The Red Marauder

"Tell me," Ganondorf asked the Council of Thieves. "Have you ever heard the story of Sharazan and the Red Marauder?"

The looks of the council, all five gerudo women, indicated that they hadn't.

"I thought not. It's not a story that is told often." He tossed the dusty book he held onto the table. "I suppose that reading isn't a story that's taught to the gerudo these days." He turned around and looked out a westward facing window, to the endless desert that lay beyond the fortress. "Shall I educate you?"

"Of course, my king."

"We would be most humbled."

Sycophants. He nevertheless began to speak. "Sharazan was a king of the gerudo, scarce different from myself, even if the world he grew up in was as different from our own as night is to day. For in this time, the gerudo were mighty – we would take what we wished from the lands of the east, be it sheep to fill our bellies, horses to carry us to further conquests, or riches to fill our vaults. For in these days, the name of the gerudo was terror, and the people of the east feared us, be they men to plant their seeds, or women to serve a king's desires." He smiled, thinking of the glory of ages past. "But Sharazan was different. Sharazan looked not to the east, but to the west. For he saw the desert, and the tribes that dwelt within it, and asked, can this not be mine? Am I not the Son of the Sands and the King of the Desert? If to the east I reach with one hand, shall I not reach west with the other?"

"Nay, he said, and he called the banners of the gerudo. A great army, ten times greater than any sortie he had launched upon the land of Hyrule. 'Go forth,' he said, and conquer in my name.' And the gerudo did, marching ever westward against the wind, braving dust and sand, and the heat of the Sand Goddess herself. Those they encountered offered tribute. Some offered the sword, but were cut down in turn. They were the gerudo's lessers, and were treated as all lessers are. And yet for all the plunder he gained, for all the villages that saw his banner, Sharazan was displeased – was there no-one in these sands that could offer him challenge? Was he to take grain and fruit as the spoils of conquest? Was this all the Sand Goddess had created for him? Or was there something else? Something more? Something that the tribes spoke of – the Red Marauder. A foe that none could stand against. A foe that had driven them into the lands of the east – west by our standards of course, but far from this most terrible enemy, the tribes of the desert had thought themselves safe. The ones who bent the knee urged caution to King Sharazan, for they claimed that the Red Marauder could not be stopped. That it had swallowed entire peoples, laid low entire civilizations. Sharazan, a glint in his eye, bid his army travel west to slay this unstoppable foe. He led his army into the desert, to seek blood and glory. To name himself not the Son of the Sands, but the king."

Ganondorf turned round and looked at the council. All but one of them looked enraptured – Telthis, the Fifth Finger, sitting at the far end of the table.

"None heard from Sharazan again," Ganondorf said. "Months passed, then years, and the gerudo despaired. Our women wailed, and our blades were silent. How could they endure without their king? What had slain the Son of the Sands? What enemy could have slain him so? Such was what they asked, and months later, they got their answer – one gerudo. All that remained of Sharazan's army, driven half mad by the heat. Her voice scarce more than rasp, her eyes blinded by the dust, she spoke of the enemy that Sharazan had encountered. The Red Marauder, that which no army could slay." He smirked. "Shall I tell you what it was, my fellow thieves? Shall I give name to the Red Marauder?"

None of them answered.

"The Red Marauder was the desert itself," Ganondorf said. "The air. The sand. The very heat itself. The great enemy from which people could only flee. The enemy which swallowed entire civilizations as it spread across the land. The enemy which made subservience to the gerudo preferable, for they could only flee west into the jaws of the great enemy." Ganondorf tapped the book. "It's all in there, just so you know."

Tamnia, the Third Finger, bowed her head. "We thank you for the story."

"Thank me not for the story, but the wisdom behind it."

The council stared at him. Ganondorf sighed and began to pace round the room.

"I like that story," he said. "Its message is clear – there is no future in the west for the gerudo. The desert is endless, the desert cannot be defeated, the desert is the Red Marauder. Unslayable and unstoppable." He scowled. "Sharazan is not a name that one will find in the annals of gerudo kings, and I have doubts if he even existed. But I know the name of my predecessor – Chalasthim. Three decades since his death, sixty-five years since his birth, and what do we have to show for it?" He gestured round the room. "Well?"

None of the women in the council answered.

"Dust, dirt, and dreams," the King of Thieves spat. "We are but shadows of what we once were. The people of Hyrule grow fat and laugh at us when once they were terrorized by the mere name of gerudo. I…" He took a moment to compose himself. "I was brought into this decaying world, and the people dare blame me for famine and drought. That when our children's eat flies for lack of food, when mothers wander into the desert to die, they hold me responsible." He took his seat at the head of the table.

