Chapter Text
Every child in Hyrule grew up hearing stories of the Demon King.
No one could agree on what the beast looked like. Some claimed it was a midnight blue, standing tall on two legs with its trident in its grip; others insisted it was green and scaled; still others said it was not beast at all but a great dark dragon. Nor too could anyone agree on where the beast was sealed by the wise Princess Zelda of a thousand years ago and her courageous knight: deep in the belly of Death Mountain, in the thickest fog of the Lost Woods, even on an island in the sky above the clouds.
Only two things were certain: the Demon King was evil incarnate, and was especially disposed to eating misbehaving children; those that stayed up too late, or did not eat their vegetables, or were unkind to their mothers. Every child feared the day the monster would break free from its seal, at least until they grew older and realized the Demon King was nothing more than myth and legend, a fairy tale as real as the Wind Fish or the Light Spirits. A story to pass on to their own children, they decided, and that was all.
Queen Zelda was not so sure.
***
Zelda had always loved stories. She fondly remembered nights curled up with her mother and father while they took turns reading to her while she forced herself not to read ahead. She spent her girlhood with her nose buried in books, or running through the castle playing make belief, spinning tales of whimsy and wonder.
“I’m not a Princess,” boasted a six-year old Zelda. “My name is Sheik and I’m a warrior. And I’m a Sheikah like you,” she’d added, to which Impa had smiled tenderly and told her there would be time for playing after she finished her schooling for the day.
“I’m not a Princess,” claimed a ten-year old Zelda. “My name is Tetra and I’m a pirate captain. And I don’t wear dresses,” she’d insisted, to which her mother had shaken her head and said that Tetra did not need to wear a dress if she did not want to, but that she really must make herself presentable for the feast that evening.
As she grew into adulthood she learned to accept and even love her role as Princess of Hyrule, but she did not lose the fascination with stories of all kinds, though she no longer voiced them aloud.
The story of the Demon King fascinated her most of all. Not for the reasons one might have believed – Zelda did not want to be the beautiful princess who was pure-hearted and beloved by all; she had enough of that in her own life. Nor did she dream of marrying a handsome man like the legendary hero; she had her own handsome suitors, and wanted little to do with any of them. No, Zelda was most interested in the monster itself. What did he look like? (As a child she’d insisted he was the dragon, though she had taken on a liking to the vicious boar.) Where did he come from? (The legends did not say, only that he emerged from nowhere with hatred in his heart.)
And most of all, she wondered, could she be correct in her theory that the story – and the monster – were real?
***
When Zelda was twenty-four, her mother fell ill with a horrible disease and passed within a month. Her father followed not even a year later, as though perishing from heartbreak itself, and far earlier than she had ever imagined, Zelda found herself crowned Queen of Hyrule.
It was busy, to be Queen, and she spent her days in meetings, or greeting petitioners, or dodging marriage proposals. Still, whenever she could, she made time for her research.
Research. Many people would not call what she was doing research. Ridiculous, they would say, that the Queen of Hyrule was wasting her time with children’s books and fairy tales. Zelda did feel a bit ridiculous at times, but she could not let the fixation go. What if it was true, and she lived in a world of monsters and magic (real monsters, far more fantastical than the bokoblins that lurked outside of Castle Town, and real magic, not the parlor tricks of court magicians).
(Legends claimed that the Royal Family of Hyrule held great magic of its own, once upon a time.)
What if the world was more than endless monotony?
So Zelda continued to read, and continued to dream and wonder. She called in storytellers and attempted to make sense of the contradictions in the various tellings of the legend: The Demon King came from a land of blistering heat, claimed the Goron Sage, while the Zora insisted the monster was raised in the snow and cold. Most versions of the story told of an evil being who wished to plunge the world into chaos and darkness, but in the Sheikah tellings Impa used to entertain Zelda with the Demon King originally wanted only to aid his own people (Well, thought Zelda, perhaps plunging Hyrule into darkness would be an aid to the monsters of the world).
