Female Link

She's bleeding.

It's inevitable, really. She's been fighting since the early hours of the morning, has encountered countless monsters blocking her way, has triumphed from them all. She has carved a path through the corruption, and she has paid the cost. In blood, oozing from her numerous wounds, dripping down her sword arm, in sweat, clammy on her skin, making her tunic stick to her, and in the plain exhaustion that's weighing down on her, blunting her reflexes and her thoughts.

Oh, that exhaustion. It's seeping into her, as corrosive as the black tar-like substance that's all over the castle, that strange dark goo stripped with bands of magenta that pulse like angry veins. Feels like she's been fighting for hours—for days. Truthfully, she's been fighting ever since she woke up in that hidden shrine on the Great Plateau, ever since she picked up a stick and used it to fend off a Bokoblin. Yes, she's been fighting for months, across all Hyrule, through sweeping plains and snow-capped mountains, through arid deserts and blazing volcanoes.

And she's so tired of it.

Tired of the voice, too, the voice in her head urging her to hurry, hurry Link, come to the castle Link, I need you Link. It's a voice she hears in her dreams too, and she has never known a sound night's sleep since she woke up in the first place.

So tired.

But she can't stop. She can't stop, she's almost there.

Almost to the throne room, almost to Zelda, almost to her destiny. Each step forward feels like fate. Inevitable, always meant to happen, and step and step and step, there is no stopping her.

Hurry Link, come to me, Link.

"Yes, I know," she grinds out.

Another step on the weathered stones, then another. She turns the corner of the crumbling corridor, and there's a Moblin in her way. She doesn't think. Her sword flashes, the blade sings a song of murder, and the monster's body falls to the ground, cleanly bisected.

She walks on.

The castle is at once familiar and alien. She's passed through the dining hall, the observation room, the armory, and she recognizes these corridors, these walls, these stones. She knows this place, walked through here one hundred years ago, doing her duty, shadowing the princess, protecting her. She doesn't recognize the crumbling towers, torn down by brutal forces, doesn't recognize the pulsing masses of black and magenta that cling to the stone, breathing malice, encasing the whole castle in a corrosive embrace, doesn't recognize the sky, roiling with golden-red clouds that drift over her head far too quickly, at an unnatural pace.

Familiar, alien. That's how she feels, too. A girl a hundred years out of place, still doing what she was meant for.

A score more of dead Moblins, a Guardian Skywatcher brought down by two of her lightning arrows, more blood on her, a new burning wound down her left side, and she reaches the plaza outside the throne room. Gravel crunches under her feet. The eagle statues on either side of the entrance sport broken wings, and, for the statue on the left, a broken beak. She wonders if time did that, or if it was the corruption, eroding away the symbols of an erstwhile glory. Then she wonders if it matters at all.

She steps forward, grasping the handle of her glowing sword in her trembling hand. It's been like this ever since she stepped inside the castle's walls. Her sword, glowing. Her hand, trembling.

One more step, and finally, finally...

She's there.

The throne room is intact, exactly as she remembers it. The white paved stone under her feet, the marble pillars forming in a circle around the entire room, like a crown, the delicately carved flowers and fruits running up and down the marble, the two thrones padded with red velvet, and above, the Triforce symbol forged of a single piece of metal, hanging suspended, as shiny and polished as Link ever saw it, as if no force could tarnish it.

None of that has changed. There is, however, a new addition, and she stares, because—

It's a man.

A man, sitting on the throne, one leg casually draped over the other. A Gerudo man, tall, muscular, with greenish brown skin, a regal face, golden eyes and a thick mane of fiery red hair. He's wearing armor, black leather molded to his body, though his arms are bare, showing off his muscles. The outfit is completed by a cape, red and black and long, adorned with gold accents.

Something sparks in Link's memory. She knows this man. Somehow, she knows him. Has met him before, a long, long time ago. Fought him before? She can't remember. She only has this feeling in her gut, telling her they've met.

