Burn
A Legend of Zelda fan fiction by Lady Norbert

A/N: This was written for my dear friend "Ganny." As LoZ fans probably know, the three wielders of the Triforce each have an elemental association -- Link's is air, Ganon's is fire, Zelda's is water. Ganny asked for a Ganon/Zelda story with their elemental connections as the prompt. I gave it to her a few weeks ago, but I thought I would toss it onto FFN in case anyone needs something to read while they wait for the next update to Don't Drink the Water. Hope you like.


Fire and water and air.

How he hates the air.

He hates the air because he needs it. He has to breathe it to survive; he withers without it. Air feeds fire and gives it strength and passion and anger. Because of air, fire goes on.

Water, on the other hand, will smother the flames.

Water never seems to realize how much power it has over fire. It remains peaceful and unassuming, wishing harm to none.

He hates the water too. And yet he doesn't. He will always hate the air, but the water...

He is thirsty.

He hates the water because it lies out of reach. He cannot grasp the water, no matter how he tries or how close he comes. It eludes him. He cannot have it.

He hates it because he cannot have it, and even more because it has him.

So very thirsty.

He wants the water.

Fire will die if water touches it. He cannot hope to survive if he submits to the water's embrace. It will extinguish him, flood him, strip him of his senses and his power. He knows that he will die if he obtains the water.

He thinks he might die if he does not.

And if he must die either way, he thinks, then let him die quenched. Let him steal the water from the air and drown in it. Let him drink deeply, just once, until he has suckled it dry and his thirst is finally satiated. Let the water engulf him, own him, bring him to his knees as he recklessly submerges.

Or give it to him in another way.

Let the water be boiled by fire, let the steam rise. Let water see what it is to be mastered by such burning passion. Give him access to that exquisitely carved block of ice, and let the flames lick at the crystalline surface until it melts and runs into him, weak and dazed and willing.

Either. Both.

For now he can only sit on the shore, and watch in quiet resentment as air currents skim the surface of the water, just barely touching.

How he hates the air.

How he wants the water.