2A/N: Most of my fanfics I end up starting on a whim, and usually none of them get finished, and this one was a prime example. I started writing this about two years ago, before I started writing my Naruto fanfiction, and even though I really loved the concept, I never got finished. I've decided that I should at least try and finish this story, even if it will be really long.
So welcome. Gerudo Valley has always been my favourite area in Ocarina of Time, and I figured a little more back story should be given to it. The Gerudo seem to be constantly neglected, particularly in recent Zelda games, so it seems that in order to find anything else more about them, I'll have to write it myself. I already started this story—as I mentioned earlier—two years ago, and after reading through parts of it, I've decided it has potential, but it needs a makeover. So here it is, my Legend of Zelda Epic: Desolate Winds.
A couple of things to note—this'll be OC-centric. I really struggled with doing this, but I've decided it's probably the best way to tell this story. I've done OCs in my most popular story, and they seem to be loved by the majority of the readers, so put your mind at ease. I don't do Mary-Sue's. I don't do self-insertions. I like to think myself a little more professional than that. The second thing to note is that it'll probably be easier on your inner-mind theatre if you imagine Ganondorf better looking than he actually is. That is all.
Prologue
A lone Gerudo woman walked the streets of the destroyed Castle Town. There was eerie silence in the chill of the night, and she tugged her cloak closer around her neck. Each footfall kicked up a puff of ash, which scattered in the breeze. She cast a furtive glance to the north, where the tall black towers had risen on the horizon. They were gone now. Nothing but a pile of broken stone and mortar remained now.
The woman pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked through the main plaza, ignoring the rotting bodies of the fallen redeads. She followed the road, only stopping to look at a corner block of the guardhouse. It had charred black marks on it, twisting in woven patterns. A spell had missed its target and hit the stone.
Footsteps pattered from up the road. The Gerudo woman turned towards the sound and saw another Gerudo woman rushing over. A cloak fluttered in her wake; her breath misted in the chill air.
"Nabooru, is there something else?" asked the first woman.
Nabooru stopped; her expression showed a hint of anguish, a stoic mask was failing. She struggled to find words.
"I…I just wanted to apologize."
The first Gerudo woman raised her eyebrows slightly.
"I was gone so long that it almost wasn't my place to be involved anymore. But I was involved, and I played a big part," Nabooru said, "It's over, and I know I wanted things this way, but I…I'm sorry for your loss. I apologize for the grief I caused you."
The first Gerudo woman closed her eyes, letting out a sigh. When her eyes opened, a hint of glassiness remained. Her face was calm.
"I bear no grudge against you, Nabooru. Neither to the rest of the Sages, Princess Zelda, nor the Hero of Time," she answered, "To be angry would be selfish. No, Nabooru, I chose to fight for the man I love. You chose the world. I made the selfish choice—I could have made the right one. But I did not."
"The Princess wanted me to tell you the same," Nabooru said, "that the Council of Sages doesn't condemn you because you loved him."
The Gerudo woman studied Nabooru under an impassive gaze. The second Gerudo looked back. Her eyes read sincerity.
"And what of you, Nabooru? Do you condemn me?"
Nabooru hesitated as she answered, "I'll never understand why, but I won't judge you for it."
A tug of an ironic smile pulled at the corner of the Gerudo woman's lips. She looked up at the rim of the dale where the castle had once stood.
"Why indeed?" she asked.
The moon hung like a silver sickle in the velvet sky.
The campfire crackled, creating a beacon of light in Western Hyrule Field. The Gerudo woman had stopped when the sun started to set, making a fire and then catching a field hare. She had skinned it with her switchblade, and then cooked it in pieces. There were no trees or shrubbery nearby to make a spit. The meal had been filling but tasteless.
