Chapter Text
“My king?”
A knock on the open bedchamber door accompanies his attendant’s quiet voice, and Ganon gives up on trying to fold a sirwal neatly enough to keep the silk from creasing.
“Lany,” he sighs, looking up at her with a sad smile, “I told you I would handle everything myself this morning. You don’t need to trouble yourself so early.”
Lany shakes her head and steps up to the other side of his bed, which is now strewn with clothing and a minimal selection of ornaments, a few bottles of perfumed oils, books, waterskins, several days’ worth of food that will travel well, and a bundled up bedroll, among other things.
“It’s no trouble,” she says. “You aren’t packing for a hunt in the highlands after all, and you’ll have to impress more than just the wolves and bears. I wanted to help, or to at least see you off. Here, let me fold that.”
Ganon sighs again but hands the sirwal over. He hadn’t wanted any more farewells today than strictly necessary, but he must admit that Lany’s presence now is a familiar comfort as she quickly sorts through his things and helps him arrange them in his pack.
“You should take the red embroidered shawl with you, the new one,” she says while they work. “And where is your crown? How will you fit its case in here with all of this?”
“Which—oh, no, I didn’t see a need for it. And the crown is staying here, too.”
Lany levels a look at him across the bed. “My king,” she says reproachfully. “You mustn’t let them forget who you are. Take the crown, and take your formal armor as well, for when you see the Hylian king.”
“They’ll know exactly who I am, crown or no crown,” Ganon answers, “and besides, Lany, I’m not a donkey. Would you have me collapse halfway to the oasis under the weight of every jewel and golden ornament in the treasury?”
The disapproving tilt of her mouth says she isn’t convinced, but she goes on about her business without further protest.
The weight of his pack is of course a consideration, since he’ll be crossing the desert alone and on foot today, but the load he carries with him into Central Hyrule is more than just physical; since the prophecy had come to light, just the weight of his name on its own has become a much heavier burden than it once was.
His mother had made a bold decision in choosing to call him Ganondorf, hoping he would reclaim the traditional name of Gerudo kings, that he could make something new of it and leave behind the old fears it had carried since well before ancient times. But nearly two years ago, the return of Calamity Ganon had been foretold, and suddenly, he had felt half the eyes in Hyrule turn in his direction. Some of them even belonging to his own people.
Ganon knew his history and all the old legends as well. And while he’d never understood the lust for power so extreme that it led his ancient predecessors to such atrocities, never wanted anything but peace and prosperity for his people and the rest of Hyrule, he wasn’t terribly surprised when the formal notice came from Hyrule Castle two months ago. His presence as an honored guest of the Hylian crown was requested for an extended period of time, until the prophecy came to fruition or until time proved it to be a false alarm. The measure was to ensure his own safety, they said, but he knew the Hylians had never fully trusted him or any Gerudo king for that matter, and whatever goodwill remained between himself and King Rhoam was hanging on by a thread in the wake of the prophecy. And while there was no explicit threat made against the Gerudo if he didn’t comply, Ganon knew that his people would pay in some subtle way unless he acquiesced. His hands were tied.
He’d sent back a counter offer, though: he would stay at Hyrule Castle where they could keep an eye on him, just as they wanted, but for one year only. If nothing Calamitous happened within that time, Ganon would be free to return home. The prophecy hadn’t mentioned an exact date for the supposed return of the Calamity, but all the Hylian council and Sheikah researchers agreed that if it should happen at all, it would be soon. And just for good measure, Ganon also proposed that in return for his cooperation, the Hylians would waive some of the trade fees and taxes normally imposed on the Gerudo and assist in the clean up of the Divine Beast excavation site on Gerudo land.
Thankfully, King Rhoam had accepted his terms, and a date was agreed upon. Ganon would meet a Hylian escort at the edge of Gerudo territory, and he’d spend the next year likely bored out of his mind at Hyrule Castle as a prisoner in all but name. A somewhat willing prisoner, but a prisoner still.
