Check this out! A Zelda fic! This isn't a fandom I typically deal in, but I've had this idea for a few years (yes, that's years) and playing Twilight Princess finally gave me the juice to finish it!
This takes place directly after the Ocarina of Time, and attempts to encompass elements from Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, and Wind Waker into one continuity. To better understand this story it will be helpful if you know the basic premise of all three games. But, if not, don't fret. If you check out the plot summary of each on Wikipedia you'll get everything you need to know.
A big, huge thanks goes out to my beta-reader, DarkwingPsycho, for looking over this for me. I'm extremely open to reviews, so if you find you have something to say, good or bad, let it out! I would love, love, LOVE to hear from you.
Other than that, enjoy!
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Fall from Grace --------------------
Written
By: Lael Adair
Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden. It was a prosperous land blessed with green forests, tall mountains, and peace.
But one day a man of great evil found the golden power and took it for himself. With its strength at his command he spread darkness across the kingdom. But then, when all hope had died, and the hour of doom was at hand, a young boy clothed in green appeared as if from nowhere. Wielding the Blade of Evil's Bane, he sealed the dark one away and gave the land light.
This boy who traveled through time to save the land was known as the Hero of Time. This boy's tale was passed down through generations until it became legend.
But then, a day came when a fell wind began to blow across the kingdom. The great evil that all thought had been sealed away by the hero once again crept forth from the depths of the earth, eager to resume its dark reigns...
The people believed that the Hero of Time would again come to save them...but the hero did not appear.
- Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker Prologue -
To say Ganondorf "awoke" would have been a mistake. There was no consciousness in the Sacred Realm and, as such, there was no unconsciousness. The state of nonexistence is a raw and terrible one to maintain, and the moment the Dark King realized where he'd been sent, he knew he had to get out.
The void was maddening, beyond maddening—white everywhere with no walls, no ceiling, no floor...nothing in sight to give his surroundings substance, nothing to feel or taste or smell to make sure he was still alive. To die even the most painful of deaths is to slip into oblivion, perhaps awaken again in a soothing paradise or burning hell. But to be banished to the Sacred Realm, alone, is to fester in oblivion with only the knowledge of oblivion to serve as company.
Predictably, Ganondorf railed. He screamed, he writhed, he spit and cursed, he flung fistfuls of nothing to smash into nothing and shatter into a million nothing pieces. He raked nails at his skin trying to invoke pain, hollered defilements to the sky to un-mute his own voice, begged hallucinations to free him from loneliness and depression. But, in the end, it was useless and, in time, he gave up.
Ganondorf was broken. The Sages had won. He collapsed into submission and floated without purpose to await whatever end would claim him, if any. The Sacred Realm was one that knew no time, no interruption, no distraction, and no greater power so absolutely useless...or at least Ganondorf thought.
His salvation came in the form of pain—the clearest of all sensations—though it wasn't his own. He felt it as a pressure towards the back of his neck just above the left shoulder, as if some inconsiderate child were poking him with a stick. Naturally he grasped it as a man drowning in a sea of obscurity, determined to keep it close.
Ganondorf didn't care if it was apparition or reality; the fact that it was something was beyond good enough. But as he clung to it, studied it, he realized it had a story. Within his nonexistent hands materialized a nonexistent thread—one of several occupying the empty space around him. How could he have missed this before? The strings wove between one another in a network of Fates fashioned by the goddesses themselves. Some were thick, others thin, some rough, some smooth, some straight, some frayed and tangled, and all were uniquely colored in magnificent hues...save for one.
Fascinated, Ganondorf reached for the oddity, but as his right hand closed around it the pressure at his shoulder intensified tenfold. A forest engulfed in mist and dancing lights surged through his mind with an almost painful clarity. He released his grip and the image disappeared. When he placed his left palm farther up along the thread he beheld the Temple of Time with equally clear force, followed by a decimated Hyrule castle. Hand over hand the Fate moved between his fingers. There was Darkness and Terror and Suffering, all striking a deep understanding within his soul. But just when the elements reached their cruelest point a light of Hope began to pierce through the shadows, and it was there the Fate looped in a wide circle...and stopped at his back.
Ganondorf recoiled from the future he'd helped spin for Hyrule, along which sat the entire history of evil he'd wrought upon the world. He struggled to digest the realization that this pain he was feeling was the Realm's pain, reality's pain—a literal pain in the fabric of space and time. But what was the meaning of this colorless string?