She stares some more at him. She expected a beast, a lumbering giant sleeping in the heart of the castle, something foul and vile contained by Zelda's magic. Not a man, and certainly not a man like this, relaxed and at ease, exuding coiled power. A snake hidden in the grass, ready to strike.

He watches her in kind, lips upturned in a slight smile, eyes dark and full of shadows despite the pure gold of his pupils. Clever eyes. Dangerous eyes. No doubt he sees everything she is. Heroine, protector of the realm, ready to fight. Exhausted, too. Confused.

"Welcome, Link," the man says, with a confident smile that shows a glint of his white teeth.

And her heart stops, starts again at a frantic rhythm half a breath later. Because his voice—that's—she knows this voice. She knows it intimately, for it has been whispering in her ears since she woke up.

It was never Zelda speaking to her.

It was him.

All this time, him.

She wanted it to be Zelda. She ignored the fact that the voice didn't sound feminine, reasoning that the corruption could have been affecting the princess. She ignored the tone, urgent as to become imperative sometimes. She ignored the way the voice purred when she'd just done something particularly spectacular, telling her you've done well, Link or commenting that was impressive, such strength in you.

Ignored it all, and now she can't.

Now she sees him, and she hears the truth. His truth. She has fought all the way here, and she hasn't faltered once, but in this moment, she stumbles. Hesitates, and isn't sure what to do. It lasts a second. Then she grips her sword tighter, and, pointing it at the man, she asks him the only question that matters.

"Where is the princess?"

They are the only two occupants of the throne room. There isn't a single strand of golden hair to be seen, and if it was never her voice Link heard all this time... is she even alive? The thought draws a shudder from her strained muscles.

"The princess is currently resting in her bedchambers," the man replies, in a low voice that commands all of her attention. "Would you like to go see her?"

"Yes," Link says, narrowing her eyes at him.

His name starts with a G, she's pretty sure. Gi...? Ga...? Something. It's coming back, too slowly, too late.

He stands, and she wasn't ready for how tall he really is. Sitting down, his true height wasn't as evident. He has three heads on her. If they fight—no, no, when they fight, his reach will far surpass hers. His strength, too. And she's so tired...

He takes a few steps toward her, his cape falling behind him, the golden threads capturing the light. Link sinks into her battle stance, gauging the way he moves, all sleek and predatory. The sword sheathed at his right hip looks to be twice the size of hers. She hopes he's slow. Someone this massive can't move very quick... can he?

"I'm sure you know the way," he says, and there is just the slightest hint of mockery in his tone.

"You first."

She'll stab him in the back if she has to.

He nods, as if her request is entirely reasonable, moves closer to her, stops when there are only a few feet between them. Cocks his head.

"Just one thing ere we depart to see the princess." He holds out one hand, palm up. "Your sword, if you please."

"My sword."

Her voice is toneless.

"Yes," the man says, making the word one long solicitous syllable. "I'm afraid such a weapon would frighten our dear Zelda. You know how delicate her sensibilities are."

Zelda is anything but delicate. Link chooses to let the comment pass unchallenged.

"I'm not planning to attack her," she replies.

In fact, she should be attacking him. Why isn't she? He surprised her, this man, and he knows more than she does, but there is no doubt he is the source of the corruption that is plaguing Hyrule. Her duty is clear. She must strike him down. She will.

"Nevertheless, I must insist," the man says.

"Why do you want my sword so badly?"

It has to be about the sword, because it's certainly not about Zelda, or her supposed fear of weapons. Link's thoughts are heavy, their edges all blunt, but she can still work that out. The man gives her a cutting smile. No niceties here. His smile is as sharp as her sword is.

"What do you know about your sword?" he asks.

"It's powerful," she says, which is the most obvious answer in the world. "Ancient, too. It has a name. The Master Sword."

"It's the only weapon that can destroy me," the man says in a near murmur.

"So you want to break it."

"No." His gaze hardens, flashes red. "I want to corrupt it."

Another flash, like lightning, striking at her. She parries the blow, feels the impact down to her bones when their swords cross. He had drawn his weapon frighteningly quickly, and is just as quick when he steps back, attacks again from the side. Her arms burn, her head rings with the clang of the metal clashing. No, he's not slow at all. He might be faster than her, tired as she is from carving her path in blood.

