered, returning the hug for a long moment before drawing back to stand before him with her hands folded, as was proper. Even at only eight summers, she was a pensive, precocious child given to unusual solemn moments. No few who had met her soulful eyes wondered at the quiet sorrow they found there. “I believe I’ll be able to try some of the greater divinations soon.”
“What? So soon? Ah, my child, you do your father proud. The strongest sorceress in decades, and the youngest, too. You’ll make a wonderful queen, someday.”
“I’ll do my best, father,” Zelda replied, nodding gravely.
~~~~~~~~~~
Somewhere in the trackless reaches of the Great Western Desert, a lone campfire burned between two dunes. It burned without fuel, the flames simply springing into being a handspan above the sand-sand which was slowly turning into a sheet of bubbly black glass beneath it. At the fire sat a rangy man, bare to the waist, his deeply tanned skin stretched taut over a tight swimmer’s physique. His green eyes were wide, sightlessly staring through the flames, his red hair swept back and spiked. Across his back stretched a mark like some unearthly brand: three triangles, their nearest corners touching; dark ones on his left shoulder and in the small of his back, the right an eerie, metallic gold.
Though there was nothing to announce the change, a moment later he was no longer alone. Had there been anyone watching the man, they might have seen a slender figure rise from his fire-cast shadow, a wiry but distinctly feminine shape covered completely in black wrappings. She stood poised behind him for a long moment, slowly drawing a glassy black knife from a sheath at her hip before she leaped at him.
Without looking, the man’s right hand snapped up, catching the woman’s wrist. In a trice, he uncrossed h8is legs and rose, drawing just a taste of the Triforce’s vast power to blast his assailant backward into the side of the dune behind him. Turning, he grinned, the flames deepening in color to a baleful red. His laugh, a nasal sneer, oozed gloating confidence. “Heh, heh, heh. Someone thought they could take on the mighty Ganondorf, did they? And who are you?”
The figure remained silent, gazing mutely at “the mighty Ganondorf” with what he took to be defiance. Raising his right hand, he curled his fingers menacingly, chanting under his breath as a nimbus of purplish light grew around his hand, another enveloping his attacker, heaving her bodily into the air. Slowly curling his fingers, his sneering grin spread as the figure twitched and convulsed in the tightening grip of his power. At last, a gasping sob of pain was torn from her, and with a triumphant sound he relaxed his grip-though not completely. “Well? Who are you?”
“I,” the figure began breathlessly, her voice a sultry purr, “am Nida. And you, Ganondorf, have been found worthy.”
“Worthy?” He uttered a bark of laughter that had no mirth in it. “Of course I am worthy! I am Ganondorf, king of thieves! And soon, I will be the king of the world, as well. What could you find me worthy of that is not mine already?”
“Nothing,” she answers simply.
“Very good. You aren’t quite as foolish as you first seemed.” Dropping his hand, he lowers his captive to the sand. “Now, then. I am going to need an army, to bring this world under my thumb. You’ll do, for a start.”
Nida bowed low, her expression unreadable behind the wrappings that obscured her face. “Of course, my lord.”
“Now, go,” he commanded, pointing to the east. “Find the Hero and the Seer. And do not allow yourself to be noticed.”
Nida bowed her head in acquiescence, and in the time it took Ganondorf to blink she vanished, replaced by a hole in the air where she had been, in her shape, that opened onto darkness. Starting in surprise, the self-proclaimed King of Thieves extended a probe of Power toward the hole, but it shrank in on itself and vanished without a sound. Alone again, Ganondorf frowned slightly-he hated a puzzle.
~~~~~~~~~~
The shadows were deep in the cave, the only light cast by large, faintly glowing blue fungi. A handful of black-clad figures crouched at the foot of a tall stone plinth, as though awaiting some unknown signal. Near the top of the monolith, a triangular hole had been cut through the stone, pointing groundward.
From one of those shadows stepped another figure, prowling through the gloom to join the group. Nodding slightly to the others, Nida spoke. “It is done. He will serve our purposes perfectly.”