He turned. Farther down the length of infinity he spotted the point where the sickly thread first broke with the Fate that had birthed it, stretching outward as a decaying branch would from a tree. Tentatively, he placed a hand upon the junction but was struck with such a venomous force of Hate he was thrown backwards into the void, an unheard cry of anguish ripping from his throat. He held a hand to his heart.
The final image had been one of himself, bowing before the king of Hyrule in a false pledge of allegiance.
It was the first moment his quest to find the Sacred Realm had stepped beyond mere ambition.
He spun again to take in the entire sight: Two threads side by side, crossing each other only in parts—one pure and vibrant, the other shriveled and dead. He realized with a sick sense of awe he was looking at a disaccord in Time! Some unnatural hand had reversed the flow of Fate, backtracked to a point more desirable, and allowed the path of reality to construct itself again!
His lips curled in a hateful sneer.
Zelda. It had to be. Only a royal with the mind of a child would contrive such a foolish method to manipulate the Fates. Time was an unceasing river; its course could not be stopped or destroyed, only altered. To completely erase a series of events from the tapestry of the gods...
He found it slightly flattering such drastic recourse was the only way to undo all he had accomplished.
The Triforce of Power burned against the back of his right palm, pulling him away from his thoughts. His eyes drew upward. Far in the distance he saw something shimmer upon the horizon of white. His spirits soared at the thought of another area to explore, and the Triforce of Power glowed against his palm as it helped him draw towards it.
The object was a transparent, yet iridescent, wall—mundane in the usual sense of the word, but priceless in a realm that, before now, had seemed to hold no end. Ganondorf placed his hands upon it with a reverence rarely seen in his character. While it offered no exit, it offered the promise of one.
No place regarded as inescapable needed walls to enclose it.
The glow of the Triforce intensified in strength against the surface resting beneath his hands. Ganondorf let out a gasp as a billowing shadow suddenly burst forward from his palms to extend past the barrier. The power struggled to take shape and finally succeeded in forming the crude outline of a man—himself, perhaps—though stockier in build with uneven proportions. It floated before him with an almost expectant air, though it held no eyes or other facial features to portray any expression.
His first instinct was to speak to it, but he was quickly reminded the Sacred Realm carried no sound as his mouth opened to release only silence. How to make it move closer?
The shade suddenly drifted forward, placing itself as close as possible to the barrier on the other side without touching it. Up close Ganondorf could see it was made of little more than smoke which rendered its body transparent at certain points as the substance wafted within the boundaries of its current shape. Did it respond to thought?
Move back.
Again, the shade obeyed. No stranger to the workings of magic, Ganondorf surmised it was a familiar, though how he'd called it into existence was unknown. He'd learned from experience, however, not to underestimate the survival instinct of the Triforce of Power. At times it seemed to possess a consciousness unnerving even to his eyes.
He pondered over the specter. What to use it for?
Release me.
No response.
Find the Sages.
Again, nothing.
Find Zelda.
The specter disappeared. A paralyzing chill froze Ganondorf to the bone before a shaky image of the interior of the Temple of Time appeared before his eyes.
His heart fluttered in excitement. What was this? Had this thing the ability to travel back and forth across the Sacred Realm?
He blinked several times to clear the image projected within his mind. It was oversaturated in hazy yellow light, making details difficult to distinguish, but a few moments of adjusting taught him to rely on outlines to define his surroundings. The shade was moving out of the Master Sword chamber which now stood open and unsealed for all to access. The light of the three Spiritual Stones resting on the long pedestal outside the door served to nullify a good portion of the shadow creature's limited vision. But as it was moving down the carpet Ganondorf caught sight of something passing it on the left.
Stop!
The shade obeyed.
Turn around!
The scene rotated, and before him Ganondorf saw a small child clothed in green heading towards the pedestal for the Master Sword.
Apparently the familiar was invisible to mortal eyes, for the child's attention never wavered from the intense focus it held on the room where the sword of legend sat. When it stepped into the doorway of the Master Sword chamber it stopped. It stood in place for several minutes as it stared at the windows, the walls, the floor, taking everything in. It dragged a tiny foot across the cracks in the stones beneath its feet, traced its small hands along the side of the entrance. It closed its eyes to listen to the ethereal music floating from no source known to man, and only when nothing seemed to satisfy did it move forward up the stone steps towards the pedestal.
