Silent Hero: a tribute to Nintendo's The Legend of Zelda

by Christine E. Schulze

Chapter 20

  Prince of Two Hearts

  Solemnly, they made their way through the old Hyrule. With the crossing of the threshold of the Temple of Time, they’d left their time behind. Time for them as they knew it began to slip away as quickly as the sands of the Spirit Temple. They knew the end of their journey must come, and there was no need to prolong its coming. They began the long trek, winding through Old Hyrule, in search of the present Hyrule.

  No need to rush it either; they slowed at times, enjoying the quiet serenity of a wood ignorant of the evils pressing in so closely on its borders. Yet, as the birds continued to sing, the squirrels to chatter, and the foxes to frolic, it only made them wish they could share in that ignorance too. Such truly seemed like bliss, to not know the evil until it actually met you face to face, until it was too late, so late that the end would be swift and hardly noticeable. Such an end would meet the wood and much of Hyrule, if they failed. It was this knowledge which drove them on.

  In such solemn silence they floated through the fields of Old Hyrule, drifting last across the wasteland of the desert whose stormy winds had entirely ceased. In the distance rose a mound of sand, shattered glass gleaming like bits of buried treasure. They dared not stray too close to such a place which felt haunted. Link shuddered, all the while driven on by the knowing he did not wish his Hyrule to ever become that way, especially not because of something he did or did not do.

  The outskirts of the desert met the outskirts of the Kokiri Forest of his Hyrule, the present Hyrule.

  They soon emerged into the field where the present Hyrule Castle Town rose like a hopeful beacon yet loomed like an encroaching storm at once. The skies surrounding it were bluer than a Zorita’s eyes. But, hovering directly over the castle, a ring of dark clouds. Evil dripped from the sky, shadowing the castle, evil so strong it made Link shiver from where he was. Perhaps, because of the Triforce, Link felt his enemy’s evil more strongly, especially as they both bore a piece of the Triforce. Link could not know, only trudge forward with purpose.

  No life met them within the town walls, as if the death of Old Hyrule had already extended its reach and extinguished the remaining life within. Once, they caught sight of a man scurrying towards his shop. With a half-glance up at them, he flung himself in and slammed the door shut. Link jumped at the sound, so startling in that silence, but he understood. He had viewed only one thing in the man’s eyes. Perhaps Ganondorf’s power did not yet consume all Hyrule, but the fear of his coming power did.

  Silently, they wound through the town, heading straight for the castle. As it loomed before them, not a single guard stood in sight. The only sentinels were the amassing clouds circling overhead, and certainly they would tell no tales, save perhaps to announce the heroes' already-expected presence.

  At some point, Link realized how perfectly smooth their path was. They seemed to just scroll along. Even now, they glided towards the gates, standing ajar, a perfect target for their entrance. He grabbed Midna’s hand, heart pounding, glancing at her with suspicion and concern. Without looking at him, she said quietly, “I know. I feel it too....”

  And what could they do but press on?

  They continued. Curving through the many passages of the castle, they at last scaled a long stair and then traversed a long hall. At the end waited massive double doors, the winged Triforce painted upon them. Passing through the doors, they wound up a final, wide stretch of stairs laden with a crimson cloth which, in times past, might have signified the glory of Hyrule, the passion and rejoicing of its people. Now, the death and destruction which Ganondorf had waged in the past, coupled with the new blood he thirsted for, flowed through its ruby threads.

  Approaching the top of the stair, a final doorway awaited them. However, this time, the doors were thrown open wide, as if in anticipation to their arrival. Voices echoed from within, though no coherent speech could yet be made out.

  They took a few steps and stopped short in the arched doorway of the throne room.

  The room was long, the ceiling vast and supported by pillars. The only light was a dismal grey gleam through tall arched windows. Mingled with the sickly glow of torchlight, it gave the appearance of stepping into a graveyard.

  Three figures stood at the end of the room.