And so he could have packed his crown and his armor and all the finery and symbols of power he owns and had it all carted to the stable in Gerudo Canyon last week, when he had sent ahead for a tent to be prepared for his journey. He could meet his Hylian escort with a scimitar on his hip and twenty Gerudo warriors at his back, too, if he were so inclined. The agreement between himself and King Rhoam hadn’t excluded the possibility. But he knows what everyone fears of him—or of his name, more accurately—and he knows that a gesture of peace will do the most good. So he’s going alone. No personal guard, no attendants, no weapon besides the bow and quiver on the table near the door, in case he should run into trouble between Gerudo Town and the protection of King Rhoam’s soldiers. Whatever comes of this arrangement, it won’t be Ganon who escalates the situation, and hopefully the Gerudo people will come out of this better for it.
“What will you wear when you meet the Hylians tomorrow evening?” Lany asks. “I’ll leave it at the top of your pack.”
“Nothing formal,” Ganon says, guessing her intent. “I’ll be riding most of the day anyway.”
“Hmm… The teal djellaba then, and this sirwal here. And wear your topaz circlet at the very least. These earrings as well. There should be no doubt that you’re a king even on the road.”
Ganon nods and says, “Yes, yes. I’ll ask myself, ‘What would Lany dress me in today?’ every morning. Don’t worry.”
Her busy hands still then. “I will though,” she tells him. “I’ll worry about your clothes and your hair and how alone you’ll be, how the Hylians will treat you. What will become of you… Don’t ask me not to worry about you, my king. I’ll disobey you every day.”
He reaches across the bed for one of her hands, grips it tightly, and says, “Then it won’t be different from any other day.”
Lany lets out an aggravated huff and takes her hand back, but smiles anyway.
“The year will be gone before we know it,” Ganon adds, grinning at her. “And I’ll be back here with you fussing over my hair again like I was never gone in the first place.”
She gives him one more exasperated but fond look, then says, “At least let me fuss over your hair once more, then.”
———
Ganon smells of eucalyptus and palm by the time he steps out into the quiet plaza in front of the palace. His beard is oiled, his hair is tied back away from his face, and the pack on his shoulders contains a good deal more finery than he had planned on bringing with him. But Lany is usually right in matters of his wardrobe, and the memory of her humming while her nimble fingers worked a few small braids into his hair one last time will be a comfort to him in the days ahead, he knows. Saying goodbye to Lany had been just as difficult as he knew it would be, and he hopes that the next (and last) farewells won’t be much worse. Those lie just ahead, past the dark, still-empty market, where he sees two people standing near the entrance to the city, waiting for him.
Chief Urbosa offers him an uncharacteristically subdued sav’otta as he approaches, which he returns. Dasha, the captain of his personal guard, says nothing.
All of the formalities have been covered with the council of elders already, including the temporary but official handing-off of power to his second-in-command, Urbosa’s solemn vows to serve their people in his absence and yield his throne to him upon his return, and Dasha’s oath to protect the ruling chief as though she were the king. But Ganon hasn’t yet considered what he might say to either of them for this final farewell, and words elude him now.
Well, perhaps final is too strong a word. It’s not as though he’ll never see them again, no matter what happens with the Calamity. Urbosa’s status as Gerudo Champion, as well as her friendship with the late Hylian queen and the princess, has her making the journey between the desert and Hyrule Castle quite frequently, after all, and last he’d heard, she has another visit planned within a few months. But despite knowing this, now that it’s actually come down to it, he finds the prospect of spending such a long time without her steadying presence and sound advice close at hand to be horribly disheartening.
It occurs to him to tell her so, if he could find a way to say it without sounding like a child clinging to her sash again. But before he can try, Dasha breaks the silence with a sudden muttered oath.
“This is absurd,” she spits. “Ridiculous! It’s an insult, and nothing more. My king, you can’t seriously intend to entertain this Hylian nonsense?”
This is a conversation they’ve had numerous times already, and Ganon briefly sends his gaze skyward as though he’ll find the strength up there to go through it once more.
“Yes, I can,” he huffs, “and I do. And you know why.”
“Let them send their armies, then, if they’re so afraid of you. Let the desert swallow them whole. We don’t need them or their disrespect.”
“Our trade routes might disagree with you, Dasha,” Urbosa interjects. “I don’t believe it was right of King Rhoam to make this request, but I do trust our king’s judgment in this.”
Dasha shakes her head and thumps the butt of her spear on the ground impatiently. “At least let me go with you.”
“The only thing that would come of that is you cutting down the first person who looked at me the wrong way,” Ganon says. “We’re much less likely to start a war if I go alone.”
“And they’re much more likely to kill you if you do. This stupid prophecy is driving them past reason.”