Ganondorf watched as the child stared at the shimmering blue hilt of the Master Sword for what seemed an eternity, its gaze intense enough to have lifted the weapon with its mind. It walked around it once, twice, three times, absorbing every detail on hilt and blade. The methodical behavior looked strange on a child, the intensity something foreign on a face so young. This was the Hero, Ganondorf had known it immediately...but what was he doing?
The Hero stopped his movements. He stood before the sword eyeing it as one both obsessed and terrified by its presence. Then, cautiously, he extended a hand and placed his fingers upon the hilt. His purpose became clear in the empty reverence his tiny fingers held as they caressed every bump and scuff.
He was trying to remember.
The shade's form rippled with the burst of emotion Ganondorf sent surging through it. Had Zelda truly been so foolish? Was her desire to eradicate the fate that had once gripped Hyrule so strong she would rewrite not only Time, but the memory of all those who had lived it? Had she gone so far as to sacrifice the Hero in the aftermath?
Surely she had to have known erasing one future would leave stray elements lingering in the form of distant memories. The people would know in some dark corner of their minds the details of the bleak reality that could have been. The Hero knew now...except the knowledge was no longer conscious. Ganondorf could see in the child's every movement that underneath his thoughts tore at him with images he no longer understood. Instead of rational fears from a past once-lived, these feelings were now paranoia and delusion set upon a mind no longer capable of deciphering what they meant. The Hero knew he felt some way but, in all aspects of how and why, was utterly lost.
Ganondorf sneered.
Such helplessness was a small comfort given the suffering he'd been forced to endure, and further proof a power as great as the Triforce did not belong in the Royal Family's hands. He turned his attention to watch the Hero fumbling to pull the sword out of its pedestal. Apparently there was more purpose here than merely visiting a relic from an undone past.
The child stumbled backwards, the blade free in its hands; the shade waited for its next command.
Follow him.
Ganondorf assumed the Hero would go to Zelda. Plagued by memories too strong to ignore, he was obviously seeking to put the pieces of his identity back into place. In that light it was no surprise the Master Sword had called to him, but when his footsteps turned away from the castle and towards the woods, Ganondorf found himself confused.
This is what defeated me, he thought as he watched the child trip on the dragging tip of the Master Sword slung across its back. The copper-colored horse being led by the reins jerked its head with a snort at the sudden movement. The Hero was making his way towards the boundary separating Hyrule from Termina to the far west, but his path was a winding and seemingly illogical one. He backtracked several times over the course of the day to walk in large circles around the darkest portions of the woods. Ganondorf realized he was looking for something, or perhaps someone. But who did the Hero trust more than Zelda to address the questions that plagued him?
Night fell upon the land. The Hero, exhausted from searching, had switched to riding on horseback and was slumped forward in the saddle only half-awake. He was just reigning in beneath the cover of a large oak tree when something in the thicket caught his attention. He spurred his horse into a gallop and came to a stop in a tiny clearing protected on all sides by a tight formation of trees. The luminance in the area was so intense the scenery appeared to Ganondorf as a circle of white surrounded by black, within which almost nothing was visible. The Hero's green clothes, however, provided a faint mark to follow as he dismounted his horse and walked forward.
He came to a stop in the center of the illuminated circle and began speaking with someone. No voices reached Ganondorf's ears. Though he could see the world playing out before him his senses were just as dull as within the Sacred Realm. As he watched several small orbs drift lazily through the trees he realized this was a fairy glade—something he'd heard of but had never seen. The light in the center must have been from a Great Fairy.
A wayward thought occurred to him. Could that be the companion the Hero was looking for? That annoying insect that had accompanied him? To go to all this trouble for such a worthless creature...
Ganondorf squinted into the light. The Hero turned as a beam of luminance stretched out towards the west in the direction of the fairy's extended arm. Nodding, he walked out of the clearing the way he had entered and grabbed his horse's reins as he passed. Ganondorf and his familiar followed.
The Hero rested once after stopping at the fairy glade but only for a few hours of sleep. It was still dark outside when he brushed the leaves from his tunic and remounted his horse to continue his journey.
