by N Felts
line for me?” He continues to patronize while moving closer.
“Y-you died. The Triforce abandoned you,” she stammers, staring in disbelief.
“A temporary setback,” he smirks, revealing the golden triangle emblazoned upon his hand once again. “The more pressing matter seems to be what I should do with you, Nabooru.”
“Try it,” she dares, briefly twirling her weapon and taking a defensive stance. Though her courage appears to have multiplied exponentially, she knows she desperately needs to find a way to escape.
“Please,” he chuckles condescendingly. In an instant, Nabooru is surrounded by thieves touting a variety of weaponry, each of them emerging from a different direction. “Would you live to see another day, or die where you stand?” Considering her options for a moment, she knows she is in a hopeless situation. She could easily best the group of guards, but she is no match for the king of thieves, once again in possession of the Triforce of power.
“Bastard,” she growls, angrily throwing her weapon to the ground.
“Good girl,” Ganondorf nods, turning to return to his chamber. “Find her a cell. I’ll deal with her in the morning,” he concludes, gesturing for the guards to take her away. More mumbled curses are all he can make out as the guards drag the traitor to the nearest prison cell.
“A humble offering for our king,” Koume announces, drifting alongside Ganondorf as he passes beneath the moonlight.
“We couldn’t imagine a better gift than a shackled traitor,” Kotake adds, floating opposite her sister.
“It is well received,” he is forced to admit. “You will see my appreciation at sunrise,” he concludes, entering the throne room without them. Ignoring the few women wakeful enough to beckon him join them, their only purpose to please their king however possible, he continues past the throne to his quarters. His bed becomes a welcome sight, Aveil still sleeping peacefully on her side. Sitting down on the edge, he ponders how best to rid himself of his former second-in-command. She had conspired against him for years, despite being one of his most trusted subordinates. He has heard the rumors of a multitude of Gerudo cities springing up across the desert, absent any manner of leadership save Nabooru’s charity. She has been a splinter dividing his people for far too long, and now she will be made an example of. Long before the sun can even peek over the horizon, Ganondorf is strapping on the last of his armor. The rare jewel worn upon his forehead is a symbol of respect, attached to several gold strands looped through his simple crown. Each and every one of his people wear a similar jewel. A marking signifying alliance to the king, and companionship among thieves, the stones the women wear upon their foreheads symbolize pride and respect for their race. His tightly braided red hair clings to his scalp beneath his royal headdress, his mistress having freshly braided it last night. Finally waking she sits up in bed, not surprised to find her king already prepared to depart.
“I remember when we would spend entire mornings in bed,” Aveil fondly recalls.
“Cherished times,” he nods with a smile. Moving over to the bed he tilts up her chin for a brief, but passionate kiss. “I’ve a gift for you. Wait on the balcony my queen.” With that he marches through the throne room as the energetic leader his people have missed. “Awaken my beloveds,” he announces, grabbing the attention of the women lounging about the room. “You will be greeting the sun with the music of justice on this morning. Arise and let all gaze upon your beauty.” He conveys, never breaking his stride as he proceeds outside. The dim light of predawn creeps down the mountainside as a waiting pair of sentinels join Ganondorf in his march, matching his stride but remaining a couple steps behind. The mazelike structure is as familiar as ever, though several modifications were made when the new fortress was constructed. Despite this, his intuition guides him to the prison block, only housing a couple nameless wanderers and his former loyal servant. The cells themselves are a pathetic testament to security, only a collection of iron bars spaced just tightly enough to prevent most from slipping through. The fortress itself is the real prison, and should anyone manage to escape their cell, the endless patrols of guards will find them long before they’ve set foot upon sands outside of the walls.