  Ganondorf, his back to them, holding the wrists of a frail figure in his large hands, snarling and shaking her violently—Aniya, the Gerudo. Her feet dangled several feet off the floor like a puppet.

  Half in the shadows, not far from Ganondorf, Majora stood. Tall, long, thin as reeds, skin striped with every color imaginable, her wild hair a shimmering mass of violet and ebony curls, eyes blacker than cloudless midnight. She grinned gleefully, hands folded across her lap like a patiently waiting child who rejoices in its sibling’s being caught and punished, whether justly so or not.

  “You,” Ganondorf growled, as if the word was an entirely filthy piece of garbage ruining his tongue, “you betrayed me. You were my chief wife!”

  He shook Aniya, the muscles of his arms bulging and pulsing. Link flinched, knowing the deep wounds he must inflict upon her delicate arms. She showed no sign of pain or even fear though, glaring back with all the malice and challenge in the world.

  “’Chief wife’. You mean your chief whore!” she literally spat back at him.

  With an animalistic snarl, he threw her back. She crashed hard against a pillar before toppling into a pitiful heap, breathing hard and struggling to sit up. She could only sway and stumble, her eyes blinking slowly, as if momentarily blinded.

  “Forget her, my darling,” Majora crooned, slinking up behind him and winding her long, lithe, snake-like arms and legs about him. Her spidery fingers stroked his cheeks and tousled the thick red waves of his hair; his body began to relax. “I am your true wife. The good wife. I will never abandon you as this filthy wench does. I give you everything you need, my handsome prince....”

  She nibbled his ear, flicking the tip of her tongue. He shuddered, and she began to massage his shoulders, kneading deep into his neck, a wickedly satisfied yet desiring grin curling across her lips—

  Link swung the sword as hard as he could. Swirls of light and dark energy somersaulted down its edges, rolling off the tip; a sphere of shadow surged into the wall mere inches from Majora and Ganondorf, exploding with a noise like shattering glass magnified ten-fold. Majora’s head snapped in their direction but she did not move, clinging to Ganondorf, glaring and hissing wickedly, while Ganondorf turned to behold them with the same malice—

  And pleasure.

  “Welcome!” He threw his arms open wide; Majora slid off his back but trailed close on his heels, one hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. “Welcome at last! Hero of Time, reincarnated and in the flesh before me, and—my, my. Dearest Midna. You really have grown since I last saw you. In both height and beauty, I might add. You were a rather hideous little brat when last we met, not to mention irritating. But Zaruman says you have grown in maturity, if not in wisdom—isn’t that so, son?”

  Even as Ganondorf’s eyes strayed, Midna’s darted in their direction, and Link’s followed.

  They hadn’t yet noticed the throne at the end of the long corridor, flanked with pillars and tall arched windows. Half concealed in shadow, half illuminated by the deathly pallor streaming through the windows and the sickly orange glow of the torches’ flames, the young prince perched upon Zelda’s throne. He was the perfect image of his father—flaming red curls, deeply tanned skin, muscular though more leanly so. Only his eyes were his mother’s, their shape and, perhaps in a different time, their temperament. Now, however, they gleamed with a steadfast iciness.

  “Zaru!” Aniya gasped, crawling towards him then stopping as her limbs shook unsteadily. “Zaru, my Zaru...look at me, my Zaru!”

  His eyes stared straight ahead, as if peering right at her. Yet they seemed to behold nothing, nor his ears to hear her cries. Even the passion which had flickered so vehemently in his eyes the first time Link saw them se
emed to have vanished.

  Link glanced at Midna, but her terror of Zaruman’s presence seemed to have waned into a new courage. Instead, a sort of pity glimmered in her eyes for the dark prince, and a greater pity for Aniya.