His massive frame looms in her field of vision as he pushes against her sword. She braces her feet, holds her ground despite how all of her burns from the strain. He is still smiling at her, and the way he looks at her, looks at her blade, it's so familiar, his golden eyes sparkling with a kind of smug superiority that she definitely hates. Yes, she hates him. She did before, and she does now, hates him, hates Ga—

"Ganon," she gasps, stepping back and letting his sword whistle past her, harmlessly.

He smirks.

"You remembered. I'm flattered."

The name came back to her. And there's something else about him.

"Ganon," she says again.

It's a feeling, wrapped with the name, underneath the hatred. The reason—

"You betrayed us," she whispers.

She slashes at him, aiming for his side at a high angle. He deflects, strikes back almost lazily. It still takes her all her dwindling strength to withstand his retaliation.

"I was never on your side, Link."

He spins, his sword slicing through the air, and she rolls away at the last instant, hears the weapon strike the floor behind her. She's on her feet again, just in time to parry his lunge, a low strike angled toward her legs. Their weapons meet briefly, the contact jarring, and her sword is nearly yanked out of her hand. She manages to keep hold of it, but a shooting pain up her wrist lets her known she won't be able to do that twice. Grasping her sword with both hands, she switches her stance. She doesn't fight that way usually, only uses that technique against really big enemies, or when she needs to add extra power to her strikes. The situation qualifies for both criteria.

Ganon takes a few seconds to examine her, his eyes roving over her. There's something in them that—something she's seen before, hasn't she?

"What else do you remember?" he says, bringing his massive sword in contact with hers, his blade caressing her own.

"You're a traitor."

"Yes, we've established that. What do you remember about us?"

He says the last word with a particular inflection, like it should mean something to her. She answers with her sword. He bats away the point of her blade, slams her right shoulder with the flat of his weapon. It stings, that's all. No cut, no blood. He could have hurt her so much more.

"Why?" she says, hiding behind her guard with the sinking feeling that it is no protection at all, not against him.

"What do you remember?" he asks again.

His questions comes with another strike from the flat of his blade. She's too slow to parry it, it connects with her leg. He rotates the blade when he pulls it back, and the sharp edge slices through her tunic, through her flesh below. She winces at the pain.

"Nothing," she says. "Just—just your name."

"Perhaps this will jog your memory," he says.

And then he's on her, hammering at her with heavy strikes, fast and vicious, and all she can do is dodge, dodge, dodge, praying that none of his blows connect because that will be her end. She'll lose a limb, or her head.

He's too fast, she thinks, staggering back. How can anyone be this big and this fast?

She parries an overhead strike because she has no choice, and the force of it knocks her down to her knees. It happened like that, once. She's been there before, on her knees with her sword above her, the only defense against his blade. But... it was grass under her, then. Grass, and the warmth of a summer sun on her skin, and calm confidence in her veins. They were... dueling.

I would expect the princess's protector to be a formidable warrior, he had said.

Link is the most promising knight in the kingdom, Zelda had replied.

I would like a demonstration.

And they had fought... She doesn't remember who had won.

The large blade lifts again, and he makes it spin with a flourish. One flashy move, which gives her time, enough to get back on her feet and brace herself, before he goes back to unleashing a storm of strikes upon her. She backs away, letting her instinct take over, tell her when to move and where his blade will strike. He's smiling while he swings his sword, and for now she's successful in avoiding it.

But it can't last long, this dance of theirs. Her grip is slipping on her sword's handle, slick with sweat, the muscles in her back and arms are burning with exertion, and with every second that passes, the world weighs a little more on her. So it ends, of course, because it was always going to end.

Her back hits the wall. A startled breath rushes out of her, and she raises her sword, and it's—

Not enough.

His blade slips past her defenses, opens a new wound on her arm. She jerks away, rolling to the side. The blade catches her again, in the back. Link screams as it traces a burning path near her spine, as the pain flares bright and more of her blood spill. She turns sideways, slashing her sword blindly. Doesn't hit him, of course not, she wouldn't, she knew that...