Some Stalchildren had come to the campfire's edge, their glowing eyes peering out from the edge of the firelight, curiously. A few ventured to draw nearer. The Gerudo woman only looked at them evenly and then threw them the rabbit's bones for them to play with. The larger Stalchildren nattered to one another as they nudged the bones with their skeletal fingers. A smaller Stalchild stared at the woman, cocking its head to the side. She gave the creature a small smile.
It drew away from its companions, but hung back out of her arm's reach. The woman only took the rabbit's skin and nudged it towards the miniature skeleton. It reached out hesitantly and then snatched the skin away hurriedly before the woman could make a lunge at it. It appeared perplexed that she had not moved to harm it. It looked at the woman one last time before wrapping the rabbit skin around its neck. The other Stalchildren had stopped to watch; the bones at their feet lay idle.
The Stalchild with the rabbit skin clacked its teeth at the woman before turning and loping off through the grasses. The remaining Stalchildren followed after it, leaving the woman behind.
She watched them go, and waited, but they did not return. After a while, she took off her cloak and lay down on the ground. She watched the fire dance until it grew dim, with her cloaked wrapped around herself like a blanket.
The endless grasses eventually rose into rocky hills and then the land fractured sharply, creating towering cliffs. The Gerudo woman was met at the Valley Bridge by two guards. One guard stayed behind while the other quickly ushered her to the fortress. Whispers and curious gazes followed the Gerudo woman though none approached her. The Gerudo woman knew she would have to address the people before long, but now was not the time. There were only two people left that the Gerudo woman knew she should inform—Nabooru already knew, and the other important persons were dead.
The escorting guard tailed behind the woman as she entered the shadowed hallways of the fortress.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" the guard asked.
"Find out where the First Quadrant is training today," the Gerudo woman answered, "Send somebody to me with the information and return to your post."
"Understood," answered the guard, "Where shall I send the messenger to find you?"
"I will be in…" she trailed off. My quarters, she had almost said.
"Lady Aiy—?"
"In the Ancient Library," the Gerudo woman answered.
"Very well."
The Gerudo woman's eyes scanned the titles scribed on the spines of the books as she wandered through tall shelves. They had been carved from stones hundreds of years ago by the Gerudo people, inlaid with semi-precious stones. Mosaics of gilt gold, malachite, opal, and obsidian stretched across the walls. Light poured in through the windows on the west side.
There were few book-bound volumes in the library—those were Hylian texts stolen and added to the collection—but hundreds of scrolls resided in niches in the wall. Each was meticulously labelled, though a thick layer of dust covered many of them. The Gerudo woman's eyes scrolled over the Hylian labelled shelves and then scanned the ones written in the lost language of their people. Those without dust on their paper curls were those labelled as instructions for medicines or spells. The others were labelled as historical records of Gerudo genealogy.
One scroll caught the eye of the Gerudo woman. A thick layer of dust fell off the scroll as she pulled it out of its slot. She blew the dust out the window as she sat down on a stone window seat. It was a memoir.
The Gerudo woman was reading the second scroll of the memoir when a messenger-woman came to her.
"The First Quadrant is training in the Horseback Archery Arena with the Third Quadrant," the messenger informed her.
The Gerudo woman stopped at the pathway that led to the arena and watched the First Quadrant. The seven girls were running through drills with their instructor. The Gerudo could see her daughter distinctly among the rest—her hair cropped shortest and her form the most confident. Even from where she stood, she could see the focus in her daughter's eyes.
The instructor saw her. A barked word to the group ensured their continuation of their drills in her absence. The Gerudo woman straightened up as the instructor joined her in the shadow of the cliff. The woman's expression was hardened, but not unkind.
"Azhei, it is good to see you," the Gerudo woman said with a flicker of a smile.
"What brings you here, sister?" Azhei asked.
The Gerudo woman turned away from her sister and looked at the students, "How are my daughter's studies progressing?"
"She still remains the top of her class, as to be expected," Azhei answered, "But I doubt you came all the way from Hyrule to inquire about your daughter's studies."
"I would like to speak with her, if it would be all right."