  “Zaruman, please look at me—you don’t have to do this—please, Zaru, please—”

  The more frantic Aniya’s cries accelerated, the less he seemed to see. His eyes stared straight at her yet saw nothing. As if blinded to her trembling body and deafened against her pleas—pleas which fractured Link’s heart as though she was his own mother—he just stared, unblinking, unchanging, unreadable, as if hewn of stone.

  “Zaruman, please!” she shrieked. That final cry diminished her remaining hope and strength, and she whispered pitifully, as if uttering her last breath, “Look at me....”

  This time, Zaruman looked. He looked so intensely that, more than seeing her eyes which so visibly reflected the agonized longing of her heart, Link swore he must be able to survey her very soul. Yet though intense, the look was intensely cold. Empty. Like stone, but a different sort of stone than he’d looked like only moments ago. Then, the stone was yet unformed. Now though, his mind was made up, having crafted the final product. His eyes decided and remained hard, harder than the stone of the Goron’s caves, completely unbreakable, not able to be fractured in the slightest. Unblinking, unchanging, he stared, granting his reply: He did have to do this, and he would.

  Even as Ganondorf’s wide strides echoed dully towards him, Zaruman rose, gliding silently down the dais and along the same, blood-red carpet. As father and son passed, their shoulders lightly brushed as if in some secret agreement or promise.

  Ganondorf lighted upon the throne, sitting back comfortably.

  Zaruman reached Majora who laughed a high, maniacal cackle. Then, Zaruman drew his blade, and Majora’s smile vanished as she presented a whip from thin air and swung it in a high arc, like a cloud swirling over a volcano preparing to blow—

  The next moment, it did blow, as all hell on earth broke loose within the throne room of Hyrule.

  Majora’s whip swung wide about the room. Midna and Link leapt over its thick leather streamers just in time, and Link barely blocked Zaruman’s sword as he surged towards him with a speed only magic could grant.

  “I’ll keep Majora preoccupied; you focus on Zaruman!”

  With that command, Midna drew her rapier, leaping across the room as if hoping to tempt the reach of Majora’s whip away from Link.

  Link’s and Zaruman’s swords sang, weaving and dancing with an almost grace and beauty as their silver gleamed and clashed melodiously. The fierce glint of Zaruman’s eyes promised this was no symphonic target practice though.  Link stayed fast on his feet, blocking blow after blow, managing to nick Zaruman’s shoulder at one point. Though he cried out, not once did he falter; he was nearly as skilled as his father in agility, though he might not possess all of his strength.

  At some point, Majora’s cackle rang high, chilling Link. Then, he and Zaruman were both forced to jump out of the way, Zaruman cursing as the whip literally exploded into the pillars, sending several toppling to the floor along with bits of the ceiling. The noise echoed with the terror of a brilliant thunderstorm, and the dark clouds covering the castle loomed close between the open bits of ruined ceiling.

  For a few moments, Link was blinded by clouds of dirt and dust swirling wildly on all sides. Coughing, he struggled to see as the darkness slowly dissipated.

  Then, Zaruman leapt over the debris with renewed force, challenging Link as they scaled higher and higher up the pillar fallen diagonal. They leapt off, chasing each other like a wolf after his prey and back again. Once, Link glanced at the Triforce upon his hand and realized how fiercely it glowed. Glancing upon Zaruman’s single piece of Triforce, Link saw his illuminated as well, though not quite as vibrantly, whether because he held only a small Shard compared to Link, or whether because what power he held began to weaken, Link could not know—

  “Zaru!”

  At first, Aniya’s cry broke through the madness like a small, pitiful zephyr struggling to survive amidst a great tornado. Link glanced down at the woman, her eyes shining dimly like ghosts amidst her dirt-smudged face. She reached a hand up, fingers brushing the hem of Zaruman’s cloak as he and Link waltzed past, swords still entwining.

  “Zaru!”