She reverses her grip and slashes again at him, trying to keep him away any way she can. He stalks closer, parries her blade, adds another cut to her thigh, in a nonchalant way that feels downright insulting.

"You were doing a better job last time," he says. "Have those long years made you lose your skills?"

I forgot everything! she wants to scream. All because of you, you did this!

But she doesn't have time to talk. He's coming at her again with those insane strikes, not letting her breathe, not letting her think. There's another wall at her back. No, not a wall. One of the thrones, blocking her, and when she tries to duck left his blade cuts her arm, and when she tries to duck right his blade cuts her leg. It's not a sword, it's a lightning strike that he's wielding with absolute precision.

"A pity," he says, as she struggles to lift her sword.

He angles his blade across hers, forces her arm down, then he steps closer, and his fist comes up. It strikes her clean in the jaw. Pain explodes at the point of impact, her vision goes white for a debilitating instant. She reels, dazed, bites her tongue so she won't black out.

A rough hand cups her chin. Fingers pry her sword from her grasp.

"No," she gasps.

"This is mine," Ganon says.

He holds her blade up near her face, caresses her cheek with the sharp edge of her own weapon. Link trembles.

"It will never be yours," she spits at him.

She tries to kick, but he simply absorbs the blow by stepping closer. His thighs are touching hers now, the heat of his body burning her, fingers still tight around her chin. He's hunched over her, leaning down so he can look her in the eyes, much too close for her liking. His size is as intimidating as the look on his face, a victorious sort of grin that spells nothing good for her.

"Do you know what the weak point of any weapon is?" he murmurs, tilting her blade so the point kisses her throat.

She stops breathing. He's going to run her through with her own blade, and that's how she'll die for the second time, choking on her own blood with ten inches of metal through the throat. There'll be no resurrection this time.

Ganon's eyes glint, red sparking in their depths.

"Its wielder," he says.

There's movement, a rush of air, and the sound of metal, quivering. She blinks, surprised to find she's still alive. Just above her head, her sword sings still, wedged sideways into the padded headrest of the throne. Not her throat, then. She blinks again, disoriented.

Ganon yanks her forward, then, quick as a viper, he cracks the back of her head against the side of the throne. White explodes behind her eyelids. She hears herself make a weak noise, her breath hissing out of her. Her ears ring, her heart skipping several beats.

The world is pain, the world is confusion.

She vaguely feels herself toppling forward, doesn't meet the cold marble of the floor. Instead, strong, warm arms close around her. She's being lifted, moved. Reality swims away from her, coming back in flashes.

A smile, sharp-toothed and hungry.

A hot palm settling at the small of her back.

A voice in the crook of her ear, telling her she tried her best.

Lips sliding along her cheek, murmuring her name, a thumb brushing an open cut, making blood flow.

Her head throbs. She blinks, groans. The flashes coalesce, slowly, into one unique picture. There are hands on her, on her bare skin. Ganon is smiling, looking down at her. He's sitting on the throne, and she's in his lap, facing him, mostly naked. As she processes the situation, his big hands grab the front of her pants, rip the tissue to shreds. The soft white cotton garment that she's worn almost her entire journey tears like paper in his hands. A shiver snakes down her spine. Her hands scrabble forward, seeking to stop him. He captures them in one hand, holds them down effortlessly, and keeps disrobing her.

"Wait," she says.

She can't focus. Pain is hazing her thoughts, the back of her head still hurts so much, every wound on her body pulsing in time with her frantic heartbeat.

A large hand spread her legs further.

"Wait..."

Her smallclothes are ripped away, and his fingers are there, on her, between her thighs, touching. They're slick with... her blood, oh, that's her blood. Her rubs her folds, gently, the rough pad of his fingers massaging her, spreading slickness around. She's panting, her skin flushed, her head pounding. Her wrists are still immobilized, caught in his hand that acts like a shackle, and she should fight, she should struggle, but she can't even think.