Urbosa snorts, “They wouldn’t dare. I would march Naboris straight through the Castle Town gates myself if they did, and they know it. But besides, they don’t know enough about the Calamity to risk it.”
That’s another conversation that’s already taken place, and one that Ganon had enjoyed even less than Dasha’s numerous protests. Urbosa’s involvement in the Hylian preparations to oppose the Calamity had led to her attendance at a meeting where the topic of his ‘preemptive elimination’ had been broached by some unfortunate soul on the Hylian council. Urbosa had reportedly threatened to ‘fry’ his ‘sniveling, cowardly ass,’ and the matter was dropped… But not before one of the Sheikah researchers had opined that, in the event that the current Gerudo king should prove to have a connection to the Calamity after all, killing him might inadvertently release the monster.
He finds very little comfort in that reasoning.
“I’ll be fine, Dasha,” he says after throwing Urbosa a pointed look. “I don’t even expect anything interesting to happen, much less an assassination attempt.”
Dasha stares him down, unswayed, and says, “Not believing the Calamity will return won’t keep you safe from those that do.”
A bird twitters somewhere on the other side of the gate while Ganon mulls this statement over in his mind, and the realization that the morning will soon get away from him if he doesn’t hurry leads him to reluctantly let it go for the time being.
“That may be, but there’s nothing to be done now. It’s time,” he tells them, adjusting his pack. “Be well, both of you, and look after our people as well as yourselves.”
There’s no further protest from Dasha, nor a good bye, only a telltale reddening around her eyes and a low bow with one fist over her heart.
“Sav’orq, my king,” Urbosa says, and bows as well. “I’ll see you in a few months’ time. Try not to cause too much trouble before then.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Sav’orq.”
Both Urbosa and Dasha step aside, and then there’s nothing left between Ganon and the open sands beyond the gate.
His first step leads to another, and another. And hours later, once the sun has risen, Gerudo Town is a hazy silhouette against the backdrop of the desert behind him, and he’s lost count of his steps, the wind picks up and sends a stinging spray of sand against his cheeks. While he re-wraps the scarf around his neck to protect his face as well, he turns the last thing Dasha had said over in his mind.
It isn’t that he believes that the world has seen the last of the Calamity, or even that the prophecy is false necessarily. If history has proven anything, it’s that peace and despair visit Hyrule in waves, and things have a way of looping back around, even if it takes ten thousand years. No, he’s sure that it’s only a matter of time. How much time is the better question, but with the Hylian princess still unable to access her sacred power and no hero chosen to smite the foretold monster, it seems to him that the goddess Hylia herself sees no need to rush just yet. Why should he worry?
And as for whatever his own part to play in all this may be, he sincerely hopes that destiny will pass him by like a sandstorm viewed from across the desert, too far away to sweep him up in its might. But if it doesn’t, he knows that the sand and wind wear away even the strongest stone if given enough time. He doesn’t see what he could possibly do in the face of the Calamity. If it wants him, it will take him. Maybe not within the year, as the Sheikah seer has predicted, maybe not ever, but either way, he knows that he’s powerless against it. The sandstorm will blow him wherever he’s meant to go no matter what he does, whether he resists it or not.
———
The stable at the edge of the desert is a welcome sight after the long day trudging through the sand, and the warm glow of the inn’s windows is more welcome still. Supper, a bath, and a bed are procured in short order, and Ganon takes special care to enjoy his last night of relative comfort for a little while. The inn’s finest accommodations can’t quite compare to Gerudo Palace, but he knows it’s still much better than the next several nights he’ll spend on a hard bedroll between here and Castle Town.
But morning comes soon enough, and after a quick breakfast, he speaks to the hostler about having one of the royal horses that are boarded at the stable readied for a long ride. And by eight o’clock, his favorite stallion, a monster of a horse named Dinraal, is carrying him and his things down the road through Gerudo Canyon.
There are few travelers that he meets, mostly merchants on their way to the stable or past it to Kara Kara Bazaar, and mostly Hylians. One passes by with a respectful your majesty, assuming his identity correctly, but the rest simply gawk at either himself, the size of his horse, or both. He doesn’t take offense, though; being the only male Gerudo in the world brought plenty of curious stares even before word of the prophecy began to spread.