She made little headway in her investigations, but this did not upset or deter her; the Queen of Hyrule could hardly make it a priority to find what was very probably a non-existent monster. It was a hobby to her; where her father may have enjoyed overshadowing the blacksmith and making his own swords, and her mother raised hunting dogs, Zelda filled her head with legends and stories. If nothing ever came of it then so be it. Zelda could be content with dreaming.
At least until the Twili attacked.
***
They came through a mirror made of twilight solidified, led by a masked Shadow King who called himself Zant. For the first time in centuries, Hyrule found itself at war, and was woefully unprepared. Hyrule would have been unprepared for a conventional war – a war with creatures of shadow was something Zelda could never have envisioned. But she would not surrender. She was Hyrule’s Queen, and it was her duty to be its protector.
She travelled to the far reaches of the land, meeting with Hyrule’s neighbours and securing armies and alliances. Whenever she could, she oversaw the knights’ training, trying to greet each soldier by name and even taking her own place on the training grounds. And still with any free time she had she read stories, because even within the horrors of war, an excitement had begun to grow in her heart.
If the Twili – beings from another world – were real, then why not Zelda’s legend?
“You cannot rely on stories to save us, Your Majesty,” said Impa sternly. “There is no legendary hero coming.”
“I know there is no hero,” replied Zelda steadily, though what she did not say was that she was not looking for a hero. They were up against shadow beasts; she did not want a hero.
She wanted a monster of her own.
***
She’d travelled to Zora’s Domain, Goron City and Rito Village to ask for help. She’d even travelled to the depth of the Lost Woods to petition the koroks. Even with fighters from all these people (for it was clear Zant’s ambitions would not stop at Hyrule), still their forces were finding themselves overwhelmed. And so Zelda took it upon herself to visit Hyrule’s farthest neighbour, and prepared herself to embark on the long trek through the Gerudo Desert.
Zelda had met very few Gerudo in her life; the great distance between their largest cities meant they rarely visited Castle Town. She knew the Gerudo Chief had visited once in her life, but Zelda had been a child still and could not even remember the woman’s name. A few years ago that chief had been slain by a monster and succeeded by her daughter, Riju, whom Zelda had never met. She had been told Riju was even younger than Zelda was.
We have that in common, Zelda thought. Losing parents too young…
Impa had advised her against traveling to Gerudo – Could Zelda really justify leaving Hyrule for the length of time it would take to reach the capital, especially now? But Zelda had heard of the ferocity of the Gerudo warriors and knew that she needed to try.
Besides, it had not escaped her notice that the desert was the exact kind of place that might be described as both blistering hot and chillingly cold.
***
It took several weeks to reach the Gerudo capital, where Zelda was welcomed graciously. The mostly male knights she had brought with her, on the other hand, were told that they would have to stay at an inn on the edge of town, as men were not allowed in the city proper. Zelda left them grumbling and followed her escort to the palace, which had gold-lined windows and silks draped across doorways. Beautiful, thought Zelda.
Chief Riju (who looked to be no older than twenty) took little convincing.
“I will send a group of our finest soldiers back with you,” she said. Her voice was high pitched with youth, but she spoke steadily. “This Twilight King threatens us all.”
“Thank you,” said Zelda.
“I’ll meet with my captain to arrange this. In the meantime, please enjoy our city.” Riju clicked her tongue. “Ah, I’ll get someone to give you a tour. Falon,” she called.
Zelda blinked with surprise when she saw the person that emerged from the gathered group. They were taller than the other Gerudo, and Zelda was surprised she had not noticed them before. Their long hair was tied back from their face, which sported rather thick spectacles.
They were also, Zelda noted, male.
“Falon,” Riju announced. “Our head scholar. I am sure he can find some interesting things to show you.”
She rose from her throne, and Zelda was left with Falon, who gave a deep bow.
“Queen Zelda,” he said.
Unable to hold back her confusion, Zelda said it: “I thought men were banned from this city.”
“They are,” said Falon.
