"fabula mirabilis"
the strange story

Disclaimer: Own not.

A/N: I've never written a Link/Zelda fic before, but here's one -- with a twist! The title, if you were wondering, is Latin, 'cause I have to be different. Many parts of this story have been or are being rearranged/rewritten thanks to kind reviewers. Thanks for helping me make my fic better!

Please be aware that this is AU, contains original characters, and that the canon characters deviate from their given personalities (yep, I'm acknowledging they're OOC). I hope you can stomach it!

If you want to tell me what works and what doesn't, please don't hesitate to give me feedback.

---

In her heart she boasts,
'I sit as queen; I am not a widow,
and I will never mourn.'
-- Revelation 18:7

Prologue: The Princess Cannot Kiss Gently

Ganondorf Dragmire tasted like the fear of screaming children, like icy metal, like bitter spices, like the rot of the desert wastes from where he hailed. Zelda often wondered how she tasted. How her cool neck and silver-ringed fingers tasted in the Gerudo ambassador's mouth. Perhaps she would ask him someday.

And, perhaps, someday soon.

Hyrule's regent stared past the colonnade wrapped around the patio on which she sat and onto the massive castle grounds. In spite of the tastefully classical roof above her, a lurid pink awning was stretched above the couch that she had chosen to sit upon. She had been alone -- reading an old, leather-bound book in ancient Hylian with relish -- until a servant told her she had a gentleman caller (and, despite her prominent position in the government of the country, such callers were rare). Now the book lay forgotten on the tiled floor and she was...daydreaming. That was rare, too, for girls like her were forced to grow up quickly, and had no use for such things. Yet it was sunset; pale pinks and vivid lavenders slid stealthily across the green lawn. She could not easily forget what sunset rarely brought...Dragmire. She could not easily forget the emotions that he stirred in her.

It was sunset.

A chill raced down Zelda's spine.

Zelda was the Gerudo ambassador's mistress. There was little ardor in their relationship, more because the princess embraced Hylian cultural beliefs that called for repression in romantic affairs than any unhappiness with the arrangement. Zelda, far from a shy maid, had known from the very first when he wanted her -- when, during his appointment to the High King's small council, he let his lips linger on her velvety downturned hand as he kissed it...and she a girl-child of fourteen. She had never found him particularly attractive -- what with his thick lips, round barbaric ears, large nose, and awful amber eyes (fixing on her with such intensity she thought she might burn). But Zelda was a practical girl, and slid demurely into his bed at fifteen, her shrewd mind noting the benefit to her kingdom if Dragmire were to lose himself in her flesh. But by now, she knew Dragmire had outlived his usefulness.

The same thing you said on your fifteenth birthday, Zelda silently chided herself, disgusted at her inner weakness and broken willpower. Her mind was certain Dragmire would be reduced to Court Nothing upon her ailing father's death -- yet her helplessly addicted body was reluctant to go along with her plans.

As it was now.

Almost as if her thoughts had summoned him, Ambassador Ganondorf Dragmire strolled out onto the shaded patio, unaccompanied -- and approaching with an aching slowness that nearly drove Zelda mad. "Din, you came," she said in a broken voice, surging from the couch and rushing toward him. It was strange, she thought, how she lost her mind in his presence.

His lips curved in a small, unreadable smile as she approached him and coiled her arms around his neck. He'd just come from battle, it seemed. His middle was thick with leather and he stank of sweat. Black armor dug deliciously into the princess' chest as she pressed herself close against the much larger man. "Three weeks is really too long to wait," she breathed. Yes, it had been three weeks since they, inhabitants of the same castle, had found a moment alone together, hadn't it?

"Look at you," Dragmire said. He had a methodic way of speaking that often made others think him a lackwit.

"Don't look at me. Kiss me." She hated the plaintive, whining tone of her voice, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Wanted to do about it, rather.

"No. I don't have time for things like that. We need to talk, Princess." Something was wrong; she could hear it in his voice. She wondered why she hadn't noticed before.

"Ganondorf...what's wrong?" They were intimate enough to call each other by their first names, but she had learned it was a secret pleasure of his to stick to formalities. But he also stuck to formalities when he was angry. She wondered if he was. And though her voice was tender and her fingers as well as they stroked the tan skin of his jawline, her blue-gray eyes sharpened as they whipped over his face. Goddesses, he's so handsome angry, she found herself thinking just before wondering about her suddenly weak, fragmented thought pattern.

The ambassador, ignoring her doting caresses, held her gruffly at arm's length. Zelda looked up at him with startled, confused eyes. "You're Hyrule's regent. Along with the small council, you have almost a complete monopoly on all political decisions made in this country...and beyond its borders." His voice was suddenly hard, his fingers pressing painfully into Zelda's arms.

"Yes. What of it, Ganondorf? For Nayru's sake, stop it!" She tried to squirm out of his grip in vain.

"Force a vote on the small council to lift the trade embargo on my people. The Gerudo are starving...and if you refuse give us what we require, we'll join the Koholints in their rebellion against Hyrule. They don't lack for food, I assure you." His voice was flat, as though he was commenting on the weather.

