A Foreword

I have found, in my experience that the main idea of fan fiction is to continue a story based on where the original source left off. Be it a book, or film, or in this case, a video game, everyone wants to know the rest of the story.

I have found however, that in certain cases, especially with The Legend of Zelda, a series of games that do not seem to follow any direct storyline, it may be possible to forego the technicalities of continuing a storyline created by another person, and use the setting and characters to create an entirely new story.

This is what I have endeavored to do here. You may recognize the names and locations used in this story, but the story itself may be surprisingly new.

John Neuman

Two Kings

Daphnes Nohansen, High King of Hyrule, gazed down at the gathering procession with a mixture of calm fortitude and nervous tension. His brow furrowed and his throat felt dry. Of course he had long expected the Desert Prince's coming, he had spent many a restless night struggling with the inevitable decision to accept the proposed alliance with the western desert, but to see him there, the crimson cape thrown over his shoulders, the flaming hair blowing in the breeze, seated atop a mighty horse bred for war, its black haunches tense and muscular, Daphnes' legs shook and he felt sick.

During his twelve years upon the throne he had never had to make a more important decision than he was about to make, in fact, aside from the decision to go to war with the Gerudos that his father had been forced to make, there may not have been a more important choice presented to any Hylian king in the country's history. The next few hours could determine the fate of the known world, and they rested on his shoulders.

Mandrag Ganondorf Dragmire rested a hand on the hilt of his scimitar as he and his royal procession slowly made their way up the main street of Castletown in the waning hours of the day. He stared up at the castle balcony, where the faint figure of King Nohansen could just barely be seen, watching the Gerudo king's approach. Ganondorf smiled, his orange eyes, like two live coals, narrowing to slits as the setting sun reflected off of the massive rose window above the palace doors. He had long awaited this day as well.

Ganondorf was a tall and physically imposing man, standing six mighty feet and two inches. His strong jaw was offset by a pair of bright orange sideburns and his thick brows were set a permanent angle, giving a sinister look to his eyes, especially when he smiled, a wide grin that furrowed deeply the lines that ran from either side of a sharp nose to the corners of his broad lips. He was strong, regal, deeply tanned, and he carried himself with pride and power. He was said to resemble his mother more than his father, although he detested the idea of being compared to a woman, aside from the eyes, cold and calculating. Mandrag Ganon Dragmire, a psychopathic ruler to say the least, his name literally meant "The Devil", had been hated and feared by the Hylians, and even the Gerudos for his vileness and war-mongering. It came as no surprise when he was stabbed to death in his sleep, oddly enough the guards at the time did not recall hearing anything amiss in the king's room, and Ganondorf took the throne. In an ancient tradition the prince had been given his father's name in conjunction with the suffix "Dorf" meaning "son" garnering him the somewhat apt title "Son of the Devil," Ganondrof was a cruel ruler, but not as insane or bloodthirsty as his father. He knew that it was easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. He proposed a treaty with the king of Hyrule, seemingly as penance for his father's deeds, meanwhile, his own plans were coming into action.

"Mandrag," came a voice from the King's side. Ganondorf turned and set his eyes on his son, Gahrel Dragmire. Gahrel was twenty, Ganondorf's only son, and an individual that the King neither spoke to often nor respected. Gahrel had been the only child of Ganondorf's first wife, a woman he detested for her base banality. She had been the daughter of one of the chiefs under his father's command and the marriage had been arranged to divert a growing crisis between the chief and Mandrag Ganon. She proved to be an irritant for the Prince, a plain girl with little respect for her husband. He had once sworn that if giving birth to Gahrel hadn't killed the witch he would have strangled her himself. What he detested most about the boy was the strong resemblance to his late mother, with his dark red hair, round, bronzed features and brown eyes. Gahrel never called Ganondorf father, he too, like his mother, did not respect his father's ambitions, and this was just fine with the Mandrag. He was reluctant to be reminded that he had fathered the whelp through that woman.

"What is it?' Ganondorf asked his son darkly. Gahrel stared up towards the balcony where the King still stood.

"Do you believe the Hylian King will accept your proposal?" Ganondorf scoffed and spat in the dirt at his horse's side.

"It is not for you to wonder of such things. But keep your eyes open today, you may actually learn the ways of a real ruler." The Mandrag's words cut at Gahrel, but he had grown used to his father's verbal abuse over the last twenty years. After his other died Gahrel had been given over to the care of a wet-nurse and by her he was reared to the age of ten when he was brought back into his father's court. As the only son of the Prince of the Desert he must learn the ways of the ruler if he was to become a ruler himself. Ganondorf had married again by this time and his new head wife, Shegrasha, was a cold, seductive woman who hated Gahrel almost as much as the Prince. She hit him when the other wives weren't watching and hissed curses at him whenever she could. He quickly developed a tough hide, growing up in this atmosphere.

Gahrel's grandfather was killed when he was eighteen. He was not sorry for "The Devil" but he was sure the killer had been his own father, an idea that disgusted him thoroughly. After that day he lost any hope, or desire, of gaining Ganondorf's respect.

Seated on a horse at Ganondorf's left was Nabooru, his second in command, a woman who had proved herself a hundred times over as a competent leader. She was one of the few people Ganondorf respected, but he did not trust her. She shot Gahrel a comforting look. After the boy had been brought into the Gerudo court she had thought of herself as the closest thing he would ever have to a real mother. Shegrasha and the other wives all pandered over Ganondorf too pay the boy much attention and she found herself filling in the shoes of a caretaker until he got on his feet. She loved the boy in her own way, and she knew he harbored feelings for her own daughter Shira, although she hid this religiously from Ganondorf.

Nabooru hated all of the wives and concubines, Shegrasha in particular. She noted with a smirk that it was not Ganondorf's loving trophy that rode at his side as he made his way to the castle, no, she was huddled in the wagons in her Wolfos fur cloak, trying to keep out the breezy chill of the plains.

"Sniveling coward," Nabooru cursed under her breath. Ganondorf did not hear. His focus was centered on the castle gates.

This sounds good already! I thought Ganondorf's attitude came out very well in this.