Ganondorf dreamed of the past.

The past, in which he suffered defeat a million times over in a million different bodies, wronged again and again until he faded into the next lifetime of misery, lust, thirst for revenge. Dreamed of being a boy, left to die in a forsaken desert; of being a young man possessed by unholy desires, of fighting and fighting them until realizing they were a part of him, the only thing of his no one could take from his fingers. His own memories faded into his past lifetimes'. Hot pain brought him storming back into the present, his hand burning gold against his sheets.

The only image which lingered was that of a blade, stuck through his middle; the way it stung, like salt in an open wound. How he had wished for that sword to wield himself! To slice the Hero apart with his own sacred weapon—it was a sweet irony. But the Twili had informed him he could not reach it, locked away in some protected Grove. The reminder of the peculiar being shifted his thoughts.

Zant's hollow eyes were clear of emotions, of malice or of benevolence. His only motivation seemed to be vague interest in the forces of darkness. He had delved deep into the lore and legend on the Interlopers and those who preceded them; dark religion. It did not particularly bother Ganon, Zant's strangeness. In fact, it was a welcome distraction from the headache Ghirahim had proven himself to be. He was an obnoxious mess, flying about from one passionate whim to the next, all the while pining for his Princess.

And over such a weak woman—one of so little conviction, so few morals and yet so much self righteousness. Her body was lithe and thin, tall and graceful, eyes and hair aflame. Ghirahim was always drawn to shiny objects, after all. She suited him. If he had just wanted her as an object, it may not have irritated Ganon so much. But Ghirahim desired more than her body. He wanted her very soul. It was plain to see. Pathetic, weak behavior. It stripped him of his power and his reason. Ganon could not imagine wanting something as much as Ghirahim wanted his Princess without reaching out and taking it. He supposed he was simple in that way. If it pleased him, he would have it.

Ganondorf grinned. He would have his revenge.

/\\\

"I want election infrastructure up and completely running as soon as possible. I want these elections to go smoothly and without interference at the end of the month. We need to continue weeding out the corrupt from the Guard as well; a review commission has already been formed, we just need to get them the resources they need to continue. Please contact one of their representatives and find out what they need from the Castle. Former Advisors and other employees of the removed Council are as of this moment unemployed; they will need to submit to a review before returning to this Castle in any other position. Pre-verified Guards need to be sent in groups to every settlement, every town, every abandoned farm in the Kingdom; I will not have the Rosulyla moving out of the city to simply terrorize the countryside. Oh, and please send for Ralis. I need to speak with him urgently."

The new Assistant to the Princess nodded, somewhat frantically scribbling notes down. He was young, fresh faced, exceedingly competent and yet not fit for a position that would intimidate. Ralis had recommended him after he began to fail out of the army academy; only now had she been able to hire him. She was surprised he lasted as long as he did in the military. Thick glasses, shaggy hair, and a nervous manner made him seem the least likely to succeed there. Regardless, he was doing a fine job—he hadn't missed a task yet or a word from her mouth, and he was willing to take vague orders and turn them into complete action.

"Yes, Princess," he confirmed. "Is there anything else I can do for you? When should I report back?"

"No, thank you, Shad. Let's convene tomorrow at noon. If I need you before then, I'll send for you," Zelda said, grinning slightly at the man—she struggled not to think of him as just a boy—as he nodded and hurried out the doors to her parlor, ready to coordinate what she had asked him to.

She could not deny that she was nervous for the days and weeks to come. The elections, of course, would not happen before whatever holy war Ganon was concocting had already transpired. There was no reason for her to put off preparing them, though, and she deduced that whatever trust she could gather from the people would help her in the end. She wondered how ferocious the battles would be, how many people she would lose now; not in the darkness and shadows, as before, but in the daylight.

She hated the thought of failure, but it weighed heavy on her mind. The prospect of losing her life was terrible, but the prospect of leaving Ganon with the power of a deity was worse. She wondered if she would die. It was idle, to think like that; she always pictured losing her life as a hero, being hailed by Hyrule as a martyr for the prevail of good. In reality, if she were to die, Hyrule would fall. She held a third of the sacred power. If Ganon could manage to take it from her—whatever that looked like—he would hold too much for anyone to overcome. She and Link had to survive, if only to ensure Ganon's death. Everyone, everything else could fall to others. She wondered who she would leave the throne to if she died but Hyrule, by some miracle, were to live on. No children, no spouse; no family left at all. But this was the one choice she could always make, without disclosing any reason or justification: choosing her successor.