His path was now unerringly straight as he made his way west in the direction the Great Fairy had pointed him. Ganondorf became acutely aware the Hero was traveling farther and farther from the heart of Hyrule. It wasn't until the sun began to peek over the horizon, however, projecting blood-red rays across the landscape, that it became apparent how significantly the forest had thinned. Towering pine trees and majestic oaks had been replaced with scraggly dogwoods and low bushes. At mid-morning the Hero stepped out of the woods completely and came to a stop at the edge of the tree line. Before him stretched the expansive grassy plain and the snow-capped mountains he would have to cross to continue his journey.
Ganondorf watched the scene in a mixture of excitement and apprehension, wondering what the Hero would do. Though the child was most likely not aware of it, there was a good reason why he'd stopped, why his palm now twisted around the leather of the reins, why he felt the need to suddenly touch the Master Sword.
The plains that sat before him marked the boundary of the kingdom he was destined to protect. Here, at the edge of the mighty forest surrounding the castle, the reach of the holy land came to an end. To step outside its borders was not just to step outside the range of the Royal Family, but the gods as well.
The Hero had tried through some lingering instinct to assemble the pieces around himself he knew made up his identity—the clothes, the horse, the sword—but without any experiences to accompany them they were mere things. Dead in his hands, the Triforce of Courage was equally useless, though it was still capable of exercising its ultimate responsibility: Preserve the savior of Hyrule.
The forces pulling at the Hero were evident simply from looking at his face. He wanted to take a step forward, no task in the world was simpler, except every fiber of his being screamed against it. But without the knowledge of his identity and the horror, sorrow, and suffering that came with it, the urge to protect Hyrule was justified by nothing. The questions were too many, the void in his soul too complete.
Zelda had ensured the Triforce would lose this battle.
Ganondorf screamed in muted triumph as the child took its first step into the plains. He watched in mad excitement as the Triforce of Courage removed itself, unseen, from the Hero's being and hovered above his head as a blinding ball of white. It spun lazily in place for a dozen heartbeats before shattering into eight separate pieces and spiraling off into the distance. As the Hero continued walking, unaware of what had happened, Ganondorf saw the faint light always present in the Master Sword finally fade from existence.
Native to Hyrule, no piece of the Triforce could ever be removed from its borders. By setting foot outside the protected realm of the gods the Hero of Time had forfeited his status and sent the Triforce of Courage to seek another master.
The prison around Ganondorf immediately began to shift. He could feel it. Where once two Triforce pieces had kept his prison in tact, now only one remained...and one Triforce piece, be it Wisdom or Courage, was not strong enough to stand up against Power.
With a terrible explosion of vengeful triumph Ganondorf shattered the wall standing before him and called his familiar back to guide him to the mortal plane. He awoke shaken and weak on the floor of the Temple of Time alongside the empty sword pedestal. The Triforce of Power pulsed weakly on the back of his palm. He was drained, but he was alive and—he touched his chest—real.
"I...live..." he choked out. It felt so good to hear his voice again! He placed his hands upon the ground and pressed his forehead to the cold stone, relishing in the feel of it. The soft music of the temple's unseen chanters was, for the first time, holy to his ears.
His eyes drew up burning with the flame of revenge—revenge against Zelda and the Royal Family. Ganondorf stood on shaky legs and turned towards the direction he knew the castle to be, seeking its spires through the stained glass windows of the temple. A nagging fear, however, caused him to pause.
His hand fell upon his waist where he drew a long, black blade into life and sought his reflection in the metal. Over his shoulder he could clearly see a shadow of the Hero as he'd known him, grown with sword raised and ready to strike. Even without the Triforce of Courage he could still develop into that force again. But now he was a child—vulnerable, weak.
The sword snapped back into its scabbard with a determined click. Cape fluttering, Ganondorf turned and made his way out of the church towards Lon Lon Ranch.
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He followed the Hero's trail as it snaked onward towards Termina, but at the edge of the forest framing the foreign land all signs of passage ceased. He turned to the east and scoured the mountains. He angled south to search the deserts and seas. Remaining in the shadows, his identity unknown, he combed cities and towns following rumors of the fabled swordsman. But the Hero's movements were as difficult to track as a Sheikah moving in the night, and Ganondorf's efforts yielded a collective nothing.
By the time he returned to the Gerudos in the heart of Hyrule the hunt had become an obsession. Keeping his presence a secret from the world he used the pack of female thieves to search places he'd been unable to go for fear of being recognized. The Zoras, the Gorons, the Kokiri, the Hylians—all the peoples of Hyrule fell under the shadow of a sudden and mysterious uprising in Gerudo activity. The bandits were allowed to steal as they saw fit but never destroy or kill to excess. It was made clear their movements had to look natural and undirected—a simple campaign to increase profits for the tribes.