"We have dealt with some of those who spoke against you," ventured Elikan, the First Finger. "Their heads adorn the fortress walls."

"Heads, pikes, spikes," Ganondorf murmured. "Over a thousand years of history, and that's the best you can come up with."

Sharaya, the Second Finger, frowned. "My king, we are only following your orders."

"Are you now?" he asked. "Do you consider yourself loyal? The Council of Thieves, the five most senior gerudo who answer only to the king? The Five Fingers, from thumb to fifth, who represent the hand by which we take what is ours? You call yourself loyal?"

They answered in the affirmative. All but Telthis. She just sat there in silence at the far end.

"Very well. I accept your loyalty, as long as you accept my leadership in the war to come."

"War?" asked Ashia, the Fourth Finger.

"War. Conquest. Redemption." Ganondorf tapped the book again. "Sharazan is the king I am most fond of, despite his failures, but the annals of our history speak of glory and better days. And words of higher origin have been spoken to me as well." He clenched his right fist. "Power. Power for us all. I have seen a future for us all in my dreams, as my mind has whispered to me. A mane of fire, a sword drenched in the blood of Hyrule, and Creation itself at my fingertips."

Telthis snorted. "Sounds like you've been on greyleaf."

Ganondorf scowled, but for now, decided to ignore the barb. "I am the first man born to you in a hundred years. Every king of the gerudo is expected to lead his people to glory. Council, I tell you, there is glory only for us in the east. Glory that means we would no longer bend over like animals to lesser men to plant their seed. Glory that would have us not trading for scraps from the underserving, but taking what is ours. Glory that would have us take the Golden Power and remake this world in my…our, image."

Elikan frowned. "You speak of the Triforce."

Ganondorf nodded. "I do."

"A figment of a figment told in tales of those who follow different goddesses than ours." She leant back in her chair. "My king, surely you would not have us go to war for a dream."

"What other reason is there? What conquest was not carried out on the backs of a dreamers?"

"How many dreamers had to die?" Ashia asked.

"In the past, many. And should we launch our conquest soon, few." Ganondorf saw the mouth of Ashia open, but he beat her to it. "Listen to my words, Council of Thieves, and see the wisdom by which we will gain the power that is ours."

No-one spoke, even though a lot of them looked like they wanted to. Ganondorf took a breath – he hated this. By all rights he had the power to overrule the council. But it was a practicality of power that one delegated, even to a people as decayed as the gerudo. True power would remove him from this burden, but for now…

For now, he'd play the game. And he'd begin with a truth.

"Hyrule has not been weaker for centuries," Ganondorf began. "The alliances between hylians, zora, and gorons are frayed. The people grow fat, and their flesh ever softens." He leant forward. "We strike hard, we strike fast. We raise our banners, run our spears through, and reclaim our glory."

"For how long?" asked Sharava.

"Long enough that our most elite thieves take the Triforce and deliver it to me so that the goddesses grand my bidding."

Looks of disbelief were etched into that of the entire council. It was Telthis who spoke. "You would send us all to die…for a golden triangle?"

"Three golden triangles actually."

"And that matters?"

Ganondorf tapped the book again. "Have you read anything, Fifth Finger?" He looked over the entire council. "Have any of you? Have you forgotten our past? Have you forgotten that our own legends speak of a golden goddess shaping the land on which we dwell? The same land from which the Sand Goddess arose from and gave life to the gerudo? Why, there are some texts who claim that the Sand Goddess and Din are but one and the same."

"Heresy," Elikan murmured.

"Heresy," Ganondorf sneered. "Maybe that word once had weight when we had a priestesshood capable of enforcing it. But fear not – I won't fill your heads with stories of golden women. Instead, let me fill your heads of men – the men that will fall before you. Who will fear you. Men such as the king himself who, ten years from now, will come to Gerudo Fortress and bend the knee before your majesty."

"Or you lead us to ruin, and you bend the knee to him," Telthis said.

Ganondorf sighed. "Have you so little faith in your king?" He looked over the council. "Do all of you?"

No-one answered. That might make them cowards, but cowards, he could work with. Cowards were individuals that he could point in the right direction.

"I declare that in one year, we march upon Hyrule," Ganondorf said. "One year to forge steel, one year to plant seeds of mistrust, one year to find the entrance to the Golden Realm and take the power that lies within. This is my word – you have reign to serve my decree as you see fit." He got to his feet. "If anyone finds this order disagreeable, speak now."

