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Ganondorf knows that he's lost when his leg buckles underneath him and refuses to straighten again. Even the Triforce of Power can't keep up with the boy's dizzying flurry of blows, his armor of darkness cracking under the strain of the Master Sword and the princess' meddling magic.
He makes them work for their victory. But the boy fights like a man possessed, hacking madly even after Ganondorf collapses.
"This is for Colin!" the boy shrieks, his voice wavering with tears. He punctuates the cry with a wild swing that cuts to the bone, and Ganondorf has to let out a wheeze of pain. "This is for Tiffany!" Ow. "This is for Uncle!" Ow. The boy keeps screaming names Ganondorf has never heard as if this is supposed to mean something to him. He grunts, and waits for it to be over.
"And so evil sows the seeds of its own destruction," he hears Zelda say, and he opens his eyes just long enough to roll them at her. "By striking at Link's innocent village, you sealed your fate! Justice will always triumph!"
He thinks about that as the familiar pull starts again, and his consciousness slips into the timeless dream of the Sacred Realm.
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Ganondorf sets his meal on the embroidered tablecloth with exaggerated care. He pours himself a cup of Hylian wine, then delicately unwraps a Hylian pastry, its exquisitely folded crust stuffed with sickeningly-sweet candied fruit. He lifts the cup to his lips and savors the strange mix of bitter alcohol and sweet fruit, tasting all the differences from the fermented mare's milk he had to settle for in the desert.
To his delight, he sees through the bars of her cell that Zelda can't stop herself from flicking her sunken eyes to the delicacy. He smiles at her gaunt and withered face. "Oh, would you like some?" he asks sweetly.
Zelda responds with a very unladylike growl. Ganondorf shrugs. "Suit yourself." He raises the pastry to his lips and bites down, losing himself in the taste. Oh, but it's heavenly. The sugary crust provides a satisfying resistance before the filling hits his tongue in an explosion of sensation, the strong fruity syrup filling his mouth and -- oh, is that a hint of cinnamon? This must be a new recipe. Oh, he's so glad he kept the royal chef alive this time.
Ganondorf licks his fingers, not wanting to waste a single crumb, before delicately wiping his mouth with a napkin -- laced, of course, Hylians have so much cloth they'll even waste it on napkins.
"My dear --" he begins.
"I am not your dear," Zelda spits.
"My enemy, then," Ganondorf amends glibly. "I was thinking we might once again discuss the matter of the Triforce of Wisdom."
Zelda huffs. "You are truly a fool, Ganondorf, if you think I will just let you destroy my kingdom --"
"Destroy it?" Ganondorf clicks his tongue. "Why would I want to destroy a kingdom that graces me with such beautiful gifts as this?" He takes another heavenly bite of the pastry, maintaining eye contact with the princess the entire time. Was that the faintest hint of a tongue flicking at the corner of her lips? "No, Princess. I give you my word: If you surrender the Triforce, Hyrule will remain."
Zelda balls her fists, an effect diminished by the way her bones show through the skin, and huffs a determined breath. "I have no ear for your lies, Ganondorf. No matter what tortures you inflict on me, I will never betray my people." She uncurls her fists and delicately laces her fingers together -- still pretending to be a princess even in a cell. "I will endure as long as it takes for the hero to strike you down!"
Ganondorf's face instantly splits into a grin, and he grins even wider when he sees the sliver of uncertainty wedge its way under the princess' facade. "Oh, Zelda," he says, unable to hide his glee. "Still holding out hope after all this time? I think you may find your hero is rather... unmotivated."
▼▼▼
The witch looks up at the boy as he enters her cottage, smiling widely over her bubbling cauldron.
"Mornin', Granny!" the boy chirps to her, beaming at her from under his shaggy mop of straw-blond hair. He knows that Granny only came to the village recently from a far-away desert, and she looks a bit different from everyone else, but he also knows that's no reason to be unkind. "Won'erful day, innit?"
"Indeed it is, my dear boy," Granny says. "Were you able to get everything I asked for?"
"Sure did!" the boy says, shrugging off his pack to rifle through it. "I'm not sure what you need cat's piss and goat manure for, but I guess that's why you're the witch and I'm the farmboy!" He laughs as he hands her the foul-smelling jars, which she accepts gratefully. "Also got you those vegetables you asked for, oh, and --" He produces another small bag. "-- I brought some more cuccoo eggs for you. Don't you try an' be humble, you deserve it! You do so much good for us but you're all out here on your lonesome, someone's gotta look after you."
Granny laughs softly. "Oh, aren't you a dear, worrying over a poor old lady like me." The boy blushes sweetly. As he helps her shelve everything away, she asks casually, "And how are you doing, my boy? Still reaping what you sow?"
He nods. "Yeah, it's a bountiful harvest this year! I was surprised as anyone when everyone decided I should man ol' Ulric's farm -- gods rest his soul, the poor man, passing without any family to take it up like that -- but I've really taken a knack to it! It's good honest work, herding the cuccoos and tilling the fields." He pauses for a moment, and Granny looks at him carefully. "Honestly, I don't know why all the traders keep actin' it's the end of times. I've not seen hide nor hair of any monsters or dark magic!"
Granny titters. "Oh, I'm sure they're just stories. You know how it is -- the better things are, the more people imagine how things could be worse." She gives the boy an easy smile. "I bet every critter in the woods looks like a monster to them."
The boy laughs at that. "That's true! City folk think they've got it all figured out, but they wouldn't know a wolf from a sheepdog. I guess they just gotta make up things to complain about -- like all that stuff they're sayin' about the new king!"
Granny freezes.
"I mean," the boy continues, "who cares who's king? It's not like I ever met the old king."
"Yes," Granny agrees.
"I probably won't ever meet this new king either, being out here in the country and all."
"I'm sure you won't," Granny says with the certainty of ages.
The boy just beams. "Yeah, an' that's fine by me. I already got everything I could ever want right here. Honestly," he says with a laugh, "I could prob'ly go my whole life without leaving this little village."
Granny smiles brightly, and resumes stirring her pot. "I suppose you will, my dear boy."