He pauses for a good while at midday when the sun is glaring down into the canyon at its most intense, but all in all, he makes excellent time. According to the official agreement, he has until midnight to meet King Rhoam’s men, and he’d planned on arriving there before nightfall just to be safe. But the sun has only just dipped past the rim of the canyon as he rounds a bend and catches sight of the last lantern that marks the boundary of Gerudo territory—as well as the Hylian soldiers camped near it and their horses picketed nearby. Apparently he’s not the only one ahead of schedule.
There are three of them, two in common Hylian knight’s armor and looking rather bored, and the third outfitted as one of King Rhoam’s royal guards, tending to their campfire while a pot full of something or other simmers away over it.
It’s this royal guard who first notices Ganon’s approach, and he’s on his feet and hurrying over to catch the reins with a little hop before the other two have so much as looked up. And he holds Dinraal’s head and pets his nose while Ganon dismounts, saying, “Your majesty,” in greeting with a polite half-bow once Ganon is standing before him.
“Thank you, Sir …?”
“It’s Link, your majesty.”
Ganon nods. “Sir Link,” he repeats. “I’m Ganondorf of the Gerudo, as I’m guessing you’ve already realized, but now we’re well-met. I take it that you’re my escort to Hyrule Castle?”
“Yes, sir. Myself, and this is Brenn and Goff.”
The other soldiers mimic Link’s bow as they’re introduced, though with a bit less grace.
Link sets Goff to assembling Ganon’s tent and Brenn to unsaddling Dinraal, and invites Ganon to make himself comfortable on a smooth stone by the fire while he finishes up their supper. It turns out to be lamb and vegetables stewed in an admirable attempt at Gerudo fashion, and while the spices aren’t quite traditional, it tastes fine, and Ganon truly appreciates the gesture, as well as the courtly manners with which Link treats him as they eat and settle in for the rest of the evening.
Ganon would almost dare to call the atmosphere around the campfire comfortable as the daylight wanes. Link has a casual ease about him while he cleans up his cooking gear and scrubs the dust of the canyon off his white boots, and his relaxed manner puts Ganon at ease as well. But he doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and Brenn and Goff say even less, keeping to themselves and responding only yes, sir or no, sir when Link addresses them, so since Ganon doesn’t feel very talkative himself, the silence in the camp spreads unchallenged.
Still, it’s better than he’d hoped for. He does feel Link’s gaze on him now and then, but there only seems to be curiosity in it, not suspicion. He finds himself looking Link over as well when he isn’t paying attention, for lack of anything better to do. He considers asking how long Link has been in King Rhoam’s service (which can’t be too long—he doesn’t even look twenty), or where he comes from (there’s a hint of Necluda in his accent, Ganon thinks), or even how many young women in Castle Town have had their hearts broken chasing after him (he cuts quite a dashing figure in his uniform, and his face is undeniably pretty)… And he also wonders whether or not Link believes that the man sitting across the fire from him will be consumed by an ancient monster made of pure malice in the near future. Just out of curiosity.
But they’ve got several days to go, and Ganon is sure he’ll want for conversation starters more later on than he does right now. Best not to use them all up before they’ve even made it across the river. Besides that, it never seems like an appropriate moment to break the silence until night falls in full, at which point he excuses himself to his tent for the remainder of the evening.
Sleep only finds him in brief intervals. The wind howling through the canyon plays a part in that, as do the lumpy rocks beneath his bedroll, and the uncertainty of his future. At one point past midnight, quiet conversation outside catches his attention just as he thinks he’s about to nod off again, but it seems it’s only time for a change of watch. He can see someone silhouetted between the fire and his tent—Link, he realizes, and he watches as Link stretches and musses up his hair with one hand before sitting on the ground outside Ganon’s tent.
That he’s opted to face away from the tent’s opening rather than toward it, as though protecting the Gerudo king is more of a priority to him than protecting everyone else from the Gerudo king, is rather comforting, actually. Ganon finds himself echoing the yawn he hears outside a few moments later, and finally manages to fall asleep.
———
Ganon is up and out of his tent with the dawn, though there’s nothing more than a tinge of pink and gold in the narrow strip of sky overhead for now. It’s Goff sitting by the smoldering embers of last night’s fire this morning (positioned so that he can keep an eye on the road and Ganon’s tent, he notes), and he mutters a sleepy ’majesty when Ganon passes him to go and find a private spot to relieve himself.