"Your death was never in my plans," he says, his hand sliding up her side, a slow, bloody caress upon her wounds. "Things went awry, that day."

His fingers curl around the swell of her breast. He plucks at her nipple, twisting it, pinching it. His eyes are heavy on her, taking in her curves as he keeps touching her. He probes at her wounds, gropes her ass, slides his hand up her spine until it reaches the back of her neck. The weight of his hand there comes with another half-remembered memory. A shadowed corridor, his large frame looming over her, his hand curling around her neck, and his voice, a low, heated rumble, anything you want, I can give.

"...don't want you," she gets out through numb lips.

"I was supposed to marry the princess. It was a tedious, typical arrangement. A bond that would forge an alliance between our people, long negotiated when Zelda was but a child."

His thumb is slotted into the hollow of her throat, caressing the vulnerable point with deceptive tenderness.

"Then I met you," he continues. "Her silent protector, skilled with a blade, mysterious, beautiful. And I wanted you for myself."

"No," Link says, achingly aware she's naked in his lap, legs spread obscenely wide, intimate places on display.

"That's what you said back then, too."

His iron grip shifts to her throat. He squeezes, enough that she feels the pressure on her windpipe, enough that she's having trouble breathing.

"I'm not a man who takes no for an answer," Ganon snarls softly.

His hand slides down, until his fingers are back between her legs, working more of her blood there. He prods and he pushes, playing around her entrance. Link feels like she's in a dream—a nightmare. The throb of pain is constant, her vision is still slightly blurry, and Ganon's hands are too hot, too wrong. His touch gives her the same shivers the corrupting sludge all over the castle did, it seeps and it corrodes, it wants to eat, to drag her down into its maw and swallow her down.

She is being consumed.

Ganon pushes one long finger inside her, slick with her own blood, watches her reaction with heavy-hooded eyes. It stretches her, scrapes along her walls, and she shudders, her whole body quivering, too exhausted to fight. She barely has enough energy to stay conscious, though perhaps passing out would be a mercy. She doesn't think he would let her.

"Have you waited for me?" Ganon asks as he adds another finger inside her.

Link winces at the burning pain of being spread open in this manner, looks away. Ganon chuckles, seemingly pleased. He keeps moving his fingers into her channel for another minute, perhaps, before he withdraws them and works open his pants. He pulls his member out, giving it a couple of lazy pumps. Panic squeezes Link's heart at the sight of his erection—enormous, blunt head, thick shaft, rising expectantly toward her.

"No," she says, again.

There's no way that thing fits inside her.

When Ganon grabs her hips and starts lifting her, she tenses. And that's all she does, all she can do. He positions her right over his erect cock, notches the head of it at her opening. He pauses for a second, looking at her with a keen expression, perhaps waiting for her to beg, or say something, tell him no again. She stays silent.

"I'm afraid this will hurt," he says.

He yanks her hips down in one swift movement. Link's scream gets stuck in her throat. It feels like he's splitting her in two with his member. Her buttocks are flush with his thighs, and she's sitting on him, the entire length of his cock buried inside her, her intimate muscles fluttering against the intrusion. It burns, it burns, like nothing ever has.

He makes a low noise of satisfaction, rolls his hips, grinding up against her. It feels worse. She jerks when he does it again, whimpering, swallowing back the pleas that rise to her lips. They will amount to nothing.

"I thought about this so many times," Ganon says, his hands burning on her hips, his cock burning inside her, all of it, burning.

He moves, slowly at first, a gradual grind, little twitches of his hips. She feels every tiny movement, her breath hitching, her thighs trembling, and she thinks she might fall apart from this, that she isn't made to handle that. There's so much pressure between her legs, inside her, it's dizzying, his cock a heated blade that parts through the very core of her, wounding her so deeply she's going to bleed forever.

Ganon sits up straighter, the sudden movement changing the angle of him inside her, and she yelps in a rather undignified manner, shocked at the burst of sensations that come with it. He smiles, leering at her.

"This is how we're meant to be, Link. You're meant to take my cock while I sit on the throne."