“I do hope you’ve been treated humanely,” Ganondorf asserts with an air of sarcasm, staring down at Nabooru in her meditative position. Her long hair rests in her lap, and lying near the cell door, an untouched plate of food would be drawing flies if the insects could live in these conditions. Taking deep breaths, the captured woman’s eyes remain closed beneath the discolored patch of skin where her jewel once rested. Receiving no response, Ganondorf decides to cut the conversation short and make his proposition known. “You will be given a choice,” he states flatly, pausing to be certain the next line is heard clearly. “Choose your response carefully, for you will only get one.” Continuing to ignore him, Nabooru remains inert, contemplating some pointless revelation unknown to the likes of him. Another dismissive hand signal and the guards promptly enter the cell, seizing the woman while Ganondorf makes his way to the center of the fortress. The long trench of sand at the base of the ravine stretches from the entrance all the way to the barracks just below the throne room. Waiting high above on the balcony overlooking the scene, Aveil gazes down upon the growing spectacle in her finest dress of red silk. The dozens of women who typically line the path to the throne emerge onto the balcony as well, each of them carrying an instrument. As the drums begin to sound, every soul in the fortress emerges to discover the meaning of the commotion. Marching proudly across the sands, a healthy cheer eclipses the music momentarily as Ganondorf makes the short trip from the cell block to the execution block. The blood of dozens still stains the wooden beams of the loft, the erection merely a simple stage to symbolize the punishment awaiting any who would conspire against the king. As his hands rise to call for quiet, the lutes and oboes quickly fall silent along with the drums and gossip. Dawn’s light reaches Aveil as well as the rest of the women upon the concrete balcony just as Ganondorf begins his speech.
“My people! Hear me well, for a grand victory is upon us all this day. We have lured a traitor from the dark corners of our sands, and today she will know our justice,” he announces, the passion and charisma of a leader carrying his voice to even the most distant ears. “The good witches have secured this gift to us all,” he announces, gesturing toward the pair of old women waiting near the barracks. “And our hearts shall gain a respect they have yet known for the lovely sisters.” The cackling, broom-riding duo make a victory lap of sorts around the execution stage receiving a combination of boos and cheers, the audience harboring mixed feelings for them both. Returning to their optimal viewing area below the balcony, the sisters wait to see the fruits of their labor.
“Ho ho ho, it’s almost time, Koume,” Kotake grins beneath her massive, wrinkled snout.
“I wanted to brainwash her again,” Koume sighs. “Hee hee! This should be just as fun though.”
“The time has come for the heretic to make her choice,” Ganondorf shouts, prompting the guards to bring Nabooru into the light. Walking with an air of dignity despite her situation, Nabooru keeps pace with the guards to avoid being drug through the sand. After ascending to the stage, she is face to face with her former lord, still every bit as sinister as he ever was. Her eyes drift through the crowd before settling upon the block near her feet, still riddled with notches from blade strikes as well as a dark, crimson hue. Long before her stomach can properly settle, Ganondorf poses his question. “You are branded a traitor to your people, and your king. For this you are sentenced to die. I offer you a chance to restore your honor. Return to me, Nabooru. Rid yourself of your false alliances and serve your king once more.” The offer seems too good to be true, and Nabooru knows that it is. He would never trust her again. Those damnable witches would brainwash her, forcing her to submit and serve with unparalleled loyalty. She would sooner die.
“I have
heard your offer, and I decline. Your cruelty and bloodlust with destroy us all. I will never serve one so evil as you again,” she states with contempt. Eyeing the crowd once more, she discovers Aveil perched high above at the center of Ganondorf’s horde of harlots. She casually sips from a goblet of wine while awaiting the inevitable execution.
“Would you have those be your last words?” Ganondorf asks, handling the situation as amicably as he is able. Without warning, Nabooru’s stoic demeanor explodes into an emotional rant, directed at none other than her former friend.
“I trusted you, Aveil!” She screams, visibly shaking the formerly cavalier woman. “Fitting that you would stand there with the rest of the whores! You could have pulled us all from this lie, but you were too weak! I trusted you!” She concludes, now on the verge of tears. Having taken all she can stand, Aveil storms back to the throne room with two of the other women in tow. Not caring for the emotional outburst, or the intensifying theatrics, Ganondorf decides to put an end to it. With a simple downward pointing gesture, he commands the rebel pushed to her knees, her neck stretched across