No-one spoke. Good. He'd played the game – give them enough latitude to believe they have freedom. Don't give them enough to realize the truth – that the gerudo could rot. They could all rot. The god in his dreams had told him of the Golden Power, and he would take what was his. The gerudo were his people, but they could rot in the desert for all he cared. They'd had power. They'd lost power. They were beneath him.

"Very well. A week from now, I expect-"

"You're a fool."

A fire danced in Ganondorf's eyes.

"You're a fool," Telthis repeated.

"A harsh assessment, but very well, Fifth Finger – I would hear why."

"Why?" she scoffed. She got to her feet, and Ganondorf saw her hang linger on the top of the dagger in her belt. "How about how you missed the whole point of Sharazan and the Red Marauder?"

"What?" Ganondorf whispered.

"What?' she parroted. "What, as in, I too can read? Or what, as in, you cannot believe your own ignorance?"

Tamina glared at her. "Telthis, you're out of-"

Ganondorf raised a hand. "Let her speak, Third Finger. I would hear the supposed truth that I have missed." He smirked. "Do speak, Fifth Finger. What is the truth of that tale?"

"The truth…" She took a breath. "The moral of the tale is not that we are better served by looking to the east. The moral is that no king should over-exert himself. That conquest for conquest's sake is the road to disaster. That by blindly pursuing glory, all people, and not just our own, will suffer."

"You think I care about other people?" Ganondorf whispered.

"No," Telthis said. "And I doubt you care about your own."

A chill was settling over the room, once that covered skin, and pierced soul. "Choose your words carefully," Ganondorf whispered.

"This war you plot, the glories of which you speak," Telthis said. "They are paths to disaster." She looked over the table. "We are the Council of Thieves. This council rules in the absence of a king." She looked at Ganondorf. "Our king is obviously mad, and if you cannot see that, you are lost."

"You talk treason."

"I talk to a man who has no right to be king."

"I was given the right by virtue of my birth," Ganondorf said. And by the right that is thus ordained, I-"

Telthis struck out at him.

In the split second it took her to draw out her dagger and sprint across the table towards him, he was impressed. The daring. The courage. Courage untempered by wisdom, but courage all the same. But in the split second that followed, the admiration was gone. Her blade went to his neck. He raised his right hand to shield himself, the blade cutting through the palm of his hand. With his left, at a speed that rivalled that of the assassin before him, he grabbed Telthis's head.

"I'm curious," he whispered. "Did you always plan to kill me, or did you just decide to just now?"

Telthis said nothing. She just spat at him as she tried to squirm out of the headlock.

"Doesn't even matter really."

He withdrew his right hand, not even wincing as the steel cut through his flesh. With his right, he tightened his grip on Telthis's head, lifted her up, and began to squeeze. She screamed, dropping her dagger as she struggled to free herself.

"This is my birthright," Ganondorf said to the rest of the council, as he ever tightened his grip. "The birthright and power that I offer to you, provided that you follow me. There is a power that exists, crafted by the hands of golden goddesses. You can take it. You can seize it." He tightened his grip even further. "Or you can be food for the dogs."

He closed his fist in. Telthis let out a final shriek. Bits of skull and muscle splattered everywhere before he dropped the gerudo's body on the table. Her right eyeball, barely attached to the skull, looked up at him. Bereft of life and light.

"One week," Ganondorf said as he picked up the book. "I expect to have something from you by the next time the council meets." He headed for the door, smirking, and pausing in his step as he opened it, looking back at the shocked faces in the room. "Oh, and do get someone to clear that up. And find a Fifth Finger while you're at it."

"Of course, your grace."

"As you will."

"As you command."

"Thy will be done."

He exited the room. Sycophants, the lot of them. Useful sycophants, but still, sycophants. Telthis at least had the courage to act on her convictions.

As he walked through the halls of the fortress, the torches casting a red-hued glow upon his skin, he tucked the book under his left shoulder. At the same time, he looked at his right hand. At the wound that was there. Imagining of what he would seize with his hand. Of three triangles that would be seared upon his flesh once he took the Golden Power for himself. Of how he would fulfil his dreams…and end the whispers that haunted them.

From the wound that Telthis's dagger had made, blood continued to pour out.

A/N

So I'm kind of guilty of cultural appropriation here (maybe, depends how zealous you are). The term "Red Marauder" is one I briefly came across in a book. There's a tribe somewhere that has a term for drought that loosely translates as "Red Marauder" in English. I can't remember if it was stated as the case, but it was implied that the name was reflective of just how destructive drought actually is.

Now, this was only a glance at said book (to the point where I can't even remember its name), and I might be remembering it wrong, but the idea behind it stuck in my head. Enough to get me to drabble this up at least.