He lifts her, and she feels every inch of his cock as it leaves her, the slow drag of his flesh along her raw, bruised inner walls. He stops just as the tip of him rests inside her, brings her back down abruptly, burying himself back to the root. Her body stiffens, muscles tightening again, her spine tensing like the string of a bow. She's so full, too full, he's too big, she can't take him—

"No, no," she rasps, head tipped back, fighting to draw breath.

Ganon groans, jerks his hips up, his thighs shaking. He lifts her a second time, impales her again, moving his hips as he brings her down. It's rough, jolting, feels like he's stabbing her from the inside, and he does it again, and again, forcing her into an even rhythm. He moves her up and down on his cock, like she weighs nothing, like he owns her and can do whatever he wants to her.

She's breathing in tight little hiccups, hands curled around his arms in a bid to steady herself, trying to withstand this. The repeated bumping motions tear noises from her lips, moans and whimpers and things she doesn't have a name for. The pain is still there, but there's something else too, a thrilling sensation that lights up every nerve, coils in the pit of her belly every time his cock brushes against a certain spot inside her, unrelenting friction, flaring up time and time again. It doesn't feel like any pleasure Link has ever experienced: it's starker, rawer, the true twin of pain.

The sounds they make resonate around the throne room, the acoustics made for carrying the king's voice ensuring Link hears everything in shameful details. Her moans, the slap of skin on skin, the grunts Ganon gives when his member fills her to the hilt. It's a symphony of lewdness, and she's thankful nobody's there to witness it.

Ganon suddenly leans forward until his lips are touching her throat. He licks her there, his tongue hot and wet, a foul thing debasing her further. She gasps when he nibbles at the side of her throat, and he chuckles.

"That got you to tighten around me in the most interesting way," he says.

His mouth trails down, to her breasts, catches a nipple. He does things to it with his tongue that leave Link breathless, that make glittering shards of jagged pleasure pulse to life in her abdomen. She whimpers, more small noises leaking from her lips, and she knows her body has betrayed her by now, that Ganon's cock is wet with more than her blood. She never imagined her first time would look like this. She wanted it to be soft and slow, a thing of love, shared around a campfire under a starry sky. Instead she gets violence, blood, and a monster.

Ganon sucks at her breasts, occasionally adding scrapes of his teeth, while his pace grows more vigorous. He slams her down on his shaft again and again, more violently each time, and she's starting to feel lightheaded. Her vision blurs, her head throbs. Her body is battered both by pleasure and pain, a double-edged sword that will rend her apart.

"No," she mumbles, trying to deny what is going to happen.

"You're going to come for me," Ganon says, adding a hard thrust to punctuate his sentence. "You're going to come hard."

Before she can protest, it happens. Her body is surging with overwhelming sensations, a bursting sort of feeling, lightning in her veins, fire on her skin, her spine bending. She's helpless to stop it. It crashes over her, sending her into a series of spasms, each one at once wretchedly painful and primally blissful. Ganon's hands dig into the meat of her hips, and he forces them even closer, grinding his swollen shaft into her clenching channel. Pleasure starbursts anew, so acute it wipes away the pain and makes her keen.

Ganon's mouth is still on her breasts, sucking, his tongue a hot lash. Then he's groaning, loudly, biting down on the soft flesh of her right breast. His member twitches deep inside her, followed by a rush of heat that burns her bruised walls. He comes for long seconds, her own body encouraging it, pulsing around his pumping shaft while her orgasm winds down.

There's one last spasm wracking her before she slumps down, her chest heaving, her head buzzing. Ganon licks the bite mark he gave her, his cock twitching weakly inside her, spurting the last of his release. She whimpers, disgustingly aware of the amount of semen he just ejaculated in her, slick and hot and burning.

She feels soiled. Stained by corruption.

"You're mine, hero of light," Ganon rumbles, before pressing a kiss to her lips.

Harsh, claiming, sealing the truth of his words. There's no escaping it. She belongs to him now.

Darkness swirls up from below her, a maw that waits to swallow her.

She lets herself fall.