  Zaruman froze. Aniya’s plea held no anger; no bitterness lined her voice, only a pure love for her son which shone vividly in her eyes, consuming like an unquenchable fire. Link paused too, sword raised high. For just a moment, he contemplated taking the chance to strike, but as Zaruman’s eyes locked with Aniya’s, it didn’t feel right to interrupt that sacred moment....

  At last, Zaruman saw her. Beyond the deep vacancy in his eyes, just a little bit of feeling emerged. It was slight, so very subtle Link surprised himself in catching it. But there it glimmered.

  Zaruman’s hands lowered just the tiniest fraction, as if he considered withdrawing from battle. Then, his eyes and shadows filled them. Shadows of resolve, apology, and renewed coldness.

  Aniya glanced then at Link, and he at her, and she nodded. After another brief pause, that final moment of hope was shattered, the pivotal decision made. Zaruman turned and swung his blade in a wild arc, leaving Link to jump back and block the blow barely in time—

  Only to spin and disarm the prince, sending him tumbling to the ground, hard, and skidding across the marble floor, yelling out as he left behind him a streak of blood. Link stared at the tip of his sword, realizing he must have done more than disarm his foe. Then, rushing up to the prince, Link raised the sword high, towering triumphantly above him....

  Even then, he hesitated. It didn’t feel right. The prince deserved his chance.

  But the prince’s eyes, beyond the darkness, gleamed with his own, silent plea. All his chances were spent. One of them must die, and he longed for it to be himself.

  With a cry, Link brought the blade down fast, looking away as it speared the young prince’s heart. He glanced down only to withdraw the blade, catching a glimpse of the face lying motionless, grotesquely, but, Link hoped, peacefully so.

  He turned just in time to block a blow from Majora who had aimed her whip perfectly at Midna and prepared to launch it. The whip’s long, leather strands coiled about Link’s sword, and she whirled, her eyes at first stunned and then full of rage. She struggled to yank her whip back, but instead, whip soared through the air along with Master Blade. Half a moment later, Midna leapt up from behind and plunged her own sword close to the sorceress’ heart.

  Majora’s eyes widened, and a sharp gasp escaped her as Midna pulled the sword out. As Majora stumbled, Link stepped aside, swallowing the small bit of bile wanting to worm its way up his throat. He’d seen so much blood before, but not human blood. Even if the one was a prince corrupted hopelessly by his evil father and the other an anciently wicked spirit posing as a lady—even then, it sickened him to see such violence. As did the silence accompanying so much blood, the silence screaming out the horrors of the graveyard which the throne room so quickly became.

  Majora staggered towards the dais, eyes never wavering from the false king she so entirely adored. She, a greater and far more ancient, powerful spirit, yet consumed with a passion for his passion.

  Upon reaching the first step, she tripped and collapsed, no longer able to carry herself. Link winced at the thick trail of blood she’d left in her wake. Ganondorf watched on, his expression unreadable.

  “I’m sorry, my sweet lord,” she whispered, her voice fading, even as her feet began to dissolve into dust, then her legs, her waist, the nothingness steadily devouring her entire body. Even then, her eyes beheld only him, captivated by his unmoving stare at her rapidly withering form. She reached up a hand, breathing, “I’m sorry, my lord. I tried...and I died...for you. May we meet and reign in the realm beyond....”

  A single nod, barely noticeable, his last gift to her. Her eyes shone with the grateful
tears of a prisoner granted her last and most precious meal before her face dissipated with the rest of her. A breeze carried the dust through the window. Majora was no more.

  Link tore his eyes from that spot, but his gaze fell only upon the young prince drowned in a growing ocean of blood. He wanted to look away from him too, but there was only Aniya to behold, or Midna—who winced before painfully looking away from Zaruman. Or Ganondorf, who beheld the Triforce crest on his hand with disgusting satisfaction; with the passing of both his son and lover, two new Shards of the triangle of Power were filled in. The Triforce of Power was completely his now.