The immediate choice, of course, was Link, but she knew the trials of ruling and it was not something he could manage happily. He would do it only out of duty. He would be too noble, too understanding. He would struggle to see the whole picture before acting out of the goodness of his heart. She would not inflict that duty upon him.

Ralis would be an excellent leader for her Kingdom. But as he had always told her, there was a reason he had not pursued politics. It tired him. He wasn't too noble for it, as Link was; he would tire of it. He would grow restless. With him, though, she believed she may be able to stand forcing him into the position. She knew he had enough of a taste for the material that he could suffer through the boring days without being entirely unhappy. Perhaps she could choose him. It was a choice she would have to make soon.

A knock came at the door. She told Ralis to come in, pleased with the quick correspondence between Shad and the Commander. They shook hands, perpetually formal, and sat down.

"What have you heard, Ralis?" the Princess asked, cordial grin fading from her face.

The Commander cleared his throat. "The rumors were correct. Small swaths of uninhabited land are being converted into makeshift training camps for the Rosulyla. It seems they were counting on the panel taking longer to make a decision. Everything is very, very quiet for now."

"For now," Zelda repeated, sighing. "I want to establish fortifications near all populated areas; we need the very best keeping the Rosulyla out of towns and villages. Castle Town is protected well enough already—if we can make the level of protection here standard throughout Hyrule, the Rosulyla have slim chances of doing any damage within them. We will save the battles for the wilderness, although I somehow doubt just how many low-level Rosulyla are going to be involved."

Ralis nodded. "Is there anything in particular I can do for the soldiers?"

"Not much," she admitted. "I will try my best to keep the number involved low. Only the best will even stand a chance against the kind of magic we're facing."

"Yes, Your Grace," Ralis acknowledged. He nodded again and stood when Zelda did. "I will get the fortifications up as soon as possible."

/\\\

Ghirahim crept along silently, mindful of every creak in the wooden floor, every possible minute detail that could give him away. He wore black, even, to blend with the shadows as if he were one of them himself. He held a long dagger, smooth and sharp; no frills, tonight. He was becoming desperate, losing his edge of drama.

Zant's eyes were shut, but Ghirahim knew better than to count on him staying asleep. The tall Twili lay in bed, face restful, showing none of the odd calculated man underneath. If he were to wake, Ghirahim would have to kill him. The idea didn't displease him—the insolent, self righteous creature seemed to deserve it—but it did inspire a fear of retribution from Ganon. Somehow, Zant fit into the man's intricate little plan, weaved of legends and magic and a fearsome desire for power.

He reached out his fingertips, glowing red, towards the Twili's sleeping face. They would paralyze him, if for but a few minutes. They reached closer and closer until they cast light upon the man's sleeping eyelids. They flew open and Ghirahim lunged; his fingers met Zant's forehead and Zant's reaching hands froze, crackling like suddenly frozen.

Ghirahim contemplated a monologue, but thought better of it. He reached, far into the shadows, into ethereal darkness and Zant's shadow storage. The shards of the seal seemed to seek his touch, and he gripped them and pulled them into the physical. He dropped them into his cloak and crept from the room, as silent as he had come, Zant's frozen eyes watching him as he went.

Now, to get to Midna, he thought, flinging himself into the night above in search of his Princess.

/\

It was not hard to find her. Her magic seemed to glow cyan in the air around her, casting a brilliant beacon of an aura up into the shadows that hovered in the air. Vaati and the idiot Advisor were there as well, only feet away, sleeping upon the hard ground by a crackling fire. Midna, as though she sensed him, stirred awake, rubbing her eyes and looking into the darkness around her.

As though he were just a vision, he flashed around in the trees, once close, once far; she bolted upright, body coming aflame, ready to destroy him. He waited for her to appear, for her fire to burn his flesh. She did not disappoint.

"You," she snarled, materializing in a burst of flame before him. He stood frozen, locked into place, as magic flames climbed his body. She was furious, almost unrecognizable. He supposed she felt he'd betrayed her.

"The seal-"

She ignored him.

"I brought it to you," he managed, manifesting it in his hand, shrunken but clearly real. "Let me explain-" his voice became desperate as the air he breathed was tinged with fire. It seared, unimaginably hot.

She brought the flames down from his head and snatched the seal from him wordlessly. She examined it, making sure it was real, before she faded it away into her own darkness. "Why?" she asked, voice still hard. Her face was conflicted, now.

"Go back and stay there," Ghirahim coughed. "Ganon will kill you."

Midna laughed forcibly. "I won't feel guilty when I kill you," she growled, a sword appearing in her hand, the same ethereal blade from Kakariko. She still looked conflicted. He readied his escape—he didn't know where he would go, only that he would ensure she stayed in the Twilight Realm. She lunged for him and he began to fade into diamonds.