Zelda recoiled, eyes going wide as she finally pulled free from Dragmire's grasp; she was suffocating. She had known that a man was more reluctant to kill a woman before he had received what he wanted most from her -- but, apparently, after taking his fill, she had outlived her usefulness. Her surprise turned to hurt...and anger...and amusement! She laughed at him. "Yes, they don't lack for food, but we own it all. You'd do well to remember that. Merely suggesting something like what you have is treason. I could throw you into the dungeons for that, I assure you."

Clearly, that hadn't been the response Ganondorf had been expecting. "Wha...what?" he bleated. "You won't even...consider the possibility of drafting a treaty?"

"Drafting a treaty! We've already signed ten treaties with your people since the death of your father, the great Mandrag Ganon! You're a weak ruler, Ganondorf. You spend your time as a statesman, here on Papa's small council" -- her voice was trembling, close to breaking -- "and away from your desert wastes and your people. They're women, and women are weak. No wonder they're dying! Do you think, honestly, that either one of our economies would survive another treaty? Do you think we have grain of our own to spare? We have that rebellion in Koholint to crush, you know." Her lips pressed themselves together to keep her from saying anything more. Certainly it wouldn't be wise to admit, especially to a man considering joining the rebels, that the kingdom was in no way 'crushing' the rebellion. Never mind that he obviously knew.

The lines of age on Dragmire's face seemed to harden. His battle-roughened hands rubbed almost absently against her shoulders when he touched her again. "Do you...do you really want to see me and my people on the opposite side of your campaign?" He sounded surprised, but not really hurt, and Zelda found herself hurt, irrationally.

Zelda laughed again and pushed away from Dragmire's warm, gentle touches. "You and your people? What would you and your people do to aid the Koholints? You can't even feed yourselves! Your threat is an empty one. What a pitiful excuse for a man you are."

"Yes, I am, aren't I? Ah, but look who I learned it from -- the most conniving princess I know." Dragmire, predictably, persisted. He pulled the princess against him -- who let out a startled, protesting gasp -- and kissed her powdered cheeks softly. Zelda could feel those cheeks flush with warm blood in slightly embarrassed anger that Dragmire should act like this -- and to talk to the Princess of Hyrule so. But she was slowly melting under the sweet pressure of his continued, feather-light kisses. It wasn't fair that he was so good at this!

Thankfully -- for Zelda, at least -- they were interrupted by one of the castle's lesser servants, a page who let out a sharp gasp when he saw just whose arms the princess was in. Zelda disentangled herself completely from the Gerudo ambassador at that, grateful for the white powder that kept her flush from being visible. He looks at me as though he thinks me pure and virginal -- as if I'm one of those young girls who must be locked up to be kept safe from the priests of our goddesses, the Three.

Or young boys, as the case may be.

"What is it?" the regent said outloud, raising herself to her full height (which was far from impressive in the presence of the Gerudo) as she retreated to the couch to force her feet into the slippers she'd kicked off hours earlier. She slid her cold, winter-pale hands over her cheeks, as if that could keep them from flushing.

The page, though disillusioned, rallied quickly -- Zelda admired him for that. Then again, he was probably just very proud of the fact that he was getting to deliver such an important message. "Your Grace, if you please -- the High King has requested your presence in the Audience Chamber." The page shot a nasty glance the ambassador's way when he realized he'd have to address him too, but the Gerudo answered with a benign smile. "Your Honor, you must come as well. The -- the consul of the Koholint province has come to speak to you both. He would like to discuss business with you right away!" The page's eyes suddenly widened and he stepped back to flee, as if he didn't want such a couple to ask him any questions.

"Oh, Din," Zelda cursed, narrowing her eyes and rubbing her shoulders against the chill of oncoming night. "We weren't expecting the consul for a fortnight, at least." Her light eyes sought out his. "Ganondorf, we have to go -- the consul is a very important man."

They both knew what she was implying -- that Dragmire was not and that they would be constrained to rush off anyway, like it or not. But Dragmire just shrugged.

"Then let's go and talk to your consul."

Zelda came to him again at his calm indifference and flung her arms around his neck -- even though she knew he wouldn't embrace her back. Her mouth was very warm and very wet against his neck, which was the highest she could reach with her mouth when not on tiptoe. "We really do have to go. And I -- I--"

Dragmire pulled her off of him with one of his calmly composed smiles. "Don't say it. You and I both know you aren't capable of dealing with the consequences associated with saying a thing like that. We must needs go to the Audience Chamber. We can find a moment alone before the Gerudo run out of food to...talk."

Hopefully, we can find a moment alone soon. There was no thought or care given to the threat of losing his alliance to the Koholints when he hinted at things that would lead to the meeting of their excited sweaty bodies. Zelda stood on tiptoe, no matter what damage she was doing to her slippers, and brushed her gentlest kiss against his cheek, a light grazing of teeth against skin. She pulled away slowly, as though reluctant to go and see the 'important' consul, and made her way even more slowly toward the entrance back into the castle. She knew Dragmire well enough to know he could find his own way to the Audience Chamber. She stopped at the threshold, though, turning back and shooting her lover a critical glance. "We will talk, Ganondorf."

"Of course," Dragmire said to the dark, his eyes slanted and feline in the failing sun.