  The throne room suddenly felt very small, stiflingly so. Link’s entire world rested in that small space, and it could not contain everything coursing through him like a million knives—fear, pain, vengeance, grief, remorse, tainted victory—

  “You filth.”

  The accusation brought Link back to that reality and the someone else who inhabited it. Aniya, crawling towards her son, cradling his limp head in her hands.

  “He was your son,” Aniya half hissed, half shrieked, trembling violently, as if on the verge of literally falling apart. Her eyes raged a fire barely contained. “He was your son—you killed your own son—!”

  “He knew the risk!” Ganondorf thundered. Then, more quietly, “As did Majora. Such is the price to pay. The weaker must give way for the stronger to rise. Zaruman would have done anything to win the title and glory as Hyrule’s next Prince of Shadow—”

  “You mean the ‘Prince of Evil.’ Can nothing but evil filth spew from your mouth?” Midna challenged, crimson eyes ablaze.

  Ganondorf glared at her. Then, his look softened, taking on the same, cold hardness as his son’s, save one difference. Zaruman’s stare was completely empty, unfeeling, detached. But Ganondorf felt something—pride, passion, desire, and an already-victory gleamed in his eyes. Zaruman did not allow himself to feel, but Ganondorf did, because nothing he felt could strip him of the desire of his quest for power.

  “There is no evil,” he said, voice quiet though teetering on the edge of an imminent choice. “There is no evil, and there is no good. Only power, and those strong enough to seek it....

  “Zaruman and Majora understood this. Which is why they had to be removed, in the end. I allowed them to join me, on their request, not wanting them to become an extra hindrance, not wanting them to become my enemies. But I knew that, when they’d tasted enough of the Triforce’s power, they would become my enemies. So, I allowed them to join me, pretending they were my allies, knowing all the while they must be killed so that the Triforce of Power could become fully mine....

  “Now, I have that Triforce. And now, you are here, weakened, by having completed the deaths necessary to give me the power to destroy you, the final barrier between me and my eternal glory. And what a sweet gift you bring me, so many Triforce Shards, to be mine upon your own deaths. I had hoped for them all, but with those you will grant me, I can easily obtain the rest....”

  His gaze shifted so quickly to Link that Link jumped, hardly seeing his eyes move. All of a sudden, Ganondorf was just looking at him. And it seemed that, by the fires burning in his eyes, that nothing would now shift his focus—nothing save the sight of Link’s body lying distorted, bloodied, dead before his eyes, and perhaps even then he would not turn away—

  “Wait. This battle is not fairly fought without my presence. This is my castle, and he my Hero, after all.”

  Link glanced up. A tall, cloaked figure swept into the room, gliding silently as a shadow to rest beside Midna. Lowering the hood, Zelda raised her head with a small sense of pride, though a deeper humility shone ever in her eyes. As the Triforce glowed warmly on Link’s hand, he noticed how brightly it shone, and Midna’s, and then he saw the two Triforce of Wisdom Shards glowing brightly on the back of Zelda’s hand. All the Triforce pieces were present, and they knew it, eager to be rejoined as one.

  As Zelda sent a smile his way, Link realized—her pride was towards him. She’d already granted him the victory in her mind.

  “You are late, Zelda,” Ganondorf snarled, “as ever.”

  “I am exactly on time as ever, I would say,” she returned, folding her hands calmly.

  Her eyes locked on Link; she gave a subtle but meaningful nod. Turning back to Ganondorf, Link saw his eyes still full of loathing. Link knew they had not moved from him, not even upon Zelda’s entrance. Link took a deep breath, steadying his nerves as he realized how truly embedded Ganondorf’s hatred was, both in mind and heart.

  Link waited. He waited for the venom in the dark lord’s eyes to boil to the point of exploding. When it did, and Ganondorf surged from his throne, Link was ready, swinging his sword high to block the blow—

  He stumbled back. What a force hit him as metal sang against metal. As the power of an ancient enemy challenged the courage of a young boy.