Link is the last up, and doesn’t emerge from his tent until after Ganon has splashed some uncomfortably cold water on his face and bare torso, retied his hair, dressed himself in a fresh djellaba and sirwal (purple and black today—it seems that none of the less colorful clothing he’d laid out had actually made it into his pack after all thanks to Lany), and eaten one of the nut cakes he’d bought at the stable yesterday for breakfast. But Link is already dressed when he appears, carrying his bedroll with his saddlebags tossed over one shoulder.
“Good morning, your majesty,” he says to Ganon, and then, “or sav’otta? Is that right?”
His Hylian accent softens the Gerudo greeting, and Ganon feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he replies, “It is indeed. Sav’otta, Sir Link.”
Perhaps he’ll make that attempt at conversation as soon as they’re on the road, he thinks. He might even be looking forward to it, as a matter of fact.
But once their tents are packed away, their horses are saddled, and they’ve set off eastward, the narrowness of the road forces them to ride single file, making conversation impossible. Link leads their party while Goff and Brenn bring up the rear, and for a few tedious hours, Ganon has nothing to do other than stare at Link’s back. He looks much smaller on his chestnut mare than the other men look on their own horses, Ganon notices, and glances behind him to compare. All Hylians are small as far as Gerudo are concerned, but Link may actually be shorter than most that Ganon has seen. He’s a slim little thing, too, now that he’s looking… He must have some sort of exceptional combat skill with the sword on his back to have earned his royal guard’s uniform despite his size, and Ganon thinks for a moment that he might like to see what exactly Sir Link is capable of—and then promptly changes his mind. There’s no need to invite trouble that way.
The canyon opens up by midmorning, spreading out on either side to give them some breathing room, as well as more to look at. Ganon knows that they’re riding in the shadow of Mount Nabooru, but only a sheer cliff face is visible to the north where it lies. East, though, is an enormous natural stone bridge, and as they pass beneath one of its three arches, snowcapped Mount Hylia rises up in front of them. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s been a good long while since he last left the desert, and taking in the dark granite walls of the Great Plateau feels novel after miles and miles of sandstone.
They pause at noon in the closest available shade, which lies up against a shelf of rock a little way up the slope to the left of the road. It’s not nearly as hot as it can get in the deep desert, but even Ganon can admit that it’s too warm for comfort, and notices Link’s hair sticking to his sweaty temples and forehead while they sit in the scrubby grass and carve a couple hydromelons into wedges for everyone to share along with their cold lunch.
Afterward, Brenn and Goff take to lazily rolling the roundest stones they can find down the slope, and Link sits next to Ganon, staring vacantly at an ancient shrine on the opposite side of the road. Ganon begins to think he could fall asleep right there on the ground after the restless night behind him… The stone he’s propped himself up against is nice and cool at his back, and the wind has also changed direction, bringing some slightly colder air down from the highlands in a gentle breeze that feels like a blessing on his face. He stifles a yawn, noticing that Link does the same a moment later, and wonders if it would be too unkingly and improper of him to just take a quick nap sitting up. He doesn’t think anyone else is alert enough to judge him at the moment.
But one of the horses lets out a sudden nervous whinny the moment he closes his eyes, and Link jumps to his feet half a second later to look up the slope behind him.
“Sir Link?” Ganon says, startled out of his daze.
“Coyotes,” Link answers. “There are three on the bluff above us, sir.”
Ganon stands and turns—and yes, he can see them as well. They stare right back, too, prowling the edge of the rock above.
“I’ve rarely seen one trouble travelers here in the canyon,” he says. “They aren’t nearly as bold as the wolves in the highlands.”
Link nods in agreement and says, “Yes, sir. But I think we should move on anyway.”
He’s probably right, even without the coyotes.
“As you say, then, Sir Link.”
Within a few minutes, they’re mounted up and back on the road, and for a little while, Ganon pays close attention to their nearby surroundings rather than the view, noting that Link’s keeping his head on a swivel as well. But after a few hours, the relief they’d enjoyed from the shade and the hydromelons is all but forgotten, and their increased vigilance has waned as well. The sun beats down, and the cool breeze from earlier is nothing but a blast of hot air and dust now, less sharp than the desert sands, but more clinging. Ganon decides that the first thing he’ll do when they make camp tonight is upend a bucket of water over his head just to wash the uncomfortable layer of grit off of his face.