His warp was cut short by a monstrous hand clamping down upon his arm, heaving him upwards—a loud pop marked the dislocation of the joint—and then back down to the hard ground like he weighed nothing. Midna's blade had cut at the empty space he had been, replaced by Ganon, looming like a demon over a broken Ghirahim.

"You gave them to her?" Ganon roared, a brilliant white sword appearing in his hand to impale Ghirahim, who flashed a few feet away, still silent in agony. A blade slashed at his armor—he turned, face to face with the Twilight Princess, who practically glowed in the darkness.

"Run!" Ghirahim coughed, beseeching Midna's retreat. She responded by continuing upon the demon before her, deftly sidestepping a slice from his own broadsword. Ganon seemed unimpressed with her assault, returning her attacks blow-for-blow.He reared back and swung his blade upon hers, the clash like thunder in the night.

"A little help!" she cried, her bare feet sliding backwards with the force of Ganon's strike. She gripped her blade with all her might, praying it wouldn't shatter in her hands. She forced her sword forward, to the hilt of Ganon's, and hoped for the others to arrive soon.

He seemed enormous, gargantuan, like an otherworldly specter. His own sword glowed white onto his face, but his eyes seemed to swallow up that light, casting red into the darkness. He was only inches from her; she strained against his blade with her own, just waiting for him to throw her backwards. She knew swordplay, to an extent, and she knew she was on the losing end of this one. She sent a wave of flames at him, watching them burn and then sizzle into his skin as if put out. He smiled—not devilishly as Ghirahim would but as if he were completely elated. She clenched her jaw and, seeing just a flash of Link in her peripheral vision, prepared herself to disappear. She didn't know that warping quickly was an asset—she realized it now.

Just as Ganon gave his sword one final push against Midna, sending her toppling backwards, Link, clad in only his trousers and undershirt, struck him in the back. Midna faded to a few steps away, blade still in hand. Ganon yelled wordlessly, spinning around to face the Advisor. His face was still thick with sleep.

"So the boy has found his sword after all," Ganon growled, leveling a vicious slice towards Link, who managed to skip backwards fast enough to miss it; the glowing white blade ended its trajectory buried, inches deep, in the hard soil. "It will not do you any good."

Link didn't reply; he launched himself forward, slicing once, twice, three times fast against Ganon's abdomen, blade sliding through his armor with ease on the few occasions he hit it. Ganon brought his sword back across his body, almost taking off the messy-haired head before him, then caught the Master Sword again. His wounded back sent a new wave of searing agony crashing through him. The Twilight Princess had embedded her blade deep in the already bleeding gash—it burned like an inferno, unleashed upon him. He slid his blade from under Link's and stepped sideways, feeling Midna's sword tear out of him.

Blood gushed forth, uninhibited, pouring from the wound. Ganon, eyes fierce and wild, almost growled a laugh. "What a pathetic alliance. A misguided Princess and a farm hand. How could you hope to win? Chosen or not, I will show you what true power is," he snarled, raising his blade into the air, allowing it to fill with darkness. It clouded over the sacred white glow and enveloped it in shimmering black energy.

"Run!" Midna yelled, now, snatching Link's arm and hauling him along faster than he had been moving. Vaati disappeared into the wind and Ghirahim, just barely noticing Midna's call for retreat, stared in horror at the blade, knowing what it would unleash. Midna turned her head and saw Ganon turn his sword downward and launch it deep into the ground.

There was a shudder, and then a bang; louder than any bomb, stronger than any earthquake. The ground seemed to collapse behind Link and Midna. They were thrown forward, sliding along the forest floor at incredible speed.

Link whipped his head around to see a crater where Ganon had been standing. He was nowhere in sight. The only figure that remained was Ghirahim, sprawled out upon the edge of the crater. He clawed his way out and coughed heavily. He was covered in soot and blood. Link raised his blade cautiously, but Midna put a hand on his arm, ushering it down again. "Wait," she murmured.

She walked forward slowly towards Ghirahim. He turned onto his back and groaned painfully, almost writhing. The Twilight Princess knelt beside him and looked almost sadly at his face.

"Midna," Ghirahim rasped, his eyes fixed upon hers. He opened his mouth again and shut it, rejecting whatever it was he was going to say to her. She was a beautiful phantom hovering over him. He felt closer to death than he ever had. Looking at her, he could see that she believed he would—die, that is.

