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Cycles Cycles Cycles and he always remembers even if they only have Prophecy to guide him.
He is tired of loosing, and while he still wants to crush this world and hold the Triforce in his own two hands, he is tired of feeling the kiss of the sword, every. Single. Time.
He spends lifetimes preparing, one reincarnation to the next. He wins small battles, but looses them as soon as his machinations are enough to trigger the hero's rightousness.
He wants to win a battle of a generation, he wants to not kiss that blade.
Ganondorf changes his preparations.
He gathers his armies and crafts his monsters, he drives them mad and holds them by a short chain. He is daring, but not at all--he pushes much of his power into a gem, leaving him weak, and should he die it will wreak untold destruction. But then, he is not planning on winning the normal way.
He does not ruin the land, nor obscure the secrets or powers, he leaves the path wide open to him.
The hero comes to him to deal with him, and Ganondorf does offer him a deal.
The Hero can never not save people, can he now? He is ever willing to pay with his own pain to stop destruction, isn't he?
This isn't much different, to take his blows, his armor flimsy leather his pain...well not much pain at all, usually.
Generations. Life times. The boy is a sword and isn't used to such delights. He sobs when Ganondorf covers him, cores him like an apple, and Ganandorf feeds him thin slices of the fruit from his fingers as his whore shivers, full of his cum.
The boy forgot, or never realized, what it means to be Gerudo. Ganandorf was to father a generation, not in a village, but in his entire tribe. When Ganandorf is ready in earnest the hero gets little rest and his flat stomach swells and pouches before the night is done, what was meant for more than a hundred all with in his tight pale body.
Ganondorf takes a quirt in hand, because the boy has yet to learn to hold in what his master so graciously gives him.