Link doesn’t seem to be doing much better ahead of him. He’s finally taken off his beret and is fanning himself with it, and his white gloves have been put away as well. Ganon doesn’t envy him all those layers of dark, heavy wool, nor Brenn and Goff, who must be practically baking inside their plate armor. As a matter of fact, Goff in particular is very red in the face and seems a bit dazed when Ganon turns to look behind him, and fearing that Goff is developing a case of sunstroke, he decides that at least a brief stop in the shade is necessary.
“Sir Link,” he calls, turning to face forward again—
And he immediately sees two things that stand out so vividly, it’s as if time has slowed: Link’s curious face, flushed with the heat as he turns to look over his shoulder at Ganon, and the wide arc of a spear swinging directly toward the back of Link’s head.
“Behind—!” is as much as Ganon gets out before it’s too late, and there’s an awful crack as it makes contact with its target.
The black bokoblin wielding the spear lets out a triumphant cry, and then suddenly everything is moving too quickly for Ganon to take in. Link tumbling out of the saddle, the bokoblin leaping forward, and Brenn’s shout of alarm all seem to happen at once. Then there’s a flash of red to the left, another bokoblin with a club, swinging wildly, and Dinraal rearing up on his hind legs. Ganon only just manages to catch the saddle horn and hold on.
A loud blast on a horn follows, or maybe precedes the arrow whizzing past his head. But then there are more—two archers, one positioned on a tall rock to the left, another behind on the east side of the road, and Ganon fumbles for his own bow while simultaneously trying to keep Dinraal from bolting.
The red bokoblin on the ground foolishly approaches Dinraal from behind before Ganon can get him back under control. When Dinraal catches it in the head with a powerful kick of his hind legs, it crumples, and Ganon doesn’t spare another thought for it. There are too many other things to worry about.
Brenn has spurred his own horse toward the black bokoblin while Ganon was trying to keep from being thrown off of his, distracting it from wherever Link must have landed. But that leaves the two archers to worry about, as well as Goff, who’s looking around in confusion instead of protecting himself, still dazed from the heat. Ganon somehow manages to calm Dinraal enough to nock an arrow and send one of the archers tumbling from its perch on the rock, but there’s a sudden cry of pain in a Hylian voice along with the monster’s; Goff is clutching his shoulder now, where an arrow loosed by the last red bokoblin protrudes from a gap in his armor. But the bokoblin pays for its excellent shot a moment later, when Ganon puts an arrow of his own through one of its lurid blue eyes.
Now where is Link?
There’s no sign of him by the time Ganon can look that way again, but it seems that the black bokoblin’s spear has also knocked Brenn off of his horse in the meantime. And while Ganon urgently tries to find Link through the chaos of startled horses and swirling dust kicked up by their hooves, the bokoblin jumps onto the back of Link’s mare and turns her around to face him.
The spear is raised once more, but before Ganon can reach for another arrow, there’s a sudden shout, and out of nowhere, Link leaps onto the mare’s back as well, so fast that he’s hardly more than a blur as he moves.
There’s blood and dirt smeared across his face, but while Ganon watches, gaping like a useless idiot, Link grapples with the bokoblin, trying to force it out of the saddle. It loses its hold on the spear while they struggle, but manages to drag Link halfway off the horse, and he’s left with one leg dangling precariously while he scrambles for a hold.
Ganon is at a loss—he can’t think of a single thing to do to help. He can’t get a clean shot with the two clinging and punching in a mess of tangled limbs and shouts and the horse turning in frightened circles trying to buck both of them off. If he’d brought his scimitar after all, he would charge ahead right now and try to find an opening to cut the monster down from up close, but it’s still sitting on a rack back at the palace, displayed and useless alongside his armor.
(If he makes it to Hyrule Castle after all this, he’ll write to Lany and tell her she was right about bringing the armor the first chance he gets.)
The bokoblin puts its heels to the horse before Ganon can come up with a plan of action and sends it galloping away up the road. And without a second thought, Ganon urges Dinraal after them, hoping that a solution will present itself before Link loses his grip and gets trampled. That he’s still fighting so fiercely after that blow to the head is already a wonder; Ganon can’t see him getting up a second time if he goes down again.