In the night, however, they eyed every young man with special attention, and tested every youth who could wield a sword in hopes of finding the One their master sought.
It took them thirty-seven years.
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Ganondorf narrowed his eyes as he raced through Hyrule Field on the back of his ebony steed. The horse's nostrils burst forth a jet of steam, its muscles coiling and lengthening under the hot sun to catch beams of light in its own sweat. At its neck the reigns hung loose, allowing the animal its head to run at its fullest. Ganondorf was too excited to ride hard on the bit today.
The pair burst into the forest in a shatter of leaves, sending sunlight penetrating deep into the shadowy cocoon wound by the flora. The horse struggled to find footing amidst the twisted roots weaving through the ground beneath its feet. Ganondorf unleashed his wicked blade to slash at any branches that dared try to frustrate his forward charge. He was headed towards the north past the castle where a lone Gerudo lookout had spotted a swordsman making his way through the forest. The details were sketchy after traveling the length of Hyrule in code from sentry to hidden sentry, but enough had survived to attract Ganondorf to investigate. His blade swung at the vines in his path as it hummed a dull lament.
Wood and bark would not satisfy what it thirsted for.
He wrenched his horse to a stop in the thicket as he heard a lilting bird call echo through the trees. Two Gerudos dropped soundlessly to the ground before him; he leapt off his horse, blade in hand.
"Take the steed back into the woods!" he commanded, throwing the reigns at the nearest thief. "Wait there! Approach for nothing!" He grinned into the reflection on his blade. "I will call for you."
The women nodded and disappeared. Ganondorf continued onward alone.
His first glimpse of the swordsman came through a grove of thin birch saplings wilting under the sun even beneath the canopy's shade. The man's eyes were already focused in his direction despite the curtain of trees and bushes that separated them.
Ganondorf smiled. A child of the forest.
"You there!" the man called. "Are you friend or foe?"
The Dark King stepped forward through the trees, his sword unsheathed, but made no efforts to answer. The swordsman was dressed in brown leather, archery guards on both wrists, a canteen lined with silver at his waist. His height was the same—close to half of Ganondorf's own—and the fair skin and pointed ears hailed him as a definite member of the Hylian race. His hair was much shorter and darker from age, but it was his eyes that gave him away. For while no recognition stirred within their depths, a spark of an ancient hatred imbued across the ages still glimmered strong enough to match Ganondorf's own.
The swordsman shifted his weight, his hand sliding over his right shoulder. "I said: Are you friend or foe?"
Across his back he wore two blades tilted together at the same angle: One was silver with a hilt of bronze, the other was wrapped in a protective cloth. He only reached for one. The silver blade sang as it came to an easy rest by his side.
"Hello, Hero of Time" Ganondorf said. "Though I suppose it's just 'Link' now, isn't it?" He smiled at the man's look of surprise. "You lack a distinct glow you used to possess. Tell me: What lies in that parcel resting across your back?"
"I don't see what business it is of yours."
"Is it a blade, perhaps? One you haven't been able to touch since youth? If not, and you can fight with one in each hand, draw it for me." Ganondorf rotated his own sword in a vertical circle. "I welcome the challenge."
Link scowled. "I don't care to engage in contests more befitting of children. If you have business with me, state it, and be on your way."
Ganondorf gestured towards the trees at the swordsman's back. "You have evaded me for a long time, searching out there. Did you find what you were looking for? Did the smiles of those strangers during the day and the screams of those friends in your terrors at night lend any answers to the questions that burn in your soul? The reflection in your eyes tells me no. You have Princess Zelda, the Royal Family, and the gods of this land to thank for that."
"Somehow I think it has more to do with you."
Ganondorf laughed in appreciation. Though his memories may have been shattered, the contempt in Link's voice was as strong as ever. Even when stripped of his destiny and tossed into the life of a normal mortal it seemed some elements could still be stirred to life.
"You hate this place..." Ganondorf hissed, nodding in understanding. "I can feel it. Something about it has twisted your soul into an ugly knot that you've spent a lifetime trying to undo. In that, and that alone, we are the same." He raised his sword. "But this time you will be the one to fail!"
