Chapter Text
If asked, Ganondorf Dragmire would say that true power is not apathetic. It isn’t unfeeling or objective, as it bends reality to its will. No, power comes from emotion.
Ganondorf Dragmire’s emotion of choice is burning, unbridled rage.
Geraldo Geraldo’s emotion of choice would be burning, unbridled rage. But no, apparently he isn’t allowed the simple pleasure of giving in to blinding fury anymore, is he?
He’s fairly certain he’s going to shove a sand seal down someone’s throat.
For the first time in nearly a century, Hylians are coming to Gerudo Town. And not just any Hylians, no – the Princess Zelda, herself. Oooooh, everyone prepare to swoon at her feet and stare in wonder at her wise radiance as she dares to walk amongst the savage desert dwellers. Someone give her a screeching baby to kiss.
“Your neck vein is out, Master Geraldo,” comes a soft voice.
“It is not,” he mutters back, his neck vein throbbing. Oh, but how he hates teenagers. He doesn’t hate them nearly as much as he hates Hylians, but there is room enough in his heart for them both.
Makeela Riju giggles at him. It takes every ounce of self-control in his substantial body to not start raining fire from the sky.
The image brings him a modicum of peace.
Zelda’s coming on her own, without King Hyrule, because apparently daddy’s little princess is ready for a test run. Miss Queen-to-Be will have no supervision aside from attendants and guards as she negotiates in Gerudo Town (so scary, how brave of her to enter a den of thieves and bandits) with the chief (can the savage even speak Hylian?) over trade routes and water access.
(For the record, Ganondorf can speak six languages, thank you very much. How many can the average Hylian speak? Just the one? Then maybe they should shut their inept mouths.)
It’ll be the easiest negotiation in the world, for the Hylians. They hold all the cards. The desert oases are drying up, the Gerudo are starving, and their towns are falling apart. If the Gerudo don’t give the Hylians what they want, they will die.
So of course this negotiation is the princess’ first foray into politics. She can’t lose. They’ve said they’re sending her alone, with only female guards and attendants out of respect for Gerudo laws, but Ganondorf knows better. The Hylians don’t give three blind, jiggling chuchus about Gerudo traditions. Zelda will float in like some regal, self-important goddess, get everything she wants, be lauded for her diplomacy skills and mercy for ensuring the Gerudo just barely survive, and then they’ll sing songs about the kind, clever, wise Zelda, the divine child brave enough to enter the sand viper pit to indulge the filthy rabble that lives there.
He’s not bitter.
“I wish I’d brought my sewing needle,” whispers Makeela Riju, barely contained mischief in her voice. “Imagine the way you’d pop.”
“You’d never get the mess out of your lovely clothes, Lady Riju,” he hisses between his teeth.
He’s had to tolerate this life for ten years. Ten long, enraging years. It feels like nine of those years were spent here in the sun, standing in this spot next to Makeela Riju, waiting for the Hylians to deign to appear because apparently schedules are beneath them.
Makeela Riju straightens up, eyes straight ahead.
They’ve arrived.
Ganondorf now recognizes the thumping march of the Hylian convoy. He’d mistaken it for the sound of his blood pounding in his head.
And before he can say “Revolt against the oppressors,” the Hylians are through the weathered arch at the mouth of the town.
It’s a caravan of a dozen women, a mix of Hylian attendants on horseback and Sheikah guards walking beside them. In the middle of the parade is a regal white horse, draped in shining gold and purple regalia. Ganondorf snorts. They must’ve polished and cleaned it just before arriving. Nothing makes the trek through the desert unmarred by the sands. The pride of the Hylians never ceases to amaze him.
Riding atop the pampered, overrated nag is a lean figure covered in lace and gauze. A veil covers her face, weighed down on her head by a golden tiara, peppered with jewels fine enough to have been stolen from the Gerudo vaults. Two gloved hands are curled around the reigns, an impractical white rope with threads of gold braided through it.
The princess looks immaculate. Or her outfit does, at least. They must’ve swapped out her travelling clothes for this nonsense when they cleaned up the horse. But not an inch of her is actually visible. Usually that would raise Ganondorf’s suspicions – trust the Hylians to not even have the decency to send the real princess.
But he can feel it – the whisper of power in her blood, ancient and irrefutable. It pulls at him, like a rope woven around his spine. The back of his right hand tingles.
Zelda has arrived in Gerudo Town.
An old hunger stirs in him. Goddess, but he’d forgotten what Wisdom feels like. For all of Courage’s untamed fervor and wicked instinct, it’s never called to him like Wisdom, with its icy, calculating chill.
It’s subdued. She hasn’t managed to awaken her piece of the Triforce yet. It’s nothing like the blinding force he remembers, like noon day sun shining against the snow. But the promise is there. The potential.
Buliara, the captain of the guard, steps forward. They’ve never liked each other.
“Princess Zelda Annemona Hyrule,” her voice calls in clipped, accented Hylian. “As captain of the guard, I welcome you to Gerudo Town. We are humbled by your presence.” Ganondorf nearly gives himself an aneurism with the effort it takes to not roll his eyes. “We look forward to a fruitful and enjoyable meeting.” Meetings. Plural, not singular. It’ll take days of diplomacy to sort everything out. Ganondorf hates Hylian politics.
The Gerudo chief steps forward, walking between Ganondorf and Makeela Riju to stand before the Hylians. He is adorned in Gerudo finery, black cloth accented with shining gold. They’ve managed to get him in some semblance of order, glinting jewels against his copper skin, his long mess of auburn hair held together by a golden ornamental clasp at the top of his head. His eyes glint gold like the desert sands as he looks up at the princess.
“It is my great honor present to you, Chief Notakokiri Link of the Gerudo.”