The valley floor suddenly sprawls out on either side of the road as they race northward, and Diggdogg Bridge appears up ahead. But the horse is veering off the road now while the bokoblin is distracted with Link, bolting toward a rock wall for one terrifying moment before she swerves away at the last second—but she turns straight toward the edge of what Ganon now remembers is a sheer drop to the river far below. Link might have survived the fall in peak shape, if he’d been free to aim his landing into the water, but tangled up with the bokoblin on the back of a spooked horse with a nasty head wound… Ganon knows that if the horse goes over, he’s done for.
If the previous moment was terrifying, this one leaves it far behind. But the realization that Link is very likely going to die if Ganon doesn’t do something this instant finally spurs him to action.
Another arrow is nocked and drawn. The string and his knuckles jar against his cheek with each of Dinraal’s thundering steps. One deep breath, in and out, and another while he looks for the best opening, trying to line up a shot that will incapacitate the monster long enough for Link to gain control of the horse without striking Link—and there—
The Gerudo bow sings, the arrow flies, and the bokoblin falls from the horse. Ganon rides over it seconds later. If it wasn’t already, it’s certainly dead now. But that’s secondary right now, because Link has pulled himself back into the saddle properly, but lost the reins, and he’s resorted to a fistful of the horse’s mane to try and steer her. The edge is growing closer every second, but even if they had time for Ganon to get up alongside the runaway horse and pull Link over to Dinraal and safety, Link’s horse is simply too fast for Dinraal to catch.
Ganon hardly dares to believe it, but somehow, not a moment too soon, the horse begins to turn in a wide arc that he isn’t sure will be enough—until it is, and Link finally manages to bring her around with hardly three feet left from the edge to spare. They take a long loop around Ganon as he brings Dinraal down to a walk, slowing as they go, until Link pulls her right up alongside them.
Ganon grabs the mare’s bridle, shushing her with a low, calming voice, and at long last, she snorts and comes to a stop.
Link looks up at him, his face a sticky mess, barely holding his eyes open, and says, “That fucking sucked,” then promptly passes out.
Ganon catches him, barely.
———
Goff’s shoulder requires a few stitches where the bokoblin’s arrow pierced his chainmail, but it turns out that Brenn has some experience and steady hands, and they make do. Brenn himself is bruised and a bit worn out from chasing his horse nearly halfway back to the shrine, but is otherwise fine. A lie-down in the shade and some water do a great deal for both of them.
Link on the other hand is without a doubt concussed, and is covered in scrapes and bruises, along with one nasty bite mark on his arm. Ganon doesn’t know the odds of a bokoblin bite becoming infected, but he washes it thoroughly just in case. There’s also a long, thin cut along the side of Link’s face (he had tried to turn at the last moment and caught both the sharp edge of the spear and the blunt force of it in that initial swing), but it doesn’t look any worse than the bruise that’s blossoming around it, despite how much it bled. All in all, Ganon is amazed that Link walked away from this without more permanent damage.
And he did walk away from it, albeit it after the brief loss of consciousness. Link had woken up just a few minutes after collapsing on his horse, though he was slightly bewildered as to how he’d wound up on Dinraal with Ganon. Ganon had insisted upon his staying there in the saddle in front of him, too, despite his assurances that he was fine, and kept Dinraal at a gentle walk to avoid jostling him too much.
(And sure enough, not a minute after resigning himself to Ganon’s care, Link had slumped backwards against his chest, quite clearly exhausted.)
That Ganon himself was the only one unharmed in the attack isn’t lost on him… He was fortunate in the monsters’ poor aim, and fortunate that Link had intervened when the last bokoblin had rounded on him. But he’s sure it won’t be lost on the Hylians either. He can only imagine what they might make of the day’s events, but if any of them have opinions on the matter, they keep those to themselves.
No one feels like pressing on that night once the dust has settled and everyone’s wounds have been tended to. Instead, they make camp up against one of the canyon walls within sight of the bridge. Link insists on handling their supper and cannot be dissuaded, but afterward, Brenn and Ganon do the cleaning up while Link says things like, “Your majesty, you don’t have to do that,” and, “Sir, please, I can take care of those.” Ganon ignores him, and then orders him to bed early when he finally tries to take the dirty cooking pot Ganon is rinsing out from him.
That he doesn’t actually have any real authority over Link doesn’t seem to matter; Link dutifully trudges off to his tent without another word.