Zelda paused. “You… are a man, yes?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Falon said with a nod. There was no further elaboration.
“I see,” said Zelda finally, who did not see at all.
Falon’s eyes glittered with amusement, but all he said was, “Follow me.”
***
“A long time ago, male Gerudo were made into kings,” Falon explained as he led Zelda around the city. “That tradition is long behind us now.”
“Does that bother you?” Zelda asked. Falon laughed.
“Oh, no! I’d be a horrible king.” He pushed up his glasses. “I’m much happier with my books.”
“You’re a scholar,” Zelda remembered.
Falon nodded. “I report directly to Chief Riju,” he said proudly.
“What do you study?”
“Many things,” said Falon. “Lately I’ve been looking into electrifying our spears, at the Chief’s request. Though my real passion,” he added more quietly, “is legends and folklore.”
Zelda’s eyes widened. “Do you know of the legend of the Demon King?” she asked.
She expected an eye roll. Every child knows it, he would say dismissively. Instead Falon’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“That one,” he said, “is one of the most fascinating.”
***
They did not complete the tour of the city. Falon took her to a grand library, larger than any in Castle Town and which had Zelda’s mouth hanging open in awe. She did not have time to gawk, however, as Falon let her through a different set of doors at the back of the library. “My study,” he announced, and Zelda followed.
The room was a mess; papers, books, pens and inkwells were strewn about randomly. Falon paid no mind to the disarray, pulling out stacks of papers from between book pages and within desks. He laid them out on the largest desk (shoving aside another stack of diagrams in the process; many fell to the floor), then looked up at Zelda expectantly.
“Here it is,” he said, with just the slightest hint of shyness. “All of my research on the Demon King legend.”
That evening, Zelda sent a letter to Impa to say that she would be delayed in her return to Hyrule.
***
She spent her days in Falon’s study, comparing notes and sharing theories. She did have a prickling of guilt on occasion – she’d done what she came to do, and her duty was in Hyrule, not here with books and stories – but she pushed them aside. If she was correct in her belief that the Demon King was real, she would be returning to Hyrule with more than an army.
It was a thrill to have someone who also believed her, and she and Falon became fast friends.
“I believe the Demon King legend is deeply intertwined with the history of the Gerudo,” he’d told Zelda more than once. “If I could only speak to him…”
Together they were able to spot patterns they had not seen before, and Zelda became more and more convinced. The Demon King was in the desert, and what’s more, everything seemed to be converging on one particular location…
“Gerudo myth states that there is a temple buried below the sand; I have reason to believe it is here,” said Falon, pointing a finger to a map that was covered in pins and notes. With his other hand he pushed his glasses up on his face.
“Could we go there?” Zelda breathed.
Falon bit his lip. He had expressed previously that most of the Gerudo considered this research to be a waste of time; perhaps he had already asked for permission to investigate and been denied.
“Well,” he said eventually, a crooked smile coming to his face, “If the Queen of Hyrule is requesting to go there, then it would be rude to say no. Wouldn’t it?”
So the following day they set out on sand seals into the vast sands of the Gerudo Desert (Zelda felt slightly faint in the heat of the sun, and though Falon seemed unperturbed his spectacles, slick with sweat, were frequently sliding down his nose). They came to what appeared to be the ruins of an old city, though really it could have been anything – there was little left but discoloured pillars and columns, and slabs of stone in the sand that might have been a road long ago.
“We have much grander ruins,” said Falon, “so people rarely come here.”
Still they searched, pushing aside sand and overturning stones. The day was getting warmer and warmer, but Zelda refused to stop or rest. She had come this far; she had to know. Was the story that had captivated her for so long real?
“Zelda,” said Falon abruptly (he had dispensed with formalities days ago). “Look at this.”
She hurried over to where he stood looking down into the sand and saw a half uncovered stone. Falon continued to brush sand aside, and a pattern became to emerge – three triangles, which Zelda knew would have been golden were the paint not lost to time.