Azhei studied her hard for a moment, "Very well. The Goddesses know she is the only one who can afford to break from her training."
"It will not take long," the woman replied.
"Alright, I will send her over."
The formation relaxed as their instructor returned. The Gerudo woman's daughter did not even look towards her mother until Azhei had given her permission to go. Her daughter sheathed her scimitar and with quick long strides crossed the expanse between them. The vision of her daughter walking towards her, blurred. Hastily she tried to hide her tears.
It was dark in the Library save for the single dish of oil—a wick was lit and flickered over the tabletop. The Gerudo woman took a single sheet from a pile and laid it out in front of her. An inkwell sat beside the oil lamp, a hawk's feather sticking out of it.
She reached for the quill. Her hand paused.
"I'll never understand why, but I won't judge you for it."
"Why indeed?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It is alright, Nabooru. After all, how could anyone ever fall in love with the King of Evil?" she replied, "I certainly didn't. …The one I fell in love with was the Gerudo Prince."
She grasped the quill and tested it on a scrap sheet of paper. Silky ink curved onto the page. The Gerudo woman appeared satisfied. The fine-tipped feather quick dipped briefly into the inkwell again, drawing the pitch-coloured liquid up into the feather's rachis. The woman took the quill from the inkwell, but the tip hovered briefly, allowing any excess ink to drop back into its well. The tip was then hovered over a crisp piece of parchment—the surface blank and clean.
"What are you doing?"
The Gerudo woman turned her head. The language spoken was not Hylian, and she could have known without looking who had addressed her. But she turned her head regardless. She needed to see to confirm she was not alone.
Her daughter leaned against a bookcase, her arms crossed loosely. She straightened up and approached the table but did not sit down opposite her mother.
"I have decided to write a memoir," she answered.
"A memoir?" was the reply, "Whatever for?"
The Gerudo woman looked back at the blank sheet. She straightened her posture a little. Her tone was serious, though it lacked the curtness she tried to achieve, "Other people of our tribe have written memoirs to chronicle important events that have taken place. A significant event has taken place, and I feel it is my place to write it. My station almost dictates it."
Her daughter said nothing at first. She wandered over to the window behind the Gerudo woman's back.
"You have not been back the room yet, have you?" she heard her daughter ask.
The Gerudo woman did not answer. Her daughter sighed, and then came back to the table, sitting on its edge and staring into the shadows of the room's corners.
"Why are you bothering?"
The Gerudo woman paused, "I want our people to know who he was. Everyone will remember what he became but…but he was not always like that."
Thick silence.
"What will that change?"
A sigh.
"Likely nothing. But I want that part of him to be preserved. Time erases what people do not remember. I do not want people to only remember his acts of destruction."
Her daughter was silent for a long time afterward. Neither of them moved. Then finally her daughter rose and ducked away in the shadows of the bookshelves once more.
"Do what you like," her voice echoed as she left.
The Gerudo woman could not start the memoir. She doused the lamp and left. She did not go to her quarters. Her daughter would scoff at her behaviour, but the Gerudo woman went to her friend's room. She knocked slowly on the entryway. The room was small, and sparsely furnished—typical of a guard's room. A spear leaned against the wall next the head of the bed. A chest was against the wall opposite the door. A figure slept soundly in the bed.
"Embeera?"
The woman in the bed stirred, "Is it my shift already?"
"No, it's just me, Embeera."
The figured rolled over, and rubbed an eye sleepily. She sat up abruptly when she saw who stood in the doorway.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were at Castle Town," Embeera said in surprise.
A weak smile, "I was, until today."
"What's wrong?" Embeera asked, "You normally don't barge in late at night."
The Gerudo woman's smile flickered and failed.
"Embeera…I… We lost," she said, her voice breaking.
Her friend crawled out of bed, "What? How is that possible?"
Tears welled up again, and this time successfully spilled over. Her friend put her hand on her shoulder and the Gerudo woman shook her head.