With that, he lunged, leaving Link barely enough time to leap out of the way before a black blade slammed into the ground where he had once stood. The weapon changed course in a heartbeat, seeking a path towards his chest, but the swordsman interlocked his blade with Ganondorf's and twisted to knock it aside. In two steps he disappeared from sight. Ganondorf deflected an attempted stab at his ribs with the metal guard wrapped around his left forearm. Link leapt backwards from the retaliating strike.
The two men circled one another—wolves gauging the enemy. Ganondorf was not surprised to find his opponent skilled with a blade. It was evident simply in the way Link carried himself, sword in hand or not, that he was tested in the arts of battle despite his altered upbringing. The largest disadvantage he had in this fight was size, and Ganondorf was intent on exploiting it.
He rushed his opponent again; Link waited for him to come. The two clashed blades, sparks flying in the air, but Link had underestimated his opponent's strength. He was forced a step backward as Ganondorf's towering height overpowered him with leverage, and in the opening that followed, received a blow to his chest from an elbow. Ganondorf pressed his advantage further. As Link stumbled backwards he slashed down with his blade, both hands on the hilt, forcing all his power into the blow. Link saw it coming and slipped underneath to jam the tip of his weapon into Ganondorf's unprotected stomach. The blade glanced off a plate of armor and deflected to the side to take a slice from his torso. Ganondorf retaliated with a spinning slice that found its mark on the swordsman's arm.
He stepped forward to slash again, diagonal this time, and connected on the thigh. The following swing that would have taken Link's head was buried in a tree before it could complete. Ganondorf felt a direct stab launched directly into his back but, again, the Gerudo armor hidden beneath his clothes protected him. He twirled to meet his opponent's sword before any part of the edge could reach his neck.
The smell of blood now permeating the air propelled both men into a furious dance of flashing metal and bestial growls. No distraction existed except the intrusions of the terrain; no pain was felt except that of the enemy's. Link stepped forward to stab at Ganondorf's heart. His sword met metal and twisted upwards to dig into the sensitive flesh lining the seam along the breastplate. Ganondorf spun in both pain and a need to escape while whipping his sword up in an arc to protect him as he withdrew. A quick clash of metal, a twist of the body, and suddenly Link was disarmed. A thick hand seized him by the throat to lift him off the ground.
"I win" Ganondorf sneered mere inches from his captive's face. "Without the Triforce of Courage you are nothing! Nothing!"
Link struggled in the air as he was given a rough shake, clawing at the fingers restricting his throat.
"But you will not die with that look in your eyes. No. You will die knowing everything I am about to take from you!"
Before Link could move a second hand was placed along the side of his face. The Triforce of Power burned against Ganondorf's palm with a voracious glow before exploding in a ball of light. The swordsman's blue eyes opened wide, and for an ecstasy that lasted a mere heartbeat of time Ganondorf finally saw horror in the Hero's soul.
His raised his blade in thralls of victory and plunged the tip deep into his enemy's abdomen. The Hero was released and fell to the ground with a hand held to his midsection, the blood spilling freely between his fingers. Ganondorf bent down with a sneer and plucked the Master Sword effortlessly from the back of his enemy.
He took a moment to admire his treasure still wrapped in its protective cloth. When his gaze returned downward he was surprised to see the Hero glaring up at him in defiance. The ragged breaths following each exhalation of his lungs belied the vehement fire burning in his eyes.
"I...am not...the...last...one" he choked out, his words gurgling in his throat.
Ganondorf smiled and raised his sword.
"Fool. You were the only one."
And with a massive swing of his blade, he executed the man by severing his head.
He turned from the victory with a sigh of sublime content and lolled his head back to survey the light shining through the canopy above him with a distinctive twilight glow. A whistle floated outward from his lips. Moments later, a voice addressed him.
"You called, my King?"
Ganondorf glanced down into the faces of the two Gerudo sentries he'd encountered earlier. "Bring me my horse" he said as he strode through them. "Tonight we attack the castle."
End
-moment of silence-
Poor Link...
I have a writing livejournal that I use as a subsidiary to my ffnet account. In the next couple of days I'll be posting an entry with all the "extras" for this story (production notes, deleted scenes, random facts, etc.) for your viewing pleasure. To check it out just follow the URL from my ffnet homepage for the "Cutting Room Floor" and click on "Extras."
Other than that, I hope this offered itself as at least a semi-good read. If you saw something you liked or saw something that needs some fixing don't be afraid to drop me a review (or IM or email or whatever)—I always love hearing from readers.