His hand sought hers, empty at her side; he clasped it firmly. She did not draw it away. A strange wistfulness possessed her for a moment. She sighed gently, with a softness he did not often see from her. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see Vaati approaching from behind her. He knew this brief second was over.

In a flash of diamonds, he disappeared. Vaati flipped himself to the wind after him without another word.

Midna and Link both exhaled in shock; Link's brow fell and he huffed. "Is he going to die?"

"When Vaati gets to him, yes," Midna said bluntly, standing and walking back towards the camp. She looked back over her shoulder at Link after a few more steps and called, "Come on. Let's get some sleep."

/\

It didn't take Vaati long to find Ghirahim. He was weaker than ever, warping slowly and sloppily. He had manifested at the mouth of a cave deep in the forests of Hyrule, at the end of his energy. His black cape was torn, revealing that same white bodysuit that was splattered with dark blood. Broken bones and shredded muscles covered the Twili. He surprised himself with his own resilience.

Ghirahim grimaced when Vaati appeared, his monstrous blade drawn and slung lazily over the mage's shoulder, wicked teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Midna didn't stop you," he stated, almost inflectionless.

Vaati laughed. "Unlike you, I don't ask Midna for permission for everything I do. And she's not here to protect you now."

The mage advanced upon him, cape swaying in a light breeze. He was a darkness Ghirahim already knew—the thought of dying at his hand was familiar, but deeply disturbing. Ghirahim drew backwards, his broken body aching with each movement. "So this is it, then, Vaati?" He questioned, a hard tone entering his voice. "You'll have your revenge on me, is that it?"

Vaati rolled his eyes. "That's not why I followed you here."

Ghirahim paused, taking a breath. "What?"

"As much as I'd like to kill you, just like you tried to kill me, I'm not that shortsighted. You might die all on your own, anyway. I do need something from you, though."

Ghirahim slid roughly down the cave wall and coughed a short laugh. "And what would you possibly need from me?"

Vaati smiled, sinister. His eyes narrowed. "A favor."

"Go on," Ghirahim murmured, voice dropping low with Vaati's.

"While I'm off with the others, I need you to find something in this realm for me. You shouldn't cross paths with Ganon or any of his followers, and it'll help you waste some time before someone finds and kills you after this war is won. Just like old times back in our realm."

Ghirahim laughed. "The old times often involved rewards for all involved."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Vaati smirked. "Your reward is pretty clear, as long as you do this for me."

"And what would that be?"

"Midna gets to live."

Ghirahim's expression changed in a flash to one of rage. "Are you threatening her?"

Vaati sighed. "It's a relatively simple errand, really. Should be child's play for you."

"You couldn't," Ghirahim murmured, trying to appear unconcerned. "It's not in your nature."

"Try me," Vaati snapped, sudden anger intruding upon his nonchalant demeanor. "After what you tried to do to me...you would be surprised what I am really capable of in the name of revenge."

Internally, Vaati laughed. How stupid was Ghirahim, indeed? How blind, how terribly unhinged? If he were to agree to this, he'd be a fool to believe Vaati would really kill her. Emotions were clouding the demon lord's judgment, making him a shell of the power he once had been, easily malleable and manipulated. But that was beyond the point, anyway. This favor had come to him in the night—a vision, a dream, whatever. He had stumbled upon a mention of it in one of Zelda's books, and it had spoken to him in a way unlike anything else. Power.

There was silence for a moment, and Vaati smiled darkly. "You should see how peacefully she sleeps near me and the Advisor. So trusting. It would be easy, really-"

"What do you need stolen, you craven little monster?" Ghirahim snapped wearily, his hands balled into powerless fists at his sides.

"Not so much stolen, really, as much as recovered. There happens to be something that belongs to my ancestors locked away somewhere in this realm...it's a mage's cap. I don't care how you find it—just find it and return it to me."

Ghirahim snorted. "And when I do, you'll kill me? This is a poor deal."

"I think you'll just have to trust me, old friend," Vaati smiled, laughing goodheartedly. "But the clock is ticking. Take care of your injuries, but then...bring me the cap."

Ghirahim scowled and glared up at the mage. "I will find it."

Vaati nodded once and turned on his heel, almost to the winds again, before Ghirahim spoke again.

"But remember, old friend, where your allegiances lie. The others will never forgive this betrayal. And I, well... You understand how I could feel betrayed, yes?"

A look of hot rage flashed across Vaati's face, and he turned in the darkness. "My allegiance lies with me, and me alone," he snarled. "I'll see you around, Ghirahim."

The mage gusted away, and a small smile crept across Ghirahim's bloodied face.

A/N: Finally. :)