"I…I do not want to sleep in my quarters tonight…I still see it when I close my eyes," the woman choked, "I fear it will be worse if I sleep there tonight."
Embeera turned towards the chest at the far wall and pulled out a spare blanket and a pillow. She wrapped the blanket around the crying woman and threw the pillow on the bed.
"I don't have an extra mattress, but hey, it'll just be like old times, camping out in the desert," her friend smiled.
"Thank you."
Former-Exalted Aliyah organized the people to receive the news. The speech was given at noon, and for the sake of all watching, the Gerudo woman kept her face blank and her voice even. Her daughter stood apart from and behind her, while Former-Exalted Aliyah stood on her other side.
The Gerudo woman recounted what happened to the crowd of women below. She told them of the Hero, of the Princess, and of the Sages. She informed them that Nabooru was now Exalted until the next Exalted came of age. She told them everything. And only silence greeted her.
The crowd dispersed with a word of dismissal, and not a word was spoken. The Gerudo woman could not guess the crowd's sentiments. She could not know how this news affected them. But she guessed they only were concerned with the loss of face, not with the loss of their King.
The Gerudo woman did not glance at her daughter as she left, afraid her glassy eyes would be spotted.
That evening, the wick was shorter on the candle in the library. The scratching of the quill was the only noise in the still room. The wind had died outside. The Gerudo woman was surrounded by crumpled up and half-burnt sheets of smeared or rejected words. She dipped the quill in the inkwell again and again, the tip moving over the page, leaving behind spider silk-thin strands of ebony ink. Her quill squared out the geometric Hylian script, jotting and streaking. A line wavered: her hands shook.
Our culture has always been callous. Death is treated with indifference, and once one has passed away, they are forgotten. For this reason, it is predictable that the death of one of our greatest leaders leaves the populace unaffected. The expression goes: They have left on the crest of the wind. A life becomes a name, and a name gets disregarded. Just as the wind blows over us, we cannot beckon the same breath to return.
I cannot forget. I am unable to turn this person into a passing breeze in my life.
We idolize the powerful, and the strong. Only the weak die before their Age. To die weak is to die shamefully, and to die shamefully is to be forgotten. Yet our leader was stronger than many knew. Many knew of his physical and magical feats of strength, but they overlook the strengths in his character. Few know of his love for his homeland, his value of our history, and above all, the safety of his people.
Simply by knowing him as I did, I grew strong from his strength, and learned what he learned. I often wonder, now that he has passed on, if I ever taught him anything in turn. Politically, I am insignificant—I am a mere figurehead with limited power—but I feel that I played an important role in this man's life.
This man was Ganondorf Dragmire, a king whose name brought both glory and shame to our people. Through his birth he was crowned, through his strength he led us to greatness, and through his lust for power, he fell. What will come to pass for our people, I do not know. But I know his life, and his life I will share, so that his name will circle around like a gust of whirlwind, encircling our history.
I am called Aiysha, Lady of the Golden Sands, Queen of the Gerudo. But I did not start out as queen, nor was I even born into royalty. I started out a Daughter of Paran, Daughter of Saba.
The scratching of the quill paused as Aiysha lifted it from the paper. She considered the words. After a moment she dipped the quill again.
I write this tale because it is only after living a life next to Ganondorf Dragmire that I know we cannot continue to live without compassion. Our love of power and disregard for life is what caused the fall of our King, and soon, the fall of our people in the eyes of the world. It is also my hope that the world will be able to know at least a small part of the Gerudo King that I have known. And that he will be remembered by somebody, if not me.
This is my story, but more so it is Ganondorf's story, the story of his Legacy.
May it never be forgotten.
A/N: This is the short prologue for this tale. The next few chapters will definitely be longer, as I hate to do anything short. :p Please leave a comment if you have any questions or concerns. And I am depending on you readers to put up a red flag the instant you see any Sue-ishness appearing. Though I will endeavour valiantly to prevent that from happening.