“That symbol,” Falon muttered. “I’ve seen…”
“It is an old symbol of the Royal Family of Hyrule,” said Zelda, kneeling. “It’s fallen out of favour now, but it…”
She trailed off, for she had just grazed her fingers against the stone symbol. The moment her skin touched the stones illuminated with a golden light. She and Falon waited in shocked silence. Then the air was filled with the sound of stones grinding against one another. The triangular symbol crumbled into dust, and Zelda saw beneath it a staircase, descending into darkness.
“How…”
“The Royal Family of Hyrule…” Falon breathed. “It was your blood… so you…” He lifted his head back to her. “Go, Zelda.”
“What, alone?”
He nodded, though he cast a longing look into the darkness. “This was made so that only one of your blood can open it. I think…” he swallowed. “If the Demon King is truly inside… you have to free him.”
Zelda nodded resolutely.
***
It was a relief to get underground, out of the sun and heat, though Zelda was on edge as she descended below the sand. Falon had called this a temple, but it was like no temple she had ever seen; this seemed more prison. The triangular symbol of the Hyrulean Royal Family was plastered all of the walls, and Zelda knew: it was not the Gerudo who had made this.
More than nervousness, her body was alight with excitement. Finally, she would know. The true form of the Demon King (boar, monster, dragon, or something else entirely?), the truth behind the legend that she dedicated so much time towards, perhaps even a way to save her people… she would have it at last.
Stairs led her deeper and deeper below the earth as she made her way through the temple. She could all too easily imagine the structure giving out and burying her beneath the sand. It would be a fitting end, she thought.
Then she came to a closed door, engraved with the largest symbol she had seen so far. She placed her palm against it and it crumbled into dust. Then she entered, and she saw her Demon King, and he was not a monster at all.
He was a Gerudo man.
He was standing in the center of the room, unmoving and eyes closed, suspended in air. His red hair was long, falling well past his shoulders. He was clad in metal armour, and what she saw of his skin was scarred.
He was also, Zelda thought with a blush, quite handsome.
He wants to destroy the world, she told herself.
Not always. In some tellings, he just wants Hyrule.
That thought gave her what she was certain Impa would tell her was a horrible, horrible idea.
She stepped forward and touched his arm, and he awakened.
His eyes opened – amber, like Falon’s. Zelda had nearly expected red. He blinked slowly as he studied her.
“Hello, Demon King.”
“You are not Zelda,” he rasped.
“I am her descendant,” said Zelda. “You’ve been here… a long time, I think.”
He contemplated. Then, quicker than an adder, he reached for her and gripped her arm tightly. He pulled her in towards him. “Tell me why I should not kill you, keeping me here for –”
“I am here to free you,” Zelda interrupted. He released her arm, though she did not step away. “You ought not treat your rescuer in this way.”
His lips curled into a scowl. “Free me, then,” he said.
Zelda swallowed. “I will, but first…”
He narrowed his eyes, but she pressed on. “I want to ask for your help.”
He raised an eyebrow, but remained quiet as Zelda quickly explained. “My hope,” Zelda said when she finished, “is that you would lead my army against the Twilight King.”
“And why,” said the Demon King quietly, “would I ever aid the descendant of the one who trapped me here?”
“Is it not enough that I am freeing you?” Zelda asked. He glared, saying nothing, so Zelda said it: “The stories tell of your desire for Hyrule; I will give it to you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You…”
“Yes,” said Zelda. “If you help me… and if we win… I will allow you to marry me.”
He let out a shocked laugh. “You are bold,” he said.
“Well?” Zelda demanded. “Do you accept?”
“I – yes,” said the Demon King. She wondered whether he was lying. “Now,” he said, regaining his composure, “Take me outside.”
Zelda swallowed.
“Unless you’ve lost your nerve,” he added, meeting her eyes with a smirk.
She shook her head. He gave a dark chuckle, one that had her understanding why they might have called this man Demon King. Her heart thumped in her chest, not only from fear.
“Come with me,” she said.