After the day’s excitement, Ganon expects to fall asleep the moment his head touches the pillow. Instead, he finds himself lying awake again, unable to stop replaying the attack in his mind. He thinks of Goff doubled over with an arrow in his shoulder, of the wild look the black bokoblin had given him, of his heart hammering against his ribs while Link struggled to rein his horse in before they both went over the cliff.
He also remembers the clarity that Link’s impending death had given him, the knowledge that he had no choice but to act and that there was only one course of action… That sort of certainty has been in short supply for him these days. What he wouldn’t give to have that clarity and conviction with every decision he makes as king. Considering endless possibilities and agonizing over potential outcomes every time there’s a difficult or complicated order to give has cost him more sleep over his last decade on the throne than anything else, but he knows there’s no way around that. He’s caught up in the sandstorm, as always, and he just hopes the sands don’t swallow him whole before the end of it.
He gives up on sleep after a few restless hours and decides that being awake and antsy outside sounds more appealing than being awake and antsy in his tent.
Brenn is sitting near the fire keeping watch, and he nods when Ganon ducks out of his tent.
“Are you well, Brenn?” Ganon asks him, pulling a shawl over his shoulders to keep out the night’s chill.
“Yes, sir. Sore, but fine. Sir Link took the worst of it, I think.”
“That he did. Has he tried to sneak back into the watch rotation yet?”
Brenn grins and says, “You’ve got the measure of him already, your majesty. I didn’t let him pull rank, though. I told him, ‘King’s orders, sir,’ and he went down towards the river in a huff.”
The moonlight is bright enough to make out a figure near the edge of the cliff where Brenn is pointing, and Ganon decides that making sure Link’s head trauma hasn’t done any lasting harm is a good enough distraction from his sleeplessness.
He finds Link sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the river. That he starts to jump to his feet when Ganon approaches comes as no surprise.
“No, no. Sit. There’s no need for that,” Ganon tells him, and thankfully, Link listens. “May I join you?”
“Sure, your majesty.”
The air is almost frigid, but the stone is even colder when Ganon sits next to Link. He tugs his shawl a little tighter while his arms and partially-exposed torso break out in goosebumps, and decides that he should have put on a djellaba before venturing so far from the fire. He’ll live though.
“How is your head?” he asks once he’s settled and as protected from the cold as he’s going to get.
Link makes a face. “Not great, to be honest with you, sir,” he says. “But I’m alright. Had worse.”
“Worse than a boko spear to the skull and a high speed scuffle on a runaway horse?” Ganon snorts, unconvinced.
“You should see royal guard training.”
Link gives him a cheeky grin that takes his already pretty face and makes it downright stunning, bruises and all. Ganon finds himself smiling back, even while he wonders what on earth the Hylians put their finest knights through.
“I don’t think I want to, thank you,” he replies with a skeptical laugh.
After a moment, the smile fades from Link’s face, only to be replaced with a very serious look. “Your majesty,” he starts, “about today… you saved my life. You carried me back, took care of my horse, made sure my men were sorted out. And then you scrubbed out a damn pot on top of everything else… I don’t know how to thank you for any of that.”
Ganon shakes his head and says, “That isn’t necessary, Sir Link. You put yourself in danger protecting me, after all.”
“With all due respect, sir, that’s my job,” Link counters. “It’s not yours. So would you at least tell me how to say thank you in Gerudo?”
His eyes are intent, looking a much paler shade of blue in the moonlight than usual, and after a tense moment, Ganon shakes his head again and smiles in exasperation, giving in.
“Sarqso,” he says.
Link repeats it once to himself, and then says more confidently, “Sarqso, your majesty,” with as low a bow as he can manage still sitting.
“And I thank you as well, Sir Link. Whether it was your job or not,” Ganon replies.
A comfortable quiet spreads between them then, no sound but the ever present wind whistling through the canyon and the distant thrum of a waterfall cascading down the side of the Great Plateau. Ganon can feel Link’s eyes on him, but he lets him look his fill, unconcerned for the moment.
“That was a hell of a risky shot, by the way,” Link says after a few minutes of silence, and Ganon turns to look at him. The grin is back, and he finds that it’s a welcome sight.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t miss, then, isn’t it?”
He gives him a grin of his own, and Link’s abrupt bark of laughter echoes across the canyon.
“No shit,” he huffs, and Ganon can’t help but laugh along with him.